Sujata

Winter Break

2010-12-07T15:28:00.001+04:00

So, it's winter break here. Anyone with kids knows what a double-edged sword that is. On the one hand, you don't need to deal with homework, getting up early, running to after-school activities, and yogurt spilled in backpacks. On the other hand, your kids are home 24/7. With you. All day long. For a complete month plus a few days in case other holidays that get attached to this break.Yeah.

On Saturday, we eased into winter break mode by sleeping half the day, then watching movies and eating garbage the other half. I'm pretty sure it's acceptable to have chili cheese dip and tortilla chips for dinner on winter break. We watched Shrek for the 58th time, The Princess and the Frog (loved it lots!), Where the Wild Things Are (hated it!), and The Time Traveler's Wife. I really liked that one, but time travel movies always confuse me. I feel like I need to make a diagram so I can follow the messed-up timeline.

Because we had successfully messed up our sleeping schedule, we all overslept and missed a breakfast invitation on Sunday. Oops.

Today, the kids played outside most of the day. It's downright pleasant here at 20 degrees and we're enjoying every bit of sand and the lazy, languorous sunshine. I love cleaning my floor and the muddy footprints are just precious reminders that I have a houseful of love. And honestly, I didn't even notice the clogged and overflowing toilet. I carefully stepped over the huge pile of papers and toys on the floor as if they weren't even there. The food stains on the couch are hardly even visible in the dark and the extra 500,000 dirty dishes every day is nothing at all. I love that my kids are home all week! Now excuse me while I pack our bags for the actual break to India starting tomorrow, and thank my stars that I don't have to deal with all the precious and overflowing love by myself for all the 30 days of the winter break.

I will be back in a month's time. Be safe and be good!

Shop till you drop is an under-statement

2010-11-23T16:25:00.008+04:00

I had to type this in even at the risk of sounding like a mother hen, a frustrated, middle aged and menopausal female, or whatever other adjectives you can come up with. I just couldn't let go of this one without sharing! OK FINE.. my life does have a lot of kids in it at the moment..so please hear me out.

YesterdayI ended up buying a bunch of Pokemon cards. Why? Because my kids sneaked them into my shopping cart while at the grocery store and I ended up buying them because I didn't notice they were there until we got home. How could I have possibly not noticed they were in my cart, you ask? Let me explain.

You haven’t lived until you’ve gone grocery shopping with six kids in tow. I would rather swim in a bikini, be a contestant on Fear Factor when they’re having pig brains for lunch, or do fourth grade math than to take my two kids and their(four) friends to the grocery store. I absolutely detest grocery shopping, I tend to put it off as long as possible. There comes a time, however, when you’re peering into your fridge and thinking, ‘Hmmm, what can I make with ketchup, Italian dressing, and half an onion,’ that you decide you cannot avoid going to the grocery store any longer. Before beginning this most treacherous mission, I gather all the kids together and give them “The Lecture“.

“The Lecture“ goes like this…
MOM: “We have to go to the grocery store.”
KIDS: “Whine whine whine whine whine.“
MOM: “Hey, I don’t want to go either, but it’s either that or we’re eating cream of onion-ketchup soup and drinking Italian dressing for dinner tonight.”
KIDS: “Whine whine whine whine whine.“
MOM: “Now here are the rules: do not ask me for anything, do not poke the packages of meat in the butcher section, do not test the laws of physics and try to take out the bottom can in the pyramid shaped display, do not play cricket with oranges and most importantly, do not try antics with the trolley on the escalator again.”

OK, the kids have been briefed. Time to go.

Once at the store, we grab not one, but two shopping carts. The two 'thin as rake' 7 year old boys sit on one cart while I push one cart and my daughter's friend pushes the other one. My daughter is not allowed to push a cart. Ever. Why? Because the last time I let her push the cart, she smashed into my ankles so many times, my feet had to be amputated by the end of our shopping trip.

At this point, a woman looks at our two carts and asks me, “Are they all yours?” I answer with a laugh, “Yep!" Make people feel good about themselves that's my motto!!

“Oh my, you have your hands full.”

“Yes, I do!” say I while the kids give me nasty glares.

We begin in the produce section where all these wonderfully, artistically arranged pyramids of fruit stand. There is something so irresistibly appealing about the apple at the bottom of the pile, that a child cannot help but try to touch it. Much like a bug to a zapper, the child is drawn to this piece of fruit. I turn around to the sounds of apples cascading down the display and onto the floor. Like Indiana Jones, there stands my son holding the all-consuming treasure that he just HAD to get and gazing at me with this dumbfounded look as if to say, “Did you see that??? Wow! I never thought that would happen!”

I give the offending child an exasperated sigh and say, “Didn’t I tell you, before we left, that I didn’t want you taking stuff from the bottom of the pile???”

“No. You said that you didn’t want us to take a can from the bottom of the pile. You didn’t say anything about apples.” The daughter is looking embarrassed to the core.

With superhuman effort, I resist the urge to send my child to the moon and instead focus on the positive - my child actually listened to me and remembered what I said!!! I make a mental note to be a little more specific the next time I give the kids The Grocery Store Lecture.

A little old man looks at all of us and says, “Are all of those your kids?”

Thinking about the apple incident, I reply, “Nope. They just started following me. I’ve never seen them before in my life.”

OK, now onto the bakery section where everything smells so good, I’m tempted to fill my cart with cookies and call it a day. Being on a perpetual diet, I try to hurry past the assortment of pies, cakes, breads, and pastries that have my children drooling. At this point the chorus of “Can we gets” begins.

“Can we get donuts?”
“No.”
“Can we get cupcakes?”
“No.”
“Can we get muffins?”
“No.”
“Can we get pie?”
“No.”

You’d think they’d catch on by this point, but no, they’re just getting started.

In the bakery, they’re giving away free samples of coffee cake and of course, the kids all take one. A toddler decides he doesn’t like it and proceeds to spit it out in his mom's hand. (That’s what moms do. We put our hands in front of our children’s mouths so they can spit stuff into them. We’d rather carry around a handful of chewed up coffee cake, than to have the child spit it out onto the floor. I’m not sure why this is, but ask any mom and she’ll tell you the same.) At least this time the "mom" is not me! Small mercies.

My kids’ attention spans are spent. They’re done shopping at this point, but we aren’t even halfway through the store. This is about the time they like to start having shopping cart races. And who may I thank for teaching them this fun pastime? My daughter of course. While I’m picking out loaves of bread, the kids are running down the aisle behind the carts in an effort to get us kicked out of the store. I put to stop to that just as my son is about to crash head on into a giant cardboard cut-out of an elf stacked with packages of cookies.

After standing in the cereal aisle for an hour and a half while the kids perused the various cereals, comparing the marshmallow and cheap, plastic toy content of each box, I broke down and let them each pick out a box. At any given time, we have a minimum of 5 open boxes of cereal in my house.

The shopping trip continues much like this. I break up fights between the kids now and then and stoop down to pick up items that has flung out of the cart. I desperately try to get everything on my list without adding too many other goodies to the carts.

Somehow I manage to complete my shopping in under four hours and head for the check-outs where the kids start in on a chorus of, “Can we have candy?” What evil minded person decided it would be a good idea to put a display of candy in the check-out lanes, right at a child’s eye level? Obviously someone who has never been shopping with children.

As I unload the carts, I notice many extra items that my kids have sneaked in the carts. I remove a box of Twinkies, a package of cupcakes, a bag of candy, and a can of cat food (we don’t even have a cat!). I somehow missed the box of Pokemon cards however and ended up purchasing. As I pay for my purchases, the clerk looks at me, indicates my kids, and asks, “Are they all yours?”

Frustrated, exhausted from my trip, sick to my stomach from paying the bill, dreading unloading all the groceries and putting them away and tired of hearing that question, I look at the clerk and answer her in my most sarcastic voice, “No. They’re not mine. I just managed to take them away from their parents because I thought it was a fun thing to do.”

So, up for auction is an opened (they ripped open the box on the way home from the store) package of Pokemon cards. There are 44 cards total. They're in perfect condition, as I took them away from the kiddos as soon as we got home from the store. Many of them say "Energy". I tried carrying them around with me, but they didn't work. I definitely didn't have any more energy than usual. One of them is shiny. There are a few creature-like things on many of them. One is called Pupitar. Hee hee hee Pupitar! (Oh no! My kids' sense of humor is rubbing off on me!) Anyway, I don't think there's anything special about any of these cards, but I'm very much not an authority on Pokemon cards. I just know that I'm not letting my kids keep these as a reward for their sneakiness.

Answer the following and stay sane!

2010-11-15T10:10:00.005+04:00

I didn't post last night because I couldn't get an internet connection until 11:00 pm and I was too ticked off to write.

Something happened to my router. Or maybe it was my ADSL. Or something. Anyway, I couldn't get online. I learned something about myself when I couldn't get online. I have an addiction. When I couldn't log on, I started hyperventilating, freaking out that I was missing ...I don't even know what I was missing, but I was sure I was missing SOMETHING! Something big and important and terribly exciting! My heart was beating 200 times a minute and I started twitching. I, the person who used to say that computers were evil, was going through withdrawal because I couldn't connect to the cyber world. Aparna will identify with me here..shes been through this lots of times!

Anyway, that wasn't even the frustrating part. The mind-numbing, maddening, irritating, aggravating, annoying, exasperating, infuriating, riling, troubling, trying, vexatious (thank you thesaurs.com) part of my little extravaganza tonight was the two hours I spent on the phone in a maze of voice menus. TWO HOURS!

Welcome to Omantel
For English blah blah blah number one
I see you're calling from xxx-xxx-xxxx. Is that the phone number listed on your Omantel account?

ME: Yes.

Thanks. I'll just look that up. Now, in a few words please say the purpose of your call. You can say things like "I want to pay my bill", or "I want new phone service." To speak to a service representative, say "agent".

ME: I can't get online.

It sounds like you'd like to make a payment. Is that correct?

ME: Umm no. Duh. I have internet problems.

Lets try this another way. If you're calling about payments, say "payments".

ME: NO! Not payments. Internet service!

OK which service needs repair, phone, internet, tv, or none of those?

ME: INTERNET!!!

I think you said you're calling to repair your dial up service. If this is correct, say "yes".

ME: YES!

My mistake. Please say one of the following: phone, internet, tv...

ME: INTERNET! It's always been internet. It's still internet!

To get you to the right place, I need to know where you're calling from. Are you calling from the same number as your high speed internet line?

ME: Yeah.

I think you said, "phone services." If this is correct, say "Yes".

ME: NO!

To get you to the right place, I need to know where you're calling from. Are you calling from the same number as your high speed internet line?

ME: YES!

Just a moment while I look up your account.

ME: You do that. @@

I'm sorry, I do not understand. Let's try this another way.
To get you to the right place, I need to know where you're calling from. Are you calling from the same number as your high speed internet line?

ME: YES!

Main menu: please say the option that best describes the issue you're calling about. For set up, password or connectivity issues, please say "tech. support". For billing questions or account services, say "billing". To hear these options again, you can say "repeat".

ME: GRRRRRRRR!!! You've got to be kidding me!

I'm sorry. I did not understand. If you're having problems with your high speed internet and would like tech support, say "yes".

ME: I'm having problems with this stupid voice menu! Can I talk to an actual person? Do you have any of those there???

It sounds like you want to pay your bill. Is this correct?

At this point, I whipped the phone across the room and grabbed a beer.

I tried calling the customer service line for my router, thinking that maybe someone there could help me. I was on hold for 42 minutes. That's not an exaggeration. FORTY-TWO MINUTES! I heard Rhapsody in Blue, Moonlight Sonata, Beethoven's Fifth, Barcarolle, William Tell Overature, and Danse Macabre. I started comparing the pieces to the way my kids play them. I never did talk to anyone there.

I tried two more times and each time, after navigating their system for several minutes, I finally got through to an actual person. Of course, when I finally got a person on the phone, they didn't speak English! I guess they might technically have been speaking English, but it was so broken that it might as well have been Arabic, Greek or Ubbi Dubbi. Why? Why is this? And why do these people act so annoyed that you're bothering them with your obviously stupid questions? Where's the customer service? From the cashier at the grocery store, to the floor help at the clothing store, to the customer service rep. on the other end of the phone, more often than not I encounter someone rude, annoyed, or seemingly bored. What, can no one smile? Can nobody be helpful? Can't anyone at least pretend to care about your needs?

It's so rare to find a person who will not only help you with a smile, but who will go out of their way to give excellent customer service. Whenever I encounter such a person, I make sure to let them know how much I appreciate their help. I also try to find a manager so I can praise the employee that took the time and effort to give great service.

Anyway, at 8:30, I completely gave up, ran out to the City Centre, hoping to get there before they closed, and bought a new router. Voila! Problem fixed. I got back online at 11:00 pm.

It's been a fun two days here. I also learned that my youngest hasn't turned in numerous assignments at school. He's grounded until the second coming. Today the youngest of my neighbour's kids, who has been totally potty trained for over a year, decided to poop in the garbage can. Why? Why do they do things like this? For the love of all that is Holy, WHY??? I made her dump it out into a garbage bag. Then, apparently offended by the stench of her own poop, she figured she'd spray some air freshener around. Unfortunately she grabbed a can of lemon-fresh Pledge instead. She sprayed furniture polish into the air and it landed in a waxy coat on the floors. They are now more slippery than the ice skating rink.

Speaking of kids they have holidays for a week starting today. What are the chances they'll let peace reign? What are the chances I'll stay sane if they don't?

facebook, a pre teen and same old me

2010-11-08T20:09:00.004+04:00

I have been elusive again and here's the excuse..

As I was sitting at my computer, staring at a blank screen, waiting for inspiration, I updated my Facebook status. "I hate when I stare at my computer screen and my fingers don't automatically start typing the brilliance that's in my head."

It's true. I always have awesome stories in my head, but when I go to write them down, the lure of solitaire or mahjong pulls me away. Sometimes I'm too distracted by the to-do list that plays a never-ending, continuous loop in my brain. Oftentimes, I'm too busy doing mom-stuff like reading to the kids, helping them with their homework, driving them here and there, signing papers, cooking, cleaning, laundry, and not to forget the editorial bit blah, blah, blah and can't sit down for more than five minutes at a time(wonder how I manage to keep my weight from falling!). But most of the time, I just have a hard time getting started.

So, tonight as I sat staring at my blank screen, Facebook called me to play. After I updated my status, Toshali commented on it, "maybe because you have a cookie in your hand :D"

Okay, so yeah, I had a cookie in my hand, but she didn't have to write it on my wall, for goodness sake! I mean, isn't there some kind of etiquette for these things? Everyone was supposed to think I was a tortured artist waiting for inspiration, not that I was too busy stuffing my face with choco chip cookies to type.

Toshali and I continued our conversation on my Facebook wall. I told her, "Be quiet and do your homework." We exchanged barbs online as I sat at my desk writing and she sat a couple of feet away on my bed, working on her homework. And you know what? I loved it. She could've worked in her room. She could've hung out in the family room, researching. She chose to hang out with me for a bit. Now I know she's a pre-teen and as such, prefers the company of her friends to dear old mom, but still there are those times when she'll come by me, plop down, and just chat. Sometimes we don't even talk. We'll just hang out. Other times, she'll make fun of me on Facebook. And it's all good. Keeping those lines of communication open is SO important even as our kids get older. Especially as our kids get older. Keep talking to them. And, maybe even more importantly, listen to them. They might just surprise you with what they have to say. I mean, I had no idea my daughter had been working so far ahead in her first year French class that she'd already learned to converse in that language and also sing a couple of french songs. Of course, I also didn't know she'd a whole new list of friends for her up coming birthday. See? Talking to your kids opens whole new worlds of information. So that adds to my to-do-list now doesn't it? Getting to know these bunch of new kids who have stormed into my girl's life in the past year!

Dressing woes

2010-09-27T17:31:00.005+04:00

In the days BC (before children) I'd see kids in the store wearing the most crazy outfits and I'd think to myself, 'What on earth were their parents thinking???' Now that I have kids of my own, I understand. Kids like to dress themselves and it just isn't worth fighting over.

So, your child wants to wear a red sweat shirt, lavender(read purple) pants,I'm not sure why anyone would have purple pants to begin with..., yellow knee socks, boots, and a tiara in July. As a parent you have to pick and choose your battles. Generally it's best to save your energy for the more important things such as when the kids want to build a spaceship from parts they’ve taken out your sound system, blender plus a list of other gadgets or when the kids decide it would be a good idea to paint their bedroom door with nail polish. Stuff like The Hitting My Sister With a Smelly Sock Repeatedly Battle, or The He's Looking At Me Battle, just aren't worth the effort.

I've actually decided to stop buying new clothes for my kids. My son wears the same nasty old T-shirts day in and day out. It doesn't matter that he has a closet full of nice, new clothes. I'm sure his teacher thinks he's an orphan. And when I take the shirts away and toss them in the garbage, they somehow magically reappear in his drawer again and again. when he was younger, he did wear whatever I picked out for him. The only problem was - he liked to dress himself and 99% of the time, he put it on backwards. I mean, he's got a 50/50 shot of getting it right, yet his shoes are always on backwards and his tag is always sticking out the front of his shirt. I have not yet figured out why.

My daughter has nothing to wear. Again, she has a closet full of beautiful, untouched clothing, but I guess the clothes are invisible to her because when she opens her closet door, she sees nothing. She, more often than not, opts to wear my shoes as well. Hmmm maybe I could go raid HER closet for things to wear. I'm sure I'd look quite stylish in her little skirts( Hey dont you all dare check my weight!). This coming from a baby who didn't care what she wore as long as she got on shoes. First thing in the morning, she used to wake me up and bring me her shoes to put on. Before I change her nappy, I must slip shoes onto her feet. Pajamas and shoes. A diaper and shoes. Just shoes. And now my shoes plus the rest which she doesn't see!

My son's best friend and a regular at my place, spends most of his day just hanging out in his underwear. Maybe he's onto something. I'm sure it's very comfortable to walk around in nothing but your undies. But imagine ...well don't!

I have stopped blaming parents for the dresses kids wear!

An official evening and a gauche..

2010-09-16T10:52:00.008+04:00

I am sufficiently old and I don’t know many things. Unlike Francis Bacon, all knowledge is not in my province. Come to think of it, my province is pretty small. And among the many things that I do(did) not know is that mince pies do not have mince in them but little bits of sticky fruit.

So, I am sitting here at this east-west official dinner and everyone is interrupting everyone else with their travelogues and the tiresome effort it is to get a good room in a good hotel in Paris, one can’t really stay just anywhere, can one, when these little food items arrive and the hostess says, "have a mince pie." I take one and bite into it and fill my mouth with a reasonably tasty clot of sticky sweet fruit. "Hey," I say, "this is sweet." "Of course," says my hostess, "it is a mince pie." Most people in my position would have heard the penny drop, picked up the drift so to speak and shut up. Put a sock in it. Let it be. Not me. I soldier on, regardless of the flak. "Fancy that," I say, "I always thought mince pies had mincemeat in them, you know like kheema, not fruit, mutton or shredded chicken or something." There is this kinda hush situation followed by a crepe of embarrassment and then a fellow countrywoman turns to me and says, "you didn’t know mince pies are sweet?" "No," I say, "didn’t have a clue, always thought they were like steak and kidney pies, only squishy." She gives a dry, mirthless laugh, as if to say she didn’t know this was an evening for intellectual slumming, where did this one come from, what sort of people are they calling to parties these days, gatecrashers!!

"Where do you live, says another guest, you have never eaten a mince pie. " "No, I say, never, read about it in the books but never really eaten one. Come to think of it, never knew what black pudding was, always thought it was one of those caramel custard things burnt black. " Countrywoman gives a shrill little trill and says, "where do you live, in the boonies, she thought black pudding was sweet, oh this is funny." And all these people from my part of the world they are apologising for my faux pas and prattling on about their impressive relationships with mince pies and the westerners are all looking at me pitifully as if I was one of those drifters who had drifted in and shouldn’t have, and I am looking at this tableau in awe and wondering why I should be ashamed of not knowing there isn’t any mince in a mince pie. Peasant.

Member of the great unwashed. Plebe. So down market, country bumpkin. Guess where these
unspoken but highly articulate remarks are coming from. My own kind. They are red-faced for me and on the way back to the car park I overhear this lady tell her husband, that journalist is so gauche, I mean what will they think of us, we don’t even know what is in a mince pie. And the husband, he is nodding wisely and looking ever so worldly, like he was the world’s leading authority on mince pies and had been fed black pudding along with gripe water in Ludhiana or whatever. By 'they' the lady evidently means the western element at the party. By 'us' she as obviously means all brown billion of us, the majority of which she would not like to associate with, seeing as how they won’t be tops on their mince pie knowhow. If it wasn’t all so tragic it would be mind-boggling funny.

Before I got into the party I also got into my stride and confessed that I was 28 or thereabouts when I learnt that Steak Tartare was raw meat and that the exotic sounding Mulligatawny soup was derived from the Indian words “Mullak thani,” meaning ‘country water’, or simply, lentil soup. I had no idea that a scone was a round piece of cake rather than some exotic food item slathered with hot, melting butter. As for a macaroon I thought it was stretched macaroni. So
what? No one was impressed, not after I had mince pie on my face. With pieces of fruit in it. And then I turned to Allyson and I said, so how come they didn’t just call it sticky fruit pie. And I bet Allyson has no idea what puttu is anyway so we are quits!

Home is never an obligation

2010-09-08T14:10:00.003+04:00

A house is a house is a house-until love comes through the door, that is. And
love intuitively goes around sprinkling that special brand of angel dust that
transforms a house into a very special home for very special people: your
family.

Money, of course, can build a charming house, but only love can furnish it
with a feeling of home.

Duty can pack an adequate office/school lunch, but love may decide to tuck a little
note inside.

Money can provide a television set, but love controls it and cares enough to
say no and take the roar that comes with it.

Obligation sends the children to bed on time, but love tucks the covers in
around their necks and passes out kisses and hugs.

Obligation can cook a meal, but love embellishes the table with candles and a potted ivy.

Duty writes many letters, but love tucks a joke or a picture inside.

Compulsion keeps a sparkling house. But love and prayer stand a better chance
of producing a happy family.

Duty gets offended quickly if it isn’t appreciated. But love learns to laugh
a lot and to work for the sheer joy of doing it.

Obligation can pour a glass of milk, but quite often love will add a little
chocolate.

This was my 100th post. Looking forward to more milestones. Share my joys, trials and tribulations as we skip along together.

Not the best mom..but a mom nevertheless..

2010-09-02T12:27:00.004+04:00

I love my kids. I don't think anyone would disagree with that. I love them more than almost anything. They're the most important people in my life. But when the summer rolls around, they need to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE! My home is in a constant state of disarray (that's a nice way of saying that it looks like the aftermath of a gonu or a phet). And the fighting! Ohmygod, the fighting! They're at each other's throats all day long. I finally ~~locked them outside~~ told them to go outside and ~~kill each other~~ play so I wouldn't have to ~~clean the blood off the carpet~~ hear them anymore. That was all fine until I realized they'd flooded the car park with the fire extinguisher hose. I apologize to the watchman for the river running through the car park and the long red hose slithering like an angry snake on the floor, still gushing water as we talk. Hey, look at it this way, you just had the car park cleaned without any effort. Yay! Sorry (looking down apologetically). I couldn't even get mad at them for flooding the car park because I'd told them to go outside and play and well, they were playing outside. I didn't specifically tell them not to turn the hose into a snake and the car park into a lake.

Now, I love my bond, don't get me wrong. But really? Really??? Boys come up with the dumbest ideas! And not only do they think of stupid things to do, but they don't learn from them! They don't say, "Hmmm, that was a bad idea. I won't do that again." Nope. Instead, they think, "Hmmm, how can I make it more dangerous the next time?" There's always a "next time" with boys. Meanwhile, my daughters and their friends look on in amazement. They're not amazed that my son has managed some fantastic feat, oh no. They're amazed at how seemingly stupid the boys are.

What is it about the male brain? Do they have no concept of danger? Do they just not realize that they're most likely going to be injured? Or do they just not care because any amount of injury or punishment is worth the momentary thrill of flying through the air? I will seriously never understand the male brain. I guess I'll just have to thank them for keeping us females entertained and dumbfounded at the extent of their ummm, daring.

And, in the meantime, there are thirty-two hours and twelve minutes until my house can be cleaned and stay clean for more than twenty seconds, and the kids have some structure back in their lives! Not that I'm counting or anything.

Love - a high or a sigh?

2010-08-25T18:45:00.001+04:00

Yesterday morning when I woke up I was still pissed off. So I decided do stop by his house and give him a piece of my mind. I was going to yell, scream, hit him, make him feel like shit. I had it all planned out. I drove to his house and rang the doorbell. He opened the door with a surprised look on his face. "Hey...?" he said, and gave me a hug. Damn, I thought. Why'd he have to hug me? I couldn't hit him then. I couldn't yell or cry or be angry with him at all. He has such influence over me it's disturbing.

We stood on his porch and had a big talk. I can't remember everything exactly but I told him how horrible he made me feel sometimes. How I felt like he was trying to replace me and memories of me with his girlfriend. I want him to have new memories, but I want him to remember old ones, too. I know at one point I started crying and he hugged me close to him. Then he told me that I made him feel like shit, too. A while ago. I told him to tell me everything that I had done wrong and everything that he was mad at me for... So he got it all off his chest. Everything came out. He was on the verge of tears, too. After we got all our anger out, things got softer. We talked about how we liked each other, how he's scared to be with me because he doesn't want to get hurt again.

