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Saturday 20 June 2015

Masks

Sometimes we find ourselves wondering why we are not understood. Sometimes it becomes a taboo. Yet we are people following our heart. And we are bound to do different things.

You know me and you know me not,
The masks I wear are just a sham,
Can you really look beyond?

I am not cool, not calm,
I am not outrageous, nincompoop,
I am not profoundly sublime,
I am not restless or subdued.
I am a bit of it all and more.
But most of all I'm misunderstood.

And I do care, I care that you knew,
I do care, I wish you to know,
I wish that my care for you,
Will be reflected in your view,
I wish you knew, I wish I do,
I am not just what you see,
I am much more, there is more to me.

Sham one moment, one moment true,
My masks are as thick as I may wish,
Yet what do you care, what mask I wear?
I care for you, does that not mean?
My "care" is not a mask for sure,
Why do you want to know much more?

What is your doubt? That I don't conform?
I don't do things the way you do?
What is it that bothers you?
You do defy sometimes, I do too.
My defiance is not the same as yours.
I blunder, badger, harry, irk,
So do you, but for other things.

So who judges who defies better?
Who blunders better or irks supreme?
Who judges please tell me who?
I care not how you perceive,
I care for you to judge me not.
You need to know, I care only for your care,
I do not bother with your quirk.




Wednesday 17 June 2015

Pinafore or T-Shirt!

Coming back from her school, just one week after her new school started, my daughter announced, "Mamma, tomorrow we have to wear colour dress to school."

I checked the diary, there was no mention of it and I gathered from her classmate's moms, that other kids did not know anything about this. Prisha must have misunderstood some conversation in class. But try as I might, to find this out, she was only becoming more defensive about it. 

Prisha's new school is too finicky about uniform, I would be surprised if they made such an abrupt announcement regarding dress code, this early in the session, without a written communication to parents. And that too for six year olds.

We did not choose her school for the uniform after all. We chose it because, this is one of the few schools in our city, which does not have exams for children till fifth standard and focuses more on character building than on academics in the early years. Uniform came in the package. Just like us, Prisha accepted it as a small compromise for an otherwise good opportunity. 

I had the option to simply ignore her and to tell her to wear her uniform. But I realised that, up until now, in preschool, Prisha always wore what she wanted to. I would never stop her, unless she wanted to wear a wet T-shirt to school, I could not influence her choices now, just because her school prescribed uniforms. She needs to discover it for herself, and take her own decisions. 

I could have asked help from other moms too. They would be more than willing to find out, what the misinformation was all about. I refrained... Prisha has been right most of the time, when she brought these important messages home from school. She is quite responsible in this matter. Is there any need for me to now doubt her and ask others for help? Is there no way to figure this out in a different way? I kept asking myself.

I could see this was my opportunity to do something different. I decided that, whatever it takes, I will let Prisha do what she believes is right, but I had another concern, what if her teacher did not understand and said something that might hurt her or worse break her confidence? With all that in mind,we went to sleep. 

The next day was Wednesday. The day when children wear sports uniform in Prisha's School. In the morning, as I prepared Prisha's lunchboxes I was still unsure of whether I was doing the right thing. I woke her up and put up her regular sports uniform in the bathroom, to see if she still remembered. She did, "Colour clothes today Mamma" she announced.

This was it, she had made her choice. 

"you can wear whatever you want Prisha, just make sure that, if someone says, you were wrong, don't get hurt, we all make mistakes" I said, 

That sowed a seed doubt in her, though that was not the objective, "Mamma, why don't you call my teacher and ask?" She asked.

"I don't have her number" I responded very matter-of-factly.

Prisha suggested further, "What about my friend's mom, ask her."

And now was my chance, "But Prisha, your friend's mom would know whatever your friend said to her, why should I trust your friend more than you?" I asked quite casually.

The smile on her face was enough to tell me, that the rest did not matter. She was thinking, she understood this was going to be her decision. 

She was doubtful now. I asked her to recall the exact conversation regarding colour clothes, which took place the previous day, in the class, I knew the clue was there. Wednesday is for house colours in her school. There may have been a conversation on "House Colour Dress" Like most schools Prisha's school has 4 houses with 4 different colour shirts. Prisha was now in doubt if that was indeed the case. She decided to wear her Wednesday uniform, 

Overwhelmed with the experience, and satisfied with the way our conversation went, I was happy that her new school uniform played some constructive role in my daughter's life, other than being just a garb. I know that today, I have taught her to be a more attentive listener and a better decision maker. It is not my job as a parent, to make sure that my daughter is right all the time, it is my job to tell her what is right, when she errs. It is for her to right her wrong.


Tuesday 16 June 2015

Jaunt

My jaunt is here, else I am naught,
A speck in the universe barely noticed,
Some warmth, energy that I emit,
The flesh is just for the time being,

If this is worthwhile, I do not question,
I could be simply what I really am,
Feed flesh to flesh, animal or plant,
Feel the un-felt, touch, hurt and loss.

One lets go the other goes on,
Till it is time to let go, to make way,
But the speck that one is, remains,
A spot of energy in the endless domain.

The jaunt is for peace, or to break it off?
The fire in me is undying, self satisfied,
I have no need for endless spearing for food,
I can just give up and get loose

The jaunt is for purpose, or none?
I had no path, no plan, no charted goal,
I just loomed in the nothingness and then alas,
The passion, the hunger, the craving, the pain

The jaunt of pain, of craving, of caving,
Of defying, defending, destructing, devouring,
Of needing, neglecting and not having enough,
Of wanting, of asking and then reducing to naught.

Wednesday 10 June 2015

Just in Case

Just in case I forget,
I will leave a note in my desk drawer,
Just in case I don't see it there,
I will leave a reminder on my phone,
Just in case the phone dies down,
I will keep a note in my purse too,
In case I err and throw that away,
I will put a note on my fridge door,
Just in case I fail to see it,
I will put one on my mirror too.

Probably the task is worth forgetting,
Why take the trouble, just forget it,
But try as I may I cannot now,
It is etched deep in my mind.
Just in case I do not forget,
I will go complete the task.
But just in case I do forget,
I will be glad to do that too.

Days go by just mulling over,
What I did... what I did not,
I am beginning to wonder: why I am?
Is it to complete unfinished tasks?
Most important tasks, I do not defer,
I breathe, I eat, I sleep enough too,
Yet each breath comes, with the thought,
Some unfinished task will raise its head,
And chase me on to, God knows what.

Skeletons hanging in my cupboard,
Those cans of worms,
The corpses lying in my fridge,
Dust under my carpet,
Unanswered calls,
A broken tap,
Old cells and phones,
Broken toys, old under size clothes,
The camera roll, not developed for 10 years,
Pile of papers that came by mail,
A wall waiting for a classic art,
Few broken curtain clips to replace,
The chimney filter that leaks oil,
Loose saucepan handles, some even missing,
Non stick pans to be replaced,
Missing, rice, sugar, salt or spices,
Vegetables bought but never cooked,
A pack of sushi rice, never used,
Some door hinges, paints on the wall,
Some broken tiles,
Even flower pots keep breaking off,
The gazebo curtain all in shreds,
The fan which sing crazy song, when regulated at 2 or 3,
And at 5 it just blows the house off,
The drawers that need to be cleaned often,
The missing keys, The loft that is full.

