Tom's garden of weeds

Tom has this in him; any bug will easily bite him. That is, he takes to ideas without measuring the volume of things he has to do! But it is to his credit that he tries, wholeheartedly, till collecting the trophy de' failure! Yet, he never got over this tendency to emulate somebody else.

The other day after reading about gardens, he rushed to Bystander’s house, his bet noir and yet a friend, to share his newly found enthusiasm for garden plants. Bystander, the personification of impatience, did not like this intrusion and yet when something is told to him, never hesitates to spin-out ideas and opinions.

“Tom, you want to raise a garden and want my suggestions! Then start with no-cost plants and try to grow them. Whatever skill you lack in gardening this might help”.

Tom did not like that jibe at his skill and retorted, “Yes, I would like to hear, if you have any idea about it at all!”

This sarcasm stung and Bystander decided to set it right then and there ‘that rubbing shoulder with is one thing and rubbing on the wrong side of it certainly is quite another thing’.  He decided to lead Tom down the garden path as a ripe opportunity has presented itself, just now. 

“Your idea is good. Actually all of us should be doing something about it. If you want my ideas about it, just say so!”

“Please go ahead. I am all ears to hear them”, Tom agreed in principle to hear him out.

“My philosophy is this. Anybody can raise a garden with plants from a nursery. You may get ordinary to exotic varieties. Really there is no fun in doing just that. Is there any?”

“In that case what shall I do”? Tom fell into a carefully laid trap without knowing it.

Bystander continued, “Wild plants are just the answer for your pertinent question, dear friend!” By nodding his head Tom took the first step into a quagmire. 

True to his  nature, Bystander authoritatively continued, “The grass you find in the wild exhibits perseverance. Growing, even in drought like conditions. They even smile at passersby while getting trampled”.

“I have seen a variety with powder blue coloured flowers. Just imagine a pot with 360 cuttings, planted radially from the center and in full bloom. What a pleasing sight it will be!

“Then turn your attention to common cactus you see on the roadside. A stem of about 15cm length can be used as a fusion pot”. Tom looked perplexed and worried about the thorny issues.

Bystander explained, “You take out carefully the succulent portion at the center  to half the height of the stem and insert a wild aloevera like plant. What you get now is a wild plant inside a wild plant! You leave the chemistry part to them and they will work it out together to your satisfaction”. Tom was becoming a little dazed to hear these outlandish concepts.

Bystander continued, “Tom, there are varieties of creepers in the wild. Particularly I am fascinated by the one which instead of flowering yields tiny pepper coloured berries. Grown in a bottle of water, this plant may even develop hydro-roots!  Probably you will be the first person to experiment like this. Sounds great is it not?” 

At the end, Bystander dangled the irresistible, juicy carrot. He said, “If you have to be different, you have to try out things which nobody in his right mind would have dreamed of trying!”

Admiring the persuasion skills of Bystander, Tom bought this dream - lock, stock and barrel. An excited Tom got down to work like a possessed man. He religiously foraged into the wild, visited roadside shrubs and collected wild plants like a rag picker. Thinking more differently on his own, he decided on giving a separate niche in the garden to any plant that appealed to him. 

He proudly surveyed the array of pots, cactus stems and water filled glass bottles resembling soldiers ready to march carrying survival kits. The grass expected with powder blue went into, all 360 of them and verified by counting and recounting, allotted pots. The aloevera like cuttings went into the holes made in the stems of c. cactus and pepper like berry bearing creepers dipping their feet, in hip deep water, in sparkling glass bottles. Tom had taken pains to get the bottles to sparkle, after a wash with liquid soap.  He laid the capstone for his garden by accommodating his own selection of wild plants for in-house habitation.

Neglecting routine works, Tom started to spend more and more time in tending his nursery. He sat   among the pots, cactus stems and glass jars to encourage and urge the transplanted ones to survive in an alien environment. Fearing that plants might react to his feelings, he kept his dark fears well hidden from even himself! He was as afraid as the transplants of a failure.

May be the transplants could read even hidden secrets and they started showing varied reactions after a week.  If Tom’s nursery had a case sheet, like the one kept for each patient in a hospital, it would have entries like this:  

The grass with supposed  to bloom in  powder blue colour: 25% healthy but no bloom yet, 25% in I C U, 25% in coma stage and the remaining dried and dead. 

The c. cactus experiment had less complicated description: 50% semi-dried and 50% totally dried.

