Recipes For My Grandchildren.

This topic has been suggested by the youngest member of this Friday Bloggers Group.   She is young enough to be my grand daughter. I love the idea of this topic but unfortunately have no first hand experience of being a grand parent with recipes for my grandchild/ren nor that of a grand child who was mollycoddled and fed by grandparents.

My grandparents, only one set of them as the other had passed away long before I was born, by the time came into my life, were too old and too fixed in their ways of the older Indian generation that did not demonstrate love for their offspring. In fact, when they came into my life, they had to be looked after by my parents, uncles and aunts,  one after the other turn by turn. I was however able to be of service to my grandfather by getting him his favourite brand of snuff from his favourite tobacconist but, do not remember him getting me anything ever, nor my grandmother who never asked for anything nor gave anything to me.

I do not have a grand child and so have not had the pleasure of being a grand parent and all that comes with that status. I have seen my siblings and friends going gaga over theirs and have often envied them their pleasure.

My recipes for grandchildren therefore have been ready made, shop bought stuff like in the following illustrations.


This is my contribution to this week’s Friday 8 On 1 blog post topic. The other seven bloggers who write on the same topic every Friday are Maria. Sanjana, PadmumRaju, Shackman , Srinivas and Conrad.  This week’s topic was suggested by Sanjana. Please do go over to their respective blogs to see what they have to say on the topic. Thank you.

First Delivery.

My Daughter In Love posted this message on her Facebook page.

I could not resist the temptation to ring her up to remind her that her first delivery was 26 years ago and that boy is now a married young man very likely to shortly send his wife for her first delivery.

The inside story is that my very enterprising DIL has started a catering service from her home and this was the first consignment that she sent out.

One Thing Leads To Another.

In Tamil, my mother tongue, “Chinna Veedu” literally means “small house” implying a mistress kept in a smaller house by a rich man whose bigger house was for his official wife and family. A movie was also made with the same title some years ago which was a bit hit in Tamil Nadu.

I was teasing a friend of mine about his current work style of working only four days a week due to the restrictions due to Covid by asking him if he had established a “Chinna Veedu”. After fielding that effectively, he told me of a story about a mutual friend that I had not known so far.

This mutual friend was a wealthy wholesaler in Mumbai with two children, one a son and the other, younger, a daughter. The son joined his father’s business after his college education and the daughter, after acquiring an MBA, started to work for a very big business man in Mumbai in his office in the Finance department.

As, it is normal in such families, the parents indulged her as it was only for a short while as she was expected to get married into another business family as is the custom in their community. When she was 24, the parents found a very nice match for her and got her married in a typically lavish Indian wedding ceremony.

Just after a few months, the daughter returned to her parent’s home complaining that her husband was impotent and that she wanted a divorce. Her parents, devastated confronted the groom’s family and the truth finally came out.

There was nothing wrong with the groom but, the daughter was in an affair with her boss who had asked her to get married to please the parents but to get a divorce after a while on the promise that he too would get a divorce from his current wife and marry her. The girl is 24 and the boss 50 years old.

Finally, all issues were sorted out and both parties went through the divorces and before they could get married however, our mutual friend had a massive heart attack and died just a few months ago at the age of 60.

I did not know about this story as I have been out of touch with most of my former business associates that I knew during my working days and this news and story came as a total surprise and shock to me as I knew the girl and her family rather well and had a very amicable relationship with them over many years.

What as story to start my Sunday off with! Have you come across anything like this in your circles?

Count On Me.

Today has been a great day for me for some scintillating exchanges.

In the morning, I had messaged a friend in Mumbai to help me with something and he did quite cheerfully. Here is the exchange. I have just removed the full name to protect his identity.

Me: Thank you dear HM. I am glad to have you in my life.
HM: You can always count on me
Me: 🙏🏻. You an abacus? Or, remember the Casio? Or the Facit?

And to help him refresh his memory, I gave a link to my post on my blog.

Over the lunch table, I shared this exchange with Manjiree who was quite amused and recollected her younger days when she had to learn multiplication tables by heart. I too was reminded of the same and shared with her my own story.

I must have been around 12, my younger brother Arvind 11 and the third brother Barath 9. Our late father, a martinet, insisted on us learning multiplication tables up to 20 X 20 bottom to top and top to bottom. On his return from work he would first ask me one question say, 12 X 14 and if I did not know the answer, he would punish me. He would then ask another question to Arvind and the story would repeat. The third time around he would ask Barath say 14 X 8 and without batting an eyelid, Barath would respond with 62 or some such number and the old man, satisfied, would point out how great he was to the other two and depart. It was much after we had grown up that Barath confided with Arvind and me once while reminiscing that, he would just shoot off any number that came to his mind taking the chance that the old man did not know the answer!

The next thing that happened today was when I shared the HM exchange with my son Ranjan who promptly suggested that my sense of humour was diminishing as I aged. Great support from my heir apparent. 🙁

I am a teetotaller and a vegetarian which is quite amusing to many of my friends and the next exchange was with another dear friend who sent me this clip.

He added at the bottom – “See what you are missing?”

I responded with “I had a school teacher girl friend named Anita Singh. Her students used to call her Miss. Singh. The only missing I do is missing that Miss. Singh who became Mrs. Kalra.”

Wanting to have the last word, my friend concluded with – “Those were the days what?”

All in all, quite a day.

Coincidence.

A friend posted this news item in a WhatsApp group and I was reminded of two stories.

With the first story in mind, I commented on the post with my comment “Mysterious things can happen!” and gave a link to this village, Kodinhi in Kerala, a state in our South West. Don’t you think that it is an amazing phenomenon?

The next story is personal. My late wife and my cousin both delivered sons on the same day with just twenty minutes difference in the times. When all of us lived in Mumbai, their joint birthday celebrations were routine. On every such occasion, my cousin’s late husband used to wonder at the coincidence with some snide comments that I leave to my readers to imagine.

My Latest Social Media Correspondent.

She is all of nine years old and when the school reopens will be at the last term of her Fifth standard. She is the daughter of my niece in Hyderabad and since the lockdown, has decided that I am fair game for her smart phone shenanigans.

She is totally adorable and I love the banter and enjoy our exchanges but this post is not about our relationship. It is about this little girl’s dexterity with the phone.

She texts fast and her responses to my messages are in half the time that mine are. She uses emojis widely and never uses a wrong one to convey any particular emotion. She chides me for being slow! And there I was thinking that I am a fast typist!

She recently produced an old photograph of me with some others and asked to point out which was me. Before I could respond, she sent the same photograph back on whatsapp with an arrow superimposed on it pointing to me with just ? in the comments section.

I have been trying to figure out how to do the same thing since then and am still to come up with the technique.

I dread imagining a future full of these children as adults using all technology at lightning speeds and leaving us oldies gasping for breath.