Ponder - And a Toast for a Silent and Blissful New year :)

It was a sunny day right after Christmas and the spouse and I decided to bond over grocery shopping and hunting for a new bedroom set for the guest room. We thought to leave the teen sitting the toddler and do this errand in a jiffy and then tag the kids along for funner things. As always, the kid duo somehow thinks that leaving the parental unit by themselves isn't a good idea and the spouse somehow thinks that leaving the kids alone isn't a good idea either - these both ideologies intersect and how seamlessly!   That's why we end up full strength in everything we do and everywhere we go unless it is a work related trip  for the significant other. 

So, like always, this escapade escalated to a family fun event. I was somehow looking to pep up my mood and use my shoes as a prop. Now don't ever question  the confidence of a woman that can wear a solid pink linen top paired with a black yoga pant - accessorized with a Kani pashmina and tadaa...sequined unicorn shoes that are a baby pink. Just heed to my advice and don't question her. She is way too figured out for her own good you might think. Think all you want but just steer clear of questioning her choice or offering her advice. It won't garner a reaction, response or a nod. Unless you are one of those people that can handle silence in response, don't do it. If you look at silence as the biggest insult posing as a response, God save you! 

As I trotted in with my shoes on, The first born did her characteristic eye roll. I mean, she looks cute doing that and besides she really needs to up her ante to irritate me, her normal eye rolls and 'whatevers' don't irk me enough - truth be told! "You need to be brave to wear something like that" the spouse offered his uncalled opinion as the first born kept chuckling. "Let's go" I said ignoring both reactions (Look,I told ya!) 

"Your are going to come home and change those shoes aren't you?" the first born dropped a subtle hint. "What makes you think so?" I asked. "You are not going to take me shopping in those shoes are you?" "Unless you want to not go shopping!" I offered. 

"Mother you need to change your shoes" She was more direct. "You are free to change your mother" I like it subtle by and large. Especially in my responses.

 Let me insert some perspective here. All that they say about compatibility is just baloney. Lately I see people being so high and mighty about compatibility for every human relationship. No no I am not digressing. You'll see where this is heading. In reality, there isn't anything like compatibility that is going to come and magically make a relationship. From where I see it, it is humanly impossible for two people to see things the same exact identical way or to agree on everything. Now if we have low levels of tolerance for other's difference of perspective, it is a good idea to look for someone that'll comply with most of your views. But at the end of the day, a happy relationship is the one that doesn't try to alter the other person to suit their views. Once we accept and let others be themselves and love them the way they are, we have nailed the foundation to a successful relationship. Of course exceptions apply, but technically, what I choose to wear on my feet should not make my dear ones embarrassed for me or about me. I think the family gets it without my trying to extract this tidbit of wisdom into verbal form. So back on track, we head out, with the mission to shop, two kids and a pair of unicorn shoes protecting and pepping my feet. 

As I was examining and swooning over a live edge head board in Restoration Hardware, which the spousal unit didn't really swoon over BTW,  I heard a voice in the background. I had to look back to see a beautiful lady probably in her fifties smile at me. "That's a beautiful pink on you" she beamed. "And look at the scarf!" I smiled and thanked her while excitedly pointing her to my shoes "Look at these sequined shoes? how about them?" I wanted her to approve so the bystanding teen is put in place. "Oooh" She let out a interjection in what looked like genuine awe. "Those are so gorgeous. I know those sequined shoes are a work of art and cost an arm and a leg" I was tempted to tell her that I found them on the clearance racks of Children's Place for $7.99" Oh yeah, I have disproportionate feet for my frame and I actually find fitting shoes in the kids section often. Instead of sharing the steal I scored, I ended up telling her that the teen wanted me to change them but I offered her to change the mom instead"  We both let out a laugh. As our conversation continued I walked closer to the lady. I noticed that her platinum blonde hair framed a kind face and the blue of her eyes looked glassy. For a moment, it appeared as if she was in some pain and came out to divert herself. "My two daughters put me in check all the time" she said "And I have son that is twenty one./ He has down syndrome"

I don't know what got into me but I said "That's wonderful" and quickly added "I hear they are fountains of such unconditional love" "yes, yes" her kind eyes beamed with joy. He is an absolute blessing. He has his moments but the joys outdo everything."
For the next twenty minutes I shared the story of another down syndrome kid that got adopted by a single dad in India. The young man fought with the legislature to alter laws to allow single people to adopt kids. It is our immense joy to know this guy in person and call him a dear friend. Time zoomed past. I felt a connect with the woman in those few minutes spent. She left beaming ear to ear, hopefully with the same kind of joy I felt while interacting with her.

As we stepped out of our shopping trip I looked down at my shoes. They are probably a misfit if the norms are to be followed. They'll probably raise eyebrows or trigger judgements. But every time we do what speaks to us, we probably let out a vibe and attract people that accept us for who we and as we are. It reminded me of the time, a few weeks ago, when I met a dear friend of mine in my travels. "My wife cautioned you to be prepared" he said "The kid is in one of his aggressive bouts today" - He was speaking about his twelve year old autistic son. I remembered smiling at him and saying "Just like we all do once in a while. We all are special needs"

"We all are special needs" he repeated looking like he was hit by an epiphany. "How true"

It is funny how a fully functioning brain can make us so wound up and uptight. We constantly feel the need to fix things and make others agree or disagree with us. We conjure up unmade insults and inflate our egos to fill entire rooms. Sometimes I feel we make such a disability out of ability. Sometimes I wish we all could shut down overworking minds and just Be. Just Be. Sometimes I wish we spoke only when our words are better than Silence.

