Family together time

Dad. And Mum. On the 250 cc Yezdi. Taking two little kids (Sam and me) out on a long ride. To the Madras Airport. And just spending time there - watching planes land and take-off. Awesome! It fills me with a sense of pride when I look back on such whacky "outings" my parents have provided us with. In today's world, where all people can think of for "hanging out" is a mall, this thought-train seems quite far-fetched. But it's something that Smitha and I have learnt to do quite well - going out doesn't necessarily mean dressing up, pulling out all the stops and a reservation at a fancy restaurant (we do that too, occasionally). We have long rides on the highway with a stop for chaai (tea) from a roadside shop; we've got paani poori outings and window-shopping trips. We also throw in the freak, impromptu 10.00 pm film watching routine into the mix. Walking around in Mathikere for Kulfi, just simply chilling on the terrace are also part of the deal. All this - cos Mum and Dad showed us by example that time together for a family can be had through a variety of means. Dad introduced us to the Litchi fruit during one of those outings. Dosa from the Dosa King (instant dosa making machine!) at the Central station was a must-eat if we went to the station. There are many, many such instances and "things" which became "stuff that the Herberts do". Most of such things have ceased to be today; but their memories linger in the warmth of our hearts. And hopefully, this warmth would remain as long as we remain on this mortal plane and provide us moments of comfort during the cold, lonely storms that life tosses in our direction. For these memories - all of them - thanks Mum, Dad and Sam. I am blessed.

Family film time

Our family has been one that has unabashedly watched plenty of good films in the theater. Right from ancient classics in the late 80s to many family films in the 90s - our parents would take us to the theater. I can clearly remember watching Aladdin, Jurassic Park, Dennis the Menace and several other films in the 1990s and the 2000s. A story I've repeated numerous times is worth repeating once more - two nights before my Higher Secondary Computer Science exam, my parents took my bro and I for the night show (10.00 pm) at Satyam theater (it was well worth it; we watched The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring). There have been plenty of relationships that have been forged and melded during these theater times - our "bro" family, the Elangos, started becoming what they are to us today (in my opinion) with the viewing of The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. There have been film marathons in Maayajaal with Sam T annan and Remo annan and other such "together" times with other friends and family. Time and again, somebody raises the question "Isn't it wrong to watch films?" or the perfectly nonsensical "Isn't it wrong to go to the Theater?" I'm not going to debate on that right now - I just want everyone to know that I really have cherished those family film times with all that popcorn and coke that's been consumed. I've had a pretty amazing childhood, and many of these family film times are part of the fondest memories of that childhood. So thanks to Mum, Dad and Sam for making up these memorable times.

Love expects greater responsibility

I've covered how light Mum's punishment was in Hitting without hurting and I'm not going to go into Dad's means of punishment (which involved physical pain, and was well-deserved). However, I must mention a character trait of Dad that's proved very benefitting in many ways. Dad has this sense of extra caution when it comes to his own kids. If other folk need to cross a line by a mile to get reprimanded by him, his kids need to cross the line by just half that distance to be reprimanded. When that reprimand comes, mind you, it can be quite unnerving. I remember times of metaphorical trembling and withdrawing into a shell, much like a tortoise. I used to completely dislike my Dad at those specific times. For what I thought was public humiliation. Until Kiran Pio happened. Yes - September 2001, the first Volunteers' Training Camp away from the SU camp site (at the Coramandel Country Club), an incident occurred that changed the way I perceived this side of my Dad forever. I don't remember exact details other than my Dad sternly reminding me that I should be with my books, and I should not be out chatting and fooling around (which I was). Stunned into silence, I went away to find my books and comfort in my solitude. Years later, Kiran Pio (who was near me during that incident), informs me that this incident had a profound influence on him. Apparently, he was shocked that someone could so meekly take a Father's reprimand. God apparently used this incident to help him out. I just sat open-mouthed in awe at what miniscule things and hurts our God uses to help the folk around us. I never again felt hurt or bitter or even sad when Dad reprimanded me for mistakes made; I knew there was a purpose behind each reprimand, and God was thick in the midst of these reprimands. Thanks Dad, for all those reprimands. They've brought me here today.

Buying stuff in bigger packs

Mum always bought stuff in bigger packs. Family pack? Double-pack? Triple-pack? Seen them all, bought them all. Toothpaste was always bought in a 250g or a 200g tube (the 250g tubes became increasingly hard to find!). Single- or double- packs of Maggi Noodles were seldom bought in our house. Why would we buy them when they had four- and six- packs? This attitude translates into my own grocery and provision shopping with Smitha these days. We go in for the larger packs, the larger bottles, the larger everything. Is there a right size for stuff? Is it better to buy the smaller or the larger packs? I've no clue. But I cringe at even the thought of not being able to buy Shampoo/Conditioner in one of the standard-sized bottles (we get them humongously big, imported bottles from a Spar Hypermarket). This may not be a big deal for some of you - but for me, it's the way I live - it's how things work for me. For putting this integral buying sense into me without even trying, I have my Mum to thank. Thanks, Mum.

