It's complicated.

I step out, with your presence being felt on my skin. My hands curl into fists, resisting your strength. My whole being crushes under your invisible power. My lips let out a faint tremble. I fumble the thick pockets of my jacket for my sunglasses, to mask my eyes in the gloomy day, for they give out the intensity of your effect by getting all misty. I let out a wee smile, thinking of the bittersweet relation I have with you. Our date around the fire place, with ambers warming up the ambience and the hot cocoa I prepare to compliment your company slips into my throat, warming my gut. I get up, tip toeing, for you seem to weigh on my gait. I remember our last night's tryst...your presence coaxing me under the coziness of the sheets..you play lazily with my cheeks, flushing them with your icy touch. My thoughts dwell on the day you would leave me. The impending time would soon take you away from me, leaving me longing for a longer night, for an excuse to lose myself in a deep sleep, taking the aid of your wicked existence around me, provoking my sloth, smothering my senses into your tight embrace. I wake up, stretching my laze away and bend down to check how much the petroleum jelly salvaged my cracked heels. Oh winter breeze, our relationship is very, very complicated. 

Miracles

These clusters of harvest,

Resplendent life giving elixir,

These bunches of buds,

Blooming with aroma,

These crystal waters,

Waltzing through brazen rocks,

These frail beats..

Echoing in the ears,

Myriad thoughts -

Tempests in grey cells,

Bells of mirth,

Filling the heartbeats,

Tepid droplets

Revealing obscure scars,

Masquerading around,

In veils of joy..

These numberless creations,

Sing sagas

Of your many miracles.

All I need 

Is just that knowledge.

Manuscript

Verse

The shimmering bits,
Supressing under the heels,
Imprint you feet..
Leaving a trail,
Leading my way.
The shells of your thoughts,
Scatter aimlessly..
Toppling in the remnants
Of the waves of my feelings!
Yes, it is possible..
To lead me by an arm's distance away
And still adorn my emotions,
Weighing  heavily
On the shores of my heart!
Yes, this core sprouts
Kernels of smiles,
Every living moment-
Engrossed ,
In the ocean of your love!

The L word.

There are some incidents that shift your take on things. These incidents either glorify the said things to great heights or throw them in the slump. They act like paradigm shifts and alter or distort the way you perceive stuff. Long back, in the dark ages, I happened to stumble upon a book at my cousin's place in the sultry Vijayawada, while enjoying my summer vacation. A book that was meticulously covered with a news paper, pressumably to hide the graphic or title, or both! It was a "Mills and Boon'' publication. Now, most teen girls in the nineties must have grown up with a healthy dose of distorted images of love and romance, thanks to those publishers. The heroes were brazen, tall, dark handsome and mighty players while the heroines were pure and demure. And yes, Grey and Steele had literary predecessors dating back to generations. And this covered book wasn't an exception by any stretch of imagination. It could have been titled your typical 'maverick and maiden' if not shades of a particular color, but the concept was just the plain old wine in the plain old bottle. So I don't have a recollection of the title, or the characters. I only had one particular quirk of the leading man stay with me all these years. He would never ever utter the phrase  " I love you".Being the typical romance novel hero, and the untamable commitment phobe, he would religiously substitute the 'love' with 'like' till the climax kicks in and he is reformed.

      So what was the scar that the book left? A bitter taste for the phrase 'I like you'. (grin) The book irreparably tarnished the 'Like' word, to a point where it got obliterated from my vocabulary list. And then started the abuse of the other L word...Love! I never liked anything anymore. I had to upgrade to
Love. Be it a dish or a movie, a person or a book, I had to use the superlative ever since. If the word love was banned from my vocab, I'd have been at a loss. Thankfully, my feminism was blooming by then in the backdrop and I never really bought the plots. They seemed as mushy and escapist literature back then as they seem now. Romance novels always felt like the friend that never grows up. All of us have one friend right? Whose grey matter can defy age? Well, I seem to have more than one and thank you in advance for not asking me to name them ;) In their defense, they can be such great stress busters. You hangout with one of them and the world transforms into roses without thorns, smelling sweet and looking pretty. They are the perfect antidote for the likes of me with 'Meenakumari' syndrome.

       So it took eons, for that word 'like' to sprinkle its moderate magic on my sensibilities. And it happened when a seven year old student of mine drew a picture and wrote a message for me, welcoming me back from my vacation. "I think you should take this paper" it read, followed by an "I like you" on the back of a very elaborately sketched unicorn. Then it dawned upon me, the beauty of a  straight forward, uncomplicated word. It probably worked its magic because it came from a child and it sounded much lighter than the word 'love'. It was a saner and a less demanding substitute for the heavy and intense 'Love'. Viola, and the paradigm shifts again.

Now I'll go back to liking my students, sandwiches, sparkling things, sunshine, silence and Sachin Tendulkar.

Determined

It's been long since I blogged. Reasons and excuses pile up. But here I come determined to write today, cause I missed it more than I could realize. iPad an I don't make a good pair, especially when it comes to typing text, but my sheer determination makes me use my dull digits to key this in..What does it mean to you? More (and more) typos ;)

I have a sea of thoughts crossing my mind, and before I end up thinking aloud and making this a journal of sorts, I'll steer this into a direction, and that would be 'translation'.

In a recent conversation with newly made acquaintances, I attempted to translate a Hindi adage for the benefit of a non hindi speaking person. Words that come easily, eluded me that evening.

"The world is anchored on hope" the adage was translated and the hard to please Moi got endlessly charmed cause the non hindi speaking guest, for whose benefit I was trying to translate the adage, found the right word "anchored". For a minute, I didn't know if this person didn't know the language or if there is a mind reading ability of sorts hidden from me. And then, after the initial doubt in the skeptic's mind, the thought drifted to how we all fail to translate what we feel into the right sort of words or expressions. We lose a lot of things in translation...meanings, intentions, ideas, emotions etcetera. What if we had the ability to translate every thought of ours into pristine words? Words as clear as crystal, that what we intend to show behind them appear through the transparency of our expressions? How wonderful would it be, if we could put forth our every thought into a pile or even a  tiny cluster of words? For what are feelings, when they are not expressed?

On that note, I make a humble attempt to do a translation (a literal one) of lyrics that touched a cord of my heart.

The raven nights spread,
You come with Dawn in tow..
In this random life,
You come with order in tow.
My forlorn ship,
Lost on the seas,
To the shores you bring it
Somehow.
There's some connection with you,
And I know not how I know it.
What do I say now,
I want to stay now,
Forgetting the heavens,
Taking refuge in your arms.