The irony! 

Ponder

(And a 'Thank you' note to the Universe for the wonderful ride)

Another decade comes to close. And I reckon this has been slower than the previous one, in the sense that it didn't feel like a 'blink and gone' ten years like the 2000s felt. As I sit here and wonder why, I feel a sense of 'coming of age' in more ways than one. This can get autobiographical if I attempt to write every little nuance that came in and made me who I am today. So I'll just try to do a synopsis of sorts in no particular order. At some point, it'll all probably culminate into a book worth writing ;)

I spent the first quarter of the decade obsessing about having more children. If there's anything I am proud of about myself, I am proud of the fact that I seldom feel envious of others. There's a part of me that can happily rejoice in what others have like I have it myself. But one day, when I saw Angelina Jolie on the cover of a tabloid at a grocery checkout counter, I felt what I thought I would never feel. Boom and 'envy' peeked its ugly head out. And no, I wasn't envious of Brad by her side. I was actually envious of the six kids that surrounded her, one on the lap, one by the shoulder and one holding her hand. "Would she know if someone sneaked in an extra kid into her home?" the humor popped in to combat the envy but that was pretty much what I saw where ever I looked. I saw Parents with a whole broods of kids and I got into a battle of sorts with the perfect destiny that was curated for me. What followed was numerous attempts to the obstetrician to get to pregnant - and more importantly to stay pregnant. Pills, prenatals, blood works, disappointments, tears,  loss, miscarriages, frustrations. I saw it all.

It wasn't fun for anyone involved and I couldn't really explain much to a toddler that was obsessed with having a sibling just as intensely as I was obsessed with expanding my family. I probably energetically rubbed it on to her with the adamance I had to make this particular event rig in my favor. I succeeded but I somehow wasn't happy probably because my intuition cautioned me not to be. I lost a child early in the decade, just before he was supposed to see the light - a child that was supposed to come and put perfection into my world just came and left. The picture of me having half a dozen kids hovering around me was the only perfect picture out there and that shattered.

It didn't make me bitter. It made me blank. It made me reflective. It made me realize that happiness isn't a destination but  a journey and I don't need to produce a cricket team to feel joyous and complete. I stopped the chase and started to be grateful for what I had and I thanked God for putting me through what He did. I didn't fight with Him, or my life's game plan anymore. When my second born was conceived, I was blissfully unaware of it till I was well into the second trimester. When I realized I was about to be a mom again, I wasn't jumping up and down in joy. I was just looking at the divine plan and how I somehow thought that I had to tinker with it to have it my way. I finally realized that it'll be like it has to be and the best and the only way to live life is to accept that premediation of it and no matter what we are served, we are served what's needed and not what's wanted.

Then, it was my MIL's tryst with cancer. Watching her deal with a terminal illness with that much grace and aplomb taught me lessons no educational institution could ever do. A woman that I watched and admired and in a way tried to emulate for all her 'hands on' approach on life was fading before my eyes slowly and steadily and all I could do was play audience.  This experience was tailgating after my own personal tribulations and the timing of teaching the grace to let go and cementing that acceptance in my soul couldn't have been more precise. I watched in awe as this woman made arrangements to leave like she was packing for an exciting vacation. She taught me grace in the face of challenge in such exemplary way. Ironically, I feel her presence around today much more strongly that I did when she was there to answer my phone call whenever I fancied. It is a sad truth that sometimes, we appreciate what we have only after we don't have it anymore.  MIL's passing taught me to be in the moment and acknowledge, appreciate and give time to the people that matter. We never know when they'll leave, or when we'll leave. This moment is all we have got.

The decade had seen more epiphanies than one. It really steered me into a lane that'll keep going ahead. Amid all these turbulence, I found the one reliable source that I could fall back on time and again. I found my inner light. I started my spiritual quest of looking within. Like Rumi quoted  - the wound is where the light enters. He couldn't have been more right and I have a life to vouch for it. I have loved a tad more, I have given without counting and observed without judging. I have gathered pieces of a shattered heart and made a mosaic out of it. I didn't let the causality clip my wings. My heart is on the mend now, paired with a will to soar and expand and not let my shortcomings define me.

I understand life better, I love better, I live better. And on the happy side, I witnessed sunrise and sunset in the Greek Isles, lost and found myself in Scottish high lands, nursed another kid, stood witness to her blooming into a happy toddler, I fell in love in the true sense of falling in love amid all these experiences  and I stayed put. I understood that perfection is a thing. It might not be theoretically possible but your perfection is out there somewhere, tailor made for you. I attended a reunion in place that incubated me and made me who I am today. I rediscovered that school again and the deep seated love I have for everything related to my childhood. I went back to the roots of my soul, took a ride on the river that makes my insides sing with the people  from my formative years. I created a comic strip - Matt and Bessie are as close to me as my offspring. I wrote all I could, thought all I needed to, I continued to teach and find myself in that gig, I painted live size murals, I wrote reams of gibberish on my blog, I got my nose pierced, I milked a goat, I tasted alcohol, got drunk and smiled myself silly while realizing that I don't need to introduce endorphins into my system,  and that I am on a natural high, I swam in the rain, lip syncing to a song from my childhood playing in my head,   I stood by the people I love when they needed me, I cooked up a storm in a kitchen that looks every bit the perfection I imagined it to be, I binged on expensive cookware, I caught numerous sunrises, I hosted a pair of birds through their family way, I took long walks with myself, I aced my 'roast' skills with the first born, I stayed true to my inner child and wore sequined unicorn footwear without a trace of second guessing, I got my hands on a real time movie script to do my own learning with it and I meditated hours to end, getting a glimpse into the treasure within among many other silly fun things I did.

