The pesky guest

Traveled to Ram's village by car and came back with the boot full of goodies and a Stereo system that needed repair. 

The morning after we came back, I, in my usual morning trance-like state started preparing my coffee. When I opened the kitchen draw, I saw something furry move very fast. While I thinking that I could be hallucinating, I saw the grey little thing pass behind the wet grinder. It was confirmed. A little mouse had found its way into my home. It passed by Sanju in the hall too and in the process made my teenage son stand on top of the sofa asking me to chase the little mouse out. 

If I were that fast as the little mouse, I could have chased my dreams and made them a reality. But neither Sanju nor the mouse were in a position to understand this logic. I pulled Sanju out of the house and surrendered the kitchen full of provisions to the little guest. After the initial few days, there was no visible sign of the mouse. Either she went away or she must have been hiding very cleverly. (if you are wondering how I knew it was a "she", you would know it after you move ahead a couple of paragraphs). 

 After a long hectic business tour, Ram came back, expecting to have a peaceful and restful weekend. But there were plans already made for him. The little mouse flitted across our hall and caught Ram's eye. 

The Terminator (Ram) got himself prepared for the mouse-chase. He traced her path and found that she was hiding behind the junk in one of the shelves. We cordoned off all exit paths for her and started removing one piece of junk after another from the shelf. The mouse came out running and flew out of the apartment door. Ram followed her fast and I closed the front door with the same swiftness. The little mouse had gone into the shoe rack just outside the apartment door. We knew the chase was not over. She could easily get back inside. 

 The war between the Man and the Mouse commenced!

Ram, pulled out every slipper out of the shoe rack and cornered her again. She came out of the empty rack and stood right outside the apartment door. She stared at him. He stared at her back. She, with a "leave me alone" look. Ram, in a Ravana pose, with a rod in his hand, was asking her to leave his home. 

I, from time to time, slid open the window and checked the status. After some looooong minutes, the mouse finally decided to part from us. She hopped onto the stair case and went down to the lower floor. 

Ram, victoriously proclaimed that the mouse had left. I went in search of her, taking one careful step after the other. I then saw her perched pensively on the lowest step on the stairs leading the next floor. When she heard/felt my footsteps, she ran from the step, and hesitantly peeping into another apartment’s shoe rack. I came back to our flat and went out on some errands. 

When I returned, Ram was still in a disheveled state. On checking what the problem was, he said that there was one more. A little mouse which was just a size of an index finger. The little mouse’s baby! Ram said that it hardly moved and so, he threw it out. But he was nevertheless disturbed that the throw could have killed it if the little one was alive. Though we were peaceful that the mouse just managed to damage a few polythene covers, we were a little disturbed that we did foil the relationship between a mother and her child. 

Though kept telling ourselves that the mouse would eventually turn into more than one mice and become unmanageable, we did think back to the look that she gave Ram pleading to let her go. 

Maybe, she wanted to come back inside to take her child back with her. 

Maybe that is why she hesitantly stood on the last step on the stairs, thinking about the kid she left back. 

We went about our cleaning chores and spent a few thoughtful moments about the mouse and her little one. Sanju was very disturbed and was upset with his father for being careless with little mouse. I know you must be thinking that I am making a mountain out of a mole(mouse)hill with my melodrama. But a life, any life is precious. Be it a mouse or man. And the mother's distress did disturb me. 

The little mouse must be eating away at the plastic covers in another apartment. She would be chased away after some time too. Hopefully not killed by a trap. My mother-in-law called up and said that the mouse could have traveled from the village to our home in the old stereo system. Could be. 

When I told this to my sister, she admonished me for infesting the apartment with a village mouse. I laughed it off. I could only think of the little country mouse turning into a city mouse through the old stereo system. 

Just imagined how its journey would have been inside the boot of the car and finally landing in a strange house with limited fresh air, less light, tasteless water, and no trees. It would have been maddening to the little mouse. Especially with a baby in her belly! 

The mouse hunt successfully got over with us not killing it. The only regret was the tiny life which might not live to see the world without its mother’s initial care. I guess the mom mouse would be knowing the rules of nature and would be, by now, paving way for a new home and a hearth (birth rather!) :-) 

 Rat-tata… 

Kalps :-)

Coffee with Kalps :-)

A yet another post on Coffee :-)

Went to the doctor to complain about my stomach cramps. He listened to my symptoms and declared it as a classical case of acidity. So, what’s new! This complaint has ever faithfully stuck on to me from my teens.

So, what do I do doctor? I asked.

He asked me, "Do you drink coffee?"

"Yes"

"Then you should stop it", he said.

