Little lessons from little-r people

"Baby, finish everything on your plate, or else I'm calling the Oni..."

That is the sum total of our current dinner-table conversations.

(What's an Oni?? Hmmm... read about it here, if you please.)

Much as I hate to resort to the bogeyman, some days, my patience is torn to shreds way before the sun even contemplates moving to the other hemisphere.

I see a little face that's really sad, and about to burst into tears. But holds the tears back, as she tries to be brave.

Now I feel like pond scum. Lower than pond scum. Maybe like the life forms that pond scum hold in contempt and disdain. I try to set things right.

ME: Tell you what, let's just eat three spoons of this. And then we're off the hook.
Little one (LO): OK Amma... Will that make me a good girl again??

Now I demote myself to what the stuff that pond scum hold in contempt hold in utter disdain.

ME: Shall I count??
LO: OK!

Me: 1... 2....
Me: 2 and a quarter, 2 and a half, 2.75

By this time, the little one is totally perplexed. But the deal was that she eats and I count.

Me: 2.75.. 2.8.. 2.85.. 2.9..
LO: Amma, what are you doing??
Me: Counting, baby... 2.91.. 2.92.. 2.93..
LO: But are those numbers?
Me: Don't talk with food in your mouth. It's rude. 2.96... 2.97
LO: But Amma, what happened to 3?
Me: Did I lose count??
LO: I think so.
Me: Ok.. Lets, start again..
Me: 1.. 2.. 3.. And done. You can go play for a while.
LO: So I don't have to eat more??
Me: Goodness, look at your plate.... it's empty!!! You ate it all in three mouthfuls!!

The little one thinks about it.

LO: Amma, can I show you something?

And plays her favourite video and I sit down to watch it with her, as I promised I would.

When it's over, she turns to me and asks....
"Amma, now can you count to 10 properly?? Shall we do some numbers now? I'll give you a hug if you get it right."

Little people sure know it all.....

Isn't it weird?

I wonder how people start to develop opinions about other people. Especially someone they don't know.

I'm not talking about whether Britney Spears was a perpetrator or a victim. It's closer to home. It's about me.

Why are people confused about my gender? Why do they think I want to enhance parts I don't have? Why do they think I want to know who err..... made whooppee with... how many people? Why does anyone feel I would want Viagra? Contrary to what certain folks think, I do NOT want meet available women in my neighbourhood, or city or whatever.

I do not want to buy cheap drugs. Or fake handbags. Or fake watches. Or genuine looking.... er... anything elses. I don't really care if some celebrity is wearing underclothes or not.

I already have a University degree, thank you. I don't think I am in the market for one.
I don't own a home yet, so hold back on that mortgage.

But wait....
you are an heir of the late dictator of some country I can't find on a map, and want to give me few millions?? On second thoughts, thanks, but no thanks.

A Monster Outing

There they stood, like the hordes of Sauron. Like the countless armies of boundless Mallorea....

Cut!

My fantasy series' are getting somewhat mixed up, what??

Let me start again. Think of the innumerable hordes of Sauron (for the uninitiated, refer to The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King), picture them as they ready to march off to battle. Now open said image in GIMP (or Photoshop, if you will), remove Orodruin (Mount Doom) from the picture, transfer the horde, as is, to the Ice age and freeze the hordes till they start to resemble Popsicles.

Isn't this what you'd come up with??

Would they look like this?

The summit is totally covered with snow monsters (Juhyou).


Where did these monsters come from??

The Aomori fir trees that cover the peak of the mountain are constantly layered with hoarfrost until they lose any semblance of trees and turn into something straight out of a fantasy (or horror) movie.

On a clear day like this, the snow monsters are a truly amazing sight.

I should mention here, that this was our second trip to Zao in three weeks. The last time we were there, we met up with this blizzard who had descended from Siberia, and who simply wouldn't go away. Visibility was about 8 -10 feet.

Pretty sad, isn't it?

And I badgered and badgered the other half, till he gave in, and we drove down again, and took our chances with the weather. "What if visibility is bad, or if the snow has melted?" asked the OH. But I was determined to go to Zao, and off we went. And took a chance on the weather!

This time around, it was a gloriously clear day. And (at 5°C) warm to boot! When we got to the top, the long drive o'er hill and dale was so worth it.

I could see shutterbugs right at the summit. Of course, they probably didn't get there with two kids in tow.

There were these huge, white, bizzare forms all around us.

As we took the cable-car down to the foot of the mountain, I caught glimpses of skiers and snowboarders weaving among these giant, mysterious, creatures.

All I could think of was an army of fantasy monsters, marching inexorably towards civilizaiton, gobbling up ski enthusiasts as they went by.

