tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-100141562024-03-23T18:53:57.159+00:00My other Shoes are ManolosThe ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.comBlogger382125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-71701805356174007552009-01-02T10:51:00.002+00:002009-01-02T10:56:05.468+00:00so long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbyeSo I'm not going to shut this blog down or write a long shmaltzy goodbye post. That's because my little wordpress experiment may not work out and I'll be back at blogger in a month's time. Which is, by the way the amount of time I'm giving to my new wordpress blog www.whereimcallingfrom.wordpress.com<br /><br />I really don't know what I'm hoping this will achieve. But hey, can't blame a girl for trying. (And yes, I can too still be called a girl)<br /><br />So, I hope to see you <a href="http://whereimcallingfrom.wordpress.com">here</a>. But don't remove shoefiend from your blogrolls just yet.<br /><br />tata.<br /><br />ps this is my 402nd post.The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com53tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-4048804892072160612008-12-29T14:11:00.002+00:002008-12-29T14:15:39.143+00:00tata bye bye see youI keep changing my header picture hoping it will inspire me to blog. But nada. I think I'm bored of this blog. Of the name, the layout, everything. <br /><br />All those who think moving to a new space will help, say aye. Those who don't think it will change anything, and that I should shut up and get over myself, keep it to yourself.<br />So long 2008. <br />See you in 2009. Or not.The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-20497439801639706322008-12-22T10:15:00.001+00:002008-12-22T10:22:02.200+00:00We two Ours 18A friend recently sent me an email with the subject line. “And you thought one was bad.” The mail contained a link to an interview with Jim Bob and Michelle Duggar from Arkansas. Loving couple, realtors and parents to 17 children. That’s right — 17. As in a prime number following 16. As in a number following 16. As in Josh, Jana, John-David, Jill, Jessa, Jinger, Joseph, Josiah, Joy-Anna, Jeremiah, Jedidiah, Jason, James, Justin, Jackson, Johannah and Jennifer. I almost fell off my chair when a clip from a previous interview showed the couple tell their children (and millions of other Americans) that they were expecting Duggar 18 in 2009. I watched with mounting disbelief as the show host interviewed the couple and their brood of seven girls and 10 boys, asking them if they had picked a name for the next addition to their clan.<br />Jim Bob struck me as a little smug, as only a man who has successfully sown his seed 18 times can be. But it was Michelle who caught my attention. For a woman who had spent the better part of over two decades either pregnant, giving birth or getting pregnant, Michelle seemed worryingly cheerful. Chipper even. “Why would anyone in their right mind have so many kids?” I thought as I forwarded the link to friends. “They’re nuts,” I told myself. “And she needs a haircut.” After all, it’s one thing to find yourself pregnant with triplets, quadruplets or sextuplets, but it’s quite another to churn out kids like they’re going out of style along with pleather leggings and then say it’s God’s will. Seventeen kids in 20-odd years seem less ‘a blessing from up above’ and more ‘what happens when well functioning reproductive organs are put to use repeatedly sans contraception’. Now some might say, ‘What’s the big deal?’ After all, the world record for the most number of children is at 69. The mother of all these kids was the first of two wives of Feodor Vassilyev, a peasant from Shuya, 150 miles east of Moscow. In 27 confinements, this nameless woman gave birth to 16 pairs of twins, seven sets of triplets and four sets of quadruplets. How interesting that while Daddy’s name has survived all these years, all we know of the poor woman was that she was Biwi no 1. Closer home, our own grandparents effortlessly spawned offspring in the double digits. Again, it looks like the ladies had little to do but grin and bear it. As one friend’s grandmother succinctly put it, “He would come home from work and we would do it. And then I would be pregnant.” Nine times. In our ‘We two Ours one’ world, we tell ourselves that we place the limit at one or two children because we can give them more attention. While that may be true to some extent, I also think it’s because we can’t be bothered to have more