The N-E-E-D to R-E-A-D

 Are you teaching your kids to R-EA-D? Then you N-EE-D this Twinkl product!

Is teaching your child to R-EA-D turning you into The Very Hungry Gruffalo? 

Is getting to grips with the basics of jolly phonics making you anything *but* jolly?

Are you ready to take out a petition to change the spelling of ‘enough’ to ‘enuf’, because at this point, that seems like the easier option rather than teaching your students to read ‘en-ough’?

Then you NEED our new and improved Rhino Readers app!

Rhino Readers is a simple app built on Twinkl Phonics program’s basics, which has been approved by the Department for Education, UK. It gives an introduction to different sounds, and then has simple sentences and stories for you to start reading.

The Unholy Upside of Homeschooling

It is getting harder and harder to maintain a work-life balance due to the Covid pandemic. With the surge in infections the worldover, maybe it's time to see if there's a better alternative to homeschooling, because if this is the 'future', as it's being touted, then I'm certainly not very excited about it! But maybe there is an upside? let's try to look at it: 

 1. You don't have to dress up to drop your kid to school: Not that changing from your pyjamas to your semi-outside clothes was much of a stretch to begin with, but now you can leave it out altogether! 

 2. You don't have to spend around 10 minutes telling your kid "Wow, you can untangle the knot you made yourself with your shoelaces when you weren't listening to me! Hooray!" 

 3. You don't have to do small talk with other parents. "Been upto anything much over the weekend?" "Nope. You?" "Nope" 

 4. You get to find out how clever your child *really* is. "No, light is L-I-G-H-T and lit is L-I-T but like is L-I-K-E. Now that we're done with basic phonics, you write a sentence." And she starts writing 'Migh naim is...' 

 5. You don't need to use any haircare products, because you'll pull all your hair out before you know it. So, these were some advantages of homeschooling. Stay tuned for more.

Why Love Jihad is the Stupidest Idea in the World

I have made a conscious effort to refrain from talking on the topic of love jihad. This is simply because I didn’t think it warranted any more attention than our silly Indian journalists and overenthusiastic media have been giving it these past few weeks. However, after the recent Kareena Kapoor poster and the call to boycott the 3 Khan’s films, I feel compelled to speak up. While I am not averse to the idea of boycotting these films (the world is a better place without a Happy New Year, Dhoom 3 and Kick), the reason behind this call is ridiculous.

Going by the definition of Love jihad, it was probably started 17 years ago by star of the futuristic movie ‘Kabhi Muslim, Kabhi Brahm’, Shah Rukh Khan, who married Gauri Khan, a Hindu. Yes, even SRK, the poster boy of liberal Islam, who some self-proclaimed Muslim clerics have even denounced as being a Muslim because he keeps a Quran and a Gita side by side in his house, hasn’t been spared. And now, this so called love jihad has been perpetrated by Saif Ali Khan, who married Kareena Kapoor Khan.

First of all, I don’t understand how SRK could ever have even construed the idea of love jihad. Here is how his proposal probably went:

“Gauri, will you marry me?”
“How can I marry you? I am a Hindu and you are a Muslim!”
“Ya, but I’m like, really talented and stuff and am determined to become the King Khan of Bollywood. I plan to set up my career making good films like DDLJ and Chak De and then, will develop six pack abs and do crappy films later like Chennai Express and HNY, but in the end, as Brad Pitt said in Friends, my job will suck but I’ll be rich and thin!”
“Well….”
“I’ll make you the co-producer of my biggest hits and let you head my production company”
“Okay, let’s get married!”

Let me speak from experience. I’m in my late 20’s and have been happily married for a while now by the grace of God and the grace of a matrimonial website I am too ashamed to name. However, when my mother started her hunt for a ‘suitable boy’, she was a computer cretin. It took all of three years, an amount of computer expertise gained on the way that would shame an NIIT instructor, and a slew of unsuitable suitors before I finally landed my Mr. Right. In short, let’s just say that if I were to write my own version of ‘A suitable boy’, it would probably be longer than Vikram Seth’s version.