 I didn't scurry away in crisis, I didn't put the blame anywhere, I didn't hold grudges, I didn't brew bitterness. I read life changing works, I took up learning an art form, I forgave, I forgot,  I leaned that loving is letting go and the only way you own something is when you let it go.

And I laughed out loud  - at myself!

And As I look back on a decade closing, I see that I don't regret a thing! They all made me what I am today. They probably tore me apart, bulldozed me to the ground, burned me to ashes.

But.....Some myths aren't myths. Unicorns may be not, but Phoenixes! Don't write them off.

There's one person that you can depend and rely on no matter what. When you are alone, lonely - when you feel that the world is closing on you, when you feel dejected, rejected, depressed, abandoned - there's a true love that will be out there for you. The one that will watch you, be by your side, reflect, ruminate and pat your back. This one person will be back no matter what, no matter where you are in life and no matter where you have left him/her. Yes, the nature did create a soul mate for us and a fool proof one at that.

And that soul mate is the soul residing in you.

No matter how dire the outward situations are, if you give yourself the gift of yourself, you'll trump through the worst of challenges. No one else can do it for you but yourself. So don't ever give up on you. You are a superpower that can ace through anything. Just be patient and kind to yourself. At the end, it is your inner strength that's all there is and it is all that you need for every curve ball heading to smash your face. Don't hastily look for permanent solutions to temporary problems and for someone or something outward to come and be your knight and savior. Always, always, always listen to the light inside. It has your back.

Did I tell you that the Phoenix thing - That isn't a myth!

Don't give up on your true love. He/She will come back to you. He/She is you.

Most of all, I opened the gift of gratitude. A grateful heart is a happy one. Gratitude makes us discover reasons to be happy.

Thank you Universe, do your thang and take over me. I cannot wait to see how you'll orchestrate your perfection going forward! 

Dichotomy

When the Sun sets

On the unconsciousness 

Where does the soul look

What does it see

What does it seek?

A glass of mistakes posing as pinot noir

An accompanying warm plate of toasted nuts

Insisting that there are no mistakes - just lessons!

Down below at the sea level

A plethora of things 

That let go of you 

Whether you let go of them. Or not!

A faint ghost of an ego

Lingering around or perhaps dissolving into nothing

When the Sun Rises

On an elevation, an evolution, an ascension.

When endorphins become a store brand

Made in house

Chuck that glass of mistakes

Down the drain.

Why let a spirit taint the spiritual?

The elixir that’s there, just for asking!

Let the Sun never rise

On that unconsciousness again.

Let it just usher the being into the white light of bliss.

That unfolds beneath the noise in the mind.

Version

Sometimes the elements play along

Spraying droplets on the windshield

While they mimic and manifest

The tucked away insides.

The little rhythm lets out a sigh

One that precariously hangs

In between a shatter and a shelter 

“Are you mending a broken heart?”

One hears voices.

Heartbreaks are supposed to make one hallucinate

And hear the unsaid 

The misty glass dons a symbolic guise

And a little voice that questions 

Goes speechless 

In a Good way, one can guess.

An arch of color springs up in the greys ahead

Just when the soul was supposed to shrink and shatter

It soars like a falcon

Spreading its wings.

Sometimes the cracks let in mysterious miracles 

And what has to contract magically expands.

What’s an existence that didn’t love, didn’t lose?

What’s an existence that didn’t shatter?

The other turn of turmoil could transform into treasures 

Meant to share, let go and revel.

So, listen up little voice that questions 

It’s not broken. It is a breakthrough.

Pinky and Salman

Behold! That’s indeed Salman Khan’s mug shot on my blog space! Just when life gets predictable and boring, such occurrences happen. So the eternal “most eligible bachelor” of Bollywood that made his debut when your truly was an awkward kid on Puberty lane, stays put in his desirability long after the said awkward preteen settles into her “stray grey middle aged  mother of two” tag. Some things don’t change. Isn’t that wonderful??

There’s another thing that didn’t change across all these years apart from Salman’s stardom. And that happens to be my friendship with Pinky. Now Pinky and Salman exist on the same plane for me, though the former is a super dear, very special fixture in my life. In the virtue of being Pinky’s favorite actor, Salman somehow became a permanent fixture in my life as well. Cause every time I think of Pinky, Salman appears from behind like the Genie from
The Magic Lamp. Now yours truly never had favorite actors growing up, Ofcourse until a certain Mr. Damon showed up on the horizon and she isn’t really sure if Matt appeals to her as a person or a professional anyway. So without much digress, I’ll admit that my eighth, ninth and tenth grade’s recesses and free times were spent in listening to Pinky’s carefully curated Salman trivia. The other day  when I over heard Pinky on phone, baby talking to her alleged “puppy” Mr. Tiger ( who’s a full blown, true blue German Shepherd btw) I heard her ask me in her baby talking glory if I knew of anyone handsomer than Salman Khan.  Before I asked her  if she was referencing her husband (Sorry Mr.Pinky, It isn't you. Truths are bitter ;)) in the same baby voice, She told me that I didn’t meet Mr. Tiger in person, or in this case,I didn’t meet him in Canine. (Grin) So that goes to say, how much Pinky the Salman lover, is a bigger and better animal lover. Yes, Thank God for little blessings. Spouses need not apply, just in case you are wondering ;)