kids. Children are expensive, time consuming and want to watch Sponge Bob Square Pants just when they’re going to announce the winner of American Idol. So, if it’s alright for some of us to decide to have none, one or two children, shouldn’t it be okay for others to have as many as they want? Is it alright to use words like crazy and sex-starved when discussing people with large families? Are they selfish for burdening an already crowded planet with more children? Is it fair to question their choices or ask them to consider adoption instead? I’m torn between filing the Duggars under ‘C for crazy’ and ‘N for it’s none of your business’. But maybe if people are putting their lives on TV shows and in the pages of a book, I can question their decisions. 17 Kids & Counting! premiered on TLC (The Learning Channel) in October 2008 while The Duggars. 20 and counting is in a good bookstore near you. ‘...and counting’ — That means there could be more on the way.<br /><br />This piece appeared <a href="http://"><a href="http://www.expressbuzz.com/edition/story.aspx?Title=The+Duggar+couple+score+18+and+not+out&artid=W7hUS7Hvru4=&SectionID=f4OberbKin4=&MainSectionID=f4OberbKin4=&SectionName=cxWvYpmNp4fBHAeKn3LcnQ==&SEO=">here</a></a>.The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-50894026050192660312008-12-19T16:36:00.006+00:002008-12-19T18:11:11.131+00:006am<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEoFbpiVdXREU9TWvWe61JrfSAQEoDJcyh0JesAqmHn46yZI0XC2iPmkAa8UyOUa04Hv9zSliZR8rxDtzwxS6gVEAk9XJtGk0XBlcGXeews2U68Xny0ijggz3hoQuiGON3i1k/s1600-h/IMG_0315.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEoFbpiVdXREU9TWvWe61JrfSAQEoDJcyh0JesAqmHn46yZI0XC2iPmkAa8UyOUa04Hv9zSliZR8rxDtzwxS6gVEAk9XJtGk0XBlcGXeews2U68Xny0ijggz3hoQuiGON3i1k/s320/IMG_0315.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281545514208208274" /></a><br />Her favourite time of the day. Her husband is still asleep, soaking his pillow with drool. The new neighbours upstairs have not started moving their furniture around, trying to find the perfect spot for their Poang chair. The house is dark, quiet and the heating comes on with a reassuring hum. She makes herself the first coffee of the day and sits down on the battered red sofa, tucking her feet beneath her, letting her mind inhale the silence. <br /><br />At first, she is not quite sure she even heard anything. She ignores it, but then it comes again. A shrill scream for help. And another. And another. A woman. The word beats against the double glazing repeatedly, begging to be let in. <br /><br />She cannot move. She knows she should do something. But what? Wake up her husband? Open the doors and look outside? Call the police? What could it be? A mugger? A chain snatcher? Marital discord? A... rapist? <br /><br />What could she possibly do? The woman outside is getting angry now, as though she knows people are sitting inside their homes on their battered red sofas, sipping cold coffee, pretending like they don't know what to do. Pretending they cannot hear. Her calls for help are longer, coarser, louder. And then her voice breaks. It is tired. Or she knows no one is going to come. <br /><br />The light comes on. Her husband walks in, rubbing his crusty eyes. <br /><br />'How long have you been sitting here?'<br /><br />'I don't know.'<br /><br />'What were you doing?'<br /><br />'Listening.'The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-24498507319467060522008-12-12T18:25:00.005+00:002008-12-12T19:43:21.467+00:00Kaarthikai for Dummies<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd1ipLmJrS-HqT4dRSxdNUZfPpvrW44KMLPqkmT_OO793ZpQhD4f209UeUMHXmtSUvCuvZg8o4NfFT0OFhFOmSsq1Ir-Ef_MQ3Rdh7VvCuaVMYjGOHfqBbrLPisLq5TBWfDck/s1600-h/DSC02098.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd1ipLmJrS-HqT4dRSxdNUZfPpvrW44KMLPqkmT_OO793ZpQhD4f209UeUMHXmtSUvCuvZg8o4NfFT0OFhFOmSsq1Ir-Ef_MQ3Rdh7VvCuaVMYjGOHfqBbrLPisLq5TBWfDck/s320/DSC02098.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278991483726895058" /></a><br /> <br />Thank God for tealights.The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-63918476156369710232008-12-07T08:41:00.001+00:002008-12-07T08:43:35.632+00:00Between your legs the whistle blowsEveryone loves to give advice. EVERYONE. In Mumbai, our bai used to tell me on how to make sambar, ignoring the fact that she was Maharashtrian and I was a south Indian. The lady at the salon, who wields that little spool of thread, likes to tell me how to shape my eyebrows (and, that it’s not a sin to wax certain areas). My husband likes to tell me how to arrange the contents of our fridge and dishwasher. Get knocked up and the advice increases proportionately to the size of your stomach. So you can just imagine how much advice a woman carrying sextuplets gets in her ninth month. So when I ‘fell pregnant’ as one friend said, as though my bump was some kind ebola virus I had caught, everyone had some words of wisdom to pass on to me.