The list goes on, it is endless.
The gift of breath from mother nature,
We have plans to fill each one,
With this and that and more and more,
We make and break and break and make,
And then one day we bequeath it all,
And leave the world to others who breathe.
Just the same, breaking and mending.

We mend the break, that is what we are,
We break and mend and mend and break,
We don't hunt any more. We don't wage any wars,
We get what we want and we mostly want what we get,
That is how the river flows,
The river of life is captured in,
The "To Do List" that goes on and on.









Wednesday 27 May 2015

Problem Child

Early Years

Anuradha was in college when I met her first. She was fair complexioned, had big honest eyes on her broad face. Her long hair was straight, luxurious and vibrant. She was reasonably tall with a full and graceful posture, which results from learning classical dance early in life. Anuradha had learnt Kathak since she was seven. She was good at it, but she was not exceedingly proud of her achievement. Anuradha enjoyed trying new hair styles and her hair did justice to all styles, whether it was the beehive or a bouffant, a french knot or a simple braiding. She loved the latest fashion and the latest style in heels. Whatever her taste in fashion may suggest, as a person she was quiet and reserved, mostly keeping to herself. I always felt that there was too much contradiction in her personality. But her quiet reserved nature made her a perfect material for a happily married life, after an arranged marriage. And she did.

I on the other hand with my boy cut hair and a tall but lean frame, was quite a tom boy in those days. My Family said that my deep set eyes were a result of my over ambition to achieve more than what was due to me in life. They were sure that soon I would also submit to the obvious worldly choices and become "normal".

Anuradha and I took a liking to each other almost instantly. We shared the hostel room. Anuradha often commented to me, "Astha you can dress up too, no one stops you!" Not that I did not enjoy dressing up, I was just not bothered with it, most of the time. On some days we did dress up in our best outfits and went out to watch movies, in the nearby theatre. And with Anuradha's help, I did a decent job of dressing up too.

Even in those days, I always felt that Anuradha had a zest for life, which she hid behind her fear for the unknown. She took only safe decisions, but was quite capable of doing just anything she wished to do. Isn't it true of a lot of us? For example, she befriended me, a tomboy and a complete misfit in her group of friends. And I know what she enjoyed most, in my company. The risk taking. She just convinced herself that she was doing it for me, but she enjoyed every bit of the escapade and in many instances she was the one who overtly suggested it. For example when we went out of the hostel secretly, without telling the warden, for a movie. It was Anuradha's impression on the warden, of being the quiet reserved do gooder, that saved us from the worst, but no one ever knew that the whole thing was her idea, to begin with.

Sitting in the history lecture that morning, she said that she would love to run away that evening, to watch her favourite hero in the much awaited movie, which was running in the theatre. But it ends after curfew time and she wouldn't dare break hostel rules. So when I took her out of the hostel, under false pretext and we both took an auto to the movie theatre, she was not in the least surprised. It felt like I was the puppet playing in her hands.

I on the other hand was quite outright. I knew exactly what I wanted and I was working towards my goal. I was more or less Anuradha's alter ego. While she dreamed and yet dared not hope for the dream to come true, I would struggle through my whole life to get just what I wanted.

It was not a time when women were expected to have opinion, or to be better than their husbands. Women were taught methodically, to remain in an inferior position from their husbands, in order for them to enjoy matrimonial bliss and have a 'live happily ever after' experience with their prince charming. It did not matter if such restraint made them a little low in health, for they were partially living a lie. That was even better, because then they got more attention from their husbands.

Anuradha's goal in college was to complete her graduation, in order for her parents to find a suitable match for her. And it was fine, because that was also the goal of most of my class mates. We went to a Women's college and most of the girls I knew, would either want to be a school teacher or a home maker. I on the other hand was aspiring to be a lawyer and I was quite sure that marriage and children would take a back seat in my life. Not because it is unimportant, but because of what comes with it.

Anuradha's Marriage

Soon, time came for us to part as roommates, but we were the closest friends by now and wowed to be in touch. And we did. Anuradha got married to a wonderful man even before the graduation results were announced. She was on her honeymoon with Ravi, when the results came and she had passed with distinction in two of her papers. She was really good at history. She had prospects! But when I called to tell her, after she returned from her honeymoon, she was gushing with stories of her experience in Kashmir, with her husband. She was happy to have done well in graduation. But that was it. I did not think of reminding her about further studies. She was so devoted towards her husband. She had already assumed the role of a care giver to him. She cut the call shortly, telling me that she had lots of housework. There is so much to clean. Cleaning remained Anuradha's passion from that time on. I wondered why, till I visited her a few months later.

Anuradha lived with a mother-in-law, who was a fantastic cook. She was also an iron lady, not easily adjusting to new thoughts and ideas. Mothers-in-law played a special role in Indian families in the past, when girls got married in their early teens. They were just in the age of learning the mannerism of the world and the training came from the mother-in-law, not from the mother. How to cook, what to cook each day, how to receive guests at home, who got what respect in the family and even what opinions to make, were things that mother-in-law taught to the young bride. Times had changed since. Girls were marrying in their twenties. Parents ensured that they were reasonably good cooks and housekeepers when they married. Mothers-in-law were now facing the challenging role of getting not just a daughter-in-law into their homes and lives, but also letting another culture to enter their homes. There were cultural clashes, which went unresolved because of the sensitivity of the relationship. No one really opened up and discussed any issue. Everyone was expected to know certain things. And if they did not, that became a cause of unspoken contention.

Anuradha very quickly figured that she would not make a huge impact by competing with her mother-in-law as a cook. Having lived in the hostel from a young age, she was kept bereft of fine culinary skill, which her Mother might have instilled in her. But cleanliness was not the hallmark in her marital home. Anuradha on the other hand had a knack for cleaning. Her cleaning skill instantly got her a recognition in her marital home and she was bent upon becoming better and better at it. Her prospects as palaeontologist or a professor of history could be ignored for now... For ever...

My friend Aunradha, She would vigorously take notes in the history class and lecture me on why and how she felt freedom struggle of India was an unfinished business; which is the next renaissance in the making; what does unearthing of the past do the the modern culture as a whole... Anuradha now was a home maker. A lover for sure, for she loved her husband truly and from the core of her heart. Though she might never know how to express it in words, she would do so through her duties towards him, of cooking and cleaning and of making life comfortable for him. She would not demand much from him, unless she felt she had earned it in some way. A chaste Indian woman, that is all Anuradha ever wanted to be. I reasoned that this was her goal and therefore I should feel happy that she achieved it.

Arth for Anuradha

This was a few years after her marriage. I was not home when the call came. My mother told me that Anuradha was brimming with excitement when she called to tell me that she would soon become a mother. I could not miss tears in my mother's eyes, as she gave me the news. I had been busy pursuing my career and so had not yet married. In some ways I was afraid of the limitations that marriage brought in a woman's life. As if the coloured bangles and clothes worn after marriage, were the furthest I could get to filling colours in my life. I wanted them for real. Not just in my attire!

