The nonagenarian beauty.

Sometimes it is hard to associate old age and beauty, specially when the old age in question is actually 92 years. That is ancient by all standards. Isn't it? So what comes to mind when you hear 92 years? Scantily clad scalp with a handful of sparkling silver strands. Texture - texture and texture. As in well defined wrinkles on skin that hangs loose on a thin frame, hard hearing, poor eyesight and immobility. Well, it is pretty much how I imagined it till I met this nonagenarian beauty.

I found out her name in our second meeting. Kumudamma. So Kumudamma can give Aarti a run for her money in enthusiasm and curiosity department. Her gaze looked preoccupied but she spoke pristine English. Yeah, English of all the languages which made my interaction with the Tamil speaking beauty possible. I found on in our eventual meetings that she speaks Hindi too with the same ease. She used to narrate her visits to the USA. The way she went to New Orleans for MadriGras and saw Niagara, Disney land and all tourist attractions in the USA for that matter. She used to ask endless questions and tell endless stories though some of them were repetitive. Her zeal never died out though...she would tell her twentieth story with the same animation as she would tell her first. From our conversation I'd learnt about her Doctor daughter and son and numerous grand kids and great grand kids.

She would sit there on the garden bench every evening, the garden that looked like a mini oasis in the concrete jungle of Mumbai. "What a wonderful place to be" she would exclaim - looking at the expanse of the lush green lawn before us.

One day I helped her stand. She stood tall though she wasn't very tall:-) The texture of her skin felt like that of a plush toy. She was as frail as a new born, as curious as a toddler, as inquisitive as a child, as enthusiastic as a teenager, as active as a young mom and as wise as a 92 year old. Kumudamma taught me one thing - that age is indeed a number and a life well lived has more to it than a huge landmark birthday.

She taught me to look at life from a different perspective. To actually stop and enjoy the cool evening breeze or to be genuinely interested in the person you are talking to. She personifies to me beauty, strength and a fighting spirit. Above all, her love for life is infectious.

The many lines on her face and body unfolded to me the joys and sorrows she must have lived, the love she must have spread and the inspiration she had given to numerous people like me that had crossed her path.

My ubiquitous camera captured a few of her images. "You are beautiful" I meant and exclaimed as I took a close shot of hers. "Thank you" she giggled with stars twinkling in those pre-occupied eyes. I am sure I did not imagine that color in her cheeks as she thanked me:-)

pic 1 - Kumudamma lounging in the garden amid the concrete around.

pic 2 - The beauty herself.

The chili red Chantal.

It's brewing time. Meet the new accessory on my stove top. An actual tea kettle. Who'd have guessed that I'd develop a passion for tea since coffee and tea were never a habit?
I fell in love with the architecture of the kettle, the loop, the silhouette and most importantly the color. Red, the color of passion brews passion. Chamomile, herbal blend, green tea bags immersed in hot water form this slick pot... Ah, the simple pleasures of life!

Here I come 2009.

A fresh new way of reviving my teens is right here. Though the pleasure of running the fingers through a sleek key board is irreplaceable, there is something more satisfying and fulfilling. Yes, notebooks! The one I scored today is a 2009 engagement calender that features the immortal Frank Lloyd wright and his works are placed there in an almost three-dimensional glory, thanks to the photographer Alan Weintraub. Like most of us do on most new year eves, I had decided to write this coming year and write on a real paper with a real pen.

I said this will help me to relive my teens and tweens since writing journals was a passion that dated back to those times. I used to hug the brand new diaries my Dad used to give me every year. Used to smell the pages. Some had smells that would make me remember the days of kindergarten when I used to open my texts and inhale the aroma of a new book.

A pen and a book is probably the best marriage ever. And to commemorate this holy matrimony moi decided to write - not write as a writer does, but scribble, doodle and etch as a confused creative would do. I am in love with my new diary. My biggest score of the month. Now I just need to find a smooth pen and a little something to scribble about ;-)

And no prizes for guessing what I wanted form Santa... Notebooks! Are'nt I uncomplicated?

Here's more info abt my little hardbound treasure.

