People who know me well know my belief about being connected to the English land and language in my previous life. It is this exact belief that led me into believing that there is no way I would hate London - the first stop of our Europe Travel. Years ago, I read a poem in our Gulmohar graded English text named "Upon the Westminster Bridge"
Wordsworth opined that the Earth had nothing else better than the view from the Westminster Bridge to show. So as an eleven year old, I was determined to see the fairest view of all, in a way heart fully agreeing with Mr. Wordsworth and believing in what he said though I didn't see an opportunity to see beyond the outskirts of our little town, let alone the continent. But years later, I actually migrated to another continent, albiet a different one than I aspired to see and called it my home. Anyway, it comes to us naturally - and we erase boundaries, overcome territories and make a mark of our own without ever worrying if where we are is where we actually belong. And thus, we weave a strong bond with our adopted Nationalities. I met one such woman as I set my foot on the land of "Great Britain" - a stocky middle aged woman dressed in a formal suit a bit too long for her short frame. Her thinning hair was pulled back into a limp ponytail and she wore her face as badly as she wore her dress and attitude. From the side, I could not for the life of me figure out who she was - if she was a man or a woman or a passenger or an airport personnel. As I looked around for a pen to fill my customs papers in the UK port of entry, the woman approached me - talking to me in an almost disconnected way. Her accent was thick and sounded more like a regional Indian tongue than Queen's English. "Yesterday only I put pens in all these places" she mumbled. "Greedy people. They come to this country thinking all is free here" I opened my mouth in an attempt to say something like "nothing is free" but gave up since I quickly realised the futility of agreeing or disagreeing with her. " I work only part time", she went on, "last week a person committed suicide since there are no jobs here - I don't know why people come to our country and take away all the jobs" - By now, I was looking or pretending to look into the customs form. She didn't leave me alone. For some strange reason, she thought I was there to snatch away her job. I tried, rather proudly, to flash my US passport to her. She was probably naive enough not to understand that I call another land of opportunity my own and am not in the least interested in encroaching hers. Irony people - Irony. One brown skinned person to another in a land that belongs to neither - and all the natives walked past me without even caring to give me a dirty look or an appraisal if I am a potential "opportunity snatcher"
So, long story short, my fellow Indian had the audacity to indirectly call my tribe (and hers funnily enough) greedy and encroaching. With a broad grin and a mind that mentally jotted down the conversation, I left the place, striding safely away form the tortured old woman.
The Airport looked surprisingly similar and the city, even more. It reminded me of my favourite - amchi Mumbai - not amchi per say, but if London could be amchi to a seemingly new immigrant working in the Airport, Mumbai, a part of my motherland could most certainly be Amchi. So, London and its resemblances to Amchi Mumbai is mind boggling. As our shuttle lumbered through the paths of the royal city, I looked around to spot individual homes just like I'd do in Mumbai - and just like I'd do in Mumbai, I didn't find any of those here as well.
London was pretty ordinary - The roads were cramped and dirty. In the afternoon as we ventured out to find a place to eat, I almost stepped on dog droppings - eeks, I know - but I am not sure if the Amchi London brigade is responsible for the droppings, or the non cleaning of droppings after dogs rather. I was already falling out of love of London. May be the country side will stir my soul - I wondered, not willing to drop the 'previous birth connection' theory with the land of cricket.
I skipped my half day city excursion and cuddled up in the cozy blanket with the Twilight series, courtesy Holiday Inn, and let Wordsworth be a wordsmith, or a confirmed Patriot, or may be, I should give him the benefit of doubt. He is generation "A" and gen X need not necessarily agree with him:-))
Notwithstanding the ordinariness or the eerily familiar layout, London still remains to be the heart of the land of Shakespeare, Sherlock Holmes and J K Rowling, and if nothing else, the way the language sounds form the mouth of a inhabitant is worth the price of admission. Long Live London, Long Live Love and Long Live the London Love.
More random ponders to come:-)
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Michaelness - a tribute!
Last Thursday, while on a domestic long distance call with my Sister in law, Santu my brother called me on the second line and dropped a little bomb of sorts. "Michael Jackson is dead" he announced - without even caring to say hello - in a voice that sounded low and shocked. The emotion was coming from a confirmed MJ fan and was rightly justified.
I let out a sigh and felt a surprising gloom, since I did not know MJ either as the world class entertainer or the eccentric wacko he was alleged to be. MJ was a rage when I was growing up. Every person in the Indian film fraternity were in some way influenced by him so much so that there was a mass flattery of MJ that went on for decades together - flattery as in imitation. All his beats and moves were diligently copied and his costumes and backgrounds were passionately plagiarised by all directors, choreographers, music directors, their assistants, competetors and neighbors:-) MJ was known more far and wide than Amitabh Bachchan was perhaps, since the remote villages of regional India doesn't watch much Hindi movies but their regional stars and lyrics chanted "MJ" like a mantra and made him well known across the subcontinent, language and literacy no bar!
A friend form high school used to listen to his songs more religiously than he'd say his daily prayers. Once he wrote the lyrics of "Beat it" for me to consider the depth, pain and emotion in them. I saw where the friend was coming from but it did not occur to me how huge this Michael Jackson guy really was.
One of the first gifts my hubby (then beau) sent me was a CD man with a remote control and a pack of MJ cds - this was when CDs were still not a rage, at least in the small town I hailed from. Slowly MJ fire caught in our household and thus the die hard loyal fan in Santu was born.
After migrating to the US and making it my home, I'd seen MJ on the covers of all tabloids while waiting in line at Safeway and killing time watching E! channel. The wacko Jacko seemed to have offered more drama, sales and TV ratings than the divinely versatile talent of Michael the King of Pop. The analysis was more about his looks, nose, hair and the skin tone that changed form a radiant light brown to albino white. There were theories and anti theories about his skin disease, his 'not accepting' his race, his suspicious attraction towards children and numerous plastic surgeries. America Loved Jacko, Loved to hate him that is - till his death last thursday.
