Au Revoir

I had such a good time with my Dida; it was over much too quickly, and now I can’t wait to visit my half-homeland and see (for the first time) Dadu and Budida and Mashi and all the other family members and friends I have heard so much about!

Dida and I had a whale of a time. You’ve read about my Annaprashan and how much fun that was. We also visited the very atmospheric Bronte Parsonage in the little village of Haworth on the windswept Yorkshire Moors. I had a lively discussion about the relative merits of the novels of the three Bronte sisters with one of the tour guides there. I also enjoyed my apple juice at the little café on Haworth’s quaint main street which Branwell used to frequent (for his supply of Laudanum Mommy said, I don’t know what that is, a kind of cake, perhaps?). Mommy and Daddy did not seem to approve of my interior decorating efforts when I tipped half of Mommy’s salad on the floor (I thought it looked better there). I’m sure Dida appreciated it though!

We also visited Haddon Hall in the Derbyshire Dales. Dida loves history and literature just like Mommy so she loved Haddon Hall which has links with both. I had a relaxing sleep in my sling (attached to Daddy’s chest) through the medieval section, but woke up in time for the mini museum at the end of the tour which had an interesting collection of artefacts, all discovered when the Hall was renovated in the early 20th century. I drew Daddy’s attention to the little, weathered children’s shoes that had been unearthed under the floorboards in the old nursery. My purpose was twofold; it was an interesting exhibit and I could do with some shoes! Mommy and Daddy haven’t bought me any yet because they think babies don't need them till they can toddle, but ever since Cousin Eleanor pointed out my shoelessness in France, I have yearned for shoes.

We wrapped up the evening with a meal at our local pub. Dida does not have a pub in her locality (plenty of good restaurants though), so she wanted to sample ours', nor does she get too many opportunities to have beef steak in Calcutta as it is not that popular there.

Dida’s English sojourn ended with our Diwali celebration. Grandma and Grandad joined us for a lamp-lit cuppa and chocolate cake from Tesco’s (an old Indian tradition)!

And so, Dida’s month with me flew by, filled with fun, laughter, Indian celebrations, English history and most of all, the Bengali songs she sung to me about pomegranate-laden Kabuliwallahs and critters called Hattimatimtim.

I haven’t forgotten your songs Dida, I’ve been singing them to Mommy since you left, and when I see you next, you can teach me a few new ones (especially those about critters- they make the best songs)!

See you soon in Calcutta!

Silver Spoon

I wasn’t born with one in my mouth but many of my friends and some of my family (India is a long way away and unfortunately, not everyone could join us) came together last Saturday to make up for that. What was the occasion, you say? It was my ‘Annaprashan’- a Bengali rite of passage marking a baby’s first solid feed. For this special first feed, Dida gave me a beautiful set of silver dishes she had had inscribed in Calcutta, one of which was a delicately crafted tumbler which had belonged to her as a child. She also brought me elegantly embroidered traditional Indian clothes to wear for my big day. And the proverbial silver spoon, of course, was a gift from Mashi, and very pretty it is, too.

The event started with my English family arriving just as I had got into the dashing day outfit sent by Shanta Mashi Dida. I was excited to see that even Great Grandad and Grandma and G. Aunty Nellie had made the trip for my special day! My friends trooped in before long and soon everyone was tucking into an array of dishes (almost as many as there were guests). The ceremony followed; a rice and milk mix was spooned up by one Grandma while I sat on the other’s lap. Flashbulbs popped as I wolfed it down to everyone's delight (I had been told the best food had been reserved for me but I have my doubts about that; Daddy’s lamb curry seemed to go down a storm).

With the spotlight squarely on me, Mommy brought ‘round a tray of pretty little objects symbolising different abilities and assets, e.g. a little silver palanquin for social status and a brightly covered book of Bengali tales for wisdom (and a few odds and ends they’d obviously just chucked in at random). I was supposed to pick three to show the path I'd take in later life (I think Mommy, Daddy and Dida made this up to give me a better shot at choosing the right objects, I’m reliably informed most babies just get the one chance)! Guess what I picked? A cricket ball for sporting ability, the clay pot signifying wealth and a miniature silver cart that stood for fancy wheels. I think the comparisons with Tendulkar are inevitable, don’t you? Right down to the Schumacher-gifted Ferrari that got stuck in Customs! Everyone was very happy for me; in fact, I hear Bilky Mashi is already planning her retirement.

The evening ended with fond farewells, a manly heart to heart with my friend Eddie, and an attempt by Mommy and Daddy to show off my prowess with the Jumperoo (I refused to perform however; my adventures in the Jumperoo is a secret I share with the tribes of the Amazon). When our guests had gone and the dust settled, I unwrapped my pile of presents from around the world to discover wonderful toys, books and clothes (although I must admit that the cardboard boxes are my favourite). All in all, it was the most perfect day and I’d like to thank everyone who attended (even in spirit) for making it so!