A favor bestowed upon me on passing,
This fleeting moment fills my lap.
I get a glimpse of your form,
A shining star in my path..
Like my fortune gets,
A beacon of hope.

In the sulking longings,
You come with answers.
You bring the light of  conversation,
In this silence.

My forlorn ship,
Lost on the seas,
To the shores you bring it
Somehow.
There's some connection with you,
And I know not how I know it.
What do I say now,
I want to stay now,
Forgetting the heavens,
Taking refuge in your arms.

Check out 'Raabta' - A night in motel from Agent Vinod to get the bits lost - in translation. And while you are at it, watch the sheer genius of  a single shot visual, in which the number was shot! 

So long till the blogging bug hits again, and try if you may, to get it out and loud, the emotions that seep through the cracks in translation :-)

Draping Dreams - Anagha

     The sanskrit word Anagha means the 'beautiful one' - and the story of Anagha - a specialty handloom boutique and its creator Sarvamangala Chavali are just that! - When I first had a glimpse of Sarvamangala, it was her outer beauty that caught the eye. Her eyes smile and her face reflects happy radiance. When you delve deeper into who she is, you realize the fact that there are many challenges and personal battles that are carefully concealed in those smiling eyes.

     In her late teens, Sarvamangala stared off her career as an air hostess with Air India and shortly after that,  she settled in matrimony. A few years and two kids later, she had to face the challenges of a turbulent marriage and eventually had to build her life all alone. As an extension of her battle to be self sufficient, Anagha had taken shape in 2008 when Sarva borrowed a petty amount from her dad and invested her love for handlooms into her business. Ever since, she had touched the wardrobes of many women across the world and revamped them with her eclectic collection and discerning taste. Her wares attract bidding battles on her Facebook page and sell out within minutes of the albums going live. One has to see her collection to realize how breathtakingly beautiful the Indian handlooms look. From Khadi to Jute tussar, from Mangalgiris to Maheshwaris - her boutique covers it all.

     Sarvamangala's professionalism and friendly nature had won her many admirers and well wishers over the years and it is so hard to guess what she had gone through when one sees the optimism overflowing in her personality and character. She is the epitome of grace and strength and a truly inspiring story to everyone. 

     Anagha started as an all woman enterprise and had male employees only when the tailoring unit came into being, as women cutters and tailors are a scarcity. Over two thirds of her employees continue to be women. Sarvamangala contributes to social causes by donating a percentage of Anagha's profits towards education and upbringing of two girl children, one in her 8th grade (with Rural Development foundation) and a special needs girl child  from Hanuman Junction, with Asha Jyothi foundation. 

     Apart from making a mark in the textile industry with her unique  handloom designs and winning the hearts of many women, Sarvamangala also won the 'Outstanding Woman Entrepreneur' award by Federation of AP Chambers of Commerce and Industry (FAPCCI) in July 2011, barely three years into Anagha's inception. 
 

     Today Anagha does a positive contribution to the handloom industry by employing weavers from all corners of India. It is Sarvamangala's passion for handlooms that has brought  allure to the industry among the younger generation. In a textile market of synthetics and sequins, her demure collections breath a new life into reviving our handloom heritage. She also empowers her women staff by inspiring and guiding them in personal and professional fronts. Next time you are in the city, do drop by to check out her  boutique on Road no 1, Banjara Hills, Hyderabad.   In the meanwhile you can visit her facebook page  ( https://www.facebook.com/anaghadesigns ) and lose yourself in the bliss of colors and textures.

. 

Sarvamangala Chavali, The strength behind it all. 

                                               

A glimpse into her colorful store.

Working with the weavers to create magic.

Accepting her FAPCCI award from Honorable CM Of AP. 

It is my honor to feature her in my blog hoping to inspire women across the world with her wonderful story. 

Written for the Indiblogeshwaris' "Ladies Independence Special Contest" in association with "womenentrepreneursinindia.com"

Festival day 7 - The Grand Finale.

How many Sevens are there?

Let me count the groups - 

Seven colors in the rainbow,

Seven oceans, the proverbial ones!

Deadly sins, seven in all - 

Do, Re, Me, Fa...the seven notes!

Seven Dwarfs homeward bound -

7 up, the lemony lime drink - 

Seven wonders enthralling the world

For Potterheads, seven epics.

Kurusova's Seven Samurais,

Monday to Sunday - seven days a week!

In the festival of words, seven celebrations

Bringing in the love to write!

Counting up was real fun,

Rejoicing in a job just done:-)

That concludes my count up - I am feeling a bit juvenile today, so wanted to write a fun little poem. Thanks to Write tribe for the concept and to all the participants who kept me going. And a special thank you to  Corinne Rodrigues for the initiative and inspiration.

Festival day 6 - The Birth number 6!

I was born on the sixth day of the ninth month over three decades and a half ago..and ever since I had the concept of birthdays in my mind, I particularly felt happy about the sound of six and nine and then, at a later date, the concept of zodiacs was introduced to me and I started believing that Linda Goodman modeled her Virgo description after me.

I keep reminding myself that growing old is compulsory, growing up is optional - no, no, I am not talking about the good way of growing up - But the not wanting to grow up form being a child at heart...

I still get fascinated with shiny things (as long as they are not meant to adorn the person)

I still love crayons and paints and buy them blaming it on my kid.

I still enjoy ice cream and chocolate.

I still sneak into the illustrated story books from my kid's book case (In fact I bought every Disney and Dr.Seuss publication when Aarti was less than a month old :-P - I got the much needed pretext by then)

I still day dream and gasp when I see flowers, dandelion, butterflies and bees :)

Well...You get the idea. I always lived a life , a couple of decades older than mine in my mind - but at heart, I'll remain six all along.

Happy birthday to the undiluted Number '6'

:-)

Festival day 5 - Five for Fighting.

John Ondrasik got introduced to me a few years ago, when a like minded friend sent me his music video.

I had been in love with his music ever since.

I specially like his song - "To be Me"

And not just to echo his sentiments, but in my own right, though I am not any super anything - it is not easy "To be Me" ;-)

Tell me you like it!

Adios for today!

:-)

Festival day 4 - Seasons.

Here's a set of 4 Haikus celebrating the Seasons.

 Blooming bright,

On soul's every vein,

Happy memories!

Rock n roll

On sizzling sands

Bright Sun!