Suddenly, the icon was gone and the whole nation seemed to be in a mass mourning. All his 'in the closet' fans emerged out proclaiming their love for his talent and their belief in his innocence. The Internet experienced a melt-down with all the love and curiosity everyone suddenly has for him. I am guilty as charged to have done my share of MJ googling and viewing his 2002 interview given to one of those Pakistani media persons. (forgot his name) Every other video on YouTube featuring MJ had more than a ten million views overnight and condolences poured in from far and wide across the planet. It's a week since the legend departed and the world doesn't seem to have come over him or his death yet! Suddenly and ironically, MJ is being noticed for his multi talented personality, his genuine love for children and his troubled childhood that left a deep impact on who he became later on. If Larger than life has a mortal form, it most definitely, certainly, without a doubt looks much like an athletic six foot frame that moved like a machine, sang like an angel and wrote lyrics like John keats. A frame that bore a 'bleached of pigment' face, permanent eyeliner and a head full of long, black tresses, A form that looks strikingly like Michael Joseph Jackson who was mistaken for Wacko Jacko till he breathed his last.
It is very sad that MJ was not around to see the impact his departure had on his well-wishers and fanbase that spreads across the globe. MJ is as universal if not more as Jesus himself. MJ the moon walker, MJ the singer, MJ the lyricist, the dancer and the composer shall stay here marking his territory across the planet much like William shakespeare or Thomas Edison long after his demise.
The power house of talent shall be deeply missed by all his admirers and live an immortal life for generations to come.
The whole thing just reminds me of a few things - the fact that what matters in one's life is not how one lives it but how much one is missed once one leaves and the fact that we are not here for ever and we should live our lives like we mean to live them and the fact that Michaelness is a mass madness that the world will never overcome.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Not sure.
It took me a month and a day to come back with a ponder - isn't it funny how we blame everything on our mood and wait till we have the right mood to do the right thing? I think mood is more like a predecessor to procrastination. I am not in the mood of exercising, not in the mood of writing, not in the mood of reading etcetera, etcetera, etcetera (King and I ishtyle) is the perfect pretext to not to do what are supposed to be doing!
Many things have happened in the past month. I got my gel nails off of my nail buds at home - thanks to the 'never faltering to deliver' Google mata - as Santu my brother puts it. I ran a search on 'how to remove artificial nails at home' and came up with just that - a detailed write up abt how it could be done. If anyone of you is wondering, my natural nail bud is all weak and bumpy now and it would take a little while for it to grow out. Anyway, the costly lesson of 'don't fix what needn't be fixed' is learnt early and right. Not that I'd venture into extreme vanity - but thanks to all the bombarding of 'anti aging' I read in the mags I subscribe to - if I ever have a tinge of curiosity to try a chemical peel or worse yet a face lift two decades down the line, I'll humbly remind myself of the nail fiasco and learn to age naturally. Okay - this is total dramatization of my vanity - I am not as vain as I am curious and that explains my gel nails and slightly overweight body! LOL.
I'd been frequenting to big B's blog. A thing or two to be learnt there. BTW, I am slowly getting myself to believe that this is the man himself and not a ghost writer. It is amusing how he gets upset about criticism - like he'd heard it for the first time. And his misuse of apostrophes makes him that much more real and makes me that much more forgiving about the random mistakes I make in my own communication. All said and done, Amithab Bachchan is what he is for a reason and his blog is evidence. The passion the person has for writing is quiet infectious and kind of drives home the point that a stay at home mom should not have pretexts to not write blogs. Really so!
MJ had passed away last week. My brother, who was evidently doing some monkey business on his new iPhone, called me the moment the news hit the Internet and I was kind of transformed into a mourning mood instantly. Suddenly Wacko Jacko emerged larger than life could ever dream of being - ironically - in his death! The amount of love he gets baffles me and the criticism saddens me - not since I believe or don't believe he is not what he is made up to be - but just for the fact that he isn't being remembered for the right reasons. MJ is a talent like none other and there is no debate about that. And here's to the Singer, performer and Entertainer of the century - "MJ, America misses you more than it thought it ever would!"
On home front, Aarti is getting borderline obsessive about babies. Yeah, babies of the human, animal and insect variety. She seems to take great fascination for 'Angelina Ballerina' (who is a white mouse bought to life in the form of a cartoon BTW) and her infant, unnamed mouse sister and the baby bee that is being rescued by "wonder pets" on Nickelodeon Jr?? and the baby episode on "Sesame street." I know TV is not a really good option for kids and I exercise that option only when I am a wink short of losing my sanity from playing a three year old's playmate for the whole day.In the past month, I lost it, found it and am now in full form. Talking about yours truly's vigor, confidence and love for life. Not really sure what to call this come back of sorts - 'Not sure' may be?
Many things have happened in the past month. I got my gel nails off of my nail buds at home - thanks to the 'never faltering to deliver' Google mata - as Santu my brother puts it. I ran a search on 'how to remove artificial nails at home' and came up with just that - a detailed write up abt how it could be done. If anyone of you is wondering, my natural nail bud is all weak and bumpy now and it would take a little while for it to grow out. Anyway, the costly lesson of 'don't fix what needn't be fixed' is learnt early and right. Not that I'd venture into extreme vanity - but thanks to all the bombarding of 'anti aging' I read in the mags I subscribe to - if I ever have a tinge of curiosity to try a chemical peel or worse yet a face lift two decades down the line, I'll humbly remind myself of the nail fiasco and learn to age naturally. Okay - this is total dramatization of my vanity - I am not as vain as I am curious and that explains my gel nails and slightly overweight body! LOL.
I'd been frequenting to big B's blog. A thing or two to be learnt there. BTW, I am slowly getting myself to believe that this is the man himself and not a ghost writer. It is amusing how he gets upset about criticism - like he'd heard it for the first time. And his misuse of apostrophes makes him that much more real and makes me that much more forgiving about the random mistakes I make in my own communication. All said and done, Amithab Bachchan is what he is for a reason and his blog is evidence. The passion the person has for writing is quiet infectious and kind of drives home the point that a stay at home mom should not have pretexts to not write blogs. Really so!