<br />“Listen to only good things. It will make the baby happy.” “Don’t watch violent films.” “Listen to shlokas.” “Don’t watch English films or listen to English music.” “Don’t walk so fast.” “Don’t walk at all.” “Don’t wear jeans.” “Don’t cut your hair when you’re pregnant.” And after the baby was out, of course there was more to come. “Only breast feed.” “Don’t look nice so soon after the delivery. People will cast an evil eye.” “Don’t drink cold water. The baby will catch a cold.” “Don’t keep carrying him all the time” some say before scooping my wailing son into their arms. But the best advice I received was just a few hours after my baby was born. There I was, lying in bed. Sore, bewildered and wondering if they administered nitrous oxide post delivery. Wondering when I could get up to pee, what was for lunch and why on earth there were so many people in a room the size of a supply cupboard. And then, in breezed a family friend. Let’s call her Aunty X. Aunty X is lovely. She brought me fresh snacks every week when I was pregnant. She made me kozhakattais and seedai. She was responsible for about three kilos I gained in my last trimester.<br />So Aunty X cooed at the baby before, snapping “Keep your legs together.” I raised my head a fraction of an inch and gave her an uncertain look. Surely it was too late for that? I mean that advice would have been fine before I got pregnant, but what was the use of keeping my legs together now? “Keep your legs together, or all the air will enter your body. Through down there.” she whispered. All the air? So my vagina in addition to being a human Suez Canal was now a vacuum pump? Aunty X spotted the bewildered look on my face. “I know what I’m talking about. Keep your legs together now or else you’ll be sorry later. You’ll be full of wind and air and then there’ll be whistling.” Whistling? As in the ‘put your lips together and blow’ kind? Aunty X lowered her voice conspiratorially “Whistling…down there. When you sit down you’ll hear this ‘feeeeeeeee’ sound. Now be a good girl and put your legs together. Have you fed the baby?” Of course, being the good Indian girl I am, I listened to her and did as I was told. Now I wish I hadn’t. I should have let all the wind in and taught myself to whistle show tunes. My home could do with some extra income in these credit crunching times and I’m sure Evita could have used me in their chorus line.<br /><br /><br />****<br /><br />This piece appeared <a href="http://www.expressbuzz.com/edition/story.aspx?Title=Between+your+legs+the+whistle+blows&artid=hYJf6eu7fnE=&SectionID=f4OberbKin4=&MainSectionID=f4OberbKin4=&SectionName=cxWvYpmNp4fBHAeKn3LcnQ==&SEO=">here</a>.The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-82973380663240774392008-11-24T18:58:00.002+00:002008-11-24T18:59:16.320+00:00in april'you have too sunny a disposition to write fiction'<br /><br />oh well. that explains everything.The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-90865072407929340812008-11-17T08:41:00.003+00:002008-11-17T08:54:55.068+00:00'No. This just won't do' she thinks as she scans the room.<br />She doesn't want her thinking that the house is a mess. That the newspaper is always left lying next to the bed, its sheets tangled in passionate embrace with her bra. That the grout in the bathroom hasn't been dealt with in weeks. No, months. Years, if she's totally honest. But who is these days? <br />She can just imagine her finger gliding across the mantelpiece, leaving behind a clear pathway banked on either side by dust. She can see her peeking in to the kitchen cabinets and the fridge, her well-trained eye noting items well past their expiry date. She just knows she is going to look at the drain hole in the shower and grimace at the quagmire of soap scum and hair. <br />'No, it just wouldn't do' she thinks and sets about cleaning up. First impressions are everything she decides as she wipes down countertops, sweeps the pine floor and fishes out her push up from the sports section.