The Longest Year, Wrapped In a Quilt Made of Memories

The first year of eM's life truly drove home that cliche about the days being long but the years being short. That year, my god, it had the longest days I've ever encountered. I watched the clock constantly, feverishly, hysterically. I literally counted down the days till she'd hold her own head up, start eating solids, and just... stop *needing* me so much. I rolled through most of it on auto pilot. They say you forget the pain of delivery once you've had the baby. I say you just as easily forget those initial hellish weeks - when days blend into nights, and it feels like life will never be normal again. 

For this reason, I'm doubly glad that I journal-ed it all, uncensored. I think that if eM chooses to have a baby, she deserves the full unvarnished truth about just how bloody hard it can be. That's the story that the adorable pictures on Instagram don't tell. I don't want her thinking I was a great mother based on my easy delivery story or my choosing to breastfeed or whatever else. It's easy to look at the the advice I gave others on babywearing/diapering/baby books, and think I had it all figured out. The truth is, I floundered through that first year, and it caught me entirely by surprise. As I mentioned before, I haven't yet decided if I'll share the journal I wrote offline for eM on the blog - I'm too aware of an audience reading this.

Instead, for now, I'm sharing the other side of the coin - glimpses of the first year of parenting, in a retrospective nutshell. It's a lot easier to share, and no less true. That's the thing about parenting, and especially that first year - the highs are high, the lows are low, and there's almost no in-between where you can just catch your breath and get used to it all. It's really only once it passes that you realize - oh. That kind of had its amazing moments. And man, we made some awesome memories!

I won a giveaway hosted by Cookiie Pie Co a while ago, and my prize was a memory quilt made by Love Keepsake. I'd already donated many of eM's clothes, and used others in a quiet book I made her. Fortunately, there were a handful of special clothes I'd kept aside, and these were the ones I passed on to Love Keepsake to make into a quilt. My quilt is still in the mail, but here's a preview I got from the mompreneur who made it. This brings back so many memories:

The base - a purple fleece, was the one eM was first wrapped in. It was my very first pre-baby gift from the girls I was supposed to meet for bandi dosas on the night when eM was born! The base was reinforced with a blanket from a former work colleague, whom I bumped into again when we both attended a prenatal yoga class. We quit the yoga, and have shared many a sinful dessert together since instead! Here's to making new friends and rediscovering the old. There's nothing like having a baby to redefine your relationships. Nearly every friend I made or reconnected with in that first year gifted eM something which made it on to the memory quilt.

Then there's the kurta I had eM in because there was no time to change into a hospital gown. And the hospital gown she was first put in, an impossibly tiny shirt which was still way too big for our low birth weight baby. The first baby clothes she was gifted, which I put her in with trembling butter fingers, convinced I was going to break her.

There's the Carter's newborn sized onesie I tempted fate with and bought before she was born. I took pictures of her in that onesie every single month until she turned one (it went from being an oversize onesie to a too-short crop top, but that thing stretched for all it was worth!) As she grew older, there, too are her first pattu pavadai from her perimma. The dress she wore the first time we attempted a dinner date out, also the one she wore when she first stood up (and promptly plonked back down on her bottom, looking very pleased with herself). Her first pair of soft-soled Skips, which she barely wore, preferring to go barefoot. The outfit my uncle gifted her, which she wore for her first flight journey to meet A's grandparents. 

There's even the dress that someone sold me with a very obvious tear in it and refused to take back - a reminder of how mom dynamics sometimes work. And, on the other hand, the surprise first birthday shirt another mom I barely knew made for eM just because. Ah, moms. Mom friends, mom frenemies, mom rivalries. They're a topic for a whole other post, if not a novel.

Milestones, relationships, battles, victories. Every single square inch of that memory quilt has a story to tell, if not several. It is, in its own way, just as effective a journal as the one I wrote eM. I can't wait for the quilt to arrive so I can start telling her about the first year of her life.

PS: This quilt retails for 1500 + GST + shipping, if you're interested. Prices may vary depending on the size and materials you provide.

**

This post is part of #9daysofwomanhood which 24 other bloggers + I are celebrating throughout Navratri. You may have come here via my co-host Uttara's post introducing me, do stop by her blog if you haven't yet. Also check out Anubhuti's take over on her blog.

 Hosted By : #MyLittleMuffin #TheMomSagas #Mummasaurus #TheReadingMomster

Of Deliveries and Dosas

I, along with 24 other bloggers are celebrating #9daysofwomanhood throughout Navratri. I've never felt more fierce than during my labour, so this is an apt story with which to celebrate womanhood. Thanks for setting the stage for me Uttara - I loved your blog sharing your experience!

***

The gynac and I both stared at the machine monitoring my contractions. I'd come in for my regular 40th week check-up, and she'd suggested I check.

"You really don't feel that?" she asked.

"I feel... something," I said. Mostly the need for chocolate and a long walk, but the machine told me I was supposed to be in pain. 

"You're in early labour, and the contractions are pretty intense. If you're not in pain, I guess..." she trailed off. "Maybe you could come back later. Be prepared for the baby to come soon."