MJ had passed away last week. My brother, who was evidently doing some monkey business on his new iPhone, called me the moment the news hit the Internet and I was kind of transformed into a mourning mood instantly. Suddenly Wacko Jacko emerged larger than life could ever dream of being - ironically - in his death! The amount of love he gets baffles me and the criticism saddens me - not since I believe or don't believe he is not what he is made up to be - but just for the fact that he isn't being remembered for the right reasons. MJ is a talent like none other and there is no debate about that. And here's to the Singer, performer and Entertainer of the century - "MJ, America misses you more than it thought it ever would!"
On home front, Aarti is getting borderline obsessive about babies. Yeah, babies of the human, animal and insect variety. She seems to take great fascination for 'Angelina Ballerina' (who is a white mouse bought to life in the form of a cartoon BTW) and her infant, unnamed mouse sister and the baby bee that is being rescued by "wonder pets" on Nickelodeon Jr?? and the baby episode on "Sesame street." I know TV is not a really good option for kids and I exercise that option only when I am a wink short of losing my sanity from playing a three year old's playmate for the whole day.In the past month, I lost it, found it and am now in full form. Talking about yours truly's vigor, confidence and love for life. Not really sure what to call this come back of sorts - 'Not sure' may be?
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Au Naturel
Perfection has a flip side to it - more often than not, perfect things scream FAKE - like that full bosomed size zero lady that breezes ahead of you in the gym or the eyelashes that look like the fringe of your living room curtains defying gravity and facing skywards. But I was introduced to a whole new level of fake when I got my gel nails implanted. Had I not spent the dough I'd spent on them, I'd have pryed them out then and there and threw them in the trash can never to tread the path of the manicurist's place - ever again. It happened last evening and it happened like this -
When Aarti's dad comes home early sometimes and is in a position to afford to be nice, he offers to baby sit the brat while I can go on a 'what ever I want to do' spree and enjoy myself and my 'myself' time. So last evening was one of those eventful times when I had the luxury to do what I wanted to do without a hyperactive, over inquisitive toddler in the shopping cart, who would want to go to the restroom the moment I get to the farthest point of the store from the restroom. So - I chose to go get a pedicure - only for the third time in my life in the United States of America. Did someone say third time is a charm? So, I ended up in the pedi-chair making small talk with Victoria the pedicurist. There were a couple of ladies that were at the manicurist's chair where a couple of men worked on their hands like physicians working in an operation theatre - focus lights, nose masks and all that! Needless to say, my conversation steered towards acrylic nails - Victoria did all she could do to convince me to have fake nails. Now - if there is a part of me that I am vain and proud about, it is my hands - my arms, my hands and my fingers - as a package deal. It was probably God's way of compensating for my chipmunk cheeks and chinky eyes. And I can never to date - figure out how and why my nails and hair grow like weeds - given the fact that I eat a protein free diet - or almost, practically a protein free one. So you must be wondering why I had gel ones. Well, the other day over the long weekend, when I was in the bowling alley trying to not be the least scorer among my peers, I broke my thumb nail handling the 6 pound ball. I came home and promptly chopped off the rest of my nails to make them uniform. So, while convincing the manicurist that I my nails take no time to grow - a part of me was willing to sit in that chair and give them a try.
The guy used a mini sanding machine kind of thing and got rid of a layer of the tip of my natural nail. By now I much prized fingers were looking like I'd just stuck them in rice flour and didn't care to dust them off. And then, the glue - and the pieces of plastic that protruded from my nail buds like shallow rainbow arches. It was by far, the ugliest sight ever - and I cringed- wrinkled and shut my eyes hard and prayed to get the strength to sustain the foolish experiment I was getting into. There was more sanding, more gluing and filing and finally he caught hold of an instrument that looked like pliers and cut the rainbow arch short. Now the nails looked like cigarettes stubs - short, blunt and uneven. The whole process of the nails was like an hour - an hour that I could have spent in Barnes and Noble, sipping on white chocolate mocha and reading Dr.Laura's latest - but destiny brought me to this chair that was inflicting onto me the horror of one of the many facets of vanity. And then, the real pain came in. The manicurist applied a gel on my nails and made me stick my hand into a pocket like device that was emitting ultra-violet rays. The rays melted the gel and burned my cuticles and I did more cringing, more cussing under my breath and in that royal pain, thought about all the serious procedures Dr.90210 does on women in his famous E! show and the amount of pain ladies sustain to get that perfect derriere, bosom or pillow lips which end up looking like something else that I refrain from describing since I want to be able to keep my language under control.
At the end , my otherwise perfect nails that tipped my perfect fingers looked like miniature duck feet glued over my nails - giving my fingers an over all stocky and obviously fake appearance - so we are not even looking at perfect here - we are looking at just fake!
Mistakes happen and I came out celebrating my adventurous spirit though my heart felt a little heavy and my purse a little light. Driving home, I successfully avoided looking at my nails but wasn't successful enough to avoid the thoughts of what I could have done with the money I'd just dropped on the manicurist's desk.
So, I don't care if it is the harsh eyebrows that ladies draw to look like Brook Shields or the bums that they stuff to look like JLo - They just don't work! Au Naturel is the way to go - the blissfully painless and priceless way to go - in the meanwhile, I am happy to report that my robust nail bud already sports the growth from beneath that thick, clubby, duck feet. Thankfully, I need to look at these horrendous new additions only for a couple of weeks.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Star Struck.
SO what if I do not get as many opinions as I wish to get about my writing. Here's what the Man himself had written to me about a comment I left in his blog.
Guys and Gals - presenting to you Mr. Amithab Bachchan and what he had to say about what I had to ask. Mr. Bachchan himself - Oh I so want to believe it! Here's a cut paste form Big B's blog reproduced here by the star struck Moi.
These can be found on his website under comments for post number 388. Mine is the 90th comment:-)
Laxmi says:
May 15, 2009 at 11:17 pm
Hello Amitji,I am a huge fan of Shri.Harivanshrai Bachchan and I think he was a greater talent than all of your family combined. I have a doubt reeling in my head though - so had to wonder out loud - with your kind of a schedule and the demands on your time, do you really sit down to write all these eloquent blogs? If you really do and don’t have them ghost written - I must admit, you’d inherited the flair for words from your legendary dad and I have more about you to love beyond long legs, deep voice and acting talent.