So, what took so long for it all to work out in the end? Was I too fussy with my demands? I married my husband knowing full well that he doesn’t like Game of Thrones, so clearly, I wasn’t fussy at all. The truth is that all those newspaper articles that give you a fleeting moment of joy on reading about the skewed sex ratio in India notwithstanding, the only market that is worse off than the stock market in India is the marriage market. Look around and in every community it’s the same story - qualified girls are having a hard time finding their Mr. Right. The story isn’t any different in the Muslim community. So pray tell me, when you’re surrounded by Muslim girls willing to marry you, why would anyone in their right mind go through the trouble of wooing a non-Muslim girl, just to force her to convert to Islam and marry him?

For all those persistent skeptics, here is what a typical conversation between a 20-something year old ‘love jihadi’ and his father sounds like:

Boy: Abbu, I wanted to ask you something…
Father: For the last time beta, I stand by the story I told you nine years ago. Babies are born when a stork comes and delivers them through the–
Boy: No, actually I wanted to ask for the car keys.
Father: Why?
Boy: Well, I wanted to go out with my girl friend–
(Two minutes of earth shattering silence and Amrish Puri-ish glaring by the father)
Boy: Also umm.. abbu, she isn’t a Muslim, she is actually a–
(Boy doesn’t complete the sentence because his father has shot him.)

Furthermore, there are hundreds of instances of the reverse happening. Ajit Agarkar married Fatima. Hrithik Roshan married Suzanne Khan. Sachin Pilot married Sara Abdullah. Shirish Kunder married Farah Khan. In fact, Soha Ali Khan married Kunal Khemu, so technically, Saif should be off the hook. So when no one called these instances ‘love wapasi’, then why should the opposite be called ‘love jihad’?

As for instances where such inter-caste marriages involve dowry, assault, marital rape, physical and/or sexual abuse of any kind, etc., well if that Muslim guy had even married a Muslim girl, it would still happen, not because he is a Muslim but because he is a bad human being.

Ironically, when I’d just started college nearly a decade ago, a very cynical, conspiracy theory obsessed aunt of mine once told me that there are young Hindu boys who are 'paid' to make Muslim girls fall in love with them, so as to convert them to Hinduism, and this is all a 'scheme' run by right wing Hindu organisations to ‘increase their population’. I was too busy studying during that time, so I eventually wouldn’t recollect the name of a single boy in my class, but then too I laughed at the sheer inanity of the idea, the way I laugh at the fact that this same theory is applied to Muslim boys today in the form of 'love jihad'. You know why? Because if there is one thing our country doesn't need, it is more population, irrespective of religion.

On a closing note, let me tell you, marriage is hard. It requires a lot of mutual understanding and compromise to make it work. Sure, there are days when your happily-ever-married pictures are the envy of your Facebook friends but then, there are also days when you just want to stab someone in the eye and make a run for it. And those are the days when there are no uninvited guests crashing at your place at dinner time. So if a couple get married, and in addition to the problem of adjusting routines, careers, homes, cities, culture, families, social circles, life in general, etc. also wish to adjust to the inconvenience of differing caste and religion, then my friends, it isn’t love jihad. It’s something far more dangerous...

It’s simply love.

Musings From a First Timer in Kolkata!

The City of Joy, as Kolkata is fondly called, sure has a lot to offer to the astute observant. I’ve been here for a just over a week now and this city has already amused me with its various novelties.

This is a city where every mode of transport known to man is available - right from the otherwise extinct hand pulled rickshaws to metros and local trains. The metros, besides the very scarce air conditioned ones, unfortunately do not manage to live up to those seen in Delhi and instead, resemble Mumbai local trains, with the exception of doors and relatively serious looking people. But on a metro, you will most likely catch a glimpse of your typical Bengali woman, wearing a crisp sari, with intellectual looking glasses perched on her nose and a large bindi adorning her forehead. And most people have large stoned rings (to save themselves from the infamous Bengali 'jaadu-tona' that everyone keeps warning me about?)