Uh, no. By now I'd realized that my doctor was the kind who preferred to be safe than sorry. She'd been saying the baby could come any day now for the last few weeks - thanks to my blood sugar being high and the baby's weight being low. But I'd continued to do my yoga, eat well, and hope for the best... and here we were at week 40. So you can excuse my taking her proclamation that I was going to have a baby soon with a pinch of salt. 

The next two days flew by as usual. I walked 2km twice a day, shopped a lot, and cooked + cleaned up the kitchen after myself. My mom tried to remind me that I was technically in labour, but I couldn't feel much more than standard PMS. After I wiped down the kitchen on the night of Feb 7, I SMS'ed my friends to make sure we were going bandi-hopping the next day. Hyderabad is famous for its street vendors who sell dosas from 2am onwards. By 5am, they're sold out. For some reason, I hadn't made it to a bandi yet, and I was itching to go visit one before I had the baby. 

"Just hold off for one more day," I told my belly. My due date was February 8, but I really wanted a Valentine's baby. I was hoping I could be like most other first time moms, who typically have their babies later than the due date. 

I switched from reading a good book to reading a horrible V.C.Andrews trash novel. It was outrageously bad, but I didn't have the mind space to read anything better. And I couldn't not read - that's how I put myself to sleep. For some reason, I was having more trouble concentrating than usual. When the husband came home at around 10:30pm, I was still struggling to make sense of the plot (in my defense, that plot makes NO sense.)

"Are you having contractions?" he asked. My mom had tipped him off that I'd cut my evening walk short by a little bit.

"No, I just need to poop. I'm going to Govind's bandi tomorrow morning, ok?" I said.

I shifted to the loo, but (excuse the TMI), I just felt massively constipated. I tried to figure out my book again, but couldn't. 

"Should we go to the hospital?" the husband asked.

"This is nothing!" I said, convinced by all the movies I'd seen and the reading I'd done that the pain would be a whole lot worse. "They'll send us back home. We can't go until the contractions get much closer. I'll go eat my bandi dosas tomorrow, and then we'll go to the hospital later."

(Yes, priorities, dosas over deliveries).

Pic courtesy machax.com

I downloaded a contraction timer anyway and tried to time them. They made no sense at all. They came close together and lasted a long while, then they spaced themselves out a bit, and lasted for a shorter duration. I was convinced they'd go away if I could only use the loo. Either way, they could certainly wait until 7am, by which time I could have eaten that dosa I'd been longing for.

"Is it paining?" the husband asked again, at around 3am, when he woke up to find me still on the loo.

"No! I just want to sleep!" I said, trying to figure out what the hell my book was saying. Little did I know I wasn't going to sleep though the night again for the next two and a half years (and bloody counting).

At around 4:15am, I realized I wasn't going to get my bandi dosa after all. I figured I was going to be that woman who went to the hospital and was told to go back home because this pain was nothing. Still, I figured I may as well go, mostly because I wasn't able to sleep anyway, and my husband was starting to get annoyed at my denial of any pain. The Uber driver was petrified I was going to have the baby in his cab, and sped through the nearly deserted roads. In retrospect, I'm lucky I didn't have the baby in our loo. We barely made it to the hospital. A duty nurse inspected me casually... all my research about long first-time labours and contraction intervals made me so sure I wasn't experiencing the real thing, I was quite calm. To my surprise, she said, "Don't move! I'm calling the doctor."

My gynac made it over in ten minutes flat, despite it being a Sunday. Next thing I knew, the room was full of people, and they said I was going to have a baby very soon. I figured they were exaggerating to make me feel good about myself, I was still sort of embarrassed that I'd come all the way to the hospital before I was in 'labour proper.' I asked if I could please use the loo, and the doctor said no, because what I was feeling wasn't poop, it was the baby. That's probably when I realized this was actually happening. The next five minutes were a blur. My waters were burst with a shepherd's hook, and the baby came out in record time. So fast, in fact, that I had to have an episiotomy so that I wouldn't tear brutally. Honestly, those episiotomy stitches hurt more than the labour. My doctor kept telling me not to tense up, and reminding me that I'd barely felt labour. There's no comparison, this was so much worse! I was tempted to ask for an epidural. 

Somewhere in there, I managed to ask if it was a boy or a girl. I'd won the birth lottery of my dreams, it was a girl! I can't get over how lucky I felt in that moment; to have not just a healthy baby with an unfussy delivery, but also a girl. It's everything I'd ever wanted. There were tears from my gynac, who couldn't believe how quickly it all went. Yeah, me neither. A few minutes later, I was blissfully feeding my daughter, and that's how I became a mom. Bang on my expected due date, with irregular contractions and no water bursting. Sometimes all the reading you do doesn't prepare you; you get to be the lucky exception to every first-time-labour rule. 

Oh, and I'm still waiting to go bandi hopping (or get a full night's sleep!) a good two years later :D If you've a labour story to share, I'd love to hear it! You can check out my co-blogger Anubhuti's story for today here. 