Photographs by Alan Weintraub This calendar's thirty-two color photographs by Alan Weintraub show houses built by Wright all across the United States. Each photograph is annotated with historical information and accompanied by a quotation from the master builder. Also included are a brief essay about Wright, fifty-four weekly grids, twelve full-page monthly grids, lists of international holidays and international calling codes/time differences, double-page spreads of 2009 and 2010 yearly grids, pages for notes, and a personal information page. Size: 6 5/8 x 8 in.; 112 pages; hardcover Wire-O bound.

Forevermore

The lady who'd lost her 4 carat De Beers Diamond in a museum recently said that she wanted to give the diamond to her grand daughter and when the museum staff looked for the lost diamond rummaging through the contents of the vacuum bags and found the rock, the woman was ecstatic. "It kind of denoted that a diamond is forever" she said.
So, friends, what stays forever? Definitely not us - mortal beings. But don't we seem to plan and work things out in our mind's map day in and day out like we are here to stay? We live in an illusion that we are forever. The irony is that we kind of subconsciously acknowledge that we'll go away, but we still hold on to silly things - grudges, heart breaks, disappointments, worldly possessions, feelings and many more things. We can look around our adobes and finds tons of things that we hoard. Things that could be given away, that could make a difference to some one else. Things that can open up our space and de-clutter it if we let them go. Things that simply our lives and lighten our baggage both physical and emotional. Let go of those hard feelings, forgive and forget. Give and live. We all seem to know this. But we just hoard stuff like we need them since we are here forevermore.
We plan young. This necklace will go to my eldest daughter. My mom used to plan and decide what she wanted to give to each of her daughters when she was the age I am right now. I do my own plans for that matter. I look at each piece of my jewelry and foresee that Aarti will one day wear it or just put it in her curio since they will be too outdated for adornment. I look at the letters Sarat and I had written to each other and hope that a grandson would stumble upon them and get to know a love story. I plan for the day I'll have to leave but hold on to the first jeans I'd bought in the USA, the many little clothes that Aarti had worn in her initial months, the numerous quilts and comforters that do not co-ordinate with the size or the color of my current bedroom just because I might need them if a guest comes and decides to sleep on the couch watching TV. I imagine having another child or one of my sisters or cousins having a girl to use those clothes Aarti had long out grown, and a guest that would want to sleep on the couch just because I cannot let go of the things that I own. But I do plan on giving away the more precious stuff since all of us, not just me, know that we are not forevermore.
I lightened the burden of this house by a few tens of pounds since I donated Aarti's outgrown clothes, toys and all those quilts and comforters and also those Sunscreens and extra baby cremes that would hit the trash if they are hoarded for another year. Somewhere a little girl might need those clothes, a baby somewhere doesn't have a single toy perhaps. And what will all these possessions mean in the big picture? Yeah, nothing!

Memories are meant to be the ones that linger in the heart. May be an occasional dress or a trinket that was bought on a special occasion can be hoarded. But the rest will not mean a zilch once the person that deems those things as something meaningful is gone.

We hoard, pile things and emotions up making us weak, placing us in an enchantment that makes us consciously act like we are forevermore. A diamond could probably stay for ever - the person who wears it will not. Just like the things we plan to pass on, we should probably plan to pass on the love and lead a life a little selfless and a lot less self centered.

We take with us what we give away. What we keep will just stay back right where we left them.

TV time.

Television (often abbreviated to TV, T.V.; sometimes called , telly or the tube, bloob tube or boob tube, or idiot box in British English) is a widely used telecommunication system for broadcasting and receiving moving pictures and sound over a distance. Right? wait....it has more to it.

Not too long ago, or a couple of days ago to be very precise, I was one of those moms that would proudly proclaim that my kid watches no TV at all. Change is the only thing that is constant they say and so the status quo of my proclamation has changed over the couple of days. Since it can get pretty stressful to manage a two going on three, "curious George's cousin" toddler whole day, I caved in and switched on the TV and made my little girl sit before that dinosaur (in shocking purple and green) from some one's imagination. Barney craze caught with Aarti like a house on fire and ever since she started negotiating TV time with daily activities like eating, taking vitamins and finishing the fruit snack. "I'll eat if I can watch Barney" she would exercise her new fond negotiation skills to get to watch her new fond friend in purple and green and I give in now and then - just to cut the stress off of dealing with a toddler that has thrown herself on the floor wailing in an uncontrollable fit of tears. To my good fortune, she doesn't yet understand that after the 15-20 mt program is over, the telly could still entertain her if her mom picks up the remote and punches a few "on demand" buttons. Needless to say, I am worried. I definitely do not want her to glue herself to the telly watching Barney marathons back to back and the only way I can get her to not do that is by stopping all my things and read her Dr.Seuss for the n th time or play with moonsand along with her or worse yet, tell her the story of a little baby named Aarti in an infinite loop. I do all of the above just in a hope to keep her from getting addicted to TV or getting addicted to swapping her TV time for my peace of mind.