Who's turn is it anyway?

It's been snowing. Hard. Incessantly. Just the way it's been doing for the last 46 days. In all fairness I should mention that we did have 2 days of sunshine, and another couple of days when it didn't snow, but we didn't see the sky.

The last bout of snow has been bad. The other half and I have been having conversations that are reminiscent of an Abbot-Costello routine.

Me: It's your turn to shovel the snow off the stairs.
OH: Not too.
Me: I've done it the last couple of times. It's definitely our turn.
OH: There's a cricket match on.
Me: I can't carry the little one down the stairs. It's iced over, and slippery as heck.
OH: After the match.

After the match....
Me: Is the match over?
OH: Yeah, I'm hungry.

After lunch...
Me: Err.. the steps??
OH: Lunch was awesome. I overate. I need a nap.

After a nap...
Me: What'd you want to do now?
OH: Play with the kids..

After playtime...
Me: The steps??
OH: Don't bug me on a Sunday.

I look at the stairs leading up the apartment. At least a third of them are frozen solid. Iced over with a vengeance.

It's probably my turn.

The doorbell rings. And there stands the OH, breathing hard, and the steps are clear of all slippery substances.

It's probably my turn.... next time.

No weather please..

One thing I do not want to do this thoroughly freezing blustering day is to discuss weather.

Don't think I'm cribbing about extreme weather. I love scenic snowscapes. I can aimlessly walk around the place taking pictures by the dozen. I even have the patience to dress in what seems like half the contents of my closet before I step out. I love the way my breath is all steamy. I love the way the trees are delicately or generously) dusted in a layer of white. I love making shoe-tracks on pristine, uncleared snow. I really enjoy making snowmen, so what if they look like something Calvin makes, or like abstract art?

Then why am I complaining? Well, this has not been the easiest of days.

It's freezing today. The mercury reads lower than Dubya's IQ.. er.. shoe size.. ah well, they're the same thing actually, aren't they?

Lulled by the bright sunshine yesterday, I washed loads of laundry and hung it outside to dry. And totally forgot to bring one lot inside. This morning my laundry was frozen stiff, with a layer of snow and ice on them.

Later in the morning, the school bus was late. And my nose was totally frozen before I got inside again.

An hour ago I went to get the older one from the bus. The wind was so bad that our covered carpark was totally blanketed with snow. Then came a gust of wind with so much force that I was blown a couple of feet away. And there was this inconvenient patch of ice where I stepped, and skidded, and landed on my gluteus maximus.

And next time anyone back home, or in Singy wants to talk about temperatures in the upper 20s or 30s... you can go.... er.. hmmm.. is my mom reading this???

What was that name again?

This morning the older one had to be taken to the doctor for some tests. And this being the weekend, dear husband volunteered to take her to the doctor. We've finally found a pediatrician who doesn't speak much English, but writes down in English what he wants to communicate to us. I think this is wonderful. But we're still not used to the staff at that place.

Father and daughter walked into the clinic, handed over all relevant insurance cards, registration cards etc. One lady asked them what they were there for. Arun tried to explain, and finally took a piece of paper and wrote 'urine test' on it.

A few minutes later, another receptionist came up to him. She looked very confused. She handed him Aditi's registration card, handed him the slip of paper, bowed in apology and utter confusion and asked, "I'm sorry, but the registration card says 'Aditi Krishnan' and on this paper you've written 'urine test'. Now which is your daughter's correct name?"

Whe me?

Updates

Where on earth have I been?? Good question... To those of you who missed my words of (questionable) wisdom, I was on a really long holiday. I was in India for close to a month and a half.

And now I'm back home in rural Japan. And I'm torn between two worlds. On one hand I love the snow, and I hate dressing in layers of clothing that make me look twice as chubby as I really am. I love the soundless tranquility of a snow scape, and miss the incessant chatter that's always present back home in India. I'm petrified driving in a foot of snow, but I sure do NOT miss the traffic chaos in India.

My first day back home, I called my dear friend S and told her to get her backside over and that we had to go eat pani-puri at our favourite roadside stall. S, of course, came over in her new car, and off we went for some chaat, taking the most scenic route through Mysore catching up on two years worth of news. Our conversation went something like this...
S: ... so and so got married. Lives in ..
Me: watch out. That guy had right of way.
S: ... Bangalore. Might move to Delhi next year. Did you hear about..
Me: You didn't stop at the intersection
S: What's wrong with you?? Why would I stop there? There's no traffic light or cop there.
S: What's right of way???

And I, who have driven in theoretically perfect driving conditions for 2 years, gave up and refused to get behind the wheel for the rest of my trip.