Jumperoo Jack Flash

They call me Jack Flash, Jumperoo Jack Flash. The Native Americans of deepest darkest Amazon call me this because I’m agile and quick-witted. Many-a-time have I helped them vanquish nasty crocs and other creepy crawlies that threaten their homes and children (one child reported encountering a one-eyed crocodile who waved a knife under his nose and said ‘Oi’ in a menacing way). My feats of daring have established my reputation with them as ‘One to Depend on to Do the Best Of Derring-do’s’ (to be considered an ODD BOD is the highest honour amongst the tribes of the Amazon Rainforest).

This weekend I was back in the Amazon helping a venerable tribal chief rescue his daughter from some oversized bugs. They had flown off with her, mistaking her for one of their own as she was prancing about in a neon green polka dotted catsuit which the chief had brought back from New York where he occasionally went to watch his favourite Broadway musicals. But I digress. The Toms Toms summoned me to the Amazon and at the head of a handful of tribal Braves I stormed the bugs’ bastion and reunited the doting chief and his daughter. I sustained a few scratches (which Mommy questioned me about but my lips are sealed; the rainforest tribes are a reclusive people) but I think you will find the bugs fared much worse and it will be many years before they consider kidnapping another badly dressed child.

That I am writing this at all is because I want to debunk the myth that I am a superhero before I become the stuff of legend and over-the-top-tabloid tales.

I am merely human. When I scratch myself (as I do quite often in a tizzy because I’ve been put in my crib) I definitely bleed. What I do have, however, is a secret weapon- a wonderful, bouncing, music-playing, light-flashing, animal-noise-emitting vehicle (for want of a better word to describe this unique thing) which carries me into these adventures and then away, unscathed.

My Swiss aunt and uncle bought it for me thinking it would make a brilliant toy but little did they know that it was capable of much more! It has been my trusty steed in times of need and my inspiration in tight corners (like the time I outwitted a troupe of terrible toucans who held me captive in their tree, but that’s another story). I bow to you my comrade-in-arms, and to Bilky Mashi and Olaf Mesho, I say 'thank you'! For some reason Mommy and Daddy want to thank them too for ‘peace at mealtimes’- beats me what that’s about...

Our Survey Says...

…that the majority of people (37%) who voted for who I look like most voted for Mommy. And so, I've posted this picture of Mommy being crowned a beauty queen because if you look like me you gotta be a champion looker, haven’t you (after all, everyone tells me I’m a cutie)? Daddy came an honourable second with 29% of the votes though many maintain (including Mommy) that I look more like Daddy but runners-up don’t merit a picture sporting a sparkly tiara! And poor ol’ George Clooney was relegated to an also-ran, mostly because he isn’t, of course, nearly as cute or cuddly as I am (Mashi said this; the real one, I think, not the imposter). As for the rest, well, they don’t even deserve a mention with the kind of votes they got! Can I tell you what I think though? I feel I’m the perfect blend of Mommy and Daddy, and I can’t think of a better look than that for any baby! Before I wrap this up, however, I would like to thank everyone who’s voted and made this poll so much fun to monitor from day to day as first George, then Daddy and then Mommy, took the lead. Do keep dropping in, Amigos Mios, and commenting and voting because I’m having a blast writing my blog for all of you!

D is for Dida

A is for Anindita. B is for Boeing. C is for Coming to visit, and D is for Delighted (and Dida)!

Anindita is my Dida, Mommy’s mommy, and she flew into Heathrow on a Boeing 747 to meet me for the first time last Sunday. And I’m delighted to say we get along like a house on fire!

I must admit that I wasn’t too pleased when Mommy and Daddy dragged me out of bed at 0430 am on Sunday morning but that was because I had forgotten what it was for. It’s not something I would ever do, you see; wake them up in the middle of the night.

After a long, tiring (sleeping is an exhausting business, I tell you) drive, we arrived at this huge, cavernous place filled with people jostling for a better view of something. I thought it might be the paparazzi waiting for me (as they do) but they seemed distinctly disinterested when I turned up. Only a few turned and smiled and an old lady attempted to tickle my chin which I dodged rather deftly.

As it turned out we were at Heathrow Airport and the surging, neck-craning crowd was waiting for their friends and family to arrive. That’s when I remembered Dida was arriving that morning on a big plane called a Boeing (they call it that because of the noise it makes when it bounces on the runway) to meet me! Now I was excited!

But it was a whole hour before Dida turned up because the Immigration People (don’t ask me who they are but they sound like a boring lot) were feeling a wee bit lonely (as they often do, Mommy told me) and were stopping everyone for very long chats. I was the first to spot Dida in the crowd- a little lady dressed like an Eskimo, just like Daddy said she would be- and head-butted Daddy to draw his attention. Soon I was scooped up into a lovely, silky bedspread (Mommy says it’s called a sari) and given a cuddle.

Daddy drove us home after that, with Mommy and Dida talking nineteen to the dozen in Bengali. I could join in because I am already multilingual (English, Bengali and Baby). By the time we’d got home, Dida and I had become the best of friends and as she’s going to be here for a month, we’re going to have a groovy (Dida is a child of the 60’s) time together. Anything that does not involve going outside, of course, just in case it’s too cold!

I know people around the world are waiting with bated breath for the minutiae of our adventures together this autumn (especially Dadu who, unfortunately, couldn’t join us this time). So, watch this space for further details (like will she or won’t she venture into 'the cold')!