TV is bad for everyone, not just kids. I feel it is such a timewaster. Time killer, to be more accurate. Most housewives in India are addicted to those all-defying plots of the likes of Ekta kapoor that has lady villains dressed like drag queens weaving one conspiracy after the other. Actually, it is not completely their fault. I feel that there is something compelling about watching TV with special reference to soaps. I remember how I used to watch Jassi every day - with more devotion than I said my daily prayers. The Virgo in me does think that watching TV is a waste of time though... and I want the Capricorn growing up in the house to think the same. I want her to be more imaginative, invent her own toys and find her own ways to keep herself entertained. May be I started seeing why Monica thought I'd be an ambitious mom. Or am I just being sensible without actually being too pushy on the little one?

I can either substitute TV with me or me with the TV and I choose the latter. So I just should get a cup of chamomile tea, sniff some lavender, take a deep breath, relax and go on telling the story of a little girl name Aarti for the fifty sixth time without losing enthu or compromising on the animation till Aarti is out and about in a preschool :-)

Ambition

A friend once told me, long before I had my little girl, that I'd be a very ambitious mother. I did not know why she would think that way since I was at the juncture where I was newly married and my only ambition in life was to cook two meals a day and find my way into my hubby's heart (probably thru his tummy. LOL - JK on that, since we courted a good number of years before we got hitched and I made sure that I found the way to his heart and settled there with a sleeping bag, reluctant to budge! Thankfully I am still there!)
Anyway, Ambition and I are not a good pair. I was more of a dreamer than an achiever. I remember how I dreamed about being an astronaut when my idea about ambition was still hazy. I was this little girl in primary school and everyone made a hue and cry about how a certain Mr.Rakesh Sharma sang "saare jahan se atcha hindusita hamara" when asked about how he thought the space looked! That is quiet corny if I think now after getting on to the wrong side of 30, but when you are not yet a decade old, you probably like such things! Like them enough to do them one day :-)
Then I dreamed of being like Komal G B singh, the English news reader on DD1. My mom somehow thought that I looked like her and I though she had such a cool diction, so somewhere in between resembling her and wanting to pronounce like her, I smuggled newspapers into the toilet and whispered the news out loud - trying to sound cool when mispronouncing words that were too hard to read, let alone comprehend. Thus, a loo bookworm was born. I suspect if this is a genetic thing since Aarti wants her Shiny Dinah book every time she makes a visit to the powder room. Isn't that cute? For some reason, my mom didn't think I was cute like I think Aarti is. Probably because you cease to be less and less cute as you age. And eleven and a newspaper in the toilet is a wrong picture - at least it was, to my mom who is modern enough by all standards. So I had to shun my dreams to be a news reader. Then of course, I dreamed of being a Doc... The inspiration? Tanvi Azmi in Life Line (again a soap on DD1)
That didn't last long since I figured that being a doctor has more to it than lounging around the hospital ward in a cool white coat and a stethoscope :-)) yeah, who would dissect all those worms and cockroaches? Not a faint hearted idiot like me. So that dream was shelved before it actually emerged a full fledged dream.
In between, I dreamed of writing poetry, ( I still dream of writing poetry and also prose, thanks to Mr. Arvind Adiga, the recent one to have taken home a Booker. I did dream about writing when Ms. Roy won, Ms. Lahari won too... so I still am stuck on that particular dream ) being a photographer, painter, journalist and teacher.
Anyway, it gets back to the title...so where is ambition featured in all this evolution? I fail to see it. I am by far, the most non - ambitious person I'd ever had the pleasure of knowing. At the most I dream - Dream about losing weight, writing 1000 words each day, bringing home the Pulitzer or Booker, being an interior designer, a mural artist, opening a fusion restaurant,being a poet or a desi version of Martha Stewart, the domestic goddess. In fact, I was mighty inspired by her till she found herself in the middle of that stock fiasco.... But I still think she is a great role model:-)
I dunno if I will be an ambitious mom like Monica predicted I'd be. May be I will, may be I won't. I will surely let Aarti dream and decide the course of her own life. If she thinks being a nurse-practitioner better suits her than being a doc, or chooses to be a teacher instead of a prof, I'll let her be who she wants to be. I think the only thing I'd tell her is to be the best nurse or the best teacher she can be. I'll encourage her to dream and find her destiny. May be, she'll be a writer and bring home the Booker. I'll do just fine even if she doesn't become a book lover for that matter... it is her life.
But dreaming - it will come, like the urge to read "shiny Dinah" when in the restroom...after all inheritance is something. isn't it?