Furthermore, I realized that this is one of those rare cities where chivalry still exists, because no guy, and I mean NO GUY will ever sit or even stand in the ladies section of the metro, even if it's the only section where there is place to sit. If you have two bulging things in the lower half and not the upper half of your body, you shall continue to stand in the metro and not sit in the ladies section! And it's crazily hilarious the way people run for the card swiping machine when they reach the metro station, like a pot of gold is waiting for them at home. It would've been far more hilarious if people didn't stamp on my foot every time they tried to run.

The metro station is my source of learning Bangla, as I keep observing Bengali letters and notice that they are in the Devanagri script, but are probably a bit more fancy and angulated. Say, if the Hindi alphabets went out drinking and partying, they'll end up looking like Bengali alphabets.

But a metro is perhaps the best mode of transport for a newcomer in the city, as the roads are bound to confuse you endlessly. The roads here follow their own circadian rhythm, being one ways half the day and then two ways the other half; or if need be, suddenly change their direction altogether at a particular hour of the day. Which reminds me, it's almost hilarious to see so many seedy by-lanes here with regal names from the British era, which actually sell spurious alcohol and chicken biryani for ten bucks.

Furthermore, there are so many life-size cut outs of Mamta Bannerjee at various crossings, that if the real Mamta Di passed by, I don’t think I’d notice. Also, seeing how nearly everyone speaks Bangla, it’s pleasantly surprising to see many eateries and auto-rickshaws blaring forgotten 90’s Bollywood songs, which remind one of the days when even Sunny Deol had bad hair days and Karisma Kapoor had a unibrow.

It’s truly a wonder that, with the rock-hard water that this city has to offer, you don’t see too many bald heads. Perhaps it is a bane exclusively for us outsiders, who will have many recently epithelialised hair follicles to show as proof of having lived in Kolkata. And speaking of water, the humidity here is bound to catch even a true blue Mumbaikar off guard. The sweat of Kolkatan’s is the answer to the world’s water crisis I tell you!

These are of course, mere observations from a slightly cynical newcomer to the City of Joy. I’m sure to find lots of things that will give me true joy as I’ve heard this historical city has lots to offer to art and literature enthusiasts like yours truly.

Need-for-Speed Post

I sent out a not-so-very heavy package, to a not-so-very far away place, oh-so-very long ago via 'speed' post but it still hasn't reached its destination. Now, when I saw that the name of the service was 'speed' post, I realized that it merely says 'speed', and doesn't specify whether it is high speed or low speed. But, optimistic and good Samaritan that I am, I gave it the benefit of doubt and thought "Of course, it means high speed!". But then I realized...

SPEED POST

Distance = Speed
Time

So, substituting speed in the equation of 'speed post', we get

Distance x Post
Time

Distance x Post = Time

Hence, post is directly proportional to time.

Moral of the story: As post is directly proportional to time, if you send something by Speed Post, it is likely to take more time.

Second moral of the story: Whoever said 'what's in a name', never sent anything by Speed post.

NICOLAS SARKOZY: “ZEES L'OREAL CLAIMS ARE N'OREAL CLAIMS!”

President Nicolas Sarkozy of France is in a poop soup again. This time, people are claiming that he took millions of illegal Euros when he was a mayor. Why these rumors are surfacing now is anybody's guess. Our Pundit Patrakar managed to corner him for an interview. It's not exactly like famous pople are very well known for saying intlligent things or that even their writers do a good job all the time, yet, here is the transcript of the little chat between Monsieur Sarkozy and our Pundit Patrakar:

Pundit Patrakar: Thank-you for agreeing to this interview. People have been saying regarding the L'Oreal case that...
Nicolas Sarkozy: I deed not receive a seengle euro illegally!
PP: Well of course you didn't receive a single Euro illegally. People are saying that you received millions of Euros illegally!
NS: Zees eez a case of Adam Sandler!
PP: Sir, you mean a damn slander?
NS: Yes, yes, of course, of course. People are saying zat we used L'Oreal sublock products when we were on zat Tom Cruise we were photographed with!
PP: You mean, when you were on that dumb cruise? But there was a huge L'Oreal hamper visible in those photographs. It is claimed that you have received these hampers exclusive of money from L'Oreal heiress, Liliane Bettencourt.
NS: No, no zat eez all lies! I deed not receive any Hugh Grant from zat L'Oreal heighress.
PP: You mean, you did not receive any huge grant from the L'Oreal heighress? But sir, a recent opinion poll found that nearly two-thirds of the French public, that is, the entire public except for the football team (who believe they constitute at least one-third of public opinion and money), believe the French political leaders are corrupt. There have been claims that you may even be put behind bars.
NS:Why wood I want to go behind bars? I wood rather go in front of zem.
PP: No, no, behind bars, as in, get arrested.
NS: Zees eez preposterous! I am a truth telling Christian Bale! will be available to me anyway in zee case of an arrest.
PP: You mean, just because you are a Christian, bail will be granted to you easily and the public faith will be reinstated? It doesn't look like it is going to be so easy.
NS: No, no, I am sure zat once ze public is conveensed zat I am innocent, zey will ferrell.
PP: You mean, the public will follow?
NS: Yes, yes, of course, of course. Enough of zees allegations! I am just going to leave all zees behind - or like you say, Dustin Hoffman!
PP (by now, irritated): You mean, dust it off man?
NS: Yes, yes, of course, of course. Why zoo you keep repeeting everytheeng I say? Can you not Jeremy Iron?
PP: Yes, yes, I can hear you fine sir. One last question, there are photographs of your wife, Mrs. Bruni Sarkozy giving a huge gift hamper of L'Oreal products to British first lady when they recently met. Mrs. Bruni Sarkozy was also later photographed with poor urchin children in London, distributing not food packets, but L'Oreal shampoo and body wash bottles. What do you have to say about that?
NS: Err, I do not understand what yoo are zaying. My Engleesh eez not that good. You must go now, as eet eez time for my L'Or... I mean, my regular massage. Sank-you.

This was all that Pundit Patrakar managed to extract from Mr. Sarkozy. Pundit Patrakars real motive, of getting a glimpse of Mrs. Bruni Sarkozy was left unfulfilled, as she was unavailable for comment. Just before he left, he was told that Mrs. Bruni Sarkozy was busy planning her next trip abroad.

We are Indians... We are Muslims... And We are Like This Only...

Any cricket match often makes me nostalgic. This is especially the case if it is an India Pakistan cricket match. I find it almost disturbing when someone walks up to me and asks me “So, who are you cheering for?” It has happened a million times and will continue to happen. I’m not too sure as to what they expect to hear. “I’m cheering for Slovakia of course! What about you?” If you say you support Pakistan (with obvious sarcasm that would rival Dr. Houses’) you will still get the stink eye from some people. And if you say that your favorite player is Shahid Afridi, for obvious reasons (*you’re a girl*) then God help you. I don’t get why people come and ask me this questionable question. It’s like the acid test. If you say you support the Indian cricket team in a match against Pakistan, you deserve a medal of honour. On the other hand, if you happen to answer “Pakistan”, even as a badly timed joke and then later die at the hands of a sinister sniper in the Ladakh region, half-dead already due to frostbite with shedding extremities, it is too late. You’re already a traitor.

It’s almost heart wrenching to have to answer questions like these. We love our country just as much as any politician citizen of this country. It’s hurtful to have your patriotism questioned every step of the way. Even if you do see some bearded blood thirsty bozo staring at you from the front page of the newspaper with a maniacal smile every other week, I still say that it's only a handful of people that are involved in maligning the name of Muslims and rampantly practicing terrorism in the name of Islam. These illiterate, self proclaimed flag bearers of the Muslim community are the ones that are creating a ruckus for themselves and in the bargain, for us as well. That's why the rest of the innocent and unsuspecting community have to bear the brunt of their stupid misdoings, which are nothing but classic cases of the devil quoting the scripture for his own purpose. (Honestly, think about it logically, if God wanted some of us dead, He’d do it Himself, He wouldn’t need the services of intellectually challenged buffoons. I think He is quite self sufficient, thank-you very much, He is God, for God’s sake). And it’s because of this idiotic behaviour of some misguided morons that Indian muslims have their motives questioned every step of the way. However, I say...