I immediately called Anuradha to congratulate her. I could feel that she was in tears too. Tears of joy but also of an unknown fear. I knew that fear all too well. I had felt it, when I had refused to marry the rich businessman's son, because I felt that would be the end of me as Astha. There were bitter exchanges at home and my Mother went to the extent of saying that, I would be left alone in the world, while all my friends moved on with their lives. I had felt that fear. Fear of unknown, to which my choices were leading me. I wanted to be a mother too, I wanted to love and be loved too. But not for better future, only for the sake of love. I was beginning to learn that I was asking for too much.

Soon Anuradha delivered a healthy baby boy. I had taken leave from work to be with her at that time. She was fast becoming my alter ego. I could not bear to be torn away from the coziness of her life for too long. Even though I was sure of what I wanted. I loved to be part of her paradise time to time. Just see it from a distance. Anuradha and Ravi were filled with deepest joy at the sight of their baby. Her Mother-in-law looked overwhelmed to see her first grand child and was just as much emotionally moved with the event. And for the first time, I was beginning to build a different kind of respect for her. She was after all a mother too. She must have had so many different qualities, which she may have suppressed, to be the great cook, just for her family! I quietly walked out of the hospital room, to wipe my eyes, it felt moist suddenly. I let the family share the joyful moment. I felt, a profound happiness had enveloped the entire family at that moment.

They named him Arth, because Anuradha felt he brought a meaning in their lives. I felt that was so ironical. For Anuradha had never even glanced at the meaning that she was capable of bringing in her own life. She had devoted it all to just get Arth in her life, up until now. And now she was going to devote it all to Arth.

I would have married Madhav at about that time. I would... I knew him from childhood. We were neighbours and close friends. I don't know if I fell in love with him before or after he proposed to me. I felt that he is the only one who understood me and would let me be. But just before I could say "yes", he had put a condition. He wanted me to take care of his widowed mother. He wanted me to know that he expected it of me after we married. Didn't he know me well enough? Wasn't that understood? I wondered why his proposal was beginning to sound so contract like! I probably told him that, "I would take care of your mother even if I did not marry you. But I was not ready for marriage. Maybe later." Madhav waited. He really did. In fact he never married. Maybe he only partially understood me. Maybe I made a mistake in judging him. "Mati-Ka-Madhav", I used to call him jokingly. Is it possible he was indeed a bit of that?

I did care for his mother till her last day. We were neighbours and Madhav had a traveling job. She truly appreciated my presence in her life. She hoped that someday, Madhav would marry and his wife would take care of her. But it never happened. I wonder if I would have cared for her the same as I did, if I had married Madhav. I wounder if she would have appreciated me the same as she did, if I was her daughter-in-law.

Anuradha doted on her new born. She devoted all her time and energy on the little child and was always only talking about it. Her mother-in-law had now also become her mentor for the very first time, sharing tips and tricks of bringing up a child. And therefore the daily tussle between the two of them had become a lot more bearable for Anuradha. Her husband was becoming busier in his work and therefore she happily took the responsibility of her child's education and upbringing. Arth was a perfect child any parent could have. Intelligent, curious, confident and courteous. As he began to grow, he became his mother's pride. And I his god mother, truly enjoyed his company, sharing stories and silly games whenever I happened to visit them. This was not very frequent, since I was getting busier in my work, but it was always a treat.

Making of the Problem Child

One thing that I truly appreciated about Anuradha was that, she valued her choices and I never heard her complain about anything in her life. She would find a solution for just everything. Including her penchant for cleanliness, as an answer to her mother-in-law's cooking skills.

If it is not our own problems that shake us apart, then there are others, close to us, who may add their's to the pool, in order to make life a little more of a challenge. In Anuradha's case it was her sister Aradhana. Anuradha was too attached to her sister, to find any faults with her. But her sister was a different person. In her marital home she took problems of her extended family and made it her own, in order to get accepted by them. Her technique may have got her instant acceptance in the family, but in no way did it make her happy. Anuradha wanted to make Aradhana happy and she did so in every opportunity she got. Maybe she should have known that when we try to right other people's wrong, we get drawn into it.

Aradhana was just a year older to Anuradha. Much the same as her in most ways, full of contradictions. She was a wonderful artiste and could make beautiful paintings. But ever since she got married, she could not devote any time to her hobby. In fact she had no time for herself and even for her husband. She was so drawn into her extended family. Probably she was profoundly unhappy that she left her prospects of a successful career in art, in order to be just a wife. But not even once had she really asked for a career. She had just submitted to her parent's decisions as it came.

I had seen Anuradha deal with all her problem with no complaints at all. But when it came to her sister, I did not know how to console her. Neither did I feel the desire to. For I knew in a way it was her sister's wrong choices. Anuradha would never do it to herself.

Tara comes in Arth's Life

When Anuradha's son Arth got his first job, he brought two news home. And the second one, the girl he would marry sent Anuradha into a period of quiet, as she tried to accept her son's choice. She would not admit, even to me, that she would have preferred it differently. But I could feel it. I saw her come out of it too. Tara became part of Anuradha's family, a girl zesty and charming and a match to her son in every way. To an onlooker, Anuradha should have had nothing to complain about. But probably it was the knowledge that her son was keeping a secret from her for so long, he was seeing Tara for six years. Or probably the fear of losing her son to a perfect stranger! Tara, was intelligent and knew how to keep her distance. This made Anuradha curious about her, but there was no way she could learn a lot about her, besides letting time flow in its own course and to hope to know her better someday. And because of all this, Anuradha was left to be only a helpless spectator now, in her son's life. Unlike the time when she would boast about the number of hours her son put in at study, to make it through the competitions. She knew what her son liked to eat, when he studied, what were his hobbies and she knew for sure that her son would be really really successful. She also knew that she would be proud of him all her life. What she did not anticipate was that, one day all that would come with Arth's final independence. And that she would know less and less about the little things that mattered to him, as he grew up.

As she became the Mother-in-law herself, Anuradha for the first time may have felt what it means to be separated from someone so close. Her decisions were no more final in her son's life. On the other hand Arth did not control Tara. She would surprise Arth by planning a trip over the weekend, or she would just go out alone on a road trip. Cooking did not interest her a lot and housekeeping was a role shared by both. She could make last minute plan to go out for dinner. She could read at the breakfast table. Not reading during meals was a discipline in the house, Arth would never break. To an onlooker this is perfectly fine. But then did Tara ever confide in Anuradha? Did she try to befriend the mother of her husband? I don't know if she tried and gave up or if she felt it would take time for her to be accepted in the family or if Tara just did not feel it necessary at all. I truly adored Tara for what she was and what she had accomplished. I knew that if it was possible in my days, I would be Tara. I also knew that Anuradha was dealing with a loss, which was inevitable, no matter what the circumstances. So I remained a mute spectator, not taking sides.

With time I also saw a sensitive but cordial relationship grow between Anuradha and Tara. Tara had a way of doing things around the house, she did not much care if she was better or worse than her mother-in-law. But then she was not living with Anuradha. She and Arth were living in a different city. But they kept visiting Anuradha and Ravi. I saw how those little things that Tara did, affected Anuradha, like asking Arth to help in the kitchen, demanding why garbage was not taken out, refusing to make a cup of tea when Arth asked for it. I knew somewhere Anuradha was saying to herself, does she really love my son? But then Anuradha had learnt that it was best to be quiet. That is what nurtures relationships.