As we talked, I was kind of flirting with him on purpose, like playing with his jacket strings and zipper and tickling his neck. At one point I put my hand on his chest, right over his heart. It was pounding. I let out a small laugh.
"What?" He asked.
"Remember when I used to rest my head on your chest and listen to your heart?"
He smiled.
"Yeah, I remember. It was your favorite thing to do."
And so I did again. He moved his jacket and pulled my head to his chest. His heart beat even faster. I smiled into his shirt and turned my head so that I was breathing him in.
"Are you smelling me..?"
I smiled again. "Yes. You smell good."
He laughed and asked what he smells like.
"Magic," I said.
I stepped away from him so that I could see his face.
"Do I have a smell?" I asked.
"Yes."
"What do I smell like?" "Good. Really good."
I sniffed my hair, and he chuckled and said, grinning,
"No, not your hair..."
He pulled my hair all to one side so that the left side of my neck was bare.
"Right there.."
He leaned down and smelled my neck, then began kissing it. He kissed my neck, each kiss getting closer and closer to my face. He was about to reach my lips when I turned away,
"No. I'm not going to be that girl again. The girl that makes the guy cheat on his girlfriend. I hate that feeling."
He looked down and nodded. We continued talking about each other. How much we loved each other's eyes, stuff like that. We reminisced on the night of our first kiss. He remembered what I was wearing, what the date was, everything. I started playing with his ear, something I do that began that night and which I have done ever since. Eventually both my hands were worked up in his hair and his were pulling me closer to him. Our lips were an inch apart. He leaned in closer and I put two fingers on his mouth to stop him. He groaned.
In a whisper,
"Come on..."
We gazed into the eyes of the other and it overtook me. In that moment I no longer cared that He had a girlfriend; it wasn't real, their love. But our moment was. I let him lean in once more and his lips brushed mine gently.

But that was yesterday. Now I'm just confused. He's with his girlfriend right now. Their families got together for dinner. He hasn't talked to me all day... I don't think he's going to tell his girlfriend about what happened... and I don't think he's going to break up with her.

His girlfriend: has been cheated on and doesn't know it. Her boyfriend likes and wants to be with me, his best friend. She doesn't know this either.
Him: likes and wants to be with two girls. Wants to be with me more than his girlfriend, but is scared to because I hurt him in the past.
Me: I'm in love with my best friend, but he has a girlfriend and even though he cheated on her with me he's not going to tell her because he doesn't want to break up with her.

I don't know what's going to happen. I asked him if he was going to take a chance and be with me, and he said, "Baby steps. I'll get there. Slowly. It might take a year; or more, or less.

Sigh.

This is not judgemental, this is just the way it is at times. Another attempt to understand the human mind.

How the wheels of society turn

2010-08-20T11:46:00.004+04:00

THEY were not on the A list in social terms. More like a B or B plus. Not rich enough, not famous enough, not powerful enough. So, while they were pretty active on the city circuit they were never at the best places. Just second best. Sort of like there but not there, second stringers at best, desperately seeking the front row.

This irked both husband and wife so they devised a strategy to get themselves into the ‘in’ parties. They gate-crashed. If it was a top shelf gathering they’d be there.
Not in the clumsy or crude manner you might expect of barging in but with a little bit of panache. They’d call the hostess and say, "Awfully sorry, we were out of town and must have missed the invitation, but don’t worry we’ll be there, wouldn’t miss it for the world."

Once they called a host and said, "Our houseboy is such a nuisance, he never gives us the messages, no good help these days, hahaha, so sweet of you to be giving this dinner for the visiting MPs, sure you don’t need any help, we could get our cook to make something," On another occasion they gate crashed a private dinner by explaining how they had just landed from the airport and how they are so fortunate they got back tonight, right in time. And they always carried gifts or a bouquet of flowers to soften their entry.

The A list crowd were cruel in their comments but the ridicule was in private and even though they joked about the couple they never really came out and said, "get lost." Over the months the gate-crashing continued and the game took on a new twist. There was now speculation over whether the gate-crashing husband and wife would fetch up at a dinner or not.

And then one evening at a small dinner party for twenty of fairly important people the hostess looked distraught and uneasy. Guests asked her what was wrong but she wouldn’t say. Finally, she couldn’t hold back and she blurted out what was on her mind. The gatecrashers hadn’t gate-crashed. It was way past ten o’clock and there was no sign of them. she whispered. "They didn’t come,""Maybe they don’t think we are good enough for them," said someone half jokingly. And a legend was born.

Almost immediately the gatecrashers had been lionised and turned into society barometers. If they gate-crashed your party you were to the manor born, if they stayed away you were a has been, not worth the bother. The whole ludicrous scenario was further validated by the tacit approval of the giddy social circles. There was even an honour system that evolved in that the true test of your party’s worth and your standing lay in their gate-crashing you. If you invited them it did not count, it was a natural disqualification. They had to fetch up on their own. Things came to such a pass that the hosts would sweat with suspense until the couple fetched up or have a completely wretched evening because they had been dumped. Very soon the A list had been transformed according to this arbitrary yardstick and the gate- crashing couple had become famous and very powerful indicators. If they didn’t come to your party the message flashed across the city. These are yesterday’s people, not even worth gate-crashing.

Ah, how the rich live. You think I jest. You think wrong.

note: This is not about the White house gate crashers - Michelle and Tariq Silahi..though inspired for that news.

Where the mind is without fear...there lays real freedom

2010-08-14T18:05:00.004+04:00

Nothing is as precious as one's freedom. Dreams, aspirations, and ideals mean nothing if one does not have the freedom to pursue them.

what does freedom mean?

For some it will mean graduating from school, finally getting out into the wide world, getting a job and earning money. For some it will mean throwing a bag in the car and getting out of the city into the wide open country to breathe good clean air. For some, freedom simply means not being imprisoned by responsibilities and commitments.

Freedom is certainly all those things and more.

There is an intrinsic need to loosen and throw off the shackles of circumstances and situations that people believe hold them back and curb their desire to fly. And yet, sooner or later, if you've headed out into the country for a break, you have to curtail your freedom again. You have to go back to the city, or to the job the next day, or knuckle down to the next task at hand, until the urge to break free overwhelms you again. So the cycle turns, and turns, and turns, leaving you more and more dissatisfied with what you have and constantly being reminded of that need to escape.

Real freedom isn't dependent upon external circumstances. Real freedom is right there in our own heart, mind and soul if we could only recognise it. The freedom from being controlled by boredom, or dislike of people we don't particularly get on with. Imagine the freedom from the need to own, control and to fear loss of people or things. Imagine the freedom from the suffocating need to be loved, respected, admired or valued. Freedom from being defensive and territorial. Yes, to be free is not just about being 18 years old and have a say at the ballots. Its not about tatoos and navel rings, late nights and drinking bouts. Its much more and its much before. Real freedom takes real courage.

Otto Frank's quote to his daughter Anne is relevant to all of us. "Always remember this Anna, there are no walls, no bolts, no locks that anyone can put on your mind."

Our country stands tall in her achievements, She has done it inspite of the politicians, the corruption, the red tape, the menace and the filth. I think we can rise above all this too and be free in the real sense. Happy Independence Day! The lines below made me proud, hope they will make you smile today!

WORLD HISTORY - FACTS ABOUT INDIA

India never invaded any country in her last 1000 years of history.

India invented the Number system. Zero was invented by Aryabhatta.

The world's first University was established in Takshila in 700BC. More than 10,500 students from all over the world studied more than 60 subjects.The University of Nalanda built in the 4th century BC was one of the greatest achievements of ancient India in the field of education.

According to the Forbes magazine, Sanskrit is the most suitable language for computer software.

Ayurveda is the earliest school of medicine known to humans.

Although western media portray modern images of India as poverty striken and underdeveloped through political corruption, India was once the richest empire on earth.

The art of navigation was born in the river Sindh 5000 years ago. The very word "Navigation" is derived from the Sanskrit word NAVGATIH.

The value of pi was first calculated by Budhayana, and he explained the concept of what is now known as the Pythagorean Theorem. British scholars have last year (1999) officially published that Budhayan's works dates to the 6th Century which is long before the European mathematicians.

Algebra, trigonometry and calculus came from India. Quadratic equations were by Sridharacharya in the 11th Century; the largest numbers the Greeks and the Romans used were 106 whereas Indians used numbers as big as 1053.

According to the Gemological Institute of America, up until 1896, India was the only source of diamonds to the world.

USA based IEEE has proved what has been a century-old suspicion amongst academics that the pioneer of wireless communication was Professor Jagdeesh Bose and not Marconi.

The earliest reservoir and dam for irrigation was built in Saurashtra.
Chess was invented in India.

Sushruta is the father of surgery. 2600 years ago he and health scientists of his time conducted surgeries like cesareans, cataract, fractures and urinary stones. Usage of anaesthesia was well known in ancient India.

When many cultures in the world were only nomadic forest dwellers over 5000 years ago, Indians established Harappan culture in Sindhu Valley (Indus Valley Civilisation).

The place value system, the decimal system was developed in India in 100 BC.

Women can read maps... its just not the priority!

2010-08-07T20:04:00.006+04:00

Now that I have been working for well over a year, multi-tasking has become second nature to me. It sounds like a praise, but believe me, its not, its just a reflex action on which the conscious mind has no control.

How can this be a bad thing? Well, I now completely lack the ability to do less than three things at a time. When I sit down to watch a movie or a TV show, I am still working or thinking about working or feeling guilty about not working.

I decided to make a chart of my daily activities and how they get completed. lets read out a page...

When I eat breakfast, I am also checking my mail, dodging cereal into Bond's mouth(This is his moment of fun with me! Turning the mouth just in time to splatter the spoonful on the table mat! Till date the scores are even..so guess, I am not bad at ensuring that 50% of what is dished out does eventually find a place in his tummy.) and cleaning my kitchen from the party-night earlier.

When I am folding clothes, I am also taking up Q&As with Toshali, getting Bond's craft list into my memory and praying it stays there till the evening. Also ticking my check list on the pending phone calls that need to be made.

When I am driving, I am going through spellings with Bond, thinking about the work I need to do that day, and also trying to remember what I need from the grocery store. trying my level best not to miss the important 'for sale' signs.

When I am cooking, I am also on the phone. As all moms will agree that this is the ideal time for the kids to get their way. So usually the scene that continues with an on going phone conversation is like this :

Bond: "Mom I am going to play, will do the homework later."

Me: Glaring once, mouthing a shriek, gulping a curse and with no apparent reaction..finally shouting a huge "NO", only to scare mom-in-law at the other end of the phone...

Mom-in-law(from the other end of the line) : "I was just asking, GOD!! You really have become rude and insensitive since you took up that job of yours.. "

Me: Blurting illegibly, going crazy signalling with the rolling pin at Bond to get back in, while he coolly takes his cycle and closes the door on my silly face.

Mom-in-law hangs up and I am left with a rolling pin, a burnt chapati on the gas, unfinished homework and a hyper ventilating heart!

When I am going to the bathroom - wait a minute. I don't get to go to the bathroom for more than 27 seconds anyway, so that doesn't really leave time for much else. Except yelling down the hall at my daughter to pick up the phone that's been ringing since I entered the bathroom and nobody seems to mind the brain numbing ring!

The list is endless, please ladies feel free to add in all the multi-tasking you have been doing. We do not realise it unless we put it on paper(blog) like this!

Torture for me would be to sit me on the couch with absolutely nothing - no paper, no pens to write on my hand with, no articles to read. Then make sure the kitchen is messy and my kid's are watching High School Musical instead of studying for the upcoming quiz. Then just force me to sit there and do nothing.

After about 19 seconds I would begin to tremble. After a minute I would look like I was goingthrough detox. After about 5 minutes, you would have to strap me to the couch, because that would be the only way I would be able to not do anything.

What if it is like a drug addiction and I have to add more and more tasks to my plate? Where would I be able to draw the line? Is there a limit to how many tasks a woman can tackle at a time?

After being married for almost thirteen years, I am convinced that the only multi-tasking men can do is read while going to the bathroom.

And then they come up with books like 'Why women can't read maps'.

Unwrap the treasure trove

2010-07-30T20:32:00.004+04:00

In every home there are things that are purchased primarily with the idea of not using them. This fact was brought home to me when I suggested the highly expensive silver tea-set on a silver salver bought a few years back should be trotted out now and then. This got raised eye brows from my husband, a "are you completely nuts?" look from Toshali and as expected a look of sheer excitement and pleasure from Bond!

The sparkling tea-set, after regularly exhausting 'Gerard Silver polish' to maintain the glory of the three piece set plus tray, sits proudly inside the side board. Never has tea been poured into the pot, milk into the jug or sugar into the bowl. I am told that such things are kept for 'special occasions', but nowhere is a 'special occasion' defined. I think tomorrow evening, I and Bond will make it a date with silver. I will seat ourselves on the opposite sides of the centre-table and pour tea from silver. That would be special enough for us!

The bar counter is full of crystal goblets, and 'Hard Rock Cafe' shot glasses. Each from a different country, each a memoir of a place visited. They sit too, waiting I suppose for the beautiful lips that visit our home, to touch their rims. But alas, the rims remain un-adorned. They are brought out only to be wiped and polished and put back in order to stare at the visitors who admire them from behind the glass barrier. The talk of bringing them out does not give raised eye brows, it gives a look of horror. Well he should know, he lugged them all the way from distant shores. He does make an attempt now and then, I must admit, but each time, he is thwarted with a caution. What if one breaks and the set is ruined. "Can you sit there comfortably waiting to see if some one drops it or the cleaner chips it washing up?" He asks. I think I can, but this question is one of those that does not await an answer, it just means the answer is NO. Well, Bond is too young to accompany me on this tryst..so I plan on adorning the rims myself.

What about the limited editions MontBlanc pen? It has not seen how a paper looks like since it walked out of the store in 1999. Actually I am not sure, if it has ever seen what paper looks like. The list is endless, there are copper utensils that have been passed on only to be polished and kept aside, there is trousseau that was bought knowing well enough that I would not wear it beyond the month of my marriage, so they lie as well, draped in white muslin cloth in a cupboard somewhere. There are linens that await an important visitor too, only to be forgotten when the visitor arrives. The suit that was tailored and perfected after various rounds of boring trials, it hangs on a hanger in its leather case, only to be aired once every season. The bone china dinner set in a pattern of pink china roses lies in its original packaging still. The list is truly vast and endless.

Go on, admit it. Your house has suitcases full of good things you have squirreled away for another day, or what we call the right time. there is a real silliness in the saving up. Things get out dated, new models spring up, there are better things to buy in the stores, and then all of a sudden we are disillusioned with what we have, but have never used. take it out now before it becomes passe, it will never become an antique, let me tell you, it will just become outdated!

Hoard memories, they are worth polishing and preserving, the stuff that we buy..let's use them, if we don't break them, the packers certainly will one day!

Absurdities then and now

2010-07-25T13:37:00.008+04:00

Lines we have all heard as kids. Lines we know are ridiculous, and yet we repeat them to our kids. Knowing, they think we are being ridiculous.

"Eat the apple, c'mon now, finish it! You will get apple like red cheeks!" Even as a 5 year old I knew that the skin of the apple wouldn't climb up to my cheek and rub its colour onto me. My kids know that too, and yet I say it. This is not about racism guys, its just what I end up saying when they refuse to have an apple.

"Finish all the food on your plate. Don't you know there are so many starving children in the world!" I was never sure how finishing my rice and fish was going to help hungry kids on the other side of the world, but it seemed to make sense to parents everywhere. It definitely makes a lot of sense to me now. Its my meal time mantra.

I liked to make faces in front of the mirror, when I was a kid. And you know what my mom said? Say it with me everyone. "Your face is going to freeze like that." And she'd say it all serious-like, as if she actually believed it herself. Have you ever seen a person with a face frozen with their eyelids pulled up, their fingers stuck in their nostrils, and their tongue hanging out? Yeah, I didn't think so. And yet, today, when my kids fight and make faces at each other, "Mom, didi is sticking her tongue out at me! Mom Bond's making a face at me!" thats exactly what I say.

"Don't make me turn this car around!" You know how many times he actually turned the car around? Never. It was an empty threat designed to keep me and my friends quiet. And it worked everytime. For 90 seconds. Really though, in the history of mankind, has anyone ever actually turned the car around? Why would you do that? You'd still have to listen to the fighting and screaming on the way back home. And then, eventually, you'd have to go back out and complete your trip anyway. But I still say this line to my kids, with variations in voice modulation depending on the need of the hour.

And finally there was the famous, " If your best friend jumped off a bridge, would you follow her?" Well I usually retorted to this one, because by the time this line was being used on me, I was a teenager and more vocal with my thoughts. So the retort would be on the lines of, " Possibly. How long are you going to stay with this line of questioning? Kidding! just kidding mom. I wouldn't jump off a bridge to get away from you. I mean , I wouldn't jump off a bridge just because my friends do. So, does that mean No, I can't go to the concert that everyone else is going to?"

Things have not changed much from this line of questioning as well. Today when my daughter asks for a mobile stating the fact that all her friends have one...why do I say.. you guessed that right!! Why do I say...God Help!

Rants and chore coupons

2010-07-16T14:05:00.001+04:00

I have always been a grocery list person but lately, I always forget to bring the damn list with me to the store. And by lately, I mean since 2006. So yesterday, I came up with the brilliant idea to text myself the list! I mean, hello? I carry my phone everywhere! How smart am I?

Woot!
I forgot to bring my cell phone with me to the store yesterday.

We now have 5 bags of cupcakes and no salt.

I need to learn not to sweat the small stuff.

So what if I broke down and consumed a tub of tiramisu for lunch yesterday, what’s the big deal if we own three cordless phones but yet I am forced to shout "CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW? WAIT, I’M MOVING INTO THE CLOSET. CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?" into my cell phone because I can’t find any of them?

Is it any biggie that my kids, who never see eye to eye on anything, finally found common ground in that they’ve mutually agreed to spend their summer screaming at, bickering with, and hurling insults at each other instead of, say, swimming in the pool?

No big whoop.

I need to keep it in perspective.. because there's a light somewhere at the end of this tunnel..., I might be forgetful, I might be cranky, and silly and moody and ogreish most of the time..and yet there is a light at the end of this tunnel.

When I was a kid, I was rarely grounded. Not because I was an angel, but because my mother was smart enough to realize that if she grounded me, that meant I couldn’t go anywhere and would be stuck in the house 24/7. The same house in which she lived. So, instead of grounding, my mother opted to become a screamer and much like anything she sets her mind to, she excelled at it. Accompanying the screaming was the eyebrow arch.

As with so many of her other talents like gardening, cooking and general housekeeping, I did not inherit all of my mother’s aptitude when it came to discipline. I am genetically incapable of arching either one of my eyebrows without bond interrupting me to ask if I’m having a seizure.

I can, however, scream. Maybe not to my mother’s decibel level but enough so that the vocal chords straining out of my neck are probably on Google Earth somewhere. However, I hate screaming. It always results in a mammoth headache. my screams go in one ear, bounce around the skull for awhile and exit via the other out of sheer boredom. My kids have learned to wait until my lungs collapse at which time they emerge from their cocoons, spread their wings and fly about their merry way. So in addition to screaming, because giving that up would be akin to giving up natural instinct altogether, I resort to grounding. I find my kids’ “currency” and garnish their wages. Fortunately for me, the currency at the moment is the same for both of them, specifically time on the computer and time with friends. This makes it very convenient and saves me the hassle of being creative with respect to individual consequences. A good thing because when the blood is gushing around my head and my eyes are protruding three feet out of their sockets, I don’t feel much like being creative. However, if you all have lost your way through my rants, let me make it clear that this is not a rant post ..nor is this about my forgetfulness. This is about that light at the end of the tunnel. Remember..

Yah, so amidst all the forgetting and screaming and grounding, my 37th birthday dawned. I woke up bored, and fearful of that extra wrinkle I might encounter while brushing my teeth. I was indecisive about whether to make it a big deal at work and carry some pastries, I was not sure about why it was my birthday at all, again , so soon, after the last time. So, with such random things on my mind I came out of the bathroom and headed for my coffee. And then in a sudden flurry of activity..things changed.

If you have succeeded in reading through the handwriting, some of you would have realised, that this is a chore coupon book. Toshali made this for my birthday. She gets no pocket money and so this is what she gifted me. Priceless!! You all would have also realised that I love head massages..if its a bit of more information than required, please ignore it! And now after the overwhelming love that I felt for my daughter, I looked at Bond..and asked," So, what have you for momma?" He replied, "When I get pocket money, I will buy you a perfume." He hugged me and smiled and ran away with the coupon book to tick his siter off. He ensures till date that all the coupons are delivered and keeps time as his sister massages my head with warm oil!!

Life is amazing!

263,Prinsengracht

2010-07-10T16:13:00.008+04:00

The land of sex and marijuana. The city where usually people go to have some 'fun'. Slip cakes and brownies, weeds and pots. Slip less ladies cavorting behind glass windows - a mindless job. This, apart from the tulips and the windmills was what I had expected as part of my trip to Amsterdam last month.

Amsterdam was much more than any of this. The canals with their beautiful boat houses, the windmills, the smiling people on their cycles and then the house that hid eight people for two years from the Gestapo. This post is about my feelings as I stepped back in time on entering Prinsengracht 263, Anne Frank Huis, Amsterdam.

I’ll probably fail at putting it into words, but it was definitely one of the most overwhelming experiences of my life. Not “getting married” overwhelming, or “having a kid” overwhelming, but overwhelming in the sense that I was standing in the same place where people hid for 2 years in order to save their lives. Standing and walking around in the same place where this girl wrote in her diary, not knowing what would happen to her family, to her. I felt as if I had stepped back in history. To the period that is evident only in the books on holocoust now.

The secret annexe, the thick black curtains on the windows, the narrow staircase, the single toilet that was used by eight people. The flush that could be pulled only after 12 at night and before 8 in the morning, the hollywood stars on the walls, the hope of a young girl amidst the chaos outside. The pointers on the walls by Otto Frank depicting the growth in height of Margot and Anne, the gas stove, the cots, the attic window. As I walked through the rooms, touched the walls, slid the curtains, sat on her bed, the thought of that young girl was never far from me. It was as if she was whispering to me, " You are free, I was not."

Birth Name: Annelies Marie Frank
Birth Date: June 12, 1929
Died:March 31, 1945
July 6, 1942: Frank and family moved into hiding place, "Secret Annexe"
August 4, 1944: Hiding spot found by the German Police
March 1945: Died of typhus at age 15 while in a concentration camp
AP: Anne Frank Saplings May be Planted in 10 US Cities (April 17, 2009)
The concentration camp was liberated one month after her death

"'Would anyone, either Jew or non-Jew, understand this about me, that I am simply a young girl badly in need of some rollicking fun?'" Friday, 24 December, 1943

"I've reached the point where I hardly care whether I live or die. The world will keep on turning without me, and I can't do anything to change events anyway. I'll just let matters take their course and concentrate on studying and hope that everything will be all right in the end." - February 3, 1944

"It’s a wonder I haven’t abandoned all my ideals, they seem so absurd and impractical. Yet I cling to them because I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart. It’s utterly impossible for me to build my life on a foundation of chaos, suffering and death. I see the world being slowly transformed into a wilderness, I hear the approaching thunder that, one day, will destroy us too, I feel the suffering of millions. And yet, when I look up at the sky, I somehow feel that everything will change for the better, that this cruelty too shall end, that peace and tranquility will return once more" - July 15, 1944

"You know what I do when I think I can't stand another minute cooped up? I think myself outside. You know the most wonderful part of thinking yourself outside. You can have it any way you like. You can have rows of roses and violets all blooming in the same season, isn't that wonderful!" July 15, 1944

"I don't think of all the misery but of the beauty that still remains."
Anne Frank

Guilty feelings got no rhythm..

2010-07-01T17:14:00.002+04:00

I have been dreading this... I have been dreading to come to my page. In fact a few hours back, I was chatting with my niece and told her the same thing. We quickly resolved it and blamed the family genes, our stupidity, and our lack of persistence in anything that has any merit attached to it. So did I give up blogging? Not exactly..but I don't know what to write about anymore, my life lacks inspiration and also as I was telling her, "When the novelty of adulation ends it becomes just another chore!"

I am sure some of you wondered and the rest gave up. Absence without any cause or notice or justification is in a way very liberating. Perhaps you can't get away with this kind of behaviour anywhere else. There is always the risk of losing out on your follower base and readership.. but at times its ok not to give a damn!

And today when I write, I do it because I want to and not because I have not written for a week, and the pressure is building up. That in itself is such a pleasant feeling. So lets start this one here..

Talking about pressures, there is another feeling that almost always surrounding us, and thats 'guilt'. Especially 'mommy guilt'. Each morning at 5:00 am when its time to wake the kids up, the race begins.."UGH!! I shouldnt have stayed up reading so late!" Bond starts to skate around the hall, toshali can't find her brush, and there is always a fight that nips at my arms, shoulders and brain, till I want to flick the kids off! I want five minutes - just five freaking minutes - for my coffee before my brain starts functioning and I get you ready for school. "Flick them off!! God did I say that...?"

Suddenly there is a tooth brush closer than an inch from my eye ball, followed by a shriek" Eeeeeooowwwwwwwwwww!!!"

My fuzzy brain jump starts and the milk spills on the floor. "Toshali, what's the matter, cant you keep it down?"

"Mamma, Bond just dropped my tooth brush in the toilet!"

"Fine, great, well worse things have happened!!" I manage to say, as I mop the floor. The coffee seems to be working its magic on me at last. My dehydrated hands move from one lunch box to another as I remember the preferences, one dianosaur pack, one high school musical. And just as I zip up, Bond screams like a banshee and runs wild at me... the reason...nothing..its what he felt like doing! Running and screaming towards me like the sky had fallen down on him. As I turn around with a hand to my thumping chest, I see Toshali brooding over the turkey sandwich in her high school musical box. "You promised me some sweets this time!" Well I have a list of reasons that I can churn out to her against sweets in the tiffin.. but please dear God not this hour of the day! Why cant they remember that I was an actual person before I became a momma to them!

Then of course they hear my husband's footsteps. Like two soldiers they queue up. Bond even straigtens his hair and smiles at me. They don't suck the enegy out of him, because he doesnt feel the guilt over his behaviour with them. That's quite a thought early in the day. Yeah, I think I know what drains me most. Its not the kids running and screaming, Its my reactions to that, and the guilt I have over those reactions.. Hmmm!! The coffee is an exemplary invention!