Like it, Love it, Gotta have it!!

No marks for original title ! (any Coldstone lovers here?? LOL)
The weather is cold. Almost chilly, specially since the last few months were spent in sultry India. I am back on track, out of the lag and bitten by the shopping bug. Isn't it that time of the year when people shop and shop?

They say that the economy is bad... The retailers are offering great discounts on all kinds of products imaginable. The cosmetic store and the big handbag store in the mall claim to have roaring business. (I asked the associates while window shopping! So it is first hand info!) And the pretty young thing next door just visited me to get a sari draping 101 lesson all dolled up with salon perfect hair, a extravagant sari (that I got for her form India - and she paid btw..he he he) and loads of make up sporting a smokey eye that went perfectly well with the intricately embroidered black sari and talked about an even more extravagant wedding that she is attending. Looks like the economy is not as bad as they say it is anyway...or am I surrounded with well doing businesses and people?

Anyway my loot for the evening was stationery, a fancy looking cup and saucer set set (meaning two sets of a fancy looking cup and saucer with some Chinese characters on it) and a box of Chinese green tea.

I bought a couple of journals - for doodling, scribbling, cussing, rewinding, jotting down recipes while my mom dictates them over the phone and writing all thoughts big and small. One has an over sized lady walking on a beach...I thought it would be perfect to remind me of my perpetual weight loss goal and just keep it as an inspiration to be artsy and heavy...

The Chinese green tea is not quiet as green as the Japanese green tea that I bought at Costco...not sure if it is superior or inferior to the Japanese one. I asked Google angel, Aarti interrupted before I could actually read the results (Google, when would you launch an audio option for the search results?, it'll come handy for moms on the go like yours truly!)

The cups are wide and shallow....kind of like me...wide, white and shallow, with some un-decipherable characters calligraphed on them, kind of like this senseless blog. I could have saved this if I'd added some pictures. Now where is my Nikon D40x? The same companion of mine that had depreciated a good $300 since I bought it. That doesn't make it any less precious to me. It will remain my other muse, the muse that is ready at the click of a hand. BTW, I had a hard time to get Aarti pose for my camera in the evening. She seems to be a chip of the old block. Not making any sense today.

Oh, the journal with the over sized lady came with a pack of 12 cards depicting over sized ladies in different moods. They are too symbolic to write notes to any of my girl friends...So I should probably write notes to myself. Notes like "operation clean the bathrooms" or "go to the grocery store to get milk". I am making sense. Aren't I?

The side effects of drinking Chinese green tea before bed.
Senseless blogs.
Insomnia.
Tipsy?
Shopaholic syndrome.
Plagiarism (notice the title?)
Greed (gotta have it, gotta have it)

Nothing works like retail therapy
Nothing works like de-retail therapy (did I get the spelling right?)


All my treasures are a couple of dollar bargains.....Did they say that the economy is bad?

Attack.

It was terrorizing. Just like they wanted it to be. I was stuck to the TV, not wanting to watch and hear as to what was happening, but not wanting to switch it off either. I was scared, scared as hell for all those people trapped in Taj, Trident, Oberoi and Nariman House. I was a mere bystander though - the most I could do was to go to Siddhivinayak (where the security was tight and I could not really concentrate on what I wanted to ask Him for) , closed my eyes and prayed for peace in Mumbai and a safe travel home. I was granted the latter, the former is something that probably is out of the hands of Siddhivinayak or even Allahtaula for that matter, since those bastards are acting on their own and do not have a soul which can be influenced upon by any God whosoever or any religion whatsoever.