Regards,L Addanki.
ab says:
May 16, 2009 at 2:31 am
Yes Laxmi.. it is me that reads writes, posts everything.. and it is a joy..
What a real joy - I'd never guessed I would so gush over an invisible comment that is supposed to be Big B, awake at 2:31 am :-))
Makes me want to croon like ABBA....I believe in Angels - and in Amitji writing his own blog. LOL
Guys and Gals - presenting to you Mr. Amithab Bachchan and what he had to say about what I had to ask. Mr. Bachchan himself - Oh I so want to believe it! Here's a cut paste form Big B's blog reproduced here by the star struck Moi.
These can be found on his website under comments for post number 388. Mine is the 90th comment:-)
Laxmi says:
May 15, 2009 at 11:17 pm
Hello Amitji,I am a huge fan of Shri.Harivanshrai Bachchan and I think he was a greater talent than all of your family combined. I have a doubt reeling in my head though - so had to wonder out loud - with your kind of a schedule and the demands on your time, do you really sit down to write all these eloquent blogs? If you really do and don’t have them ghost written - I must admit, you’d inherited the flair for words from your legendary dad and I have more about you to love beyond long legs, deep voice and acting talent.
Regards,L Addanki.
ab says:
May 16, 2009 at 2:31 am
Yes Laxmi.. it is me that reads writes, posts everything.. and it is a joy..
What a real joy - I'd never guessed I would so gush over an invisible comment that is supposed to be Big B, awake at 2:31 am :-))
Makes me want to croon like ABBA....I believe in Angels - and in Amitji writing his own blog. LOL
This and that.
A few years ago, I enrolled in a creative writing class that was conducted in our community college. I ended up reading a lot of amateur works and had the opportunity to present a couple of my short stories to be work-shopped in the class. We dissected writings of the class alongside of the short stories form the Best American Short Stories volume released that year.
Anne Lamot had a term for most first drafts that writers and wannabes generate - She termed them as 'shitty first drafts.' So the idea here is to impress upon her readers that acclaimed writers don't just type out what they intend to tell in the first go - in fact, they write and re-write over and over again what they intend to put forth and writing is as laborious as a gestation period to deliver a baby would be - now, she did not say the part about gestation period and writing - it is my original expression;-0
I ended up writing two major, complete short stories that were inspired out of two visuals that I'd experienced around that period. Being the spontaneous person I was, I typed out my stories, did a spell check and confidently submitted them for work-shopping. My stories had a different tone to them - almost a fable like texture and characters and behaviours that were strange to a foreign culture. They both were literary disasters - or so I thought - but at the end of the day, the way I read books changed more than the way I write. Till date, I type out what comes to my mind and seldom do edits - I remain kind of spontaneous that way. But the way I read a book has evolved. I seem to constantly look for what worked for me in the book and what didn't. I found in me a reader I didn't find all those years.
Then sometime after that, a friend of mine sent me a link to his friend's blog. If there is anything that excites me about men, it is their ability to articulate - since men as a species are of the "talk less" or "talk in a confusing way" category. I love artistic men - men who can sing, design, sculpt, dance, act, write etc. So anyway, this blog - that came my way in 2004, inspired me to start my own. Ever since I'd published a lot of shitty first drafts - some of them spell checked and some unchecked.
And when I said I like artistic men, it has to be mentioned that I am a great fan of Mr. Bachachan - not the big B, but his dad Shri. Harivanshrai Bachchan who crossed paths with me during the days of my graduation. There he was mentioned as Amithab's dad - which is a dishonor to a poet so great and eloquent. His poetry reads like a song - a music. The rhyme is so fluid. Anyway, the other day I googled my way to Big B's blog. He had this wonderful poem by his dad on this home page that is taken down now. Why??? I thought the poem was great. Anyway, the new home page had just one quote by his dad - "Main deepak Hoon. Mera jalna hi tho meri muskaan hai" - meaning - I am a light (as in a candle or a lamp) my 'burning' is my smile - Now how is that for a sneak preview??
In all earnestness, I hope and dearly truly hope that Big B has a ghost writer to write his blog. Otherwise, I cannot fathom the eloquence of the man. If he is as busy as he is - is there a possibility that he just publishes his "shitty first drafts" and they read like articles written by professional journalists?? Now - I wish to ask him that if I can ever do. And if he is the actual expression - what can I say? I think I have more to love about this man beyond deep voice and long legs! :-))
On the other hand -Aamir khan's blog reads kind of like mine - shitty first draftish and amateur - and I would in a blink believe that he writes it himself. I hope he does! On a different note, they have hundreds of comments on each blog - and people actually look like they are competing to leave their comments. So it makes sense perhaps to talk when people want to listen. Now if I'd ever have the inspiration to be an actor, it would be to get attention to my being a writer. LOL.
Wouldn't it be cool to have people compete to be the first to leave a comment on your daily ponders - I trust it is and big B is one lucky devil to get all that attention - it is probably cynicism that I do not want to believe that he writes them himself. gawd - what is wrong with me???
I'd found solace in expression - in writing from the day I was old enough to write - and my shitty first drafts document to me - my evolution as a person. Things that are honest - ads, books, songs and blogs make the most impact and my honesty and integrity is put here on this virtual screen in the form of a blog.
If there is one thing that I'd love to do over everything else, it would be blogging and if there is one thing that you all could do for me - it is telling me what you think before leaving:-))
Can I possibly be more clear ??
I retire , hoping to come back and find a thing or two said or thrown at me about what and how I write - if you wish to throw sandals, I wear a size 7 usa - please throw a pair. I'll walk around in them and be ever grateful for your time and thoughtfulness. Tomatoes and eggs will be eco-consciously place in the compost bin. Everything good and bad will be cherished as an encouragement to keep up my blah blah.