The significant other, though, seemed to have no trouble slipping into bad driving habits. One fine day we decided to go on an early morning drive. As the s.o. tried to get the car to reverse, the gears made some weird grinding noises and wouldn't go properly. My dad was watching from the verandah. He knew something was wrong, and didn't have the heart to tell his dear s-i-l what the problem was. I watched my dear husband try over and over again to get the reverse gear in place. I could see his frustration. He was just a little away from losing his temper. I couldn't stand it any longer. As gently as I could, I asked him if it would help if he were to use the clutch.

He gave me a long steady look, used the clutch, got the car in reverse, and told me, "It's all your fault. You're making me drive a girl car!"

So now it's my fault we drive a car with automatic transmission??? Sigh... why me??

Ten things

Ten things in the next decade?? In all her infinite wisdom, Madhu saw in me the prefect scapegoat. One who plans her life ten minutes at a time, had to make out a ten year plan. That somehow didn't seem very fair. Even people who are paid to plan stuff are given a reasonable five year framework. Ten years?? That seems so far away. Ten years ago I was in University,and looking back, the last ten years weren't exactly the stuff pipe dreams were made of. So are the next ten going to be based on pipe dreams too?? I hope not.

Theoritically, I want to travel far and wide, and see the world. I want to see Angkor Wat, I want to hike along the Great Wall of China, drive along the Silk Route, ponder about lost civilizations under the monoliths at Easter Island, contemplate evolution on the Galapagos Islands, go to the far north and watch the Aurora Borealis. I want to make journeys on famous trains. I'd love to travel from Paris to Istanbul on the Orient Express (hopefully without any fellow traveller getting done in during the trip), maybe cross the tundra on the Trans-Siberian railway... Somehow, I don't see these happening. With two toddlers in hand, and their supplies in tow, I'll settle for seeing Kyoto, Nara, Nikko, Sapporo and Hiroshima before I leave Japan! And perhaps on one of our trips to India, go to Hampi and see the ruins of the old Vijayanagara empire.

And while I'm at it, requalify and get a job to finance my travel plans. And since we're on the subject of requalifying, I plan to renew my HAM radio license sometime. Goodness, I've to study electronics again.

Did I mention my toddlers? I want to be a better mother to them and learn a lot more patience. I don't want to smile in sympathy and kinship next time I see another mother lose it completely when her kids have torn her nerves to shreds. And while I'm at it, maybe I'll be more patient with the other half of the equation when he's totally glued to a cricket match and refuses to even acknowledge my existance.

I want to make our home television free over the next decade. After two years with no telly, I think we're actually being a family and not beings idiots glued to the idiot box.

I HAVE to get in shape. Round is a shape too. Once I can find a babysitter for the little one, I want to devote a few hours a week to getting fit. I may not fit into the old jeans from college days, but I do want to drop a couple of sizes. Quite a few sizes.

I want to get me and my family more eco freindly and try to leave a smaller carbon footprint on the sands of time. Maybe my kids will pick up my eccentric genes and go in for causes like animal rights.

In the next decade, I'd like to learn 2 more languages. And maybe pass a few exams for Japanese.

I want to do something worthwhile with my life. I have a couple of causes in mind and want to work on them. But that might have to wait till my kids are older.

I want to convince the other half of the equation that we HAVE to get a pet.

And very paradoxically, I want to want less. Somewhere down the line I'd like to say I have no wants.

And very soon, sooner than a decade of course, I'd like to see what plans Golly, Denti, Axe and Namrata have for the next ten years of their lives.

Hot Couture

It was time to go. I opened my closet, put on a sweater, fleece jacket, down coat, thick socks and put my boots out. Then it was the little one's turn. She was bundled up in a fleece layer, and then in a snowsuit. To that I added mitts, hat and extra socks. Finally, I put on a hat, scarf and my boots. Then the little one and I went down the stairs, towards the street to wait for the bus. The bus was exactly 2 minutes late.

As soon as the bus stopped, out jumped the older one, and we all ran back, up the stairs and into the house. And stood near the heater getting warm again, trying to bring sensation back into our frozen extremities.

And peel off and put away all those extra layers. This is the downside of winter. Out here, the wind blows in directly from Siberia (well almost), and every second the schoolbus is late, we're that much closer to becoming human popsicles. Today, I timed myself. I need 20 minutes to get myself and the baby dressed, to go downstairs for a minute or two, get the older one, and then 10 minutes to peel off and put away all the extra layers once indoors. And winter's just about getting started.

Winter ia a bit of a paradox. I hate having to wear layers and layers before it's safe to step outdoors. But then again, with all those layers, it's difficult to say where the blubber ends and the coat starts. Dull skies, and zero visibility are rather demotivating. And that weather is just perfect for a hot masala chai and bondas.