Even we put post its that say 'dekho, magar pyaar se' behind the shirts of our unsuspecting friends.

Even we do window shopping at malls, and then buy the same jacket/purse from the nearest ‘fashion’ street.

Even we don't leave the theatre until the entire Govinda movie (with credits and remix version of title track) is over, only to come out and say 'what crap ya!'

Even we have cousins spanning every continent in the world.

Even we, despite having a population of 1 billion (and cousins in every continent), can’t help but get excited when we see an Indian on TV or on the road when we're abroad.

Even we eat wada pav instead of Mc Donalds (although we would settle for a Chicken Maharaja if we're not cash strapped for the day).

Even we prefer idli sambhar and poha to Chocos and Kellogg's for breakfast.

Even we become a chintamani when it comes to a nail biting down-to-the-last-ball Indian cricket match.

Even we sit and curse the Indian cricket team everytime they lose and say “Yeh log aise hi hai, kabhi nahin jeetenge” only to go back and support them whole heartedly in the next match.

Even we don't let go of a 'Buy one, get one free' offer without a bargain.

Even when we go to fashion street, we follow the classic 'barigain-and-walk-away' regimen till the shopkeeper calls us back and gives us what we want at our price.

Even we have embarrassing aunts that believe they would rather use the 2”x2” doorknob and open the door with the suddenness of Hogwarts ghosts than use the 6'8"x2'6" door surface to knock before entering.

Even we have relatives that come home after twenty years and say “Arre, kitni badi ho gayi hai tu!”, like they were hoping we were progeria patients.

Even we have the compulsive disorder of following suit and forming a crowd by stopping to look at something out of curiosity if even one person is doing so.

Even we love our paradoxes and can’t help ourselves when, while gossiping, we say “Shut up and say okay!”

Even we believe redundancy is a figure of speech and always end up saying CST terminus, FC college, HIV virus, RBC cell, etc.

Even we pick out and buy cereal boxes according to the price, relative price (price compared to other cereal brands), expiry date, weight and quantity, taste and nutrition value, in that order.

Even we go to a swanky restaurant and order only the main course, eat till half our appetite is satiated and then go out and have kulfi.

Even we prefer having Chinese at 'Ching's dragun Chinees Senter' rather than going to Mainland China.

Even we get 99% and top our class, only to hear our parents say “Woh 1% kahaan gaya?”

Even when we go to a fundu bakery, we look at all the 'strawberry cream cheese cake' costing Rs. 108 and 'lemon honey swirl' costing Rs. 95, and then after ten minutes of painful pondering, buy the Rs. 35 blackforest pastry and shut up and eat it.

Even we have bottles of Bournvita, Nutella and Horlicks which contain achaar, pudine ki chutni, adrak lassan and basically anything but Bournvita, Nutella and Horlicks.

Even our childhood has been captured in embarrassing snaps of us stark naked in the bathtub.

Even when we were kids, out parents made us siblings wear matching floral print dresses (irrespective of our sex).

Even we are given Ayurvedic small black cough medicine that smells and tastes worse than our phlegm when we have a cough, rather than an allopathic medicine by our aunts, that always mean well.

Even our parents force us to go to marriages of people we have no clue about, so that we can find appropriate guys/girls.

Even our marriages have clueless brides and grooms standing on the stage, where the guy and girl introduce every elderly male and female as ‘uncle’ and ‘aunty’.

Even we play with toys that were our parents/grand parents during their childhood.

Even we have done our graduation (in medicine or engineering) by studying from our siblings / cousins torn but marked and underlined text books.

Even we believe that it is a sin for an elevator to move unless and until there are at least seven people standing in it.

Even we step into the theater late when it's pitch black, end up stepping on someone's foot with our high heels, only to ask 'Lagaa kya?'

Even we buy our novels from the most dependable source - the raddiwala.

Even we go to a card shop and before seeing what the card says, flip it over to see the price first.

Even we claim to hate hindi songs, yet can’t help dancing in marriages to the tunes of 'tu cheez badi hai mast mast'.