My family stands by me

Note: There are a million (maybe more) times that my family has stood by me. I'm just recounting one incident which clearly highlighted this fact and double-underlined it, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

There was a stike in my college (CSI CE, Ketti) in February, 2005. I was in my third year, and I was in the thick of things - including being a part of the student committee (selected by the management) shouldering the responsibility of working things out with the management. When third year completed and I was waiting to get back to my final year at college, a bomb dropped. The college sent a letter to my Dad asking him to meet with the Principal regarding my "admission" into college that year. They also spoke to a close family friend in Ooty, and informed him that they should look out for me in other colleges. We were like "Huh, what?!" So Dad, Mum and I made the trip to Ketti. Sam joined us along the way (from Bangalore) and the three of them went in to meet the Principal. When I was called in a bit later, it was not me in the hot seat - our dear Principal was being asked questions by my Dad, my Mum and my brother (with all his knowledge of corporate functioning, he had some choice questions for the Principal). Basically, the Principal was hurt that I had asked him a few honest questions and informed him of a few honest student opinions. Little did he know that calling my family would give him bigger, more questioning versions of me. I'm not gloating or boasting. Simply put, this incident left a strong sense of "My family stands by me!" inside me. My parents didn't scold me (atleast as much as I expected them to) and they did not mention even once that they had been called all the way to college and that this could have been a shameful affair. When you comfortably know that your family is rocking right beside you and with you, everything else in the world seems small. Thanks to Dad, Mum and Sam for being that rocking family. Yaiy!

Die Hard Dad

Our family crashed to an accident with all four of us on the bike - in November, 1996. Fortunately (should I even be using that word while talking about this tragedy?!), we were almost right in front of the Apollo Hospital (with the emergency ward) on Poonamallee High Road. We were rushed there in an auto, and the situation was pretty grim; Mum had her face scarred and marred beyond recognition - it looked like a minefield after the enemy has attempted to cross it multiple times. Sam, who had been dragged by a passing auto-rickshaw had a huge ghastly "wound" on his knee. His back hurt, and that needed an X-ray. Me, I was the least hurt - I had scratches on my palms and elbows. Dad had blood profusely pouring out of two deep gashes - one in his forehead and the other near his elbow. There were other scratches and bruises for him. So the Doc and the nurses are fixing us all up, injections, stitches - the works. And my Dad asks the Doc "I've a programme in Tambaram tomorrow. Can I take the bike?" Sam T annan (friend of the family) who was there said "This man is die hard!" It stunned and shocked me. Accident, hurt, wounds, crashed bike - all could be damned; the work that he had a heart for, was what was most important. That, my dear friends, is a near-impossible role model to live upto; a target that I can only hope and pray to achieve by atleast 50%. While God works on me to get me to that 50%, I've simply got to say a "Thank you" to the real-life die hard hero I've got - thanks, Dad.

Late Night Mum

Mum began her Ph. D. in Theology in 1995. The computer entered our house in early 1996. Slowly yet steadily, Mum became more and more of a night owl. When I was in school, I used to wonder what made her sit back so late and work on her thesis and stuff. I got to college and I understood. There've been nights when I've yakked away my time till midnight, and then sat down to work on some project (read: awesome animated intro) or finish up my notes - which could go on till about 4 or 5 in the morning. I surprised myself at such times, because I'm generally quite lazy by nature. However, I also understood why Mum used to sit up so late - the brain finds it easier to crank at high speeds when there's nothing/no one else around. I still loving sitting up at night, yawns and sleepy eyes in full tow - to get that article done, to finish up that email or to just devour the latest news on technology's greatest. You may think this is wrong, but I think this is an invaluable part of my  life and I feel hugely indebted to my Mum for leading the way, lighting the path ahead and raising me to these heights. Thanks, Mum.