So what is the point of this 'mommy guilt'? Why dont I accept that I am human and a single entity with one brain and just a pair of hands. Why cant I accept that I cannot do more than maybe three things at a time? I take a breath and run through the daily mental check list. Homework, folders, library books, field trip permission slip, water bottle, tiffin boxes, napkins. ALL THERE!!

Thats another day just beginning... I smile at the new found philosophy.. I dont need to be guilty for being the way I am. I am going to ponder over it some more and enjoy my coffee.

A must read...

2010-05-07T14:55:00.006+04:00

Yesterday it was big day for my daughter at school. She was the topper in her grade 5 exams from her class and the 12th amongst 620 students who appeared for the same exam throughout the school. The annual academic merit awards were honouring them with certificates, plaques and scholarships. As the proud parents and well wishers cheered on, the chief guest who is an eminent personality in Oman gave a wonderful and humane speech.

A part of that speech was a letter written by Abe Lincoln to his old school headmaster. This was written as a parent who had put in his son to the same school, in which he was once a student. What stayed with me of yesterday evening, apart from Toshali's smile, was this letter. Sharing it with you here..

He will have to learn, I know, that all men are not just, all men are not true. But teach him also that for every scoundrel there is a hero: that far every selfish politician, there is a dedicated leader…

Teach him that for every enemy there is a friend. It will take time, I know a long time, but teach, if you can, that a dollar earned is of more value then five of found.

Teach him, to learn to lose…And also to enjoy winning. Steer him away from envy, if you can, teach him the the secret of quiet laughter.

Teach him, if you can the wonder of books…But also given quiet time wonder the eternal mystery of birds in the sky, bees in the sun, and flowers on the green hillside.

In school teach him, it is far more honorable to fail than to cheat…

Teach him to have faith in his own idea, even if everyone tells him they are wrong…

Teach him to be gentle with gentle people and tough with tough.

Teach him to listen to all men…But teach him also to filter all he hears on a screen of truth, and take only the good one that comes through.

Teach him, if you can, how to laugh when he is sad. Teach him there is no shame in tear.

Teach him to sell his brawn and brain to the highest bidder but never to put a prize tag on his heart and soul.

Teach him gently, but do not cuddle him, because only the test of fire makes the fine steel.
Teach him always to have sublime faith in himself because only then he will have faith in mankind.

This is a big order, but see what can you do… He is such a fine little fellow, my son!

Toshali's picture is from a few months back ...
The handwritten letter is courtesy google images

The giving tree

2010-04-22T21:30:00.005+04:00

I am sharing a free verse written by Toshali for Earth day.

Oh, giving tree!

Why do you give us shelter

When we burn your leaves?

Why do you give us fruits

When we waste more than we eat?

Why do you give us wood

When we burn it for luxury?

If I were you, giving tree,

I would have emptied my branches of leaves

When these men came looking for shelter,

I would have become un-reachable

To hands that wasted my fruits,

I would have become as hard as a rock

To the wood cutter's axe.

Oh, kind giving tree,

You give us shelter,

You give us fruits,

You let us kill you for our luxury!

So friends remember,

If you cut one tree

Plant two more.

For the new readers, Toshali is my 10 year old daughter.

Life is what we make of it - Final part

2010-04-20T16:30:00.001+04:00

"I walked away. Out of the door of our bedroom, out of our house. Past where little Stravos was playing with other children. I walked up to the top of the town and into a little bar. A place where only the old men sat and drank." As Isodora heard in rapt attention, Alanah continued, "I ordered raki, you know, the very rough spirit they have. I drank untill I could forget the way her round beautiful shoulder had snuggled against his chest. I drank untill I fell on the ground. They carried me home, I remember nothing of it. I woke up next day in our bed. There was no sign of Pegaso. I remembered her there in the bed and I got up to be very sick. There was no sign of little Stravos either. I went to work, but the smell of the petrol and the exhaust of the cars made me very sick again." Alanah suddenly felt tired, a wave of nausea swept over her and with that she again craved, after so many years, the wasteful taste of raki. Christina who was sketching, started humming a melodious tune and slowly Alanah composed herself again and after a short break of cold water, continued with her story.

"Magda had taken my child, my child! to her house. That night I had brandy, good Metaxa brandy to get me over the shock, and then I sort of crawled back to the petrol station, but couldn't talk to anyone, so I went home . Home! Huh! There was nobody there. Four days and nights of drinking, then I realised they had taken my child away from me. I heard like in a dream, that Magda's husband had gone away on a fishing boat to another island. And then the mind is a blank till I woke up in the hospital near the bus station."

"Come Isadora, sit near me, this is where your mother enters my story again. listen well and understand that missing year of her life, when she left her young family to be with a friend. I had given her name as 'next of kin' to the hospital authorities and they had telephoned her. She reached Lipsi the same evening." Saying this Alanah got up and hugged her friend of many years once again. Some bonds are eternal, forged without any reason, and yet they stand the test of time and blossom even in the coldest of winters. Such was the bond between Alanah and Christina.

"Pretend to be calm, pretend to be better, then they'll let you out." Christina had said to her, and that's what Alanah had done, pretended. It helped in the begining and she was let out of the hospital and sent back home. Pegaso did not speak to her, wouldnt tell her where Stravos was. Alanah could not raise her voice in fear of being locked up again in that wretched hospital, where every door closed in on her. Pegaso was living just across the road with Magda, Stravos was never to be seen, she could not go up to the bar and drink, as the whole town was watching her always. she bought a bottle here and a bottle there and drank till she passed out crying and being sick on Christina's lap. She never slept on the bed again, always on the sofa.

Every morning Christina would help her to take her bath, would wash her hair and tidy her up. She would speak of ordinary things like getting the grocery and in the same tone she would speak of going over to Magda's house and confronting Pegaso. Slowly she managed to get her message across to Alanah. And one day a tidy and relatively sober Alanah walked across the street to where Pegaso now lived. He asked her to go away, to leave him. She could stay in the house, but he had changed all the locks of the petrol pump. He said their son was living in Athens with his aunt and that she should never try and meet him as she would be a bad influence on the child. He was speaking as if to a person who had mental problems. Everybody except Christina treated her that way during those days, with quiet and patient concern mixed with a fear that she might suddenly jump on them. Pegaso said that he would sell the petrol pump and Magda and he would take little Stravos and start a new life somewhere. He would try and build a new and better life for Stravos away, he had said, from "this drunken madness".

Christina could not divert Alanah from the bottle, and she had to be put in rehab once again. "Once I knew I had lost everything, I didnt see any point in pretending." Alanah said. She had sold stuff out of the house and bought drink. She was in and out of rehab like a yo-yo. Taking advantage of her condition, Pegaso explained to everyone that she was an unfit mother. There was no court of law or social workers in the village those days. Alanah's not being sober was not helping either.

Little Stravos came back to Lipsi one day, and for a short while Alanah was allowed to see him for three hours every week. The visits were not a success though. Christina would tidy her up on these days and make her wear her best outfit. She always made Alanah carry a basket of baked goodies for Stravos. But still the visits were disastrous. She cried, you see, cried for the entire three hours over all that she had lost. She would clutch little Stravos and cry and tell him how much she loved him and needed him. She scared the boy out of his wits. Stravos started hating the meetings, he was fidgety and looked for an escape. He didnt recognise her anymore, how would he? He had never seen her like this before, and he was just a lttle boy.

These meetings continued. After the ordeal Stravos would look forward to going with Magda in the waiting car, an odd and unnecessary duty accomplished. Alanah would fill her bladder till Christina carried her back home. It was only after they left Lipsi, that Christina could start healing the bleeding wounds. There was not a fear now of them re-opening, you see. And so in the coming months as Christina worked in shops and cleaned floors to make money for them, Alanah got out of her stupour to realise the wastefulness of her actions. The tireless Christina who had just carried Isadora's picture with her to Lipsi was managing slowly to distract her friend. Old man Leros, who had a taverna on the outskirts of Lipsi gave Alanah work. And then one day a man, they all knew from the rehab, took his life. It sounds simple, but that was the day that Alanah gave up the bottle. It happened just like that. She had nothing to live for anymore, but she knew that unless she got her life in order, Christina would never return to her family.

Stravos would be almost thirty now. Every birthday Alanah wrote to him, to the last mailing address that she had, but till date there was never any reply. This had been the case with every every letter she had written in her life be it to her parents, her friends in Ireland or to her son in Greece, never a reply!! Suddenly she laughed and said, "Bless my stars !! I was not told to write to Christina from the hospital, else I would be still be locked up in the rehab!!" She didnt blame Stravos, how could she? He was a small boy, and she had been a nightmarish experience to him. How was he to know that she had mellowed down and could be courteous and polite to people? If he were ever to get in contact with her, it would be out of pity, and Alanah had never accepted that emotion from people.

"Dhen pirazi Isadora, Nothing really matters anymore." ended Alanah.

Isadora looked at these two weathered, and time worn women and smiled. She would find out where Stravos was, of course she would. The world was tinier now. But first she would go buy three tickets for a journey to Ireland. As the sun set that day there was healing for all as the painful gaps in their lives had been finally filled.

Life is what we make of it - part 5

2010-04-19T16:33:00.002+04:00

Lipsi kept pace with the rest of the world in its own way. There were more tourists to be seen now, there was a ferry every hour to Athens. The tavernas by the beach dished out cusine from across the world. The place was still serene. Most of the younger generation had left the town in search of jobs. Not many new faces had settled in, and so even today, everybody knew everybody else from a long time back.

Alanah didn't own the pump anymore. She now ran a store that rented diving, fishing, and other water sports gear. She still had her house, and rented out the top floor to tourists to keep money flowing in. The pump still stood where it always had - a salute to a hard earned dream. She had last seen Stravos twenty years back, when he was 6. She vaguely remembered him getting on the car and waving goodbye. The rest was hazy, or maybe too painful to scratch. She was not radar-less, but she was quieter than before. She was a perfect landlady though, always leaving her guests alone. She left an occasional basket of grapes or a bowl of olives on their doorstep.

Christina had recently been widowed and had moved back to Lipsi with her daughter, Isadora. The studio had been revived, and the evenings were again a meeting place for the two friends. Christina usually sat with one of her unfinished sketches and a glass of wine, Alanah with her soup. She had never touched wine since her rehab days. There were days when nothing was said, just the comfort of togetherness and the setting sun was enough. And then there were days when Isadora regaled them with her stories, when they laughed like they didnt have a care in the world, moments in which she was able to forget even her little Stravos.

Isadora's life always had Alanah in it, even though she had met her only a few months ago. There was a time when she was a kid, and her mother had left her with her dad and come to Lipsi for a year to be with Alanah. Christina had no secrets from her daughter, and yet that year was never talked about. Isadora had been curious, and on seeing Alanah, her curiosity had magnified. These days when Christina plaited her daughter's hair before bed, she was tormented with questions by Isadora. About that one year when Christina had left everything to be with this queer little woman. But it was not her story to tell, and so she said nothing.

Isadora's curiosity was getting the better of her. she started asking about Alanah's past to old Yorghis who was a tailor, and then to Andreas who was a butcher. All they said was that Alanah was part of their island for as long as they could remember, they smiled and changed the topic. But these futile attempts of the young mind did not go unnoticed by Alanah. And so one day while the three sat outside Christina's studio watching the sun set, Alanah decided to scratch open her past for this beautiful girl to see and maybe in telling would be her salvation too.

She started with Ireland and her childhood, her family, her city, her school, and as she described this unknown locale to Isadora, she revisited the old bylanes, the garage, the school, her friends, her mother and Pegaso. It always ended with Pegaso even after so many years, It always ended with Pegaso. She talked about Lipsi and about beautiful Christina. She talked about her life, that started on the trampled veil of Christina's dreams. She spoke without pretentions and as she spoke she held a mirror to her soul.

This was not a story to be told in one evening, and so days passed. They carried on with their routines and in the evenings, they sat together to talk about the past and watch the sun set over it. Isadora was learning so much about her mother from Alanah. She never knew, for instance, that her mother could sing, or that she had the guts and the strength to run, carrying a completely sloshed Alanah on her back, through a lonely night from the rehab centre where Alanah was locked up in. Christina and Alanah had so many jokes that Isadorah didnt understand before, but now they made sense. And then they came to that missing year in Christina's life.

That day, Little Stravos was at the petrol station and he had asked a strange question. "Mam, why is Magda tired always?" "She is not." Alanah had said. And he had replied,"Yes, she must be, because she always goes to bed when she comes to our house, and Papa has to go and sit with her." That moment from so many years ago seemed as clear suddenly as if it was this morning, and she was washing the cars at the station, while Stravos played with a tyre and talked to her. Christina came and sat close to Alanah, held her hands as they together went over the murkiness that followed.

Alanah remembered her thoughts of that distant day. "Magda and Pegaso in my house, on my bed! It cannot be, there must be some misunderstanding, It surely cannot be!" She had continued washing the car, it was a red truck, she even remembered the number plate of that truck, insignificant details permanently etched in her memory. The next day she had gone home early from the pump. Stravos was playing in the garden. She took him by his hand across the street to where Yorghis lived, then she went back. she had opened the door very quietly, a tresspasser in her own home. It was very quiet, and then she had heard them laughing. He was calling her his little furry rabbit, something he called Alanah when they made love. She stood there watching them. Beautiful Magda with her long dark curls and her olive skin, and she caught a reflection of herself in the mirror, it was not the right thing to do, but it had been done, the last vestiges of her pride had been shorn. They saw her then. Alanah had thought, "Why did I come home and disturb them? Now its all in the open, if I had not come back, we could have gone on forever pretending everything was alright. All of us." And she had looked again at the beauty of Magda and she had known that she had lost. Pegaso had broken the long silence. He had said, "Please dont make a scene Alanah, you'll upset the child." Thats what he had thought of first, not upsetting little Stravos, to hell with her being upset of course!! She who had left her family and land to be with him, her getting upset was not being considered at all!! Suddenly things seemed as if they had tilted, like a picture being crooked on a wall.

the final part will be in tomorrow ths time, thanks so much for bearing with me!!

Life is what we make of it - part 4

2010-04-18T15:40:00.005+04:00

A red dress for blood spilt,
Torn blouse for flesh rent;
Ladders in the stockings –
A rung for every callous blow landed.
Scuffed shoes winked about the kicks –
After all, bruise-gorged eyes can’t –
Just permanently closed.

Burning tears were scant warmth
Against a chill from ugly cries.

Lipstick smudges on the chin to
Nullify all vestiges of beauty –
Those that constituted rare patches
Of purest cream skin, from
Days of feminine joy, telling once
Upon a time there was an angel…
But now, a battered doll.

These lines by Mark R Slaughter describe Magda, just as she was the day Alanah first saw her. battered and bruised she lay on her kitchen floor, helpless and in pain. They were new to Lipsi. Magda and her torturous husband had just moved into the neighbourhood from Santorini. He ran a bar up on the hill and she mostly remained indoors. And so inspite of living on the opposite sides of a road, Alanah had never really met Magda before.

A terrible husband, very violent over nothing, always imagining that Magda was flirting with people. But the truth was that she tidied her house, cooked her husband's meals and kept her head down, bent over her embroidery. This was said and this was believed. Beauty has strange powers, it makes people blind to rationale, it gives men as well as women no cause to dig further, but to accept willingly what the tender mouth utters. Beauty accompanied by pain is a haunting combination. But who knew it then?

Pegaso was kind to her and Alanah liked her, well initially that was how it was! A lovely, gentle woman with a heart wrenchingly beautiful smile that was always brushed with a hint of sorrow; Magda had a hard life - no children, and a man who was unreliable. Sometimes she had bruises or a cut but she said she was clumsy. Pegaso played lute and also the tavli most evenings at the bar with her husband. He never wanted to delve into these stories. But Alanah had always shared every detail of her routine with Pegaso and so she did even now.

"Its their life, Alanah, their marriage, we should not interfere... come to me now, let me hold you close, its been so long since you let me come near you." Alanah was tiring easily these days. The pump, the household and little Stravos took up all her energy. But that night she went to her husband with a happy heart. She felt good about the decisions she had taken in her life, she felt blessed that her husband was a good man, she thanked god for the family she had, and silently she prayed for Magda.

Then, one morning Alanah went over to Magda's cottage to collect a table cloth. She found her sitting on a chair, the blood dripping down onto the white material. Alanah ran for the doctor. The doctor patched her up and said that this must not go on, that strong men like Pegaso should do something. And so Alanah told Pegaso, once again the travails of the beautiful and sad Magda. and this time Pegaso listened to her attentively. The next day he alongwith a couple of his friends went to Magda's house and held her husband down on the floor for a while and told him what would happen to him if there was another incident.

There was a change after this. Magda stopped being clumsy, and walked with her head high and looked people in the eye for the first time. That was when everybody noticed how beautiful she was, upto then they had just thought she had beautiful hair, only Alanah had looked her in the eye. And yet this time alanah failed to notice what the rest did.

love, when you are young is brave, it helps you to shoulder responsibilities, it helps you to take courageous decisions. Love at a later age is sly, is timid, is lost in the labyrinth of morality and guilt..

to be continued....
PS : dear readers, believe me I am in a hurry too..but just cant write more than this in a day!!

Life is what we make of it - Part 3

2010-04-17T17:25:00.001+04:00

By the summer of 1970, the people of Lipsi had grown used to Alanah. She was a part of the island now, her broken,yet enthusiastic Greek was indulged in, her tireless labour at the petrol pump was begining to bear fruit. She sent the first cheque home to her dad that year. The afternoons were spent renovating Christina's chicken coop. Her 'never say die' spirit and Christina's art was transforming the small unused space into a bright sunlit studio. They usually spent the late afternoon under the canopy of this studio, watching the setting sun over a bowl of fresh revithia(chick pea soup, usually flavoured with lemon and pepper) and some patata salata(potato salad).

Alanah was happy in her marriage. Pegaso was not lazy like his other friends. He did not waste time at the local bars. He had his moods, but he also had his endearing ways. He loved to sing, he played the lute to Alanah as she tended to their small garden, he cooked for her whenever she was over-worked, he was patient with her on nights when she cried for her parents and family back in ashbourne. He loved to braid her long red hair, arrange flowers in them, play with them. He loved this tiny, frail looking girl from Ireland whose beauty was in her energetic spirit, in her love for life, in her love for people. Pegaso was also proud of the fact that he was the only one to have brought home a girl from a faraway land.

A few summers down the line, Stravos was born. Alanah had hoped that the news of a grandchild would soften her parents, but there was no return mail from Ireland. Pegaso's parents, however, were delirious with joy. His usually reticent father even danced at the christening ceremony of his grandchild. Christina brought with her all the baby clothes she had made, when she was expecting Pegaso's child. Alanah kept her promise and every month a cheque travelled from Lipsi to Ashbourne, and with it travelled pictures of the house, the pump, of stravos and of her and Pegaso. She wrote about her life, she asked about theirs, but there was never a reply. Many a times she craved for a glimpse of her mother, for a taste of her home made jams, she craved for the smell of books that filled their small house in ashbourne, for her younger sisters, but none of them bothered to write even a line to her. Alanah's only touch with Ashbourne was an old man who ran the garage where Pegaso had taken up work. Maybe he blamed himself for this unfortunate link, but whatever the reason, he did keep Alanah informed of major milestones. He wrote to Alanah about her sister's wedding, her father's retirement party, about the tough time the family went through when her mother was hospitalised for almost a month. Alanah ached to go back and see her family for a few days, but she knew that she was not welcome there anymore.

Summer turned to spring and time kept pace. Stravos was five now. Pegaso had lost both his parents to old age and related afflictions. Alanah had paid off the entire sum of money she had taken from her dad. Christina got married to a painter from Athens. The pump was doing going business and life seemed to have sorted itself out finally.

Alanah was never vain. She rarely looked at herself in the mirror. But nowadays, she had started noticing the grays appearing in her hair, she had started noticing that her never very full cheeks looked a bit hollow, and also that there were shadows under her eyes that didnt go even after a good nights sleep. She watched these signs, and she smiled to herself. These were the fruits of her honest and tireless labour, these were her medals. She had never possessed the careless selfishness that usually comes when you are born beautiful. And so she never dwelt for long on these signs. Until Magda came into their lives.

to be continued ...

life is what we make of it - Part 2

2010-04-16T12:34:00.002+04:00

A wonderful journey by bus, train and boat, had finally brought the couple to Lipsi. They had not touched the big money at all, it was for the petrol pump, a dream that Alanah had been convinced to see. They had travelled through Switzerland and Italy, surviving on bread and cheese and an occasional bottle of wine. Alanah had never been so happy in her life. Nobody was as happy as she was then.

Ireland is known for its forty shades of green. Greece made Alanah understand the depths of blue. The Agean island of lipsi was the definition of serenity. Wide sandy beaches dotted with white and blue tavernas, small two storeyed cottages with flowers in basket windows. A church steeple that could be seen from any point in that island, winding roads that went through the town to its many beaches and coves. small shops selling colourful pottery and artefacts, dark skinned, smiling people and lots and lots of children everywhere. These were the first impressions Alanah formed about Lipsi. These, and the image of Christina were to be part of her preliminary memory of Lipsi.

A blonde girl with an open, beguiling smile and the prefect set of shiny white teeth, that was Christina. Huge with Pegaso's child, she was standing by the bay, awaiting his return. The yellow ankle length frock with tiny red blossoms accentuating her beauty and youth. Complacent and happy in the knowledge that Pegaso was returning to marry her. And then she saw Alanah, A sea nymph with red-gold hair. She also saw her dark and handsome Pegaso, helping this nymph off the ferry, she heard him call her by the endearing names that were once meant for Christina alone, or so she had thought. Dreams shatter with a single jolt, they dont have to be hit again and and again to break into infinite shards that lie strewn till they are picked up again by another innocent passer-by. Maybe thats why dreams are so akin to glass. Christina's dreams ended that day. She tried to kill herself. It turned out that she killed the child she was carrying, not herself. She lived on in that island making peace with her destiny, and friends with this sea nymph whose name was Alanah.

Stranger things have happened since then in that sleepy town. This friendship was difficult to resist. Just like its difficult to resist the fresh dew of the early mornings, or the mild sun of winter afternoons, such was the presence of Alanah. Everyday since her arrival at Lipsi, Alanah went to see Christina, not out of guilt, neither out of a sense of duty, she went because she liked to be with her, she baked fresh breads and made nourishing soups for her. She spoke about Ireland and her folks back home, she spoke about converting the old, run down chicken coop behind Christina's house into a pottery studio, she spoke about irish recipes and the bravery that was synonymous with her land, everyday she came in like a burst of sunshine and everyday she spoke about life to Christina. What she never mentioned was Pegaso, what she never mentioned was the sorrow of losing a baby. And so, gradually, independent of the man who had brought them face to face as rivals, they managed to forge a friendship that would shine through the dark nights of pain and despair which one was facing now, and the other would have to in the future.

Alanah started her life in Lipsi with Pegaso. They occupied the ground floor of Pegaso's parent's cottage. Alanah learned to speak Greek, she bought the petrol pump of their dreams, she learned to change wheels and pump up tyres. In a civil ceremony in Athens, Pegaso and Alanah got married. Nobody took the marriage seriously. Alanah's parents didnt even write back. Pegaso's parents went about their daily chores as if it was just another day, not their only son's wedding. But the young heart does not bother with niceties. And Alanah didnt either. She sew her own gown, she picked her own flowers, she preened in front of Pegaso and his smile made her come alive with joy. There were Pegaso's friends of course, tough, stocky, dark, jolly guys. They drank and laughed, they held hands and danced in a circle to a merry tune, toasting the newly weds. It was a night of stars and a beaming moon, of music and of vows, of faith and of new beginings...

to be continued

Life is what we make of it

2010-04-14T12:02:00.008+04:00

She used to live in Ashbourne,Ireland. Alanah, was a deceptively frail looking girl with pale skin and long red hair. Hair that ran below her waist in wild tresses, her only visible stamp of rebellion. She did the regular things that every girl in high school does. Untill she met Pegaso. He was from beyond the land of her text books. He was from Greece. Tall, dark and unimaginably handsome.

He took up a job at the nearby garage. Alanah saw him everyday on her way to school. He was exciting, nothing like the boys in her class and he always had a ready smile for her. There was nothing much that interested her after that. Her world started spinning around the morning smiles. Love can be many things, it can affect the young heart in many ways, but it is always beautiful in its first tentative steps. And so it was with Alanah.

Irish winters are known to be mild. But that year the nights turned icy. On one such dreary night Alanah swept across the streets from her home with a blanket tugged under her arm. She reached the garage and knocked at the side door. The door opened and Pegaso filled its frame. At a loss of words, as the surreality of the situation gripped her, Alanah managed a shy smile and thrust the blanket towards Pegaso and ran into the darkness, her hair a halo behind her.

Thus started a new chapter in Alanah's life. She would grow with this, she would learn, she would travel outwards and deep inside, she would gain, she would lose, she would reach her core and grow again. She did not know all this then. She was not even 18. Her pale cheeks had a glow in them. Her eyes shone like emeralds. her hair carried the spring of Ireland in them, and her heart carried the love of Pegaso.

Spring turned to summer and before she knew it, the school finals were looming in front of her. At times when you love someone, you distance yourself from every other relationship. Its sad, but it happens, friends and family become strangers in the crowd. Love can be selfish in its naivette, love can be ruthless in its single mindedness and love can be foolish in its blindness. Alanah had set her mind on travelling with Pegaso to Greece. Exams were not on her list at all. her best friend, Fionna, tried to talk her out of this, but to no avail. her parents fought tooth and nail against her decision, but Alanah was determined to start her life in Greece.

