Postcards from Jakarta / Sangeeta Rana at sangeeta.r13@gmail.com

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Mind your 'Ingriss'

Indonesians have a lovely and fascinating way of speaking 'Ingriss' and are unique in the tools they can employ to express themselves. Things are expressed more by the way they are perceived rather than by the use of words.

When a friend asked us to turn right at the “tishu tishu” building – what we soon realised – after driving around in circles and a couple of desperate phone calls - was that she meant the building with several protruding slanting roofs over the balconies.

Then again, a parking attendant stood bravely in our way – crossed his arms in front of his chest, pursed his lips and contorted his face to a very constipated grimace – all he wanted to communicate was that the basement was packed to capacity and there was no parking space.

Intensity of an emotion is denoted by the degree to which the word is stretched. “Why so angreeee?” asked a colleague to Pratap. And when he really did get very angreeeeeeeee (please note the number of e’s to realise how critical the situation was) – the next query was “Why so toucheeeeeeee?”

We have learnt to gauge the intensity a word denotes at different times. So when the gym instructor said “Pussssssssssssssssssssss!” we knew we had to use all our might, breathe out vociferously, flex our muscles and step up our heart rate all at the same time.

An Indonesian cop who pulled us over for crossing lanes – painstakingly drew an entire diagram to explain what our mistake was. Experience had made us wiser, any zebra knows that when a lion is pulling its leg, it’s no joke. All we could muster up was “We’re so sorreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” It’s another story that the apology landed far shy of its mark and he drew the picture of a rupiah note and handed over his chalan book to us. The penny dropped and a 50,000 rupiah note was slipped between the pages.

The Property Management of Casablanca ‘Apartmen’ comes up with these bewildering notices. Here’s one that was put up on our apartment notice board recently. And I quote verbatim:


Lost & Found PROGRAM
Dear Sir/ Madam,

Property Management is going to release some lost and found items; which we found them in the apartment areas since January – February 2005.

Please contact Housekeeping or Tenant Relation Department in 831-3984 ext:106 or 108 to collect your lost and found item (s).

Should there are nobody claims for their lost items during the above schedule; Property Management would release it to the item’s Founder.

Thank you for your attention.

Property Management.


And to our Indonesian friends – “mind your 'ingriss' and stop being so toucheeeeeeeee!”

'Goosfraba, goosfraba...'

Friends have been kind. They’ve always enquired how we are coping with our maid Tantrum, or rather to be fair to her how she is coping with us! We’ve progressed since early days. I have now learnt to read into her facial expressions.

- a very broad grin means she’s totally misunderstood what you’re saying.
- a slight twitch of the lips indicates there’s a fifty-fifty chance that she may have understood what you are trying to convey.
- a totally blank look means there’s a 99% chance she’s got it right
- and swollen cheeks with pouting lips indicates that YOU have misunderstood her!!

I often wonder what Tantrum must be telling her family and friends about us when she gets back home. Won’t be surprised if she’s writing her very own series of postcards. I used all my dexterity to tell her that the ‘dal’ should be well blended and no separate grains should be visible – till we had our ‘channa’ and ‘rajma’ mashed, smashed, beaten, battered and blended into a thick puree. The only thing the poor things didn’t look was black and blue! To undo what took days to engrain was a near impossible task even at the risk of having Pratap fuming at the dining table spewing smoke and all set to take off into the Indonesian air space!

Tantrum is a smart cookie! She got her daughter to write a leave application for her in English when she wanted to take leave. The letter was brought to us along with the Sunday morning newspaper and bed tea. I was left with no option but to give in as I had no one to turn to, to write my response in Bahasa.

The maids here are obsessed with washing. Everything that comes in their way is scrubbed and cleaned. She had my blood pressure soaring when I saw her with the entire fan dismantled at her feet – dipping each working part into a soapy fluid.

‘Goosfraba, goosfraba… I chanted for what seemed like eternity when I learn’t that Tantrum had put our Jaipur quilts into the washing machine. It did not bother her that the cotton filling had all shifted to one side - and we were left covering ourselves with just the measly quilt cover.

‘Goosfraba’ incidentally is a word that Eskimo mothers make their children repeat to calm them down. It doesn’t always work though... in fact it has just the opposite effect on Pratap.