The extreme of not wasting food

If you've eaten with me in the HP Cafeteria or the CSI CE Hostel Mess (or pretty much any other place on earth) you might have noticed that I literally clean out the plate. I myself didn't realise this till some friends started pulling my leg saying that the plate didn't need to be washed because I had cleaned it up. Being the thoughtful, introspective person that I am, I reflected on why I do this. Amongst memories of my childhood friend, Paul Deepak, getting irritated with me for slurping up every last drop of a bottle drink, I discovered a possible cause - my parents encouraged (read: lovingly forced) me to not waste food from a very young age. Dad's most famous dialogue at the table was "Whether you like it or not, you must eat everything" and if we kids ever dreamt of waiting till Dad left the table and then tried sneaking off some veggies to the garbage bin, our Mum had ever-present statements of the pitiable plight of the millions who go without food in India (and the world) every day. It was pretty difficult as a kid growing up with such immense pressure at the dining table. From where I stand today, though, I'm thankful for all the pressure that was present back then - I have learnt to eat almost everything (I can't stand even the smell of watermelons, cucumbers, the taste of bitter gourd and other minute things like that!) and I actually don't waste food. There are times when I overeat many times over to ensure that food doesn't go to waste. I'm so thankful to both my parents for imparting this small but awesome truth into my life. Thanks, Mum. Thanks, Dad.

Bring home the tasty pastry

This was another well-loved staple in our house. Whenever Dad went shopping (with Mum or alone), he would come back with some tasty treats for the "kids". This would range from some of the costliest, mouth-watering chocolate truffles to the simple yet satisfying sweet-things such as those delectable "choco balls" sold by FoodWorld. There would generally be two of everything, with a few extra ones here and there (Mum and Dad also needed to eat something, right?!). For me personally, it was always very exciting to dive into the shopping bags brought home to find the one that contained the "immediately eatable" baked goods and partition it for everyone and start eating it right away. My love for those choco/rum balls, the croissants, those incredibly rich "Japanese" cakes - all started right there in those shopping bags. Whatever one can say about my Dad, this is an undeniable fact - he knows what his kids like, and he brings that home. Thanks, Dad.

Kill the fatted pork sausages

When my bro went off to college, every time he came home, he was treated like a royal personage on a visit. I didn't feel jealous about it - but I felt the fuss was unwarranted. When I went off to college though, my Mum started something new entirely. Pork sausages. Pork or sausages were nothing new in my house; what was new, though, was that Mum would move heaven and earth to ensure that atleast 1 pack of pork sausages were in the freezer if "Dan is coming home". Sometimes, if my visit was a long one, there would be two packs, plus bacon, ham, salami and so on and so forth. But whatever happened - that one pack of pork sausages would be there in the freezer. What felt better was that this pack was completely at my disposal. I've fried those sausages and devoured them at 7 am in the morning, after jumping off the Nilagiri Express (coming back home from college) at times, and I've patiently waited till 3 in the afternoon to cook them, too. The best part? Mum never mentioned a word such as "I'm doing this for you" or anything. She just would mention that sausages were in the freezer, and that was that. For those of you who've been to a hostel which is nearly 700 km from home for four years, you would know the priceless value of such a simple gesture when you walk into your house (Mind you, I had tonnes of other things going for me at home; the pork sausages was the only factor that was unchanging, ever-present and a cherished memory of coming back home). For this, and all the other stops pulled out when your sons returned home from hostel, thanks Mum.

Understanding the kid in me

Over the years, my Dad and I have had plenty of disagreements - some of which have been extremely heated and unbecoming of us. Most of my frustrated screaming fits were due to me thinking that "Dad doesn't get it" or something along those lines. And it tends to be that the mind thinks that people my own age would understand better, especially my brother Sam. There's one undying memory in my head, though, that's contrary to such notions and it stands out like a beacon in the darkness of such thoughts. I'm guessing I was somewhere between 12-14 years of age when this occurred. I fell totally in love with a song (the first song that I fell for) from a children's cassette - The Amazing Book - called Letter of Love. I loved everything about it, and so I carved the words "Love Letter" on a fat stick that was lying around the room. When my bro found it, he started questioning me with a mischievous look "What's this da? Love letter, huh?!" Without batting an eyelid, my Dad shushed my bro "You guys listen to that song so much, know? Must be from that." I was stunned. Normally, things should have been the other way around with Dad questioning and bro stepping in. There have been many more instances of my Dad fully comprehending and understanding his two sons. But none are so indelibly burned into my memory such as this one - thanks, Dad, for the understanding, insight and wisdom.

Accommodating the kids

Another little known fact in current friend circles: Sam and I, each had our set of plastic (and other material) toys (teddy bear kinds) with which we've spent loads of time playing around. I had my set of non-living friends, and Sam had his. We treated them like people within our own imaginary games. Although Mum seldom joined us in the fun, her full support was with us at all times. She helped us sew tiny pillows and other things for these inanimate people that we kids loved. We eventually grew out of those toys, but I'll fondly remember Mum being the epitome of encouragement and help for our little selves' imaginary world. Thanks, Mum.