Anne Lamot had a term for most first drafts that writers and wannabes generate - She termed them as 'shitty first drafts.' So the idea here is to impress upon her readers that acclaimed writers don't just type out what they intend to tell in the first go - in fact, they write and re-write over and over again what they intend to put forth and writing is as laborious as a gestation period to deliver a baby would be - now, she did not say the part about gestation period and writing - it is my original expression;-0
I ended up writing two major, complete short stories that were inspired out of two visuals that I'd experienced around that period. Being the spontaneous person I was, I typed out my stories, did a spell check and confidently submitted them for work-shopping. My stories had a different tone to them - almost a fable like texture and characters and behaviours that were strange to a foreign culture. They both were literary disasters - or so I thought - but at the end of the day, the way I read books changed more than the way I write. Till date, I type out what comes to my mind and seldom do edits - I remain kind of spontaneous that way. But the way I read a book has evolved. I seem to constantly look for what worked for me in the book and what didn't. I found in me a reader I didn't find all those years.
Then sometime after that, a friend of mine sent me a link to his friend's blog. If there is anything that excites me about men, it is their ability to articulate - since men as a species are of the "talk less" or "talk in a confusing way" category. I love artistic men - men who can sing, design, sculpt, dance, act, write etc. So anyway, this blog - that came my way in 2004, inspired me to start my own. Ever since I'd published a lot of shitty first drafts - some of them spell checked and some unchecked.
And when I said I like artistic men, it has to be mentioned that I am a great fan of Mr. Bachachan - not the big B, but his dad Shri. Harivanshrai Bachchan who crossed paths with me during the days of my graduation. There he was mentioned as Amithab's dad - which is a dishonor to a poet so great and eloquent. His poetry reads like a song - a music. The rhyme is so fluid. Anyway, the other day I googled my way to Big B's blog. He had this wonderful poem by his dad on this home page that is taken down now. Why??? I thought the poem was great. Anyway, the new home page had just one quote by his dad - "Main deepak Hoon. Mera jalna hi tho meri muskaan hai" - meaning - I am a light (as in a candle or a lamp) my 'burning' is my smile - Now how is that for a sneak preview??
In all earnestness, I hope and dearly truly hope that Big B has a ghost writer to write his blog. Otherwise, I cannot fathom the eloquence of the man. If he is as busy as he is - is there a possibility that he just publishes his "shitty first drafts" and they read like articles written by professional journalists?? Now - I wish to ask him that if I can ever do. And if he is the actual expression - what can I say? I think I have more to love about this man beyond deep voice and long legs! :-))
On the other hand -Aamir khan's blog reads kind of like mine - shitty first draftish and amateur - and I would in a blink believe that he writes it himself. I hope he does! On a different note, they have hundreds of comments on each blog - and people actually look like they are competing to leave their comments. So it makes sense perhaps to talk when people want to listen. Now if I'd ever have the inspiration to be an actor, it would be to get attention to my being a writer. LOL.
Wouldn't it be cool to have people compete to be the first to leave a comment on your daily ponders - I trust it is and big B is one lucky devil to get all that attention - it is probably cynicism that I do not want to believe that he writes them himself. gawd - what is wrong with me???
I'd found solace in expression - in writing from the day I was old enough to write - and my shitty first drafts document to me - my evolution as a person. Things that are honest - ads, books, songs and blogs make the most impact and my honesty and integrity is put here on this virtual screen in the form of a blog.
If there is one thing that I'd love to do over everything else, it would be blogging and if there is one thing that you all could do for me - it is telling me what you think before leaving:-))
Can I possibly be more clear ??
I retire , hoping to come back and find a thing or two said or thrown at me about what and how I write - if you wish to throw sandals, I wear a size 7 usa - please throw a pair. I'll walk around in them and be ever grateful for your time and thoughtfulness. Tomatoes and eggs will be eco-consciously place in the compost bin. Everything good and bad will be cherished as an encouragement to keep up my blah blah.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
My new blog
www.iriseive-inspirations.blogspot.com is my new blogging venture created to feed my love for photography, visuals and words. Please hop there from here when ever possible.
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Occupation
Suddenly last afternoon, I remembered the anticipation I had for the movies that were to be aired on Doordarshan every Saturday evening. Sometimes the movies were duds, which we watched without blinking nevertheless and sometimes they are blockbusters - sprinkled with perfect comedies, chart buster music and oh so pretty leading ladies. So, the anticipation, or the movies by themselves are like the mealtimes my daughter and I share at home - sometimes she announces that she wants to eat by herself and she does too - and at other times she comes up with very creative and "ahead of her times" excuses like a hurting stomach or a feeling to barf. Anyway, I sit and suffer through them - much like the movies I'd watched even if they were unbearable.
One such unbearable situation arose yesterday. I went to Aarti, armed with a bowl of Mac and Cheese in hopes to make the meal time easy - now, the tried and tested kid favourite meal is kind of off on our meal table, so I had to haul a little stool, the bowl of food and the toddler that was to consume the bowl of food into the garage, open up the door and arrange a picnic of sorts - all to make her eat her food. Did it work? Perfectly! It was not a breeze, but it worked like a charm and with the bowl of carbs and fat, we got to devour a few more things - sharing, stopping to smell the roses (literally and figuratively) and a ponder or two about the choices we make.
While Aarti was working on her meal, a little blue bird came hopping - obviously looking for food. I scooped some Mac and cheese and put it on the drive way. The bird hopped a few feet backward as if to shield herself away form a potential danger and then she hopped forward, landed a few inches away from the grub and stretched her body and dainty neck forward to to peck at the food and flew away in a hurry - kind of like the excitement and fear I had when lighting up fireworks for Diwali. I used to halt at a safe distance, scoot down with the candle , bend forward to light the fire cracker and run back once the wick is ignited. The birdie then came back with a companion to collect the rest of her find - an identical bird - that I assumed was her significant other. I followed the birdies into the direction they flew till they were out of sight into the back yard of the next door neighbor. Are they probably on the family way?? May be they are! So we kept sharing our meal with the little birdies, and they kept accepting them and Aarti was merry, mighty excited and awe stuck that she wanted to feed them again this afternoon.
