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.

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.

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.

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.