Pinky wasn’t your average star struck teen mind you. Though, I have to admit that after discovering Salman’s taste in women as I grew up, I always thought Pinky was his type, If you know what I mean. Pinky preceded the vision of Miss Kaif in her teen years though I was kind of surprised to discover Pinky as a very traditional, old fashioned home maker avatar  after we parted ways n lost touch post our tenth grade. Back in the day, Pinky was my window to the world, with special reference to Bhai of Bollywood. She would catch all Salman moves that made a tardy and sometimes painfully dubbed appearances on the screens of our modest little town and come back to school amd relate every bit of the plot to me, with spoilers in tow. So deep was Pinky’s admiration for Salman, that I secretly wished that I could meet Salman and get him to sign an expressly addressed autograph for pinky. Now, talk about the lengths we go in the name of love ;) Now that ‘meeting salman’ and making him sign an autograph for my bestie didn’t happen so far, but thanks again to huge blessings that  I  actually got reunited with  Pinky after a long gap,  thanks again to the magic of the modern day communication and the world wide web.

Pinky and I get along like peas in the same pod. We didn’t see each other in the longest time, make that 28 years. Whaat? 28 *insert expletive* years?? By God, I should admit that I did a double and triple take on that! Now did Salman freeze himself on the collective psyche of the Indian movie goer for so long?

Wait! Is this becoming about Salman seriously? Well, it should in all fairness. When it is about Pinky it has to be about Salman. But the real catch, ye August brethren, is this! It isn’t as much about Salman as it is about Pinky and in all honesty it isn’t as much about Pinky as it is about my love for Pinky and all things Pinky loves, cause I love her :)

And what if we didn’t meet in 28 years? I can bet my last dollar that we are as thick today as we were all those years ago. For true love, dearies, prevails. Full stop.

So my count up, in my little space that reflects my little heart and it’s little joys, is thrilled to feature Pinky alongside that lucky actor named Salman. I don’t know much about his track record but being on Pinky’s nice list is all it takes to get his presence felt in my sacred little bit of this cyber space.

So, the catch ye all ...this is actually about my attention span, that goes to super human lengths in the name of love. Three cheers to undying love and friendship. If that’s three cheers to Salman, so be it.

All is fair in Love. They say.
That - They cannot say it any righter ;)

“ “

Verse

What if Hearts were sold
By the sidewalk
Suspended into air
Defying the norms.
One for everyone
That seeks to love!
Or be loved.
Flying high in the human jungle
Above the hustle and bustle
Of betrayals and breaks.
What if hearts were priced to go..
Affordable, reliable
Where they come crossing our paths
For sale.
 With iron clad warranties
And fool proof service
That talks listens and nurtures.
What if hearts were hawked
Would that bankrupt many businesses
Of therapies, spirits and substances??
All one needs to do, is exchange a few pennies
For eternal peace and belonging.
What if Hearts were actual gadgets
Existing out of the flawed human bodies?
Out of selfish ends and prejudices.
Would the world be a better place
If hearts were for sale?
Or would it just make the irony
A tad more ironical??

Inspired by the hawker of hearts I spotted recently, somewhere out there.

Wordless

Well, almost!
My favorite quotes with pictures to boot!

Life of Pi is a book that imprinted itself on my heart ever since I first read it in 2003 :)

Take a bow Yann Martel.

Maya - The Parrot

It was a beautiful day in the valley. Chilly and overcast. It looked like the world around me was filtered through making every hue appear deeper, every detail appear more intricate. The kid duo prompted me to drive up the hill and drive down upon picking them up - so the influence is slow, but utterly sure. They look for the placement of the sun and the landscape basking underneath. "Look" the first born pointed out - "I see such finer detail and more homes up the faraway hills. I think they are washed out in the brightness on a sunny day" 
There's a saying in my native tongue - about Parrots and the way they speak - It loosely translates to "To which ever nest the parrot belongs, that language it speaks" 

I know, There's no trace of the topic Of Maya the parrot as yet, except this random, useless incident of my day, and this random useless capture I did on my smartphone - but what's a woman to do? I feel compelled to hand hold you through the silliest of my thoughts with the silliest of props.

Yeah, we'll get there momentarily, but to get to Maya the parrot- I need to do a prologue that dates back to my third grade. This was the time when my love for color and painting was emerging. The brand Camlin made a watercolor palette for kids, that was called "Camlin Cadet, students' watercolor cakes" - It had this assortment of fifteen water color tablets and those were my best friends in that day and age up until the day I found a loose wooden bird that fell off of a knick knack that was on my father's working desk in his office. I tinkered with the bird - which was carved out of unlacqured/ unpainted plain wood. So the bird in question that got estranged from her clique had species ambiguity. I got her with me and painted her a few saturated coats of parrot green with the watercolors giving it a crimson beak and collar- the results weren't vibrant and glossy but the easy to please kid was pleased nevertheless. Thus, her new pet Mynah the parrot came into being. Now please do not ask an eight year old why she would call a parrot a Mynah and no, the parrot didn't have an identity crisis. I assure. 