Sam: Elder, Better and Bigger

Seriously - how can I go on thanking my parents for the littlest things that matter most without thanking them for my bro sometime?! I can say with full conviction that Sam came into my life on day 1, and has been in it till today. And he has brought with him loads of fun (right from wanting to name me Goliath!), loads of material things (still remember him going for one-day school picnics and buying me some tiny knick-knack or the other even then), loads of fights (verbal, physical, egoistic, electronic, long-distance...), tonnes of knowledge (he's a walking, talking Encyclopaedia), plenty of chances for me to take a dig at him (getting that sly blush from him is a super reward) and of course, multitudinous instances (from camps, retreats and life itself) for me to learn that my elder brother is better and bigger in almost everything I'm good at. For all this, and plenty more littlest things that 27 years on this Earth have brought into my life, I just gotter thank my Mum and Dad for my bro Sam. Without their upbringing skills, and their inputs into his life - he wouldn't be the brother that he has been to me. So, thank you Sam, thank you Mum and thank you Dad.

Hurting and loving

You've read my previous two posts about my Dad, about being in the thick of things and about taking care of the emotionally needy, and you know that Dad can take quite a bit. There have been instances when his patience has worn thin (most of these instances were when I was going from 15 till about 21). However, Dad has the capacity to absorb many of the challenging situations that the three of us (Mum, Sam and I) put him through. They way Mum and Dad brought up my bro and me was for us to think and come to decisions/conclusions on our own, and also to run the family as a democracy - this worked well for everyone concerned, except one person - Dad. The decision-making still rested with him, and the three of us would present him with three differing, yet equally valid and strong arguments. We used to do this quite a bit. Reminiscing now, I can see that Dad was unofficially the punching bag - because he offered himself up for that role. He could take the hurt and the pain, cos he had the love and everything else required to make one heckuva Dad. Really, thank you for taking all those "punches", Dad.

Hitting without hurting

A little known fact about Mum. She hates "conditioning" or "scolding" little kids. So when Sam (my bro) and I were kids, and we did something "bad" (which happened quite often, if my memory serves me right) my Mum would try hard to discipline us. I say try because her strongest form of discipline (short of complaining to Dad!) would be to use an inverted comb (a thin, long one) to whack our outstretched palms. Really. At times, it did sting quite a bit; but mostly, this punishment wasn't sufficient for crimes committed. People who've worked with Mum and worked for Mum can tell you simply - Mum is very strict. She would discipline her college students who bunked college for Ministry, though her heart was for Ministry. That being the extent of her disciplining, having her mete out "punishment" to us in the most mildest form possible was something that proved beyond doubt that her disciplining was not without love. I never understood this as a kid - that she provides mild physical punishments because of love; but looking back now, it's pretty clear that her tender heart and immense love is what made us escape multitudes of possible punishments, as kids. Thanks, Mum.

Emotionally scarred and wanting

If you've been following closely the stuff I write in this blog, you can make out that my parents are generally "nice" people. Where my Dad has gone the extra mile, in his ministry-related work and in his relationships with people - is to literally pour himself out for someone in need. As his son, I've seen plenty of instances of such things over the years. There have been urgent calls for him in the middle of the night; there have been calls for him to come to another city totally, to help with situations and emotionally encumbered persons; there have been school principals calling on him for assistance; there have been scary "fight" situations that he's been called to defuse; there have been broken relationships that he has been called to mend; there have been families that have taken his advice and help to bond together. For every single call or request, my Dad responds with full force. It's like the Indian Army appearing in full force to save just a single man caught behind the LOC across the border. Every time. All the time. It's never been easy being the son of such a man - but it does help when I look at my own life and see tiny tiny bits of me being poured out into others' lives. I don't run to others at midnight, or get called away to other cities to solve intense emotional issues; but what I do do, is try to address the emotional needs of people around me which I see - as best I can. For this, my Dad is the cause. Thanks, Dad.

The Industrious and Hard-working

We worship a God who wanted the Israelites to not tie the mouths of the domestic animals that were used to crush grain - so that they may eat whatever they wanted while they worked - and for land-owners to not gather all the grain from their fields - so that the poor and needy could have something to gather and eat. This attitude of being nice to the less fortunate takes a slightly different benevolent streak in my Mum. She looks out for and staunchly supports the "less fortunate" amongst us who are industrious. I've seen her buy many homemade things from door-to-door sales folk, just taking pity on them. There've been exhausted women, aspiring MBA graduates, little boys begging for a sale and plenty others. Many have benefited from their plight tugging at my Mum's heartstrings. Frankly, this nature of Mum has filtered into me to a great extent - simple stuff like I can't stomach the fact that people have to travel like animals cooped into unreserved coaches in our trains while I travel comfortably in an air-conditioned coach (not all the time, of course, but still...). I simply can't bear that we all are not with equal disposable incomes and equal opportunities in life. Call it being kind, call it being impractical - whatever it is, it's something I've picked up from Mum, and I'm actually grateful to have such a heart-rooted sense of being. Thanks, Mum.