Soon Anuradha became a grandmother too. I could not forget how I had watched Anuradha's mother-in-law hold Arth in her arms for the first time. That moment of complete acceptance of the son's new life, I could not miss it this time either.

Aradhana's Problems

I felt Anuradha and Ravi had made it through the blissful river of life that flows and ebbs, but never stops or weakens. And all this while I knew how well they had done it, through their own choices. So it came as a surprise to me when I met Anuradha in one of my flying visits, to see her torn up with worries and with furrows on her forehead. She was tense and she was looking unhappy, probably for the first time in her life. I asked her what the problem was, but she changed the subject. I feared it had to do with her sister. I cautioned her that this was her life and her choices. She deserved to be happy after all that she had done in her life.

Being happy is an art. Sometimes when we are through with our own worries, we start worrying for others. Because of our love and affection for them. Truth is, we cannot find solution for others. Either people have sorted their problems or they have made it into a bait, to seek affection from those who try to sort theirs.

Anuradha had no reason to believe that her sister had been dealt a bad hand by life. Aradhana was married to an accomplished and handsome man with a strong family background. He was also someone who respected and cared for Aradhana. In their times a perfect marriage. For whatever be the reason, she chose to be the care giver of sort, to his extended family. She was respected by the extended family for what she had done for them. Though she never got the attention of her mother-in-law, for which she was pining. Maybe she was the only one who understood Aradhana's real ploy. But after her mother-in-law passed away, she did become the most important person in the family. Consulted in every single family matter and respected by all. But to get this, Aradhana neglected her own children, a daughter and a son. Lot of people give up their dreams to achieve happiness in their children's lives. Anuradha did, but not her sister. She was too caught up with that coveted place in the extended family. In that her sister was no different from me. A career woman... But we never see home makers as career women. It is a mistake...

Soon Aradhana's own family began to disintegrate due to absence of mother from home for long periods of time, when she was away tending to family matters in the extended family. And I was not very surprised to hear that. I thought Anuradha also would be wise enough to understand and help her sister out of it, without taking any of it to heart. But I was surprised to see Anuradha getting entangled into her sister's family problems. She was heartbroken when her niece, her sister's daughter arrived at home one day, married to the son of the neighbourhood shop owner. Not such a bad match if you think of it. The boy was a graduate and as the only son, had an undisputed claim to the shop. But her sister chose to refuse to accept the marriage. The daughter was left to fend for her life alone from there on.

Not much longer from then, the daughter, started getting into frequent quarrels with her husband over petty matters, which kept getting worse. After one such quarrel, she left her home late in the night and was found sitting at the gate of her mother's home, in the morning. Mentally shaken and completely heartbroken to the core. This became a source of constant pain for Anuradha. No one ever analysed the circumstances that led to this break down of the girl. No one ever tried to talk to her husband and reconcile the marriage. No one asked the girl what she wanted. She was just taken in as a mentally ill daughter, to be tended to.

Aradhana's younger son started keeping distance from home, as the family would not allow him to make any suggestions in the matter relating to his sister. He moved abroad and married a person of foreign origin. He sent his marriage photographs and asked his parents if he should send tickets to them, so they could come visit. Aradhana said she wanted some time to think and never really came to deciding on the matter. She had enough respect in the extended family to wade her through the hard times. And sometimes this sort of things bring more respect too the apparent sufferer. Others see it as God's unfairness towards a selfless soul.

On the other hand, Anuradha who felt life had been kinder on her and not her sister, began to worry endlessly about the sister. Every problem that her sister faced, Anuradha felt it a lot more. And I was helpless. Because if it was her problem, I would know what to say to her. But this was her sister. It soon started to become clear to me that she was adopting a problem child, when there was no need for it.

Tara and Anuradha stuck a fairly good chord over time, till the time Anuradha was still living her life and her worries. But in one of my visits I witnessed something that brought reality striking at my face. This was the time when Anuradha was completely obsessed with her sister's worries, her derelict niece and estranged nephew. I was sitting at the table reading a book in the morning and I am sure I saw it. Tara was coming out of her room and then she saw Anuradha coming that way, looking for something and she literally ducked behind the door. She did not notice me. It was just a chance that I saw it. I had looked up to say something to Anuradha and it was just that second. But I am sure of what I saw. Tara was avoiding Anuradha. She looked almost afraid of her. And why not, I reasoned. Off late if there was anything Anuradha ever talked of, it was her sister's worries. A son who did not call the parents to the wedding and a daughter who was jilted in marriage and was now mentally unwell. Anuradha's problem child was ruining the paradise that she had built out of her own intelligence, dedication and sacrifice.

I realised I was also becoming alienated with Anuradha, because I fully empathised with Tara in that moment.

My phone rang, it was Madhav...

Friday 1 May 2015

As She Grew

I planted a sapling once and thought,
It would grow into a giant tree,
The tender stem did not betray,
The strong trunk that it would make,
The playful leaves however danced,
In the breeze as if to say,
We are the creators of yet another dream.

My young tree stood at the backyard,
Nodding to me whenever I passed by,
A heavy rain or a strong draft of wind,
Would shake it up, but it grew on,
My gardener tied it to a sturdy support,
After a really disastrous storm,
And she grew at steady pace.

At two feet or so, the stem got tough,
At five feet she was showing the signs,
Of growing into a strong, giant tree,
She would bend to me sometimes,
As if to say a sweet secret,
One playful branch started to peep,
Over our boundary wall, to see beyond,

Oh! The joy I felt one day,
My little baby tree was now so huge,
How she had taken a solemn mood,
How she had stopped shaking with joy,
And begun to brave the strongest storm,
How she had stopped to bend for me,
To tap on top of her head.

She had learnt to play a music,
An animated fragrance spread around her,
She shaded me from stark summer sun,
As a strong wind passed, I noticed that,
She had bowed just a little, as she did before,
Something touched me softly at the back,
A leaf from the tree,
It must be from the topmost branch.

Wednesday 29 April 2015

The Chinese Teapot

No one should be so valuable that, if she hurts you, it may become impossible to forgive. No one can hurt you so much, that you may so bitterly try to express your anger, and never get a chance to do so. Relationships are like mirror. If they break, then each one is responsible. But when one breaks without reason, or so it may seem, how do we analyse...

There are times in our lives when we find ourselves helpless. I had many such moments. And in those difficult times, I took whatever support I got and at times clung on to it unabashedly. What does a helpless girl do, when all she gets in the name of a family, are people who chastise her  for everything. In Indian homes, she recoils and hides in the shell and waits to get married. But not me. Because I met this charming, enthusiastic girl my age, as my classmate.

She was highly opinionated, strong willed and smarter than any other girl in the class. And to my family, a good influence for the wretched me. So while they jeered at my choice of friends, all the time, they pushed me to make friends with such a girl. Whether that compromised my self respect, was none of their concern. And to be in their good books, even for the short period, that it really was, I compromised everything.

I am Suma and this is a story of extraordinary events of my ordinary life. My family comprised of my parents, my siblings and myself. My siblings were considered by my parents, to be of superior intelligence to mine. I will never know why. My family ignored me most of the time, unless it was to cook a meal, clean the floor or to wash clothes. Because I did not pass in most of the subjects, I could not refuse to do any of these.