The Ainyar beach

Ainyar, a beautiful beach town on the west coast of the Java island beckoned us and we succumbed. The family ventured to go experience the peace, serenity and all that Ainyar had to offer miles away from the noise and the jostling crowds of Jakarta. The drive was adventurous from the very word ‘go’. Pratap was at the wheel while Yudi and I tried to navigate. Deciphering the traffic instructions and road signages that were in Bahasa was a tremendous challenge what with the driver’s temper riding high. At one junction, the maze of a four-tiered flyover left us taking an endless roller coaster ride that spat us out kilometers away from where we intended to go!

Flying tempers and all - we reached Ainyar eagerly looking forward to getting to the peace and tranquility of our resort to soothe our frayed and threadbare nerves. The next bend left us stunned and speechless. Silence pervaded. There before us lay our hotel – a huge ugly monstrosity teeming with swarms, hordes, throngs and multitudes of revelers. Sol Melia consists of three buildings each twelve stories high. So here we were stuck in a concrete jungle just few feet away from the beautiful Java sea! Holiday makers occupied every available inch – much merry making in the air. We waded through the mêlée of people in a state of total shock.

As a last refuge, the last suite in the last building was requested for. Once settled in – it was decided to sip a cup of ‘teh’ sitting in the verandah overlooking the sea. No sooner had Pratap and Yudi stepped out did I find them darting in. For there sitting in the adjacent verandah was our bare chested neighbour sporting a spreading girth, fanning his barbecue, downing his beer and singing along with whatever it was that his boom box belted out.

Tomorrow will be another day we consoled each other as we withdrew and retreated for the night – only to be jolted awake almost at the crack of dawn by blaring Indonesian music and a brouhaha created by a hundred odd frenzied aerobic enthusiasts – brimming with vigour and vitality.

The Ranas for once stumped and staring at apparent defeat took a step back to assess the situation. Sun Tzu’s ‘The Art of War’ was consulted and a strategy drawn out.

“If equally matched, we can offer battle; if slightly inferior in numbers, we can avoid the enemy; if quite unequal in every way, we can flee from him” – Sun Tzu

The 'jockey'.

One thing that makes us feel totally at home in Jakarta is the traffic. Snail paced – reaching your destination can take anything between half an hour to two hours. Various permutations and combinations of managing traffic flow have been tried out but this monster seems to be growing by gigantic proportions ready to swallow the very pace of life itself.

During peak hours, only vehicles with three or more passengers are permitted on the Jl Jenderal Sudirman Road, which is a major arterial road of Jakarta, Alternately a long circuitous route would have to be taken. “What a brilliant idea to reduce the number of vehicles on the road,” we thought, until one fine day, Pratap had to rush to a meeting in the same area…

“Mistah, need jockey,” the driver declared.

“Sorry??” said Pratap not quite following the request.

“Go fast – need jockey,” repeated the driver almost giving Pratap an ultimatum.

“Oh Okay,” said Pratap not quite knowing what to expect next.

The car came to a screeching halt and the driver threw open the door to let in a young lad not more than twelve years old. The boy, who was now in the front seat beside the driver had about him an air of effortless style – and looked totally at ease as he strapped himself in. At the end of the ride, 3000 rupiah (equivalent of Rs.15/-) was handed to the young ‘jockey’ for services rendered! The system had been beaten!

“Good lord!” I exclaimed when Pratap narrated the incident on his return. I always thought those little boys waving their index finger vigorously at you were either asking for a lift or being rather vulgar!. But they were ‘jockeys’! “Why ‘jockey’?” I wondered, as besides the small and frail appearance there seemed nothing else in common. Unless like the other jockey - he was taking us for a 'ride'! Till curiosity got the better of me and I fished out the dictionary. Jockey also means “to manipulate in a skilful manner.” Mmmmmmmmm! How befitting!

As for us… instead of having the rug pulled from under our feet, we’ve learnt to dance on a shifting carpet. We have our own resident jockey – our maid Tantrum!

The 'spa-aah' experience

A spa is aimed at pampering and indulging – and that’s exactly what the lush pictures in the brochure suggested! What better way to de-stress, we thought, as we headed for an exotic Indonesian locale. Destination spas promise you a relaxing time, an opportunity to totally immerse in the spa experience, cut off from the rest of the world. It’s not just about lying on a bed, surrounded by flowers while a therapist soothes the skin with oils. It’s about DE-STRESSING!