Mynah came with me to school, tucked safely into my pencil box. Yeah, she was tiny. But she packed a big punch of joy with her. On retrospect, I realize I had such rich imagination. I used to speak to Mynah - tell her random things about me and my life. Like I tell this scroll even today - Old habit and all that wisdom, case in point, it is so true :)
So anyway, right there was my yearning to somehow have a parrot for a friend. To hold one, to pet one, to speak to one and like Uncle Cohelo says 


"When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you achieve it."

Surely indeed, the universe took close to a couple decades to materialize this yearning. What you are seeking, is seeking you - Right? right!

Enter Maya.

Maya was a Indian rose ringed parakeet, The exact one I tried to model my Mynah after, years ago. She was the pet of our friend and neighbor's five year old son. When I first learned of Maya and her entry into this household, I couldn't stop myself from paying her a visit. The day I actually got to meet her wasn't sooner as I yearned. So when I went, the family had stories and stories about her quirks, how shy she is and how it is better I enjoy her from a safe distance. 

Who'd have thunk that Maya would make an eye contact with me - an intense 'there you are' kindaa one. And before I knew or someone stopped me, I opened the door of her cage and offered her my hand as a perch. 

Maya came hopping and landed right on my wrist and to the utter surprise of our audience, I find myself settled in the family's easy chair with Maya settled snugly in my lap. As she made herself comfortable, she found a button on my shirt and started pecking at it, punctuating her chore with looking up at me every now and then. Maya felt hollow and was extremely agile - she stomped up and down my torso pecking at the buttons and looking at me as if to watch for my reaction. she and I spent a chunk of time while her family wondered in the background.

"She never does this. Trust us she is so shy"

(I kind of related to what they had to say as my own five year old toddler did the same thing to me once in a while. "She has stranger anxiety" I once told the stranger in the railways station back home when they offered to carry her - and my little baby decided to smile at them and offer her hands to be carried"  Talk about life's little speed breakers ;))

I didn't have much to say to what they said. I was in the middle of feeling like Potter that had discovered that he was a parsletongue. Ever since, Maya and I had our frequent hangouts. Every opportunity I got, I used to sneak out and pay her a visit. In the process of bonding with Maya, I did useless research about parrots and found trivia that is fascinating. No, I won't share any here. Rest assured. I do not want to up the bore-o-meter of this ponder.Or may be it would make this banter interesting - But we'll let it be :)

One day, Maya flew away. Phew....she just made it into the backyard and poof...gone! Domesticated birds aren't supposed to do that. The grandma of the five year old was mighty pleased. She thought it was a torture to have birds as pets. But according to my research, the domesticated birds cannot make it on their own in the wild. Maya metaphorically lived her name. She was here, and then she wasn't. Even till date, I wonder what had happened to her. May be she's one of those oddities that defied norms - that's possibly why she chose to fly away.

"So I love you because the entire universe conspired to help me find you"


My thoughts drift to Maya every now and then. She's made a very intense childhood dream of mine into a reality. I hope, she's out there somewhere livin it up in her own terms, making her own dreams come true. 

One nought two

The little yellow rascals 

Bloom in bunches

Popping up here and there

Like sparks from

The camp fire

Accenting a bed of green.

I let them be. 

What if they aren’t planted?

How cool actually 

That they spring up on their own.

What grit! What inner drive

To sprout and survive.

Weeds!

That condescending sound

Their name makes..

Would feel

Challenged don’t you think?

Once it spots itself 

Labeling a dandelion in full bloom

Looking like a feather ball

A halo 

A wishing prop!

A wand of bubbles

Waiting to be blown

In the party of sunshine.

We pluck one. And another 

“I want to blow them”

She squeals

Chasing after the specks 

Once they unravel in her gentle exhale.

Weeds. 

The ones that need to be uprooted

Morph and melt into meager miracles

Making wishes out of 

Something so disdained!

101. And counting.

I had been hit by the block lately, Eversince the recording of the hundredth blog for the year, there's a mental slack that kicked in despite desperate measures to keep at punching the key board to take the tally a notch up. I have about seven to 8 blogs marinating on random topics that might or might not see the light of the screen. This morning, I had wiled a chunky portion of my productive morning hours squinting at the screen, nodding my head in disbelief at the kind of stuff I was typing out and holding the backspace to make it run a reverse marathon to obliterate the said horrors of the said musings.

Some still wait in hope to be salvaged and published but we'll see....

In the afternoon, being the screen nazi that I am, I didn't let the second born watch any tv. It's veterans day and a long weekend for the rugrats. While the first born paced the entry way, looking every bit like a Ted talker and practising her mock 'Ted talk' for a language art credit which kept her busy and off my back (Don't ask me if she sounded like a Ted talker as well. The talk is about "being present" by the way - yeah - Charity, clarity and all that mighty lofty stuff begins at home, or I hope they began at home in this case atleast ;)) the second born found novel ways to keep herself busy, once in a wile pouting and begging for some screen time.The pleas were promptly dismissed.  Around after lunch I started feeling bad for her when she was entertaining herself talking to the fresh white mums in the vase. It occured to me that I'd never really hung out with the second born by herself - so Her and I decided to go have some ice cream at the nearby plaza and wile some more time, but ofcourse in a funner way than raking head over passable ponderable musings.