 Hosted By : #MyLittleMuffin #TheMomSagas #Mummasaurus #TheReadingMomster

Raising an easy baby

We're fast approaching the end of the 4th trimester. It's been going great. When people ask, that's what I usually say - great, or fun, or amazing. I say eM's a chilled out baby, or that she's easy. They ask if she sleeps 'through the night,' and I respond that she's doing really well; she sleeps all that she can be expected to. I'm asked if she cries a lot, and I say: she's a happy baby, it's easy to comfort her. And given I say it with a wide smile, and am clearly relaxed, they all agree she's the best baby there ever was. I wholeheartedly agree with that summation!

But here's the thing: I don't objectively think she's any easier or more difficult than the average baby. What she is, is a baby. Her brain & body are constantly developing. Expecting her to actually sleep or smile through all those changes, especially when she doesn't have the words to understand them, is bizarre.

She adapts as best as she can. Sometimes that means wanting to be held for hours in the middle of the night. Other times, it means celebrating with her as she figures out her legs can splash, or that she has fingers, or whatever else. Either way, the important thing to note here is that she can't help any of it. She's not throwing a fit for lack of anything better to do. She's not at her best behavior just because we have company. You really can't hold her accountable for anything just yet!

I understand people ask these questions as a way to make conversation, but I don't want my child to be called 'good' or 'bad' for the sake of conversation. I get that she can't understand these words just yet, but I just don't see the point of having these convenient judgments repeated. At best, you'll be able to ignore them, because they'll change by the day. At worst, you'll subconsciously start to believe them. Difficult babies seem to be  a matter of perception. It's easier when you acknowledge your baby probably isn't doing anything other babies don't.

I think people also ask you about these details because they want to sympathize with you. But it seems unfair to say that the baby's been awake every hour, on the hour; if I'm not also able to say, "I think it's a growth spurt," or "She's due for a wonder week about now." It's not like the baby has the words to get her point across, after all. When I understand why she's doing what she's doing, it doesn't make the long hours less tiring, but it does let me be the adult in the equation.

I'm not in denial here. She doesn't cry "a lot", however that's defined, because I hate letting her. When that means bouncing her and walking around for four hours, I do that. She sleeps "well", because she only wakes up when she's hungry, and she only stays awake when she can't figure out how to go back to sleep. Again, if that means singing 'Twinkle Twinkle' forty times in a row (with the hand movements!) every two hours, I'll do it. And I'll still say she's sleeping as well as can be expected, and mean it. She's not forming bad habits, she's forming herself. It's impossible to spoil someone by taking care of them when they're confused or need reassurance.

So how do you raise an 'easy' baby? Simply, by being an easy parent. Don't expect anything from the baby just yet. Sure, it's exhausting at times, uplifting at others, and a dazed blur for the most part. But I have a happy baby, and a healthy one. Those are the only labels I'll ever accept for her. Onwards & upwards!

2014

If ever a year deserved a round-up/wrap-up senti look-back type post, it was this one. 

And that's all I can say without falling into maudlin stereotypes that won't begin to do it justice. So I'll stop there, and wish us all a very happy new year. 

May 2015 bring you more luck, more laughs, and more opportunities to throw caution to the wind in the heady pursuit of real happiness :)

Changing the Rules

I'm completely rubbish at being Indian - I didn't think twice about leaving my husband at home while I travelled around for two months, but the idea of staying at one of our parents' places for the last two months of pregnancy is absolutely untenable. 

I have a great set of parents - natural, as well as the ones I inherited when I married. Both sets go all out to take care of me. But that's hardly the point. Marriage, as I see it, is a partnership. If you choose to parent, that becomes an inherent part of that partnership. Why, with all due respect, should we change the rules during pregnancy? Anyone else who wants to get involved is welcome but not, to be perfectly honest, vital.  

Is this just one more of those traditions that everyone takes at face value because it's too much trouble to question? I agree that if you stay in a joint family rather than with just your husband, you may be happier at your parents' place when you're heavily pregnant. But otherwise, I just don't see the logic. As long as you marry someone who's really your equal in every way, it's absurd to suggest you'd be more comfortable at your parents' house than in your own. I genuinely don't think I could be pampered at my parents' place any more  than I already am in my own. 

When he realized we're going from Double Income No Kids
to No Income One  Kid

Yes, I obviously do more work in my own house. But cooking for two or three people is hardly a hardship, especially given I'll have a maid around to clean up and wash the dishes. India, of all countries, really isn't a place where house work is ever very hard to conquer. Outsource the cooking if it gets too hard, or even the grocery shopping - in my opinion, it would be worth the slight additional expense to have A around.

He has been my partner on every step of this journey. He comes with me to doctor's appointments, and inspects maternity wards, occasionally even without me. His role does not - it can not - end when I'm seven months pregnant and begin again once I come back home with a 3-month old baby. He deserves to experience the birth of his baby... he has no less right to any of this than I do. He's the one I'm having this baby with. He is not some person who has visitation rights over weekends.