My Dad, the all-in-one person

If you know my Dad - J. Herbert Samuel, you'll know for a fact that the only organisation he has ever served with is Scripture Union. He began his career as a staff worker in the 70s, moved to Madras in the 80s to handle English SU work, took English ministry nationwide in the late 90s, took over the newly launched Training department in the early 2000s, and then became the Ministries Director (handling all the departments of SU such as Training, Camps, English, Bible Reading, etc.) some years ago. The best part? My Dad doesn't stick to his job description. Anyone in his organisation who approaches him for help in many different areas - technical expertise, releasing a DVD/audio, clipping some home-made movie clips, developing a publication, launching a new event/method for the ministry - is never turned away. Fortunately, my Dad is not a jack of all trades; he's a master of many trades with knowledge of many more. To be the son of such a person is... at times, jarring and at times, exhilarating. My Dad being the all-in-one person that he is has meant that I get to experience life at various different levels in various different activities. A smorgasbord of stuff happening all the time - and my Dad in the thickest of things. He's where the action is at, and me, being his son, have become that way to quite an extent. I take things upon myself in the intent of helping others out - and there's a whirlwind of activity surrounding me at most times. It's good to have a full life. Thanks, Dad, for providing me that fullness of life.

My Mum, the prolific brainiac

Yes, my mum - Mrs. Beulah Herbert - is a terrifyingly awesome brainiac. Right from her days of teaching Physics, to being the first lady missionary with the FMBP organisation, she has dived into and fully devoured many avenues of living. This awesome property and capacity to just get into a field and be fully submerged in it is something that's often understated and misunderstood. It doesn't communicate well to the onlookers - but if you closely analyse Mum's life, she's really been a star at everything she's taken on. The aforementioned Physics and missionary notwithstanding, I could wax eloquent about her desire to pick a little-known or little-advertised topic for her theological doctorate degree. There are things I ask her (from various topics ranging from Biblical anomalies to cooking disasters) even today, and her answers are never succinct - there's just way too much information in Mum's head to give out simplistic answers. This brainiac-ness has hopefully made it through into me in some way. Even if it hasn't, I am blessed beyond measure in just being a son to such an amazing lady. Thanks, Mum, for being who you are.

Hanging out with the Elangos

I still clearly remember this - I was on the phone from Ketti (where I went to college) with my parents in Madras sometime before I visited home in March, 2006. We were making plans to catch The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe at the Satyam theater during my visit. Suddenly, I heard the most unbelievable thing - we were going for the film with the Elangos. My mind went WHAT?! I mean, these outings to the theater were a family tradition - our family has seen tonnes of films in the theater as a family, and we rarely have gone out with other families during these outings. To include a group of four people that I barely knew, was slightly too much for my college-going self to take. Sure, Mrs. Elango (Joan miss) had been my teacher and all in school, and she was a great teacher and my parents visited their house once in a while - but since when did we start hanging out with the Elangos?!?!? Thankfully, I just went with the whole idea and I'm glad I did. More than five years later, there have been numerous hours shared and bits of lives exchanged between the Herberts and the Elangos. If you know how "together" two guys can get in hostel (find one, you'll find the other types), then you'll know how "together" the Herberts and the Elangos are generally. What strikes me is that my Mum and Dad, in the waning years of their lives, have what it takes to invest in a full-fledged, family-to-family intertwining relationship. Them having what it takes to do that has given me (and the rest of the Herberts) four unique and love-to-spend-time-with people. Thanks, Mum. Thanks, Dad.

See, now that's cute!

I have this huge antipathy towards formal clothes. Most of my life has been spent in t-shirts and shorts. I hate having to put on formal wear. It's just too stuffy and uncomfortable. I can still remember one evening when I was getting ready for a wedding, and I had no interest in getting into formals - I showed up ready to leave (or so I surmised) in a tee and jeans. My Dad chided me for this and sent me back inside to change; I came out wearing this red checked shirt. My Dad's face lit up instantly, and he went "Now that's cute!" I was quite taken aback. You don't expect my Dad to walk around calling my shirts cute; it had never happened before that, and has never happened since (to the best of my memory). That incident caused a huge paradigm shift in my thinking. I still hate formal clothes today - but I'm willing to wear them because apparently, they're quite becoming. Thanks, Dad.