I was thrown aback! He said something un-hearable to my ears.

I shook my head from side to side vehemently and said, "No, doctor. That is impossible. How can I be without coffee?"

From my reactions, he found out that his words now would cause a fresh round of acid to churn around in my already burnt stomach. So, he pacified me saying, "I understand how you feel. You drink filter coffee right? I used to drink it too. And when I suffered from a lot of gastric problem, I left it and switched over to tea".

Switch over to tea?

Now, he said something that oozed blood out of my ears and heart! Replace coffee with tea? That is an unfaithful act! I can never ever do that.

I told this to him with my eyebrows knitted together in a frown.

Now, now, he pacified me. He said, “Okay, okay cool. I just was thinking about the harm coffee was doing to your stomach".

I allowed myself to cool down and said, "I will stay away from beverages altogether doctor. But can't replace coffee with another drink".

I know I shared a relationship of "Unto death do us apart" with coffee. And I also know that if I continue that relationship, death is surely on its way fast. I took some antacid tablets, promised him that I would keep away from my dear dark liquid, and went home.

I did stay away from the dark liquid during the day but my mornings still start with a fuming cup of filter coffee. If death wants me so badly, then let it get me! :-)

But what is this relationship with coffee all about? I got curious about this addiction to coffee and started googling about it. I know that this habit runs deep in my family. I remember my grandfather drinking no other beverage other than coffee. His specs are:- Strong, dark, little sugar, and piping hot (you should see fire coming out of it!)

And then, my aunt and a few more of my relatives share the same taste. The specs of us coffee lovers are almost similar. Strong, dark, little sugar, and fire hot. I know that this coffee love goes beyond our family ties. It has got to do something with the Iyer (Tamil Brahmin) community too.

A typical Iyer household wakes up with filter coffee. The filter is usually made of brass or stainless steel. And if the Iyer is in a village, the milk arrives fresh from a cow tied to the shed at the backyard. When the filter brews churns out decoction with hot water, the milk is boiled on a stove. And the following are the mandatory notes to be kept in mind when it comes to making ready the milk for its nuptial knot with the decoction: - The flame is neither too high nor low. The intensity of the flame affects the smell of milk.

- The milk is boiled only once. Coffee should never be made with re-heated milk.

- If packet milk is used, then it should not be more than a day old.

- There should be no cream or eadu (in thamizh) after the milk is boiled.

After the milk froths up with a hizzzz sound, the coffee making ritual starts. Out comes the steel davara (saucer like utensil) and tumbler. The tumbler is usually a tall heavy one with its rim bent outside.

First sugar is added, then decoction is poured inside, and then comes the frothy milk. Sugar is added just for taste. The traditional Iyers do not sip coffee. They take small gulps of it and pour it down their throats from a few inch distance from their lips. But the notorious ones ensure that they sip coffee with a slurp sound :-).

A well-made, most-preferred coffee is usually bitter and this bitter taste lasts on the tongue for a long time. A coffee loving Iyer does not eat or drink anything for about an hour or two after a cup of coffee. This is to savor the lingering taste of coffee with its bitterness for as long as it lasts. And, in a typical Iyer household, you are never offered anything to eat or drink for that time too.

So, when I googled about Coffee and Iyer, all I could get was that coffee is an inherent part of an Iyer household because they don't drink alcohol. And this is the reason that Iyers are addicted to Coffee! Though I am not sure if this still holds good because of the Iyer's changing lifestyles, it justifies my longing for coffee.

Though I grew up with coffee, I do remember staying away from it for some years in my teens. I gave it up for my amma who had to give it up for some medical problems she had. I resumed my habit when I was pregnant and was forced to stay awake at work during afternoons when little Sanju was snoring inside my belly :-)

The last thing about this coffee addiction is its preference to a few blessed hands for the specific taste. First it was my grandmother and now it is my husband. These coffee makers have got the patience and the knack to make the dark churning liquid that swims down like bitter nectar down my throat. I have got reprimanded several times for choosing my paati over my amma for making my coffee. Amma would say "I make the decoction ready and I boil the milk! Now what is that your paati makes that you ask for her to make your coffee" I used to grin at her and say "I don’t know amma. There is no logic behind this. I just love her coffee". Amma used to leave the kitchen in a huff :-)

Now, it is Ram who makes coffee for me. He knows how to get the right taste and smell out of the filter and how to make me go “haaa…”

I am back to my old coffee habits again now. Two in the morning and one in the evening. Acid does crawl inside ready to howl at the lovely dark maiden slithering down my insides. But I will remain faithful to her till my intestines fall apart! :-)

Coffeeeely,

Kalps ;-)