Every evening at 7:30 a bus left for Belfast. The summer of 1970 saw Pegaso and Alanah take that bus out of Ashbourne. Pegaso had a small case, he gathered no moss. Alannah had a bigger bag plus a case. She had taken all the money her father, a school teacher, had saved for her university education and marriage. She would return them, of course, as soon as Pegaso's petrol pump became a success in Lipsi, the island in Greece he called home. The island that would be home to Alanah much more than Ashbourne could ever be. Her friend and also her sisters had come to see her off that day, they gave her cakes and sweets for the journey and wished her well. And so started the journey of Alanah. She was 18 that summer.

to be continued

of minor things....

2010-04-06T08:20:00.003+04:00

Have you given birth? Well, I have, and I had presumed that after delivering two kids, my 'lajja' would have been lying in some trash bin in a desolate place. I can see nods, yeah ! yeah! the deal starts with the first chec-kup does'nt it? The apprehensive wait on that table with a white sheet, inside the doctor's chambers. The ever smiling doctor, the gloves that go up her hand and the pulse that starts racing in your heart as you begin to comprehend her action. Every time now that my kids trouble me, it's the familiar pulse rate that I feel, and I can trace it back to that first check-up on the table at the doctor's chamber. "Relax" she says in a voice that is softly matter of fact and breezy, "How the hell?" you wonder.. the scene here is best left unmentioned as those who have gone through it know it only too well, and those who havent, well, I dont want to discourage you from entering one of the best moments in a woman's life.(hahahhaha!! did I say that?)

Another scene that follows a few months later, especially if like me, you have had your kids in India, this will be familiar. A crowded waiting room, the women looking around trying to gauge, who's ahead in the race to the delivery day, the husbands not far, nor close, an aloof, safe distance(maybe they think its a communicable thing..and they might just catch it if they sit close to their wife), messaging, leafing through magazines, checking the time, and at times , asking if the wife needs something( well she does..she wants him to lay prostrate on that table in there and get checked up in the insides!!) How about that, but she just smiles like a fool and says "water". A nurse comes swaying into the room and shouts at the top of her voice, "Sonography ka pati." And a few of the husbands by the magnificent grace of linguistic skills understand that phrase and respond by walking towards her, she hands out forms to be filled and says in a not at all soft and breezy voice, "Make your wife drink water till she's all full and wants to go to the toilet, but dont let her, we will call them in one by one." Well if that is not punishment what is? Like God's command and as if the life on earth depended on it, the husbands fill up the form in a precise manner and queue up in front of the water dispenser to fill bottles for their respective wives. I think they are happy to have been given something to do at last, and they feel blessed that they are a part of the process towards bringing a life on this planet. So they make sure that the last drop of water enters the squirming wife, who has her legs crossed tightly and her face in a pinched frown praying for the ordeal to end. Since then, how many times have I prayed for ordeals to end? The neighbourhood bully teasing my boy - "I wish this ends", the pre teen rage of my daughter - "Oh God how I wish we get through this soon" . Yah !Yah ! you got that right, I trace it back to the day I waited for a sonography to check whether my unborn kids had all her limbs in the right position.

There's more, the water breaks at the most inconvinient of times. Fortunately in my case, I did not have a hard time locating my husband, many a times that is the case too. So we manage to land up in the hospital, the husband looks a mix of joy and panic, I wonder, what on earth for? Its me who is going to get that coconut out of my nostril in a few hours is'nt it? So why the hell is he panicking? All this while I keep timing my contractions, to take my mind off the unfairness of it all. And then the actual horror starts. It's not just about pain... It's humiliation of the worst possible order. You are given a room and a flimsy gown to hold on to for dear life and shame. Your mind is a blank apart from the pain, and thankfully so, atleast the first time round, you are till now blissfully ignorant of things to come. Suddenly the door opens and a young guy comes in and has a dekko..just like that!! Thats the moment when I felt I woul;d never be able to face humanity again. leave alone the men! I cannot believe what just happened!! The husband is a mute spectator, its not violation of human rights you see, its a junior doctor cheking up on the dilation!! This continues for the next hour or so and each time a different doctor, till I start feeling like they are joking about me at the end of the corridoor. "There must be something you have to say to these people, where the hell is my doctor, why is she not here? I opted for a female doc just so that at the last moment any tom dick and harry comes in and takes a bloody peep? what do you think you are doing standing there?" How many times since then have I said this, "What do you thing you are doing standing there?" I think that day was the first when I screamed my lungs out at my husband, I wanted to blame him for what I was going through, desperate, uncomprehending, insecure, on the verge of hysteria and delivery...all these emotions, I can trace right back to that lonely, sterile room in the hospital.

There is more but it gets boring after this point, because the pain overtakes the shame and you just dont care beyond the fact that you want to have the baby out and go to sleep! The point I started this was because I thought after two such harrowing experiences, I would be better adjusted as a female with unknown people looking me up like a course book, but thats not the case, it seems. An annual checkup, a pap smear and a mammogram makes my blood drain, my feet get cold and my pulse well that has never stoped racing since that day. So I guess the 'lajja' never really got deposited in the trash bin, maybe it was the husband who was asked to throw the trash that day!

Motherhood does bring in unknown emotions in all of us!

Of Bond, policemen and guns..

2010-03-23T11:31:00.004+04:00

It was the last day of school for bond this year. He was evidently over excited and full of plans. The plans however had not changed anything in the slot between 4pm and 6pm. That remained a religious slot for cycling, cricket and football. As usual at 4pm he collected all his stuff, pinched his sister just for kicks, drank water, slammed the main door, opened it a bit again to hear me shout, smiled and closed it with a bang again and scampered down to be with his 'guy friends' for what he calls his only 'guy time'!!

Nothing out of the ordinary so far, but then in an hour the bell rang. A ringing that makes your heart beat faster, a hurried, cannot wait even for a minute kind of a ring that follows incessantly till one drops everything one was doing to open the door. We have all seen leaves shaking in the chill of a frosty winter, that day, I saw my thin bond shaking like an autumn leaf. His wails made it difficult for me to comprehend what he was trying to say, but one word that was clear was 'police'!

I made him sit on my lap and held his tiny, shaking body. All sorts of thoughts cropping up in my head. With one eye on the door, and the other on bond, I tried to soothe him as best as my agitated self allowed me to. Then he said, " dont go down they will shoot you!! They are calling you down, the police, you dont go, they will shoot you!" I realised I needed to act, but didnt know how to. I gave bond a glass of water and drank one myself, I was by this time convinced that he had witnessed a shooting scene on the streets of my peaceful neighbourhood. Locking the door, I went to the windows that overlook the street below, the police car was there, and so were a lot of other moms, there was a discussion going on, but no spilled blood as I had imagined. By this time bond had snuggled close to his sister, It was a rare moment for them, and amidst all the confusion, I could not help smiling at bond being comforted by Toshali - small wonders.

Getting back to the point, I eased myself out of the door and hurried down the stairs to where the action was. A Morrocan woman, who lives in the building next to ours had called the police, complaining against the noise the children were making. The scene in front of me was confusing to say the least. There were two officers in their smart uniforms with shining guns, a parked Mercedez benz, which is the usual carrier of the police force here, there was the Morrocan lady in agitated conversation with the police and there were the moms, helpless and uncomprehending spectators to an unfolding Arabic drama. I silently added myself to their side of the battle.

Police man : "No loud noise ok, quiet neighbourhood, no disturbance ok..(smiling all the time)"

Morrocan lady: "They dont let me rest, I have a demanding job, I need rest, these kids are shouting all the time, how can I sleep? (wilding flailing arms)"
Representative from the group of moms: "kids no? vacation for them, where to play? they are small, all of you must be having kids at home, they make noise, what to do? Sorry, we will tell them to be more quiet in future."

Police man: "Ok good good(smiling even more now )"

They climbed their shining merc and raced away, the lady said a few more stinging words and also cursed I think and left as well, the mothers looked at each other and smiled sheepishly, gossiped about the morrocan who lives alone, and is apparently frustrated and so all this, I left them to their gossip and went up to see bond waiting by the door his face still very fearful.

Me : "Why did you think the police would shoot me?"

Bond : "Thats why they called the moms, to shoot them."

Me: " I dont see the connection, you all were creating a racket down there and so the neighbour complained and the police came to attend to that complaint and obviously they had to talk to the parents so they asked for the moms, why would they shoot us?"

Bond : "Thats what they show on tv, the police shoot people!"

Aha, he gets his overactive imagination from me.. and the TV helps too!!Toshali was on facebook by this time, and she glanced up and smiled. "Such a duffer he is mom, really all his bravado is in front of us, look at him, how he got scared today!!"

I looked at him and there he was scared that his mom would be shot by the police because of him, he ran to me and hugged me, a bit embarrased now, and a bit shaken still.

Such things happen all the time, boys are naughty they get involved in fights, at times the authorities are called in, this was a first for bond and a first for me as well. I gathered him to me and said whatever you do always remember that it will never be so bad that somebody will kill your mom for it. Whether he believed it or not, is another thing, but I felt good saying it to him.

Is there more to chats than meets the eye?

2010-03-07T11:04:00.002+04:00

I was trying to be persistent, inspite of kicks on the butt and pokes to my sides, I was seriously trying to be persistent with my routine. Infact had slowly started getting comfortable with my work-studies-walk-studies-dinner-sleep-work routine!!

But the itch does take over in the end. The nag that simmers and is shoved behind the daily chores, finally reaches the boiling point and overflows with all its gusto at the moment when you are most susceptible.

Something similar happened to my blogging. I have been away from my page for a long time now, have not even replied to comments and thanked my readers, I plead guilty. But with just a pair of hind and fore limbs and with kids who are gleefully riding the wave of independence, I am at a serious loss of me-time and that is the only reason I can offer as justification.

But what drove me to this page then? What strain of thought boiled and over flew while I was preoccupied? What made me rush to my lap top early today morning to key in this post? Well, all in a minute guys..

'She sent him kites'.. thats how the story starts. The story of Miyage and Snehomoy. A mathematics teacher from a village in Bengal, India and a girl from Japan. The story traverses twenty years of their life through their letters to each other. It is surreal in it's innocence, tragic on a materialistic level, fulfilling in a soulful way. The Japanese wife, I read it a few days back, and could not let go of its fragrance. Through my daily chores the characters lingered, played, wrote letters to each other, fell in love, married, lived an almost normal life apart from the solitary fact that they never met.

It happened over borders, transcending swollen rivers and mighty forests, time and age, sickness and solitude, images of a smile that remained as enchanting since the first photograph carried by a postman, inspite of accumulated laugh lines and numerous crows feet over the years.

The days of pen friends are gone. The changing times have given us access to chat rooms, gtalk and texting. We no longer put pen on paper, no longer do we have time to play with words, to delve into their beauty and lyricism. The restless wait for the local postman on his creaky bicycle is over. What we have instead is a green light against a name on gtalk and a ping!!

A lot of men I know chat with strangers. While their wives sleep, they test waters as well as try their limits. What are they looking for? Are they just killing time? Stimulating their brains(above or below the belt) from the sanctity of their homes? Or is there a Snehomoy lurking behind every man? Wandering through meandering courses in search of a companion, whose omnipresence is so comforting that the actual meeting becomes unnecessary.

This is not a book review..this is a culmination of a book that I loved and an incident that occured.

some famous love letters...

2010-02-14T08:25:00.002+04:00

Victor-Marie Hugo (1802-85) was born in Besan on, France, the third son of an army general. He was a sickly infant and was not expected to live, but grew more robust from the age of two when he went to live with his mother in Paris--"the birthplace of my soul."
As a teenager he began to fill notebooks with poetry. In maturity he was a prolific and very successful poet, dramatist, and novelist, and the most celebrated author of his generation. His most famous works include The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1831), Les Chants du Crepuscule (1835) and Les Miserables (1862).

December 31st, 1851

You have been wonderful, my Juliette, all through these dark and violent days. If I needed love, you brought it to me, bless you! When, in my hiding places, always dangerous, after a night of waiting, I heard the key of my door trembling in your fingers, peril and darkness were no longer round me--what entered then was light!
We must never forget those terrible, but so sweet, hours when you were close to me in the intervals of fighting. Let us remember all our lives that dark little room, the ancient hangings, the two armchairs, side by side, the meal we ate off the corner of the table, the cold chicken you had brought; our sweet converse, your caresses, your anxieties, your devotion. You were surprised to find me calm and serene. Do you know whence came both calmness and serenity? From you...

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-91) was born in Salzburg, the son of Leopold Mozart and Anna Maria Pertl. From the age of five he performed all over Europe with his sister, Maria-Anna.

By 1772 he had composed 25 symphonies and two string quartets. He was appointed honorary concert master to the court in Salzburg in 1774, and after more tours--to Italy, Manneheim, and Paris--and a spell as court organist in Salzburg (1778-80), he moved to Vienna in 1781. Mozart wrote most of his best work in the years that followed: 12 piano concertos (1784-86); six quartets; and the operas The Marriage of Figaro (1786), Don Giovanni (1787), and Cosi Fan Tutte (1790). In 1791, the year of the Requiem and The Magic Flute, he died of heart failure, at age 35.

This is a portion of a letter sent to his wife Constanze

Mainz October 17, 1790

PS.--while I was writing the last page, tear after tear fell on the paper. But I must cheer up -- catch! -- An astonishing number of kisses are flying about --- The deuce!-- I see a whole crowd of them! Ha! Ha!...I have just caught three-- They are delicious!-- You can still answer this letter, but you must address your reply to Linz, Poste Restante-- That is the safest course. As I do not yet know for certain whether I shall go to Regensburg, I can't tell you anything definite. Just write on the cover that the letter is to be kept until called for.

Adieu--Dearest, most beloved little wife-- Take care of your health-- and don't think of walking into town. Do write and tell me how you like our new quarters-- Adieu. I kiss you millions of times.

In the times of texting, when even the spellings are compromised for lack of time/credit, do we really have the time to romance, to woo? If "UR d lite of my life" is love aajkal, I am terribly terribly old fashioned!!

To the beauty and charm of putting pen on paper, this valentines day make your beloved feel special!

Life etc (2)

2010-02-10T08:26:00.009+04:00

The drive to the school is about half an hours time, and it helped that I was driving. kept the mind from wandering to the classroom before the appointment. The kids were quiet at the back lost in their own thoughts. They usually dont speak much in the mornings, sleepy-eyed, tounge-tied kids in school uniform and bags, tiny adult figures! Thats what I think when I see them at this time of the day. But then I was just concentrating on the road and keeping the reigns of my imaginary conversation with the class teacher in strict control.

To get a parking anywhere in the vicinity of the school gates is an impossible prayer, but that day, we got one bang opposite the gates! "Lucky", said my daughter, Bond still didn't utter a word, I remember thinking," hope the luck prevails for the next hour or so!"

Got out, got the kids out, forgot to take the keys out of the ignition, went back in the car took the keys out, locked the doors, double checked, got muddled up with the keys, the glares, the hand bag and the phone, stopped, put everything inside the handbag, saw daughter shaking her head in indulgent acceptance. Saw Bond taking my hand in his tiny ones. We crossed the road and entered the school.

Both my kids have their classes in different blocks so it was a kiss and a pat on the back to my daughter, who in turn hugged bond and said, "Just stop being naughty and things will become alright." Then she was off. Bond and I trudged along the steps to his 2nd floor classroom. the teacher greeted us with such a smile that for a moment I thought, I was being mistaken for somebody else, but then she called his name and said come dear, let's go the class, and I shook myself and followed the teacher and the student to their classroom. Sitting beside bond I awaited the teacher to open the conversation, as I kept looking for the smile that was now hidden behind worksheets and notebooks.

Teacher: " Sujata, your son needs discipline. He needs to get into the study mode, he has to get serious. From class 3 they will have long question and answers to write.."

Me:(nodding my head like noddy and taking hope from the last sentence of the teacher): "What exactly do you see him doing in class? When I teach him, I feel he is good at grasping any new topic, but then his retention is not strong, he forgets the details."

Teacher: "Why does this happen? Haven't you wondered? It's not because he has memory problem, because in that case it would reflect in other ways, It's only because of his lack of disciplined study time. He has to sit down and study, revise, do sums,write and do all this regularly for atleast two hours everyday. This might not be true for other kids his age, but for him its required, as he is still very restless and gets distracted very fast. Once he gets into the habbit of studies, all that you percieve as erratic will slowly go away."

Me: "Has he made no progress at all this year, at home I do see improvement with his spellings, with his writing, he is still very bad in hindi, but the note did come as a shock as I did'nt think he was performing that bad as to be called minimal"

Teacher: "Had the letter been not strongly worded, many parents would not have bothered to drop in, He has improved, he is a very social boy, very good in his interpersonal skills, I have no complaints against his oral work, his framing of sentences, but he needs to work on his writing, on his spellings, on his hindi and in general neatness and upkeep of books. Sujata don't spare the rod and spoil the child, be strict, its okay he will still be yours, but if you dont discipline him now, you will lose him forever and then it will be too late.. boys are different than girls, and it should not happen that your weakness towards him is taken advantage of."

Me:(looking at bond and seeing him visibly shrinking in his chair found it very difficult to imagine him taking advantage of me, but in some far corner of my almost non existent logical mind, I did see that as a possibility) "Thank you teacher for having this conversation with me. I will ensure that he sits with me for 2 hours of study time regularly and will come and see you again in 3 weeks time and take it up from there."

Teacher: "For me he is a student, however dear he maybe, he is still one of the 40 kids in my class, to you he is your future, your son, just be strict and ride him for the next couple of years and then there is no worry, you lose him now, and he is out of bounds forever."

Those last lines made quite an impression, I know in my gut that I am lax with him, much more than I was with my daughter but I didnt realise that it was going to take this magnitude. On my way back I kept thinking of how much time I spent teaching my daughter, how rigorous I was with her in her early school years, how insistent on a page of handwriting everyday, on 10 sums everyday, on reading each chapter thoroughly, on answering questions, I guess that was study time. My mind forwarded to the time when bond started school, was there too much on my plate then? Why did I get so relaxed with him, why did I keep thinking of him as just a baby? Frankly I have no clue and there is no point rummaging through the ifs and buts!

Pull up our socks!! shall we! And that is what I have been doing with bond for the last week, a page of handwriting, 20 sums, spelling dictations, question and answers, a stern eye whenever he tries to wiggle through, a pat on the back for a difficult word correctly spelled.

There is improvement in the fact that he sits with me regularly and concentrates for the complete hour, there is visble improvement in his writing, he is still weak in hindi, but the spellings are better, and he still likes maths a lot. Its too early to say where his destiny lies, but if the road has to be through study hours and discipline, I dont see any reason not to comply! Do you?

The picture is from 3 years back at the sports prize distribution ceremony at the preparatory school!

Life etc..

2010-02-06T08:34:00.011+04:00

This slot was for the calcutta trip. I was prepared to write about the city's never ending hope. But writing cannot be planned, just like life. A lot of things happened in the mean time that compelled me to take a short break from my travelouge and note them down instead.

One afternoon, Bond, returned from school with a note that said,' Parents, please come to school and meet your ward, Soumya's Class teacher and Hindi teacher on the 6th of february between 7:00 am and 8:15 am. His progress in academics has been minimal throughout this year.' The note also said a lot of other things to soften the blow of the first line, but that I guess is irrelevant.

The regular followers of my blog, am sure, know by now that bond is my weakness. And am sure most of you also know that given two options, I usually take the most illogical and the most complicated one.. I dont know why, but that's how it is .

I sat down with the note, had a series of traumatic motion picture clippings run on east man colour in front of my eyes, showing mercilessly my poor boy's trauma on being singled out in a class full of bright kids. Steadying myself and my feet I went and had a glass of water. Also I mentally prepared my script to deal with the kid, who was innocently untying his shoe laces and giving me sidelong glances. Best not to say what those glances did to my heart. My mind was by this time reeling under the hostel departing scene from TZP.

Almost 15 mins had elapsed by this time, and I had not even broached the topic of the letter with the kid. So I eventually started..

Me: " Did the teacher say anything when she gave this letter to you?"

Bond(opening his shirt now): "Yeah, she said I will remain in class 2 while all my friends will move on to class 3"

Me(collapsing in a nearby chair): " Are you that bad?"

At this time I was trying my level best to garner some anger into my system, but that's all I could manage.."are you that bad?" I know its pathetic..

Bond:( On his way to the shower )" Are you going to tell dad, about the letter, or will you sign it yourself?"

Remembering for the first time in this series of events that I had just overlooked the fact that he has a dad, who needs to be informed about this and who will thankfully deal with this much better, I galloped to the phone and called the husband.

Me: " Bond got a letter from school saying he has not shown any progress in academics this year"

He: " hmm, okay"

Me: " We have to meet the teacher on the 6th of this month."

he: " okay, we will be there, anything else?"

Me : "Is that not enough?"

He: " okay, later"

Me:(under my breath): "life can't get worse!!" On turning my gaze from the phone towards the bath, I saw bond dancing under the shower and singing "all is well" accompanied by the now famous whistles, from the latest hindi flick! My thoughts dashed to Aamir khan..maybe I should have married that guy, he would have made a perfect dad!

Towelling the boy dry, and slowly coming out of my reverie, I once again attempted to gather from him, what exactly the note meant. He was vague, he was more interested in the menu for lunch, and a bit later on knowing, who would sign the note and who would meet the teacher?

Met the teacher today.. That's another post, coming soon your way! until then "All is well.. tweet tweet tweet" I guess.

Just around the corner from Mumbai...

2010-01-26T14:09:00.003+04:00

Ah so I stopped blogging for a while after my Mumbai halt!! And why not! It was such a pleasant halt. The actual days went by in such a dizzy that I let my posting linger a tad longer in Mumbai.

Time to move on now.. and It's Pune around the bend, just over the hills and not so far away. Pune is special and will always be. I conceived and gave birth in that city, I joined Talwalkars(a gym) and got back to shape in that city, I got my driver's license in that city, I moved to my first home in that city... well and then moved on from there to newer horizons, newer houses, leaving behind the city I love the most. The best part of the deal is that I still retain my home in Pune, and every year a week in Pune refreshes me unlike anything else. The colours that I chose with joy, the fittings from the lamps to the bathroom tiles, the collage of my children - being born, taking their first steps, their toys.. they take me back to my youth, to my initial dreamy days, to the unspoilt energy and vigour that only a young mom can have. The home and the city fill up my senses!!

This time along with us, from Mumbai, came a young girl. We have known her since she was 12years of age. now she is doing her Masters in Mumbai and working as well. Time flies, certainly, but thank goodness, relationships don't! When you see a kid with a lot of spunk graduate to a mature adult with practical views, and a go-getter attitude, you feel great that you kept in touch, that you saw her grow, that you were somehow connected to that growth. Every time I see Meetu, I feel all of these and more. This time like many times before, she came along for the weekend to Pune with us. We celebrated her job, her goals, her life and we cheered on as she took her very first sip of wine.

Late mornings, breezy afternoons, misty evenings, friends, gourmet cuisine and great wine, this summarizes the week long trip to the hilly city for me, and so does shrewsbury biscuits of kayani bakery, Pasteur on MG Road at midnight, ABC Farms in the late evenings Crosswords any time of the day and the Dagdu Seth Ganapati aarti.

Like always the 7 days waltzed past, and it was soon time to start for Calcutta. The windows were closed, the doors locked, the kids said bye to their rooms, my hands caressed the walls for another time, till I touch them again next year. life moves on and so does a traveler..but there are just a few moments and a few places that have the power to tug at you, to make you stop, to make you want to be part of a time that is now so out of reach.

Touch down..

2010-01-14T12:03:00.014+04:00

Its a tedious route from Muscat to Calcutta, India. There was just one direct flight which got cancelled about a year back because of lack of year round traffic. So we have to change flights in the middle of the night either in Dubai or some other, luckier city of India and then after a cantankerous break of a couple of hours at that airport, board the flight to Calcutta. Every year we do that and finally reach my in laws house at the break of dawn. The only thing I desire the most at that point of time is a cup of tea and a bed to ease of the simmering headache. But that never happens, what happens is the in laws wanting to talk to all of us(which is understood as they have waited a year to see us), the kids wanting an immediate change of clothes, the husband opening the suitcases, me sitting on the floor trying to remember where I put what.. my simmering headache by this time is raging storm in my head and my eyes are a blur..I longingly look at the distant bed and heave a sigh and just get on with it...

But this time all this did not happen!! This time it was a pleasure, this time the flight took me to Mumbai, and I broke my journey there. The cab from the airport took me to my cousin's house!! yes, you got that right, I straight went to Aparna's home. there it was all ready for me, the tea, the bed, the no questions asked, the sleep, everything was just as I wanted it. The kids got busy with her kids and did not demand the change of clothes at all. It was bliss, it was joy!!

Though the trip was short, it was rejuvenating. Bloggers were discussed over cups of teas, we went down again the much trodden memory lane, we gossipped, we bitched, we compared our book lists, I got to see her fb friend list(hmmm!!). The husbands gave us time off as they took the kids to Juhu Chowpaty in the middle of the afternoon(I didnt get the reason why? so lets not worry about the timing!) it was great to have the house free so we could just sit and chat on the bed, unlike across countries and on opposite sides of a computer screen.

There are a few places where you can just be what you are. And those places make you unwind, they recharge you and relax you. For me Aparna's house is such a place. It was great being with you Aparna, lets do it again soon! (Get yourself and the family to Muscat, and then work on the Goa trip!!)

PS: I wish there were pictures that I could share.. but for now lets just leave it to my description and your imagination..

On second thoughts here are some snapshots of the Aparna and my kids at Juhu Chowpatty..

The last snap is not the effect of the golas they had..its just a power nap on their way back home!!

Coming back...

2010-01-09T09:31:00.004+04:00

A trip to India for NRIs is never quite satisfying. A month long sojourn seems like an appetiser to a full course meal. Yes, The NRI in me reached India, travelled to Mumbai, to Pune, to Calcutta, to Muzzafarpur(North Bihar) and then back via the same route to Muscat.