As I watch people amble past, I see a couple of gentlemen muffled very sensibly against the cold. And then one sees things that can chill one's blood. I see a woman walk nonchalantly by, wearing a MINISKIRT!!!! Brrrr.... just the thought of seeing one in this weather makes me shiver. All the way down from my outer jacket to inner coat to sweaters and thermals.

What is the Japanese woman's secret?? What is that keeps her warm in a miniskirt, while my smile freezes in place? Is it green tea? Is it something in their diet? Is it raw fish? Is it whale meat? Maybe whale blubber does provide insulation. Who ever heard of a whale dying of cold? (I somehow don't see that as a valid reason for whaling.)

Ah well, the bright side is that shorts and tee-shirts are just about 7 months away. Here's looking forward to getting dressed in lesser time. And then of course I'll probably start to crib about the heat and humdity. And Japanese women will walk around in mini(er)skirts.

Maybe they're too lazy to shop every time the seasons change. Maybe they are immune to the weather.

All about Fall

Last year, I didn't get out all much during fall, and missed out on it all. This year, I was determined to see it all, and dragged the poor husband (PH) all around town, over hill and dale, so I could catch a glimpse of the prettiest places to view the autumn leaves.

Fall was lovely. We drove up Mt. Zao and saw the crater lake atop the mountain. We drove across Gassan, that great mountain that marks the boundaries of the Shonai valley. We drove down the Mogami river and around the gorge.

I simply loved the feiry orange, bright yellows and brilliant reds. I never tired of seeing shades of yellow, red and orange all over the place. Each time I saw the pretty colours, I had to stop and take pictures, much the PH's exasperation.

I'd not quite had my fill of the colours of the season.

I woke up this morning and saw.....




Fall is definitely over.

Out damn'd coat, out I say! Yet who would have thought the snow to have had so much cold in it?
(Did the dear departed bard roll over in his grave?)

Multinational fast food franchises and mental defectives

You may accused me of being really annoyed or completely pissed off, and you wouldn't be far off the mark. Today I made a really stupid decision. Sometimes I never learn. I didn't feel like cooking, so I convinced the other half that we should get a pizza for dinner. Every time we decide on pizza, we run into a familiar argument. I love the pizza joint a few doors down the road, but OH swears by the merits of a multinational franchise (whose local outlet looks nothing like a rustic shack).

Then we got into our Abbot and Costello routine of who goes in to order. I lost that argument, went in, ordered our dinner, and almost ran out screaming in madness. Why, you ask? You shall be told.

I have this bad feeling that this place is either staffed by mental defectives, or they get very flustered when invaded by aliens. Or foreigners. And in I went into that pool of frothing insanity.

Multinational Pizza Franchise Sales Thing: Konichiwa, How may I help you?
Me: "One large cheese pizza please"
MPFST: "What kind of crust would you like?"
Me:"Pan"
MPFST: "And would you like anything to go with that?"
Me: "No thank you, that will be all."

And MPFST starts to ring up the order. And then starts the fun.

MPFST: "I'm sorry we're all out of pan crust in size L."
Me: " Alright, then let me have 2 of size M"
MPFST: "Both pan crusts?"

For some reason, I have this ridiculous tendency to make the same goofs over and over again. Somewhere deep down I believe that each time I go to get a multinational rustic house pizza, the staff would not exasperate me with their limited IQ. And instead of asking for 2 identical pizzas, I get creative.

Me: "One pan and one thin crust please."
MPFST: "Would you like any toppings?"

Toppings? That was a new one. Never in a year and a half were we asked if we wanted extra toppings. And I asked MPFST to read out the list of toppings. As the thing read out the list, I selected a few toppings.

MPFST: "So that'll be one ham and pepper pizza, pan crust, and one one bacon and mushroom pizza with a thin crust"
Me: "What?? No no... I want pepper as an extra topping on one pizza, and mushroom on the other."
MPFST very helpfully showed me the menu. And pointed out that they had a ham and pepper pizza and another pizza had a bacon and mushroom topping.

Me: "Never mind, just give me your regular cheese pizza."
MPFST: "You want only cheese on your pizza and want us to remove all the toppings?"
Me: "God give me the will power to desist from throttling this thing... Cancel my order please"

Me: "Let's start again. Give me 2 medium cheese pizzas, as they are on the menu, one with a pan and one with a thin crust. Please?"
MPFST: "Your order will be ready in twenty minutes."

That was rather painful. And then we got down to the brass tacks of the monetary exchange. She told me I what to pay, I paid her and then the worst part of the evening came up.

MPFST: "Here's your change. 6,200 yen."