After the meal, my little girl and I settled down in the garage - doing nothing! We gazed into the day that brightened and faded as the clouds played hide and seek with the Sun. An occasional screech of wheels cut through the unusual mid-noon silence and a car or truck traced the curve of the cul-de-sac while my little girl and I settled on the floor of the garage gazing into the bright day like we were watching an interesting play or program on television. We sipped on our drinks, walked out on the drive way, identified the many hues of roses that bloomed in unison on our side yard, played with a Roley Poley and made him curl into a little ball and looked for the birdies to come back and collect the remnants of Aarti's rejected Mac and cheese that was heaped on one side of the drive way.
This perhaps, is one of the most eventful afternoons I'd had in my life. Sometimes, having to do nothing puts a lot of thought and imagination in you life since you are not programmed to do things a certain way , in a certain schedule and time. Observing the changing intensity of the Sun, the variations of the depths of color on the spring blooms, sharing a meal with the birds and ants, seeing the excitement and wonder in a toddler's eye as a tiny insect curls into a little ball in defense mechanism - all these things worked wonders on my mind - I seemed to be as relaxed as one would be when pampered in a spa.
While I have tremendous respect, adoration and awe for women who juggle a career and home, I for once felt a deep gratitude for having the luxury of having an occupation like the one I have - an occupation that lets me stop to notice the world and its creatures and lets me spend time with a little girl that will soon be thinking her mom is a nuisance (hope not) while attending her High school prom.
Long live Occupation Homemaking!
:=)
One such unbearable situation arose yesterday. I went to Aarti, armed with a bowl of Mac and Cheese in hopes to make the meal time easy - now, the tried and tested kid favourite meal is kind of off on our meal table, so I had to haul a little stool, the bowl of food and the toddler that was to consume the bowl of food into the garage, open up the door and arrange a picnic of sorts - all to make her eat her food. Did it work? Perfectly! It was not a breeze, but it worked like a charm and with the bowl of carbs and fat, we got to devour a few more things - sharing, stopping to smell the roses (literally and figuratively) and a ponder or two about the choices we make.
While Aarti was working on her meal, a little blue bird came hopping - obviously looking for food. I scooped some Mac and cheese and put it on the drive way. The bird hopped a few feet backward as if to shield herself away form a potential danger and then she hopped forward, landed a few inches away from the grub and stretched her body and dainty neck forward to to peck at the food and flew away in a hurry - kind of like the excitement and fear I had when lighting up fireworks for Diwali. I used to halt at a safe distance, scoot down with the candle , bend forward to light the fire cracker and run back once the wick is ignited. The birdie then came back with a companion to collect the rest of her find - an identical bird - that I assumed was her significant other. I followed the birdies into the direction they flew till they were out of sight into the back yard of the next door neighbor. Are they probably on the family way?? May be they are! So we kept sharing our meal with the little birdies, and they kept accepting them and Aarti was merry, mighty excited and awe stuck that she wanted to feed them again this afternoon.
After the meal, my little girl and I settled down in the garage - doing nothing! We gazed into the day that brightened and faded as the clouds played hide and seek with the Sun. An occasional screech of wheels cut through the unusual mid-noon silence and a car or truck traced the curve of the cul-de-sac while my little girl and I settled on the floor of the garage gazing into the bright day like we were watching an interesting play or program on television. We sipped on our drinks, walked out on the drive way, identified the many hues of roses that bloomed in unison on our side yard, played with a Roley Poley and made him curl into a little ball and looked for the birdies to come back and collect the remnants of Aarti's rejected Mac and cheese that was heaped on one side of the drive way.
This perhaps, is one of the most eventful afternoons I'd had in my life. Sometimes, having to do nothing puts a lot of thought and imagination in you life since you are not programmed to do things a certain way , in a certain schedule and time. Observing the changing intensity of the Sun, the variations of the depths of color on the spring blooms, sharing a meal with the birds and ants, seeing the excitement and wonder in a toddler's eye as a tiny insect curls into a little ball in defense mechanism - all these things worked wonders on my mind - I seemed to be as relaxed as one would be when pampered in a spa.
While I have tremendous respect, adoration and awe for women who juggle a career and home, I for once felt a deep gratitude for having the luxury of having an occupation like the one I have - an occupation that lets me stop to notice the world and its creatures and lets me spend time with a little girl that will soon be thinking her mom is a nuisance (hope not) while attending her High school prom.
Long live Occupation Homemaking!
:=)
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Titles, answers, opinions, lies and truths.
Ever since Sushmita Sen and Aishwarya Rai won the pageants in 1994, I was hooked on to watching pageants. The best part of the evaluation to me was always the question answer section where pretty young things come up with intelligent and profound answers for intelligent and profound questions. It is a totally different blogable topic that profound sounding young things end up on modeling ramps, silver screens and multi million dollar commercial deals instead of going on the expedition to eradicate child labor or to embrace the poor and downtrodden. So - everything can look and sound eloquent, meaningful and sincere when spoken or written -which kind of makes me remember my school days - the days when we used to euphorically write about something like "India of my Dreams" or "Charity starts at home" coming up with essays competing on expression and eloquence but it makes me wonder now as to how much of that eloquence mattered in absolute intention and sincerity if the essays weren't evaluated for grades.
I saw Sush talk about her adventure of making a better world for kids and Priyanka speak about "Mother Teresa" as a living woman that she idolizes the most (which made me wonder she overlooked the one main phrase of the question "living woman" in the year 2000. Now, we can argue that Mother Teresa is immortal - but technically, she came up with the wrong answer, used the almost Divine Mother to her advantage and won the Title and then - you all know what happened.!Mother Teresa is dumped for Madhuri Dixit and the sexy siren bared all for the Bollywood camera and marched past her peers in the number game. Now - I do not have anything against ambitious actresses and scheming politicians - I am actually trying to ponder over what we say and how sincerely we say it. It just makes me wonder if we'd say the same things if grades, titles , tiaras and vote banks are not involved.