Changing bedsheets periodically

I'm one of the laziest people around. Honest. And stuff like changing sheets doesn't come easily to me. But my mum used to force me to change my bedsheets periodically - and she'd help me do it. The fondest memory I have of this repetitive exercise is the new sheet! Seriously. We always used cotton sheets in our house, and having a fresh, crisp cotton sheet on your bed makes your bed feel very very cosy and inviting. I soon got the hang of this - and actually looked forward to these sheet-changing times. Later on, when Mum tried pushing some synthetic sheets on me - I staunchly refused. Only cotton sheets for me. For this lifelong love of fresh, clean cotton sheets and the cosy under-the-covers feeling that they bring, thank you Mum.

Bacon and Eggs

I wrote about how Mum used to make Hot Pot which was mouth-wateringly delicious. I felt it fitting to also write about the bacon and eggs that my Dad used to make. I didn't realise that there was something different he was doing - his style of bacon and eggs are the only home-made bacon and eggs I've had. Quite recently, a friend of ours, Sushmita, was eating a bacon and eggs breakfast when I discovered that this style of making bacon and eggs was unique to my Dad. I asked my Dad where he picked it up from - he doesn't remember; said this is the only way he's ever made bacon and eggs. What's the style, you ask? Simple. Fry 2-3 rashers of bacon together and break the egg on top of it. The egg gets fried and glues the bacon rashers together. While eating, the egg takes the 'edge' off the bacon, enabling people who normally detest fat to comfortably wolf down the bacon and eggs breakfast. I found it pretty amazing that I've become used to a way of preparing bacon and eggs that not many people follow. Thanks, Dad.

Hot Pot

My Mum used to make something she called (and we called, consequently) "Hot Pot". That recipe has been lost through the annals of time, but I remember that it used to contain layer of bacon and slices of potatoes and onions - and the whole thing was shoved into our OTG (Oven Toaster Grill) Oven and baked. It used to taste like the most delicious dish a kid has ever tasted. Seriously. The juicy bacon with the roasted potatoes and onions.... mmmmmm... was a pretty amazing dish. I want to thank my Mum for two things related to this - one is the dish itself. I have very fond, very delicious memories of it. Two, would be the style of "western" cooking. I picked up quickly on the fact that lightly roasting potatoes and onions give your dish a very nice-tasting Western flavour. I use that technique in many "creations" that I make inside the kitchen, most of which taste really nice. Thanks, Mum.

Me and My Hindi Words

I was in college and due to my love for speaking and my affinity towards the Prayer Cell, I naturally took to delivering "The Word" at times. After one such meeting, Jaison from Bombay came up to me and said "Dan, waaa... full Hindi" I was wondering what he was going on about. Apparently, I'd dropped a "Chalta hai" (English: Don't care attitude) somewhere between my speaking. I then said, "That's normal, dude. I also know the word naam-ke-vasthey" (English: Name sake) My friend was fully taken aback - this was Dan, who doesn't know anything in Hindi apart from "Mujhe hindi maalum nahi" (English: I do not know Hindi). It then hit me like a lightening bolt out of the sky - my Dad uses these words in his messages and preaching. Dad studied his Bible college post-grad degree in Yavatmaal, Maharashtra. He picked up a pinch of Hindi from there and I just absorbed it without even him explaining it to me once. It became such a part and parcel of my life, that I didn't even realise I knew those Hindi words. Wow. Thanks, Dad.

Me and My Many Words

If you know me at all, you'll know that I can't stop talking. And when I talk, I talk in long, lengthy sentences. I simply have to explain every single thing to every single person - the full thought behind the concept has to be conveyed to the people around me all the time. Be it technology, physics, biology or the working of human minds - I always explain everything, and then I go overboard. This verbosity comes from my mother. Her explanations for situations and incidents run like epic films from the '30s or '40s. But the underlying theme is - ensure that everyone who is listening to you got every little detail that matters. Somehow, this has filtered into me. It makes me good (I think so!) at explaining concepts from the Bible, from my college textbooks, to take training sessions, to handle sessions with school kids... Basically, me and my many words come from my Mum. Many have made fun of me for these many words - but me, I'm proud of them. These words make me me. Thanks, Mum.

Mature Thinking That Begets Character

While growing up in my household, there were two statements (which I remember the most, among many others) which kept cropping up repeatedly. Both of them would be well-known among the many people that Dad has worked with over the years. The first is: The ability to laugh at oneself is a sign of maturity. This sentence has been repeated constantly by my Dad when dealing with us kids and other people in his work sphere to indicate that we take certain things too personally and respond childishly. It became one of my benchmarks for achieving maturity. The second statement is: If you're angry, go bang your head against a wall or something. Why take it out on people? I've heard this statement atleast ten times more than the first. Simply because there's more anger going around rather than immaturity. It's one of the key pointers that I've taken to heart in subduing my immense anger to a great extent - I tell myself Hold thy peace, fool! while remembering that it's better to take out anger (if the need really arises!) on inanimate objects rather than people - cos relationships are important. With regards to maturity or controlling anger - I'm not there yet; but I've put miles and miles behind me on this long path to getting there, and it's mainly thanks to my Dad's statements. Thanks, Dad.