Pratap insisted I go in for the ‘Total Pampering’ package while he settled for the conservative basic massage. I gave in, after much cajoling, as I was assured that the therapy would de-stress the body and increase the sense of well-being.

An hour into my three-hour therapy – and I was disturbed by sounds of confusion in the corridors. A short while later the therapist working on me was called out. She returned with a flustered look and excused herself as she too had to attend to Mr Rana who, I was informed had broken out into an allergy. Startled and helpless I lay motionless and imprisoned in my volcanic mud wrap for the next ten minutes, sick with worry while the crescendo of confusion outside continued to rise.

The therapist returned again to inform me that a doctor had been called and an anti allergy tablet had been arranged for. In the meanwhile another oil was being applied to soothe Mr Rana’s inflamed skin. Totally stressed by now – I asked her to rush and cut short my treatment as I needed to get first hand information on what was happening.

I ran out tense and nervous – to find Pratap, the focus of all attention, being wrapped up in towels by a young therapist, while yet another, applied rose water to his legs. Apparently after his first massage (he landed up with two finally) – he was given a glass of warm water with ginger and honey. The term ‘Spa’ is an acronym for the Latin ‘Salude Per Aqua’ which translates into ‘health through water’. But Pratap’s a rarity. Much to his surprise and to the chagrin of others, the magic potion had him erupt into hives, sending the therapists into a tizzy and a state of complete panic. This was much more than they had bargained for!

We finally bid our polite adieus leaving a frazzled team of therapists behind. As for me, well my spa experience was sabotaged! I was left more stressed than I was ever before. And guess who had finally received ‘the total pampering’ package? @#%$*# !

'Satu, dua, tiga...'

God gives second chances – and just when I thought I had once again for the umpteenth time in my life broken my New Year resolution in the very first week itself – in came the Chinese New Year! The year of the rooster! With stronger determination I resolved to keep my commitment this time round and embarked on my eternal battle of the bulge.

Armed with a shaky will power and a spreading girth I slunk into the apartment gym. Come hail, come snow, come storm – I fought all adversities to make it to the health club regularly. It was after all, just an elevator ride down twelve floors and no excuses were at hand.

A month of regular workouts and not an iota of difference! The only thing sliding at a rapid pace was my motivation level. The gym trainer had a perpetual grin on his face. There were days when I felt it was an effort on his part to egg me on while at other times I felt it was his way of showing empathy. “Try aerobics,” he advised. “It will help kick start your lethargic metabolism.”

So here I was in my brand new aerobics gear – a complete novice looking around at the veterans with terror emblazoned across my face. The class consisted of a petite bunch of Japanese, Koreans and Indonesians all small built and very agile on their feet. It took immense grit to last out the one-hour session.

The instructor conducted the class in Bahasa and it took all my skills to coordinate my hand and leg movements to a count that was alien. “Satu, Dua, Tiga, Empat, Lima, Enam, Next, Change” he counted leading to a total breakdown of communication in my nervous system, as my neurons seemed to wage a complete mutiny. I watched helplessly as my nimble footed classmates pranced around the mirrored studio in complete unison.

"Don't take life too seriously,” I consoled myself - “ you can't come out of it alive anyway." Lets show them what I can do better, I thought, smiling wryly – as I belted out the lyrics of the English numbers that everybody exercised to – turning tables instantly! For there I was with admiration being cast my way even as I moved to the left while the entire group stepped to the right.

The fire drill

“This is to request you to kindly grace the fire evacuation drill by your presence” – read the circular that was distributed to all the residents at ‘Apartmen’ Casablanca.

The last thing on our mind at 8am on a Saturday morning was to run down twelve floors within the allocated time of 5 minutes. We decided to participate just to ensure that we are on the rolls – and in case of an emergency, stand out conspicuously by our absence or by our presence, whichever it may be!

There is always a way to beat the system and we were brimming with ideas on how to do so. At 0755 hrs, five minutes prior to the designated time – we took the elevator to the lobby and headed for the gym in full gear. While we toyed with the dumbbells and weights, a strict vigil was kept on the clock after all, the objective was not to exercise but to avoid any kind of unnecessary exertion.

0806 hrs and no alarm was heard! An agitated Pratap felt cheated and walked in and out creating enough friction to start a fire of his own! The health club attendants breathed a sigh of relief when the alarm finally rang. The Ranas were first to shoot out of the building (and breast the tape) as we had a terrific head start!

