Thursday, December 06, 2018

Reverse

I wonder what ran in the minds
Of his folks,
When they named him that!
Did they envision him
Getting on to people's nerves?
Under their skin?
Making them reach out
To cozy cuddles
With the heated blanket
Perhaps with a book that changes their life
Or a thought that breaks their heart!

I wonder what the need was to name him
To begin with-
Isn't it enough to feel him
Running chills in the spine
Seeking solace in hot sips
Of cocoa or herbal tea?
Like it isn't enough
That he hides the Sun
Or hides from.

I wonder what the name serves?
Just a moniker, aiding the menace mind
That needs wordage to identify!
A thread to rattle on
Whining, complaining.
"I can't wait for the spring"
It pouts, with knit eyebrows.
I wonder why the name?
Winter....
When I can just be, and feel him
Freezing a feeling many
As I attempt to make friends with him
And accept him as he is.
The name - I can do without!



Friday, October 26, 2018

Sighting



Eternal 
Suspended through timelessness 
The astral light fixture 
Emitting his beams of delight 
I freeze
And freeze him as a penalty 
In my meagerly smart device 
For once it dawns
Upon my stillness 
My transience 
The fleck I am
Amid the depths of the Master’s creation 
Longing to detach and renounce
To embrace the eternal 
Merging into Wholeness.

Wednesday, October 17, 2018

Deception

There she is lurking
In Reality clothing
Don't let her body
Touch your soul.
Seductress avantgarde
Enticing you
With a Magical phrase
"I am in love with you"
She would croon
Opening doors to your treasure
Vulnerable you, you'd be plundered
Unceremoniously.
Savage little charmer
Don't let her lies
Become your truths.
May be it requires
To up your guard
Like a dam, holding those waters
Of trust.
Don't let her two faced farce
Become your blueprint
To living life.
Close your eyes
To the eternity within.
Let the outer illusion
Dissipate into nothingness.

Sunday, September 30, 2018

Semusing #30 - Yay!

When I decided to join September Musing brigade, I got a bit of myself back - a bit that I thought I lost in the process of a the roller coaster called life. I leaped into it without much contemplation - as I think too much contemplation isn't going to put you in action much. That being said, thanks to this bumpy, hectic ride, I got back my - Spontaneity!

When I look back and reflect at the year so far, I feel this year had been a milestone of sorts. I had been through so much of self discovery and life changing findings. I started my quest into my spiritual side though I had always described myself as a spiritual being. I had read so much more of philosophy, psychology and some of physics and made the best out of everything I was greeted by. In a way, I had come of age :) In a way, I had gathered the courage, the self drive and the yearning to embark on an inner quest and I think this year had been the most important year of all in terms of learning and evolving as a human being.

I know I did a little bit of a cheating and catching up along the way of the month long blogging  journey, but given all the impediments that crossed my path and all the demands on my time, I am kind of proud of myself that I stuck to my commitment. It also increased my blog tally - which, is a surge of sorts in my creative life. It got a little tricky around mid month, when I kept facing one unforeseen time vacuum after the other but I resolved to keep at it, come what may. I look at this completion as a small victory over all the inertia and hindrances that I was face to face with.

Going back to my findings so far, I look at my spiritual journey as ground breaking. It lent a very fresh perspective to life in general and the purpose of life in specific. I looked back and realized I named two of my posts "Surrender" in the past week. I let them be the way they are - as it kind of gives me a sneak preview into my state of mind right now. Surrender to the divine will. Life seems to have suddenly simplified, unraveled itself in all the clarity and wisdom I was fortunate enough to have chanced upon. The wisdom I gathered in books was perfectly supplemented by the situations I was put into all along. Which makes me only marvel a little more at the unfathomable intelligence that kind of has a unique program in place to every creature on earth.

My house if lighter now as well - both the literal and figurative lighter - with only the dark wood sprawling across all the surface. My eclectic, quirky, unexpected abode suddenly transformed into a tranquil, monochromatic space. I miss my spring green walls but am equally drawn into the soft grey and bright beige that got replaced. I look around and gasp, I look behind and gasp again....My life is as insignificant as it can get. I didn't do any discoveries to change the face of human life, I didn't churn up best selling writings nor did I accumulate any material possessions - notwithstanding, I find myself at a strange contentment, a peace that comes from deep within, a sense of achievement that shines in doing the pettiest of things with great passion.

Like I said, I don't have an elaborate list of achievements to my credit, but the little tasks take up, make up for it all. Be it grilling the perfectly moist paneer kebabs or sticking to a blog commitment amid a whirlwind of a month that perhaps put every test it could in my path to see if I'll falter.

I didn't! :) Yay!

PS - If you are still with me, try meditation. Thank me later :)



Saturday, September 29, 2018

Semusing #29 - Surrender

Letting go,
Things - the ones for touch, the ones for feel.
Digging into the earth
Rooted
But Flowing with the course
Of the divine design.
Not rigging things in favor
Accepting, embracing.
Not tracing back in time
Tagging on to 'only if' redundancy.
Not wondering, not mourning
Balanced firm on here, on now.
Molting the past
Shedding the pain.
Sweet surrender
In the tranquility of transience
Clutching to the infinite inside.

Friday, September 28, 2018

Semusing #28 - Experience

Reward. A great motivator. Every time I ask my daughter to complete her chores or homework she'd quickly ask me "What's my reward?" I roll my eyes and say "Your reward is doing them."

I'll not get into the sitcomish verbal war I get into with her but the last time I gave her that answer, I made an internal pause. Doing something is our reward? How did I mean it? And if I had said it to my preteen, I better justify it for myself I thought and suddenly I started making a laundry list of all things I did and what I got as a reward and though this would make for a good musing.

When I was twelve, I had to change schools - I was suddenly shifted to a regional medium of instruction from my convent school. I didn't give it too much of a thought then, and I did okay in the transition. When I look back, I see that, the change I had to undergo was the best thing that could have happened to me at that point in time. I faced a huge challenge, I struggled to make drastic shifts in my learning methods but at the end, I emerged as very versatile. Almost like one of a kind.

When I was seventeen, I was fortunate enough to have gotten a government Job.  In the late 90s when being employed by the government was a goal many people sough to achieve, I was there, fresh out of high school, drawing the salary of a grown up with the security and perks a central govt job had to offer. Many of my peers went to do their professional studies, some of them stopped back to opine that seventeen was a time to enjoy and study. I did enjoy, I did study too - through correspondence all while doing some real time learning of the world.

A few years ago, I went through a personal ordeal. A loss that I'd probably gather the fortitude to talk about on a public platform one day. There wasn't anything anyone could do to save us from it and I had to endure it as God's will, to the best I could, with the help of my significant other and my supportive family and friends. This event taught me to be grateful. Ironically, an incident that should have broken me, taught me to pause, look around and appreciate what all I have and all the support, backing and love I got in the process.

When I saw my MIL go through a terminal illness, I saw first hand, the power of impermanence, of mortality - of how fragile and short lived human life is. My MIL endured so much pain with an iron clad smile. I never caught her sulking, cranky or complaining. Watching her at close quarters was an experience that put a lot of things in perspective for me. She had been a tremendous influence on me. She rocked her life in all the choices she made while she lived - both in the peaks of fortune and the depths of bad times.

In the past year, I experienced divine grace upon me - some in the form of the most wonderful of events and some on the other side of the spectrum. I somehow, in the process of living all this life, gathered the insight to greet each of my experiences without sorting them into good and bad, they are here to teach me something. They are hear to make me experience something. And then to process those experiences and update my wisdom.