Lateral Thinking That Begets Smiles

On the morning of my birthday while in the third year in college (I was turning 20, for those keeping count) I was greeted by a couple eggs being smashed on my head, courtesy my beloved Prayer Cell gang - which included a few seniors and batchmates. Later on when Mum called to wish me, I told her of this and her response stopped me in my thoughtflow. She said "Aiyaiyo... Why are they wasting eggs? An egg cost Rs. 1.50 per day, and it could be given to the poor!" I was like, "MUM! I'm your son! You're supposed to be mad at them for smashing eggs on my head!!!!" Like this, there have been several times in my life where my Mum's lateral (I'm not sure that's the word to describe her totally different and awesome thought processes!) thinking has tripped me up completely. Unexpectedly. And has then gone on to give me plenty of smiles over the next few days and years. For being so different that it evokes a smile on my face every now and then, thanks a lot Mum.

Of Accordions, Amplifying and a dash of the Antithetic

My dad has been playing a piano accordion from before I was born. Retreats, camps and other fellowship meetings would have everybody playing guitars, keyboards and occasionally, the piano. Not so when it came to my dad - he used to carry around this humongous box (seriously, he's been crazy enough to strap it to the rear carrier of a bike at times) which was heavy, cumbersome and unseemly. Then when the box was opened, out came this contraption that nobody around would have seen before. And he'll play with all the gusto that he could muster - lost in his own world of pushing piano keys and squeezing bellows to make music. Frankly, Dad went through life with this same attitude - great gusto and enthusiasm, without a single thought or care of what people around would think. This nature of amplifying life to it's maximum, and not caring if one is at odds with people or the surrounding opinion has filtered into me to a great extent. Dad told me once of the incident during his college days through which he was convicted to play the Piano Accordion only for God. I've held that lesson close to heart - when you're playing something for the Lord, you really don't need to care of what people around you think or say. Thanks, Dad.

Of Pickles, Pork and a dash of TLC

I love pork. It's my favourite meat. After I went off to college, my mum's cooking reduced greatly - simply because there was little reason for her to keep cooking stuff when neither son was at home, and my dad used to travel all over the country (and the world). It was with great surprise when I suddenly discovered that my Mum was making "pork pickle" during a holiday stint at home (between 3rd and 4th semesters). There were two-and-a-half bottles of pickle that were sent with me to college when I returned. Wowee. Pork pickle, made by your mum, is one of the best things to have when you're in a college hostel which served terrible food 6 days in a week. Truth be told, I rarely used the pickle as pickle. I doubt my mum would have minded. I still remember the pork pickle, the making of, the carrying of it to Ketti (met a senior chaechi - girl - on the bus and asked her if she ate pork) and the consumption thereafter with friends (and discovering that most Keralites eat pork, sadly). That pinch of TLC was well-timed; it went a long way in making me feel close to home and family. Thanks, Mum.

My First Love

Long before I heard the First Love song by Petra, long before I knew and understood the concept of making God my first love, I heard the talks of one man - my Dad - encouraging young people to be fully committed to the Lord. There was also plenty of advice and talks on how to deal with feelings towards the opposite sex - growing up in the 90s in South India meant boys just don't talk to girls. I've been ridiculed by my male classmates for talking to girls (when I was in 8th - about 12-13 years old) and school and college staff have tried to curb us kids from mingling too much with the opposite sex. Amidst all this, my Dad has always maintained that "If you're not attracted to the opposite sex, then there's something wrong with you. Attraction is normal. Being infatuated and having crushes on the opposite sex is a part and parcel of life." Wow. I could wipe my brow. No need to feel guilty. And all cultural nonsense could go hang itself. These two pointers from my preaching/ministering dad were ultimately crucial in developing my foundation and basic beliefs - so my first love became (and still is!) Jesus Christ, and I've given nary a second thought to women I have been attracted to. Until of course, I found my lovely and awesome wife - Smitha, in 2006. But that's another story entirely - for these two solid pointers being repeated again and again to us, thanks Dad.