The fire drill was an impressive exercise. Short men dressed in oversized asbestos suits ran into the building. Familiar faces smiled at us from behind the helmet visors. The gym attendants rushed out with stretchers, first aid kits and oxygen cylinders. The aerobics instructor gave the performance of his life, playing dead while his colleagues practiced CPR on him. Enthusiastic Japanese residents had their families pose around him while they clicked furiosly on their digi-cams.

The security personnel and gardeners struggled to control the fire hoses, which were aimed skywards as the water jetted out at great pressure. Housekeepers unruffled by the flurry of activity around them politely offered mineral water and an assortment of confectionary to the residents who had come down in various stages of dressing up! Officious looking people ran about with stopwatches and walky-talkies.

The police authorities came in to check whether all procedures were in place and looked content. While all and sundry congratulated a beaming Mr Jaja, the Property Manager on the successful completion of the fire drill – there stood in the middle of the gathering a rather disgruntled, heavy set man in a track suit and gym footwear.

“Jaja” he said with his hands on his hips, “I am very concerned. The water jet from the fire hose does not reach my twelfth floor apartment!”

Nostalgic flavours

It takes one to step out onto foreign shores to realize the importance of insignificant things like ‘kaddi patta’ – fresh curry leaves for those who pride in mastering culinary skills with the help of Madhu Jaffery’s adroit recipes. Life seemed to lack flavour as did the ‘kaddis’ and ‘sambars’ with the absence of this botanical marvel.

Excercising in the apartment gym we happened to meet an Indian brethren. Pleasantries were exchanged and the Rana hospitality extended to him. An alumnus of IIM Ahmedebad and hailing from the land of ‘sambar’, our new found friend had been working in Jakarta for a little less than a year. We hung on to every word that our erudite countryman spoke over the evening, as he filled us in with information absolutely critical for any Indian family residing in Jakarta. I could not believe my luck (and my ears) when our saviour suddenly popped the question – “And do you know where to get ‘kaddi patta’?”

“Where?” cried both of us in unison now perched at the edge of our seats, our voices brimming with excitement.

“Well,” he unraveled, “you know the apartment nursery behind the tennis court” – we nodded - anticipation writ large on our faces – “the third pot on the right is a ‘kaddi patta’ plant. The gardener leaves at 7 pm so make sure you go there only once he leaves. Removing a little twig will do the plant no harm.” We nodded in agreement. “Sangeeta,” he said sizing me up, “your hands may be too short to reach the plant from the locked gate – so it will have to be Pratap.” I nodded suddenly noticing for the first time the length of Pratap’s arm.

Was I impressed! I knew these lads from IIMA were an enterprising bunch! But this was way out! My opinion about them had suddenly taken on gigantic proportions. I now hold them in even higher esteem than I had ever before. Enterprising - and how!

The next time you see Pratap prowling clandestinely around the tennis court or between the nursery flowerpots – be rest assured that there is ‘kaddi’ to be cooked in the Rana kitchen.

Shaken and stirred

It was just yet another evening when Pratap sat staring at the computer screen that displayed the web pages of ‘Oanda.com – the currency site’ speculating over the exchange rates and equivalences of the US dollar, the Indian rupee and the Indonesian Rupiah on which “oh so depended our retirement plans,” in the words of the wise one. I sat on an adjoining chair waiting to chance upon a change in his facial expression to indicate a glimmer of hope…

Things don’t look good I thought – as I felt myself shake. Obviously Pratap was shaking his leg in anxiety resulting in the table shake in unison. Pratap sprang up. “Did you feel that? It’s an earthquake,” he yelled as we sprang into action. The first thing of course was to get into suitable attire, grab our black leather bag, which contains our passports, documents and the ‘emergency fund’. Within minutes – (and we do commend ourselves on the quick reaction time -must be the military environment that was an integral part of our growing up years) we were running down the stairs – sprinting twelve floors with Pratap shooting instructions.

Flushed, wild-eyed and disheveled, leather bag on shoulder, we burst into the reception area. Pleasant conversations fell silent as the Manolo Blahnik pointed toe and stiletto heel clad groups of residents, lounging around in the posh and serene environ threw startled and incredulous glances towards us. Everyone was obviously oblivious of what had occurred. It was a Saturday evening and people were dressed for an evening out. We sat down – catching our breath, clad in our Indian Hawai chappals, dripping in perspiration. Pratap walked around acknowledging the salutation of the receptionist pretending to play calm. Everything seemed normal.