The usually independent and "I can take care of everything by myself" Kiddo came and held my hand in a firm grip once we parked our car and got out to walk to the ice cream shop. "Let me hold your hand amma, cars can come and scratch people in parking spaces" she offered her wisdom and caution.I took this moment to hold her small, warm hand gently in mine. I was suddenly pondering about the comfort and security a simple holding of hands could offer. As if the universe wanted to resonate and validate my thoughts, I saw people holding hands everywhere - a young father walked past us, holding both of his daughters' hands and a teen couple crossed our paths with entwined hands, to a point where they looked conjoined. I let out a smile thinking of the manifestation of this simple, loving gesture. But the hand holding that really caught my eye was the senior couple's. These beautiful people were walking just a couple of feet before us. I saw the interlaced fingers, the way they stepped forward in unison - wondering if the choice of their red and blue outfits is in some way meant to commemorate the Veterans today. Just as I swooped my phone out to capture that tenderness on my lens, the lady stopped and turned back. She put up her foot on a nearby fowerpot and restrapped her sandals. We made eye contact and she smiled. 

For a second, I was disappointed that the hand holding came undone and wasn't sure if they would resume again. Sure enough, the gentleman waited by his lady, with a eager hand out. She quickly grabbed it again on off they went on their unified stroll. 

I grinned. And then did a hasty click fest on the cam, making sure to filter through the outcome to choose the one capture that would preserve their privacy but freeze their affection all the same on my ponering space here in this virtual cosmos. 

I looked at them till they disappeared into the nearby coffee shop. And as the second born and I walked back to the car, I smiled at the tinyness and the warmth of that little hand in mine, as she gripped my hand tight and firm. I quickly snapped a picture of our hand holding, of the long skewed evening shadows ofcourse, in a selfie of sorts.

As I walked, I remembered a mystic's words I'd heard in the past - words that spoke about the power of joined hands in the "Namaskaram" pose the hindus make as a greeting. In the same speech, he spoke about how when we hold our own hands together, would connect and balance our own divine masculine and feminie within. 

"Do the right things with these control panels" he offered.

And what more can be righter than holding another person's hand - in love, companionship and security!

Thoughtless

Thursdays

The ones that are supposed to be thoughtless.

Submerged in spirit, removed from identity.

The day that the Guru loves -

Occurring mid way, like crisis' contra-entry

Thursdays make everything special

That scoop of ice cream tastes creamier

A new scarf wrapped around the neck

lends a special flair.

That phone call to a dearest,

Wait, even a heart wrenching loss

Becomes soul drenching on this day.

Morning sun filtered through blinds

Catching a gleam on the china

Making the cup transform into a work of art!
It’s got to be the day!
"Wow" I gasp.

The bystander offspring makes an eye roll

"Mother, you are an abuser of Wows"

"On top of being an abuser of that phone cam"

"Why would you click pics of critters and cups?"

"Of the boring and the blah??"
The teen didn’t get the memo looks like!
It’s a Thursday.
It’s like putting a monkey on substance
When you put her Mom in a Thursday.
And what better day to complete a one hundred?
Here goes the century
The celebration.
The supposedly thoughtless
Meditative, non contemplative
Irony’s lost child
Yelling in triumph that
It’s a Thursday.
And on this day,
Blah should sound like Bliss.
And a teacup should look like the Taj!
It should, it should. It has no choice.

This and That

It was some kind of a maze

Grown to make one get lost

That was the whole purpose..

The lost, lonely, panicky feeling;

The thrill it offers.

The relief, the triumph 

When you steam through
The dead ends, 

The bare walls

That stand and greet you

Only to deceit you.

But he marched along, nevertheless

Holding the sister's hand, firmly, gently.

Trotting in a way 

His Four years on the planet

Kind of step back and wonder,

If they had counted themselves right!

I follow him armed with my DSLR

Trying to aid my heart's capture 

With supporting visuals.

He removes his shoes

And jumps into the corn pit

And stomps away.

I stop, to look at him

Wait till the eyes lock.

He holds the gaze a second longer.

Don't these kernels hurt your feet?

He looks at me and smiles

And looks through me, with a dusty gaze

Like I am a piece of glass, a sheet of paper.

He holds his sister's hand again

And replies 

"They hurt my feet, but not my walking"

I freeze.

And I gasp and sigh

on a piece of my screen

The depth of those words!!

Pictured - The Corn maze by the pumpkin patch. Somewhere in the Golden state.

Verse

For every dusk witnessed 

For every dawn survived 

Those moments lived on between 

Those breaths taken in rhythm 

With the orchestration.

For every pain sustained 

For every joy cherished 

The mundane, the magical

Captures on the mind’s lens

For the dreams inside the dream

The pretenses inside the act

For the unconsciousness 

Trumping the awareness 

For the childishness 

Clouding the wisdom  

For these stray thoughts 

Like these lost steps

Traced with mere words 

Merging with meaning 

And melting into muted Being

Let this plot unfold

Like a dew drop on the lily pad

Attached  but detached 

Attuned but free 

Flying over the setting sun

To the nest of destiny 

Into His open armed vastness

Transitioning the make believe.

Let the soul merge..

Emerge!

A sweet page in my Story

Arcee quiet literally, barged into my life. He didn't knock, he didn't ask if it was okay to step in. Right off the bat, when I was reluctantly made a part of my school group, Arcee was there to welcome me, with funny memes, absolute comfort zone, like he had known me all his life. He wasted no time in shortening my name to a never before version and that stuck like glue for the rest of my tenure in the group. Truth be told, we weren't in the same classroom though we belonged in the same batch and I could faintly recollect seeing him in the school assembly and corridors. So I stepped back and wondered if he had known me. And my game plan in the group had changed. What started off as 'let me be polite and accept the join request and put the group in mute' took a turn that I didn't ever imagine. His friendliness rubbed on on me. It made me feel like I returned home. It peeled the layers of fear of crowds and my introversion and made me go in a full blown cycle of 'self discovery'.