I think what ever experiences we are put through are hand picked, tailor made for us. Only if we cultivate the patience to step back and examine each of them as a experience catering to our evolution - as experiences that make our journey on this earth worth the while.

I know the answer now. I guess. If we make sure  each assorted experience that we are encountered with is embraced with grace, and with an intent to learn, we have arrived! Big time!


Here's to Experience - the biggest reward of all.

Thursday, September 27, 2018

Semusing #27 - Saccharine

There's an instant
When reason eludes
When feeling emerges
Bringing down thawed emotions
Flowing like a river.

There's a moment
When stakes are high
When risks seem delightful
Pushing the limits
Rushing in the gushes
Of previously moderated commotions.

In that moment, stand staring life in the eye,
Challenge it to try you
Defy you.
Stand unfazed, stand for your truth
Embrace your Real.
It is once you live.
Just live.



Semusing #26 - Uni-Verse


I sit, back propped to the head board
Stretched, lounging in thought
Looking through the window.
Distant mountains of memories
Emerge in the horizon
I smile, I sigh
I laugh while shedding a silent tear.
Those many memories
Etched in love, inflicted in pain
Parade in the foreground.
A universe of experiences
Stowed into a database
That pops up like an unwelcomed guest.
I honor them all,
Bow to their presence
Hold hands in reverence.
Every one of those bitter sweet moments
That heaped to form the me
That muses, marvels and moans
Stringing meaningless excuses
For a verse.

Pic courtesy - Dhiren shah

Semusing #25 - Surrender






Here's an extension
A masquerade of confusion
As insights.
A tracing of wise footsteps
A grappling of meaning
In a abrupt world.
Here's a tribute
To all those creations that inspire
A yearning to surrender
Yet, a learning to have faith!




Semusing #24 - Haiku

Lush foliage 
Of laments and reveries
Hushing beneath.

Semusing #23 - Take away.

I am in a mood of precision and decided to do an objective type blogging where in I identify the exact take away, without much weaving around in elaboration.

Here's random things I learned during my home redo that spawned over a month, and is still work in progress in random order, though they are numbered for effect

#1 - The most comforting of foods is not a delicacy. It is not dessert either - it is the simple, unadulterated  meal, served off the stove, piping hot. It could be vegetable broth for all I care. Hot, freshly made if it is. (A takeaway from heating food in the microwave and eating it cold sometimes, when the situation demanded)

#2 - The biggest of our blessings are the most underrated ones. (A takeaway from the surprise hot tea a friend made and brought me in a thermos. It stayed hot for a good six hours. Imagine the comfort that slipped through an aggravated throat amid all the dust mites. Thank God for true friends and thoughtfulness)

#3 - A good chunk of our Bollywood, Tollywood music is, ahem, plagiarized - form Spanish music. (It is weird how many of those songs those workers blared in their phones as they worked away, sounded like something native I had heard somewhere , rest in peace - my quest for originality)

#4 - Humanity is a universal language. Though most of the helpers on the job didn't speak a word of English, they graciousness is something that touched and humbled me.

#5 - A space of your own is the biggest blessing - be it a shack or a palace, if you have your space, your privacy and your freedom to be yourself in your jammies, with hair marinating in coconut oil, piled up on your head like a rat's nest, while you sip your morning tea and giggle silly with your toddler. (Take away from having an army of men swarming in every nook and cranny, making me feel like I am in a public dorm, sharing space with a dozen strangers)

#6 - Everyone has a story, a life lesson, some wisdom to impart (Take away from the the struggles a few of them who knew how to manage a conversation in English shared with me)

#7 - Music is magic. It heals, it peps, it soothes, it inspires and it makes you pretend like a symphony conductor while spinning your Philips screw driver in thin air, with closed eyes, while immersed in a Mozart rendition (take away from watching the old man Pedro, that loved listening to western classical music like a zen monk in meditation, while he did odd jobs around the work site.

#8 - People are endearing, amusing and utterly considerate if we care to stop and stare (Take away from noticing a heavily wrapped something doing the rounds in my microwave - it was Roberto's  (the main contractor) way of being respectful of the fact that I let him use my 'strictly vegetarian' microwave to heat up his meat dish. I was planning to do a thorough clean up because I didn't want them to eat cold food - but was smiling when I saw how thoughtful they were of my finickiness.
"It won't smell now Senora" He beamed when he saw me observing him :-)

#9 - We are all born to be happy. But as we grow, the world gets to us (take away from noticing my darling three year old dousing in dust, feeding herself bread crumbs in lieu of spongy idlis and perfectly puffed rotis - all while bursting into a sing dance routine or engaging herself in an elaborate pretend play, enacting the workers she'd been intently watching all these days.

#10 - Everything is learning. Be it good, bad, ugly, challenging or awe inspiring - if we look at life with the right perspective, we can make the best of everything. We can connect with people that have nothing in common with us and we can live. And learn.

I have a lot more that would come - but here's a wrap. For there's more to catch up in my Semusing updation.

Semusing 23 - Verse

That stroll, on the shores 
Of uncountable, fleeting moments
We stream through
Lost in life, in making a living
Those days that slip away
Like sand in the fist
Those transient dents
That are leveled as waves of reality 
Splash on them.
Those many untaken roads
Unspoken words
Skipped through existence
Muffled through resistance
To those very moments,
Those days, those roads and words
Here's an epitaph of regret
Topped by the bouquet of a two minute silence.

Pic Courtesy - Chandra Elango

Semusing #22 - Acknowledge




I had noticed, that some of us are very cautious of acknowledging some of the times. An acknowledgement is broadly defined as the acceptance or admittance of the existence or truth but I am referring to the simple act of giving credit or a recognition where it belongs without even having to getting into the elaborate and graceful act of gratitude. For example, a friend does a favor - say, brings us a thoughtful gift. We do a lip service of "thank you" but in our minds or in conversations with others, we look at reasons why we deserve that gift and why the friend must have gotten it for us. We somehow twist it and stretch it and skew it so that it doesn't look as a favor that was conferred upon us. But somehow, magically, we step up onto a rung of entitlement.

There's another way of dodging this feeling of acknowledgement, that is even vile than the one mentioned above. We somehow put the kindness down - "So what if she made this for me? She did it for show off - or it is so easy peasy lemon squeezy that we don't need to even highlight it. What's there in making a whipped creme dessert? It's as easy as one two three - no biggie really!" I hope I am making sense. I get a little disappointed when I see people around me do this to themselves. I say to themselves because when we look for reasons to dodge gratitude, we are in a way putting ourselves down than anybody else.

There's a third prototype of entitlement that I came across. "They have this in abundance. They share it because they are going to waste it anyway. Or "They are riding there anyway. We are not piggybacking per say - cause they aren't stepping out of their way in any sense to accommodate us"

Huh! I wonder why we do this. Is this because it somehow belittles us to accept that someone had done something for us? Or is it because we feel it hurts our egos to acknowledge and give an accolade where it belongs? I don't know, really!

As I age, I realize that very few people have the grace to acknowledge, compliment or give credit where it belongs. It is unfortunate that we let our fragile egos get bigger than their britches and let ourselves bask in the false sense of superiority while we deprive ourselves of the magic of gratitude or the joy we get when we identify and honor the good that we come across.

I know, I am getting old. But, as I turn each page towards the inevitable, I notice that we don't grow up as we grow old. I vow to do the former and avoid the latter....We'll see how that goes!