There are quite a few things that I do because I'm Indian, regardless of whether I personally believe in them or not. As I see it, if doing something doesn't trouble me, and if it pleases my relatives or my in-laws, I'm happy to oblige. But this is one of those times when tradition's just going to have to suck it up. 

First weekend of 2013

Sunrise... at 9am. I was out grocery shopping at 7, and at 9, the roads were still empty. I love the feeling of being awake while the whole city slumbers on... though this weekend, I think I'll enjoy slumbering right on, along with everyone else!

Met a college friend who moved here with her husband last week. We did a photography course back then, and she used to be one of my favorite models. Look how tall & gorgeous she is! (I'm wearing heels so I almost match up).

Her husband found me Priya Vadumaanga. If you haven't had this with curd rice in the summer, you don't know what you've missed out on. Completely made my weekend.

Had too much of a leaky nose to risk the pickle though. Made a huge batch of soup instead, and devoured it in between three laundry runs (the price of a long vacation - piles & piles of laundry).

Went out for dinner with a couple of people. They very generously offered to eat at a vegetarian place so I'd have more options...

... and then we went to an open mic night which had  some surprisingly good originals along with a bunch of mediocre to good classics rehashed. Though noone expected a rendition of The Phantom of the Opera. Definitely not standard karaoke fare, but so fun!

Hello again, brain: My new job

24 September, 2012

I'm exactly five blog posts behind schedule at the moment - I meant to write about Panama, a writer's group I wrote with (oh, the irony), the Cider Festival, Opera Briefs, and (and this probably explains why none of the other posts have materialized), my new job. 

I was super kicked when I heard I got the job, particularly since it meant I'd finally get to introduce myself in Toronto as a single entity rather than a part of a couple (RIP 10,000 versions of this conversation - Person: So, what do you do?/What are you doing in Toronto? | Me: Well, I moved here with my husband, his job transferred him, so...) 

It's been a week since I started working, and it's definitely the most challenging role I've taken up so far - as you can probably tell by the fact that I tweet about once in two days at the moment (my personal internet time's been relegated to between 6:50am and 7:20am). But I love feeling like I'm stretching myself and I'm looking forward to seeing where it goes.

My office is about half an hour away, but there's an underground path pretty much from my house, all the way up to the reception at my workplace. It makes me feel like the boy who dug a route to China, it's kind of lovely not having to be above ground and combating traffic at all. Plus, I've discovered that the subway's so smooth, it can't even give me motion-sickness, so I've been polishing off a book a day on the commute. Now that's what I call productive use of my time.

Tomorrow's one of those pressure-packed days where I've back-to-back meetings, including lunch & dinner appointments (alleluiah! no 6:15am-6:45am lunch prep for me!). My husband's schedule conveniently cooperated by making his day like that today (double bonus! early dinner for just me!). So I've the next hour to catch up on all those posts. Here we go.

Panama
Writer's Group
City Cider Festival
The New Job

Mid-week Treats

August 31, 2012


We stay in Downtown Toronto, and it's summer. It seems almost sacrilegous to take a metro pass when everything is within walking distance (walking distance being 6km given the lovely weather... and the fact that I feel guilty about not hitting the gym as often as I could. Read: ever).

But. When you travel the metro pass way, you suddenly see all these ads about fun events you may otherwise never have heard of. Like the Old Town Toronto re-enactment of the 1812 Battle of York. History fascinates me, and I've been trying to read/watch more about Canada's, so I was really looking forward to this.


Unfortunately, when I got to Berzy park at noon yesterday, all I saw was this:

Not a soldier in sight! I was extremely disappointed, especially having double-checked their Twitter account for updates on the 1812 show before I left the house.

Serious decadence

The husband kindly improved my mood though, by whisking me off for a surprise lunch. Everyone keeps saying summer's over, (though it's still 25 degrees out) so to make the most of the remaining sunshine, we ate a giant fudge brownie sundae on the park-benches lining Yonge Street as part of the Celebrate Yonge summer event (and, because my mum's reading this, I should clarify that's not all we ate for lunch =))

Of this, that, and the nothing

August 11, 2012

Scary immortal flowers

These are undoubtedly mutant flowers. It's been three weeks since I put them in a no-sunlight no-water air-conditioned environment, and they're still surviving. If only plants that were still attached to their roots behaved like that, I'd totally grow my own herbs.

I'm torn between awe at the flowers' resilience and worry about any produce I buy being similarly mutated. Either way, it's a good thing to bear in mind as I go into this week's TEDx salon on where our food comes from (I wrote about my last TEDx experience here).

In the meanwhile, the weather's like something out of a Bollywood movie. It's glorious sunshine one minute, and then it rains long enough for you to have a song-and-dance sequence (if you're so inclined) before being sunny again. The husband has tickets to the Roger's Cup semifinals, and it strikes me as being less tennis, more gambling - if Djokovic and Tipsarevic play for 40 minutes before it rains, there are no refunds. Time will tell.