Shruti joined my school in eighth standard and was instantly an object of great interest to all classmates. She was different. She had just come back from Singapore, where her father was posted for five years. She had the attitude of a NRI, that was not known to most of us, till then. She was also wise enough to make friends easily. Good with her studies and generous with friends. Her parents supported her little endeavours and therefore, she had a fulfilled look on her face, which I could not sport even remotely.

I had an instant complex with her, I had a complex with everyone around me. Complex is all that was given to me by my family. A brief definition of me, that they had given me in my little period of existence was... "you know nothing and you need someone's help to conduct yourself". How do people survive with such complexes? Looking back, all I can remember is the endless sense if shame of being me and of fear. Fear of authority was on top of my list of fears. I wore my self image quite literally.

Shruti loathed me instantly and made fun of me occasionally. But I would dare not pick up a fight with her. She was after all the golden girl of the class. I did not pick up a fight with anyone. Because as a rule, everyone could trample me, any time. What amazed me most was that, Shruti made friends with both girls and boys. Boys were off limit for me. I was beaten quite literally, when I was seven, for borrowing a notebook from a boy in my class. I kept a distance from the boys ever since.

But now I was in my teens. But then there is another story to add to my fear - when I was 4 or 5 years old, I remembered how my Mother had warned me, that if I did anything wrong, she would not hesitate to put an end to my miserable life, because I would bring such a shame to the family, that I'd rather be dead. As I grew, I also had a constant sense of the fact that my mother was fleetingly hoping to find me do something "wrong" so she could finally have me under her complete control. I could have tested this out. But I got scared of her too early. I did not really know what was "wrong" back then. I just grew up with the mortal fear.

Shruti was out to grab life at thirteen and I was still fumbling for a self image, that would wade me through life safely, I did not ever think, to where? What intrigued me about Shruti was, how she could demonstrate her emotions so well, Whether it was like or dislike. She would just pour affection on her friends and torment her enemies with constant slander. And I thought I'd rather be in her good books. It wasn't very difficult for a coy girl like me to hide my emotions. In fact it did not take much to change my opinion of something. My parents usually achieved it with a slap or a threat of a slap. My peers achieved the same by few dirty looks and some criticism.

There was a constant struggle for me at home, to prove my worth. And since my friends were all viewed with sore eyes, I was pretty sure that if I had Shruti for a friend, I would definitely be treated with respect at home. So what happens spontaneously for people... i.e. making friends, became my goal.

In those days, Shruti was gelling very popularly, with another strong minded girl in my class, named Ranjita. They were practically inseparable. However Ranjita was not so popular with my family, because she was not a star in academics, she was ordinarily talented in studies. Shruti however carried an air of talent and discernment. Making friends with Shruti meant, I had to be friends with Ranjita too. Shruti loved anyone who loved Ranjita sufficiently. She was really strange. But this problem got resolved on its own. Ranjita's dad got transferred. She left Shruti crying for days.

I wondered how people could cry so effortlessly in public. I for once had never felt such joy or sorrow, deeply enough, to either laugh or cry without the care for the world. I was a dowdy teenager and I had no way of knowing, when the next blow of censure would come from my family and for what reason. What did I know?!!!

I gained Shruti's confidence by being considerate about her loss. Helping her come out of the sorrow, that Ranjita's absence had caused to her. But then I truly wanted to tell my family that I had struck gold, in the form of friendship with Shruti. Shruti however took all the comforting care from me, but barely ever noticed me for quite some time. And I began to realise that, my efforts were leading to nothing. This prize was not meant for me.

But one day my prayers were answered, when I was just about to give up. She caught up with me and said, "Suma, I am sorry, I have ignored you all this while, when you cared so much for me" and I realised I had stuck gold. I completely ignored Bela from that day. Bela and I were at the point of striking a reasonable friendship. A really nice one I must admit. I broke Bela's heart in many ways, but she just made way and moved on. I did not even imagine I was capable of breaking hearts. I thought I was too insipid to be noticed if I was gone, from any where.

I reveled in Shruti's friendship and her many ways of showing her friendship. For me it was the only source of any real affection. My family was probably too preoccupied to notice a teenage girl's yearning for love. Not that I did not pay a price for that friendship with Shruti. From that time on, I became "Shruti's friend" to all my classmates, from being a nobody in the class. Not a big change, but I could talk to more people and attend lavish parties, that Shruti held in her home regularly. I got a red carpet to all that excitement by becoming her friend. I also gained some respect in my family, for a short while, I would lose it again soon, when they would realise, that I was just a side kick most of the time.

But Shruti became my window to the world. She usually befriended a person, who was no threat to her in any way, academically and socially, to tide away her own sense of insecurity. And she made good use of the available pool of such hapless girls. Shruti also had her insecurities. I became a confidante to some of them. But mostly she would treat me as a favourite pet. I saw the true meaning of a family in her home. Parent's love was showered on her and her siblings almost equally. All of them confident young adults. Capable of carrying themselves off in any situation. Capable of asking complex questions, without fear. Capable of confiding in their parents. Her working mom got just as much respect, as her dad did in the house. And to top it all up, her mother drove her own car, her's was a two car family. Back then I may have been hapless, but Shruti's affections and her environment, introduced me to my life's dream. The dream I thought, I could strive for. I could live and die for a dream like this. To be a professionally qualified working mom, with a husband and children who respected me. Was it possible?

I did not know back then, whether it was really possible, but then I did not know how young brains have the power to achieve just anything in life. One of the other contribution of Shruti's was also the fact, that she appreciated me academically sometimes. She noticed things about me, I or my family never noticed. Shruti simply became more of my God Mother than my friend. The fairy God Mother if I must dare say.

She was probably getting tired of this role and one day just decided to stop talking to me. And I tried every trick up my sleeve - tears, annoyance and even begging of her, but she would not budge. I realised that my days of glory were over and became really restless. And started to keep a sad face, it was not really difficult for me, as I was profoundly sad, for how life had been treating me. This really worked and Shruti, the most spontaneous person I have ever known, probably felt it on her conscience and simply decided take me back as her favourite friend.

However she had evolved with the experience. She had learn't to make new friends, while I remained her favourite friend. She would just keep building new associations. I could never understand what powered Shruti, in fact most of the girls in my class had some inhibition or the other, she was a wonder for all of us. She was as fearless as a boy.

I don't know if this is the story of Shruti's brilliance, of my abject loneliness or it is the story of my evolution from the unique circumstances, in which life had chosen to put me.

I was sometimes physically but mostly emotionally assaulted at home and this went on for a long time. It is difficult to build a self respect in an environment of fear. Shruti was like the balm. I looked forward to see her and to hear the comforting words from her and to have the company of her and her friends.

One day I learned that, my father got transferred from the town where we lived. Shruti and I parted, with genuine tears in her eyes and forced ones in mine. Because by this time the constant battering at home and insults at school had made me completely devoid of real emotions. It was a total of two years that I enjoyed the seemingly unconditional friendship of Shruti. When she took advantage of me, and she did, it was the price I paid for being her friend. I was not her match after all. I moved out immediately after my board exams.