:-)

Slide courtesy - Google

Semusing #21 - The hapless knowing


Taare Zameen Par is a movie that captured my rapture to the tee - probably in a very egotistic way. I related to both the protagonists, swooned over the treatment and the camera angles, hummed the soul stirring lyrics set to body swaying music and marveled at the story telling prowess of the perfectionist Amir Khan. It is the kind of cinema that makes you proud, that makes u want to own it and brag about it to non Indian movie goers, much like a mom enamored by the achievements of her child.

As a non screen goer, I watched the movie, parked on my living room couch and was in awe. I was in love. I was in an intense feeling of contentment. It was as if an amalgam of complex emotions was transferred to a visual in perfect form. It brought to my heart's realm the many layers of this animal called life. It's been close to a decade since I caught the movie, but there are scenes I recollect to the minutest of detail. I wished to do a full reviewing of the film through my words, but I decided to confine my verbal awe to just one song "Maa"

Before I muse about the song, I need to mention tidbits of wisdom I heard from veteran mothers. "No matter how you ace it, how perfect you are at it, you'll always look back with a regret or two" One wise mom opined. "So don't ever judge yourself too harshly, you do your best, and remember that sometimes your best isn't good enough and that's okay"
"You always play it back in your mind's eye, and always, find ways to improvise" Another mom added.

 Twelve plus years of mothering 2 kids, I am already in agreement with the above sentiments.  This is kind of a digress form the song, but I had to mention it, cause as a mom, I cringe to put myself in the shoes of this screen mom.

Shankar Mahadevan's classically trained vocals lend the perfect despondence to the heart ripping lyrics. There isn't a need to tell about the visuals that are married perfectly to every word in the background. The song as a whole perhaps nutshells the plight of many helpless situations we face in failing our loved ones - some situations that we are put into, and some, we put ourselves into. But the beauty isn't that at all - the beauty is the empathizing plea of the child - A child that would always, in ways beyond its scope, finds reasoning behind everything the parents put it through...It isn't until later in life, probably, that it gathers a tally of the scratches or scars that it is put through in the name of being raised well.

The choice of words, from the child confessing that he is scared of the dark but never tells - and the urge not to send him away so far that he couldn't trace back the steps to home. There's a particular line where he speaks about "Jab be khabhi papa mujhe jo zor se....." Every time I hear that line, though I know what follows, I brace myself in a pain that only a perfectly administered lyric can inflict upon you. "Chehre pe aane deta nahi, man hi man main Ghabraata hoon maa..." Woah! wait. How is it even possible to take an abstraction and give it the perfect wordage? , and then, as if that isn't enough, we see the child, opening a faucet and wiping his tears. On the count of three....Sigh!!!


I know I can go on and on about every frame and every word and every pause and still not get over the profundity this song had achieved - from the expressions of the dad in the foreground, to the brother weeping in the background and all the brimming but never flowing tears the little kid holds in his large eyes. It is sad that we as humans, sometimes, somehow fail to translate our intentions well into actions. We are so bent upon doing what we think is right for someone that we might crumple a soul in the process. We might be true in many cases but we cease to be right.

The song in a way makes me second guess every decision I make that I think I make in the best interest of a loved one. It tenderizes me, opens me to the soreness of misplaced, well meant decisions.

Like the wise mom said - "We'll always look back and wish we'd done something differently" This thought is probably a redemption we give ourselves to the our shortcomings in the name of love.

For now, I am off to another looping of the number, while I pray I'd look back with as few regrets as I can manage in this hapless emotion we call love and in all the atrocities we commit under that umbrella.

Tuesday, September 25, 2018

Semusing #20 - Verse


Let me make the best of light
Making the shadows my playmates
Amuse myself between the yin and yang
Creating fluid artwork to keep me company.

Let me look at every moment
Like a treasure hunt, a chance at joy
Looking for happiness in havoc
Patting my own back, giving my own being a push.

Let me squeal in joy, at every encounter
Greet each fleeting minute with rapture
Let me trace back my path. beyond the formatting of the world
Beyond the shackles of a 'fit in' algorithm.

Let me sing like the bird in woods
Dance like a peacock in the wild
Not worried who would watch
Or who would care to approve, appreciate.

Let me do it for myself, not giving a damn about the accolade.

Thursday, September 20, 2018

Semusing # 19 - Wordless Wednesday


Semusing #18 - Verse





Between finding and losing 
Silence and speech
Expression and nonchalance
I know the content
You carefully conceal

Between clinging and fending
Smiling and frowning
Confessing and confiding
I know the gist
You slyly hide

Between joy and tears
Hopes and fears
Embracing and ignoring
I know the distress
You ruthlessly bury.

Between you and me
A seamless flow
I dare you to sever
Try as you might
You'll come back home
To the arms of true love.

Between real and surreal
The lines blur 
As we unite in spirit
Then everything in between
Blurs into union
Then this between
Becomes the biggest illusion
Dispersed into eternal fusion.

Wednesday, September 19, 2018

Semusing #17 - When it rains, It pours.



Rain makes me very happy. Any type of rain - the drip, the drizzle, the cyclone and everything in between. Sheets of water pouring in, changing the ambiance, the look and feel of the outside. I find the whole phenomena  of rain very thought through, probably the way all natural phenomenon are, from the seasonal cycles, or the life cycles of frogs and butterflies. It puts the human creation in perspective for me and makes me gasp at the unfathomable intellect that is the divine. I know, all roads lead to Rome these days, or my findings in my spiritual quest, but about rain we are musing, and about rain it would remain - though it would flip to be the figurative one, as we progress into the ponder.

When I looked at the phrase "When it rains, it pours" I always see a positive ring to it. Not until recently did I realize, that this phrase has a negative annotation - as in indicating that misfortunes never come alone. "Aye Aye" my grey cells went - "What a Godforsaken mind, pray, had come up with indicating Rain as a misfortune? Tch tch" But isn't interpretation something that isn't generic? It's got to be unique I concluded and thought of using it in a positive sense - as come on people, rain has to be a dopamine infusing event. Nothing less. Full stop.

So the calendar flips to the nineteenth day of the 9th month, and here I am almost conceding to the inertia of taking it easy. "Almost" being the operative word. Since almost can flip and become something else all of a sudden. So here I sit, at the end of a very tiring day that comprised of major home improvement projects being executed in the backdrop of dusting, arranging and parenting - and - 'drum roll' - cooking the first full blown meal for a wine and dine on a week night with some dear guests. After all this, I pause and go - if it rains, it might as well pour. Why not extend the exhaustion a little bit and catch up with some backlogs? But truth be told. I had no definite subject to ponder about. As the day unfolded, between pauses of the incessant brain chatter, I get  bombarded with ideas galore, but today, I chose not to rhyme or reason - I chose to free-form write over a random phrase that caught my fancy and wanted it to be a fatigue drenching pour - making the duality take a time out in a quiet corner, as I complete my commitment. 

And I wish, it pours into your beings, into your homes and hearts - this rain of your choice - love, moolah, or just inspiration to get going on a commitment, what ever your choice of pouring, let it drench you. On that note - I wrap up hashtag seventeenth semusing. Sometimes, you make sense, sometimes you don't - but as long as you keep at it, mind, your reader's won't (Hehe, now you are obligated to not mind ;-))

Tuesday, September 18, 2018

Semusing #16 - Go on!

One misses a day
And it goes on to be three
Just then realization strikes
That perseverance is the key.
Polys ample
Decoys plentiful
But one word - just one
Persist -
Over the daily grind
Inertia, laze, haze
Over the mundane maze.
Day sixteen
A heap of abstraction
Keeping at it - pulling up
Viola! The show goes on.