It was hectic, it was fun. There were set backs at time, road blocks at others. The street food was mouth watering, the cold was heart warming, lazy mornings, heavy breakfasts, things which we don't usually do when we stay away from the generation that has always sought to feed us, to take care of us, were all done lavishly. A month long sojourn where everyone wants to see how you have changed/grown over the last year - horizontally(for us), vertically(for the kids) finally came to an end.

Everytime I go to India, I try to cut down on my list of people to visit and add a few places to visit, every time I fail. However this time, I did take the kids to the Elephanta caves, to the sonet lumiere at The Victoria Memorial in Calcutta. I wanted to take them to see a theatre or a play as it is called, but an elderly relative took sick suddenly and a visit to the hospital took precedence.. well, there's always a next time!

I am back now to my routine, to my work, to my early morning coffee and restless reading of books. PTAs will start soon enough, and so will my walks to lose the fat that I accumulated over bengali sweets and mutton curries. I am suddenly back to being an adult again. Going to a place where everybody is from your previous generation makes you a time traveller in a sense. You are called by innumerable nick names, you are pampered and scolded, your views are not taken, your hair colour is looked at with indulgence mixed with agony. You are served water before you ask for it, you are put to bed early and you have to eat fruits!!!

So lets just say that on one level I am glad to be back, to belong where I truly do. I am glad to be back to all my blogger friends, I have missed you all a lot. I am sure all of you had a great New Year's eve and I wish everyone a happy and prosperous 2010. Looking forward to sharing the details of a sometime mundane, somethime active, sometime poignant and sometime hilarious life with you once again.

The lost colours

2009-12-04T10:00:00.003+04:00

A few days back as I was researching on Benarasi Sarees for my other blog, the mind wandered to the days when my mother's wardrobe was filled with colour. the blues and yellows, the reds and pinks seemed so natural, so taken for granted.

And then the day when we lost the only man in both our lives came to mind. The early morning hour when the last, laboured breath was taken and the pain finally erased from his face, the last shred of hope erased from ours. what followed that day is sepia toned and dogeared in my mind, a natural dam against a furious storm. The image that, is stark and clear, however, is that of my mother, rigid, alone, and devoid of all colour, apart from the red of her eyes.

Nobody told her to alienate the colours, She was not forced into whites, and yet the society which she had grown up in, which was imbibed in her did not allow her to think any other way. The idle days that followed, which were devoid of the punctual nursing routine, saw her rigid frame lying still for hours at end on her side of the bed.

On the 13th day of dad's passing away, she gave away all her sarees to who ever wanted to keep them for the sake of memories, the rest were given away to maids and the numerous helps who worked in the house of mourning.

So many years have passed since then, I have held my sorrow in me, but my life has moved on. The material things in my life did not change with the passing away of my dad, but for my mother and so many like her, the loss of the husband is not just a painful stab in the heart, there is a physical change that follows, at every step the society puts a reminder that she is a widow, in case one fine day she forgets!! The colours vanish, so does jewellery, there are restrictions on what she can eat, where she can go. There is nobody who is monitoring, there is nobody who will question, its just the cognitive morality that has seeped into the system, that is forbidding.

As a daughter I could have taken the initiative, I could have persuaded her not to shy away from colours, but her rigidity and my non confronting nature came in the way. It rips my heart each time I go into a shop and tell the shopkeeper to show sarees without red and maroon borders, He invariably shows me a white saree with a black border, he smiles a sad and understanding smile, and I leave the shop.

I am not a feminist, but I cannot let any man rule what I wear. I have never worn sindoor in my life. Bindis are also a rarity with me. I have no fascination for jewellery or for anything that declares me married. Its not that I want to project myself as unmarried, its just that like a marriage certificate all these physical declarations seem like bondage to me, they clip my wings, they take away my identity. They are dependent not on love but on norms. Sati might have been abolished, but the sneer on the face of society for widows is still there.

Putting the right foot forward

2009-11-23T08:51:00.013+04:00

The last post was an expression of my angst and fury. And this one is an expression of the fact that I still believe in humanity(male and female). Each time we put the right foot ahead of the left and form a step, we are actually taking a decision to move ahead, to cross barriers and borders, to take a plunge into the unknown, to discover and to live whatever comes in our way. Each morning before the tiny step we are renewing our ethereal faith, we are renewing our trusts in people and in God.

A few days back these images were mailed to me by Suraj. It is a chain mail and many of you would have already seen them. But I will still go ahead and use this platform to share these lovely images and message that each of them carry.

They renewed my faith and made me see beyond myself. Hope they light a spark in your lives too. For the ease of reading I am retyping the message below each image.

Stand up against racial discrimination. Stop Racism

Get out of a destructive relationship when there is still time

Children learn fast. DOn't fight at home

Do not neglect the Girl Child

Adopt!! You never know who you will bring home.

Think before wasting food.

Protect your child. Abusers are usually people your child trusts!

Is this what your child surfs on the World Wide Web??

Drive safe! Better late than never!

Tell me what you feel..

2009-11-13T18:59:00.001+04:00

Like my blog, I have been neglecting a lot of things that are close to my heart lately. I have been putting it all to the back burner, saying the same lines repeatedly,"Next weekend, when there's a bit more time.." I must have said this a dozen times over the last couple of weeks, to my kids, to myself, to my friends.. only to realise just a while back, that time does not come, I have to create it!!

Talking of realisations, I have suddenly realised that men like trash!! Am I seeing raised eyebrows? Am I seeing a few eyes getting closer to their computer screens? Or am I seeing,"DUH!!! what did you think?" expressions!! Hahahah, but really, I have always prided myself, to the point of being egoistic that I was attractive to men because of my wit, of my intellect, and to an extent, because of my nature!! But believe me that's not what men want..MEN LIKE TRASH!!!

By trash I mean, women who throw themselves over anything male(had a better way of saying it but, my daughter reads the blog..so being careful with my language here), by trash I mean women who are constantly on the prowl, making overtures, making moves, being vampish, being dumb and being damsels in a perpetual state of undress as well as distress. And believe you me - all men, starting from tramps to technocrats like that!!

Another realisation is that offices are a hub of politics. It was so 13 years back when I started working, it is so, even now! The faxes and the software could have changed but the people have not. It's either a power game or a blame game, and in between all this and the numerable coffee breaks, if there is time, some work ends up happening.

Just a few realisations and their announcements at the cost of sounding naive, biased, judgemental, frigid or all of the above!!

Lets hear what each one of you gotta say!!

Our world

2009-11-01T16:37:00.003+04:00

"Remember how we watched three Uttam Kumar classics back to back that Saptami night? which year was it? Remember..Rintu was in college I think, it must be '96. And what about the saree shopping we did together on the gariahat roads? remember the crowd, and the phuchka breaks we kept taking. That year Pujo was the best, we were all together, the pandals, the dhunochi naach, the aaroti..."

It is at such moments when I see mamma go all nostalgic about her past, that I realize what a completely different life we bengali children lead here in Muscat. The set of kids that I mix with and also some others whom I see around have our own little culture, and we follow it to the core. Uttam kumar could be missing, and we might not have fond memories of gariahat road, but this post will give you all a peek into our culture.

When we, pre-teens and teens meet each other at the Bengali parties, that we are dragged to, or at pujas and other such social functions, do we greet each other like our counterparts in Calcutta? do we say, "Ki re kemon achish?" No!! we dont, we usually say "hey" and give a hi5 or just smile and say, "You alright?" The irony is not here, the irony is in the fact that in the same breath we greet our elders in proper unaccented bengali, we continue to eat bengali food without the slightest knowledge of its name or recipe, we continue to respond to the queer pet names we carry, and we continue to live in the little cultural domain that we have created in a faraway shore quite naturally.

We have no idea how great Soumitra Chaterjee was as an actor, or how beautiful Suchitra Sen. We think Mithun is a loser and feel bengali black and white flicks are a bore, we hardly know anything about Tagore, and yet we dance to his songs and even sing a few for social dos, we get the steps right, we get the tunes right, the lyrics, written using the English alphabets are easily memorized, we even manage the expressions, but we remain passionless about his emotions, we remain aloof to his sentiments. His essence is lost in us.

We buy clothes whenever we want or feel like, there is no excitement about new clothes during the festive season, we live typical NRI lives and yet return home on time to report the day's events in Bengali to our parents, our lives are a paradox that even we cannot explain, and yet we live it without any difficulty in this small world of the Bengali kids in Muscat.

This was a break I took between my exam studies. If my brother can become a hit here..why not me?? c'mon guys, I gave you a thought to ponder upon..let the comments flow in.

with love
Toshali

The house and the mango tree...

2009-10-22T16:11:00.002+04:00

What is a house after all? It is just walls and a few windows, a front and a back porch, a garage, a terrace, a few doors, and some people who call it home. Isn't it? Or is there something we missed?

May be we missed the small room up the stairway which had a rickety cot and a tiny bulb that hung over that cot. This room saw not only idle afternoons of tea and chit chats, but probably also saw some serious studying being done late at nights, probably it also saw the first kiss exchanged by an amorous and nervous young boy, and maybe it saw tears of rejection as well as joy. Today if we were to ask its long forgotten, cobwebbed and cracked walls to speak, maybe we would see a lot of important and not so important truths emerge.

What about the Huge Mango tree behind the house? The one that was used as a landmark. Many kids, many generations climbed its branches, planted by the grand old man who designed and built each room, each wall of this house, in memory of his eternal love. The tree, seasoned and weathered, has stood proud the test of all times. Did anybody know the simple story behind this planting? Did they know that the grand old man had once loved a woman deeply. The tree was planted as a sapling to grow with their growing love, so that one day they could point it to their grandchildren and say,"This is how huge our love is!!" They never got the chance to culminate the love, but the tree stood as a loving symbol of all that was beautiful once upon a time.

Then of course there is the inner courtyard. The humdrum of daily life, the washing of clothes and utensils, the tulsi at the centre, the diya that burnt each night only to fade with the rising of the sun. The lounging chair that was always kept here with an adjacent table with the day's newspaper and a glass of water. It was on this chair that the grand old man breathed his last at the age of 92.

The terrace, was the most romantic of places, this house saw. All the children of the grand old man got married here. Under the canopy of the stars and the brilliance of the moon, the sons had chanted their vows, pledging life long loyalty and love to their brides. What does it matter now that some loyalties were betrayed down the line, love was often compromised in the passing of the years. But on the day the sons brought home their wives, the terrace was the witness to the first exchange of shy glances, of the hope of a future to be built in this house. It was also the witness down the line to the wobbling feet of the kids born, of songs being sung on stormy nights, of lullabies cooed to drowsy ears, of drying clothes in winter afternoons, of sun soaking pickles, of naughty years and drinking bouts.

The house with its walls and doors, with its front and back porch, with its cobweb and ruined plaster is to be broken down. In it's place will emerge a multi-storeyed apartment. A functional and modern place with amenities that are required, with easy maintenance and upkeep, free form the mildew of the past. The decision has been reached, the sons have agreed. Its just a matter of time before the mango tree is cut down, before the existence of the room on the terrace, the inner courtyard, and the terrace itself crumbles down to the touch of a bulldozer.

We move with times, from the ashes of the old, rises the new. There is nothing unsightly about all this, there is no fight, there are no differences, its for the ease of all and the betterment of the future generation. Just that I needed to tell the tale of a house that was designed by a grand old man, brick by brick, the tale of a love that did not see the light of the day and yet weathered the storms of the night.

Seven Today

2009-10-11T12:02:00.014+04:00

He is seven today. seven years he's been teaching me, changing me, loving me. Getting me to think like him, to understand him, to accept him, yes seven years is a short time..but he is trying and so am I. There is no goal apart from enjoying the journey.

If I have sat with him teaching him phonetics, he has in turn taught me that everything in life cannot be pushed, there is a time for things to fall in place, it took him a little longer than his peers to grasp words, to read, to write. I shouted, I cried, I ran up the wall time and again..but he was not ready yet. And then one day..he just read a story book to me, just like that! I have no photographic record of that moment, but I think I just jumped up and down the bed hugging him to me. He was 6 then.

He took to maths like a pro. There is always a star that he proudly shows on every page of this subject notebook. He still at times writes his 7 the other way round, but his mental grasp of arithmetic has helped me many times at the counters of the super markets. he is quick to point out the change due, and how much easier it would be for me to buy him a kinder egg rather than count the change.

He is forgetful with names, with dates, with the lyrics of his prayers and school songs, but he can play a tune from start to finish. He can swim like a fish and somersault like a dolphin. He is spooked terribly by ghosts. He is fond of barbies and race cars. He loves the outdoors and cannot sit still for more than a minute. He is expressive, he is naughty, he is my bond- Seven today.

lets see the years that went by..

There are highs, lows, major road blocks, soaring moments, and moments when I want to pull out whatever hair is left on my head..but I have to admit there is never a dull moment with my boy around! Happy Birthday Soumya!

The Thin Fakir from India...

2009-10-03T09:32:00.004+04:00

The other day my daugher asked me, "Maa, what did Gandhiji give the Indians?" Feeling proud that she should ask me this question, I was making a mental list of all the things we, as a nation have, because of him and many who followed his blueprint in those formative years. Seeing me take so much of time, I guess she lost her patience and came up with the answer herself," He gave us a holiday every year on the 2nd of October!" She smiled and went away, My jaws dropped and I was left feeling sad. I know shes just a kid and we have all gone through these jokes, but it was just not fair. Each time I read his biography, each time I see the film made by Attenborough, I choke up at this small man and his immense courage, the way he stood tall, the power of his gaze, the sharpness of his wit, the charm, the childlike jubiliance. he, like many who strive to create a difference, was a controversial figure. There have been people who have opposed his views, in his lifetime and also after it. His views on partition, his non violence approach, many have said he taught us the concept of 'strikes' and 'bandhs'.

Yes, he did introduce us to these weapons, but at that time we used it against the British, and today it has become a blunt weapon, becuause we have pushed it far too much, we have used it for all sundry purposes and more, so its lost its effect and brought in vices of its own, so is Gandhiji to be blamed for this wrong usage?

There are many known and unknown facets to his life, today in dedication to him, I would like to share this day of his life with you all..

When most of India was looking at the glittering lights of Delhi on the midnight of 14th August 1947, awaiting the dawn. Glittering lights, loud slogans and a poetic assertion of Late Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, who said: "At the stroke of the midnight hour when the world sleeps India will awake to life and freedom and a soul of a nation long suppressed will find utterance." There was darkness in Calcutta. Gandhi was agonized. A few weeks prior to Independence Day of 1947, an emissary of Pandit Nehru and Sardar Patel was sent to Gandhi at Calcutta, who was working for peace and harmony among the Hindus and Muslims. The emissary reached at midnight. He said: "I have brought an important letter for you from Pandit Nehru and Sardar Patel." "Have you taken your food?", asked Gandhi. When the emissary said " No", Gandhi served him food. And after food, Gandhi opened the letter from Nehru and Patel. They had written: "Bapu you are the father of the nation. 15th August 1947, will be the first Independence Day and we want you to come to Delhi to give us the blessings." Gandhi said: " How stupid!. When Bengal is burning, Hindus and Muslims are killing each other and I hear the cries of their agony in the darkness of Calcutta, how can I go to Delhi with the glittering lights?" These were the heart-rending words of Gandhi. He said "I have to live here for the establishment of peace in Bengal and if need be, I have to give up my life for ensuring that there is harmony and peace." The emissary started for his return journey in the morning. It was a moving sight, full of human touch. Gandhi gave the emissary a sendoff. He was standing below a tree. A dry leaf fell from the tree. Gandhi picked it up and put it on his palm and said: " My friend, you are going back to Delhi. What gift can Gandhi give to Pandit Nehru and Sardar Patel? I am a man without power and wealth. Give this dry leaf to Nehru and Patel, as my first Independence day gift." And when he was saying this, tears came from the eyes of the emissary. And with a sense of humour Gandhi said: " How great is God? He did not want Gandhi to send that dry leaf. He made it wet. It is glistening with laughter. Carry this leaf as a gift full of your tears." That was Gandhi's human touch.

I hope kids today and from the generations to come can understand his philosophy and his strength before applauding him for giving us all a holiday on the 2nd of October, every year. I havent had the chance of speaking to my daughter after the joke, but will do so one of these days, if not they, who will spread his message to the whole world now, that he is so long gone.

Pujo days

2009-09-26T15:25:00.009+04:00

The Pujo days are passing in a frenzy of people, of culinary delights, of sharing, of getting ready and reaching the pandal(temporary temples built for the days of the Pujo with a life size clay model of the Goddess Durga) for the anjali(prayers chanted in sanskrit for the Goddess) followed by scalding hot khichuri bhog,

the queue for which is actually the penance part, if you consider the temperatures here now, hovering around 44 degrees, with at least a minimum of 30 people ahead of you, Your sins are definitely getting paid for here. The temple precincts do not allow footwear so we just about barely stand, most of us, me included are continuously doing a jig to help keep the feet in minimal contact to the burning marble floor, and inspite of this there is laughter every where, not much of spirituality beyond the anjali though.. its only then that we bow our heads and concentrate on the mantras, once that is through and the flowers we held in our hands have trajectorily reached the feet of the Goddess, we are back to watching who's wearing what, how deep are the blouses this year, or how wide, what's the latest in jewelery and who adorns the biggest shades, yah I know.. it sounds terrible when I put it down in words.. but believe me its great fun, its bonding too, when a group of us stand jiggling our burning feet, waiting for our turn to reach the end of the queue for the bhog. Entertainment is also found in the stream of announcements on the mike saying things like "Many of you have not yet paid the annual membership fees, please reach us at the main gate counter and pay your subscription', there are also announcements like,"Children please refrain from refills of the bhog, there are many waiting', the children I notice are really not very keen on the bhog anyways, they just want to go back to the air condition of their homes, its just the pull of their parents that has dragged most of these kids from school and brought them to the temple in the crazy heat of the afternoon. These announcements never go without a loud rejoinder, which is most of the times taken in good spirit. A lot of laughter, a bit of bitching, seeing new faces and missing ones that have left, is usually the synopsis of Durga Pujo days of an expat like me.

Away from home, I can hear the bells and the dhak only when I call up and my mother in law holds the mobile out for the dhaki's beat to travel all the way from Jhargram to Muscat, the beat makes my son dance and it brings to my mind the house, the people, the joy of those five days, the phone is snatched at times by a family member, urging us to return, to be there for the pujo, saying repeatedly that very few hands to work, the elders are really getting old again before a response the phone is filled with the aaroti mantra and the dhak beats the clanging of the cymbal and the mood just sets in like every passing year that I have stayed away from Jhargram, its a mix of sweet nostalgia, of pride, of belonging and of being away from it all.

Its Maha Ashtami today, the most looked upon day of the Pujo, the best Saree, the best jewellery, the best food, the best of everything is saved for this day, its the day when the Goddess is worshipped with 108 diyas and garlanded with 108 lotus flowers, for me this day, the Goddess comes to life, when I look at her eyes, I can feel her looking right back at mine, and the difference between time and space suddenly ceases.

Take a look at this video to get the feel of the Durga aaroti

When the Goddess comes home..

2009-09-17T13:31:00.001+04:00

A huge house, adorned with pillars. Blue wooden shutters charmingly interrupting the vastness of the white walls. A garden that is resplendent with flowers and foliage, a sky that is an unspoilt blue, the clouds white and fluffy, the laughter of girls, the tinkling of trinkets as feet run from one room to another followed by gentle admonishing of the elders, a perfect setting for spending the upcoming Durga Pujo.

The inner courtyard is being washed, the veranda surrounding it opens to various rooms, at the moment all occupied by family that gathers every year during Pujo, the uncles the aunts, the children who have grown from snot flowing, rib showing, naked boys and girls into responsible young adults, still carrying their peculiar childhood names though. They are cousins together for a week of homecoming. The small kitchen adjoining the courtyard is busy since the early hours of dawn. Meals are being prepared, tea is being made, vegetables fresh and green lying in careless abandon, there are aunts with their easy gaiety sorting and cutting them, placing the cut vegetables in big copper vessels filled with water, instructions flow as to what is to be made for lunch, a special request for a particular dish, anecdotes remembered, easy banter, laughter flowing from the kitchen into the courtyard to merge with the excited voices of the sons of the house, brothers gathered from all over the world for a week of homecoming.

Trays of tea and biscuits, men ranging from the age of 30 to 60 or more, in white cotton pyjamas and plain shirts, sitting around reading a newspaper, one of them humming in a soft but audible voice the tune of a favorite Rabindrasangeet that they had all learnt as kids.Each doing his own stuff, an easy silence with a palpable bond. This is the house where they grew up, where they studied and taught each other, The house where they married and brought their wives, the house that saw their children, the house that saw the deaths of their parents, the house they decided to keep coming back to every year for Pujo.

The two storeyed house has a room on the terrace. A favourite haunt of all the cousins. As kids they ran to this room after their crimes, none of the elders had the stamina to follow them up there, so they felt safe, since those early days this room has become a part of them, a confidante, a fellow conspirator, it has listened quietly to them talk about their plans of stealing pickles from the kitchen cabinets, about the jaunts to the pond to float a few paper boats while the elders nap, it has smiled silently at the mention of their boyfriends, it has listened to them discuss career options, it has been an island of calm in an otherwise chaotic house. Apart from Minoti di (the maid) none of the elders come here. The room opens to a huge terrace overlooking a pond full of water lillies and a field beyond. Standing here you can see the rail tracks and as children the count of how many trains went past was an interesting game, now though the trains still pass , they are usually overlooked, the water lillies are in focus more now. The boys come up here for a smoke or two, Minoti di takes care of the cigarette packets lying in the room, she doesn't have to be told anything, she knows these kids since they were born, shes almost as old as the house, the living arm of it.

Today is very special, the mothers are all fasting, the courtyard looks beautiful with the alpona(designs made on the floor with a paste of rice flour and water), the goddess is coming home today, It is shoshti (the first day of Durga Pujo). As kids the cousins eyed the fresh narus(small balls made with freshly grated coconuts and jaggery) that were made on this day, now as young men they are busy adorning the Goddess with jewellery, and the girls..well they have to think about their jewelleries right? This is the only time of the year they deck themselves up in beautiful muslin and antique gold jewellery, narus will have to wait. There is a spring in the step today, a roar in the air, Pujo has begun. The dhakis have come, the dhunuchis (a smoking mixtures of camphor, incense, tinder and coconut husk) are ready, the purohit is here, the brothers are still in their white cotton pyjamas and plain shirts, their wives in beautiful sarees of white and red look so perfectly mismatched to them, but its always been like this, the young girls are a sight to behold and the young boys busy with what they say is their 'barir pujo'!

I can so easily lose myself in this house, this is a very common picture to all Bengali families who have had Durga Pujo in their own homes, the days take flight, the nights full of chit chat, the early morning gathering of flowers, the 5am baths, the naividyas and the proshad, the chandan(sandalwood paste) and the bel pata(bel patra are the leaves of the wood apple tree offered for Pujas), the sudden sighting of a good looking bloke, the unconscious re arranging of the hair, the nudging, the teases, the smiles..its all a part of each one of us, isn't it? And when we bid adieu to the Goddess after those 5 days, we bid adieu to all this as well, like her, we go back to our daily grind, with the faith that "asche bochor abaar hobe!" Yes, we will get back again next year and every year following that!!

Faxes, awards et al..

2009-09-10T13:56:00.002+04:00

What does a slow and sluggish and a bit of a dimwit female on the wrong side of 30 do when she's offered a job? She says "Naah, I am to comfortable to do a job at this old age. what about my late mornings? what about my chats with Aparna? what about my blogging?and most importantly what about the money that this same industry didnt pay me when I worked the last time for them?" And that's what I said "Naah, not interested" and went back to the hot romance I was reading.

The offer is good though (if it does materialize at the end of the month into cash). Hours are good too, just the mornings, and the work is editorial which is damn good, coz I love to write and research on stuff, so I turn around for a bit on the bed and do some head scratching, and think about the kids, who come home only by 2:00 in the afternoon, I do some nail biting too and then finally get up and call my friend. There's a green signal from him, and then there is a"way to go" from Aparna, and suddenly I am quite upbeat about the whole thing, I actually go and get a head massage and a facial done..whoa!!

So I am in office the first day, it feels good to be working after a gap of more than 13 years. Yes it does, the boss comes around and says there's a package enhancement for you, just have to help with some admin work as well(alarm bells start to blare real loud now, I can also see the warning reds and the skull signs). This is how the conversation goes

Boss: "Hey welcome on board."

Me: "Thank you"

Boss: "You are in a lucky frame, your package has been enhanced, you would just have to do a bit of admin work as well."

Me : (alarm bells are blaring)"Admin work!! I am not sure, not at all sure!"

Boss: "Hey don't put a tag of admin per se, see its a start up company, we are just doing everything ourselves as of now, Its not a big outfit, there's hardly any admin work apart from some filing and correspondence, am sure you will be able to do it just fine."

Me: "I am very disorganized(read I am a mess)"

Boss: "We are there to help each other"

Me: "I cant stay a minute beyond 12:30"

Boss: "Yah yah yah I know, you have made that perfectly clear"

Me: "Okay lets do it then"(am having a bad frown during this entire conversation)

So I go to my workstation, start the PC and am ready to roll. Here I am comfortable, this is my core competence(hmm the lingo is coming back!) I make a time sheet and start my work for the upcoming annual publication. All goes fine till....

Boss: "Here are a few letter I have written, you will have to coordinate a bit so that we can meet these guys the coming week and have the interviews ready. Just fax them all before leaving today."

Me: "eeeeeeeeow"( fax sounds like such a male thing. And like all males I have to chk it out first.)

I go over to the Hp fax-copier-scanner object lying so very elegantly in the corner. Looks devilishly innocent. Nothing like the fax machine I knew 13 years back. I hate technology and the way things get updated/outdated here. The manual is in french(heaven knows why?) Being a female and so always ready to ask for directions I ask the boss how to fax, he is as clueless as me.. he always had somebody to do it for him he says. Hahahah he's so mistaken about me. So I take a look at the manual again, it shows a glass and for the life of me I cannot see a bloody glass anywhere on that machine. So this is a conversation I am having on the phone to help me use the fax

Me: "Hi! are you free right now? I need you to guide me through this fax machine, I have to send a couple of faxes"

He: "Okay, so you see a fax machine in front of you"(must have said God forbid!!)