Shed them,

The bygone cares -

Fall in love!

Flakes, chills,

Crisp breeze of dawn,

Descend upon!

Festival day 3 - Three memories.

As a part of the count up to number 7 in my recent blog challenge, the Festival of words, I record three pictures taken in my travels recently.

From top - 1) - Guards at the city palace in Athens. We got there just in time for the guard changing ceremony. 2) A view of the famous Oia village in Santorini island, Greece 3) Scottish Highlands.

Festival Day 2 - Duo

Day and Night, 

Cheese and Chalk, 

East and west,

White and Black

Sugar and spice, 

Fire and Ice,

In antonyms we pair up,

In our journey we gear up!

Agreeing to disagree -
You and I!

Strawberries and creme

Kiss and lips, 

Sleep and dream,

Soul and Body,

Wick and Candle

River and Sea - 

Merging, melting,

Hand in hand we gleam, 

Hand in hand we glide,

On this joyous ride - 

You and I!

Festival Of Words - ONE

Sometimes, all we need to awaken our inner fire is the right company - I had started blogging a good nine years ago and had been super recluse in all those years, almost making this a diary of sorts, and keeping it private to a few friends who cared to read. This year, I found myself in the august company of wonderful bloggers and suddenly, my enthu to blog had increased along with the endless inspirations I'd encountered. I should underline a couple of  those bloggers - Corinne and Afshan - both of whom had showed me a new perspective about team work. Thanks to Corinne for all her support and energy she puts in "Write Tribe" and to Afshan for being the little miss sunshine in the group.  I now embark upon celebrating the Festival of Words with my fellow write tribers and the theme is Seven :-) Read on....


Day one - ONE
Number One has such an attraction to it...It is the first in order. One is the number that most of us want to be in life's many lanes - Number one in the class is how the obsession started for me. I was an above average student but super laid back. I should grant it to my parents for never putting the pressure of being the number one in my academics, until one fine day, I put it on to myself. I did top my Tenth board exams and that was the only one time I topped an entire series of examinations in my life - and incidentally, the last because my academics were stunted in pursuit of real life lessons in a real time job :-)

ONE doesn't do more justice to anything more than the Omniscient God. I feel fortunate to have had an upbringing that allowed me to fathom the true meaning of being spiritual without just being religious. The Roman Catholic missionary school opened my gates to a new faith that was not like the one celebrated at home. I grew up intrigued in stories from the bible and crooning Hymns form the Church in our morning assembly. Over the course of growing up, I also subscribed to "Allah Malik" philosophy and enjoyed the works of many Sufi saints. It saddens me to no end to see most modern day religions emerging into a fundamentalist mindset. We might take different  paths, but we should all come to a realization that the destination is ONE. We'll all catch up at the end. It is enough that we have natural calamities, why should we, in the name of God, add to those mishaps??

ONE life is all we have, and one moment to be precise. I was reading the Buddhist take on meditation recently and a whole load of burden was taken away from my heart. The past is gone, the future is unknown and it is in the one moment that we live. Life will go on with or without us, things will fall into place with or without our presence, so life each moment, one at a time. Feel your inhaling, feel your exhaling and rejoice in the elixir of being alive - sounds simple? Isn't it - but truth be told, with practice, it is not very difficult to live the simplified meaning of meditation - which is being conscious of living in this ONE moment.

If there is one thing that defines me, it is my thoughts - it is not my family, it is not my possessions, it is not my failure, it is not my successes. My thoughts define me and I believe each of our thoughts define us - it is in these thoughts that our life is born, taking the form of a blue print and then translating itself into reality. We need to keep minding them like a shepherd does mind the sheep - they will fall, falter, escape, get lost and sometimes go stray on purpose - but when we bring them on track we seem to deal with all else.

And finally, One thing, if I can wish, would be to see no child in pain or in hunger or in lack of love - Please don't question why money is being spent on offerings in a temple or in any religious institution for that matter while hundreds of humans go hungry - you can change the world without having to skimp on offering a little bit of gratitude to God, by simply giving him a tiny share of what he had given us - instead skimp on those designer clothes, or bags or what ever thing that you indulge on and donate to a charity once in a while. Buy cards designed by UNICEF, look for ways to send a kid to school, give one kid just one thing that can put a smile to his or her face. I am sure, if we vow to do this, our world would be a better place. Global warming is no greater threat than global harming of human beings by fellow human beings. And on that idealistic note, I request you all to stay with me on my celebration in the Festival of Words :-) Thank you!

Journey to the Dock and Back.

It was finally there - unfolding in front of my eyes, the most famous port in Greece, the place that takes the color white with blue accents to a whole new glory - Santorini! And before my mind processed the events of my vacation into memories, there was one thing about Santorini that made an instant impression on me - the journey to the dock to board a cruise ship that took us on an excursion to the volcano, hot springs and the visual of the famous Santorini sunset. Why was this a memorable trip you might ask, or go about guessing that it could have been a treat to the eyes to have made an instant impression.  The truth was that, it was anything but a treat - the journey part of it, strangely mimicking life itself.

Unaware of what was in store, or barely registering the fact that we had no power in the guest house to cook that Indian meal we were planning to cook - we set out on a good half kilometer walk to take the cable car to the dock. "You'll have to start now to catch the cable car" the land lord warned us - "Or there will be the cruise ship traffic that would delay you" - It was a good couple of hours before the time we were supposed to report at the dock to board our boat and none of us were in the slightest of hurry. All we had was a meager breakfast and we set out - without having lunch - leaving the soaked rice and cut veggies on a stove that was a mere surface without the electricity that warms it.

The walk was breathtaking, exactly what you'd expect form a famous tourist spot. The sheer architecture of the place as to how endless steps that tumbled down into facilities of all kinds - guest houses, restaurants, churches and shopping - all interwoven into a perfectly fit jigsaw puzzle is nothing but a modern marvel. The city clings to the cliff for life, unfolding a surreal scene that every pair of eyes should feast upon. The unapologetic sun frolics in glee while sweat glides down your face and the back, brightening the white of the island to ten fold, to a point of blinding you if you have no shades protecting your peepers.