Saturday, September 15, 2018

Semusing #15 - Debate

It is an average weekend in the household, The man of the house is donned into the pretend play of a farmer in the modest backyard with the two rugrats trying to participate in the game alongside, while I do my mundane chores with a renewed enthusiasm. Most of the debris from the demolition is swept out and though the floors look raw and incomplete, the toughest part of the redo is done with. I celebrate with a cup of ginger tea on my functioning 'brand spanking new' stove top and grab a book for company.

The preteen comes in with a proposition. "There's a carnival going on in the park - we should go take some rides and eat funnel cake" She beams. "Let's see" - I answer, feeling nauseous at the mention of rides and funnel cake - both of which I do repel, to put mildly.

"Do you see the mess we are surrounded by? Go pick all the books that you want to donate and put them in the laundry basket" I make a futile attempt to sidetrack the idea of going out into the crowds.

"You know the phrase I despise the most?, Let's see"

"Which phrase?"

"Let's see - duh!" That is so confusing and on the fence. You are never direct and to the point. I demand a yes or a no"

"Well, let's see - I have a Let's see or a no. You can pick one"

"Not fair" She pouts "Give me a good reason to say no"

"Well, I'd been in a mess for two weeks now. I need to get things in order so I don't continue to be in a mess for two more weeks and we'll be done with rearranging the house by the times the new floors come in. I don't think I can afford to hang out in the park and take rides today"


"But it is not fun without you" She pleads.

"Let's keep our funs separate dear. You go have fun and don't force me into something that isn't fun for me. I can accomplish a lot by skipping the carnival. Besides, you know, I don't enjoy even the smallest of rides"

"You are a kill joy mother" She ups her ante into coaxing me.

"I am tired darling. I don't take well to the smell of the grass and all that park has is acres and acres of grass. And imagine hundreds of people out there. I am in no mood to make small talk with a hundred people I know that I might run into"

She starts laughing.

"Don't flatter yourself mother, You don't know a hundred people. You at the most know five. And three of them would stay home avoiding the crowds anyway, just like you"

The dad breaks into an uncontrollable chuckle.

"Okay, okay" I start laughing too. "I don't want to come out and say hello to the two people I know"

She lifts her hands up in the air and gives up. The trio go on their outing while I work indoors like an energizer bunny. Ah, the bliss of being left alone :-)

But I make a mental note. There aren't a hundred people waiting to say hello to me. May be next time, it'll comfort me enough to make that weekend trip to the super market. For now, it is I, me, myself and my musing number fifteen :)

Friday, September 14, 2018

Semusing #14 - Bless this Mess

Another day, zooming to the half way mark, and I sit here in solitude enjoying my own company. The past couple of weeks have presented me with what I call the perfect situation - experience meets enlightenment - well, not The Buddha kind of enlightenment, as yet (and I aspire for it - you can laugh, I don't mind ;) ) but the one that puts you in a spot, to make you decode yet another path in the maze of life.
We have been putting off some home improvement for a long time, possibly because I happened to do a lot of it in my mind and on the design board - I feel that too much of thought can be a kill joy. When you speculate too much, it kind of withers your spontaneity and the projects fizz out into oblivion. But then, we were presented with a 'can't but' situation when the stove top broke and it was too outdated to be replaced. Hence the domino effect came into play as the counters were to be replaced to update the stove and suddenly,  we see ourselves in this big mess of dismantle, and an ambitious project of rebuilding the kitchen around the bare walls and redoing the floors to get rid of the carpet that's been lying around for a bit too long. Now, I am not going to bore you all with my taste of interiors and my domestic dreams.  As all of this got me into a bigger picture than that.

I firmly believe that God puts us through 'situations' to make us empathize with the world around us. Without adversity, there isn't appreciation. Without struggle, there isn't success... yada yada yada....All these sound like such armchair philosophy but when we are in a situation, where we actually experience things - this experience, by God, paired with the right amount of introspection can do wonders to your soul evolution - As I plan not to make this about my spritual journey either, I cautiously come back to my ponder - about the Mess and the lesson thereof.

The first couple of days were spent in getting a grip on emptying the 'stuff' out - suddenly, I was swimming in the figurative sea of consumerism. I looked at the things I gathered and was awed by the 'need' we have to accumulate - I am happy to report, that my favorite place to shop - Home Goods, felt like a torture chamber post emptying my kitchen. I have a fresh perspective on anything kitchen related as that happens to be my downfall into stimulating the economy, if you know what I mean ;)

I had a makeshift kitchen operating out of a near cluttered nook table - the table in question was housing every little thing we needed for survival, sharing space with a modest induction stove. My dosas came out looking like sad faces drooping at the end, most of my elaborate preparations were reduced to 'dump all in cooker and blast the temp to the highest setting' mode - This is survival at the toughest I had experienced so far. I suddenly started feeling powerless. Like my day is a Girl Scout survival camp in the deep woods, away from all worldly comforts. And, the chore I loathe of all - washing dishes - I would not get started on how this was escalated to a whole new level of torture in the dingy laundry sink located in the dingy laundry room that also doubled  as a pathway for the workers to come in and out of the garage, where most material was housed. I don't in the least, intend to make this a pity party - as I have no reason to pity myself. I am just putting things in retrospect and musing about the epiphany that was presented to me in the 'teachable moment' life had presented me with.

'S h one t' hit the fan when the demo of the hard floors came into picture - rancid smell of the power tool scraping the concrete through layers of existing hard floors, saw dust flying in all different directions, messy surfaces doused in the residues and war zone like sounds and thuds gave the perfect background score to a royal mess as I ship the toddler out with the dad, quarantined in the safe confines of my room, doing a recap of things I am going through. I, once in a while peek from the railing to see this young man with protective gear working through the mess like a war hero. Every time his eyes catch mine, he nods in greeting with a grin splashing from ear to ear. "Si Senora' He would say and I smile back. I see the other workers engrossed in their duties like saints in meditation. An older gentle man keeps humming to himself while he works away. I suddenly feel so spoiled, like an entitled brat and this renewed empathy for people going through all kinds of mess floods my insides. "I don't have a working kitchen to make some coffee for them" my guilt complex kicks in. So does my conscience, nudging me to see the epiphany. I think I have upgraded myself to empathize with people going through real time messes - displacements as a result of natural calamities, compromises due to financial challenges and the unseen emotional clutter many of us cruise through in this big bad arena called life. Suddenly, I feel one with all of these challenges, wanting to reach out and do my part and help - instead of just being a word warrior and musing about these things in elaborate articulation. So for now, I'll do what I do best, give my lesson a word form - for every mess out there, be it emotional or material, I feel there is light at the end of the tunnel. I know I'll very soon cook in the kitchen of my dreams, laden in white cabinetry and mosaic back splash  and I wish, to each and every one out there in some kind of a mess, that God is overlooking and He shall reveal to you the fruit of your fortitude.

As for the spiritual quest, that I promised I wouldn't linger upon - guess what? Tough! I am going to (grin)- but in a 'short and sweet' fashion - here goes - Every challenge we face presents to us an opportunity to learn, to evolve - only if we brace ourselves, snap out of our self pity and look over at the horizon. Let each mess bless us in ways we cannot imagine - in ways that draw us closer to the ring of our souls. Amen.