I say self discovery, because, Arcee's owning me in a very strange way, helped me discover my deep connection with the school and all the memories that dwell in me, which were never really spoken out or processed. After a long long time, I finally felt like I belonged somewhere. Like there is a group of people out there, that would relate to all my seemingly trivial experiences of life and welcome me into my own world, with open arms. Suddenly, I was mining musable material that could fill in a biography if I wished to attempt one. I identified so many treasures and deep impact lessons from my first decade of life and gave them words. I didn't know when it happened, but that group became my virtual home. It was homecoming. And it was glorious - the most happy and content arrival of all.

As I discovered myself, I was presented with the purest forms of love as an added bonus. It failed me to understand how Arcee could just see everything I said or did in such absolute unconditional love. He played the 'I'll love you and spoil you rotten' mom's role. If I made a remark on a picture, he'd pop in from somewhere, wondering how I got that idea, or the appropriate words to convey it. If I said I was busy, he used to step back and say "I have to learn how to focus and do first things first from you." If I said I needed a break he said "But of course you need one. You are here to accomplish a lot of things, people like me can wait. It's a privilege to wait for you." If I said Hello, he'd say "That's the sweetest hello I'd ever heard. If I stayed silent - he'd say "Even your silence is soothing"

So you get the idea - it is about his ability to love. I was in  awe for the sweetest soul that never ever made anything about himself. He always shed such understanding and  positive light on the most silliest things I did or said to a point where I used to feel an overwhelming gratitude and embarrassment at the same time for all the lavish praise.

When we finally met, Arcee walked past a sea of people, directly to me, took my hand, held it with both his hands and said "Let your grace rub onto me" - At this point, I was like - "Yeah right, let it rub on...to me actually, let me learn how to love for the sake of loving"

In the three days we spent together attending the event, he played my personal Chauffeur. It was an utmost privilege to meet his inside and out beautiful wife and darling adorable children. When I met his wife she broke in the sweetest peals of laughter and said "There you are, I finally meet you. Ever since you joined the group, all Arcee was chanting was your name."
 Those three days were mine and just mine. I forgot who I was, whose wife and daughter and mother I was, I forgot my name, my address - and transformed into pure being. I stepped out of all my labels and breathed in pure existence, devoid of duties and running around. A piece of my life that lived for myself. His wife and kids happily took the back seat while the guest of honor was indulged with lavish love and attention. Every time I sat next to him in our ride, He dedicated a song and played it for me. I had the honor of discovering what a wonderful soul mate he scored for himself when I saw his wife being the same absolute sweetheart to everyone around her - speak about matches made in heaven!

In those three days, Arcee gifted me the experience of a life time, whether it was hauling me first thing in the day, to meet a friend and spend some time in the special need education school she runs, making sure that he showered the same kind of love on everyone that crossed his path and  making the efforts to organize a boat ride with all childhood friends, against all odds, just and just because I asked. Being the little frog in the well I am, that spent the majority of life in a closed circuit doing what mattered to me, I was overwhelmed by the love, the belonging and the concern that was being bestowed upon me. Knowing this kind of love reformatted me for good, in a profound way and I have kind souls like Arcee to thank for it.

After I took a permanent break from my smart device and social hang outs, Arcee still pops up, once in a while, with a sweet email message, never once sulking that his previous message went unanswered or never once taking turns and expecting me to follow through. The latest email he sent kind of made me flip over in joy and love - "I envy your kids" it read. "They are with you and get your love all along - For this Diwali, I hope you'll share some love with me"

I realized that I smile at his mention, at the sweet little things he did and does to make my life brighter, the little wicks of light he sends my way with his "no expectations attached" love.  Ironically, the one that keeps giving poses like the receiver - may be that's what true love is, the giving soul that whole heatedly and in all grounding and humility believes that it is getting instead.

Arcee - I am too analytical, logical, pseudo intellectual, selfish and detached to engage in your kind of giving. Bless your heart for being you. For how you make me feel like a child being doted on by a parent every time you cross my path. I might be a horrible in reciprocation, but just know, that I can never, ever put into words the gift you have given me, the experiences, the purity of friendship like it is supposed to be in an ideal world. My life is blessed with your presence and I had become a better person just by knowing you. For this Diwali, I want you to know that no matter what I give you, it'll pale in comparison to what I got in return.



And I am sure Rumi met his Arcee somewhere, to have thought of this quote.

And for this Diwali, I wish everyone experiences this kind of love in their lifetimes. Happy Diwali :)

Ponder

In the past decade, I had seen several cases of cancer in my close circle. Just as I am typing thes thoughts, I’d counted the loss of eight lives. Lives that had crossed mine in big and little ways, all of these people had some emotional connection or another with me. Five of them were ladies. Three of them hadn’t seen past their 30s. Four of them passed on with breast cancer. One of them left a direct and deep impact on the collective lives of me and my immediate family. 

Breasts. I often think that these appendages probably qualify as a the most 'obsessed about' body part of the female anatomy ,for obvious reasons. They render such allure and attraction to the female form, they function as nourishment to the human species, they sit over the heart. Recall how that sleazy  chart buster in Khalnayak dodges us to the apparent containment of the Choli?  But Of course, the breasts are located right above the heart, the power station where the weight of human emotions are processed. So a malignant tumor might be the manifestation of a weight carried under those breasts, in the heart center.  