<br />As she plumps the last cushion, the doorbell rings. Just in time. <br />She opens the door, a smile on her face. <br />'You must be Ilia. Would you like to start cleaning up the kitchen first?'The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com327tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-76589758722738168872008-10-30T18:59:00.002+00:002008-10-30T19:30:23.256+00:00It's amazing how easy it is for a 28 year old woman to hide behind a 5 month old babySo here it is, I've been a mother for 5 months now and I'm already using the baby as an excuse. Who am I kidding, I've been using this baby as an excuse even before he was born. Even before he was conceived. My son is the reason I'm always tired. Though of course my mother (who returns home next week) is at the moment his primary care giver with me filling in the evening entertainment slot. My son is the reason I feel irritable and happy at the same time. He's the reason why I reach for that second hobnob. And the third. And the fourth. And then finish the entire pack. He's the reason, I tell myself I haven't written anything in the last six months (and let's be honest, posts on the state of post breastfeeding nipples and my own version of rock-a-bye baby don't count). <br /><br />I tell myself that I will write when the writing comes. As though the writing will arrive unannounced in a snazzy suit one evening carrying my favourite flowers with a smiley greeting of "So shall we begin?" <br /><br />I tell myself that I've been through a lot I deserve this time to do nothing, watch Oprah and read new age novels about American women who spend a year discovering themselves through meditation and tagliatelle. <br /><br />I tell myself a lot of other crazy things too - like I'll write again when I've lost my baby weight... let's be really, really honest, that could take a lot lot longer. <br /><br />So why I am not writing? I'm afraid to... a possible interest in my half finished manuscript was later rejected by a publisher. Of course, rejection is to be expected and it would have been very presumptuous of me to presume that I would never have to face that. But it's hard to get over... and it's hard to want to get over it. It's easier to stay scared. It's easier to not write anything. It's easier to not have to think about writing. <br /><br />I'm not writing because I tell myself I don't know where to start. All my characters seem distant. All my stories seem limp and insipid. My old writing seems stilted. <br /><br />I'm not writing because it's easier to just load another round of laundry, do another round of dishes or take the garbage out.<br /> I'm not writing because it's just easier to blame the baby.The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-16345075744367026432008-10-27T07:56:00.002+00:002008-10-27T08:00:15.530+00:00a song for deepavalinot really...but here goes anyway...<br /><br />rock-a-bye baby drooling on my shoulder<br />when did you get to weigh as much as a boulder?<br />when your drool breaks my shoulder will too<br />rock-a-bye baby i'd like a new pair of shoes.<br /><br />Happy Deepavali every one!The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-39045308695255410542008-10-16T07:26:00.006+01:002008-10-16T14:54:47.644+01:0028Belongs to a decade that no longer allows you the privilege of individual candles, each representing a year. Unless she gets a really large cake. One that she will have to bake herself. And that just means more birthday cake for breakfast, late afternoon and midnight snacks for a week. 28 is also not a 'special' year like 18, 30 or 60, so no joint numeral candles. Instead she has to pick out the numbers separately. There is a 0,1,2,3,4,5,6 7 and a 9. But no 8. She stands before the rack of wax numbers, conflicted. A year up or a year down? Or just a 2? Or no candles at all? Or should she get the lotus that blooms and blares out Happy Birthday on the banjo? Perhaps the universe is telling her not to expect much from this year. That it's going to be another hazy 365 days that she will look back on a few years from now and not be able to remember much from. Why celebrate it at all then? Why bother bringing in another 12 months of bland work days, weekends cleaning the fridge and restocking it, taking bags of plastic bottles and newspapers to the recycling plant and looking for strands of white hair? She would skip 28 she decided. Yes, that was it. 28 was not going to exist. She slips the red candle in to her shopping basket and heads to the till. Her melting birthday gift to herself would be another heady year of 21.The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-59467812067941679532008-10-12T10:04:00.002+01:002008-10-12T10:07:15.930+01:00Maybe this will get me writing again<span style="font-weight:bold;">Mslexia Women's Short Story Competition 2009</span><br /><br /><br />Judge: Helen Simpson<br /><br />1st Prize £2,000<br />plus a one-week writing retreat* at Chawton House Library (accommodation only) and a day with a Virago editor**<br />2nd prize £500<br />3rd prize £250<br />3 other finalists will win £100 each<br />All winning stories will be published in Mslexia magazine and they will also be read by Carole Blake from Blake Friedmann Literary Agency.