Me: "Yah, I see that"(cursing my luck and swallowing my pride)

He: "You have to put the letterhead face down and allign it to the glass surface to the bottom left corner, are you able to do that?"

Me: (Thinking where the hell is the glass?)saying,"umm hmm ok"

He: "Dial the number now"

Me: "Where is the glass?"( A deeper gulp and a bigger chunk of the pride goes down)

He: "What?"

Me: "The glass.."

He: "OHOHOH..the glass, there's a hinge from where the machine lifts up there's a glass inside"(I can see the smirk so clearly now)

Me: (admiring the devil of a machine and looking from where to tear it apart so that the glass is finally visible)

Wonder of wonders, like the magical cave of Ali Baba and the 40 thieves the machine comes apart to bare a polished glass surface to me, Its actually a wow moment for me, and I take a deep breath and cherish this. After that its fairly simple and the faxes get sent. Eureka!! there's no end to learning is there? Even at my old age huh!!

So amidst the major core competence of writing and the minor pitfalls of admin work, the job has completed 2 weeks and must say I am quite enjoying it. There are wow moments almost everyday, there are busy friends who stop in their tracks to reach out and help, there are the kids who look proud that their momma is working like most of their friend's moms, there's a part of me feeling like a kid and a part of me that's wondering deeply about all the people who find time to be online from work, to chat and blog to do so many things and still work!! That's way beyond the comprehensive powers of a dimwit over 30, lazy and sluggish female who is happy to have sent her faxes well! But inspiring never the less...

So am passing on a few awards that I got recently to people who multitask from office and do it successfully!

To Nona, Ramesh, Kavi and Spike I pass on the Inspiration award

To Sakshi, SJ, Rush and Deeps and another Deeps I pass on the Zombie chicken award

The Zombie Chicken Award

The blogger who receives this award believes in the Tao of the zombie chicken – excellence, grace and persistence in all situations, even in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. These amazing bloggers regularly produce content so remarkable that their readers would brave a raving pack of zombie chickens just to be able to read their inspiring words.

All of you are free to pass it on at your convenience, there are no set rules from me..have fun !!

Death is never final part II

2009-09-03T16:36:00.001+04:00

Days passed, just the way they do. There was work, there was the usual inter office chit chat, and the evenings in the studio. Everything was the same apart from the incessant tug at her heartstrings for reasons Priya was not willing to accept. Since that day, Arun had not returned to her office, and yet every time the door opened, her gaze wandered from her files, every time she saw a well dressed man of around 6 ft walking on the streets, her pulse quickened. She was surprised that the realistic and practical capricorn in her had taken flight to a realm of fantasy that was totally unknown territory. She did not know her path, she did not have a clue as to how she could possibly deal with her feelings for a guy she had seen only for a few minutes. This was unreal, and yet she enjoyed her fantasies of him walking in once again, repeating the lunch offer..

Life has its own set of rules, the rules we cannot decipher, but looking back the dots can be connected to form a perfectly clear picture. The days of summer were merging into unexpected drizzles, The Gulmohars had given way to the greens of freshly washed leaves, of small puddles on the streets, of little children in raincoats, of hot teas and pakodas. On one such day, Priya saw Arun again. She could never miss that face, the face she had etched in her mind since that breezy summer day. She was elated to see him, and yet her nature did not allow her to take any initiative. She decided to walk to where he was standing alone at a kiosk drinking tea from a kulhad, Linens she noticed, white, so impractical for the season and yet the most beautiful apparition. Casually leaning on his parked bike, Arun in his white linens made her heart flutter like the paper boats in the puddles. Trying very hard to control the upsurge, Priya walked past Arun. "Hey there!" he said. She made a mental note to add his tenor to her list as she turned to face him. Trying to deny recognition and failing miserably, she managed a smile. "How about some tea?" was the question asked, Throwing caution to the wind, probably for the first time in her life, Priya replied,"How about a ride on your bike?"

The days that followed were a collage of unbridled hues. Validating the connection Arun had felt on the first day and Priya acknowledged now. The colours of their romance matching the oils in her mother's studio - vibrant, delicious and out of the world. There was not a place in town that did not witness the growing love between these two. They met each others parents. Arun and Priya's mom bonded from the day they met each other. They were both kindled spirits, souls that were barely attached to a physical presence almost bursting at the seams. Arun's parents welcomed Priya into their lives. They were happy that Arun had chosen such a bright and goal oriented girl for a partner. Things were blissful. There were moments when priya was enveloped in her dread of relationships, when a part of her could not trust Arun, when she felt she was headed towards disaster. These moments though far apart did emerge and the only solace was also provided by Arun. Talking to him at odd hours of the night calmed her, renewed her new born faith in men. Knowing that he was available for her 24*7, to meet her moods and assuage her fears strengthened Priya as nothing had ever done before. She emerged a stronger person, a calmer spirit. She said 'thank you' with a smile when an unknown person complimented her looks. She was changing before her own eyes.

Priya's mom's health had been failing slowly. the doctors did not come up with a diagnosis, but they were not giving much hope. The lady of course was undaunted. She carried on with a vigour that was getting harder to harness. Priya asked her one evening if she would be pleased to see Priya married. Not a woman to impose her desires on her daughter, she said marriage did not count, she knew that Priya was safe with Arun and that was all that mattered to her. Priya wanted her mother's active participation in her marriage. She wanted to treasure the moments in snaps and videos. She just had her mother for family. She spoke to Arun about this. they both knew that every passing day was taking a bit away from the woman Priya loved the most in this world. They decided on a date in the early winter months for the wedding.

The wedding date just a few months away, everyone got busy with the preparations. the days were getting shorter and Priya's mother's health was taking a serious down turn. Yet she shopped for her daughter's finery with the enthusiasm of a child. Priya had blind faith in her mother's choice, so she left her at it and followed her with a camera clicking away the emotions so clearly marked on that vibrant, fading face. The practical side of Priya knew that time was short, very soon she would have to say goodbye to the lady who had given her life. She found her strength in Arun to cope with this lurking tragedy. She hid her tears behind her camera as she shot the smiles of her mother.

Life prepares you for some tragedies and swirls the others on your face when you least expect it. It was an ordinary evening. Priya was reading a book to her mother, when the call came. The call was from a Bangalore hospital. They were asking for Priya. Arun was in Bangalore on an official trip. But the call was not making any sense. there was a lot of static on the line, and they kept repeating the word ICU so many times that Priya slammed the phone down with all her might. The call came again, immediately, the ring like impending doom rattled her nerves. She felt a wave of nausea take over. Unable to understand what was going on, Priya's mother took the call. After a few minutes on the phone She took Priya in her arms and quietly held her, as her daughter shook and retched uncontrollably. There was a bell ringing somewhere. Arun's parents were shown in by the maid. They had come to share the grief of losing their son with the two people who loved him equally. This was a loss no one was prepared for. The young man, so full of life, to be married shortly, the shoulder whom Priya had banked on to shed tears for the impending loss of her mother was suddenly unavailable, just like that, like a harsh stroke of black on the oils of her mother, destiny had played its wand again.

There were no words, no thoughts, no hope of saying anything any more. Leaving her mother and Arun's parents in the hall, Priya went up to her room. walking in a daze, calling his cell time and again only to hear 'cloud9' playing. She hallucinated that any moment the song would be cut short by the familiar tenor of Arun saying,"Hey Love, everything alright?" She felt her knees buckling under her, she felt that wave of nausea again and she fell in a heap on the floor of her room. She woke up with a splitting headache and sense of weightlessness. In a state of confusion and delirium, walking on the threshold of insanity, she found herself slitting her veins and the pool of blood that formed on the floor helped her focus on her present loss. As she saw the pool widen, her mind cleared. The house was quiet and dark, everything seemed unreasonably normal. She could feel the soft breath of the sleeping house, and in that moment of calm she could see Arun. Arun was her calm, the man she trusted, the man she loved beyond her own limits. Arun was there sitting at the edge of her bed as she lay in her own pool of blood. She wanted to reach him, she wanted him to take her in his arms and say its a bad dream, but none happened, there was a chasm between them that could not be bridged, and yet he was there just a hands length away. She was too tired to talk to him, to ask him what happened? to ask him if he was scared when his time came so unexpectedly for him. There were so many questions on her mind and she was so drained. She just kept focusing on that face, on that figure sitting on the edge of her bed. it was then that Arun spoke, or she thought he did. "I love you Priya, always focus on that. Never doubt it. This is not a breach of trust, I did not plan on leaving you. You must believe. I will meet you again on this side of the chasm when its time. Till then.. I will be in your smiles, though difficult they will come through. You have me Priya in life as well as in death."

There was an eerie calm in the light blue room. The monitors beeping at regular intervals, the crisp sheets that tucked her in on a high bed. She looked around to see a few nurses and her mother. She blinked and she heard her mother saying something faintly. She could not get the words, she could not make sense of anything, she drifted back to sleep. the next time she awoke, things were clearer. Arun's parents were by her bed. His father stroking her head, saying how glad he was that she is ok, that he couldn't bear to lose everything at his age. It struck her again, the finality of Arun's death, it was not a nightmare after all, it was real. She felt the stab of the pain as she looked at her wrist and saw the bandage, and then she remembered Arun as he was sitting on the edge of her bed. She remembered his words, she looked at his parents, who had aged considerably in the last couple of days, they looked frail and yet their concern was Priya. In those few minutes, she decided to live. To live till it was time to meet Arun again.

The recovery was smooth and in a couple of days Priya was back home. The recent string of incidents had taken their toll on her mother and she was in a stupor most of the time. The times when she seemed focused, Priya talked to her about life after death. She told her about how happy and at peace Arun looked. She held her mother's hands and told her how pain free and illuminated life is when the soul is free. Her mother knew all of this, and yet she listened in awe to her practical, distraught daughter. She tried to make sense of what she saw in her stupor, she saw Arun too, she saw his hand reaching out for her, and then again she saw Priya preparing her for the journey.

It was on a cold morning in January that Priya's mother breathed her last. Priya and Arun's parents were with her throughout. There were tears, but Priya was not inconsolable. She knew, she had to live till it was time for Arun to reach out for her again. The coming months saw her shift to Arun's parent's flat. She lived with them and it was a very natural progression for her. Seasons changed, and slowly Priya found her foothold. She adopted a baby girl and her canvas was coloured again by the pastels of a child's smile.

The End

Death is never final...

2009-09-01T14:13:00.005+04:00

An entry for the story competition started by ZB.

It was summer. The gulmohar tree just outside her window was laden with vibrant orange blossoms. the morning, shades brighter by their colour. Priya was late getting up today, so her usual luxury of a few minutes to herself with a hot cuppa had to be skipped. Hurriedly she dressed. The blossoms in mind, she chose an outfit in muted orange silk. She was aware of her beauty but not carried away by it. She knew that her long and soft tresses of mahogany made heads turn, she knew that her hazel eyes and earthy complexion never went unnoticed. Her figure was full and her gait naturally graceful. Yes, she was aware of it all, but it didn't really matter to her, she brushed away compliments at times casually, at times with a degree of annoyance.

Work was her life, she was focused, she was determined and more importantly, she was good at it. She had inherited her looks from her dad, but her indomitable spirit and focus was that of her mom. Her mom, who had brought her up single handedly, who had worked two shifts, so that Priya could never feel the lack of luxuries. Her mother was the face of joy, a life that lived to the brim, that looked sorrow in the eye and crushed it by the balls, a life that was inspiration to Priya. Her memories of her dad were like old photographs, dusty and sepia toned, the edges tattered, the smiles forgotten, they just existed in a part of her brain, like a lot of useless things that need to be thrown away someday, too insignificant.

Today she did not have the time to ponder on such facts, she quickly kissed her mom goodbye and almost ran to the lift. Her day had started on a hurried but good footing. The boss came to her desk and approved her plans for the coming segment. Not only that, she was also praised for her innovative ideas. With lingering traces of a smile she looked up to see a young and well dressed man standing in front of her. "Arun", he said his name was. Arun had some queries which were addressed and cleared by her in a quick and efficient manner, which was her trademark. In spite of herself, she noticed that Arun had a very well groomed appearance, he was quite tall, definitely above 6 ft, his hairstyle was neat and his face aquiline. A conservative style of dressing and a polite demeanor. Quite an eye candy she thought as she saw him leave.

Maybe it was the breezy summer day, the flush of youth, Cupid's arrow, or any such excuse, but Arun could not erase the face behind the counter from his mind. The aloof smile, the bright eyes, the soft halo of hair that lined her face, the way she spoke, her soft , well modulated voice, in sharp contrast to her brisk manner. Images floated in and out of his mind's eye like waves licking a meandering shoreline. At lunch time the next day he was again at Priya's office. He was not a man to beat around the bush, not a man of many words either, he was straight and he was implacable. Yes, she was indeed beautiful. Today she was in beige, the colour enhancing the depth of her eyes. There was no recognition in them however, he noticed. The face that had conquered his dreams had apparently not given him a second thought. It did not matter of course!! Everybody need not believe in love at first sight. Arun's steps did not falter as he walked towards her. There was neither flamboyance nor plea in his voice or words. The voice was confident, the words were clear. "I came here with a query yesterday, and I am back today to take you out for lunch and get better acquainted with you. I hope you have no pressing engagements". Priya had heard lots of pick up lines, but never such an honest one. She vaguely recollected the face, her eyes noticed once again the careful dressing and the neat hair. For an unknown reason she felt angry. She could not show temper, as his words did not beget that, neither could she act offended, because she was not. She was probably for the first time at a loss of the right thing to say. She saw no reason not to go for lunch with this man, he was handsome, he was well groomed and very polite. And yet..why should she? What for?..just because he asked? She had learnt to say her 'Nos' very early in life, she never minced words and drew very good boundaries. "No, I am sorry" said Priya, "I don't see any reason to go out with you, please excuse me, I have work to do." Polite, firm, and final. A slap would have shown better prospects thought Arun.

He could so clearly see what she could not, at least not yet! There were things that defied explanation and logic. There were things that were meant to be. Smiling to himself he turned to leave her office. Priya's evenings were made by her mother. The small studio in the ground floor of their building was her mother's haven, she made pottery, ceramic ware and quite a few oils, the place was like the woman..spirited, vibrant, and non fussy. Priya loved being there and see her mother work. It rejuvenated her. Today she kept the incident of Arun to herself, used to telling everything to her mom, she was surprised at her own reticence. There was something about the guy, something genuine that had the capacity to filter through her years of mistrust of the male species. Given a chance, he would sweep her off all her notions of love and betrayal. And that was what scared her.

"Somethings on your mind Priya..spill it out", said her mother still turned towards her canvas. "Nothing really Ma, just some guy who wanted to take me out for lunch." Priya didn't have to say it, her mother knew that lunch had not happened. Why was it so difficult for Priya to get into a relationship, this was not the first time she had been asked out, throughout her college years good boys had made a bee string for her, and each of them were nipped in the bud. They had talked about it in the past, and each time Priya had said the same line,"Mom if you can be on your own, why can't I?No guy can supplement my life in any way..I don't need a man." The discussions had always ended with those lines, but this time it seemed different. Maybe for the first time a man had actually found the crevice in the wall that Priya had built around her heart. Prying was not her nature so she went back to her strokes and Priya was left alone with the thoughts of the well dressed man with an easy smile and neat hair. A sudden urge to see that smile again coursed through her mind, she decided it was a good smile, she was shocked at her own thoughts and yet had seemingly no control over them, like winged creatures they took flight travelling from his face to his hair to his tie and she even remembered how neat his nails were. Lost in these thoughts, she left the studio and went up to her room. Had there been a mirror, Priya would be surprised to see herself blushing.

to be continued...

Don't I love Tags!!

2009-08-23T17:46:00.001+04:00

Hey Guys,

I am Soumya, you can call me Bond..as that's the name I prefer, it goes perfectly with my personality. I am here to do the tag that mom was supposed to take up ages ago. She was tagged by numerounity. But being the way she is, she suddenly started hyperventilating about tags and awards and how over whelmed she felt, and also how depressed. I don't think any of it is true though, I think she's just run out of ideas, or she's just plain lazy, or its a combination of both. But she can't possibly say that to me now, can she? So before she goes into one of her crabby moods and sulks the day off, I thought I would oblige and be the man, and help her out of her predicament. Well, its not all about her, I too was just waiting to lay my hands on her blog, and this tag sure looks interesting.

I love to travel, unlike her who's just too obviously rooted. I like TV a lot(you see I just have that and an hour on the computer..I am sure she would have told you all about how bad I am at reading, and sitting still, and all that). She has probably lived in more places than me, she keeps ranting about how uprooted she felt each time she moved, but I like to be on the move, I would love to go and live in all kinds of places, pssst my sister is just like her, too much of inertia in the both of them!! I have a huge list of favourite foods too, am not married so mamma's food is not the best for me yet!! I have a long long time to think about death, so that list is also a bit far fetched, but still would attempt. And movies wow!! There is a bunch of movies I can watch time and again.

So guys, it is my pleasure to be doing this tag on her behalf. And I can just about see the beginnings of a smile forming on her lips. The hug and the kiss will follow soon. She is nutty and has terrible mood swings, and all of that stuff that I don't understand.. but all in all shes one hell of a mom!!

Lets rock Guys!! here's my list of fours..

Four places you have lived

Pune, India: I was born there in 2002. I started my life in that city, my first of everything is there, and am glad the house is still retained with all the firsts nicely recorded in a collage just above my bed. The first smile, the first steps, and a whole lot of such silly stuff..you get the idea don't you?
Muscat, Oman: I still remember the day I was hauled into that flight along with mom and sis. I was a pain and she didn't quite know what to do to make me stop howling. She was as it is, drained off with all that luggage and all the passport and visa formalities, and those tears that flowed endlessly as she left the Mumbai airport for an unknown shore. My sister was all quiet and trying her best to help out.. she is such a 'people pleaser'. I would have loved her a bit more had she joined me in that bawling session. It would have been so much more fun!! I started school here, and learnt to ride my bike here and I learnt to swim here and play the keyboard.. so lots of firsts here as well though no collage, they don't have the enthusiasm any more, I think.
Calcutta, India: See guys, I am too young to have lived in more places, and what with my mom taking a stand of not moving anymore, so I have theoretically just lived in Pune and Muscat. But my winter vacations are always in Calcutta, so its in this list. I love this city, its dirty, and people scream, and there are cows and dogs on the road, there are men selling very interesting stuff in a nice sing song voice in the afternoons. When the entire house is napping, I love to stand on the window sill and call out to them, they even come and give me their stuff, a lollipop, an ice lolly, a toy car sometimes, they laugh a lot and they don't ask for money, I think they take it from my grandma later. I love the puddles and the fishes in the market, I love my walk with my grandfather to the temple every evening. I love the delicious snacks my granny makes, unlike my mom who keeps stuffing cornflakes into my mouth day in and day out. I love Calcutta, I am the king there.
I think I will come back to this later in my life..

Four TV shows you love to watch
If you insist on four..I will comply, but there are so many shows that I love to watch, I love to switch channels the moment I see my sister enjoying a show, I love to listen to the songs of the latest films, I love to do the 'phatak' dance from the film kaminey, while channel V shows it..and I watch tom & Jerry when dad is home!I love to switch channels just for the heck of it, and especially if I know that its annoying my sister..

Shinchan and Marukochan : My mom wants me to watch backyard science and MAD..phew!!let the guy have some fun!!
Ben Ten series: I love the gadgets this guy has, I am so impressed!!
Popeye the sailor : For his muscles and the pipe.
Krishna and Bheema : Are my favourites too, as I can relate with the stories I have heard about them.

Four places you have been on vacation

WOW!! I love everything about vacations, including the flight, however long. The food served, the toys given, the videos played. I just love the flights. Vacations also mean no studies, they mean seeing a new place, they mean lots of ice creams and pizzas and stuff like that, basically lots of food which is not made by mom.

London: I watched the lion King on broad way and was blown over by it. I will always remember London as the city of broad way, and also the wax museum with Shahrukh khan.
Egypt: I loved our guide there, his name was Ramses and he was a lot of fun, he danced and sang and said many stories about the pharaohs and the Gods of Egypt. I wasn't thrilled by the ruins that seemed to move my mom so much, could not understand her fascination for the wrecked temples and pillars, but I loved the cruise over the Nile. I drove a horse carriage in Egypt and made sure that my sister clicked a picture while I was driving it!
Dubai: I love this city. Its my kind of place, its active, its glamorous, its fun and its hep. fast cars and shiny buildings. The best being the water park called Wild wadi, I could spend a lot of days in that park. By the way, my sister liked the museum.. you are getting the point aren't you?
Switzerland: Mom has ranted about the place here I can see, so wont go into railways and waste disposal..why does she think of stuff like that? When there is snowfall to talk about and cows with bells and gelatos and cakes, and breads that are so soft they melt in your mouth..there's lindt and there's spriglis, there's chocolate everywhere and lakes and swans and so much else, there's the exciting rope ways too and the pretty stores selling cute dolls. I love dolls period!!

Four of your favorite foods:

Whatever she might have told you, my mom is not a good cook. I love her very much but I would rather, she didn't go to the kitchen unless to make her coffee. We had a cook for a while, that was a great thing! But now he is not there and I am back to eating regular, boring fare..so my list of favourites is quite limitless. I will control and keep them to four here

Burgers: I love McDonalds for their Maharaja Mac and the fries and the coke. Nothing can be more satiating.
Ice creams and fudges: I love the scoops to be mixed and the toppings added right as per my choice and in front of me, I try and make it so wacky that my sister cannot share it with me, I get to have the entire thing by myself.
Chicken: In all varieties, except the stew mom makes at home.
Rice: I love a plate of hot steaming rice with a dollop of butter on it, a hard boiled egg and a potato all mushy. that's one dish my mom makes frequently, she does it because its so easy and quick. However she positions it as a treat for us. ok ok am not complaining, I love this dish!!

Four places you would rather be:

I would rather be home than at school.
I would rather be at a park than indoors.
I would rather be in the pool than studying.
I would rather be at my friend's house than in my singing class.

Thats the best I can think of right now.

Four movies you can see over and over again:

I love to watch all kinds of movies. I am not allowed to that's a different matter, but I try my best to watch as many as possible.

All Govinda movies for his dance and his expressions.
High School Musical all the parts, I admit I fought with my sister when she got that home from the library instead of a Pokemon that I was crying out for, but I caught on to the movie, I love the songs and I love the dresses and the girls. My friends don't know that I watch these movies, they tend to tease me saying I like girly stuff, and my sister at times when she is wicked, blackmails me about this. Nobody lets a poor guy be!!
Spider man I love Parker. He is my hero.
Harry Potter for the magic!!

Four things u hope to do before you die:

Thats a bit too far for me, but I have dreams, ever changing dreams..

I want to own a bike!
I want to fly a fighter plane!
I want to walk the ramp as a designer!
I want to own a red sports car!

I had a lot of fun doing this guys, hope you all have the patience to read through this. please keep the comments coming. Theyswing my mom's mood favourably. I might have ranted about her a bit.. but end of the day.. I just plain love her!

Will see you all again someday, maybe when mom's a bit tied up(read out of ideas)!! Rock on guys! Adieu!!

The joy of weekends!!

2009-08-20T13:57:00.002+04:00

As a kid, Friday was the most awaited day for me. Two art periods, One Mass P.T, one singing period and the rest quickly finished. End of the day, end of the week! The ride home was a joyride in its truest sense. The afternoon was spent making soap bubbles with a straw or bouncing the lone ball in the veranda, all the while spinning tales to myself, incessant dreams, unlimited horizons. There was nothing better than a Friday evening, it brought home tickets to a movie! Saturday was about tidying up the room in the morning after a nice breakfast of luchi torkari(puri/bhaji) followed by a walk to the library at the end of the street for a few comics and a thick book. the afternoon was spent sprawled on the bed or floor with this book, till dad was free to sit with me and all my school work of the week gone by. Homework done, doubts cleared, sums solved and I was free to go out to play. There was Rupal of course and our bikes, there was a play ground and a few other kids, and we played everything from 'house-house ' to 'catch me if you can'. Sunday was market day, this was my mother's favourite day of the week. She loves the market even today, and I have never liked it one bit, even now grocery and vegetable shopping is a necessary evil for me. So as my mom bent over the fresh veggies and fish and all those sneeze inducing spices, Baba and I sat in the parking lot, a safe, sneeze free distance away from the frenzied bazaar, talking about nothing important. Those ordinary Sunday afternoons spent talking unnecessary things are the most vivid images in my mind till date. Sunday evening was about gearing up for the week to follow, it was about polishing the shoes and ironing the uniform, packing the bag and sleeping early. Computers and video games were unheard of and Television was not a passion yet. Weekends meant outdoors, they meant friends, they meant books , and they meant a lot of time with Baba. I did not comprehend the word 'boring' then.

Now, weekends mean sleeping in late. waking up with a bored look. fighting over the remote control, some precious thoughts from the daughter as to why we cant have two TVs, like most of her friends do. There is some lecture from me on sundry topics and on the idiot box, which is promptly ignored by the daughter and vehemently responded to by the son, who in turn talks about his deprived life. A boy his age without play station or even a gameboy, he goes on till he feels the point is drilled in till the far end of my brain. A book glued to her face my daughter manages to eat what is put in front of her. My boy, happy with the end of lecture and his full control over the remote, eats too. Attempts at conversation are groggily responded to in monosyllables or largely ignored. There is no outdoors apart from the club swimming pool for them. There are malls and indoor games, there is coke and popcorn. There are endless phone calls, there are sentences that begin and end with the word 'boring'. There is a lot of solitary activity like sketching or playing the keyboard, there is also the usual homework and the crafts and the projects that need to be done. There are a few cuddles too and a few laughs, there is the phone call from the grandparents, that till now is more heartfelt than customary. I am sure kids today enjoy their weekends too, just that the perception of enjoyment has changed.