The pepper like berry yielding creeper: Growth remaining status quo; tendency to develop hydro-root seen in all. Water in the Glass jars clouding up and a hint of fungal/ algae growth visible. 

Tom’s dreams of garden full of colourful blooms was withering , petal by petal.

The pathetic failure taught Tom important lessons: Unless you do something foolish you don’t realize how foolish you are.  Pursuing something blindly will make you only to grope in the darkness. Never imagine a goal that appears easy is that easy to achieve.

The Gardener

The gardening instinct in me came to life with great enthusiasm after leafing through a travel brochure, on board a flight. The casual interest in the printed matter started slowly increasing as I browsed through pages. At one point, I even thought why to bother with these exotic locations and flora appearing in all their glory in glossiness. This disclaimer came to an end when I reached a page about a star rated chef, though my culinary efforts are well documented in several blank pages and remain a well kept secret by my clan.

Occasionally they use these secrets to corner me whenever I make an unpalatable remark about the prepared dishes. In the hurry to defend their domain, they forget one’s mango juice could be another’s margosa leaf (neem) juice.  Notwithstanding all these inter family feuds, the page that held my attention, breathing life into my gardening skill, was that of a chef at work. More so, particularly the tender, garnishing plant varieties that appeared alongside the chef was the reason for riveting my attention.

The rest of the journey passed off amidst dreams of designing kitchen gardens in pots and trays, kept on the top of fridge, washing machine, window sills.  Unconventional designs like hanging gardens from the ceiling, curtain rods and under bulb fittings also appeared in the dream. Another stream of dreams cried for my attention to domesticate wild, exotic outdoor plants as indoor varieties. The dreams were very vivid and I could recollect them frame by frame as in timed interval photography.

Not given to let go an idea, I set in motion plans for realizing these dreams at the earliest. I drew mental bar charts to schedule carefully planned activities. The first task was to mobilize resources. Empty plastic takeaway containers, broken china cups and other utility containers (some emptied out without the knowledge of family members) assured me a good ‘plot” to raise my garden.

The soil & manure part came next, and I planned visits to (beg, borrow or steal from) neighbourhood gardens and cattle sheds. I had belief in my abilities to raise the seedlings from the household vegetables and spices, as they give options to attempt more than once. I silently applauded myself on these contingency plans!

From my to-be-grown list, I selected chillies, tomatoes and coriander  The reason was obvious – easy to sprout and used on a daily basis, which will ensure less resistance from the kitchen managers of the house. I hung around them, in the kitchen, like a hawk to snatch away a dry chilli or a tomato or a table spoon of coriander seeds. They raised hell with me for occupying their spaces in the kitchen and on the fridge top, with a complaint that all these were eyesores.

Weathering these storms, I prayed at the ‘plots’ urging the seeds to sprout. After about ten days, during one of the inspection tours of my ‘plots’, I imagined to have seen some sprouts and ended up in this confusion – which pot has which seed? This was an unforced error Roger Fedderer or Djigjowick or whoever would not have committed on a tennis court!This mystery remained with me for two more days as the seedlings have decided to identify themselves. Each sprout carried on its head the seed cover from inside of which it had taken birth. I admired their humility in touching the ground with the head and then showing the id – like batsmen after hitting a ton, double ton or triple!

To silence the critics and get more cooperation for future expansions, WhatsApp pictures of my garden went to friends, relatives and of course to my family members. The onion, potato and carrot plants appeared to be very much pleased with the table top and a wooden stool accommodation. The heartily fed seedlings somehow managed to live a comfortable life. Only I had to put up with occasional complaints about a sort of dung smell wafting through the house.

A kitchen garden taking its root in the house is the only important thing now and not the yield from the effort. Actually the photographs I have of my plants appear as glossy as the ones I saw in the brochure.

Next agenda was to bring up a sit-out garden with flowering plants. My house mates declared a full scale war, of words, to dissuade such an attempt. The so called sit-out was a multitasker – as post-laundry dryer, floor level attic, shoe stand and other sundry things all in the name of keeping the house presentable to visitors. This sort of sidelining of the sit-out irked me and so I commandeered it for my present usage. I silently went about clearing this space and finding other places for hiding the obvious and this must have convinced them that a better use for the sit-out could be a flower garden and truce was declared!

The roses, jasmines, chrysanthemums and marigolds did not interest me. I earned for something exotic which I myself wanted to bring home after a botanical excursion in the neighbourhood.  Simply stated, I wanted to grow wild plants, in various hues and types, which are seen only on the road sides. Somehow their ‘wildness’ struck a sympathetic chord in me. Like a snake charmer I used to come home from my expeditions with creepers, shrubs and cacti. I planted the cuttings and believed my enthusiasm together with their urge to survive would do the rest.