Thursday, September 13, 2018

Semusing #13 - Hinge

When you subscribe to something, specially when it is to doing something in a routine for a whole entire month, and that routine happens to be writing, thankfully, you get into a different mode of existing. I call it the 'muser' mode. Muse is each of nine Goddesses in Greek mythology. Nine goddesses, the daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, who preside over the arts and sciences. So when I find myself in this amusing muser mode, I look at everything in a deeper, broader sense and seem to find findings that rehaul the outdated version of me. 

Yesterday, I woke up to a visual on my social media feed and boom - I was as awake as I could get, without the aid of my morning tea. Is this an epiphany? But of course. 

The picture made me laugh, smile and get up to a wonderful thought. Nine lovely ladies, demonstrating so many layers of life. It was one of those inspirations that seem to give you something in a perpetual stream of giving. And I got to doing what I could do best - comb through the visual cue and do my learning I'd come to do here, on this lovely planet.

I was imagining the fun it'd have been to conceive this idea, to brain storm it, to collaborate and to execute...Though I am no project manager, I have a mild clue of how it is to collab and get things flowing when more than one person is involved in a task. I find it hard to get three of my dearies to the dinner table at the same time.. you know where my empathy for bigger collab flows out of. So,  when I look at this perfectly orchestrated picture, I only sit and wonder how much of a sync these ladies would have had, to pull off something as metaphorical as this picture.  They seem to represent to me, the fine art of support, balance, cooperation and understanding - having each other's backs while not stopping at even bending backwards in offering the support. This is perhaps, a lovely example of how we can cruise through the ups and downs of life, only if we snap out of our cocoons of being upright and secure. Only if we look at others with an empathetic eye, only if we give up our right to be right or in the right spot all the time.

Life is a breeze, said no one. It is an avalanche, a tornado of sorts. But with a few hinges on our backs that support us, get us and pull us up, we'll be back on track simulating a breeze out of a tempest. Here's to the fighting, helping human spirit, to understanding, to finding fun in our daily cares and most importantly, to the fulcrum called friendship that has our back, no matter the position we are forced into, in this tricky game called existence. Long live the biggest bond of all.


Footnote - So, fair warning friends- I'll use anything you say or do in my writings and give them my own spin - (but if it happens to be something I need to seek permission to reproduce, like the picture above - I'll do it before I use it - Thanks to my friend Prashanthi for the generous allowance of using the nine Muses for my musing and to her army of lovely friends - to each of you, a big cyber hug! God bless your camaraderie and may you all continue to spread your light, touch more lives and inspire the likes of me )




Wednesday, September 12, 2018

Semusing #12 - Force

There's this pesky voice
Inside my insides
Wrapped and vacuum sealed
So she doesn't mess the outsides.
I keep her under lock and key
So she won't rampage wild and free
But she manages to set herself loose
And stops me from putting my writing brains to use.
I say Shhh.. while joining my hands in plea
I need to keep up my commitments, but she won't seem to agree.
She pulls me down, makes me want to give up
She creates a little tempest in a tea cup.
You have a headache, you need to rest
Stop this silly, useless blog fest!
I give in ever so slightly, and get under her spell
And give a nod to what she has to tell.
But then again, I come to sense
And here I play my best defense
What if I don't have a musing to muse
I could put myself to good use.
So, muse I am, my own today
And from the semusing I wouldn't dare to stray...
It is a verse, devoid of sense
"But fake it till you make it" they say- this nonsense hence.

Tuesday, September 11, 2018

#11 - The current


It feels like fall
Crisp air, mosit on the skin
The foliage in full swing
Of show off!
Shades of crimson
Hues of Golden
Competing in vibrance
Cat calling the passers by
With their loud attires.

It feels like fall
An underscore of moderation,
A hiphen between the scorching summers
And wile winters
Green moss scaling the stoned stones
Papdi chip like leaves
Crunching under the sensory footsteps
Pumpkin spice, Pomegranates
Ready to burst on the taste buds.

It feels like fall
Trees ready to skinny dip
Shedding their garb, basking bare
Celebrating their nudity
Diving into the chilly onslaught
Awaiting for an entangle
Coaxing them into a recharge
To spring back in renewed vigor,
As the show must go on
After a resting hiatus.

It feels like fall
Up from the daily grind
Landing into the vibe of the shades
Into a paint splashed canvas
Of warm tones, dry textures.
It feels like fall
The one that makes hearts skip beats
And knees go weak.

It feels like fall.
A free fall,
Fracturing all joints
Dismantling them into a painless bliss
Soaring in the lap of love.

It feels like fall with an ing form in tow
Yes,It feels like falling
Into a present continuous tense
Of rapture.

Pictured - The Inspiration - Our friendly neighborhood Emerald glen in fall splendor. Courtesy - Chandra Elango

# 10 - Inspired

As I soak up a lot of literature based on Spirituality, Philosophy and Mysticism, I renew my ever new awe toward nature and its magnificence.  I get very moved by human creativity, be it a writing, a painting, a building or an app. But lately I consciously realize that almost everything a human being creates stems from the inspiration of Godly creation. I have this white tiger cub soft toy, that makes every one fall in love with its black and white contrast and blue eyes resembling lucid lakes by the Swiss alps. Isn't it amusing how we cannot get enough of what God creates and we make an attempt to hold on to that beauty a little longer by paying a tribute of recreating it in our own humble way? A friend of mine laughs at all the motifs I have on my serve ware. Butterflies, bumble bees, dandelions, irises, dragonflies and lady bugs. "You are so intrigued by insects" She laughs. Truth be told, I gasp at every little aspect of the Creator's magnum opus and wonder if it is just His ploy to make us all swoon over his ability. As if he scatters millions of miracles around our pathways of life, amid all those big and little challenges, heart breaks and sorrows we are encountered with. It is probably his divine design to carefully, with the calculation of an expert, place them in strategic spots to remind us that no matter what we create, what we achieve or what we attain - the ultimate power, intelligence and bliss lies in his hands. When I came across this picture of the Kadambam flower, shot by a photographer friend, I had a brain freeze for longer than a moment. The intricacy of its arrangement, the precision, the perfection brought into focus the purpose of human life. It is perhaps these coping mechanisms that make our lives worthwhile - to stop and to stare, to smell the roses, to inhale the misty morning air, to feel the evening breeze caress our faces, to let the sunrise tranport us to the bliss and solace of nature.

It fills me with joy that I can never recreate in words. But I try never the less. Cause they say imitation is the biggest form of flattery. So let me indulge the Supreme up there with a humble tribute in meager wordage.

The ochre shades
Blurring the illusion of the world
Bringing to light
His divine delight.
It's worth many a lifetimes of earthbound maladies
Just to swoon over his craftsmanship.
But make this my last stop
And I promise to gasp at Your every stroke
Soaking it all and basking in your enormity
Floating like an speck of dust
Longing to embrace the Grace.