<br />Closing date: 23 JANUARY 2009<br /><br />For more details, go <a href="http://www.mslexia.co.uk/shop/scomp_enter.html">here</a>The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-43179031517721654702008-10-10T13:25:00.008+01:002008-10-10T14:06:29.640+01:00Garden shed here I come...So our home has been taken over by the boot and his things. Any more additions (and by that I mean the boot's things, not another boot) and the sherpa and I will have to move in to the garden.<br /><br />Interior design forecast for 08-09 is bright, quirky accessories.... <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ8bvuBldDwaW1cZCzwdFfuSXFwnAQKK4Dbq6ei0lUc4SrRsxEb8iyieKvtDoDNqNeaw8v1eZIqNbHmWCH_8_tXFQioUbZeoXXI2f7-Y9bNmvDoKah3S1gIGRLeM27Mmc7l9A/s1600-h/photo-4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ8bvuBldDwaW1cZCzwdFfuSXFwnAQKK4Dbq6ei0lUc4SrRsxEb8iyieKvtDoDNqNeaw8v1eZIqNbHmWCH_8_tXFQioUbZeoXXI2f7-Y9bNmvDoKah3S1gIGRLeM27Mmc7l9A/s320/photo-4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255500655635293458" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg3xbnMwiEap0lsn7l-SaUxPX4HK8zLnNrEIAtZPpve2JvYAeGUBogFYrnAIrvqbqFAhnNAVw3Ts9M-61hkOlepxQeSwuGhROOoZtRURkpRejn350-5kw_5BjSqCBpbq3lV5A/s1600-h/photo-5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg3xbnMwiEap0lsn7l-SaUxPX4HK8zLnNrEIAtZPpve2JvYAeGUBogFYrnAIrvqbqFAhnNAVw3Ts9M-61hkOlepxQeSwuGhROOoZtRURkpRejn350-5kw_5BjSqCBpbq3lV5A/s320/photo-5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255500661727846674" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEios8z1oomU9CufB44I5jik8TqYOxP7RBQ38KvLc5kujaonz9rOqIWmhXlPwwMq37JiIdB1yCkUEPrn_xMc5lxnZh54mblcu19Bk5y1LGf2D5Oyb2VNrAk9bFJUzYR8HVA_5os/s1600-h/photo-3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEios8z1oomU9CufB44I5jik8TqYOxP7RBQ38KvLc5kujaonz9rOqIWmhXlPwwMq37JiIdB1yCkUEPrn_xMc5lxnZh54mblcu19Bk5y1LGf2D5Oyb2VNrAk9bFJUzYR8HVA_5os/s320/photo-3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255500664155911186" /></a><br /><br />the baby is optional...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKamv_s3L5pcV8ZpMeoFPlQkRWbfadLL2_VnSSOFjZqKyp3-aVuR0EMH756nTK7o5FjERK0HS-wHfp4dFsSD4A6nQE5O3LdU8XEMC6eGg3U9G4A-Pyn_Kr7innyc6da7v3iUQ/s1600-h/photo-6.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKamv_s3L5pcV8ZpMeoFPlQkRWbfadLL2_VnSSOFjZqKyp3-aVuR0EMH756nTK7o5FjERK0HS-wHfp4dFsSD4A6nQE5O3LdU8XEMC6eGg3U9G4A-Pyn_Kr7innyc6da7v3iUQ/s320/photo-6.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255503738953574866" /></a>The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-10040048958189911682008-09-30T15:03:00.004+01:002008-09-30T15:07:58.530+01:00questions motherhood makes you ask* when did i last wash my hair?<br />*did i brush my teeth this morning?<br />* is that the boot's snot?<br />* do they make post pregnancy bras with built in iron girders for support?<br />*if breast feeding burns calories can i eat all the chocolate hob nobs i want? no? why not?<br />*how many crying babies does it take to make you wish you'd taken a vow of celibacy? (Now this I know the answer to!)<br />*When will the baby wake up and can I make it to Fuerta Ventura by then?The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-91744454879110345912008-09-19T10:40:00.002+01:002008-09-19T10:57:01.364+01:00The series in developing baby's intelligenceInstruction manual for a musical, Made in China mobile.