I looked at my change. There were the exact number of coins, but just a 5,000 yen note. I gently pointed that out to MPFST.

Me: "My change is 6,000 yen right?"
MPFST: "Yes"
Me: "Er... you need to give me 6,000 yen."
MPFST: "Yes"
Me: "Er... there's just 5,000 yen here"
MPFST: "Yes"
Me: "And you owe me 6,000 yen"
MPFST: "Yes"
Me: "Please, God, don't let me lose it completely. Please don't let me throttle this life form that's bowing and smiling at me... "
Me: "Let's start again. You owe me 6,000 yen, and there's only 5,000 yen there"
MPFST: "Yes"
Me "Excuse me please, there has to be 6,000 there, and there's only 5,000 there. Please see if the figure on your cash register is the same as the amount that you're giving back to me?"
MPFST: "Yes"

And thankfully for my sanity checked the bill, checked what she was handing to me, and finally..

MPFST: "There should be another 1,000 here, right??"

Hallelujah, Glory be, Ishwaro rakshatu... and more on the same vein.

I finally walk back to where the OH and kids are waiting.

OH: "Why did it take you so long? How difficult is it to order pizza? You should have been out of there ages ago! What on earth were you doing?"

I wonder how Lorena Bobbit would have responded to that...

Precious gifts

She looked at me with barely supressed tears in her eyes.

We were both, at that moment, looking at a gift she had given me six months ago. I could see that she could barely control her tears at just how much I'd cherished her lovely gift.

The day I turned 21 (and let's not go into just how long ago that was), my neighbour came over with a gift. She gave me a plant. A lovely little plant, in a decorative pot. She asked that I cherish it, and that it was a gift from her and her family.

I talked things over with the old man who helped around the garden at home. He said that the little plant wasn't too healthy, somewhat sparse and scrawny, and that it would need a lot of care and nourishment. I took it up as a challenge. I watered it everyday, manured it as per the old gardener's instructions, kept it in a nice part of the garden where it would get lots of light and air.

In six months it was three times as large. It was lush and healthy, but the old gardener and I thought that the leaves weren't growing very well. I bowed to the old man's judgement when he said it was probably a 'fancy hybrid', which was why the leaves weren't growing as well as they should.

In the meantime, the family next door had moved away to another neighbourhood, and contact was limited to the sporadic phone calls. Until the day the lady of the house happened to drive by her old home, and dropped in for a visit. We were catching up on all neighbourhood news, and I was waiting to show her just how much I'd cared for her gift.

I told her that I had a surprise and would she follow me outside, please?

I lead her to that sunny nook in the garden and told her to look. She was a little puzzled as she looked around trying to figure out what it was that she was that I wanted her to see.

Then it happened. I saw the light of recognition in her eyes. She remembered that really pretty terracotta pot. And then her eyes brimmed with tears. Her little plant was thrice as large as it had been six months ago, and had way more foliage.

She turned to me and said, "You know, I worked 10 years on that little plant before I gave it to you." Wow! That was really something, and in three months, I outdid what she'd achieved in ten years.

Then very gently, trying her best not to cry, she said, "Maybe I should've mentioned that it was a bonsai."

Startling revelations

You never know everything about anyone. Sad but true.

Last week, in a random conversation with my cousin Pt, the significant other made some rather startling revelations. Something that I never knew.

SO, Pt and I were discussing movies. Pt mentioned that she was a fan of Hayao Miyazaki. "Miya-something, who?" went SO. I very gently prompted him, "The guy who created 'Totoro'." After an awkward pause, he went, "Totoro, who?"

Pt and I stared. "My Neighbour Totoro? Tonari no Totoro? The animation film?"

Blank looks again. "Spirited Away??"

"Never heard of it." says SO, looking at me like I'm from another planet.

In his defense, he never knew until a couple of years ago, that the Little mermaid was not a happy story, unlike the way Disney told the tale. I'm married to the only person in Japan who doesn't know Totoro. And I plan to rectify that soon.

And before you jump to conclusions, he can unfold a protein better than anyone else. So there.

Mission: Accomplished

It was a quiet afternoon. As I approached, kids in tow, I saw an elderly lady doing it. She was smooth, really smooth. She did it in one smooth move, no glitches.

I watched in awe. She must have been in her late sixties. And she didn't hesitate the way I would. She seemed to function on autopilot. This was bad. Why did I hesitate to grab the bull by the horns? What did I have to lose after all? (That, my dear readers, is a purely rhetorical question)

I furtively scanned the place. I was here well ahead of time, and the place was empty. I had a good five minute to go before there would be any witnesses to my attempt. Not that there was anything wrong with witnesses, but I didn't want anyone watching me do this. Not the first time at least.