So do we adorn our opinions with sweet lies to be popular and sound good - or do we speak what we believe in? Recently, Miss California was in news when a judge of the Miss. USA pageant asked her opinion about legalizing same sex marriages. The pretty young thing initially strayed into making an eloquently ulterior-motive opinion but kind of concluded that a marriage should stay between a man and a woman. Now the judge got offended since she said what she felt and not what she was supposed to say and the result was a lost title, bitterness from the gay faternity and loads of criticism. Now if you ask me what I thought about gay marriages, I'd say, I don't really give it a thought - which is true. USA being the free country it is, people should not have a problem with being who they are - If I say I am against same sex marriages, it doesn't mean that I am against people who are gay. I am someone who might not prefer doing it but at the same time I am someone who might not really bother about someone else doing it. I would not belittle a gay person because I am straight and believe that a marriage is between a man and a woman. So anyway, what does Miss. California's experience teach us?? That we are so used to listening to equivocal and politically correct responses that we are not able to give credit to honest opinions??? So is winning going to make us compromise on our opinions and beliefs? Should we try being who we are not - to be who we want to be? Is speaking our mind out when asked for it the last nail in the coffin of our dreams?
There was another contestant who was asked what she thought about Universal health care. Her answer kind of puzzled me and then put before me the a classic example of wanting to win - She, according to me, represents each one of us who are so focused on winning that we craft our responses to make us look like we are there in all our glory and integrity (no pun intended) but winning doesn't really matter to us as long as we have our integrity intact. On a different note, I was tempted to find out if she knew the meaning of integrity.
Here's what she answered - verbatim - to her thoughts about Universal health care in USA.
“I think this is an issue of integrity regardless of which end of the political spectrum that I stand on. I’ve been raised in a family to know right from wrong, and politics, whether or not you fall in the middle, the left or the right, it’s an issue of integrity, whatever your opinion is and I say that with the upmost conviction.”
Okay- what conviction does one see in this response? A conviction to win? Or a conviction to keep up one's integrity?? :-)) I know, I know!! :-))
We all seem to be in a constant quest to be recognised, to be ahead in the race and to be successful and rich - And what is the price we are paying to be what we want to be? What is it that we are compromising on? Our values? Our beliefs? Our opinions?
This whole ponder has made me realise one thing! That thoughts and speeches without actions and intentions are like beautiful bodies without souls. They lack the conscience that makes them true and sincere. May be - just may be if we kick in a little honesty into all we do and say, and a little respect for what others do and say - we can collectively improve the quality of the world we live in. We can probably stop gushing on embellished eloquence and concentrate on plain vanilla truth. In short, if we mean what we say and say what we mean - the world will be a lot less complicated and pure.
I saw Sush talk about her adventure of making a better world for kids and Priyanka speak about "Mother Teresa" as a living woman that she idolizes the most (which made me wonder she overlooked the one main phrase of the question "living woman" in the year 2000. Now, we can argue that Mother Teresa is immortal - but technically, she came up with the wrong answer, used the almost Divine Mother to her advantage and won the Title and then - you all know what happened.!Mother Teresa is dumped for Madhuri Dixit and the sexy siren bared all for the Bollywood camera and marched past her peers in the number game. Now - I do not have anything against ambitious actresses and scheming politicians - I am actually trying to ponder over what we say and how sincerely we say it. It just makes me wonder if we'd say the same things if grades, titles , tiaras and vote banks are not involved.
So do we adorn our opinions with sweet lies to be popular and sound good - or do we speak what we believe in? Recently, Miss California was in news when a judge of the Miss. USA pageant asked her opinion about legalizing same sex marriages. The pretty young thing initially strayed into making an eloquently ulterior-motive opinion but kind of concluded that a marriage should stay between a man and a woman. Now the judge got offended since she said what she felt and not what she was supposed to say and the result was a lost title, bitterness from the gay faternity and loads of criticism. Now if you ask me what I thought about gay marriages, I'd say, I don't really give it a thought - which is true. USA being the free country it is, people should not have a problem with being who they are - If I say I am against same sex marriages, it doesn't mean that I am against people who are gay. I am someone who might not prefer doing it but at the same time I am someone who might not really bother about someone else doing it. I would not belittle a gay person because I am straight and believe that a marriage is between a man and a woman. So anyway, what does Miss. California's experience teach us?? That we are so used to listening to equivocal and politically correct responses that we are not able to give credit to honest opinions??? So is winning going to make us compromise on our opinions and beliefs? Should we try being who we are not - to be who we want to be? Is speaking our mind out when asked for it the last nail in the coffin of our dreams?
There was another contestant who was asked what she thought about Universal health care. Her answer kind of puzzled me and then put before me the a classic example of wanting to win - She, according to me, represents each one of us who are so focused on winning that we craft our responses to make us look like we are there in all our glory and integrity (no pun intended) but winning doesn't really matter to us as long as we have our integrity intact. On a different note, I was tempted to find out if she knew the meaning of integrity.
Here's what she answered - verbatim - to her thoughts about Universal health care in USA.
“I think this is an issue of integrity regardless of which end of the political spectrum that I stand on. I’ve been raised in a family to know right from wrong, and politics, whether or not you fall in the middle, the left or the right, it’s an issue of integrity, whatever your opinion is and I say that with the upmost conviction.”
Okay- what conviction does one see in this response? A conviction to win? Or a conviction to keep up one's integrity?? :-)) I know, I know!! :-))
We all seem to be in a constant quest to be recognised, to be ahead in the race and to be successful and rich - And what is the price we are paying to be what we want to be? What is it that we are compromising on? Our values? Our beliefs? Our opinions?
This whole ponder has made me realise one thing! That thoughts and speeches without actions and intentions are like beautiful bodies without souls. They lack the conscience that makes them true and sincere. May be - just may be if we kick in a little honesty into all we do and say, and a little respect for what others do and say - we can collectively improve the quality of the world we live in. We can probably stop gushing on embellished eloquence and concentrate on plain vanilla truth. In short, if we mean what we say and say what we mean - the world will be a lot less complicated and pure.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
View point.
Here's a thread that was opened on one of the discussion boards I frequent at.
The topic was named 'Funny Neighbors'
For some reason, my intuition stuck me that this was going to be about Indian neighbors before I opened the thread. I once met a psychic at a fair who tried to lure me into getting my psychic reading and I refused. "You are like me hon" she said. "Intuitive". I kind of believe her. I think I have a very strong intuition.