Even we love playing dumbcharades (and pronounce that word as ‘dum-sharaads’) and ensure that a round of game does not end until someone is given 'reshma ki jawani' or 'garam tawe par naachti hui chudail' or ‘khoon mein tala samosa’ to act out.

Even we love playing antaakshari and ensure that the game does not end without singing 'Tujhe mirchi lagi toh main kya karu' or 'Sarkailo khatiya jaadaa lage'.

Even our mom's get heart attacks every time a cousin or friend of our age gets married while we’re still strapping bachelors or busy spinsters. This heart attack is followed by a series of lectures lasting till your friend’s/cousin’s first wedding anniversary or your marriage, whichever takes place first.

Even we give missed calls for no rhyme or reason to our friends when they get late.

Even when our relatives leave for abroad, at least 100 of us go to see them off.

Even that relative of ours, who is leaving has his suitcases tied securely with two locks, a lock for the two locks and a few ropes (like any robber in his right mind would ever want to steal ten bottles of achaar).

Even when our relatives come back from Dubai or U.S. they don't dare to come empty handed.

Even we have nosy relatives that die to know when you are going to tell them about 'the good news'.

Even our parents put ads in the matrimonial claiming that we are 'tall, fair and slim' irrespective of how humongous our waistline is or how dark our complexion is.

Even we have to make tea every time a relative comes home.

Even we stop for free tea at a relative’s house just before/after dinner without informing them beforehand.

Even we think that the traffic will be much smoother if that friggin traffic cop wasn't standing there when the signals don't work.

Even we have parents who say 'woh Patil saab ke bete ko 98% mila aur tumhe sirf 91%!', even if Patil saab's son is in fifth grade and you are in the tenth grade.

Even our mom's tell the ladkewale that we are excellent cooks, even if all we have ever made in our life was maggi.

Even we cannot imagine graduating without keeping a nickname for each one of our professors and teachers.

Even our entire family of ten people travel in one Zen (Thank God the Nano's launch has been delayed).

Even our families make fun of fairness creams, only to buy them when no one is looking.

Even our parents tell us, loud and clear, in front of the salesman in the air-conditioned mall “I can get this for half the price from flea market.”

Even our parents scream into the phone when an international call comes, thinking the decibel level of the voice needs to be directly proportional to the distance from where the person is calling.

Even we are extreme animal lovers and let them walk / sleep / lie / sunbathe freely on the should-be-one-way-but-is-two-way-road.

Even we have weddings that start with the shehnai playing and end with kids dancing on the stage to the song 'maa da ladla bigad gaya'.

In short, we're as Indian as that falsely ferocious tiger on the 'Tiger balm' bottle. Yes, we’re as Indian as they come.

We agree and we don't blame anyone for the frenzied fear all around when it comes to being Indian and being muslims, which regrettably, is admittedly justifiable but only up to a certain extent. Our plea to every Indian and non-Indian is to simply not be overtly judgmental and to not question our patriotism and where our loyalties lie, every step of the way.

Even a superstar like Shah Rukh Khan, the poster boy of liberal Islam in India, hasn't been spared in this regard. He said at an event to mark the anniversary of 26/11, “Log mujhe aakar poochte hai, “Aapki kya rai hai terrorism ke baare mein?” Pata nahin kyun poochte hai yeh log, shayad kyunki main ek musalmaan hoon, aur mujhe garv hai mere musalmaan hone par, par sach toh yeh hai, ki terrorism ke baare mein kisiki bhi, do rai ho hi nahin sakti, kyunki terrorism ka koi mazhab nahin hota” (I am often asked my viewpoint on terrorism, maybe because I am a muslim and I am proud to be a muslim. But the truth is that no one can have two viewpoints about terrorism, because terrorism does not have a religion.)

And let's not forget that it was Allama Iqbal that wrote 'Saare jahaan se achcha, Hindustaan hamara' and believe me, we Indian muslims couldn't agree more. So the next idiot who comes and asks me before an India-Pakistan cricket match “So, who are you cheering for?” will get severe, irreversible, facial malformations at the hands of a cricket ball, which is by the way, signed by the entire Indian cricket team of 2003.

Moral of the story: Mera Bhaarat Mahaan. I love my India.