Under my surgical skill (grafting), a cactus stem bore a mini aloevera, a berry bearing creeper received a flowering one, a shrub and a croton became ‘stem mates’ and so on. Polythene covers of appropriate shade became the greenhouse for this experimental nursery.  Even in my dreams I would not forget the coconut shells for consenting to be the crucibles in my acid tests.

While the innovative grafting works were slowly progressing (grafts did not die and parent plants did not dry up), I wanted to hasten the process a bit. A stray thought that occurred was implemented in “toto”. Liberal helping of dregs of Coffee powder and tea leaves went into the pots of the vegetable garden, thinking that the soil there knows better methods of composting. Without waiting for tangible results, the same was repeated in the sit-out garden too. 

The tragedy unfolded after a week or so. A swarm of tiny flies and nameless insects proliferated on my nutrient bath. I lost the war in raising the kitchen garden on account of these invaders. To get even with me, my dear family members ganged up and threw out the sit-out garden also. I am ruing the loss of my experimentally grafted plants as they had not given my hope a slip. After all Edison made number of attempts to get the electric bulb glowing. I had only faced my first failure as a gardener. Another travel and another brochure will surely revive that  dream once again!

An air of importance

Fearing a waterlogged traffic jam, I trudged into the airport an hour earlier than the stipulated check in time. Having made a mess in estimating the wait time, I compounded it by getting into the quarantine early (security clearance). Though my favourite music store was ready to give me company during the long minutes of waiting, I knew that alone will not be adequate.

The glittering shops and food counters, in the cavernous waiting hall, did not interest me as they mean costly buys and I was travelling economy. To pass time till boarding is announced, I fell back to anthro-probing on fellow airway farers heading towards various destinations. Being a spontaneous decision I had to do it without the knowledge of my fellow travellers!

Passengers in costly designer attires were the ones to get the first shot in my visual appraisal. The casual air they were trying to create set my heart racing to estimate the bundles of currency note that might have changed hands. These fashion trotters, in different age groups and gender, made me steal a look at my nondescript dress. It was a rude awakening to know the difference between modest and mod living. Absorbing this shock, I tried to imagine ‘what would be the state of mind of the person footing these bills’?

Some passengers kept walking with their trolleys, from one end to another with an air of importance. Their well groomed pets might die with envy if they happen to see their masters now. Or is it a deliberate ploy to exhibit their valuable luggage and affluence?  It is a pity luggage doesn't get stamped their worth during the security clearance.

Not to be outsmarted by their parents, kids totting laptops in personalised carrying cases, iPods and iPads held nonchalantly in hands added spice to the watch.  The nonstop, muted,  conversation hand in hand with the “I am what I am” attitude exhibited by some of these kids made me nervous at the clumsy way I still manage with my cell phone , while speaking. From previous experiences, I am sure this animated cell-talk will continue till the cabin crew reminds them it is time for takeoff. By chance if the kids get an inkling of my thinking, I am sure they will direct the ‘laser’ stare at me and vapourise their annoyant.

Parents, ambling back with popcorn or burgers or imported cookies made me to think “Oh, how considerate of them” turned out to be a short lived euphoria. Instead of offering the snacks to the kids, they started munching away as if obesity can be put on hold at the airport waiting hall! Ever alive to intriguing explanations, I imagined that the mere worry about just having parted with a king’s ransom for these snacks will  really help them to keep obesity at bay for the moment, at least. Being an unreasonable worrier, this quite unusual positive thinking on my part surprised me.

The “business class” passengers are literally a class apart – the ones not necessarily travelling by that ticket.  Travelling on behalf of companies, these men always choose the airport lounge to brag about the nth hour travel, refusal to travel late in the evening or the pressure exerted on the travel agent for the flight tickets.

A few other passengers were milling around aimlessly, wearing a perpetual worried look as if distraught about the way the traveller’ world is taking off at airports. I would have gladly exchanged my bucket seat with anyone of them to know whether I was in this class!

To shorten my agonising analysis, a group of non-Indians in nondescript clothing walked past presenting the most needed contrast. As in harmonics, I empathised with them without a prompt - may be they are also budget travellers or do not have some fat wallets opening for them! This non-descript travellers might have gladdened the hearts of my class members too.