A perfectly peaceful Wednesday was transformed into a nightmare within a matter of minutes. Many lost their lives - people who were at premium hotels celebrating, vacationing, discussing business and meeting up with friends did probably not imagine the inevitable stalker getting to them on such a casual hour in such a grizzly manner. Some fought, some succumbed to fate while friends and family waited out with stern faces wondering if they were safe. Media covered the events extensively and I'm sure whole of Mumbai watched it - numb but powerfully terrorized, thanking their lucky stars to not have ventured into that part of the city and feeling a tinge of guilt to think only about themselves and their kin when the world outside is unfolding a new brutal chapter in the history of Mumbai and taking hundreds of innocent lives as a price paid for senseless wars against the very spirit of humanism.

SMSes condemning the attacks scrolled down on the screens of TVs, public was enraged, politicians ducked under the pretense of rising and acting against the monster and bystanders like me just waited and watched, worrying about their trip back home or an important assignment at work or a shopping plan that went awry. There was a lot of anger but it generated nothing but just a senseless, powerful emotion burning in the heart and nothing else. No action taken, no wounds healed. People who were in close proximity felt insecure and blamed the netas, the police, the intelligence, the media...and went on to put this episode back and live a life full of themselves. CMs and ministers were made to resign claiming social responsibility, the security became more vigilant, little kids who understood bits and pieces of the drama cried out loud wanting to leave Mumbai. But what did we do to stop this from recurring again? Leopold was opened, Taj announced that it'll spring back to its previous glory. People resumed normal lives pretending that they are stronger than the faceless, coward bunch of idiots that spoilt their lives along with hundreds of perfectly blissful families. We shove all nightmares under the carpet and make idle chatter, psychologists analyse psyches of the minds behind the destruction. Friends and relatives of the deceased write letters and condolences in the most eloquent way possible.

We wait for another attack, not consciously, but we do. People live in fear and say they are not afraid. We react only when we are effected or threatened of our own safety. A handful of places on the world live in this uncertainty and attacks day in an day out. We blissfully sit with a cup of herbal tea and comment on what the world is going to, and go along with our own lives, our weight loss plans, weekend programs, travel etc. We don't do anything...we just get angry, accuse a community or a group, make retaliatory attacks and spread more hate. When it comes to electing a leader, we elect the one who can charm us...not the one who protects us. We are actually a bunch of bigger cowards than they are....that's the reason why we let this happen to us.

Trumpet time:-)

I forgot to record this the last time it happened.

Aarti lies down on bed and I bend to take a peck on her cheek. She stops me, holds my face in her tender palms and says " look!! I am in your eyes".

I was startled the first time she said this since I look into her eyes a lot but never really cared to observe my reflection in them. She said this once again a while ago. I kissed her, looked into her eyes (at my reflection) and told her that I am in her eyes as well!!

Well, well, she does not buy that. She runs to the mirror, looks into the reflection and says, no you are not!

Ah, the precious moments of parenthood:-D.

Recent Reads, Reviews follow.

Time

Time is a very powerful thing. Volatile, quick to slip by but very powerful. I was in this city Mumbai a month and a half ago and 6 weeks looked awfully long to stay away from home. Yet, I am here almost packing my bags and coming up with a new fond inspiration to be svelte, sexy and what not? All in just 5 weeks. I'll explain svelte and sexy later since these terms need their own blog space but as of now time is one thing I want to focus on. It is amazing how seconds roll into minutes, minutes into days and days into decades and centuries. Time is money someone said - urging us to spend it wisely. But Time just passes by whether we choose to spend it or kill it unlike money which accumulates when not spent. Time makes us old, not necessarily wise or mature, but old. So time is definitely more than money. May be it is life since each passing moment brings us closer to the end of our time on earth and what we make out of the time on hand is entirely our call. We procrastinate things just in an illusion that we have unlimited time on hand...but once it is gone it is gone and time wasted is actually life wasted. But what exactly is spending time wisely? Are we supposed to slog our butts off being productive or is pausing to see the roses bloom or a baby laugh is wasting time? It is for us to decide. Time well spent is life well lived , brains well used, talents well explored , love well expressed, jobs well done, decisions well made and Beauty well appreciated. My stint in this city is all of the above and to commemorate the special five weeks of my life I had to own this Red Panda - A species that is at the verge of extinction, just like the time all of us have. Red Panda a symbol of my time well spent and a reminder of the clock that is ticking. A beautifully engraved brutal truth reminding me that I should live my time while I still have it:-)