“Go to the mart,” he suggested, “ and buy something” hoping to reduce our embarrassment and hoping to change the perception of those around us while he guarded the black leather case. There were many people at the store and I had to wait to get my turn at the counter. We met at the lift to quietly retreat to our abode – only to find to my absolute horror, as I looked at the mirrors that lined the elevator, that I had worn my shirt inside out with the pockets limply hanging out and the label displaying my ‘not so complimentary’ size for the world and his wife to savour!

Pratap returned to the computer table wondering whether it was the spring of the aging computer chair, or the effect of the fluctuating Indonesian Rupiah that had sent us in a tizzy while I sat and nursed my aching Gastrocnemius (calve muscles for the ignorant) and sore ego.

The next morning had us a lot more shaken and stirred – for The Jakarta Post announced that The Meteorology and Geophysics Agency had confirmed that tremors measuring 5.5 on the Richter scale had jolted Jakarta at around 8:50pm the previous evening. We now sleep in our track suit – and use our brand new ‘Nike’s as bedroom slippers!

Priceless

Jakarta never ceases to amaze us. This one incident had Pratap and me throw up our hands in the air and resign to our fate.

The relocators (‘movers and shakers’ as I now call them) had damaged the frame of our Ganesh Tanjore painting. Photographs were taken, damage evaluated, forms filled in triplicate and the claim finally forwarded to the insurance company headquartered in the US. Pratap insisted, as is his wont, that the Ganesh painting be restored and returned in time for Christmas. (?????) The Indonesian staff of the relocation company looked perplexed at this strange request but abided. The picture was returned on Christmas Day!

With much correspondence going to and fro between a Ms Heng, a Mr Tam and ours truly, Mr Rana, a claim of $18 was approved and agreed upon. The cheque, which was issued by the HQ of the insurance company arrived from New York with the new year and a gleeful Mr Rana went to bank it.

The ‘wanita’ at the bank greeted him with a warm cheerful smile – and Pratap smugly placed the $18 cheque on the counter. “No ploblem mistah,” the clerk announced, “ but it take one month.”

“Oh! Not a problem,” said Pratap with a superior wave of his hand.

“And there will be $10 charge as transaction fee,” she said.

“Okay never mind,” said Pratap with a resigned shrug “something’s better than nothing.”

“And $7 fee for correspondence banking,” she continued.

“That leaves me with $1,” said Pratap thinking aloud.

“Not really Mistah” said the clerk, “finally $2 will be charged as processing fee” hammering the last nail into the coffin and sending Pratap back home with the cheque tucked safely under his arm.

Well we’ve now framed the cheque and intend to keep it on our mantelpiece back home – for there will be many a winter evening over a cognac, beside a log fire and in the company of friends when it shall be the focus of our conversation – bringing back fond memories of Jakarta and making this $18 cheque absolutely priceless!

The 'dokter'

We knew it was just a question of time when the excitement would wear thin and exhaustion would catch up. Just a week into her holiday in Jakarta and my mother-in-law was laid in bed drained and fatigued. Still groping about as we had barely been in Indonesia for a week ourselves we chose to ask the reception at our service apartment to arrange for a ‘dokter’.

Within minutes we heard the screech of an ambulance and the hurried footsteps of a doctor and a nurse at our doorstep. The doctor in a spotless white coat introduced himself with a polite bow. The nurse who was really pretty and in a smart uniform – gave a lovely smile and I could hear Pratap's and Yudi’s hearts skip a beat.

The nurse carried an impressive first aid kit. Saying we were impressed is an understatement – for the case opened into a four-tiered tray that housed every imaginable first aid equipment under the sun. The patient was introduced – after which we were witness to a very long dialogue in ‘Bahasa’ between the two medical experts accompanied by feverish gesticulation. The three of us stood around anxiously wringing our hands not understanding a word while the patient’s eyes grew wider by the second.

The doctor explained that the nurse would have to go to the ambulance to get some ‘equipment’. The nurse returned looking glum and again a verbal exchange ensued between the two. We looked at them gravely. I could see the blood drain from my mother-in-law’s face. “Mister” said the doctor in his heavy Indonesian accent “ambulance gone to medical center for ‘equipment’.” We nodded. I chewed at my nails as the ambulance siren faded into the distance.