I suddenly remembered an earlier, bitter experience of waiting for nearly twice the flight time on the ground itself. To keep the harried passengers busy they periodically parted with these information – an incoming flight has been delayed, a scheduled flight has been cancelled and the scheduled (?!) aircraft is undergoing a mechanical check. Fortunately nothing of that sort intervened. The interminable wait came to an end with the usual cabin announcement, the familiar roar of engines gathering takeoff speed and the floating feeling indicated that the aircraft was on its way for a ETA landing.

  

In a somewhat relaxed mood, I started reading the in-house magazine and travel brochure. After a few pages, the magazines could not hold my attention with information about gem studded watches, designer apparels and the like. Even the pages espousing budget travel had a glossy look.

At this point, my glance fell on the laptop of a non-Indian passenger occupying an aisle seat two rows to my left.  The script displayed on the monitor looked different. This gazing at the alien script went on for some time and all of a sudden that gentleman ceased working, as if sensing my prying eyes. In no way, that gentleman could have guessed that I could only get a confused image of his work and no harm will come to his secrets, if any. Then he started browsing on the cell phone and now I could get a clear view of the script, hanging like chandeliers in rows. After a few air kilometers  the puzzle resolved by itself. A pictogram may be, in Chinese or Japanese!

I finally decided to sleep till landing time. Somewhere in this snooze period an interesting argument was going on in my mind. The other person appearing in my sleep resembled the description of a ghost like figure in Frederick Forsythe’s   “The Shepherd”!

"These thoughts occur every time you come to an airport, is it not?"

I silently nod my head.

"Why should you feel about people travelling as per their wishes and style?"

I started thinking for an explanation and answer.

"Are you upset with the fact that you can’t sport such an air of importance and feel out of sync with the Travellites and fellow travellers?" 

I started to think deeply.

"The Magazines you tried to read did not help any except to remind “affluence and budget travel” has to coexist!. There are people who need know about turnbillions, chapter rings and watches with perpetual calendar. Understand this and take the world as it is to live your life! In case your anthro-probe is just a curiosity and your way of imbibing the ambiance, then no harm is done".

I experienced the vague feeling that the face of the apparition had a composite picture of all the faces I had observed and spoke in a voice that sounded like a mixture of all the accents I heard at the airport. Yet this inner voice, made me to feel as if some real person was carrying on a conversation with me.I took it up as a friendly wake up call as the plane was descending towards the runway for landing.

At the end of the journey, I decided to rest my anthro-probe analysis for some time, at least at the airports.

Both the ends do meet!

In an economic sense this might mean living within one’s means or to a supply and demand chain in commerce. But this is about bending your will by any toddler.

Toddlers need an adult’s support to learn rudimentary things such as sitting, standing and of course in taking the initial steps. When it comes to getting what they want, how do they know exactly what to do, how and when?

Like default factory settings, a child must be coming into being with advanced Apps and skills to help in getting things done in its own way. The advanced Apps created not only work with the child's own operating system but can “bug” and update the o/s of parents or grandparents. The uniqueness of a child's Apps is the language.

By clever manipulation of affection using a smile, cry or gestures, antics, pranks and tantrums in intoxicating proportions, the child attempts to seal a deal. In this commerce the child’s demand creates supply and this supply produces further demand. The trade embargo imposed by well meaning parents, out of concern for the child’s structured upbringing, are violated at will by the equally well meaning grandparents.

The bargaining power of the child increases manifolds if fortunate to have great grandparents. The child knows how to play the game – by odds two to one.

The child effortlessly divides a task into discrete steps, learning from mistakes before attempting the next decisive step. The child strategically employs the emotional resources available on hand to create a demand. The intense focus with which the task is carried out is a lesson in itself, for the grownups in the family.

Whether the mother - to - be expected the child very eagerly or not, the business empires did so with stocked salable commodities. The toddler surprises you with this knowledge about the business potential represented by each child born. The child never lets go and does not bother about getting an immediate result.

Here is how the child keeps the arc lights on - by knocking at the door of the weak willed parent, grandparent or even the great grandparent by throwing up antics or pranks to apply pressure to get the demand attended.

When a smile or a snuggle does not produce the desired result, the child intuitively plays a trump card – a tantrum. Ignores a favourite toy or food and instead plays with a piece of cloth, a spoon or even a visiting card. The harried adult gives in, after trying out all tricks to pacify the morose kid.

  

Here waits another valuable lesson – if you have the imagination, you can do wonders. What a way to demonstrate that perseverance pays even in short term.

