Morning Walks

 

It has been wet for a couple of months. Oddly enough the monsoon seems to have a vindictive sense of humour. We had begun a daily walk my father and I some months back. We would pass the “Japang pansala” till we reached the Buddha statue. From the house to this destination and back it would take us close to an hour. I had to wake up at 5.50 a.m. drag appachchi out of bed for this purpose. Amma was fast asleep and we would swing out, umbrellas in hand for our daily dose of exercise – for me to lose all that fat I’ve been accumulating and appachchi to keep his sugar levels in check. This went on for a while quite well till uncle Rane (next door neighbour) got bit by a dog on the same route. Upon hearing this and conveying the entire story at home, much to my mother’s delight the walks were halted for fear of being bitten by the same dog or worse some other mad dog. “mang kiwwe mang kiwwe, you are trying to kill this man” my mother declared with glee. Once again, her reasons for not joining the walk had been validated. Appachchi and I had compared notes on the prospective biters that we had seen on the way. There were too many and all looked quite capable of taking a jab at your shins. Apparently these things let you pass and then when you are not looking attack you from the back. Very un-dog like behaviour if you ask me. But the fat was beginning to show and the sugar levels were on the rise, so dogs aside, we started it again – this time on a different route- to the parliament and back. A week passed and just as we were getting ourselves into shape the rains hit hard. Both of would stare at the rain and then at each other and sigh. Amma cemented our feelings with “Wasse kohomoda walks yanne ai ara machine eka padinne puluwanne” . She would smirk and walk off. She was referring of course to the Orbi-trek which was lying in the porch serving as a clothes hanger. And so the walks stopped.

 

While I could continue without exercise regardless of my sumo arms, appachchi had to find ways and means of keeping the sugar levels in check. Recent reports showed that amma was 120 while his  was at coma level. The man was walking about happily nevertheless. He would pop 12 pills a day- atenalol, cardiprin, vitamin, minipres, minidaib, and on and on. Still the sugar levels were high. Then suddenly, Seneviratne aunty had told both of them how “water therapy” could be used to control sugar levels. So it was that each morning both would drink hot water and wait for 45 minutes before consuming anything – not even tea. In addition to which they were also drinking some “mal”- yes yes you read that right. The sepalika flowers were sun dried and hot water would be poured over the flowers and kept for about 5 minutes before both of them would gulp the stuff down. The side effects or effects of this drink on sugar levels were not proven infact they were not known- who in heaven’s name would research this stuff anyway. It made them happy. My mother’s words of wisdom on the issue of rising levels of sugar would be “maluth biwwane, it’ll be fine”. Fortunately for me the weather seems to be turning and we agreed today, appachichi and I that we could begin our early morning walks tomorrow. Tomorrow……

 

Routine changes

 

The “water therapy” business was seriously hampering my early morning routine. Beep beep beep beep beep beep- shit!!! Shut the darned thing off- Dash out of bed at 7.00, peee, switch  on the geezer- go back to bed for 15/20 minutes- jump out at 7.30 – iron saree in 5- walk downstairs for tea- NO TEA- where’s the tea? Amma looks at me – seated on her chair- in her sleeveless nightdress- “ahhhh I haven’t made tea yet because appachchi and I drink tea after 45 minutes”- Oooookaaayyy- this was not how the routine was supposed to go- I was to get the tea- drink it while eating a date – rush upstairs wash, get ready, eat my fruit salad/cereal/orange juice and be on my way- . I was thrown to say the least- the clock was ticking- no tea- had to do the loo/wash thing and then drink tea-straaaange order of things- it messed up everything.  Still all these things will change when I have to get up at 5.50 a.m. for the walk tomorrow- everything would change then…… god I love the rain.

 

Glamour and all that jazz

 

I had just had my dose of glam- bought Femina, Adoh! and “Hi”- the society magazine and poured over them with Goose and mother at work. They were very busy – “can’t wait for long”- both say to me frowning-I wave the magazines in their face and chairs were pulled up – and we looked extremely busy- at least to our boss who peeped in to see what this major discussion was all about- discussing important things like “had PM really had a facelift or a botox” , “can any human being actually look that great at that age?”- whatever that age maybe-“Who are all these people and how come we never get invited to these parties?”. Giggling at the Colombo Glitz- we are pleased that none of us would ever wear such clothes. Most of them looked like the Delhi Glitz- the slow but sure invasion of the Indian Culture. We looked on in disdain- the superiority of knowing that we would never be features there and the assurance that there would be no thirty something gals laughing at us- as comic relief –as time out -from work. Yeaooooooooowwww!!!!!!! “oooooh I know her” – he he he he he he he we giggle more.

 

Held hostage

 

The whole dinner party was doomed from the start. The entire family was fighting the merits and demerits of going for this thing.  Appachci had been in an unusual rage and didn’t want to sight the thing. Finally having managed to convince him we set off for the destination. If you’ve never been held hostage by a 3 course dinner this was for you. The Dinner began at 10.00 and went on to well after 1.00 with the food service being interrupted- much to the annoyance of many at the table- to wish the birthday boy- man rather- The first ever “get the f_*@%^@* blowing of candles over with already- we’re hungry sleepy all at once” . There were some not too polite people who didn’t wait for the dessert and still others who sarcastically told the birthday man “ Hey are you serving breakfast too??” – “We better stop at pillaows on the way” and so on. Mercifully we were excused at the ungodly hour of 1.30 a.m. and everyone went off cursing the birthday man. You can be sure no one is going for his birthday next year. My mother’s reaction to all this was summed up thus “ mona pissuwakde- who has sit down dinners for birthdays??? Samayang!!!!!”