Pic Credit - Chaithanya Kanni

Monday, September 10, 2018

Semusing # 9 - For better or for Verse


We all have, hopefully at least one person that loves us beyond our wildest imaginations. Someone that makes us step back and wonder, or look around to confirm if it is really us they are targeting their affections at, or if it is someone behind or beside us they are eyeing and if we are caught in an optical illusion. "Who me?" We'd mouth in a dazed state - beside ourselves with doubt! - I had the good fortune of experiencing such love from this young woman on the other side of the globe. One fine morning, while I was entertaining myself in a lonely monologue in this blog of mine, she discovered me on the world wide web. "I am your biggest fan" She'd say. "You find words for my feelings" She'd continue. "Your writings make my day better" She'd gush - and the self conscious, self proclaimed writer in me would gape at the adulation, clueless and baffled. Soon enough, She and I become fast friends. I realize upon a few interactions that she enjoys the same kind of music as I did, was studying Electronics and loved to play the guitar. I needed a name for her, a name  I would address her by and then I called her 'The little one' 

The little one wasn't all that little in person - she stood as tall as I am and she has a smile that could light up a room (I know this is a cliche, but the cliche doesn't go far in describing her smile, may be it lights up the whole town) - her eyes squint as she flashes a row of perfectly white teeth that makes me wonder if  her tooth paste has salt and lemon in it! The little one and I exchanged letters, lengthy conversations, music, and even a miracle stone that made wishes come true - and by exchange I mean, I was at the receiving end of most of them. Sometimes she was at the receiving end too, of discourses,constructive criticism (read being shouted at) and reprimanding as and when the situation demanded. She soaks in all of it with unconditional love. When I was going through a very turbulent time in life, a few years ago, She sent me picture books and tender loving care to cheer me up, for which I am greatly indebted. She wore her white GShock I sent her till it turned a dirty brown, just to proclaim all the love she had for me. Then the little one got hitched and transformed into a mom. A baby Virgo girl  promptly substituted the 'guruji' in her life. Or so I thought. 

Little one surfaces consistently, albeit sporadically to make sure her guruji remembers her. She squeals in joy every time I write a blog. Specially, when I banter in elaboration and don't resort to a verse. "Keep writing blogs not poems Dee" She'd request. "Why?" I'd ask "It is so hard to get your verse" She laughs. And I laugh too at the thought of how blind love makes us.

The other day she pinged me out of the blue, jumping straight to a question. "When are you writing a book?" Now that I am used to her abruption, I text a LOL emoji and say - "When ever it is time and you are ready to pay to read my *insert mild expletive*  "But let's see if a clairvoyant tells me I am going to indeed be a published writer" 
"He'd tell you it'd change lives as well, when he tells you you are going to write a book" She fills me in instantly. My heart skips a beat soaking in all that love. "Life has been a roller coaster the past year, I don't know if I can write anything close to a book" I'd smile. 
 "That it has been always, ever since I know you! A roller coaster. How does it slow you down now?" She challenges me. 
I pause. Speechless. Sometimes we can never wrap our head around our blessings. Or why and how we come to deserve such love, such adulation. Such hero worship. 

All this ponder brings me to Jallaluddin Rumi. "The Beauty you see in me is a reflection of you" I repeat the quote subconsciously. 
"I am musing all September - I add" - "Yay" she squeals amid peals of laughter. "Make sure they are all not verses" She warns me. "I shall" I promise.

I look far and wide for inspiration sometimes. Specially when I know I have a commitment at the end of the day. Several thoughts crossed my mind today, that had a potential for musability. But I thought, I'd make this first person banters more about my dear ones than about myself. I know, I write about her love for me - but like they say  "To be loved is nothing, To love is something, to love and to be loved is everything"

The little one made me realize that even the most ordinary of things can look extraordinarily illuminated if you throw on the light of your love to look at them. It is all, as they say, in the eyes of the beholder. Thank you Little one, for the bright spot you are, for the timbre in your laughter, for your disgusting genre of jokes that haven't evolved since your kindergarten years, for renouncing your 'wish granting' stone for my sake and for being honest about the  non comprehensibility of my verse. I would, If I could, thank you enough for all the 'conditions don't apply' fondness. XOXO

Picture Credit - Chaithanya Kanni

Sunday, September 09, 2018

Semusing # 8 - Hack



When life throws a lemon at you,
Or a remodel that upturns your space
The lesser mortals become headless chickens
Lend disturbances from the external cues
They cuss and complain
And highlight their dust mite allergies
Or take the chance to be a drag
Brooding, upset, cranky like three year olds.
Don't let them give three year olds a bad name.
Wear a shiny dress, swirl around
Climb into a cabinet and flirt with the lens
Throw back a lego block at life 
And tell it you have it under control, and not the other way around.
 Look disorder in the eye and make a funny face.
I've got this in my stride,
Now pick up your sad self
Turn it upside down and smile - 
Don't give three year olds a bad name
Their happiness isn't strewn around
Lost in dismantled cupboards and kitchen sinks
It basks from the inside
Shining bright! Living right!
Teach them losers a lesson or two
About making the best of things
And smiling away like a lightning,
 looking through the rumble.


Inspired by my three year old's spirit that shines though the havoc of a home remodel.



Semusing #7 - The Mother board

I started off writing about my mom for the blogging commitment on day 7, only to realize that the thought that I'd never given a thought thus far seemed so larger than life. Truth be told, I grew up being  and continue to be ever so slightly partial to my dad - so I had never consciously processed the enormity of my mom's influence on my growing up or how much of her is seeped into me, just by the virtue of being raised by her. I gave up mid way cause no matter how much I tried, I couldn't contain it in words and just like that I see that I am missing three posts already. Now, leaving things incomplete isn't something mom would be proud about, so here I go, all geared up, trying to confine the limitless subject of "Mother" in a meager, abridged musing. And I know, no matter how much I write, it is still going to be utterly inadequate...so I venture on the highlights.

My mom is a feminist in the truest sense of the word. She is fierce, outspoken and has the slapstick humor quotient in her that makes me chuckle every time I think of her comic timing - not just in the situation it happens. She has the business acumen of a wall street giant, creativity of Martha Stewart, Personality of Tina Fey and the cooking talent of Rachel Ray. She can be, if she choses to, as badass as Katniss Everdeen.

I get a very skewed image of the present day's armchair feminists. But back in the eighties, my mom motivated, inspired and empowered women from all walks of life without much verbal ammunition. She was the most successful self employed woman of her times that ran a tailoring and embroidery school.  Growing up, our old fashioned home that had generous yardage, was filled with the conversations of women, and the therapeutic sound of sewing machines running in the background. By success, I don't mean just the lucrative one. Her students came from all walks of life - professors, professionals, domestic helpers, high school drop outs and the college girls that were into arts and crafts - she covered the whole spectrum of women one could imagine - and she managed to value add to every single person that crossed her path. Counsel, guidance, wisdom, courage - they all were at her finger tips. She empowered women from the working class, by teaching them the art of sewing without the need of calculations and making them open tailoring shops. Some of them learned how to operate bank accounts, some completed their discontinued high school studies and appeared for the Govt Tailoring embroidery exams and made themselves employable in schools. Some generated a handsome supplementing income for their families. Mom is a woman that touched and changed the lives of many young ladies by providing self sufficiency. "A woman is the crux of the family, A stabilizing factor" Was her favorite phrase and she lived it by example.

Growing up, my mother's 'taking a stance' was intimidating and insecure for the 'please all' middle child in me. She spoke without fear, offered perfect logic for every convention she questioned and she never, ever tried to please anyone by mincing her worlds. Euphemisms weren't her cup of tea. She managed to be brazen without being brutal.  I always used to wonder and fret about how people perceived her. If she was hated her for her outspokenness - but I lived to realize that when a person chooses to be true to their beliefs, they attract the right kind of people. I realized how the world is so shocked by honesty and so accommodating to hypocrisy. With her, What you see, is what you get. If you ask her an opinion or suggestion, she'd dispense the one you need, not the one you wanted to hear. Being popular wasn't on her agenda. Ever. But Popularity followed her never the less, like those flock of children behind the Pide piper of Hemaline. Talk about the power of being genuine.