<br /><br />"We are sure that all toys made by us will cause somewhat elicitation for the exploitation of baby's capacity.You will find that your baby is more clever and cute"<br /><br />Indeed.The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-68493627363877104912008-09-06T03:28:00.003+01:002008-09-06T03:50:05.204+01:00So my 8 months of 'maternity leave' draws to an end. Tomorrow I return to London with the Boot. It's been a wonderful stay and as much as I look forward to going back to London, I'll miss Madras. Thanks to all my friends who cheered me up and took me out to lunch when I was feeling blue, who chauffeured me around town when I was fat and couldn't move, to the aunties who made me besan ladoos and payasam and contributed to the fat and to the wonderful Madras that helped me sweat the weight away... and most of all thanks to Amma and Appa who helped put the Boot to sleep, changed nappies, sang him silly family songs, found everything he did wonderful and fascinating when I was too tired to and generally took him off my hands whenever I felt an aneurysm coming on.<br /><br />See you all next year!The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-14051399307008170272008-09-03T11:08:00.001+01:002008-09-03T11:11:38.488+01:00The Boot celebrates his first Vinayaka Chaturthi<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCyygRtspQWlPzjkhlemKM5MJriDXd7gd9onNZ1sfpFy0MybYCTIpdU0dx4ooCGQZa0zr2ARHB2MGZKXtFRqGUFxHYf6om9Bo5YZKQXrWTgl4c7N35yUr9uhrMw9ud4bfYJU8/s1600-h/DSCN0789.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCyygRtspQWlPzjkhlemKM5MJriDXd7gd9onNZ1sfpFy0MybYCTIpdU0dx4ooCGQZa0zr2ARHB2MGZKXtFRqGUFxHYf6om9Bo5YZKQXrWTgl4c7N35yUr9uhrMw9ud4bfYJU8/s320/DSCN0789.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241735611527437730" /></a><br />and his mother reaps the benefits...<br /><br /><div style='text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;'><a href='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEjlxz95_yJLspdneUaPVw-hX5UqzphOIzR5WrQdZ1QKOYV8_tXZilKI6gMU8FbZQ75qqwm33kRFJ0E6SQ4Ns5ySsDHG38kIEM8CVEtqoupfWU_jjUjIW4foNCjwqVKSBVA4I/s1600-h/DSCN0781.JPG'><img src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEjlxz95_yJLspdneUaPVw-hX5UqzphOIzR5WrQdZ1QKOYV8_tXZilKI6gMU8FbZQ75qqwm33kRFJ0E6SQ4Ns5ySsDHG38kIEM8CVEtqoupfWU_jjUjIW4foNCjwqVKSBVA4I/s320/DSCN0781.JPG' border='0' alt='' /></a> </div><br /><div style='text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;'><a href='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdcz9L7I2KFVifVQsuqumiBfyZnDodvyvWL6VS-BQIelo6xZPHC3Izrio8pHIuQA0P18uafYMldbLTrbw8KiRQIQtOfHKAvS1PtH1mE-9_jy0a1dBPaJyb35ySh1FZWHCt6dc/s1600-h/DSCN0783.JPG'><img src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdcz9L7I2KFVifVQsuqumiBfyZnDodvyvWL6VS-BQIelo6xZPHC3Izrio8pHIuQA0P18uafYMldbLTrbw8KiRQIQtOfHKAvS1PtH1mE-9_jy0a1dBPaJyb35ySh1FZWHCt6dc/s320/DSCN0783.JPG' border='0' alt='' /></a> </div><br /><div style='text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;'><a href='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5eaA8csTyK-ySs4WMbmVZ3OXcD_zgEb5S5hPl1e1W4YQpWGZT-bGHEw0qhQbbxiiq1emG9iDHfBKxHpkgVLSAvuSeZ_dMldPZiBYSMYOZruHBP0Ofck0pJqkdnsMSCyIbSjI/s1600-h/DSCN0787.JPG'><img src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5eaA8csTyK-ySs4WMbmVZ3OXcD_zgEb5S5hPl1e1W4YQpWGZT-bGHEw0qhQbbxiiq1emG9iDHfBKxHpkgVLSAvuSeZ_dMldPZiBYSMYOZruHBP0Ofck0pJqkdnsMSCyIbSjI/s320/DSCN0787.JPG' border='0' alt='' /></a> </div><br /><div style='text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;'><a href='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYz3m0ej7SkTfCXamqmoxQy5CINjbqzwSKkbtHMTpfoMV6F847-FQgiDWORkJXNkNAKv1bOOqXN7_4nCluw-eVzh42sd7-_tOb3SeFrBT1MkZi2vSSFtsaG295rZ4UHoEPqao/s1600-h/DSCN0794.JPG'><img src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYz3m0ej7SkTfCXamqmoxQy5CINjbqzwSKkbtHMTpfoMV6F847-FQgiDWORkJXNkNAKv1bOOqXN7_4nCluw-eVzh42sd7-_tOb3SeFrBT1MkZi2vSSFtsaG295rZ4UHoEPqao/s320/DSCN0794.JPG' border='0' alt='' /></a> </div><div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-20319613274942832302008-08-13T03:48:00.002+01:002008-08-13T03:51:31.414+01:00just to clarify things...breast feeding is NOT the most satisfying thing i have ever done. it's pretty boring, sometimes painful, my butt cheeks fall asleep and the entire process makes me feel like a very large, unattractive jersey cow. now, eating an entire packet of chocolate digestive biscuits by myself... that's pretty satisfying.The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-6645431190539545602008-08-13T03:37:00.005+01:002008-08-13T03:56:07.871+01:00cut grass and kutchi icewhen i'm in london i miss everything madras...the sun, family, friends, vazhaithandu, clothes drying on a line in our kollapakkam, milk cookers that stand in as roosters with their early morning screechy cock-a-doodle whistles, bad tv, the thwack of newspapers hitting the floor as delivery boys do the rounds, the reassuring thud of the nightwatchman's stick as it hits the neighbouring compound walls. <br /><br />that i've been in madras for the better part of the year and i miss london. the sherpa, the quiet, my blue elephant and mouse, bad tv (i missed an entire season of big brother gasp!!!), my desk, the fat squirrels in the garden, that lovely blue the sky is in summer..and my home. my desk, the very uncomfortable couch and the fireplace with the brass frame thingy that keeps falling off... <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjml7TQoz9BSDdVDKBCnW7vvPlmfaqFrENOPD6ygVm68Iz9EHQfPfSxntBGJsjFFGYsevcW7a_aE7qPgnvOnKtA9CSkuUyoZ8xcNYVI0j8uDDgaaxtdaDV13wBx9sgSTu5qXGo/s1600-h/004.