It didn't take us long to figure out that if there was electricity missing in our guest house, it would be missing in the cable car facility as well. There wasn't an understanding of what we were into. The steps were paved with huge rocks that were protruding out and were very steep. Some chunks of rocks were smoothed to perfection, acting as perfect slides to make feet slip off of them and on one such rocks did I stumble upon and landed on my butt - with a perfect thud. Talk about ammunition, and we had it in the right dose all along those 600 (I heard) steep steps - herds of donkeys going back and forth, some by themselves, some with passengers on their saddles - passengers that displayed varied emotions from wonder to fear - from glee to boredom. They swayed gently as the donkeys carried their weight up and down and for once I made sense out of the way the steps were paved - to accommodate the hooves of the donkeys and to prevent them from sliding off like yours truly did :-)) Now that isn't it. Mr. Sun was there of course, mockingly showering his light - or glare in this case, causing our tongues to get parched and our eyes to get burned. I was armed with a pair of over-sized sunglasses that covered a sizable part of my over sized forehead, but the moment I landed on my butt and got up pretending as if nothing happened while bits of  gasps and howls caught my ear, Aarti burst out into a cry. She was obviously scared for me - but her reason to cry was that her eyes that weren't covered with shades (like mine) were burning. Her tender face turned a faded beet red and I could very well imagine what her eyes were going through - without letting out any kind of "I am injured" clues, I casually took off my glasses and placed them on her bridge, covering her tiny face like a shield.
The dock was visible down below but looked like zillions of miles away - for each landing we encountered on the zigzag steps, I let out a sigh of relief thinking the destination wasn't far away. In the mean while, the sun acted as a perfect conductor to the stench of donkey poo. The mind was not receptive of the breathtaking views, it only wandered from one petty care to another and the kiddo in tow acted perfectly at ease, often pausing and pleasing the passers by with her high and mighty 'animal activist' speech. "Look at the donkeys" she would go - "Look how sad they look" - "Look how the people are laughing riding on them - look how the donkey is carrying all that load" "Look how hot it is" - these exclamations preceded by a "Look how" got us some attention - people smiling, nodding in agreement and amusement. I for once stopped thinking about how far the dock was and got to walking down. I was convinced of two things - that my daughter is an activist in making and the stench would make me throw up and in that preoccupation of a mixture of emotions, I completely forgot that if the power isn't back by the time our excursion ends, we would have to take the same path uphill.

We did, finally, reach the dock amid a  heaving group of elderly tourists that were boarding a cruise ship that was taking them around the inhabited islands on Greece. And the crankiness that eluded the kiddo while she was engrossed in the painful and sad expressions of the donkeys suddenly came back in a flood. I'll fast forward to what happened on our way back, and hopefully record the experience of the excursion sometime later.

It was after watching the sun sink into the horizon that we headed back to Kira - and in the meantime, we did realize that we would have to figure out our way back to the island and the guesthouse. There were only three options for us to get there - two of which (the cable car and the donkey ride) are currently ruled out. I kept checking to see if I spotted any lights on the island and in the twilight, I did see some flickering lamps and rejoiced - only to be completely disappointed to be greeted with an almost deserted and a dull looking dock. The steps were not lit owing to the outage and the sun was almost gone with the twilight in tow. The only sensible option that we were left with was the donkey ride cause all of us had apprehensions about walking on a deserted and dark path all the way uphill. Herds of donkeys were being guided uphill and the guy renting them tried to persuade us to take a ride on them. "I will walk and only walk" Aarti announced. " I am not getting on the donkey" - It took me a few deep breaths and a few days of my life expectancy to convince her to get on a donkey as that was the only option we had in a seemingly dark alley. She agreed hesitantly on a condition that she'd ride it along with Sena Mamma (her God mom) and not me.

Now I have two troubles, one is with starting and the other with stopping! That being said, I was strategically placed as the first one to do the honors of taking my own donkey to lumber upward to God knows where. I shut my mind off and got onto one. The guy showed the euros into his pocket, instructed me to place my feet into the footrests that were on the either side of the donkey, hold on to the handle on the saddle and not scream as it would scare the animal away. Little did he know that I was on the verge of being permanently mute for the rest of my life. Before I knew, I could sense being taken away from my party, ever so gently, roughly or plain crudely, I know not - cause I was brain dead by then. I didn't feel a thing except the though about leaving my baby back and what would unfold in my absence, if the rest of them would follow suit or the animal lover would just convince them to walk and if that really happened as to how long they would take to meet me at the top.

The ride was punctuated with long pauses - the donkey would take a break to breath every few steps - the first time around, I didn't know if he would walk or just go on a strike and let me perish there. But he did walk eventually. I knew he was hungry cause at one point, he hung his head off the cliff and almost threw me off it. I held to the handle and chanted the name of God - and then out of sheer 'fear for life' started to converse with my ride. There weren't many passers by - a donkey or two that carried other tourists that were for some reason shouting in utter happiness. I didn't know if something was wrong with me or with them. May be I was too wound up to enjoy the thrill of a never before ride in an exotic destination? Know what? I am quite capable of doing that! - I addressed the ass with all kinds of endearments and for that moment I did mean it with all my heart - my life was entrusted onto him and he was in a way my co passenger on that fearful ride. The dreamer in me started thinking in his perspective - if my borderline obese frame was too much for him to haul or if he was tired from all those trips he'd have taken that day. It seemed like an endless voyage - something that felt like sleep walking - and finally, he came to a halt right under the ass of another ass - and a stern voice came shouting at me saying "Get off"

"Who me?" was my meek answer and experience told me that he didn't hear what I said. (I am often told that I talk in a very low frequency BTW) The voice came back with a louder and harsher tone this time and I mustered all my strength to shout out " I cannot - I need help" Just then another donkey came and halted a few steps in front of mine and I could see a tall silhouette in the dark - my Greek God! "Help me get off" I almost yelled - forgetting the magic words of manners and the form moved towards me - before I knew, he lifted me off the donkey like I would lift a two year old (after all I was not borderline obese, or he was really the Greek God that materialized to help me) and placed me gently on the step. All along I was holding on to his tee - I straightened myself and before I could come to senses and mutter a thank you - my Greek God disappeared in the dark.

Isn't it strange how a little fragment of our life could mimic it in whole? I lived a life time in that journey from the dock to back - from forgetting to enjoy my scenery while fretting about the journey ahead, to all the smiles, the fall, the tears, the exhaustion and finally the treat of watching the sunset and then back to being alone and entrusting my life to an ass - which was no less than a steed by the way and the apprehensions, the reeling thoughts, the worry about what I left behind and finally, the invisible hand that lifted me off of my cares and placed me on the ground.

Life - Is Beautiful regardless of what it takes you through...