Now, there are numerous reasons why people get breast cancer - I say people cause I learned that men are prone to it as well, though not as commonly as women. It could be one of the many random reasons that can trigger any form of cancer. But as I hear and read a lot of literature about the subject of cancer as the significant other does his research, I gasp as the variety of reasons that could trigger it in a human body. I was particularly intrigued by the fact that unprocessed emotions, traumas and turmoils play a part in the onset of breast cancer. I read a research paper recently, that pointed out in the direction that studies connect bottling up of emotions to the trigger of certain forms of cancer, with special reference to the breast kind. 

A very dear friend of mine, that had been fighting bravely against a nasty lymph node cancer told this to me in our many conversations about life and its content "Drop the stories - my therapist told me" she said. "I had carried too much of unprocessed emotions in my throat all my life - to a point where it wanted to burst out and here I am with this ailment" I listen to this woman in hypnotic awe and wonder if my own family member's breast cancer was in some way a weight that she carried, unprocessed and unaddressed. She is long gone to speak or validate my doubts but I sit here and shudder for all those bottled up emotions we carry around, denying them a let out. 

As I ponder about the mental and emotional side of the triggers, I cannot help but address the well meaning, probing questions  and judgments an ailing person or family is subjected to. When I told one of my friends about my MIL's breast cancer, the first question she asked me was "Oh...Why? Didn't she breast feed?" I didn't know how to answer that. Now, how delightful would it be if breastfeeding worked as a vaccination against breast cancer! Right? "Oh but she isn't a non vegetarian either" another acquaintance offered the elimination diagnosis.  I particularly cringe over the viral posts that are shared as awareness spreaders. I once read one such post a dear friend forwarded to me. It was a critical analysis about how Sonalee Bendre, the actress suffering from cancer, brought on to herself this fate, by poor lifestyle choices and extreme dieting practices. It had a condescending tone to it, almost sounding as if the actor somehow deserved to get the disease and we need to use her as a bad example to educate all and sundry about the stupidity of the choices she'd made. I wasn't angered when I read the article. I was saddened. We are such paragons of rightful living that we take it upon ourselves to dissect and shame a person battling life and death. I remember getting into an altercation with the friend for supporting and circulating the insensitive content, but I don't think the objective of the argument was met. 

We quickly, conveniently, somehow feel this intense urge to attribute, dissect and judge something even as grave as a life threatening illness. I am not sure if we can pin point the reasons of any illness with accuracy, but the 'bottling up' of emotions made absolute sense to me. We as humans carry unseen loads in our hearts, not all of us are brave or strong or alpha or even lucky enough to speak out our hearts and address our baggage. An oncologist friend of mine that practices in India once told me how some women patients that come to her often have stories of heavy oppression and emotional turmoil and abuse that precede the occurrence of cancer. To all the folks out there, with special reference to the families, I want to share what little I think would really help us in awareness and avoidance of a chronic illnesses. Please look around your surroundings and loved ones and offer support and attention. Listen, care, let hem let out the emotional toxins that come as side effects of living. Better yet, prevent causing stress and distress to your dear ones. Give time to your relationships. converse, offer love. As they say. happiness is the antidote to all illnesses. Also, don't duck breast exams. Early diagnosis is key to winning over the ailment. 

Sometimes I cannot help but laugh at the collective obsession of the human kind over breasts. How both men and women participate in it with equal vigor.  The ladies obsess over the size, or the shape or the sag or the perk and the opposite sex, over the other side of what these fat tissues present to them. We have a billion dollar augmentation surgery industry and a porn industry cashing over this obsession. So as we find pleasure in them, let us also find reasons to treasure what lies beneath them - the heart - the power center. Let's not let a shallow allure override a deep effect. Let's not limit the fondling to the flesh.

Let's atleast not hurt if we cannot heal. 

Why?

Questions address you 
As to Why?
Why do you write??
I attempt an answer 
And fall silent.
Is it that hard
To speak out what I can write?
It perhaps is -
Because when I write
I operate from a level beyond
My senses and sensory trails lead me to.
I write, as countless emotions
Cross my mind, like overlapped radio stations.
Things not meant for me
End up with a new destiny
Frothing out in my scribbles
Finding words to awkward silence.
I write because I purge
The pains that I push away
Denying them an existence.
I release little joys that hover around
Into words, and viola - they find a new lease of life
Preserved to be retraced, relived!
What a relief, a therapy this writing!
And then I write some more 
To tell stories that I would never live
In places I'd never be
Donning many bodies I'd never dwell in.

But the magic carpet of this imagination
Transforms. Launches,
Manifests a new reality.
I write to capture the tears that well up
Upon witnessing a sunset,
And seeing the humming bird vibrate around the vine outside my window.

I write to speak about how I miss, the people I miss
How I love the people I love.
How madly, deeply I feel
The feelings that elude expressions.
I write to record
How little, insignificant moments 
Add up to a life of meaning, of magic.
I write to crystallize tears into carefully carved art
I smear word salve
On the nips sustained
I heal, as I write -

I write because
I don't need a listener to my unspoken words.
It becomes a conversation with myself.
In a insane way, it preserves sanity.
Talk about poetic justice
And how it is served to me
While it is denied in a parallel world of speech and sly.

I write to rip my heart open
And empty its contents into unfiltered spaces
Sometimes I gasp
Cause I find that I tell this scroll
What I hadn't told myself.

And I am still asked why I write.
I do.
Because I breath.
And this writing renders a meaning into my breath.