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjml7TQoz9BSDdVDKBCnW7vvPlmfaqFrENOPD6ygVm68Iz9EHQfPfSxntBGJsjFFGYsevcW7a_aE7qPgnvOnKtA9CSkuUyoZ8xcNYVI0j8uDDgaaxtdaDV13wBx9sgSTu5qXGo/s320/004.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233830489549667650" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiHunzwX5YJRoPX3SJFSefr6So_RsiUpUkmnDJQP-P3J4y-IzaVsvtUklk3rancQikRXfzM-00EpqJHbEE0ppJIQtLhbpU7VDXKVWG1F3IypMOGENwGhtKodJsbeaUttGzZdE/s1600-h/025.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiHunzwX5YJRoPX3SJFSefr6So_RsiUpUkmnDJQP-P3J4y-IzaVsvtUklk3rancQikRXfzM-00EpqJHbEE0ppJIQtLhbpU7VDXKVWG1F3IypMOGENwGhtKodJsbeaUttGzZdE/s320/025.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233830491368410322" /></a><br /><br /><br />i'll be back in london in less than a month. and i'll probably be wishing i had a milk cooker.The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-77280414417677653862008-08-07T02:24:00.003+01:002008-08-07T02:48:20.442+01:00happy birthday to madrasSo, some very cool people are getting together and celebrating 369 years of the city with photowalks, photography exhibitions, open mic sessions and much more. Head over to <a href="http://www.selectiveamnesia.org/">Chandroo's site</a> for more <a href="http://www.selectiveamnesia.org/2008/08/01/august-22-2008-one-super-fantastic-excellent-party/">details about events, venues and timings</a>. I've had to skip all the photowalks Chandroo and gang have organised these last seven months due to a)morning sickness b)laziness and c) my inability to photograph anything without i)red eyes b) being off centre... I will definitely be there at the sessions at Vanilla which is so close to home that I can jump over a compound wall and be there... the rest of you who are free from caterwauling babes have no excuse. See you there!The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-42055756994259272862008-08-04T03:49:00.000+01:002008-08-04T03:49:39.050+01:00the writing is on the wall<div style='text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;'><a href='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLvlgALJqJjAFNPiftFSCe7RgmC0UDgva9xu0IU75Ol3YXdKMMS0jx6H2LxKIBbfLNfXNhkLb9t_yp_8sovmbMtSodKblyeCfkXcfpPtZA9YZLxWAR0MlhRg_dA9XM8dhpO1E/s1600-h/DSCN0669.JPG'><img src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLvlgALJqJjAFNPiftFSCe7RgmC0UDgva9xu0IU75Ol3YXdKMMS0jx6H2LxKIBbfLNfXNhkLb9t_yp_8sovmbMtSodKblyeCfkXcfpPtZA9YZLxWAR0MlhRg_dA9XM8dhpO1E/s320/DSCN0669.JPG' border='0' alt='' /></a> </div><br /><br /><br />(Woodlands Hotel Wall. Reads: Dogs, do not urinate here)<div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-34118551992424119722008-07-27T03:46:00.002+01:002008-07-27T03:55:42.250+01:00long distance drishti*'You look terrible...look at those dark circles under your eyes. You were fine till yesterday... Ssss... your forehead is so hot. It's all kannu*... what else can it be? You were glowing I say... everyone has been saying that. Why, even your Chitti in Delhi saw those pictures you sent her and went on and on about how healthy you looked. I'll tell Anbu to buy a big pooshnikkai in the evening. "<br /><br />'Yes, yes you're right' she agrees nodding her head in agreement 'It's all kannu'. And eight appams, four kozhakattais and three mullu murukku. And two servings of arisi uppuma.<br /><br /><br /><br />*drishti,kannu - evil eyeThe ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-70226750738327227152008-07-21T03:31:00.002+01:002008-07-21T03:39:47.393+01:00look in to my eyes...and made up rhymes...Can I hire this guy to hypnotize the baby to sleep? My own beseeching requests seem rather ineffectual...