For those of you who have stayed with me till now and are curious what happened to the rest of my gang - The electricity supply was resumed shortly after I got to the top and I could see the illumination on the path - I traced back a few steps to hear a gleeful voice - that of my animal activist daughter who decided and probably imposed it on the rest of them - to walk back in that dark.  They did come walking and I was the one that had to abuse an ill fed beast....Shame shame!

:-))

Letters Unsent Series. #1 - To Best Friend(s)

Please read more about this series of blogs initiated by Santulan @ the FB group Write Tribe. ( http://writetribe.com/letters-unsent/ ) - Thanks to him  for the Initiative :-)


I have had the hugest fascination for letters ever since my childhood days. So I jumped at the idea of writing unsent letters addressed to several important people in my life. I commence it with one written to my best friend. Since it is practically impossible to list just one in this category, I carefully sift and select some life changing friends I had in my life till date - and write my heart out unedited to them - Individually! :-) Read on and bless my friendship.

#1 - The first best friend ever!

Dear ML - 
The thoughts behind this blog had made me realize one thing - that I did not have a best friend until I met you and I only met you in my twelfth year :) - You made me feel at home in a strangely new place, a new school and a completely new setting. I always have and will adore you for your natural charm and the 'brains' that hid behind the painfully pretty face. Thanks for keeping up with my antics, never leaving my side during all those school years, for holding my hand for the entire duration of MPK in RK theater, for those wonderful memories on the terrace of our school building, for the marvelous idea of giving me live gifts (that bombed when that pair of Gold fish didn't see the light of the next day, after traveling with me for 500 km - only because I chose to change the water they swam to the Godavari aqua that was carefully treated with chlorine) -  Thank you for remembering my culinary choices for all these years, for marrying a man that loves me and my man equally and for making me feel like a teenager every time I meet you. Thank you for finding that Bollywood babe in my reflection (or is it the other way round?) and for genuinely finding my family super cute :) For all those pictures where I look super svelte, for bearing with my unending stories of crush for Sachin Tendulkar. You shall stay with me as my first ever Best Friend - for ever! :)

#2 - The childhood buddy!

Dear AS -

You were a true inspiration in my childhood days and when I remember you saying the same thing about me - I smile with absolute joy! - The days we spent preparing for out X finals, were hands down ,the golden days of my school. You came every single day to keep me company and toil by my side during our preparation holidays. My biggest academic achievement of being first in the high school board exams would have been a mere dream without your support and I truly believe that it rightly belonged to you. Your humor is something that makes  me giggle after nearly two decades and your determination and grit inspires me even till date. I am so grateful for finding you again and for rediscovering the lost bond after all these years. 

#3 - The Greatest admirer.

Dear HN -

You were everything I wasn't and you continue to be my biggest admirer. For goofing with me, for teaching me the true meaning of 'girly', for scaring the day lights out of your boyfriend by constantly talking to him about me, for being the biggest help during my wedding and more importantly for patiently listening to all my sob stories of missing my sweet heart and boring elaborations of how much I love him, for feeding my love for nail polish, for adding that true fun to my life, for accompanying me to my every shopping trip, for making me your style icon, for finding me resembling every new heart throb starlet of our teens, for boosting so much of confidence in me- I cannot be grateful enough :-))


#4 - The little sweetheart friend!

Dear KM -

The day of our farewell party - you broke into uncontrollable tears while I kept smiling and consoling you - Your fear was that we'd not meet again, my faith was that we would. Yeah, we did not see each other for two decades, but the faith I have in finding you again shall definitely triumph over your fear - mark my word! :-)
And psst....I don't think any friend ever cried so badly for me after that day! 

# 5 - The coolest of them all.

Dear AM - 

My definition for friendship you are. I cannot ever find another super cool guy like you - I cherish every single letter you have written to me. You inspire my sense of humor - or you taught me what being humorous was all about. You were my 'it' friend with all your vocab. Your mind blowing collection of books that you generously let me borrow, your sharing the deepest of your teen crushes, secrets and heart breaks with me, for making me feel like a true princess with all those fruit n nut bars and the fragrances you made uncle get for me from overseas, here's a load full of thanks :) - If anyone ever tells me that a boy and a girl could not be friends, I am gently reminded of the wonderfully pure friendship we share. I cannot begin to thank you for never ever missing to wish me on my anniversary and birthday for all these years, no matter how broke you were or in which corner of the world. Not that you don't know - but FYI - my hubby is doing absolutely fine with me and he continues to be a teetotaler - so your dream of consoling him over a drink is going to remain just that ;)



#6 - The true friend.

Dear MG - 

AM, my friend above, used to call you 'Angel Face' - and forget about the outward appearance, you were nothing short of an Angel in my life. You supported me through my many teen battles, you and me would have inspired the JTJN script without the 'love' part thrown in for free - you were the 'unconditional' support I had all those years and every time I think about what a bright spot your presence was in my life - my eyes well up! Thanks for those numerous cards, for kick starting my love for lengthy letters, for listening to my stories of love and missing ( my then sweetheart and now hubby) for all your gentlemanly nature, chivalry, sincerity, for lending me your CAT material, for sharing every single pleasure and pain with me (remember how you used to call me for every lost and won match during the 96 cricket world cup?) for the roses, the scarves, the lectures you patiently endured, for never throwing your weight around for being a rich dad's spoiled brat (or unspoiled unbrat) - you are the epitome of true friendship and I am eternally grateful for your presence in my life.


# 7 - Almost blood (or better than blood;-) !

Dear KT - 

You and me are destined to be - friends for ever! How else could we explain the journey we'd embarked on, from being those awkward teenagers to where we are today? - thank you for being my hubby's biggest support apart from being my 3 am friend, thank you for crossing the seven oceans for me and risking the chance of living in a ten mile radius, thank you for all those checks  you write to support my vices (wink) - for truly living up to it when you say 'what is mine is yours' - I get utterly irritated at your ability to corner me at times - but know that I know you mean it when you say I am dearer to you than your blood and I reciprocate those sentiments with same sincerity. Thank you for loving my people like I do...ah well, let me give it up here - or I could bore my readership to no end! :))


# 8 - The taken for granted Fairy!


Dear SJ -

I honestly don't know where to begin - from marriage counselor, to shrink, to chef, to chauffeur  to a spare and a better mom to my brat - you've covered it all! - You are my big sister in the real sense - the one that appears at my door step without ever having to ask for it,  just in the right moment of need. I have truly become a better person just by watching your virtues over the years. Your warmth,  your reaching out to people in need, your generosity,  your calm, the way you handle stress, the endless time we spend talking that never ever has any room for gossip or any kind of negative energy - all these are huge lessons that taught me what life is about. I try to be a mom, wife and daughter like you are - but most of all, I hope I can be a friend to you in the same spirit that you have been to me all these years. Thank you for all the organizing skills, for carrying the kitchen in your tote on every camping trip, for loving my child just the way I do and spoiling her more than I can ever manage (:-P)  For supporting me through my biggest ordeal and crying when I cry, for your sense of style, for your giggles, for just being the true hallmark of friendship and who else could ever justify having a name that means 'friendship' more than you?? - I feel your dad must have named you that, foreseeing what you'd come to mean to a friend like me.