My First Gadget-love

Since 1995, my mum had been going to the UK every year for her Ph. D. in theology. Sam (my bro) and I used to joke around saying that mum had to be told exactly what to buy, but when Dad had gone to the UK in 1988 and Holland in 1992, he just bought stuff - which we both liked straight away. This being the case, my first gadget love was a device Mum bought from the UK. True, Sam helped me scour several pages and pages of the Sony UK website (remember, these were the days of dial-up and www.yahoo.com and VSNL Shell (text-only) Internet connections) and find the exact product I liked - a Sony Walkman WM EX674. It was the costliest walkman at the Sony UK website, retailing for 40 GBP at that time. My mum had to visit plenty of shops before she could find one - apparently, they were discontinued in the UK brick-and-mortar retail stores. She finally did get one - it cost her 78 GBP or something - a whopping expense, considering our family finances. This walkman became my love - I actually took it to school to show it off to a couple friends (Ajay and Santosh). During an intense session of self-examination before our Lord, I was deliberating if I should pick my walkman or my bible as the one thing to pull out of my home in the event of a fire (Hey - bibles can be replaced easily!). This walkman brought sheer awesomeness into my life - at a time when people around me had clunky, bulky walkmans with push buttons, mine was sleek, slim, had electronic buttons, could rewind/forward/skip/repeat songs (on a tape!), had a rectangular rechargeable battery, an external battery pack for a AA battery and was bathed with a metallic blue colour in a matte finish. It provided me hours and hours and hours of company during my days and nights in school and college. It provided hours and hours of entertainment to my friends and my room-mates in college as well. Sadly, when a computer came into my hostel room, the walkman lost its importance. It started being relegated to journeys and travels. I was still using it when I first came to Bangalore in 2006. It lost out soon to the sheer volume of MP3s that a PC can hold. I still have this Walkman. Haven't got the heart to sell it or give it away. It's the most emotion-attached gadget I've owned. Thanks, Mum.

Interested folk can check out the below links for few photos of this lovely device.
http://cdn.kalaydo.de/mmo/9/225/027/59_-142415234.jpg
http://img193.imageshack.us/img193/7469/dsc07076n.jpg
http://imageshack.us/photo/my-images/35/dsc07074c.jpg/
http://n2.vatera.hu/photos/f2/3d/cb75_2_big.jpg

The Geek in Me

Everybody around me know that I'm a through-and-through geek, who loves technology and gadgets. This love for technology began with the purchase of my Mum's "PC for doing doctoral research". While most of her doctoral research was completed on that PC, 90% of the PC utilisation was by the "men in the house" - my Dad and us kids. My Dad, surprisingly for his age, took to technology and all things computer-related like a fish takes in the water. On the day when the PC was purchased, I got off the school bus at a halfway point (or I had to wait for the bus to go all around the city and then reach my house) and literally ran home for a couple kilometers. I come in, all excited, sit down at the brand new PC, switch it on - and get that famous DOS black screen with the C:\> prompt. My dad, sitting next to me, is waiting - and I didn't know what to do next. So then he proceeded to type that then-unknown command "win", entered Windows 3.1 and showed me what fun the Paint application could be. I was hooked from then on. My dad, my bro and I have spent hours and hours gaming, working and figuring out computers since then. My bro and I have tech knowledge that far surpasses that of my Dad's. But without that initial launch, without my Dad allowing us to run amok inside the computer (and crash it repeatedly!) I wouldn't be the geek that I am today. Thanks, Dad.

The Cook in Me

I could safely say that my desire to cook and create things in the kitchen started with me making pizzas (buying the pizza base) when I was in 5th standard (about 9 or 10). From there, I went to make several things, many of which were experimental. The best part was - my Mum allowed me to do basically whatever I wanted in the kitchen. For those who know women and their "rule" in their own kitchens, you'd know this is a great thing. For those who know my mum and her rule in her own kitchen, this is quite an unlikely probability. She was always there when I needed to ask quick questions about the recipes I was preparing, and unbelievably left me alone when I said "Okay, okay - now I'll cook." Without this "allowing me to cook", I wouldn't be the man with the desire or ability to cook today. Thanks, Mum.

A Playing Dad

My Dad went to Holland in 1992, on a work-related trip. He brought back these sponge-like, yellow-coloured balls. They provided endless entertainment to my bro and me. The thing I'll always remember, though, is our dad sitting with us down on the floor in the living room of our house (in Erren Street, Purasawalkam) and playing a simple game of along-the-ground tennis. We've whiled away hours and hours over weekends and holidays. A busy dad, spending loads of time with his kids, in a house without an inch of outdoor space - I couldn't have asked for more. Thanks, Dad.

A Mother's Pride

I was ten. I asked my Mum why Christians are hell-bent on living for eternity when sitting around forever sounded monotonous. My Mum was so impressed that she repeated this story to a few people around. I've never forgotten this incident, since it was the first time that I learnt by example to take the thoughts in my own mind seriously. Years later (I'm 26 now), I still remember this incident for the admiration that my mum bestowed upon me for this simple thought - enabling me to reach greater and higher thoughts in future. Thank you, Mum.

(The actual gripe with "eternal living" was settled later when I figured out that eternity is timeless, unbound by the constraints of time)