I had my kids to think of. They were both with me, and the older one is at a very observant phase of life. What would she think if I was very obvious in what I was trying? Even worse, what if I failed?

'No,' I said to myself, 'I have to do this. It's now or never.'

With one last look around to ensure there were no witnesses I went to a relatively isolated area. I took a deep breath. I took the plunge.

I looked around. And I had done it. Flawlessly.

I called the better half.

BH: Hello.
Me: I did it! I finally did it!
BH: (slightly slow on the uptake) Huh? What?
Me: Take a guess. Take three guesses.
BH: (sounding distinctly worried) Do I want to know?
Me: I reverse parked. I reversed into a parking slot without mishaps. Perfectly in line.
BH: Cool!!!!!! Good work.
Me: Of course, there were no cars two lots on either side of where I parked. And three lots in the row in the front were empty too.

That's what baby steps are all about. One thing at a time. One small thing at a time.

And it's also the first time that I backed into a lot without hitting something.
I'm so proud of me!

A minor footnote.
I've only made two attempts before this. The first time I reverse parked, the car had a casual fling with a wall. Lots of hurt feelings as the wall didn't really seem to care that it hurt my poor car. The other time was when a really rude concrete pillar got in the way and refused to apologize.

Lock?? I spit me of locking

I'm all for 'technology-for-all'.

These guys simply rock.

I salute their spirit.

Pain in the... er...

Small things make me happy. One recent happy thing is that I found a pediatrician who understands English. Yippee. When we first got here, we found a very sweet English speaking pediatrician, but seh retired a few months ago, leaving us in the lurch. Looking for another one wasn't that easy. The list of doctors I had didn't have a single one who spoke or understood English.

One just can't afford to have a communication gap with a doctor. When we first got to Japan, it was cold. Very cold. At least we were. The temperature differerence between Singapore and Tsuruoka was some 30°C. To say that we were freezing would be an understatement. And every trip out of the guest house to get essentials like milk and bread would lead to major discussions on who's turn it was to brave the elements.

And wouldn't you believe it, I developed a rash. In... er... a very sensitive part of my anatomy. And in keeping with Murphy's laws, I picked a long weekend to come down with this. The offices were closed, our liaison was out of town and we were totally on our own. So first thing we did was look up the dictionary. We didn't find a word for rash. So we looked up 'boil' only to find that the dictionary only had listings for the verb, and not the noun. In desperation we ran down the list of words we thought we could use. So we finally got the Japanese words for skin, wound (yes, that's as close as a pocket dictionary lets you get), pain and medicine. Off went the better half, the little one, and yours truly to .... (fanfare please) the ER.

First thing we had to call a cab. Fortunately we could recite the address of the guest house, so we rattled it off, and a cab was soon there. Then we looked up hospital in the dictionary and told the driver where we needed to go. And got to the hospital, and the ER. That was the first battle won.

At ER there were forms miles long with pretty and not so pretty squiggles. So we kept saying "English" until someone managed to get us a form in English. We filled that out, and waited.. and crossed our fingers, toes, eyes... anything crossable. After waiting interminably for someone to acknowledge us, a nurse came up, took my blood pressure, and started talking to me. Actually she was talking AT me. A ten day crash course in Japanese had nowhere near prepared me for this. Once she was done, she bowed and waited. We stared at each other and said the one word that we knew for sure, "wakarimasen (I don't understand).

A and I looked at each other. Well, we thought, let's try telling her what the problem is. So we fired off all the words we'd memorized and gave her a very triumphant smile. And she looked totally blank. Then it hit us that there was this probability that she had no clue what we'd just said.

I mined writing. She smiled, and came back with a paper and pen. And then I drew out (what looked to me like) a human body, much to her amazement. I'll be darned if that didn't look more like the chalk outline from a homicide investigation. Sometimes, I wonder if she thought I'd knocked someone off. I pointed to that drawing and to then pointed to myself. And marked the spot with an "X". By this time she was trying desperately hard not to laugh.

And then, slowly, there was this growing crowd around me while I tried to explain what was wrong. And I had a suspicion that the nursing staff was trying desperately hard not to giggle. With mimes, drawings I think I managed to communicate what was wrong with me. And finally got to see a doctor... who didn't speak English.

After an examination, the doctor asked me to wait outside. Then he handed me a slip of paper with the words "Please Wait" painstakingly written on it. And wait I did for another hour. By this time I was starting to suspect the worst. Anyone who's watched lots of (desi) movies knows that if a doctor isn't talking to you, then something is seriously wrong. My imagination was on overdrive.