I secured dismal marks in my board exams, Shruti did reasonably well. We kept in touch by letters mostly. I did miss her, I was like a bird without wings, in her absence, she had mostly been my connection to rest of the peer group. I was afraid of making my own friends. I had no idea which one my parents would censure me for. But now I was in a situation, where I had to make friends, because Shruti was not there. I made a few friends, but could never be true to them, I feared admitting to my parents, that they were my friends. I feared admitting to myself, that they were my friends. I was just a Brutus in the loose. I did make some friends, but none would meet my parent's approval.

Something else happened in my life. I learnt the skill of topping in my class. So I gained some value in my family's eyes, due to that. Though that became a different problem for my mother. She was beginning to realise that, the free house help, that she considered me to be, by reminding me of my poor results, was now getting away from her. But I had a dream to reach. A goal that powered me, I had to make a family of my own, just like Shruti's.

I don't think there is any friendship without a little bit of jealousy. But it is about how I expressed it. By and by, I started to realise, it was impossible to reach Shruti's level of confidence and her sense of freedom. Since the only way I had learnt to grow, was by comparing. I did not see anything unique in myself, just as I was!! So finally I stopped writing letters to Shruti. I wanted to compete with her. Another lesson I did not learn for a long time was, that you do not openly compete with friends. You build healthy competition with them. I was beginning to break another heart. And I did it just like that. After all, I always thought that, whatever Shruti may claim about the importance of our friendship to her, she lacked any respect for me and would not even notice if I was gone.

In the years to come we would mend and break the friendship many times. I would learn to appreciate Shruti at less than the elevated position I had put her on, in my teenage years. But her broken heart would never be mended. I was just not capable of unconditionally offering my friendship, at any of those times, that we mended our friendship, for the brief periods of time. In short I always failed the test of friendship.

I went on to realise every dream I had seen as a teenage girl, in Shruti's house. I became a professional working mom, with a loving husband and a beautiful child. We became a two car family. And we got a Duplex home, just like Shruti's parents had.

And then the inevitable happened. Shruti, just like she had done it years ago, disappeared from my life. She stopped responding to my mails. She did not bother to congratulate me for the birth of my only child and she did not bother to respond to any of my mails. And this time, I just let her go. I felt genuine tears this time. I felt that a hand that had guided me through my dreams, had disappeared for good. But I waited. Shruti had a strange way of finding herself back into my life always. But not this time.

She did invite me on Facebook and I accepted the invite. I learnt about her becoming a mom too. But I tried my best to not write to her. Besides a few messages, that were never responded. I learned eventually that Shruti was a past. Letting go of the hurt of being spurned by her, forgiving her for breaking contact with me, became a task that took a very very long time for me. She seemed to have formed a layer of my personality, the layer that looks for affection. The layer that would have gone totally missing in my miserable teenage years, if it was not for her.

A chinese teapot, that Shruti gifted to us, when she visited our home, after I got married, still stands as a decoration piece in my house. It always reminds me of her. I have tried to get rid of it, but it is difficult to get rid of. It also reminds me of the truth of my life. My truth, I realise now, it may not be all that flattering, but truth is still the most glorious possession we may ever have. They lead us to places where we may never have dreamed of going. And how...?

The chinese teapot will stay with me, probably for ever. And I will probably never know why.





Note: *Brutus stabbed his friend Julius Caesar the emperor of Rome and killed him on account of political disagreement.


Tuesday 28 April 2015

Write Your Mind - Writing Workshop

Writing is an art, or so I have started to discover, as the Write Your Mind Magazine is taking shape. I heard this from an extremely learned English language teacher, that poetry is the articulation of overflowing emotions. Emotion is a word tinted with many connotations and it mostly has a negative connotation in our minds. Because it is somehow associated with anger or infatuation. Both of these emotions are not considered socially productive. While "expression" which is the outcome of emotions, mostly enjoys positive connotations. I wonder why!

The writing workshop was for children in the age group of 8 to 12 years. The age when children have barely started to understand the wonders of words. My idea is to catch them young, so they make friends with words, before words start to scare them.

Writing does not come easy. Drawing is easier. And for some neither comes easily. Writing and drawing are both communication, communication comes with the risk of being judged. 

As the workshop progressed, I realised the task in front of me. I had planned in advance for 4 sections in the two hour workshop:

 - Fill a Slam book
 - Make a postcard, with a drawing, description of the drawing and a message to the recipient
 - Write on a favourite subject and write whatever comes in your mind.
 - Complete a story

Children enjoyed every bit of it. They are waiting for another session! In fact though I had planned for it to be only a one time event, I am looking forward to another session with them too.

Writing, for any age, does not come easy. Gesturing, speaking, not expressing does. Written words can have its own consequences, in the minds of children however, it seems to be the surest way to get ridiculed. If this can be changed, we can make them more expressive and responsible with words. 

Sunday 26 April 2015

Grand Canyon

My visit to Grand Canyon was a memorable one. The bright red topography spreading for miles and miles, a thin ribbon of a river flowing down below, quite out of reach of any onlooker. It is like a river flowing through the desert of fire. Here are some lines I wrote on my way back, from the visit to the canyons, on the back of National Car Rentals bill. The only paper I found in the car!

Crooked and Green and Naughty,
Like the devils tail,
The Colorado River flows,
Through canyon scalding red.

Besides few brushes and pine,
Not a sight of life,
For so many several miles,
Just the scalding cauldron.

And at the depth below,
Edge of a deadly descent,
That stream so full of life,
So out of reach from life.

And huge red bubbles,
Inside the deadly cauldron,
Frozen in the abyss of time,
The chilling hands of death.

Banished in the desert,
The devil made his workshop,
Treading inside the depth,
He dares each man to dare.

Friday 24 April 2015

Isn't Clean Dusty?

I cleaned the place, not a speck of dust left,
And then I stood on that spot,
A speck of dust on earth myself.

I dried my self, not a spot of water on me,
But water is what I am, more or less.

I write and write, though words fail me,
And try to explain whats inexplicable,
There are stories untold,
But then there are, words unformed as yet.

I plant a seed and look at my hand,
Its soiled and dirty, I wash my hand,
Amazing how we tell, dirt from dirt.

I rise from slumber, Sleep walking almost,
For what is all of this life,
If not an extension of my dreams?

I am free... or that I think I am,
For I am as free as the mind allows,
The black cat here, an eclipse there,
My mind conjures a trap every where.

Strong like a soldier, fighting for a cause,
Soft inside like flower, withering at little hurt,
I put up a face with many expressions,
Of Fear and Strength, of Tears and Joy,
Of Failure and Victory, of Mourning and Merriment,
Of Anger and Forgiveness, of Confusion and Assertiveness,
Of Hate and Love...
The many faces all at once.



Wednesday 22 April 2015

My Experience of Story Telling

Story telling is my passion. I used to bring together neighbourhood kids and tell them stories, when I was young. Ever since my daughter was born, I have been her story teller. We would sit for hours reading books about fairies and talking animals and of people with strange magical powers. Stories have helped me to bond with my daughter. But as she is growing up, I have realised, that soon she will be by herself, reading books on her own or spending time with her friends. How can I then connect with her, through the stories we enjoyed together so much?

And now I have an answer to that. "Story time with Rajat Aunty" is not just for her, but for all her friends, her age. Not just does it give me a chance, to be part of my daughters little world, it also gives me a chance to spend time with children. There is never a wiser company than little children.