To tide me over the weekend

As you can see, this post has no real point - it's more of a guilty update because I realize I've been ignoring this space of late. What can I say? I discovered the Toronto Public Library, and I'm completely devoted to it.

They do have wifi though, so I should make it a point to take my laptop along more often and just blog from there.

The Joy of Doing Absolutely Nothing: Visit to the Toronto Islands

July 23, 2012

Ever since we got to Toronto, I've been philandering around town checking out my new home-city. My husband, on the other hand, has largely been to work. And back. And repeat. (Hey I've to get some sadistic kicks out of being in between jobs :)) 

To make up for the lost time and reward me for being such a patient uncomplaining dedicated wife (my words, not his, unfortunately), the husband whisked me off for a surprise all-day picnic on the Toronto Islands this Sunday. He'd bought flowers home on Friday, and done the laundry on Saturday, so this was the absolute icing on the cake. Yes, I'm aware that I'm super lucky :) He's a ridiculously good husband.

From Toronto.ca

We turned our mobile phones' data off, picked up some books, and went off to have a touristy picnic on the Toronto Islands. Over the course of the day, we walked the 7-ish km between the three islands, read a lot, and reveled in doing absolutely nothing. The islands themselves are beautiful - you can see the city if you look really hard, but largely you see trees on one side, the beach on the other. It's a writer's haven. I should take along a journal next time.

Visiting the islands gave us a chance to see, in person, how much the coastline of Toronto had changed over the years. The former lighthouse is now in the middle of a landlocked territory. It supposedly takes nature only 10 years to reclaim urban land if left unhindered. That's scarily impressive. Very Jumanji.

I was delighted with how superbly maintained it all is though. These are the things that your admittedly super-high income tax goes into preserving. While I haven't felt the pinch of my own salary being deducted yet, I can see how it's worth it when you're spending a Sunday unwinding. I also wondered, as always, when the Ontario Tourism Board's going to start seriously promoting eco-tourism. It'd be a definite hit.

Moanday Blues

July 9, 2012

People often remind me that I just got to Toronto, and that I should enjoy my downtime between jobs. That sounds perfectly logical, and it was definitely helpful when I was searching for a house. But at the end of the day, as geeky as it sounds, not working is really just not my thing. As you can probably tell from how much stuff I did in TO last month, I'm not a stay-at-home person. 

That said, being in between jobs does have one enormous benefit: no Monday blues! It's almost worth it every time I see my husband angrily snooze his alarm every Monday morning. The simple sadistic pleasures of life. Not so this Monday though.

Today's been crazily busy. I've had to try tracking down a plumber and a handyman (when it rains, it pours - as my kitchen sink can tell you!). Then there was the coordination between various security personnel, the service elevator in the building, and deliverymen. I've been doing some research for an ex-company, and that means talking to a whole bunch of people.

In the background, I've been working on putting together content for a website in memory of my 100 year old grandfather. Much as I appreciate your support through this blog, I think he deserves a more concrete tribute, and I'm working on building it. That'll also be the place to look for more Mission: Obama updates as they happen.

Let's not forget that now that I technically found a house and have more or less furnished it, I have to officially start looking for a job. I do have a wishlist, but overall, I'm looking for something in the online marketing space, so let me know if you hear of something.

It's been the most emotionally draining weekend with the unexpected news about my granddad, and I don't feel up to doing too much this week other than deal with the stuff above. But I am going to be at the TedX Tuesday tomorrow, and I'm still going to volunteer with The Festival of India.

Mostly though, this is a heads-up that you may not hear too much from me for a bit.

Thank you

July 8, 2012



The internet's a strange place.

It gives you bad news faster than you wanted to hear it. But it also sends you instant reassurance from around the world.

Honestly, when I wrote the Mission Obama and Thatha posts, I was in a state of complete shock and grief. I didn't stop to think if there was a 'better' approach to the whole thing. I didn't even do a reality check to see if the whole thing made any sense, or if I should wait for a while, or whatever else I'd say if I was my usual self.

I'm touched by the number of you who responded by sharing and offering to spread the word. You make me believe this is something that's worth attempting. Thank you for all your support. It means a lot.

Mission Obama: In memory of my grandfather

July 6, 2012

My grandfather's '100 Not Out'
cricket themed cake

Not many people can say they have a grandfather who's a 100 years old (and counting!) Even fewer can say that their 100 year old grandfather goes in to work every day, talks to clients, and refuses to retire, because he'd be, and I quote him, bored at home. He's a definite personality, and he makes sure our lives are anything but boring! Last month, his US visa got approved. He planned to tour through the US, stopping at various relatives' places before going on to meet Obama. He was very decisive on that agenda item: he wanted to meet Obama.

He'd tell anyone who cared to listen that he'd met Gandhi and Bradman, and now it was time to add Obama to the list. I'm not sure what my grandfather wanted to tell the president, no doubt he had some interesting insights on US politics over the last century. It became a standing joke in my family - everyone knew the US agenda included a visit to the White House, and none of us had any doubts that he'd make sure it happened. He was that kind of man.