I had this superstition that what ever my mom says comes true. Once in my seventh grade, I messed up a geography paper and was very tense that I might not get a good mark and my siblings might laugh at me. I went to my mom and told her "Amma, please tell me that I'll get at least 80% in geography paper" to which she replied without a pause "I wish you what you deserve. If it a 30% you deserve, I wish you just that. It is a good thing to face the consequences and learn from them. Failure isn't the end all. Not improvising on our failures is." She singled us out and corrected us in public. She always used to say " I am not here to inflate your ego. The world isn't going to dote on you once I am done with it. Instead, learn to be pointed out at, learnt to handle insults, criticism and disappointments so you are prepared and not protected" I employ the same parenting tactic with both my children and I know it would do them good even if they temporarily wish they weren't born to me. (grin)

Mom created and spread a whole entire body of knowledge in her field, with little mentoring. She was self taught. We grew up wearing very unique and perfectly crafted dresses all our childhood and teens. She made sure all the three of us girls knew how to stitch our own clothes by the time we were in middle school. Now when I look back, I feel so blessed - we grew up wearing one of a kind couture fashion crafted out of cloth she purchased from the fabric vendors that sold bits and pieces of cloth from the humble duffel bags they carried on their cycles. She had the magical ability to sketch lovely outfits and pair unusual textures. Her eye for detail and perfection was mesmerizing and sweat inducing at the same time.

When mom does something, it would be a sight to behold - from decorating visually brilliant altars for all the festivals to cooking up the most yummy looking dishes, she aces it all. Watching her hands at work was like watching a waterfall in slow motion. Her fingers work like magic wands, creating machine like precision with bare hands. Whether she chooses to peel potatoes or smock an intricate yoke for a grand child's dress - she aces it like only she can.

Now her parenting skills are something that all the family tree sings elaborate praises of. She had an "evil look" that froze us in tracks every time we wanted to test the waters by doing something sassy or bad. Don't let that give an impression that she was a tyrant that didn't let us speak up or express ourselves. As much as we feared her discipline, she somehow managed to walk the tight rope of balance by making us comfortable to talk anything and every thing under the sun. No topic was taboo in the house. She had a funny way of educating us on sensitive subjects - DD1 movies were the 'teachable moments' - One day, we were watching a young love story, where there were some explicit scenes. Not once would she ask us to walk our or close our eyes. She encouraged curiosity and advised us to approach her. In the climax, as we saw the young, highschool aged hero and heroine march together hand in had, winning over the world - she had her commentary, in perfect comic timing. "I hope they do a sequel - showing them beg for food to support themselves, as I wonder how employable they are with that incomplete 12th grade" she would quip and chuckle - precise, perfect and oh so funny! Her slapstick humor did the job so effortlessly.

On an other occasion we watched a movie that had a raped woman jump off a cliff and die. "She lost her virtue, so she killed herself" would be the voice over. These were common place scenes from the eighties and 90s. "What truck load of nonsense" she'd exclaim and look at us. "A woman's virtue is not defined by the person who force touches her. Virtue has nothing to do with virginity" She'd tell us softly. "Don't ever let the actions of others define you, your strength comes from inside, so does your virtue and it isn't something people can tamper with" was her advice to us all the time. When I look back, my heart swells with pride, the way she challenged conventions of our time - all being the middle class, small town woman she is, with a radar and a timeline that did everything to put a woman in her place.

My mom is more popular with my friends than I could manage to be. If this post is read by any of my middle/high friends, I am sure, they'd ping me to tell what a riot she was. She became our equal. She teased us about our crushes, guided us with our growing pains and handheld us during testing times. There were numerous occasions when my friends would ask me for privacy with mom so they could discuss their problems and seek solutions. She was a shrink, a friend, philosopher and guide to all of us. And then, boom, out of nowhere, she'd chide them - "what are you doing here since 3 pm? you don't have anything better to do than wile your weekend chatting away? - What do you plan to do for a living? Conduct 'chatting' classes?" She would roll insults and humor into one and my friends would run to the door saying "Sorry aunty. I'll finish my work and show up tomorrow" while the embarrassed bystander would just be embarrassed and  silent. Cause she knows better. She knows that the Lioness is the king of the jungle ;-)

Both my parents are Alpha male and female with upper case 'As"They had differences of opinion that brought the house down but the magic of their partnership was that they always knew perfectly well the art of 'hold on' and 'let go' - As much as she would challenge him, she is hands down, the most dutiful wife I'd seen in my life. She walked away from a bank job because my dad said he needed a helping hand at home to settle and support his siblings (Both my paternal grandparents passed on early and my father, with the devoted support of mom stepped into the parental shoes for his younger siblings) The way she takes care of my dad is awe inspiring. She is doting like a mom and diligent like a servant and I wonder where all that fierce feminism goes and realize, that being a feminist is not about dissing household chores or serving the husband. Like I said, she masters the art of fine balance. And my dad lets her be and bask in her individuality.

In the present day, my mom is retired from her self employed gig and spends her spare time egging my father to flip the news channel to the cooking show. She has this borderline addiction to cooking shows and a recipe folder where in she records all useless cooking and home making tips with the diligence of a research scholar. Sadly, it doesn't end there. She seeks to  transfer that acquired  knowledge to the most willing of her off springs that would lend her an ear.... Which happens to be yours truly.

"Do you have time?" is a question I dread during our phone conversations, which otherwise don't last more than 10 minutes on days there is no 'recipe talk' as mom has this inability to discuss about anything beyond us and our kids - no gossip ever. It is a default questionnaire and then the TV acquired knowledge of '101 hacks of baking soda that can save you thousands" Or "How do you blanch Palak to make saag panner?" or "Do you know you can skip all purpose flour in Rava Dosa recipe to make them crispy like Aarti likes them?"

"I have to do the laundry mom" I'd plea helplessly.
"Never mind your dirty laundry - you have something or the other all the time. Listen to me while your little one naps" would be her firm order.

I give in and listen.  She's gone through so much in her life, single handed, cruising like a super woman, never letting a whimper, never looking out to put the blame elsewhere and duck her duties, never cutting corners in her path of perfection. I didn't think of writing her a tribute, but I am glad, I always take the time to listen to all the useless tips she remembers to tell me, but forgets that she'd told them a dozen times already.

God bless strong women. God bless mature, sensitive, sensible, irreverent, funny, bad ass women -  They change the world, spread the light and they might also end up creating frail xeroxes of themselves that muse on their inspiration.

:-)

Thursday, September 06, 2018

Semusing #6 - Unidentified Baggage


I am all beaming today, cause the musing came in an unexpected package and with a metaphorical aura. As we put ourselves through the daunting task of a kitchen remodel, I am greeted with more than my plate could contain. First off, I had to empty all the cabinets and then find place to stow them away. Now, moi isn't a hoarder - but moi isn't a minimalist either when it comes to my kitchen. My substance abuse problem manifested itself into larger than life proportions. Well - I appoint a little bit of exaggeration when I say that, but the ones who know me probably know how rooted my identity is into my home space with special reference to my kitchen. My material acquisitions in both the foster land and home land are primarily the ones that are used in different surfaces of the kitchen and dining area - pots, pans, trivets, ladles, spoons, dessert bowls, china, fine china, bone china, porcelain china, enameled cast iron, crystal ware, stainless steel,  etcetera etcetera etcetera....I have a situation here - a compulsive desire to cook and feed people. Cooking to me is cathartic, life giving, inspiring, unwinding, relaxing, spiritual and a lot more adjectives that elude me as we speak. So, the stuff that aided cooking and feeding came tumbling out  figuratively, out of the literal woodwork, and out came many good intentions, mostly put to use - but some were grossly neglected. Some were buried into oblivion and were discovered only when I reached into the unfathomable corners of some ill placed cabinets..I got a good inventory of what's needed and what needed to be purged but there it was, this little message in a bottle of sorts - sealed meticulously, sporting the look of an intoxicant, contained in an unusual size - unlabeled and mysterious.