(Signed for all of them)

Eternally grateful and blessed for your crossing paths with me- 

Aarti's Mom.

                                            *********

Glory to you, if you are still with me! :) Thank you.

Tribe Whisper | The Lost links

Part # 3 Of Write Tribe "Chinese Whisper" story chain.

Tribe Whispers is an idea proposed by Ayush Chauhan in the Write Tribe Facebook Group. Members of the group are working together to create a story. Read more here: (http://1hw.in/the-tribe-whispers/). I am writing Part 3 of the story.  Check out (http://vaayadipennu.wordpress.com/) for Part 2, Smurfy wounds. and (http://1hw.in/blood-and-thunder/) for part 1, Blood and Thunder.

"let’s whisper the secret story….. shhh…..Blood and Thunder… Smurfy Wounds…. The Lost Links.....

 Trishoo looked at Kara, perplexed. They clumsily got up from 

where they lay and looked at Dr.Kroshon with the same dazed expression. No matter how Trishoo looked at it, the landscape reminded him only of a desert. But wait, wasn't he lying under a mango tree? Was this a farmhouse indeed? Who was Mr.Singh? Was Trishoo his real name? questions rose and fell in his brains making his head reel in confusion. He waited for Kara to say something. To clear the cloud of disorder that was building in his head.

"Hello" Dr.Kroshon waved his hand before Trishoo's face in an attempt to bring him back to this world. "Is this Mr.Singh's farmhouse??" The voice came firm and a little irritated - "I need to attend to a gravely ill patient and there is no time to waste!"

"You lost your way Dr,Kroshon" a lovely voice replied from behind. Trishoo looked back to see who it was. There she was, standing in a veil covering her face from below her soulful eyes, the lady that had brought him back to his state today. Does he recognize her? Did he share a past with her? Was she related to him? Trishoo had no answers for any of these questions.

"Can you tell me where Mr.Singh's farm house is, young lady!" - Dr, Kroshon's voice cut into Trishoo's train of thoughts.

"I have no clue about a Mr.Singh nearby, the name sounds very unfamiliar!" 

Dr,Kroshon looked impatiently at his wrist watch. "It is getting late and I need to attend to a badly injured patient that is bleeding blue"

Trishoo jerked back from his lost train of thoughts. Was this man looking for him and how would a non existent Mr.Singh send for him? How would he know about Trishoo's state without ever being there?

Trishoo felt a jolt of shock in his head and passed out on the ground.

****

Trinton - the name rang like a thousand bells as he regained consciousness.

He woke up from what seemed like the coffin - His senses formed a haze in front of his eyes. It came to him in bits and pieces - the feud between the two villages, the Chief's pretty daughter, the battle, the wounds. But nothing was concrete. vague segments  of his memory flashed before his eyes.

****

The battlefield was all gory -  beheaded corpses, pools of blood, fire destroying the carriages, wounded beasts howling in pain. He didn't remember if he had lost or won. He didn't remember if Kruson betrayed him and joined the opposition. He didn't remember who dragged him off his horse and wounded him all over his body.

He did not remember if he was half alive or half dead.

What had happened to Aiyana - Did she escape the clutches of the evil Rasputin? Did the chief survive the battle? Did 'he' survive the battle? More importantly did he survive the betrayal? Did he survive the heart break? Did Aiyana love him the way he loved her?

His whole existence seemed to be like a puzzle with permanently missing pieces. He looked at his body, all sewn haphazardly to keep the gaping wounds from tearing further apart. He had to find out the missing pieces and the story beyond his name.

Trinton looked around to see where he was. The place smelled of mildew and coffee. The pool of still water that collected next to his makeshift bed reflected his features. He must have been a handsome man beneath those scars, dried blood and a stubble that was more than a week old. His hazel eyes shone with an unmistakable determination and a carefully concealed pain.

Aiyana - the name created ripples in his heart!

He tried to get on to his feet when he was suddenly pushed back on the bed - a long sword pointing to his chest. "Stay where you are - don't dare to move" The voice came firm and low - He looked up to see where it came from. The eyes looked familiar - the rest of the face was covered with a veil.

"Who are you?" he asked the figure behind the veil - "Do I know you?, Do you know me? What do you want from me?" 

"Vengeance" came the voice, hissing in contempt!

He looked beyond the veiled face to see Kara clinging to her robe.

The veiled lady broke into laughter tinted with wrath. "You shall live to long for death - This is Lady Aiyana's promise to you!"

Her laughter and words struck him like thunder.

**********

Over to Leo for part 4 of Blood and Thunder at (http://artofleo.wordpress.com/ ) Do check it out! Thank you! :-)

That Tuesday Thingy Review - Lootera.

I had to get back to serious blogging somewhere and when I kept seeing prompts for book reviews and movie reviews in the Blogeshwari group I joined recently (Yay! - Thanks to Afshan and Blogwati G for making me a part of the group) I had to chicken out - Books, I read many of - but unfortunately these days, their charm leaves me almost immediately so reviewing  them becomes a task. As that is not enough,  my partial amnesia kicks in pretty pathetically. Movies, I don't watch many to even think about reviewing. But recently, the IMax in our neighborhood started screening Bollywood movies and Bolly enthusiasts in my friends/family attempted successfully to drag me to watch not one, not two but 3 films in a three week span, out of which Lootera made the most impact. To mark my debut blog after becoming a part of the IndiBlogeshwaris, I try my hand at reviewing in my minds eye, the movie named Lootera - Please bear with my extensiveness or lack there off and back out right now if you plan on watching it and can do without a narration of the story :-P - Fair warning!!

Hmm...where do we begin???