The child diplomatically sides with parents, grandparents or great grandparents for that specific purpose. This “pitting” diplomacy helps the child to meet both the ends – wanting to get and getting it!

When the wish list is even partially fulfilled, nothing is held back.It is the payback time - The joy of accomplishment experienced by the child is expressed at that very instant itself, with hugs, kisses and crooning!

In commerce, something is exchanged for some other thing and going by the same logic what benefit both the parties get?

The child has the knack to thaw out even a frozen heart by simply whittling down inhibitions of an adult with invitations to play as equals. All the while the child is secure in the knowledge that the adult will give in, though grudgingly, to make both of them to feel happiness in togetherness.

A knowing smile and body language suggesting it is OK to relax for now is a great stress buster. There is no need to consult a couch doctor – the therapy is administered just like that. Only a child in all its innocence can do it.

Sometimes a child takes the mantle of a guru and seemingly without appearing to be so gives valuable insight into life,as a free tutorial. Those who wait for enlightenment can attain instant nirvana in the time interval it takes to blink one's eyes. Now it is the grownups’ turn to croon.

Marvelous feat in “engineering” of emotions, don’t you agree?

The Loose cannons

The grumblings at the airport:

It was a sight to behold and capture with any type of photographic equipment. It was a scene of a lifetime, for those who got stranded at the airport and had nothing else to do to keep their worried minds occupied. The arrival departure boards played the role of mute spectators, indicating in unison that all flights have been cancelled. The unmade announcements kept an eerie silence, probably afraid to compete with the din of the battering rain, filtering through glass panels.

The view through the glass was alarming. The concourse sat in the midst of a sheet of water and aircrafts in knee deep water. It would have been a picturesque sight for an imaginary person flying over in an imaginary aircraft - the waterlogged air port resembling a big lake and the stranded aircrafts appearing like sitting ducks!

He imagined hearing the conversation that was taking place between the wingtip to wingtip parked aircrafts (his sitting ducks).  He fine tuned his auditory system so as not to miss even a snatch of that conversation, which he wanted file as a verbatim report. Later at home, he typed out the report entirely from his memory. He titled it “Grumblings at the airport”.

A wet lease craft said, “I know it is outlandish now, but I am reminded of my maiden flight from the factory to the airport and the water-cannon welcome I received”.

A dry lease aircraft, not exactly liking the wet lease, said, “It is a common thing and why you should recollect the nostalgia when we are all stuck like pins on board!”

A turbo-propeller said, “Literally my feet is becoming numb. Do all of you feel the same?”

A wide body aircraft complained, “My legs and joints are paining like a arthritic patient’s and added to that, this icy cold water swirling around them! I need some leg movement at least”.

A new acquisition felt, “Knowing the worsening conditions, they could have landed us in another airport. Or they could have flown us out of here the moment when there was a chance for a takeoff”.

The wiser old aircraft replied, “What kind of business sense you are making? Which airliner will operate on an ‘empty’ flight? Which pilot will risk his reputation just to have pleased you?"

The old craft continued, “Once airborne we can dodge and fly over the weather. On the ground it is payback time.  In the bargain we are all getting a non-stop water wash!”.

The new acquisition meekly murmured, “Recently I had a water-cannon bath and since an opportunity is on my head now ,let me enjoy this shower bath”.

The logic in soap:

It is prime time! Tempers flare like sun spots, hot words fly like surface to surface missiles and individual activities get switched on and off at predictable intervals. Ringing cell phones are silenced, turf wars are fought to possess the TV remote, sports addicts are kicked out, news watchers are allotted slots after prime time is past, an icy stare welcomes hapless visitors. The whole atmosphere resembles a boiling pot for 2 minute’s noodles.

There is no other medium that holds an entire household in rapt attention - the idiot box. Being an inanimate object, it has managed to turn all most all persons in the house into couch potatoes or sofa potatoes! The center piece is the TV stand and somehow everyone in the house finds space and time to be present at this one single point, like a halogen lamp signing off in to a single spot. In this case it is not the signing off but the signing in, to watch the ever growing episodes of soaps or serials! The most cooked menu is ‘the Onion bath’ (misery) or ‘the blood bath’ (revenge) and the menu for the next meal is either in the freezer or will be got made in installments, during the commercial breaks.

Misery or otherwise no compromise in showing it in opulent settings, only one character has to go out of the way , even out of the serial, to help others, the characters delivering neither eloquent nor inspiring dialogues without even getting a single facial muscle into the act etc;. The helpless episode director resorts to jarring back ground music or zooming on to the expressionless faces to create an impact in the viewer’s mind. The director need not have worried so much as this will become a little clear later in this ‘episode’.