Finally my problems seemed that much closer to a solution. The staff at the ER had decided to page an English speaking doctor, get him to come to the hospital and see what was wrong. And finally, without resorting to any playacting or drawing, I spoke to someone who understood exactly what I said, who very reassuringly spoke to me in English, assured me that all was ok, and gave me a prescription. And thankfully didn't call the cops about a chalk outline.

One good thing came out of all this. The two of us started taking our Japanese lessons VERY seriously. After all, when in Rome..... know how to say that you have a whatever in your wherever.

Thoughts on driving

I never realized that following the letter of the law exactly can drive my spouse nuts. All I need to do is get behind the wheel of our car.

When the speed limit says 30kmph, I do 30kmph. This is small town Japan after all. Little kids can run away when they see a car speeding towards them, but the sweet old lady of 99 doesn't stand a chance. So 30 it is.

Drive on an express highway at exactly the speed limit. So what if all other cars seem to be ignoring the speed limit.

Refuse to overtake the car in front of me. (The speed limit is 70kmph, I'm driving at 70kmph, the guy in front seems to be doing 70kmph, why should I follow the really bad example set by these dudes who are speeding?) Overtaking also means changing lanes. Too much trouble.

What is it about an European make of car that tends to let the nut behind the wheel delude himself into thinking he's Schumacher-ka-baap? Don't these prix realize there's no grand prize for being a pain?

Being first in line at the traffic light on a narrow road AND waiting to turn right. Too much pressure there. Japanese courtesy guarantees that no one's going to honk you out of your mind, but still... there's pressure.

I'd prefer to drive halfway around a parking lot, but I refuse to back up and park, or pull into a one-car space if I can avoid it. I need room. More room, less margin for errors.

Valet parking generates employment.

Reading Katakana

Katakana... sometimes a boon, sometimes a bane.

It's a boon when we see something written in Katakana. First of all, we can read what's written. Since chances of it being an English word are reasonably decent, there is a chance that we can not only read, but also understand what is written.

The painful part is to decipher it. Easiest way is to read it aloud, repeat it a few times, now add the thick accent of a Japanese person saying an English (sounding) word, and chances are (50-50) that you'll get it. Some of the more common words written in Katakana are ra-ji-o (radio), oo-i-su-ki (whisky) and do-a (door). Some are uniquely abbreviated in a Japanese style like te-re-bi (television) or ra-ji-ka-se (radio-casette player). Some need more than a few repetitions to get right ke-ki (cake), ku-tsu-ki (cookie) or mi-ru-ku (milk).

The bane of Katakana is to read names written so. Ku-ri-shi-yu-na-n is fairly straightforward. But I raised a racket at the hospital when they gave me the medical report of someone called Ooideiya. No jokes there. That's how my name's written in the Latin alphabet. This is after getting totally massacred by entering it the hospital computers in Katakana. After a few of Aditi's teachers struggled with reading my name, they now call me Aditi-chan-no-mama (the mother of little Aditi). And there my poor mother thought she was doing me a favour by giving me (what she thought was) a short and sweet name.

The real fun starts with movie titles. We want to watch a movie today. And I open the local cinema's online listing, and start to decipher. The first thing to do is eliminate all movie titles written in totally in Kanji or Hiragana. If it's part Kanji part Katakana, I'd read the Katakana bit before discarding it as a potential choice.

Once I start reading the Katakana, I repeat the word aloud a few times to see if it sounds meaningful in English. One of the movies playing today is ハリー ポッターと不死鳥の騎士団. The Katakana part reads Ha-Ree-Po-Tsu-Ta. Say that a few times, and you realise that it sounds like 'Harry Potter' spoken in a thick Japanese accent. And Harry Potter it is. The Kanji part reads "With horseman group of immortal bird". I am not making this up. Copy and paste that into Babel Fish, and see for yourself.

Well, we've watched Harry Potter. So what else is playing, asks A? There's to-ra-n-su-fu-o-ma. Say it aloud. Read it out a few times. Sounds like 'Transformer', doesn't it? Yes, that's the listing for Transformers. And there's fu-a-n-ta-su-te-i-tsu-ku-fu-o, mi-su-po-ta and also ra-tsu-shi-yu-a-va-3.

The last one is fairly easy. Think back on on the sequels and trilogies all this year, and it's not too hard to read that as Rush Hour 3. A is not too keen on watching what he calls 'boring movies' like Miss Potter.

Anyone wants to guess what movie we've finally decided to watch??

The phone rings (a true story)

0945 hours
First I swear a bit. What miserable life form would pick this time to call?? Just when I've sung lullabies and rocked the little one to sleep so I can get on with my day. Ah well, c'est la vie.