The feel  - I am a big sucker for films that depict the past laden with a good dose of dramatics. The sepia tones of old classics had a magical effect on me ever since I was a child probably because the only genre my 'literary hero' dad enjoyed (and continues to enjoy) were those old classics. I remember how we always used to stay up late to catch on the "Purani Kalatmak feature films" aired on DD1. One reason why I loved Lootera is because it recreated the charm of an old story being told on celluloid. I was transformed back to the 50s - a decade in which my parents were babies and got the  feel of a Zamindaari estate - the costumes that would have been the vogue of that period, the way people would have carried themselves - the hospitality, the language - you name it and Lootera depicted it for me. I loved how the protagonist drives around in a vintage Chevrolet, clad in hand-loomed sarees of bright hues, presented with the aid of garishly yellow gold jewelry. The simplicity just struck me with great impact and that got me latched on to the narrative skills of the director Vikramaditya Motwani.

The Characters - Pakhi, the only child of a filthy rich Zamindaar, is a very well rounded woman (no pun intended) with interest in all things fine and fabulous from painting to writing. She is often seen hanging with her childhood friend, the daughter of their munim jee - and is shown doing the antics of a seven year old. All of which is very convincingly depicted without making them look forced or cheesy. Varun Srivastava - a young archaeologist with his good boy looks, tailored wardrobe, immaculately gelled hair (or is it oiled) and shaven face makes his way into the estate and the heart of Pakhi. I am not giving out more than the title does - which is the fact that he is a Lootera both literally and figuratively. The supportive characters are Pakhi's dad - two friends , one each for both the lead characters and odds and ends that appear fleetingly in the course of the lengthy movie.

The Actors - I didn't watch much of Sonakshi's works, except bits and pieces of her portrayal in Dabang 1 - as I was forcefully tied with my seat belt while flying the proverbial seven seas. I caught Ranveer singh on Netflix - again, not seriously enough to appraise his talent. Both the leads took me by surprise given their relatively 'new comer' status. Both of them, I think, stepped out of their almost typecast slots and delivered amazingly understated performances. Their chemistry is worth mentioning given the limitations of their proximity with each other during the storytelling process. Reinstates the fact that a couple could look like they belong together without falling all over each other. The other characters fit in with perfection, making me wonder if this was shot on candid cameras while people actually lived their lives. I think casting makes up for the better part of the movie and the director got it right on all counts.

The Music - And I mean the Lyrics and the music. For me, personally, the movie takes the 'off beat' status because there are no sing/dance sequences like our typical bollywood romantic movies. The music does its thing in the background, adding that magical allure to the visual being shown. The literature enthusiast in me was left devouring the lyrics as the scenes unfolded themselves on the screen. And as we speak, the numbers play in the background as a gentle reminder of the 'smittenness' I walked out with as I left the theater. For me, the music is what would stay with me, long after the feel of the film is buried in my unfathomable subconscious (poor memory). I hear rumors of the tunes being 'inspired' by some western numbers - which I care less about. Aren't we all some sort of 'inspirations' or the other? which brings me to my next sub heading incidentally.

The Inspiration - My biggest pet peeve - lack of originality! And I stumble into it more often than I would ideally prefer. It is the inborn critique in me (Virgo) or it could just be a coincidence - that I find most things a repeat of what was already read, felt or seen and Lootera didn't spare me from that encounter. When I was a child, I loved short stories with a vengeance. They are probably the reason why this bolg and this yearning to write exists today. Anton Chekov, O Henry, John Updike, Ernest Hemingway, Mark Twain, our very own regional writers Kandukuri Veeresalingam, Raja Rao, Gurram Jashua etc left their permanent imprints on my passion for writing. O Henry's Last leaf haunts me till date. Lootera succesfully fits that piece into an unsuspecting screenplay. I don't know how it fits, or ties up to make the length of the movie acceptable, but it does with similar magic O Henry had created over a century ago and that redeems my loathe for 'inspirations' or blatant copies in the name of just that! On retrospect, I left with a feeling that 'inspirations' are not all that bad - when served with the right amount of originality of your own. So life does continue - as an inspiration or a concoction of creativity and inspiration. Either way, I didn't, for once, crib about it.

The Technicalities - Costumes - check, locales - check, casting - check, cinematography - check, screenplay - check, stunts - check! Anything else that I must have left out - Check, check and one more check! :)

The Consensus - I'll now tie it all up with one visionary - and don't throw rotten eggs and tomatoes at me - cause the visionary in question is none other than our telly queen Ekta Kapoor - Ever watched her talk? I do ever so often and fall in love with her personality. Yes, the confident, unapologetically arrogant personality. I think Ekta thinks beyond her years and whether one likes her or loathes her, one cannot ignore her presence in the entertainment scene today. Balaji did hit the bulls eye with Lootera as far as I am concerned. Ekta managed to produce a film without any commercial elements - no sub plots, no steamy item numbers, no comedy track and no bells and whistles that today's movies demand. The journey from remote Bengal to Delhousie holds the interest of the viewer sans all these ammunition. That my friends, is a feat in itself - Go watch it with a loved one. It is a breather from your run of the mill bollywood movies and is an original wrapped in an inspiration through and through! :)

"That Tuesday Thingy" contest entry - Notes of the Heart!

This is an attempt at the "That Tuesday Thingy" contest organized by the lady blogger brigade  www. Indiblogeshwaris.com

Traveling through narrow lanes,

Greeting bright faces,

Walking through alleys of pretty smiles,

The heart beats in notes...

Seven in all, creating a symphony -

That dances in the tunnels of senses.

Memories, moments and magic

All woven in simple complexity

Of these septenary notes,

Create ripples of vibrance

That murmur an elixir knit in acoustic,

Speaking in melody.

The shades of life -

Thus spring to a new essence

Tapping the soul

To the tune of 

Eternal bliss. 

Reminiscences.

Wild chase through these  memories,

Unfold a postcard from the past.

Clicked in eyes of the heart..

Preserved for eternity, but momentarily lost.

Responsibility of mundane cares,

Make calendar after calendar flip away.

But all it takes to help the soul,

Is this tidy little  reflection

Coin(ed) to hold, created to grasp

The moments of fulfillment,

In finding these joys,

Reblooming, in the garden of life.

Write Tribe prompt #4

My world - revolves around you,

Rotating around your thoughts.

Dizzy it does make me,

The momentum of your love.

I have peeled the layers of my heart,

Like it were a bloom

Offering them to you,

With nothing hidden or held back.