Honour thy freedom!!

2009-08-15T11:56:00.002+04:00

I have never been able to dance to any body's tune! I am a bad dancer (leave that apart), but even figuratively, I cant make myself dance to any body's tune. As a child when I was ordered to do something my mind plummeted me in the opposite direction. Its like a reflex.. The moment I am told to do something, I don't want to do it. I think most of us are like that. We hate being ordered around, bossed around. But not many of us realise the value of this freedom. I don't. I feel its my right. Do you?

India might have many ills, but its strongest virtue is that it lets us be just as we are. We praise other nations, we leave India and settle abroad, we joke about our leaders, we rally, we march, we don't have to send our boys to the army at the age of 21, they are free to go to the USA or wherever they please. We have free press, A Tianamen Square does not happen in India. That's freedom, I think. Weather or not we honour that freedom is a different story. Read on friends and feel as proud as I do of our beautiful homeland...

(A Repost)

I had no idea that there was a panel that judged National Anthems..but something like that does exist, and its in the headlines these days that the Indian National Anthem has been judged the best. As Indians we are all proud of this fact..but am sure we don't need a panel to tell this to us. I might not be an authority on National Anthems but I can say without a doubt in my mind that each time the first notes of Jana Gana Mana float through the air, every Indian's heart soars with love, respect, pride and bonding to the motherland, such is the beauty of the composition. As a child it was just a song that had to be sung at the beginning of each day in the school assembly..we, most of the times never got the words right..but the tune even then kept us glued to the spot.

Now as I see my children singing it along with their peers, I often wonder do they feel what we felt while we sang the anthem? Does their heart surge with pride at the ebb and tide of each note? Do they picture the beauty of each state as visualized by the poet? Can they see the lofty peaks, the beautiful rivers, the bounty of nature..or do they just see a land which has lost its way? Ravaged by internal wars and terrorism, ever changing heads of state, Corruption and immoral politics, underpaid masses, record breaking inflation rates, a land which even their parents have given up on!!

We travel abroad and take our kids to the Swiss Alps for the summers, The USA, and The UK fight with The South East Asian countries for enlisting themselves into our travel plans..but as parents we never somehow plan a trip to Kaziranga, or say the temples of the south, we even keep the Taj Mahal on the back burner..saying.."Ohh we can do that any day" But does that day ever come? Definitely our children are citizens of the world..they need exposure, they need to know the different cultures all around the globe..but before that don't they need to know their country better? why not take them to Gujarat and show them how Amul revolutionized the milk industry? Why don't we give them a chance of being proud of their heritage by showing them the robust farms of Punjab..Why don't we have the courage to take them to Kashmir and show them that this land is worth protecting with your life!! Each soldier standing in attention at the LOC definitely deserves a salute form each of our kids.

Left to the news channels all they will ever hear about our country is negativity, its up to us, their parents, to point out the beauty of a nation that's still too young to be given up on.. Let them feel the splendour of our nation, to be able to feel proud of the National Anthem, to be able to relate to it, to willingly stand up in salute to a song they sing everyday at the beginning of an assembly.

The Menacing Malady

2009-08-10T16:31:00.003+04:00

A well to do family. Parents and two kids. One boy and one girl. A metropolitan city. Good school. Swimming at a posh club each evening. Various other activities to keep fit and busy.

One morning the little girl complains of a slight fever with headache. The Mother worries about the ongoing swine flu cases. She is taken to the best paediatrician in town by late morning. The doctor offers cal pol and advices rest for a couple of days.

Mother: "That's it? No test for the flu? There are so many cases in town, it's spreading like wild fire, lets do the test, she has fever, she's just come back from a holiday, she has headache, lets do the test."

Doctor: "We don't have the kit! we don't have the medicines either, its available only with the ministry of health. Wait for a couple of days, let's see what symptoms she develops, as of now its just fever, don't worry, give her cal pol three times a day."

Mother: "Can I take her to the Ministry for a test then?"

Doctor: "No, they have their own system based on a flow chart that they are following, they won't test unless referred."

A helpless feeling. Stories of the 14 year old from Pune who succumbed to this disease causing havoc in the mind. What if we get late? How long to wait? why is there no way out, why is the testing kit not available to all clinics? Endless questions. The day goes by with the mild fever and headache staying. News comes in from various sources of a lot more cases being detected in the city, many from the same school, from the same school bus even. The helpline numbers for H1N1 cases are called, only to be met with the 'on hold' music.

The second day dawns. The fever is less. By afternoon the fever has completely gone, just the slight headache remains. The little girl is getting bored at home. She calls up her friends, who are also in the same boat, suffering from fever and body aches, unable to attend school, missing out on portions covered and also on the lively chit chats. The small boy keeps going to school, though reluctantly.

The third days also passes without fever. Parents are breathing easy now. The girl is studying at home, the little boy is angry that he doesn't have the flu and so he has to go to school, while his sister can be at home. A call from the school, the teacher informing that the little boy has high fever. He needs to be collected from the school immediately. Panic rises, the throat is dry. A rush to the school, there are other similar parents collecting their wards who are red with fever. The little boy smiling mischievously through his bloodshot eyes. The mother hugs him to her and carries him to the clinic.

Mother: "Please refer this case, the fever is so high, he is too small to talk about other symptoms."

Doctor: "Lets see how he responds to these medicines, a lot of ordinary flu cases also happening, people are panicking unnecessarily. Bring him back to me after 36 hours, he should be fine by then. Its the heat, temperatures are soaring. How is his sister?"

Mother: "She does not have fever since the last 2 days, just a slight headache."

Doctor: "OK"

The little boy is brought home. He is asleep by the time he reaches home. The daughter has in the meantime vomited two times. She complains of stomach cramps and slight breathlessness. There is no support of relatives, just friends to count on... The boy is left home in the supervision of a neighbour, while the daughter is again rushed to the clinic.

Mother: "Now what? are we supposed to wait till she dies for the test? or can we do it now?"

Doctor: "She is showing the symptoms, don't worry, let me call up the ministry"

The Ministry of health takes long to reach. A thousand forms follow. the little boy is also brought to get tested. Queues and red tape make the wait frustrating to say the least. Numerous parents with kids in tow, waiting for the test. Money might get the best doctors, but in this case its proving so useless. Nothing seems to be working. the officials chat, smile, crack jokes, they have their tea, they have their masks, while the family waits... and waits some more, with children who are burning with fever.

Finally the turn comes, both the kids get tested, both the results are positive. The appointment has to be made with the doctor in the ministry who alone has the medicine that can cure the kids. The mother is on the verge of tears, the father is silent. the kids still burning. The appointment is for later that evening, masks are provided for the parents and the kids. The little girl has rashes now and is slightly delusional, the little boy making friends with other boys, unmindful of the seriousness.

They say its late for the little girl, she cannot be taken home. She has to be admitted to the ICU. How late? why late? we came to the doctor the first day itself? what now? The parents mind get tizzy with fear and worry, the despair is too much to bear. the little girl is being taken to the ICU, the father is strong no more, he breaks down and starts abusing the authorities, the mother just cries, the little boy is scared into silence.

Its been two days now. The little girl is still in the ICU. The little boy recovering with medicines at home. he misses his sister and wishes to go to school.

Again, a fiction but based on the frustrating situation that I along with many parents are facing to get their kids tested in private clinics for Swine Flu. Why is the kit not available with our regular doctors? Its said its treatable when medicines start within 48 hours, then why the wait?

Entwined Journeys...

2009-08-06T20:33:00.001+04:00

It was 1986 and I had a new red BSA SLR. Those days we lived in Baroda, Gujarat. School was a half an hour ride from home and cycling to school was the most common thing. Half way to school on my bike that first day, I saw a class mate of mine riding a few meters ahead of me, looking for company, I pedaled faster and drew up to her.

Me : "Hi, do you cycle to school everyday?"

She : "Hi! yes its almost a year now. Haven't seen you on this road before, new bike?"

Me: "Yes, new, staring today, earlier it used to be the school bus, where do you live?"

She: "Karelibaug, and you?"

Me: "Me too, well we can do this everyday together then, let's fix up a time and start together, it's a long ride"

She: "Sure, I would love to."

Till then we were just class mates who bumped into each other every now and then. Ever since that day our journeys have entwined for life. We were both 13 that day, and we are on the wrong side of 30 now. The rides to school and back were innocuous compared to the roller coasters life has thrown at us.. but we have stayed abreast and together, side by side through all the ups and downs.

Another morning in the same year(1986):

Me: "Have you noticed the Nepali watchman in the EME complex? He's cute."

She: "He's old Sujata!! What cute?"

Me: "Of course he's old, I mean he looks kind and he seems to be waiting for us to ride by, I have been smiling at him for the past day or two, and he returns it"

She : "I have not noticed that, will see today"

As we near the EME gates, I wave to the watchman, who as usual was waiting for us to pass by, he smiles and waves at us.

Me: "Saw?, isn't he a kind looking fellow?"

She: "Yah looks kind, maybe he has children back home you know, they leave the families and come for work here, maybe we remind him of his daughters.."

Me: "Yah.. maybe..alright lets race to the end of this road okay? who ever loses will pay for the canteen!"

And we raced. Each day we smiled and waved at the watchman and he returned our gestures!

Till the day he came behind us on his bike and it didn't look right at all, The memory of this incident is vague now, but the fear that we both felt at him rushing behind us on a black cycle, waving and making gestures that were not at all cute, cannot be driven away from our conscious even today. Breathless and hovering at the highest speed possible, we kept going, not exactly knowing why? Not even having the time or breath to discuss the sudden incident , we just knew things were not right, and we also knew we had been stupid. What scared us that day, I don't know, it seems silly in hindsight, but we had felt petrified then. He never followed us again.

Journeys are made real by memories and our ride to school each day has innumerable such memories. These long past treasures regale both of us even today.

She lives in New York now, has three kids, a lovely job and a great husband. We start our days with mails to each other, we chat whenever time permits, we sigh, we groan, we still play mischief, we laugh, we joke and we bitch. We can share with each other what we can't with any body else. We carry on biking the bumpy roads together. From sharing chocolates and crushes to sharing the ravages of gravity on our bodies..we have come a long way!

Rupal, this one is for us!

Just a thought...

2009-08-04T15:53:00.002+04:00

Holidays are over! Schools have started again. Home works and projects, assessments and assemblies are all coming up and making mundane life blissful by its sheer predictability. My kids occupy a lot of my brain and soul space. They make me laugh, they make me worry, even anguished and tearful, they are the reason of most of the things I do or decisions I take. My world revolves around these two kids completely. Maybe its not correct, maybe even not completely normal, maybe I am too involved.. but that's the state at the moment.

It started with them being too tiny to fend for themselves, and then it became a habit to look out for them, and then a pleasure to be a part of them. Long back I was asked by a friend, "What are you first, a woman, a wife or a mother?" I didn't have to think at all, I am confidently a mother first, the last two have no fixed place value I guess, they depend on the mood and the circumstances.

A recurrent thought lately is about women who leave their children for love. Who take the plunge and never look behind, or maybe they do and live in pain forever, who's to tell?. It could be a sad marriage or a genuine love that calls, it could be a frustrated existence, a stale relationship.. it could be any of these or something else, but does it justify leaving your kids, does anything justify, even death?

I do not believe in right or wrong, whatever can be dealt with is right for me. I am not moralistic or judgemental, and I also believe that love can happen, anytime any place, beyond age and marital status. But I cannot understand how a mother can turn away from her children in pursuit of her own happiness or dreams. It is possible, for it has happened many a times through each layer of society, but I fail to understand it. It takes a brave heart I am sure to live without the routine pleasures of grubby hands that make the home untidy, of home work left undone, of remarks in school books, of the numerous PTA meetings and the smiles that warm your heart in spite of the turmoils life throws at you.

To have dreams about myself is an option that my motherhood doesn't allow me. Does yours?

I just throw waste in a bin...

2009-08-01T12:45:00.007+04:00

After all those perfect snaps from the land of mountains lakes and chocolates..a minute detail that cannot be left unmentioned... Waste Disposal - The Swiss way!!

Have you worried about what to do with the fish bones after a hearty meal? I had not till I traveled to this land. Have you worried about where to dispose your empty bottle of Scotch and Liqueurs and the cans of beers after a party? I had not...until I traveled to the alps. Phew!!! I had an inkling that India had spoilt me silly when I landed in Muscat and had to do most of the household chores by myself without the support system that's abundantly available in India.

But the waste disposal/recycling concept that's prevelant in Switzerland is a thing which was beyond the wildest imagination of my illiterate and non recycling brain! Here's just the tip of the ice berg...

No plastics period!! Highly commendable..but ohh so difficult!

Recyclable plastic bags of different colours have to be purchased from the supermarkets to dispose different types of waste, categorized as follows:

Green bag for waste including vegetable and fruit peels, seeds etc
Blue bag to dispose fish bones, chicken and mutton bones or any other non vegetarian left overs
A separate bag for papers
Another one for disposable plastic plates, cups and spoons or any such items they feel is non recyclable
Five different sub categories of bins for five different colour of glasses available..meaning that a green bottle has to be disposed off into a bin that is precisely for green bottles and a blue in a bin for blue bottles..so the scotch bottle and the beer bottle cannot go together, and the cans , definitely need a totally seperate bin..
burnt oil that we so easily and mindlessly dispose off through the kitchen sink..cannot be done! No blocking of the arterial pipes by fat!!Only pure water allowed please!
Batteries and other inflammable objects, I think need to be hand delivered to the town hall!!

There were even others which my brain could not assimilate, am sorry to say. So these are the only ones that I can share with you. There is a terrible irony here, the Indian community that lives in this country though small religiously follows these rules to the T. I being what I am..tried to put ideas into their brains..saying , " Night ... dark.. lots of streams... plonk it in!!" They were scandalised to say the least.."What are you talking about! Absolutely not done!!" I just hoped they have the same conscience in their next visit to the homeland!!

I cannot imagine living like that, I would never know what to throw where for one and secondly, my reducing grey cells would run haywire every hour just doing waste management!! I am not against recycling but this is too much, really!!

I wish I had taken pictures for this post..but sorry, I was just too overwhelmed by it all to take the camera and click and the official photographer was busy doing the course on waste management..so no pictures apart from the one I took courtesy the net!

Picture Perfect...

2009-07-29T14:18:00.003+04:00

Edelweiss is the national flower, the country has more lakes than can be counted, the cottages are quaint and the landscape like a story book. Switzerland has always been home of Heidi to me, A book that I loved and re read many many times. Once again yesterday took it out from my daughter's collection to read. We did pass the village of Dorfli on our way to Engelberg, the village where Peter lived.

Here are some landscape picture postcards taken on our way around...

Zurich Lake as seen from a suburban village..

Boats anchored in the calm waters of a lake...

One of the many lakes scattered around this country

A waterfall, a small hamlet and the railing of a bridge..

The sleeping Lion of Lucerne..built in memory of the brave soldiers who fought and died during the World warII..

The Rhien falls..

The city of Lucerne...

The chapel bridge..

A village somewhere in that country..
The Rotairs to Mount Titlis..

The city of Muren at the foothills of Schilthorn..

Pretty flowers everywhere...
The fountain in lake Zurich..a monument of love..showing that love is not static..
Picture perfect postcard from the Matterhorn trail...

Once again thanks to the official photographer.. the last shot is by another tourist who took the same trail with us..

Danke Schon Swiss Railways!!

2009-07-27T14:00:00.004+04:00

To give credit where it is due... Swiss railways is synonymous with perfection. The days spent in Switzerland began with their website , we marked our journey plan and it gave us the options of trains available including the changes required if any, the platform number onto which one train would arrive and also the platform number from which the connecting train would leave a particular station. The time that was put on this website for each train and even for the inter city buses did not vary by even a second. With that plan in hand and a back pack we started our day and even ended it. "We don't wait for any body even if you are Barrack Obama..we will leave as per schedule..We keep the Swiss time" The pride was palpable as the guard spoke these lines to me.

The one flat ticket namely the Swiss pass, which is given out for tourists and can be bought at any of the railway counters or even the airport from where we bought ours is the ticket for any surface transport throughout this country.. be it rail, tram, road, or boats.

The trains that travel through the cities, the villages, the bridges, the snow and up the incline of mountains..the steepest cogwheel train that took us to Mount Pilatus is at an incline of 46degrees. Certainly for a person like me, for whom maintaining time is meditational.. Swiss Rails were Demi God.

A few pictures...

Zurich Haufbahnhoff or Zurich Rail Station
The Glacier Express on a Bridge

The World's steepest cogwheel to Mount Pilatus

Carrying us through the snow to Mount Jungfrau Hoch

Drizzling..but anything for a snap!!

With friends! Less people, cleaner trains..

All pictures courtesy Husband..who is always the official camera man! This is part of a short series on picture perfect postcards from the Alps!!

I am happy to be back!!

2009-07-26T13:55:00.004+04:00

Ten days in Switzerland. Traveling the length and breadth of a country in the world's best rail service. The breath taking views of hills and lakes, valleys and chalets, the snow covered alps peeping at me from the corners of my vision. The highest point of Europe..Jungfrau hoch, Titlis, Pilatus, Schilthorn..all covered, all registered, the gushing streams, the beaming blooms, the green vineyards, the dot on time trains, the motor free zones, the battery operated cars and buses, the cycling people, the skating kids. cheese and bread, wine and chocolates, tap water that is pure and ice cool. I had a good time. And yet...

This country made me smile and it made me sad too. Why at the most beautiful moment in this place when my husband was praising the country and my kids were rolling in the greenery, was I lost in my thoughts from back home? Why did I miss India? The highest peak of Europe that lies in the Swiss alps, and that we felt proud to climb..is just half the height of the Everest.. India has it all and yet we travel abroad for vacations.. I felt guilty admiring Switzerland when I had not admired Kashmir.

The shops close at 6. People though friendly are distant and quiet. Its a land of beauty but its two dimensional...its picture perfect..and like all pictures its two dimesional! I am not discouraging anybody wanting to hit this alpine country.. just my perception!

It feels great to be back home!

away from blogging for a while...

2009-07-15T14:50:00.003+04:00

Hey friends,

I will be offline for the next 10 days or so. Leaving you all with a new look to my blog and one of my favourite posts that was keyed in the day I started blogging. Hope you like it. The post is called 'Roots'

Also came across a portugese proverb that I liked immensely, sharing it with you here :

" the mirror reflects perfectly because it does not think"

Will be back shortly to read all your posts. Have a good time and be safe!

ROOTS

To look back and cherish - a place called home..a place that saw you grow from a precocious child to an adult and enjoyed all the phases in between.. a place full of friends, of laughter and tears, loss as well as victories.. of impulsive moves and secrets shared.. adventures and joyrides, rebuking and encouraging pats - a place we all leave behind..

We travel far and wide in search of our destinies and at times ridicule the peers who stay behind.. we are enamored by wealth, glamour, and the jet set world, and believe me, none of it is wrong.. and yet the best memories are always from back home.. Our minds and egos get satisfied (if ever they know the meaning of the word) as we reap the harvest of our hard work, but the soul's nourishment is from the fields we leave behind.

Does that mean we stand still? Not take a path of our desire and find a place under the sun that is rightfully ours? Definitely not..but the wings of our flight need to have the strength of our roots. Alex Haley, probably introduced us to this meaning of the word "Roots" and by now it has become quite a cliche.. we keep hearing of the European in search of his roots.. but this search is within all of us maybe in differing scales of priority.

As expatriates we all know that the best journey is always the journey home. The heart gets parched like the dessert sand over the year long wait and is only drenched in joy once the flight lands to the place of our origin..for a month we replenish stocks, get busy in buying things, refuelling our wardrobes and larders.. as we go about fulfilling our physical needs.. our inner eye is clicking away familiar landscapes now hurriedly passed by, but to be relived at leisure on the return flight.. Bitter sweet memories of Home is what we essentially carry back to see us through another year of deprivity.

Life goes on and we grow with it and follow paths that have been determined for us in an unknown script.. the strength always drawn from the reservoirs of purity and innocence of our roots. As we all know roots do not grow in a day or a year or even a few years..to live in a place and get to know it and develop a bond that is healthy and fertile takes time..most of us were lucky enough that our parents gave us that time..gave us a place to look back upon and smile..Are we doing that for our kids? are we giving them roots? In our strife towards material gains and prosperity at the shortest possible time are we sparing a thought towards the next generation.. "to look back and cherish..." a blank for them.. or a series of everlasting, nomadic journeys.. lots of mere acquaintances formed.. but no childhood friend..houses of brick and cement..but never a home to build memories on...is this our gift to our children? ..for just a few pennies more...

Arunabho - The glow of the Sun!

2009-07-12T13:37:00.001+04:00

She had always liked the name 'Aditya'. It brought images of a warrior, of a chariot blazing with the gold of sun. It was an image of an invincible, uncompromising man who was powered by the courage of truth. Who stood tall without fear in the battle of life. It was also the closest image to her childhood sketch of Karna- her favourite mythical character.

A soft and shy girl, she got married with ease to a fairly good looking boy, from a decent family. There was no sparkling fireworks that she felt on seeing him, but that was ok, she had not expected any. The boy was educated, earning well, living not far from her city. All in all good husband material, somebody who would prove to be respectful and caring towards her parents and affectionate towards her younger siblings. A far cry from her warrior of the sun, his name was Soumya, meaning gentle, mild, a steady glow. She accepted the steadiness of a candlelight to that of the blinding blaze of the sun.

Life was smooth and easy. She liked his sense of humour, his soft spoken nature. She respected his meticulous habits, his penchant for cleanliness, his warmth was infectious and genuine, he was adored by her parents and her siblings, and she started falling in love with candle lights.

They planned their future amidst coffee and excel sheets. She offered a vision and he detailed it, He built the dream and she coloured it. They lived comfortably, enjoying small pleasures. An evening spent at the beach, a movie at a multiplex, a dinner out once a month, A rocking chair for a particular corner, a lamp shade for another. He bought home flowers every week. A few years passed and the stork came visiting.

Their joy was unbriddeled. They took all the guidance offered by the elders and bought Dr. Spock's book as well. They read the pages together and marveled at the miracle of life. The morning sickness, the pigmentations, the moods were accomodated happily in the larger picture of their baby coming to life. Monthly visits to the doctor, the sound of a heart beat for the first time, the first sonography were all milestones in this journey that brought them even closer together.

As months progressed, there came the issue of naming the child. At once she said ,"Aditya". The image she had stored away came in front of her eyes full throttle. The golden chariot, the fearless and strong warrior of the sun, the power of courage, all these images filled her to the brim and she said once again,"Aditya, thats what I will name my son." "And what if we have a daughter, what will you call her then?" asked Soumya, smiling gently. She had never considered a daughter, and after these images, she didnt even want to. So she feigned tiredness and turned on her side saying,"You think about that, I will sleep for a while."

A daughter, such soft and tender emotions the word can evoke. A smaller version of the only girl he had ever loved. The same eyes, the same dimple. Soumya stayed with this magical thought throughout the night, comparing his image to every name the internet sites offered, No name did justice, it seemed to his mind's image, but his practical and steady mind plundered on. His goal was to come up with a name by dawn.

'Abha' is the name he liked the most. It seemed to convey all the qualities he felt his daughter would possess. The warm and soft halo of light that softens all rough edges. His gentle nature evoked images of a shy and soulful girl and the name went with this image perfectly. Over tea the next morning he introduced his wife to 'Abha'. It was decided then and sealed with a loving kiss of the parents who were now counting days for their image to come to life! A boy would be named Aditya and a girl would be named Abha. They kept the names to themselves and did not encourage helpful relatives to come up with names for their baby.

Finally the day dawned and Soumya drove his wife to the hospital for the delivery. Things went as per his meticulous planning and he tried to make it as comfortable for his wife as possible. He stayed with her througout the long hours of labour, wiping her forehead everytime it filled with drops of sweat, encouraging her and calming her alternatively. As the final push came into play his ears were numbed by the cry of his cherished dream and also by the shrill ring of his mobile. Years of habit made him take the call as his eyes looked at the radiant boy that was born to them.

The news on the other end was shattering, His father in law had succumbed to a major heart attack. In the labour room the doctor was cleaning his son as his wife lay drained on the bed. His mind was reeling under both the emotions. The caller on the other end was saying a name.. he didn't get it first.. again after a few seconds the caller said, "Dad had thought of a name for didi's son. he was sure she would bear a son. He wanted the child to be called, 'Arunabha'(pronounced Arunabho meaning the glow of the sun)."

The call ended and he saw himself sitting beside his wife. The bundle in their joint arms. He held them both to him and said in a steady voice, "Our son will be called Arunabha. This was what your dad wished, and we will honour that." Nothing more was required to be spoken as the enormity of the moment where she had lost one and gained another dawned on her.

Arunabha grew up to be a warrior of the sun who fought to soften the rough edges of society with his courageous fight against the system and his compassion for his fellow countrymen. He shone like the glow of the sun!

A complete work of fiction, with shades of personality traits taken from people I have known. The story developed on an idea of naming kids given to me by my friend Amrit .

Did he really take her away??

2009-07-08T15:06:00.004+04:00

There is something about being young and having a wedding in the family! The year was '92 and my cousin was getting married. The rest of us were at the threshold of ending our teens, feeling the excitement of planning our wardrobe for this wedding. Bengali weddings done in the traditional style have around four to five days of festivities. And each day requires at least two change of dresses, if not more .That in turn requires lots of sessions of ransacking various wardrobes, even the bride's!!

The older and already married cousins proved to be God's gift. They not only let us trample through their kanjeevarams, but even helped in resizing their blouses for us. There was a lot of preening in front of mirrors and taking in opinions, both wanted as well as unwanted, from various members of the family. Comments like,"Ohh!! That colour makes you look so dark!!" or some light hearted flirting from the older brother-in-laws saying," Uff!! had I seen you in that Saree before, I would have married you instead of your sister!" The week before the actual wedding day was filled with nervous tension for the bride and agonizing stress for us cousins who had yet to accessorize their sarees with jewellery!