"Hello?" In Japan, if one answers hello, the calling party knows at once it's a foreigner. And more often than not, apologises and hangs up.
"Moshi moshi, a good day to you and all that. May I speak to Mr. Sato?"
"Sorry lady, but there's no Mr. Sato here."
"Is this the number .........?" and she rattles off my phone number.
"Well, that is the number, alright, but this is Mr. Krishnan's residence."
"That's alright, may I speak to Mr. Sato?"
"Lady, there is no Sato here, please check your records, this is not the number for Mr. Sato."
Some apologies. And she hangs up.

Keep in mind that these conversations are happening in rapid Japanese spoken at 2000 words per minute, and poor old moi responding at about 3 words a minute. And of course, everytime she pauses for breath, I ask her to repeat whatever she just said ever so slowly. And is smaller sentences, in easier words.

1005 hours
There goes the phone again.
Avani howls.
"Hello?"
"Moshi moshi, good morning and all that. It's me, that-ever-so-slightly-obstinate-person calling from your phone company. May I speak to Mr. Sato?"
For the love of God, "There's no one here who goes by the name of Mr. Sato. Could you please check your records?"
"But this is the number I have for Mr. Sato!"
"There is no Mr. Sato here. This is the residence of Mr. Krishnan."
After another flurry of apologies she hangs up again.

1030 hours
"Hello?"
"Moshi moshi, good morning and all that. Could I speak to Mr. Sato?"
I'd hoped against hope that the this lady would have acquired a modicum of common sense and figured out their records were wrong. I admire tenacity, but this is ridiculous. So I go,
"Could you please write down this name in the Romaji script?"
"Yes, of course. Could you spell it out for me?"
"K-R-I-S-H-N-A-N. Did you get that? Would you like me to repeat it?"
"No that's all right. Ku-ri-shu-nan. Is that right?"
"Perfectly right. This is the home of Mr. Krishnan. There is NO Mr. Sato here."
Phew... I think this ordeal is almost over. I thank too soon.
"Thank you so much. May I speak to Mr. Krishnan?"
"He's at work."
"May I speak to his wife?"
Who the &*%@ did she think was talking to her all this time??
"This is she."
"I want to speak to Mr. Sato."
After living in Japan for over a year, much as I try to emulate the exquisite Japanese courtesy, sometimes I lose my tenuous grip on my temper.
"THERE IS NO MR. SATO HERE? Can't you understand me?"
"Is this telephone number ..........?"
"Yes, this is that same telephone number. THERE IS NO ONE CALLED SATO IN THIS HOUSE."
"But this is the number I have for Mr. Sato."
I hang up.

And the phone rings again.
It's HER. I don't believe it. She's been sent by demons to torture me and not let my little one sleep.
My grip on civility is totally gone now. If she can be a pain, I can outdo her anytime.

I did what I should have done in the first place. I refused to speak any Japanese, or English. I spoke in Tamil, threw in some Hindi for good measure.

This time she hung up first.

And I took the phone off the hook.

And Mr. Sato, whoever you are, the phone company is trying to reach you desperately!
And you deserve to have your phone cut off and telephone services denied to you for the rest of your life.

Of facts and fiction

I love reading Perry Mason books. Earl Stanley Gardner's suave debonair lawyer is the cat's whiskers.

Half the time he has no case, keeps flummoxing the DA, untangles legal messes with the ease of a magician pulling rabbits out of a hat... I mean, it's all so unbelievably cool. Each time Perry Mason says, "Objection, your Honor. Objected to as incompetent, immaterial and irrelevant," I want to cheer.

Then there's movies.

"Milaad, Tazeerat-e-Hind dafa 302 ke tahat mulzim ko saza-e-maut diya jaaye."
For one thing that gives you an indication of just how many movies I might've watched.

You can almost picture (the usual suspects like) Sriram Lagoo, looking like a legal stalwart, standing there is those frumpy barrister robes and trying to look triumphant, smug and indignant at the same time.

That's somehow how I pictured court proceedings would run in real life. What do I know?

My best friend's wife is a lawyer, and on our last trip back home, A and I asked her whether people said all that in court. She gave us a look that almost said, 'Are you for real?' And proceeded to regale us with tales of what took place in the courts. In Bangalore at least.

Chaos reigns supreme. Prosecuting lawyer puts forth an argument. And (I quote exactly what she said, verbatim) "En saar... eneno helthare" (transliterates, Saar, what the heck is he saying?)

Whatever happened to "Objection, milaad!"

A stared. I stared too. Does nobody say Milaad anymore?? Doesn't the judge use his hammer to restore order in court? Has the motion picture industry lied to me all these years? I object.

Objection overruled.
Pardon me while I read some Perry Mason and restore some lost faith.