Rips it does, the nuances of my being,

In pain oh so sweet.

Amid the careless world, I stand

On the road leading to your soul

Giving my very best.

Pick me up, or drop me down -

Your whim molds my destiny, thus!

And as long as you lay your touch

On this feeble mortal,

Be it to soothe or to torture -

Accept, this existence does,

With a content smile.

Picture courtesy - http://sarabbit.openphoto.net/gallery/

Write tribe Prompt #2 - You only live once.

Tracey walked briskly on the mud roads, miles of lavender swayed on either side with the aid of swift winds that rubbed on the scent of the blooms drifting gently in the air, kissing Tracey's face with the therapeutic aroma. She ended up in the south of France, all the way from San Diego California, to meet Carl. It seemed like ages since she last saw him, though, it wasn't more than an hour since she spoke to him from the airport, once she got down. She was supposed to take a little detour, to visit Provence, her dream land. The lavender doused fields, the crisp spring air and the many layers of nature that unfolded before her like magic, making her long awaited moments translate into reality. It wasn't easy - none of  it. Her busy schedule at work, her family, her preteen and 10 year old begging her to stay back and not go to the 'undisclosed' location and finally, to let her husband of eighteen years to grant the permission to disappear for a whole fortnight. When this time of the year comes, nothing stops her from making that one most awaited trip to some corner of the world to meet Carl.

This time it was Rome.  Rome, the Holy city. Being raised a Roman Catholic, no other place in the world held the same prominence as this Eternal city. Being to the place with Carl only added to the charm of visiting the city for the very first time in her four decades of existence. She'd been to far and wide - To India, to Tibet, to Laos and Phuket - and to numerous places in Europe, most of them with Carl, or to see Carl. But this one trip made her experience an anticipation that was not known to her before. Tracey's thoughts take unexpected trails, just like her spontaneous self. She'd been in the medical profession for over a decade now - specializing in Obstetrics. She'd seen hundreds of couples realize their dreams of progeny. She had acted like God, on behalf of him - gently correcting what His nature had inadvertently messed up. She had seen tears of Joy, of heart break and numerous miracles all along and she knew that without divine intervention, all these would have been impossible. Her every success, every failure and every trail had Carl as a witness, directly or indirectly - to her, he was the biggest source of support and inspiration. Nothing or no one in the world seemed to know her better than him. Tracey spent the next couple of days in a cabin that had a lake front - doing precisely nothing but devouring the magic of nature. Then she caught her flight to Leonardo DaVinci International airport, 42 kilometers away from Rome.

She pulled her duffle bag from the carousel and waited absentmindedly, sipping the cappuccino she picked up in the airport. Where did Carl get stuck? His flight from Austin, Texas was supposed to reach here before hers. She knew he is somewhere near her and just when she was about to turn back, Carl came and stood right behind her, saying "boo"  in his deep voice.Startled but grinning ear to ear, Tracey turned back to greet him - gently planting a kiss on his cheek.

They both disappear into the crowd, off to hire a taxi to their hotel room near the Vatican, while both of them exchanged animated stories about their kids and families.

It was their 18th sibling reunion and they didn't let anyone else intrude these special moments.

Pic Prompt Blog - The Closed Doors - A short story.

The fatigue of a long flight from the other side of the globe took onto Maya as she paced the stone paved roads of Alberobello. She traced the identical looking streets as though searching for something. The mid afternoon sun pierced her through her crisp white sundress, making beads of sweat break on her flawless face. She pulled out a monogrammed handkerchief from her straw hand bag and dabbed on her face. 

"How do I ever find out?" She wondered aloud - freezing in the middle of the steep street, looking at the array of doors stacked like Lego blocks. There had to be a little clue, a wee ray of hope somewhere, in making her find what she is looking for.

She animatedly flipped the paper she is clutching onto - as if hoping that it would work like a magic wand and open one of those doors to unite her with her quest. Instead, the paper escaped her gentle grip and floated parallel to the stone paved street. She quickly hurried into big steps, finally getting a hold of it and tucking it into her bag. 

"What use is the paper anyway?, I have no clue what the exact address is - Or if it really is this very town that is going to open the doors to my unanswered questions" She thought while settling on a raised step nearby. She pulled out her wallet, and looked longingly at her parents , Martha and Steve, holding her as a two year old. It never stuck her this hard, the unsimilarity of them and her - Their knotty hair, soulful black eyes and ebony skin forming a contrast on her naturally occurring  Mediterranean tan and hazel eyes. It took her a few years to understand the fact that they are not her biological parents, and a few more years to come to terms with it - Or so she thought. She never came to terms with it actually. She wanted to travel to where she belonged, where her actual mom and dad stayed - all with meager clues and incomplete facts.

Maya turned back to the sound of an opening door - a little girl stepped out, holding a baby doll - She approached Maya and spoke something in Italian. 

Maya ruffled her hair with a smile. "I don't speak Italian,Honey" She answered knowing for sure that those words would be as foreign to the little girl as the Italian she just heard was to her.

The girl stopped talking and looked at her in puzzled amusement.

"Maya come inside" - a voice gently drifted from the insides of the door.

A middle aged man stepped out of the door. Maya looked at him puzzled, asking him how he knew her name. 

'It is the name of my daughter" - He answered her in heavily accented English.

"What a coincidence?" - Maya exclaimed letting out a peal of laughter - I am Maya too.

The man bent forward and offered to shake Maya's hand - "My name is Alberto" - "Are you a tourist? You look very Italian!"

"I am Italian, she answers - till my parents decided to renounce me one day" 

Alberto looked at her with misty eyes - "Just like my Maya" He whispered. 

Maya held the hand of little Maya and pulled her into her embrace.

"You will perhaps have a journey to make dearie, a quest to discover the burden of your own existence, and I hope you find your answers"

Little Maya looked on confused, a half smile fading into a frown, wiping Maya's tears away tenderly!


Picture Courtesy - Fotolia.

One Hundred (words).

She walks carelessly, on a mission. She has to find something. The drawers get ransacked, things scatter around. She settles in the clutter, looking like a gnome in the center of a flower patch.
 "What are you doing?" a voice asks, "Look at this mess" -
"I'll clean it as soon as I find luck."
"Luck?
"Yes,My lucky penny is missing in this catastrophe "
 "Catastrophe?"
"It is a fancy word for mess, I heard dad use it."
She gets up, grabs her rag doll, and walks away leaving the 'catastrophe' behind for the mom to flex her muscles on.