Late nights saw the bride holding a 'Let- us- get- to- know- each- other' conversation with her husband to be, while we sat in the same room at our wit's end trying to organize our stuff. Often the groom to be, was left dangling at the other end of the std call as the bride helped us reach a decision. And it also happened that the most romantic sentence uttered by the groom went unheard and thus un-responded to, because the rest of us were squabbling about colour choices.

The excitement was palpable as the day approached. Informal sessions of songs and dances have always been a part of this family. The day before the wedding everybody gathered and sat around singing Rabindrasangeet, Bhatiali(Bangla folk songs), as well as popular Hindi numbers. The Hindi hits were supplied endlessly by the bride's best friend, who had herself been married just a month back.We danced to songs from 'shohag chaand bodoni dhoni naacho to dekhi' to 'main sasural nahin jaungi doli rakh do kaharo'. It was a family that was together, a family that loved songs and us sisters who were most uninhibited in this environment.

The wedding day arrived and saw us all trooping in to a parlour to dress our hair. It was a daunting task for the poor lady as there were 7 of us and all with highly unmanageable hair. She was still at her task when somebody hollered from outside," what are you girls up to? You've been gone since ages, and now the borjatri (baraati)has arrived and you are still dressing up??get on with it right now" looks of dismay were passed as we identified the voice to be that of our most stern brother in law, who we knew would not think twice before literally dragging us from the parlour in our various stages of undress. We finally just thanked the lady, brushed our hair and made a quick exit looking sheepish and silly.

That was '92 we were just stepping out of our teens and one amongst us was getting married. Today 17 years have passed. The rest of us have also got married. We have grown from borrowed sarees to self bought ones, from worrying about accessories to worrying about getting leave to attend weddings. The next generation has started taking their vows. Yet it seems like yesterday that she got married and we spent a teary night in our nightgowns discussing how awful it would feel to sign her name differently, to have to ask for permission to visit her own parents. It seems like yesterday that DG took her away in a white decorated car amidst a deluge of tears and the sounds of conch shell.

And today ... I am not sure where she ends and DG starts. To me they are one today and always!

PS:
This is part of my chat with her today when we accidentally discovered that both of us were writing on the same subject

sujata:

suggest a heading for my post

Aparna:

i was about to ask you to suggest a heading for mine

sujata:

yours I haven't read

you were saying 17 and still not dead

or murdered

Aparna:

mine is how i met my future husband and said yes

sujata:

think of a song

Aparna:

you think of a song

i am thinking of murder

sujata:

the song from murder

bheege hont tere

Aparna:

hahaha

pyaasa dil mera

sujata:

hahahha

more like aa dekhe zara kisme kitna hain dum

Here's wishing both of you a very happy anniversary and many many joyous years together!

Being happy and passing it on..

2009-07-04T15:59:00.002+04:00

A few days back I was going through a book by Deepak Chopra. There was a particular line by him that just drilled its way right into my brain. I am sharing it here. He was talking about relationships and how we cling on to people as well as objects at times consciously and at times unconsciously. This behaviour is obviously very irritating for the person we are clinging too..but we dont realise its doubly unhealthy and harmful to us than to whom we are clinging. The only option to live happy and fulfilled is to let go. Let go of the past, of failed relationships, of sorrows and pains, of joys that were taken away, of injustice, of love..

To remind us whenever required of how suffocating it is to cling and what a relief it is to let go, he asks us to to do this..

Take in a deep breath, filling your lungs with oxygen
Hold on to it
Don't breathe out for as long as possible
Just keep on holding on to it, it's oxygen, it's yours, it's good, why let it go..keep holding on to it
Sense what you are feeling
Now slowly exhale
let go, even if it is good, even if it is yours, let go slowly
Now sense your feelings!!

I was bowled by this simple exercise, knowing is one thing, and doing it is totally another! Do it guys..you will realise the joy of letting go!!

On that note am passing on the two awards that were given to me.

The first one was International blogger's community award from Sucharita Sarkar. Thanks Sucharita it made me feel special.

1. The person who tagged me: Sucharita Sarkar 2. Her site URL: 3. Date of Tag: 28th June 2009 4. Persons I have tagged are:
I am passing on my happiness to

Kishore, SumanDebRay, Shaye of Miller Memories, Anil, JD, and Roshni Mitra Chintalapati

The Rules for this tag are:

1. Link the person who tagged you.
2. Copy the image above, the rules and the questionnaire in this post.
3. Post this in one or all of your blogs.
4. Answer the four questions following these Rules.
5. Recruit at least seven (7) friends on your Blog Roll by sharing this with them.
6. Come back to BLoGGiSTa iNFo CoRNeR (PLEASE DO NOT CHANGE THIS LINK) at http://bloggistame.blogspot.com and leave the URL of your Post in order for you/your Blog to be added to the Master List.
7. Have Fun!

Questions & Your Answers:
1. The person who tagged you:
2. His/her site's title and url:
3. Date when you were tagged:
4. Persons you tagged:

The second award was The honest scrap award from NR. Wow!! am really happy!

This award is being passed on to

Ishita, Bluebird, Shivi, and Gymnast

I hope all of you enjoy the moment as much as I did and then promptly let it go..
Thanks for visiting. All the encouragement is truly and sincerely appreciated!

Of careless whispers and silent calls...

2009-07-02T15:05:00.006+04:00

The "making naughty eyes" remark in Aparna's post and our subsequent chat about those rocking days took me back in time. The days of winks, whistles and crank calls. We have all been through that phase, haven't we?

Dressed in midis and pumps, shampooed hair and a neat ribbon at times, saw me walk with such a spring in my steps across the road to my friend's house. Those were usually happy and carefree days full of enthusiasm and spirit, mirth and bouyancy. Just at the point where my house would be out of sight and my friend's house yet not in sight, would the most dampening encounter happen.

A persistent and irritating sound.. something like chch chch chch, which was best ignored and yet the head turned. To witness yet again a gutless romeo on a cheap bike giving the broadest wink ever...eeeeeeoww!! Not only was it a wink, there was a distinct head tilt with it, which transformed into,"chalti hai kya?" if put in words. Now this might not be very clear an image to the young generation of today. What with unlimited access to chat rooms and text messages.. but ask anyone from my generation and they will smile! Wonder what finally happened to these losers who stood patiently at the bends of the road doing their monotonous drill. A few responded to them with anger, a few even probably smiled back, and the ones like me perfected the art of acting dumb!!

The days of black telephones without caller ids. The silent calls, the random number dialling and the give away giggles, the fat directories,and the aftermath. A guessing as well as a blaming game promptly started once the silent calls came.

Phone conversation part1

Ringing phone, dad picking up, nobody speaks. After a few hellos he puts down the reciever and forgets about it. Again the phone rings, Mom picks up, again no one speaks...

Mom(with narrowed eyes):
"All this shampooing is the cause, from tommorow oil your hair and wear them in plaits!! And you will discard all those T-shirts you have, They are way to tight."

Dad with a sympathetic look towards me:
"Its just a call, maybe somebody is not getting the line, it could be anybody, leave the poor kid alone."
Mom: "You just dont get the point.. shes no longer a kid, today there are calls, tommorow those Romeos will come knocking on the door."
Me: "How is it my fault if somebody calls up and doesnt speak."

Dad:" exactly!"

again the silent call, this time mom picks up..

Mom on the phone:
"Listen whoever you are, next time you call this number I will report you. What are you doing wasting your father's money on this stupid calls? Dont you have any sense, any decency?Anything better to do with your life?"
This was just an edited version of what she said on the phone, the guy was such a loser, he actually heard the entire thing before disconnecting, dad went back to his newspaper, and I was red behind my ears trying to think which guy could it be? and what if he was the good looking bloke from my class, whom I quite fancied! shoot how will I face him again, mom is such a disaster!!

Then there were those calls from the slightly more adventurous. The guys who spoke when you picked up the call.

Phone conversation part 2

me: "hello"

caller: "Hi can we be friends?" (btw they were more courageous than the orkut stalkers mind you!!)

me ( again getting red and hot out of sheer fright): "I dont know you"
caller: "That's the whole point, I have seen you cycling to school."
me: putting the reciever down with a sinking feeling and a tipsy head.

Mom as usual standing hawk eyed behind me, waiting for the darned thing to ring again. And what have you!! It does ring again and mom plunges to pick it up.

Mom: "HELLO!!"

caller ( in a loserish makey girl's voice): "May I speak with Sujata?"

Mom(getting it instantly!): "Dont call this number again, she has no time for boys like you." replaces the reciever firmly.

Mom with narrowed eyes starts the shampoo and tshirt lecture again, with an added point about my new fangled interest in hollywood flicks. A forecast of a doomed future if I continued like this follows ..

Me looking stricken and dumb and thinking Dear god give me the guts and the sense of framing proper answers to Mom.

Hind sight makes it all funny, it was not bad even then. the days of careless whispers, whistles and black telephones. I am a bit more diplomatic than my mom was, but my eyes do tend to become hawk like when my daughter chooses a dress or insists on a particular hairstyle!

It was a phase of evolving, of judging right from wrong, of having some fun in the process, of ego boosts and shy looks, of creepy whistles and lewd gestures, of being conscious of the legs, teeth, pimples, parents, and everything in between. It was the the 1980s and it rocked!

The Annoyance tag!!

2009-06-28T16:20:00.002+04:00

This is a tag that I am picking up from blog buddy Zillionbig. Ten things that annoy me. A few posts ago I had blabbered about not being able to express anger, so it took me a while to pep myself up to write this tag, after all anger and annoyance are entirely two different things right? Here goes..

Persistent door bell in the morning. I am not at all a morning person. I like to go back to sleep immediately after I have seen the kids off to school, the hubby usually sees himself out. The morning tiffins and backpacks are organised in a zombie like state by me and the kids know that this is not the time to talk to mamma, they just get on with their acts and my younger one even says a sweet little ,"go back to sleep mamma" from his school bus. So after the house is empty and tranquil and I am peacefully dozing off for another couple of hours, I get really annoyed if the bell or the land phone rings.
Coffee not made as per my taste. I like my coffee really bitter and dark. The first thing I have after I get up is that mug of stimulant. As long as I am at home and making my own coffee the cause for annoyance does not arise, but I get annoyed when I am offered a mug of sweetened milk with a sprinkling of coffee grains by certain hosts. Its really annoying, this is a drink I relish and it just doesn't go down my throat if made milky and sweet. So usually even when I am visiting, I make my own coffee, courtesies be damned!!
Clutter. I hate clutter in my house. All the rooms have to be tidy and things that are being used have to be put back to their original places. This is a standing rule. Anyone disobeying this annoys me. I don't mind kids playing and building tents with blankets on the bedroom floor, and taking out all the barbies and making them ramp walk to whistles and claps. But when time's up, time is really up and they know the drill. Things have to get back to their places pronto!!
Sweaty shirts hanging on doors. This has been a long cause of tiffs between me and my husband. I have till date not been able to change his habit of coming back from work and hanging his shirt on the bedroom door. I fail to understand the logic behind this annoying act. It drives me insane to say the least. There is a series of pegs that have been specially drilled in the work area for this very purpose, but the bedroom door still remains the hot favourite.
Wet bathroom floors. I am finicky about bathrooms, be it my house or a hotel or anywhere else, I insist on a neat and tidy bathroom. My kids have this trait too, so they don't have to be told to tidy up the bathroom after they have used it. Doesn't take a lot. But my insistence on neat and clean toilets, annoys my husband when we are travelling. "How much time in the day are you planning to spend in there? The location of the hotel is important, not the toilet tiles for Gods sake,." But I silently stand my ground and refuse to use a washroom that's not clean and dry.
No books. Being in a situation where I have no books at my disposal to read. Not that I read everyday, but its such a bliss to have a few unread books on my night stand. I feel very uncomfortable if this is not the case.

Beyond the above points there are certain traits that I find annoying in general. I am sure I have many traits that others find extremely annoying, but am not apologising here for those, they can blog it if they want.

Selfish and petty behaviour. I have seen water being mixed into milk and offered to the elderly. This has ashamed me like nothing else. I have felt guilty of being a mute witness.
Forgetting the roots. So many people leave their home lands in search of a livelihood, I have too. But my heart still beats for India. NR Is who change their names, as well as accents, who cannot drink anything but sparkling mineral water on their trips back home, who complain about the lousy weather and the stinking poverty annoy me.
Falling in love at the drop of a hat. Every generation has such people. Its just not about today's youth. Love is possibly an ego satisfying trip for them, or they have no clue as to the meaning of.."love is not altered when it alterations find..". I have never tried to understand their psychology, they have just annoyed me with their tales of misplaced triumphs.
Inability to accept gifts with pleasure. Why do these people grow up so fast? Why cannot they understand there is a pleasure in giving gifts. Why become so rigid and say no to gifts which are an expression of love? Have never understood and will never try to.

That was it folks, a mixed bag. I pass on this tag to:

Ramesh for your impressive wit

Kishore for your way with words that impress me every time

Balachandran for your maturity and experience

Amrit for your stroke of genius

Amith for the depth of your feelings

A Slice of heaven...

2009-06-24T15:47:00.000+04:00

There is a kind of magic in the Bangla word 'mamabari' (the house of maternal grandparents). For me they conjure up images of a bygone era, filled with fun and food.

Every year during the summer holidays, I took the train from wherever I stayed to Calcutta (which was the penance part), and then from there, another overnight train took me to my 'mamabari' in Patna.

As the train slowly rumbled towards Patna Junction, I would try hard to screen the platform for the familiar figure of either one of my three mamas(maternal uncles). Being the eldest grandchild and for quite a long time, the sole grandchild of that family, I was a prized possession. Those were days of transistors and cricket commentary, and I would soon spot my mama standing with a transistor to the ear, looking at the compartment numbers passing by. Travel was by ordinary sleeper class, and hence the open window would glee fully carry my shout to him and everybody else on the platform. "Mama moni.. we are here, come on we are here, come fast, get us.."

My excitement could barely be with held as my mama walked in to the compartment and took me up in his lap, while the coolie handled the luggage and my mom asked after the well being of my grandparents. My days of paradise always thus began. Days where I was to rule, where everything would revolve around me. For every child such a place of pure indulgence is a must and I was extremely lucky to have it.

The house with its courtyard and gardens, carefully nurtured by my dadu(Grandfather), the guava tree that saw me on its branches for many an idyllic afternoon, the kitchen cabinet with its net door, hoards of pickles and chutneys, specially made by Didima(Grandma), the beds that I jumped on, the cats that I befriended , were all symbols of love and being wanted. That house and everybody there made me come alive with joy each summer holiday.

Mornings. I would sit in front of my dadu's bicycle and go shopping for the days fish and vegetables. It felt great to be asked, "what fish would you like to have for lunch today?" On return from the market, I would sit on Dadu's lap and would have a breakfast of luchi torkari(puris/Indian bread and sabji/vegetable) followed by kalojaam(Gulabjamun/Indian sweet). Pure bliss. More so because mom was always busy with my mashis(maternal aunts)and hence she did not scrutinize my plate at any of the meal times. Didima always came with a spoonful of sugar by the time I had reached my last luchi, the timing was always right, I wonder now how she managed?

Till the time for my bath I was free to do as I please. Most days I would play with my youngest mama who was still in high school then. Games included carrom, ludo, marbles and scrabble. This was followed by Didima coming to get me for my bath. The most exciting part of the day - as there was not just one but a series of bathrooms and all outside the main house. The bathrooms and the toilets stood in a line at the backyard of the house. Sitting on a pidi(a flat low stool), in the sun, I would be rubbed with oil and my hair would be brushed off its tangles. This time of the day, when I had my Didima to me was a precious time. I can still see her like she was then. So beautiful in her white and red bordered saree, her head always covered, her eyes always full of love and the the enchanting smell of pan and zarda that surrounded her. She always had a story on her lips.

The Lunch was always a lavish affair. I along with my Dadu and my three mamas sat at the dining table in the kitchen. I still remember in every detail, how the food was served. Big shining plates would be laid in front of us, with a perfect mound of rice very neatly placed. There would be a little ghee and always a bit of crunchy 'neem begun'( a bitter appetizer). This was followed by a dal and a bhaja(some vegetable, usually poatato, or bringal deep fried), and then the torkari(vegetable cooked in a gravy) and the maach(fish), ending with chatni(chutney) and doi(youghurt). Those were days when nobody seemed concerned about heart problems and weight gain. The amount of physical activity that was done ensured a fit and healthy body.

An image that I cherish even today, is that of sleeping with my Didima on her four poster bed, under a wheezing ceiling fan. She, telling me mythological stories and her fingers caressing my hair and soothing me to a peaceful sleep. The days, now are so fraught with unnecessary tensions and complexities that most nights I lie awake for no particular reason, feeling tired and drained and yet devoid of slumber, it is at such times, that I go to my childhood days on that bed with my Didima, and the memory of that simple room, so full of warmth and love, lulls me to sleep.

The house that once was so full of fun and joy, has over the years lost its occupants one by one to the greater world. My mamas are now settled in different cities in and outside India, with grown up kids of their own. My mashis, likewise have gone away with their husbands. Dadu has long back left us on his solitary journey. The only person who remains as the custodian of my childhood paradise is my Didima. She is bent with age and can hardly see properly, but the unmistakable beauty and love in those eyes still bring a sense of peace to me like nothing else can.

We all need a disciplined upbringing to fit in society, But the indulgence of a mamabari is what makes us each a king!!

Personal demons..

2009-06-20T14:20:00.002+04:00

A lot of things happened over the last two weeks. Shiney Ahuja (My personal Greek God) raped his maid(I cannot get over this, really!!). India could not even enter the T20 semis. Obama swatted a fly. A lot of people, I personally know, were retrenched in Muscat. Summer vacations officially started in schools. And amidst all this fervent activity, I woke up one morning to find a painful lump in my body. Needless to say all the other attention grabbing headlines just dwindled like an inward spiral through my mind and the lump occupied pride of place.

It was too early to speak out. Early, because I had yet to consult my personal genii.."Google" regarding this, and only then, armoured with a diagnosis as well as a prognosis would I open my mouth. So gently feeling the lump, and taking deep breaths to help evade the panic attacks, I made the morning breakfast.

As soon as I had my escape, I went to the computer, got to the Google screen and typed in as key words - " lump, painful, red" within a fraction of a second, the screen was flooded with sites talking about various cancers. There were listings on cysts and abscesses too, but I gave no importance to those. Cancer is an obsessive word for me and this time I actually had a lump to show for all my fears. further detailed keywords gave further remorseless verdicts.

My condition cannot be explained in words. It will suffice to say that I started hyperventilating. Every few minutes I went to the mirror to check out further aggravation, came back to google some more, went completely into hibernation with the kid's albums and shed a few lonely tears as well. The one friend with whom I could have talked about it was out of town and my cousin was fighting her own demons.

Not a bite went down my throat. Evening saw me headed towards my doctor's chambers. Hubby alongside, absolutely insignificant. What did he know of cancer? All his family ever had was high cholesterol! My family was a different story altogether, name a cancer and we got it!! Finally my name was called and the pleasant smile on the doctor's face was not returned by me. Did not even wish her a good evening. Just plonked myself in front of her and rattled it all. Interspersing every few words with the word Cancer. My voice breaking, my palms sweaty and my mind dizzy with anxiety.

The doctor examined me and smiled. "Its nothing to worry about," she said. "Its just a sub cutaneous abscess". Saying this she patted me and prescribed antibiotics for a week. My husband immediately gave me a look that was supposed to make me feel guilty of having dragged him to the clinic from the all important office, just for a prescription of antibiotics. I returned the look with a smile that said.. nothings been cured yet!!

I did take the antibiotics, researched on abscesses till the wee hours of the dawn, tried to make a connection between cancer and abscess. The stress levels continued to soar, as the antibiotics failed to show any effect on the lump. It grew and the pain increased and a lot of other things including my psyche got hampered.

Four days passed and I was again at the clinic, with a morbid thud in my chest and a reeling brain, I entered the doctor's chamber and insisted on a scan. Again was met by an indulgent smile and another examination. "It just needs to be incised and drained, the antibiotics are not working , so better get it incised, I will refer a surgeon." I almost choked saying, "Please don't hide from me, tell me , it is cancer isn't it?" " No it isn't try not to fret ok." smiled the doctor. The surgeon was referred. The hubby opened his cell to see available dates, I said, "Today, I don't care if the president of the company sacks you for not being available, I have to get it done today." He knew, further discussion was pointless.

Evening came and I was in front of the surgeon, insisting on not going back until the lump was out. Things happened at a fairly fast rate from then, the husband tinkering with his cell, the kids asking whether I will be back alive, the nurses carrying out regulatory tests, the anaesthesist asking for allergies and false tooth. I, grabbing hold of the surgeon and insisting on a biopsy. The surgeon just smiling.

Finally at 9:00 pm I was in the OT. Before passing out the last conversation I had was about cancer and with the anaesthesist. When I regained my sense, I saw just about 15 minutes had passed, and I was drowsy as hell and was being shifted from a stretcher to a bed in the recovery room. The surgeon called my name and the only thing I could say was, "Do a biopsy!"

At 12:30 am that night I came back home. Son was offering to be a very good boy, the daughter was asking whether it hurt, I was being fed chips by one and muffins by the other. My heart was deliriously happy. For the moment I was cured of my nightmare, For the moment I was healthy and devoid of cancer, It was just an abscess after all. The dressings continued and the reports came in giving me a clean chit. Both me and my cousin had won our demons for the time being. we breathed easy till another day when another demon strikes. We got back to joking at our gene pool, and we got back to blogging. We got back to life!!

I know, many of you might not be able to empathise with this write up. But believe me, if the gene pool is the kind I have, fear becomes second nature!

How do you express ANGER??

2009-06-16T14:32:00.003+04:00

"Don't you get angry?" Many a times I have been asked this by many a people I have known. Of course I get angry, I mean who doesn't? I am sure even Shri Shri Ravi Shankar of AoL does get angry sometimes. In my case what confounds people is my lack of expression. I cannot for God knows what dumbfounded reason express my anger. I cannot shout or yell or scream or rant, rave, hit..nothing. All I can do is clam up!

At times I would so like to go and have a good fight. A proper battle of words where all the venom is spewed out. But nothing of that sort happens. What happens is withdrawal from the issue. If a thing or action is making me angry, I can easily withdraw from that place or situation. If the source of anger is closer home, then I just silently stand my ground. Do my daily grind and retire with a somewhat heavy and cluttered heart. But come what may I cannot express my anger in words. Neither can I fight. Hubby feels like he is fighting with a wall, my cousin feels its a 'single child syndrome'. my mom says, "shes the silent kinds", my kids just love this part of me and I just keep trying to put my anger into proper words!!

Anger is a strange emotion for me, I cannot hold on to it for more than a few hours at the most. It just melts away. At times when provoked into a fight, I cannot remember the points that would give me the upper hand, so I stall for thoughts and words and its a miserable situation. A vivid imagination makes me see myself penning my anger and handing out chits in response to a verbal duel..that makes me laugh and I forget the anger.Yes, very strange but very true.

Then again I think what if I had a similar problem expressing my joy, my love, my praise. what then? What if I was inhibited in saying I love you? What if I stalled for words when i had to cheer up my closest friend? and had to write chits to comfort my kids? what then? Its just anger..so be it!! I can deal with that.

Would like to know though what kind of anger expressions do you all have?

The hands that rise in prayer..

2009-06-10T17:06:00.002+04:00

A few months back we got a new neighbour. A Syrian couple with two cute boys. They settled down quietly in the flat adjoining ours. The kids of the apartment did try to pull the new boys in to their games, but did not succeed. The boys always smiled but refused to play, remaining watchful and distant. Kids being what they are soon forgot about the two boys who always held their beautiful mother's hands and stood watching the games.

I, being a bit introverted, in person, did not reach out either. I stood at times talking and laughing with the other moms, watching the boys at their games, and she stood as well. So beautiful, so regal, so distant, a few feet away from me. Neither taking the initial step to bridge the gap.

One particular evening I decided to go ahead and talk to her. While we stood in our regular group and chatted, I saw her come quietly and take her usual place in the compound of the apartment, her two boys by her side. I excused myself from my group and went to her. Her beauty, that so far I had admired only from a distance, made me gasp. I am used to the Arabian beauties, but this lady had an unmistakable aura about her. We shook hands and introduced our selves. She politely introduced her boys to me. Beyond that she did not speak nor enquire about anything. I welcomed her to come and join the group telling her that her English was perfect and she would not face a communication problem. It was then that she looked at me with eyes that spelt a million sorrows. Those limpid pools of grey blue eyes seemed to communicate poignancy that did not require any language skill to be understood.

I literally took a step back, Looked at her again. She was still there. But now she was composed and regal once again. The momentary lift of her veil had come down to hide her sorrows from probing eyes. I did not probe further. I came back to my place and did a lot of trivial things, but all through the evening her eyes stayed with me.

Later that night the watchman of our apartment came to collect his wages. On opening the door to him, he said," Madam your neighbour is beating his wife again. Can you hear her cry? See there, again..can you hear him shout?" From the hallway of the apartment the anguished cries for mercy came distinctly to my ears, and so did the sounds of harsh, loud and painful blows. The pain in those eyes, the defeat of spirit and the bonded existence became clear to me. At that moment I desperately wanted to reach out to her, and in that same moment I also realised her staunch need for privacy. The thin veil of pride that she wore each evening would come crumbling down, by my intervention. I let her pride remain, and closed my door. I looked at my husband and kids, and felt the anguish in the adjacent house separated by a lone wall and a society that permits a man to beat his woman without shame, without guilt and without repentance. The hands that rise in prayer 5 times each day also rise to beat another human being, a mother, a wife.

I also realised, maybe for the first time, the sheer physical power a man has, and felt thankful that the men I know have never been tempted to use it in this way.