My grandparents
at the Eiffel Tower

Unfortunately, my grandfather was suddenly hospitalized last week, and I just heard that he passed away this morning. I've been in shock ever since - how does someone live to be a 100, and still have things left to tick off their to-do list? My grandfather lived a long, happy life, but he still had some living to do. You've no idea how much that thought hounds me.

I wish I'd found a flight that could get me to India in time for his funeral. I can't control that, but I am going to do everything in my power to ensure that meeting with Obama happens, in his honor. I've no doubt he'd have charmed his way into the White House without too much trouble (the universe has a funny way of ensuring that 100 year olds get whatever they want!) I can only hope I inherited some of his persuasiveness and tenacy, and that I can work my way in.

I'd greatly appreciate your taking the time to share this with everyone you know, because you never know if they know someone who can help me with this. It may take me a whole lot longer than it'd have taken him, but this is something I'm going to do, no matter how long it takes. I'm reachable at c.akshaya.n@gmail.com. Please spread the word.

My grandfather, at office,
last month

Thatha

July 6, 2012

My grandfather's cricket themed '100 not out' b'day cake

Not many people can say they have a grandfather who's a 100 years old... and counting. Obvious bragging rights aside, it teaches you a lot. Speaking to him makes you feel just a little bit humbler about your own life. He has stories about all the people he's met, and he can tell you, in great detail, exactly how their conversation went. When we celebrated his 100th birthday a few months ago, I wanted to write about him. I wanted to write about how happy he was to be alive, how curious he still was about everything around him, how completely dedicated to his work (he went to office every day of his life, nearly!)... and I wanted to write about the moment when he turned to me and said, 'Sometimes, I wonder why God chose to have me live this long.'

My grandfather at his b'day party

The move to Toronto came along almost right after that, and in the flurry of getting ready, I forgot all about it. Then, last week, I got an email saying he'd fallen sick all of a sudden. That day, I was one of those people on the subway arbitrarily bursting into tears. Every time I saw someone older by themselves, I thought of him and resented them for being on the subway while he lay in the hospital. I know he's a fighter, you don't live to be 100 without being one, but at that age, you tend to worry about anything that happens, even though he was in perfect health before that. He recovered, of course he would, that's what we're all used to. Soon enough, he was asking my mom and anyone else who was around about everything from the nurses' salaries to my job search in Toronto. I let out the breath I'd barely known I was holding. Life was back to normal. And again, I resolved to blog about him, about the feeling of knowing he was there in the background in my life.

I just heard that he passed away this morning. I saw him a month ago, he told me he'd come visit me in Toronto, but that I shouldn't expect too much of his time because he had friends there too. I look around the house, and I see the painting I'd made before we left, a painting he looked at and decided it should be bigger. I look at my phone, a phone he proclaimed far too big. My grandfather had an opinion on everything, and he made sure we all knew it. 

I've no idea what the joke was,
but it beat Chennai's heat!

He was a man who lived a long, good, full, happy life, with a huge family that adored him and constantly got together to let him know it. We spoiled him and he enjoyed it, content in the knowledge that he had a rapt audience. He was constantly amused by life and laughed his way through it. I'm glad he had family around him in the hospital, it gave him a chance to play the role of storyteller which he enjoyed so much. Now that he's gone, I realize the extent to which I'll miss him, and it surprises even me. 

He was the storyteller fixture when I was growing up, the person with all the questions about my work when I went home once I started working, the person who came home after office with my dad and uncle. I'm not sure what my life looks like with him gone. He's touched so many people's lives, that his absence is hard to even contemplate. He'll be missed.


PS: I'm trying to make this project, Mission Obama happen, in his honour. Please spread the word and let me know if you know anyone who can help. I'm reachable at c.akshaya.n@gmail.com. Thanks.

An Ode to Ikea Furniture Assembly Service

July 5, 2012

Here's something every first-time Ikea visitor should know: the cheaper a product, the more assembly it's probably going to require! Even small footstools require at least four nails to be drilled in before they'll stand up, so you can imagine the kind of time and patience it'd take to put together furniture for an entire house.

We didn't even try. Instead, we chose to hire Ikea Furniture Assembly Service, a company we found on Kijiji.   While there are many Ikea furniture assembly services online (there's even one that Ikea has exclusive tie-ups with) we chose this particular company over all the others: they clearly stood out, with their prompt response to our enquiry, their ready availability (my email said 'asap!' and they responded that they could be there within hours for immediate furniture assembly, and be back the next day for the less-urgent pieces) and their more-than-fair prices (we sent them a list of every single item in our house and they replied with an overall quote that was lower than any we'd seen or hoped to expect!)

The owner, Ivan, was in constant communication, and offered to further discount the price for a review on their G+ page. This made me very happy. As an ex-employee of Google, I'm always happy when anyone understands G+'s uses as a marketing medium. I also believe that when a company offers to knock money off in exchange for a review, they're very confident they're going to hear good feedback. It's always a great sign.

