Last weekend, I visited an old people’s home (or retirement village or whatever you want to call it).

No, I don’t have anyone I know living there. What I do, along with a couple of friends, is to go there at lunch time on some Sundays and help the attendants there, as they are especially short-staffed on Sundays.

The help takes the form of feeding old people their lunch – as many of them can’t do it themselves any more.

So, last Sunday, it was my turn to feed an old man. I hadn’t seen him during my previous visits there. He must have been 80+ – another old face in a sea of old faces.

He made some sweeping movements with his hands when his lunch was set down in front of him and I assumed that maybe he wanted to feed himself. But an attendant hurried up to me and said I was to take no notice of what he was doing as he didn’t know what he was doing himself.

So, I started spooning food into his mouth and he ate it obediently enough (although he did try to spit some of the meat out, saying it was “tough”).

I started making some conversation with him, general stuff such as “are you enjoying your lunch”, “would you like some more mashed potato and peas with your meat, etc”, as it is so much nicer to do that rather than feeding them in total silence. He answered me very politely, saying it (the lunch) was quite nice etc.

Then, figuring that it would nice to talk to him using his name, I asked him what his name was.

He turned to me with a smile and said “I don’t know.” And then added, “I’ve never been very good with names.”

Bad hair day?

I opted for a new hair style yesterday.

The end result was that I simply loathed way it/I looked.

I spent most of the night agonising about it and wishing I could make it all grow back a la Harry Potter.

Come morning, the wild mop had settled down a bit and I felt brave enough to venture to work, all the while cursing the instinct that had led me into opting for this haircut. (Although I must admit that the temptation to take the day off for my mental health conditions was strong, especially it being a Friday).

And now in at work, I am surrounded by workmates all of whom let out admiring cries the minute they saw me. And then told me how well it suits me, how "mod" the cut was, how it makes my chinky (almost non-existent) eyes actually look bigger and what not!!!

All very, very comforting to me and my fragile ego, so I choose to believe it;-)

Go figure!!!

Happy 60th!

Just to get rid of the media-loves-only-negative-stories hype (even after all these years, I am conditioned to think I am still part of ‘media’ – how sad is that!!) here are two feel-good real-life stories. And appropriate to put them up today, I thought.
So, you think you can get any work done quickly on your PP/visa only if you give up your Indian citizenship and take on a foreign one? Because that way, it won’t be the Indian embassy that is doing the work, right? Wrong!! So, so wrong.
I had a name endorsement I needed on my PP (and I am still on an Indian PP) – and the Indian High Commission (there’s only one in NZ – in Wellington) had it done (correctly) and sent me back my PP – from my dropping off my PP to receiving the completed product – all it took was two working days!!
Go beat that! Who says our Government can’t function efficiently (at least, when there are no meddling retards masquerading as politicians to throw spanners in the works)?
Here’s one more.
Another step forward – a happy beginning at least!
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/asia/article2246476.ece
Happy 60th, India! And may you have many, many more happier returns!