<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/5_8p3z6GSWY&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/5_8p3z6GSWY&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Apart from not knowing how many days old the baby is (Nurse: How old is the baby? Me: I think about 40 days... could be 50... Amma, how old is the baby?)my other failings as a new parent include not remembering a single song or nursery rhyme. I refuse to Google for them, since I'm sure they'll come back to me at some point of time, and so till then I make them up...<br /><br />Incy wincy spider climbing up the spout <br />down came the rain and washed away his brussel sprouts...<br /><br />Hush now baby don't you cry<br />mommy's going to buy you A Pocket Full of Rye<br />and if that pocketful of rye isn't funny<br />daddy's going to buy you From here to Eternity<br />And if that movie doesn't end quick<br />Mommy's going to buy you Moby Dick<br /><br />and in other news... Aardvarks spotted on Old McDonald's farm... what noise do Aardvarks make anyway...The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-16233155915719278712008-07-01T11:16:00.002+01:002008-07-01T11:24:23.419+01:00long before that pregnant dude on Oprah<a href="http://shyamram.blogspot.com/">Shyam </a>has passed on the Page 123 tag to me, so here goes.<br /><br />These are the rules:<br />1. Pick up the nearest book.<br />2. Open to page 123.<br />3. Find the fifth sentence.<br />4. Post the next three sentences.<br />5. Tag five people, and acknowledge the person who tagged you.<br /><br />The book: The Pregnant King by Devdutt Pattanaik. (<a href="http://jaiarjun.blogspot.com/2008/03/devdutt-pattanaiks-pregnant-king.html">Read </a>a review here)<br /><br />The extract:<br />'I am Sumedha, a Pujari from Pratishthana,' he said.<br />Simantini noticed he was tall with fine wavy hair falling on his shoulders. His shoulders were broad and he was thin, with sunken cheeks and full lips.<br />'And hers?'The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10014156.post-46095125995175648652008-06-30T15:57:00.007+01:002008-07-01T04:09:05.180+01:00midnight cowgirl and my last post about 2am feedsthings to do at 2am when feeding a very small creature<br /><br />a kegel exercises (read importance of kegel exercises <a href="http://shoefiend.blogspot.com/2008/06/definition.html">here</a>)<br /><br />b wonder which phillip treacy hat shape one's chewed nipples most resemble. i'm inclined to go with no 3 at the moment (if i had a glue gun, some sequins and feathers on hand i'd even make a phillip treacy hat out of my nipples. (no reason why one can't be fashionable post delivery. also i promise this is the last time you'll be reading the word nipple on this blog.)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXNQUZtejofxshFrzlR8vL_Ahj3z_hy2MEhsFLDV1G8X2D0kvvqAb9IaghYJp9ahZf3srZLvIEI10u4CFAdySfgnaCbnNNlNr1uw2d6RywCG4T9FZUnmsX_SDWecdkJaUk7yg/s1600-h/1carolyn.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXNQUZtejofxshFrzlR8vL_Ahj3z_hy2MEhsFLDV1G8X2D0kvvqAb9IaghYJp9ahZf3srZLvIEI10u4CFAdySfgnaCbnNNlNr1uw2d6RywCG4T9FZUnmsX_SDWecdkJaUk7yg/s320/1carolyn.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217874571923554658" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi29nWDjkBirj7dKqPH2EoKiyOlTjK_YmBeQsYcy4ccNfG3C2CNSbVPKEgbloVaRcceBDnYeTShTbBdm-xA0BPs8JHvY2zwz-w_-QVg-m6kYMOFMFz3_DYrFMQn8YrTwiHRI-E/s1600-h/coverapr00b.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi29nWDjkBirj7dKqPH2EoKiyOlTjK_YmBeQsYcy4ccNfG3C2CNSbVPKEgbloVaRcceBDnYeTShTbBdm-xA0BPs8JHvY2zwz-w_-QVg-m6kYMOFMFz3_DYrFMQn8YrTwiHRI-E/s320/coverapr00b.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217874571988860610" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOnkLJzY4ngOvv9GKyB0mhRTsdZ5KLq3nFzu1dttDw5oV7eGTWVAfbwB9ua_GqvKQw1sr_3K4utNCpHerSQWDITfUylbSx8pKMnODgH6kPUQ29q1Ip0kkDkWzV1ziVf_-Om8k/s1600-h/392981840_b2cc64a57e.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOnkLJzY4ngOvv9GKyB0mhRTsdZ5KLq3nFzu1dttDw5oV7eGTWVAfbwB9ua_GqvKQw1sr_3K4utNCpHerSQWDITfUylbSx8pKMnODgH6kPUQ29q1Ip0kkDkWzV1ziVf_-Om8k/s320/392981840_b2cc64a57e.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217874575996608690" /></a><br /><br />c more kegel exercises (i cannot stress the importance of this) <br /><br />d try to remember all the lyrics of certain annoying ad jingles then desperately try to forget them. <br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/zoT9nAHDOUs&hl=en"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/zoT9nAHDOUs&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />e some more kegels (ignore this at your own peril)The ramblings of a shoe fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02193183543700543479noreply@blogger.com33