I had no idea just how good their service would be. I truly believe this company's even better than the one Ikea endorses. Michael came over at 5:15pm sharp and went right to work. He had all the tools he needed with him, they were a very professional set and helped him get the job done in minimal time. It took until 11:30pm (!) for everything to be assembled, we had a lot of stuff... but Michael never seemed to tire, and, in fact, said he'd leave only when everything was fully done.

I particularly remember a couple of moments, when Michael realized that there was a more effective way of holding a piece of furniture together (eg: by nailing the cushion on a footstool to the footstool's base). He went back to the piece he'd already worked on, took it apart, and put it back together again. We know that we'll be using sturdy, well-finished pieces thanks to Michael. He was also really helpful with proactive suggestions on lighting and wall mounting.

Though it was 11:30 at night when he finished, and he had a 3 hour journey before he'd get home, he flattened all the furniture boxes, taped them together, and even offered to sweep the floor (not that there was any mess, he was very careful to always work on a covered surface and keep his tools on a separate cloth). This was easily the best customer service I've ever seen and I'm going to do my best to make sure they're re-hired by anyone I know!

PS: I'd take pictures of our beautifully assembled furniture but the internet companies aren't as quick to respond as Ikea Furniture Assembly Service and they'll only be here next week :)

A Short Stay at One King West

July 4, 2012

Pictures from website

I've finally sufficiently recovered from my exhausting weekend... thanks, no doubt, to the fantastic hospitality at One King West Hotel. In my earlier post, I'd mentioned that my husband whisked us away to the lap of four-star luxury, and after two days here, I'm inspired enough to write about it all.

For those of you who haven't heard about it before, One King West sits on the intersection of Yonge and King West (very close to the subway, to appeal to the lazy!) It's easy to pick the building out among the other buildings in this core downtown location - it's the one that looks like it's stepped right out of a history book.

The building was home to the original Michie & Co Grocers & Wine Traders in the mid-1800's, and The Dominion Bank bought it in 1879. The Dominion Bank (now known as Toronto-Dominion Bank or TD) quickly rose to fame and the building rose with it... literally, to become a 12-story skyscraper in 1914. The bank continued some operations in the vintage building until 1999 (finally, a year that I can recall!) when Stanford Downey Architect bought the property and re-purposed it for residential living.

You can find the entire story, along with some great pictures of the old bank, on the One King West website. Walking in past some very 21st century pizza joints and clothing stores, I loved the feeling of entering another era at One King West. The high ceilings, the slightly dark lighting of what must have been the bank's entryway... it all transports you immediately to what business in Toronto may have looked like a hundred years before.

The rooms are surprisingly well-equipped (kitchenette with microwave, fridge, cutlery, a toaster + kettle; washer, dryer, desk, chair, sofa, chest of drawers, ironing board, iron... why don't I just move in here and call it home?) and fairly big considering it is Downtown Toronto. You get a choice between a room with a view of the Harbourfront and a room with a bathtub in the restroom. You can probably figure out which one I went with - it'd been a long week!

As a foodie, I have to proclaim myself more than satisfied with the menu too - not too pricey considering the ambiance, plenty of vegetarian options, and, my favorite, a menu full of options available after 11pm! Now that's something that's near impossible to find in this city.

My only slight quibbles were with the TV, which also seemed to have stepped out of the 1900's, and with the internet (free wifi only in the lobby, you've to pay to use it in your room. Surprising enough from a 4-star hotel, but if you're paying to use it, surely you don't have to enter a very long pass code every three hours when it times itself out? Aurgh.)

That aside though, it's been a fantastic visit and I'm going to miss the friendly staff and the efficiency of staying here when we leave. I'll have to come back to sample more dishes off their menu.

My first Canada Day Weekend in Toronto

July 1, 2012

What do people do on Canada Day? Popular consensus said they go to cottages, eat tons, check out the Pride Parade... essentially, do anything, just don't stay home. It seemed like the whole of Toronto was on the road in front of our new condo! We ended up having to cart our luggage through the subway station and into the condo, since there was no way of getting in from the street entrance. Wince.

Picture from Niagara Falls site

By the time we finally finished the four (!) trips it took to move all our stuff in, it was time to head over to the Niagara Falls for some family time. Though I don't have very many relatives in Canada (by Indian standards anyway!), an uncle-type relative was visiting, and that meant a get-together of sorts at the Niagara Falls.

When we got to the Falls, we realized we'd been mistaken - not everyone in TO was watching the Pride Parade, the rest were all at the Falls! The five minutes of fireworks provided a nice touch against the mist of the Niagara, but it took us five. hours. to drive back to Milton (the journey to the Falls took only an hour, for some context). Talk about the theory of relativity in action! 

We were exhausted by the time we got back, and unanimously voted to just book a hotel room and hit the casinos if we do this again. That said, I definitely needed the family time this week. It's been a painfully long one, with my grandfather being hospitalized and the physical exhaustion of shifting houses and picking out furniture. Some good home-cooked Indian food and catching up on family picture albums were just what I needed to catch my breath a little.