Today I had eleven beautiful children for the session. Each one of them added a different flavour to the gathering. It does not matter whether they appear to be attentive or not, each one of them absorb every piece of information around them. And then they beautifully interpret it, in their own way. Some are silent observers, some like to talk. Some just cheer everyone up with their constant smile.

I do not know if we bring up our children or they help us grow, into better people. Because if there is anything we need to know about ourselves, we can see it in our children's actions, and hear it in their words. As for our children they eventually find their way in the world, whether we told them or not.

The story telling session entailed sketching, painting and even writing. I got 11 little masterpieces today. When it came to writing, some of the kids refused to write, because they did not know the spellings and some even copied from others, hoping to get the right spelling, in their friend's paper. Truth is none of them knew the right spellings, and that was not what the session was about. Since when did the 6 and 7 year olds get so self conscious? I was surprised a little but mostly saddened.

We forget sometimes that we do not discover talents in our children, we only nurture them. Talents are for the children to discover for themselves and to capitalise on it. Those are the little gifts with which God sent them on earth. We just need to do our job well.

We demand perfection from our children, to the extent of bullying them, when they are unable to be perfect or to be at-least better than the other kids we know. But the world is too big. The kids we know, should never constitute competition for our kids. Otherwise children will not make friends.

We are the gardeners in their life. Story telling is my way of showering the children with good ideas and thoughts. I don't know what they will make from it. It is for them to discover.

Monday 20 April 2015

I Live There

My love for Himalayas, in a poem. My first visit to Manali, a scenic hill station in Himachal Pradesh, was quite dramatic. We reached there after nightfall and checked into a hotel, situated at the bank of river Beas. The whole night, I could hear the bubbling noise of the river. I woke up in the morning, to the majestic sight of snow covered peaks of the Himalayas. The most breath taking morning of my life. Himalayas feels like home since...

My home is in the mountains somewhere,
Where a river sings lullaby, as I sleep,
Come home some time, sit for a while,
You'll love the enchanting snow covered peaks,
Majestic paintings by God himself,
Breathtaking curios, that adorn my home,
And while we chat, we must sip sweet something,
I serve the sweetest chilled water you can get,
scooped up from the raging gurgling river,
An apple or two to munch on too,
Sit on the chair of rocks with me,
Enjoy the bubbling song of the river,

The sky my roof, it leaks sweet showers,
And how to describe the colours of my floor,
When it snows, my floor is white,
The slush is the hue, whenever it rains,
And green in the spring, with prints of flowers.
And let me not leave out the walls,
The mountains are the walls of my home,
Painted green, whenever it rains,
Turns spotless white, whenever it snows.
My heart dwells there, in the mountains somewhere,
I long to reach my home some day,
My home yes, I long to reach.



Thursday 16 April 2015

Survie's Article

To introduce Survie in a few words, I would say that, Survie is a Content Designer and a mother of two wonderful boys. She is the quintessential working Mom, managing her work and life balance, through her choices at times and through her tenacity at others. Here is an article from her:

How to Keep Your Kids Busy During Vacation

It’s time for summer vacation again and we, the parents, start wondering how to keep our kids busy WITHOUT SUMMER CAMP!!! Yes right…without Summer Camp!!!

So, friends, there are lot of ways and options available which will definitely help in bringing out your Child’s creativity ranging from art to craft, reading and writing, science and math projects to sports and swimming. Here are some of the ways to keep your kids busy at home:

Crafts:  Kids just love to create. So you can help them on some fun crafts projects which will nurture their imaginations and keep them entertained at the same time. For instance, scrapbooking. You can ask your child to cut some interesting photographs from old magazines or newspapers and to past them in their scrapbook.  You can also think about buying a cheap camera for them so that they can take their own snapshots and make fill their diary with their holiday adventures.

Solving Puzzles: Solving puzzles might sound boring for many of us, but believe me it is one of the best ways to get rid of boredom. Not only it’s entertaining but also improves the child’s ability at problem solving. Also, I feel solving puzzles can be challenging for any of us and challenges are always fun…what say????

Reading: Reading is obviously the best way to pass your time in a meaningful way. Try to get some interesting books for your kids for the vacation. Apart from books, you can also ask them to read some magazines or newspaper.

Cooking: And the last but not the least, cooking. Yes, children love cooking. Get them involved in some kitchen activities and you will find a big smile on their face. This cooking technique works even better if there is some reward for them at the end.

So encourage your kids for such summer activities, I am sure your kids will be active and have an educational summer. So what are you waiting for, get yourself involved and make this summer vacation a great learning time for everyone.



Tuesday 14 April 2015

Make Me Human

My poem from long back. I had read this piece in a forwarded mail, about an old lady, who says that the heart of someone who has lived a meaningful life, is full of bruises and cuts, because that is what makes it human. Can't really recall the complete context. She was probably tending to a hurt grandchild. Some of you may remember...

Give me a knife,
Because I wish to carve myself.
Burn me with fire,
So I can prove my tenacity.
Cast me like iron,
Into a figure not replicable.
Chisel out my edges,
So I can be perfect.
Give me a soul,
So I can come to life.
Stab me with a knife,
So I can feel the pain.
Patch up my wound,
And make me human.

Sunday 12 April 2015

Buttons - Story of a Virtual Faux pas

My very first introduction to buttons was the buttons on my frocks. As a toddler, the frock that was like a jacket and had button running from top to bottom, was my favourite. I fortunately found a similar one for my daughter, when she was two years old.

Then there were buttons on the school shirts. The white ones. And on the sweaters. I have chewed on quite a few of them after they fell off, I found stray buttons lying around in the house. I remember one particular button on a yellow sweater, that tasted remotely of orange lozenges. I chewed that one on the sleeve of my sweater very often. Eventually I grew out of the chewing age.

Those were the days of license raj in India and most threads that were used to sew the buttons were not long lasting. And so, most of these buttons would keep falling off, to be replaced either by safety-pins or with press buttons. And therefore we had a white dog shaped empty box of Calcium that we filled with stray buttons of all colours and sizes.

When I was probably thirteen, I learnt about a button bag on Doordarshan, a cloth bag stitched on with buttons of all shapes, sizes and colours. I wanted to have more and more buttons. But I never got on to making a button bag. Stitching them on was quite a labourious task.

Anyway, in my early years buttons had only one meaning. The ones used on clothes. But buttons have a different connotation too, as I started to discover. The 'on' button on TV to begin with. We were accustomed to the black switches on wooden switch boards or knobs in the mixer grinder. Buttons did not switch on or off many things earlier. But TVs came with buttons and our index finger became the key to a new and exciting world.

And soon desktops came with buttons. One on the monitor, one on the CPU, one on the UPS (Uninterrupted Power Supply) etc etc...  

Desktops soon turned into laptops, buttons by then had truly become ubiquitous. A press of a button meant, we were in and out of office. We could be anywhere and yet working. Work from home became the most happening way to be employed. Though only a few privileged ones got this opportunity. There was another underprivileged group of people, who could now ‘work from work’ and ‘work from home’, round the clock.

And soon smart phones and Tablets created a new form of buttons, virtual buttons! Buttons that could be pressed only when there was power on the phone. The concept of virtual gadgets took shape. What we have today within our fingertips, are countless small buttons, that will download just anything from the virtual space, into our smart phones and into our lives.

