Inspired by true events...
...well, events that have been true at various times...
Within minutes, I’m ready for my morning riyaz. I tune my tambura while simultaneously thinking through the day's agenda. I remember it is my turn to make breakfast today, which happens about once a week, with Pavana taking care of breakfast on the rest of the days. This means that the kids will get to eat pancakes today. The recipe for pancakes blitzes through my head. I adjust the jodi strings as I wonder why I don't have qualms eating eggs despite being vegetarian. Well no, I am not vegetarian, am I? I am eggetarian. I start thinking how hard it must be for vegans to come up with breakfast options. What if Medha wants to go vegan when she grows up? Well, I suppose that would be okay.
Unrelated thoughts coalesce in my head and I start making absurd analogies. I start comparing the oomph of the perfect jivari adjustment on the Pa string to the flavor imparted by kasuri methi to a North Indian curry when added at the end of the cooking process. May be I should make paneer for dinner today? Or may be I should use the fine tuner on the lower Sa. But then, why does the jivari become dull if I tune the string after adjusting the thread? Is it because kasuri methi loses flavor if the curry is heated too much after you add it?
Clearly I am still sleepy.
I close my eyes, strum my tambura, and begin focusing on aligning my Sa. As always, the resonance of the tambura and all its rich overtones make me feel like I am floating on a soft cloud and my voice feels safe and protected as it is gently cradled in the soft cushions of perfectly tuned strings. The tender acoustics wake me up gently and clear my mind. I start focusing on my breathing. Almost as if on cue, faint rays of the morning sun work their way into the room through the window. I enter a deep meditative state.
Twenty-five blissful minutes fly by.
Suddenly I am reminded of that whimper I had chosen to ignore earlier. Did Mira wake up? No no, she's still asleep. If she had woken up, she would have cried. But then, sometimes she doesn't cry; she just sits up and says "Amma... Akka... Appa...". What if she's doing that? I momentarily stop strumming my tambura and strain to listen. I don't hear Mira’s voice. Instead I hear the toilet flush. Someone else has woken up. I semi-panic. What if the sound of the flush wakes Mira up? I hope whoever woke up didn't use the master bedroom flush, because that one makes a racket through the wall of the baby bedroom. By the way, who is it that woke up? Is it Pavana? Oh no, I can't remember if I cleaned the counter next to the kitchen sink last night. What if it has a stain! I hope Pavana doesn't notice it. No no, there is no stain, I remember cleaning it. Darn it, I wanted to finish the pancake process and throw the egg shells before Pavana woke up; she isn’t eggetarian like the rest of us! I hope Pavana is still sleeping. Anyway, focus, focus! Finish your riyaz first!
Ten minutes later, I am in the kitchen, whisking pancake batter. Pavana and Mira are still asleep. Medha is sleepily walking around the living room. I ask her to go upstairs and brush. She ignores my command and continues to alternate between hugging me and lazily pushing random toys around in the living room. I don't have the heart to scold her. I take out the mini-pancake nonstick pan and start heating it on the stove. Simultaneously I start making chai in a saucepan. I suddenly remember I forgot to add butter to the pancake batter. I microwave a small block of butter to semi-melt it and add it to the batter.
Here’s where the plot begins to thicken.
Unfortunately the batter is cold, so the butter begins to solidify in the batter and form stringy clumps. Until now, I didn't know this was even a possibility. Meanwhile the nonstick pan begins to overheat and smoke. I hurriedly move it out of the stove top and frantically try to smoothen the batter. Out the corner of my eye, I see the milk in the saucepan begin to boil and rise. Shoot, I didn’t even add tea powder to the milk, and the milk has already boiled! I abandon the batter and move the saucepan out.
Suddenly I hear Mira cry.
I now ditch everything and run upstairs. As if determined to aggravate me, Medha follows me stating the obvious, "Appa, Mira woke up!". I know, Medha, I know. Why do you think I am running?
I retrieve Mira, brush her, and change her out of her sleeper into day clothes. She calms down and commences her usual daytime babble. Meanwhile, Pavana has woken up too; I hear the sound of running water in the other bathroom. Normally she would be up before me, but she is late today. It seems like she had a sleepless night, which means she is going to be in a sullen mood until she has her chai. I saunter down the stairs with Mira tucked under my elbow. “Mummumm.. oota?”, she asks, tilting her head and looking into my face as I enter the kitchen.
I secure Mira in her high chair and attire her with blue bib. Upon adding tea powder to the milk and beginning to reheat it, and also returning the nonstick pan to the stove, I turn my attention back to the batter. Meanwhile, a sleepy Pavana has arrived on scene with Medha following her and petitioning for the day’s virtual play dates with her friends. Pavana doesn't look amused. Her mind is half occupied with guilt for not having woken up earlier, and half occupied with annoyance at the mess on the kitchen counters I created in the last 15 min. I hardly make headway with my defense when she interrupts me with a: “Has Medha brushed?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“We just came downstairs.”
“She needs to start eating. I need to get her ready for school.”
I turn to Medha and say, “I told you to brush. Go NOW.”
Medha gives me one of her dramatic fake sulks and glides away toward the stairs. I pour the first batch of pancake batter onto the nonstick pan. They start sizzling. Meanwhile Mira has started screaming because a. she is hungry, and b. she has seen Pavana and wants her to lift her out of the seat.
“One day I wake up late, and things are falling apart.”
I sense upsurging tempers.
“Wait... nothing is falling apart, pancakes will be ready in a minute.”
“It’s late now. You can’t just let her sit in the high chair and cry.”
“She started crying literally 15 seconds ago.”
“What difference does it make how many hours ago she started crying literally? I still have to carry her now. How will I get Medha ready?”
“Not hours. Also, then don’t carry her na. Let her sit there.”
All of sudden, a sense of horror comes over me. I detect a burning smell. It’s the pancakes!
“Something is burning...”, begins Pavana.
“I know!”, I snap. I turn back to the stove and lift the nonstick pan with the pancakes and start looking for a plate to drop the over-broiled cakes in. There is not a single plate in sight. At the same time, the chai in the saucepan begins to boil over. I realize I am not prepared for this. I start panicking. However, Pavana is oblivious to the chaos. I hear her asking,
“Did you change her diaper?”
Shoot! I forgot the diaper!
“No!”, I respond with a yelp, with burnt pancakes in one hand and an overflowing saucepan in another, the yelp being a result of the hot saucepan handle that I had unsuspectingly wrapped a fist around. Suddenly I hear a wail from upstairs.
“Appaaaaaaa.........!!”, screams Medha.
“What?!!”, I scream back.
“Can you come??”
“No I can’t!!! What is it??”
“Appaaaaaaa.......!! Can you come??”
“NO I CAN’T, Medha!! Come downstairs first!!!”
“Appaaaaaa.......!!”
Pavana rolls her eyes. Mira continues to cry. I sigh and place the burnt pancakes and overflowing saucepan on the cold part of the stove. Walking over to the foyer I call out.
“Medha! What is the matter....??”
A teary eyed Medha appears on the landing.
“Appa, I dropped my toothbrush into the sink drain!”