Picture from Expedia

And when we got back to town, my husband surprised me with reservations at a four-star hotel, because, like he says, we definitely deserve it :) So we're now at  a super comfy suite at One King West, which is arguably the most character-filled hotel you can find downtown (let me know if there are others!) I'm enjoying life in the lap of luxury and feeling blissfully spoiled. 

All in all, a long weekend with the motto 'all's well that ends well.'

What did you do for Canada Day?

Moving to Toronto, Moving in Toronto

29 June, 2012

Moving to Toronto was easy enough. My husband's company transferred us, and took care of all the (boring) paperwork. AirBnB hooked us up with a fantastic temporary accommodation. The City of Toronto gave us SIN numbers without protest. Et voile, we were here! 

Moving in Toronto, on the other hand, is a lot harder. Anyone who's tried to find a condo in the city in June/July can tell you that everyone in the city is looking for a condo in the city in June/July. You can count on apartments listed on Craigslist and Kijiji to be scooped up within the hour, and if they aren't... well, it's usually for a reason.

Such as that the bathroom in the apartment doesn't have a door. Or that the apartment has someone illegally camping out in it, who refuses to open the door to someone who wants to legally move in. Or because the appliances in the apartment look older than my grandfather. And he's 100 years old, no joke.

The whole process would have been infinitely annoying given we wanted to move asap. I think our real estate agent, Samantha Johnson, was the main reason it stayed fun and optimistic. She'd show up in her super-huge car, drive me around town, and ensure that we saw any house worth seeing. I can't emphasize enough how professional and helpful she was. 

The pros of having an agent, when you're new to the city:

- They have access to all the listings on MLS and can find you flats per your specifications

- You usually get taken around, so you don't waste time trying to figure out where things are/walking a roundabout route because Google Maps made you

- Since you likely don't have a credit history yet, it helps to have someone rooting for you and making your case

- You get to see flats at your convenience, rather than trying to coordinate with the owner for a time when he'll be there to personally give you the key

The cons of having an agent, when you're new to the city:

- If a listing's not on MLS, they usually won't know about it. So you may be missing out on a good deal from someone who's unwilling to hire an agent.

- The agent himself/herself! I've heard horror stories about real estate agents in Toronto feeding you false information, hustling you to hurry, and even threatening you because their commission depends on your cooperation. 

Not so with Sam. If you're thinking of hiring a real estate agent, I'd definitely unhesitatingly recommend her. We're moving into our new condo this weekend, and though it ended up being one that we found through friends (it wasn't listed on MLS), I know I'd definitely call Sam if we were looking for a house again. 

Canadian Summer Tradition: BBQ Sundays

June 24, 2012

As I mentioned in one of my earlier posts, my husband and I are temporarily staying at a house we found through AirBnB. It's great, because it gives us an opportunity to experience life in a true Toronto-style townhouse for a while, before we move to a far more convenient-to-maintain condo. 

The place where we're staying has a great rooftop garden. Inspired by the rooftop + the lovely weather we've been having, we decided to make like Canadians and fire up the barbeque. My husband donned his figurative apron and did an admirable job of roasting and grilling our snacks. All the time that he had the grill on, we were providing constructive commentary, such as 'But why would people do this? An oven's so much easier!' And you know what? An oven is so much easier, but the food made on that grill tasted so good!

Maybe it was because it had been marinating longer. Maybe it was the great outdoors. Possibly the charred smokiness in each bite. There's definitely something to it.

In other news of a culinary nature, I'm celebrating the anniversary of the first time I cooked at home for my husband. Yes, I really do remember these dates. I blame it on my Economics classes in high school, I'm cursed to remember random numbers forever more! Anyway, I baked a tiny little cake and plan to spring a surprise on him. It's safe to say he doesn't remember the date. It's hard to blame him... he probably didn't concentrate on Economics in school.

A Morning at City Hall

June 18, 2012

Picture from City of Toronto website

Everyone in Toronto has to have an SIN number, whether they're immigrants or on temporary work permits. I'd been putting off a trip to City Hall to register for mine... largely because when I pity Government offices of any kind, I picture long waits, tons of documentation, and plenty of tedious form filling. Suffice to say that I'd reached my month's quota of form filling by the time I cleared customs and immigration.

It was only when I realized that I need a SIN number to even apply for jobs that I set out for City Hall on the double. I have to say, I  like the old City Hall building a lot, it's bursting with character and reminds me, oddly, of India. The new building, though, is bursting with efficiency and I was super impressed with how easy it was to figure out which line to join, what form to fill (it had just 8 questions!) and so on.

I'll get my SIN 10 days from now, and then this move may start to feel more real than it has so far. We're still living out of suitcases, in temporary accommodation courtesy AirBnB (a website I highly recommend to people visiting cities and looking for cost efficient home-like spaces in which to stay) and this is my first concrete step towards being less of a tourist and more of a here-I-am. I've met so many people in the last few days, and they always tell me where they're from, and when Toronto became their new home. I guess my story probably starts around here.*Big grin*