After a long tense wait the doorbell rang and we all ran to open the door. There standing at the door was the ambulance driver – holding the much needed equipment - a stethoscope! The doctor sheepishly prepared to see the patient. He took out his torch and asked the now chirpy and talkative patient to open her mouth. We all tried to peer in as the torch light slowly faded and the battery died at the hands of the medico!!

The masseuse

Pratap has been ever so fond of massages… we even had 'Massage Patil' dropping by every week in Mumbai. (his real name was Yashwant Patil but who cared what he was otherwise called). So coming to Jakarta was total bliss - where reflexology and massage is a cultural experience and a regular ritual.

Few days after we settled down our friend IBCN (Indian Born Confused Nepali - for the uninitiated) ventured into the massage room where he was asked to remove his clothes and lie down. In came a middle aged Ma'am, serious looking and all buttoned up till her chin, who then asked Pratap to remove his brief. “No”, he said trying to sound assertive. “Take out” she said “put oil”. No cried out Pratap gripping his briefs with one hand – just incase she rips it off and catches him unawares. “It’s okay”.

The massage progressed with techniques that poor old 'Massage Patil' could never ever have dreamt of. The masseuse used her elbows, knuckles, knees and feet using a mild aromatic oil - almost a numbing and dulling experience. Pratap lay on his stomach till he heard her gently say –“Penis”. “No!”, he said suddenly remembering to grip his jocks. “No!” he heard the woman persist “Penis!”. It was time for Pratap to turn over and get hold of the situation almost breaking out into a sweat. He turned around only to find her waving her arms insisting “penis - penis” trying desperately to communicate that she had finished the massage!

Peace and harmony

Selamat Detang! Welcome to this beautiful land of polite people. You can yell, scream and wave your arms and all you’ll be greeted with is a warm smile and a mystified look. Pratap did try to raise his voice and look tough while behind the wheel - but gave up when all he achieved was high blood pressure and a quizzical, concerned and sympathetic look from a passer by!

My new maid is an angel. We can’t have a disagreement because we can’t understand each other. I was horrified when I learnt that her name was ‘Tantrum’ – but breathed a sigh of relief when I learnt that ‘tantrum’ meant peace and harmony in Bahasa, the Indonesian language. There is undoubtedly immense peace and harmony in the house since she arrived as neither of us speak and there’s very little communication!

Tantrum Tuti is a thirty five year old who has been to school and knows the English alphabets as the script for Bahasa is the same. Tantrum came up with a brilliant idea. (it must be a done thing – as it explains the existence of a white board in the house!) Our daily chores revolve around a white board. With friends we’ve managed to get down some key words and the pointer plays its role as the interpreter. Added advantage is that I am beginning to lose weight – have to keep running to the white board every few minutes – agile out of compulsion and exhausted in the bargain!

Drawing on the white board did not work. You need to be highly skilled to be able to draw a jackfruit that does not remotely resemble a durian. (God!) I could barely make an egg look different from a potato. So would end up having boiled potatoes for breakfast instead of a boiled egg and mashed boiled eggs with chicken roast! The new system is working just fine. Potatoes are called ‘kentangs’. Will learn what eggs are called in due course of time.

"What’s the name of this road?" I asked Tantrum on one of our familiarization trips to the market. “Namma road?” I said pointing to the road. “Aaahh!” she said brightening up (which is a rare sight)– “Street.” “The phone is engaged,” I told her on another occasion… “In Bahasa (we say) – phone bizee,” she informed. ‘Choochee’ is an important word for it means to wash. Choochee bagu means wash the clothes; choochee peering means wash the dishes; choochee kamarmandi means wash the toilet; choochee wartel means wash the carrots! I find myself ‘choochee-ing’ all day!

You’d be surprised to know that Tantrum makes terrific ‘dal’. We’ve mastered words like Bubuk kunyit (turmeric powder), goreng (fry), jinten (jeera), bawang bombay (onions), garm (salt) and I can imitate extremely well the whistle of the pressure cooker to indicate how many whistles it will take for different dals to cook. It might take Tantrum quite a while to learn to make rotis – haven’t figured out how to say “ put equal pressure on the dough with both your hands” in Bahasa. We will learn. Slowly slowly catchy monkey – or should I say ‘slowly slowly catchy Tantrum!’

Long live peace and harmony… and sanity!