This is not the first time I spotted this bottle. I did before and showed it to the spousal unit, wondering how in the world, it forayed into my kitchen space without my knowing. "What is this thingie?" I flashed the bottle to him and asked and we speculated around what it could be. It didn't look viscous enough to be honey, though it looked the same hue. It didn't look like wine either. We looked at each other figuring out what it could be.

"Reckon it is one of your lotions or potions?, some essential oil may be? A cold pressed exotic blend for the muscle pains?" We had no clue what it was and we were reluctant to give up on it and chuck it in the garbage. What if it was liquid gold? May be it is some magic potion that could make us billionaires. You know the drift right? We cannot just toss stuff that way when it looks like it could be precious/important. So I carefully tucked it back into one of those less accessed drawers and left it there. To marinate or to age into an antique until it surfaced again.

This time around, I kept wondering to myself how this has ended up in the kitchen cabinet of all the places. We bring every thing into our homes ourselves - some consciously, some sub consciously may be! Do we bring them in and then forget them? Neglect them? I was in for my usual spin, rummaging through the senseless to find a treasure of sense. "Unidentified" I thought. Something that could have been important if we know what it was. May be we bring in so many such things into our hearts and minds as well and then just forget about them, or worse yet, hoard them while cluttering our minds, reluctant to let go because they should be, could be of use sometime, someplace, somehow. Until one fine day we either magically know what it is or just leave it behind. If it is tangible, the kith and kin might toss it out upon our departure from the earthy realm. Why do we tug on to things that don't serve a definite purpose? why do we hold on to things that need to be let go?

I have no answer for that. May be we should just let them go...it might clear up our homes and hearts for things that we need and want.

The bottle in question, I intend to open and inspect. I might get a better idea of what it is and if it serves any end and then keep it/toss it. But I wish I can examine the intangible, unidentified baggage that I carry around in my inside and unclutter my being so I optimize my function from the insides.

Operation clarity for me Operation eye roll for my blog following brethren :-)

Wednesday, September 05, 2018

Semusing #5 - The Oxymoron syndrome

I am mighty excited today, because my 'writer's block' decided to go on a break and I have a first person account to banter about, that has the potential of not being as boring as my previous musing. 

So let's talk music. Let's talk quirks, let's talk emotions,  let's talk tastes. Let's talk a speculation of being dropped on the head as a baby.

As I flip pages past to the eighties, I trace back to my love for a certain genre of music. And I have a strong feeling that this particular trait of mine was inspired by a particular song in a blockbuster from the eighties. It was from a movie called Hero and the director Subhash Ghai, I discover later, was the blue eyed boy of celluloid story telling back then. My maternal uncle, who is a huge music buff, was my wikipiedia of sorts. I used to linger around his conversations with his college friends with perked up ears cause there was so much information which was dispensed in there, that was awe inspiring. In one such eavesdropping episodes, I heard him rave about a singer named Reshma from Pakistan and how he actually bought the ticket to the film Hero multiple times just to listen to her sing. So there was a mention about Laxmikanth Pyarelal's flute as well. Uncle Raghu's conversations, I realized early on, were annotated with finer details cause he was a dog lover and a hard core connoisseur of the Carnatic style of music as he plays the mridangam himself.

I had the good fortune of listening to the tape at my grandfather's house and add up a visual thanks to DD1's chitrahaar..Lo and behold, I was smitten. I was very little to understand much but It was probably my first brush with the feeling of being in love though the object of my affections was very abstract. The nasal twang, the forlorn expression on the Heroine's face and the melancholic strain acted as the perfect catalyst to my 'happy sad song' syndrome. I was launched into the wonderful world of lyric, music and vocals. As I grew up, I gasp every time I see a sad number being played in a sufi strain, folk dialect and all that... I realize, just like me, Bollywood has been in love with the song too, to get inspired over and over and over again.


It was all good. I loved crooning in a happy mood, all the sad songs that caught my attention. As I grew up, the data base of songs increased and I used to grind my mother's nerves to no end singing them in the background. I had this uncanny ability to pick on the most morose of lyrics that metaphorically spoke about death and my mom used to blow hot n cold asking me to shut up. I once asked her to elucidate why she disapproved every time I sang "O papa lali" number from Geetanjali. 
"Janma mottaniki laali padakkarledu" (Meaning, you don't need to sing a lullaby for the entire lifetime in one go) was her argument and she had to explain it to me that the lyric metaphorically indicated the terminal nature of the heroine's disease in that movie. How did I care? It sounded even more enthralling.

Then there was a phase when Indian movies had tear jerking versions of the happy song. Almost every single time I heard a song I loved, I used to wonder if it had a sad version and dig around to listen to it first before I proclaimed my love to the happier one. "Kucch na Kaho" from 1942 a love story was the national anthem of sorts in my teen years. I remember singing the Lata Mangeshkar's version every single time my friends sat around to a point where one of my close buddies threatened to hit me if I chose to sing that drag version and spoil the mood of the day. "What spoil people?" I was swaying in ecstasy. But then, some arguments were won by avoiding them. Or better yet, ignoring :-)



This is getting longer than I intended it to be, but no talk about sadness is complete without the heart wrenching sound of ghazals by Jagjit Singh and lyrics by Gulzaar. The movie 'Maachis' was my altime favorite album and one of its numbers had a whole imagery of Kabr, mitti, asmaan' - the foreground was serenading death and the back ground was, you probably guessed it - my mother's helpless pleas to shut the goddamned tape recorder. Ear phone's weren't a thing yet in my radar, but once the tape recorder was switched off, I used to relay play it in my own vocals. One of us gave up eventually, and I think it was her more often than me.

By this time, I also was lamenting (according to all and sundry) in my fake american accent, trying to sound like Celine Dion when her "Go on" appeared on the horizon with James Cameron's Titanic. Pain has no limits and limitations. So why be partial to tollywood or bollywood when there's a whole entire planet out there. Right? Right!



I'll have to truncate this for now, wrapping up with my happy sad song. This kind of brings my Oxymoron syndrome to culmination. When I first listened to Heer song from Tamasha, I froze in my tracks, cause it was a sensory overload. Rahman's music, surrealist poetry and Imtiaz ali's visuals....my my my! And a sentiment that aligned with my inner Meena kumari while its wordage matched my outer Ellen DeGeneres. When the lines questioned "Baji badi ab band heer ki ab is band pe naache koun?" I always gesticulate 'me, me me' while shaking my two right legs. By God, I tell you, Imtiaz envisioned this song as a tribute to me. He might not know it, but that is what it is.

1985 becomes 1995 becomes 2018....the miffed mom is replaced by an embarrassed daughter - "Amma, stop grooving. You look funny, you cannot dance, Give up already"

Me - "It is my home darling, you can take your backside to your room if you cannot see me dance"

Sometimes she walks away, sometimes she does a face palm and hangs around while the toddler (Who, I am happy to report, dances like a dream, unlike mommy dearest) and I sway away to the badi saad number.

I end it on a seriously silly note - I have to quote my P B Shelley, from The Skylark :-)

We look before and after, 
And pine for what is not: 
Our sincerest laughter 
With some pain is fraught; 
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. 

P.S - Pressed for time, publishing it without proofing.

Pic courtesy - screenshots from youtube.