This is the story of anytime serial. Watch it for months; take a break for a month, rejoin to find that, the story has not even progressed further by two pages of the script. For the ones just joining in, the twists and turns given in that one episode is enough to cause a neck pain and the remedy is, obviously, to sit for the next episode, even if there is something worthwhile to do. Such is the tempting aroma of ‘the Onion bath’ or ‘the blood bath’. For the die hard viewers, the option of repeat telecast in the lazy afternoons provides a bridge between the episodes of yesterday and today. This lot refuses to accept that nothing of substance would have happened in that 30 minutes they missed on the previous day. Such is the  of the soaps, even during natural disasters, these viewers might have worried more about those missed episodes than about the real personal miseries at that point of time.

The viewers are so engrossed in the soaps, they fail to notice even episodes that double as recaps for the past week's news editions.

The never ending serials act somehow as the super conductor for evacuating logic from the mind. Like Socrates, if you go around the streets of your neighbourhood asking for a person who does not take TV serials seriously, you will be evicted from the neighbourhood! Acting like Solomon, the wise, if you pass a judgment that the ads, appearing after each segment conveys more substance and showcases better acting skills than the serial…..

Keep your visa stamped passport ready, you may have to emigrate!

With such a commanding popularity, it will become clearer to the episode director that none of the things he was worried about matters anymore!

The hold of a maidservant:

The mushrooming apartment buildings in any location has resulted in increasing the density of population per sq. Km. This situation has resulted in a manifold increase on the demand side. The supply market already stretched to burst at the seams gets into the driver seat of a F1 racing car. The short supply is the domestic help. The need has become acute is offshoot from the vanishing joint families and economic necessity for both the man and woman of the house to be in employment.

Gone are the olden days, when a prospective maidservant carried out a due diligence before signing in. Snacks with tea (with menu specified), free T V viewership, off days per month and of course the quantum work that will be done as per her whims and fancies. Now with the changed job market, the prospective maid-servant does not waste her valuable time in haggling. She comes with a fixed agenda and the employer is directed to get the nitty-gritty details from a list of references furnished thoughtfully for this specific purpose. The only oral information directly exchanged is that she has a 2 years old kid.  This tidbit lands the techies in “Alice in wonderland” and leaves them perplexed as to where to fit in this nugget of information!

The worst affected are the techies. Travel long distances and spend long hours only to return home exhausted. These are the people chased by the second hands of a clock. The maidservant takes full advantage of this hurry to hop, skip and jump through the accepted chores. If the couple is not the sports loving type, she then employs this never failing formula to cover up the shoddy works for the day – lapses into her local language!  When survival is managed by swiping the cards, shopping in malls and guided by GPS, neither the madam nor the gentleman felt the pinch and did not buy a ‘ learn to speak in 30 days’ book.

The arrival of one of the parents started throwing up a conflict a day. The first day, it was the mother who complained about dust still being seen at every nook and corner. Oozing sarcasm, she looked at the maidservant and gesticulated ‘whether she has to walk in the house wearing slippers?’ The father tried to save the situation muttering ‘the broom cannot reach the sharp corner’ and got an icy stare from the madam. The maidservant came in slippers to work on the next day to show that she can also be sarcastic!

The serious bone of contention arose because of the incorrigible kid. Getting down from his mother’s hip, he ambles along on an expedition tour of the house, not leaving any blind spot. Then he pulls out a cell phone and a remote and starts to play a game of ‘race cars’, to spend his time usefully. The whiff of aroma from the kitchen is all that is needed to activate his hyperactive digestive system. If something is not offered, he starts a high pitched wailing, which is worse than his appetite. The techies used to give him something  not out may   be out of compassion or merely to switch off top the siren.

Two days later, the father tried to show the maidservant, how to neatly stack and leave things in the proper places. She did not react to the suggestions but left him to do it as per his liking.On the third day, he chose to chastise the kid for not showing    proper behavior, when in another person’s house. The look on the face of the maidservant conveyed that the old man also was in another person’s house and the unsaid words implying, “mind your words”.

Fearing an adverse reaction from the maid, the techie wife politely read the riot act: (1) the maidservant might wantonly start coming late (2) she may quit without notice and (3) your return journey tickets can be booked.

This unsettled the nerves of parents, and settled the supremacy of the need for the maidservant, shoddy or not!