My friends and family and all my tasks are just a click away. My phone works like a dutiful butler, beeping away every so often, to tell me someone has reached out to me, or something needs to be done.

In this scenario, what happens to slippery fingers and what happens when one wrong button is pressed? With the touch sensitive virtual buttons, there is very little scope for small mistakes, a lot more for big ones. And there is one that I made just two days ago…
My new smart phone is the main culprit. I did not have enough space in the old phone to have too many apps on it. Apps are lethal weapons I must say. Best to have as few of them as possible. But a lesson learnt too late.

And so I downloaded one of the professional networking sites, so I could have it on my fingertips! Not knowing the wows of having slippery fingertips. All went well till the download, besides that, I pressed one button too many. Suggested Contacts “Invite All”, one click of the button, I have no idea how many people I have invited. Hundreds maybe. I have never been a great believer of networking sites till date. Not that it is wrong. I just come from a different era of buttons. And now my phone is loaded with, “your invitation is accepted”. Thanks to all who have been gracious enough to accept my invite. 

I am still tending to my slippery index finger. A plaster for a few days would really help my cause. But there is no stopping me. I am already looking for more and more apps to download on my little device, my trusty butler who understands nothing, but the press of buttons...




Tuesday 7 April 2015

A thought that crossed by

Enticed by my thought,
I lost touch of time,
A soft fog descended,
And enveloped the scene,
Light had quietly taken its leave,
The chirping of birds had slowly subsided,
A hollow quiet replaced the day's humbug,
Only pierced by reverberating insect song.

A shrill cry of an owl from a distance,
Repaired my attention from reverie,
I felt a chill under my skin,
An involuntary thought crept in my mind,
Life had marooned me, while I sat there,
On a chilly, dark, foggy, hollow patch.

As the thought crossed me, I recalled,
This was the same pleasant patch of the day,
I was just as alone in the dark,
As I was in the day,
But then I was alone,
And now forlorn,
I shook off the thought,
And walked back home.

Monday 6 April 2015

Life Unchanging or Unfathomable?

Life falls evenly on all,
Like the sun and the moon and the sky above,
Unchanging. Just the same,
Yet we view it in many shades,
Our minds playing mysterious games,

Is life really just the same?
Encased in those replicated breaths?
Or is It more of what we think?
More of the shades, in our looking glasses?

On a sunny day, some are perked up,
Some exhausted in the heat,
Yet others dehydrate,
No, it cannot be the same for all,
Life cannot be just the breath,
It is what one feels with each breath,

What one believes  is one's truth,
Do we survive on verifiable beliefs? No,
Under the same sky, over this very earth,
There are as many worlds as people alive,
No... more worlds than there are people alive,
For each one is capable of possibilities unexplored,
One question, one doubt is all it takes, for a new world to emerge.

Neither past is unchangeable nor future uncertain,
Thoughts are the unmistakable magic wands,
They can change the past, or make future more certain,
For past is what remains of it in the thought,
And future is but a stroke of that thought,
And how one views it, when one gets there indeed.

Life is an unfathomable mystery,
For the mystery lies in our very thoughts, that we so tirelessly control.

Friday 3 April 2015

Truth

I always felt that if I closed my eyes,
Long enough,
Tight enough,
Or if I looked away,
Far enough,
It would just go away.

But then I was young,
And the meaning of 'always' changes,
Every passing year,
For as I grew, I found it out,
That "Truth" is etched in stone,
And just as the breath,
It stays!

More permanent than the breath,
It remains, haunting the dead...
And therefore each passing moment,
Those with breath fear the truth,
Or untiringly work to create, a perfect truth.
For those without, have lost that hope...
For better or for the worse.

However the mortal remains may be treated,
Burnt or berried or taken to the Tower of Silence,
Truth stays alive and breathes.
Look away, look away if you wish, look away,
It tempts,
For I will live in places not thought of,
Not contemplated,
Unless you make me your torch and follow me.
And then I shall be your guide.




Tuesday 31 March 2015

My Ekki Dokki Experience

Worth mentioning my experience with being a director to 7 little kids, including my own 6 year old daughter and of-course all her friends. Working with children is always the most rewarding experience. The best part of it is, they do not come with expectations and they will accept what is being offered with open minds and hearts. 

Children simply soaked in all that I taught them, as their impromptu director to a story that most of them remember by-heart now. We never wrote a script, as no script is needed for children who can barely read. What we had was a story and that is all. 

Ekki Dokki is a Marathi folk tale. The story of how more and less are so comparative and how we are caught in the judgment of it, rather than just living life as it is. And there was a moral: Appearances do  not matter, it is the heart that counts! 

I had a 3 year old as the icing on the cake, who would make sure that he delivers his dialogues no matter what.

And if anyone is wondering whether kids can understand what delivering dialogue is... hold your breath, they certainly can, even the 3 year old. 

And what about teaching them expression? Very simple! just tell them a few stories with appropriate emotion, they will catch the skill in no time. 

What puts them apart is that, they have no stage fear at all. The performance on the stage is just another practice session for them. But one where they make sure that it is a perfect practice! 

Now tell me why someone would want to cut down on all this thrill to pre-record the play and just allow the kids to Lip-sync on stage? This is the new practice that is fast catching up and I do not subscribe to it. Quite a few children's plays are being pre-recorded now-a-days. Isn't this a case of opening up the pupa for the butterfly to come out? And does it really add any value to our children? I will leave that question for some time, as this is a very serious problem. One that should be addressed separately. 

And because I do not subscribe to providing any crutches to our dynamic children, they performed the play live and with the confidence that defines these early years.

Special mention also to the 13 year old on the keyboard, whom I roped in only later. Since I am not a musical person, he independently rolled out music for different moods of the play. And he also performed live during the play.

I was not sure that my troupe would do exactly what they were taught, but I was very sure that they would learn from the experience, no matter what. That is what parenting is all about... isnt it? We give our children the right values and let them be the judge. We cannot prerecord our own career path and fit them into their lives and expect them to be successful men and women of the future.

And so, to make this experience a memorable one, we (all moms) packed all the kids and went to the ice-cream parlour, to celebrate success. But for the 7 little stars, this was just another visit to the ice-cream parlour. Why do you need a reason to eat ice cream? After-all, aren't they the superstars every living moment?

Sunday 29 March 2015

Chariots of Life

The life is divine in any state,
Like God, endless and timeless,
It flows through the path of time,
On tiny chariots of living beings.

A question surfaces in my mind,
Are we the vehicles of life?
Or fragments of the mighty God?
Decaying chariots of undying life.

Epic Moments

My little Neighbour
Brought to me a book,
He claimed was "very nice"
"Mahabharata in Abridged Form," it said,
All of it
had so often been read.

Yet an epic is reborn
with every child
Such zeal I saw
In his sparkling eyes,
As he showed me
The pictures of the heroes,
Discovering
Every bit of it anew.

Friday 27 March 2015

About Expressions

Expressions are limitless,
Sometimes in action, sometimes without it,
Sometimes in words, sometimes in silence,
Sometimes in ones presence, sometimes in a conspicuous absence,
This is how one communicates with the world, this is how one connects.

This is a space for limitless expressions,
Of thoughts and of feelings,
Of fears and of hopes,
Of past and of present,
And of unbridled dreams,
This is the deluge of expressions...