On to topic again - The funny neighbors were indeed Indian.
The lady opened the discussion with something like -
Lady 1 - "Ok first I in NO WAY want to offend anyone, nor am I criticizing. This is just an observation. I have an Indian family who lives next door to me. I have noticed that at mealtimes the mother chases the small boy (about 3-4) around their patio with a plate of food, poking bites in his mouth. This puzzles me so much. Why not sit the child down at the table and let him eat? "
The first reply was something like
Lady 2 - Must not like what mom is making for dinner... LOL!!!
And then someone else chimed in with something like
Lady 3- I would guess that he doesn't like what they eat. I know we had an Indian neighbor once and the food stunk to high heaven. You could always tell when she was home and having dinner.
And the last reply to the thread was a somewhat kind one.
Lady 4 -That must be comical to watch! Lol! I actually love Indian food. But, I've only tried a few things. Who knows what she's poking in his mouth that he doesn't enjoy. :)
End of conversation - or so I thought since I didn't follow the thread anymore. Instead I started my usual ponder of the shocking culture differences people have.
When I first watched 'Titanic' I was kind of upset to see Jack and Rose sneak out and make love. To me love had nothing to do with sex. It bothered me to no end that Rose would sleep with Jack when she was engaged to someone else and then it bothered me further more when she moves on with her life and has kids and grand kids after Jack dies. That was because I was young and naive and did not completely evolve as the person I was destined to be. I was brought up in a society where Brides and Grooms met in a formal setting and decided to get married after one single meeting though I was too scared to follow the same route and made the choice of a partner myself. Pre-marital relationships were a sin to me. I would not in my wildest of dreams accept being in a pre-marital relationship as understandable. I watched Titanic as a young bride. Two things were alien to me - my own personality that was kind of under-developed and hazy and a foreign country where public displays of affection were as commonly spotted as people on the road. I loathed western culture. The loathe grew along with my familiarity to a completely new culture till I met my neighbor V who is quiet older to me. I found a true friend in V though we were from cultures as different as day and night. She dated numerous men before she found her true love. She and I shared only one thing in common - our gender. All else was different. We were from different generations, races, countries, cultures and backgrounds. But that did not stop me or her form being each other's best friend. She would drop her jaw to the floor to learn that me and my hubby were virgins before marriage and I would drop mine when she shared with me her numerous escapades with prospective partners. I slowly started to accept that being in pre-marital relationships is not as bad as I thought it was - though I would not have been caught dead in one and she realised that being in an arranged sort of marriage is not as bad as she thought either though she would not personally consider it in a million years. Now, I had come a long enough way to watch and actually enjoy watching "Sex and the City" without being judgemental about the four ladies and their quest for a completely compatible relationship - love, sex and everything in between.
Back to where the ponder began - to the 'Funny Neighbors' thread - Isn't it really funny that Indians as a culture are grown up on a healthy diet of mythological tales where Yahsoda, the mom of Krishna carries him on her hip and feeds him butter from her hand as she takes him out into the front yard and shows him the Full moon?? We just don't seem to understand that it is okay to let the kid eat by himself or herself. I actually thought that it was funny how westerners leave babies in their nurseries with a baby monitor on. "How cruel" I used to think and still think - not even "How funny" which looks pretty mild in comparison to "How cruel"
When my pediatrician asked me hiding his cynical smile if we co-sleep - I replied rather proudly that we do. It is one of the many things that we are taught to do differently by our culture and co-sleeping is not as bad as he thinks it is. Just like pre-marital sex might actually not as bad as I think it is.
The innocent ladies attributing the "poking of spoon" in a toddler's mouth as the toddler not liking the mother's food is nothing but lack of a perception, a lack that I thankfully un-lacked as I grew up understanding and respecting different cultures. When my third grade social studies teacher told us that coconut oil is used for cooking in Kerala - the whole class did a mock-mass-puke in chorus. An oil that is used to apply to the hair being ingested was a thought to invoke barfing. Now I see Chinese people frying snakes and centipedes and ingesting them when I watch the travel channel but I am courteous enough not to barf out loud. I think it is really not as bad as I think it is if it is looked at from the other person's perspective. Food is food is food. Right? and there is a paradigm shift in all things. Our holy cow ends up on a million American dinner plates - is it cruel? No. We spank our kids - is it barbaric? No!
My father's cousin once told me that we all need to travel. "That is the only way we can understand different cultures" he opined. I was a teenager. I did not know what the big deal about understanding cultures is - now I do or so I think!
I think the greatest thing a person could learn is to learn to understand that there is a vast world beyond our comfort territory and what is right to us might not or should not be right to everyone else.
I actually like the concept of making a child sit at one place and eat. Aarti does it once in a while but for a good number of times I let her walk the expanse of the house while I sub-consciously enact the "Yashoda" episode and feed her my delicious food. Now, if an American neighbor looks at it and thinks that it is because I don't cook well, I should probably shrug it off and go being who I am and at the same time realise that I should let her be who she is.
I think the whole world has an attitude problem - and a perception problem. And by the way - I do not judge Jack Dawson and Rose Dewitt Bukater for what they did any more. I actually have come to appreciate the concept of two souls uniting at a mortal level when love prevails.
That being said, I am thankful that I seem to have come over both my attitude and perception problems:-)
The topic was named 'Funny Neighbors'
For some reason, my intuition stuck me that this was going to be about Indian neighbors before I opened the thread. I once met a psychic at a fair who tried to lure me into getting my psychic reading and I refused. "You are like me hon" she said. "Intuitive". I kind of believe her. I think I have a very strong intuition.
On to topic again - The funny neighbors were indeed Indian.
The lady opened the discussion with something like -
Lady 1 - "Ok first I in NO WAY want to offend anyone, nor am I criticizing. This is just an observation. I have an Indian family who lives next door to me. I have noticed that at mealtimes the mother chases the small boy (about 3-4) around their patio with a plate of food, poking bites in his mouth. This puzzles me so much. Why not sit the child down at the table and let him eat? "
The first reply was something like
Lady 2 - Must not like what mom is making for dinner... LOL!!!
And then someone else chimed in with something like
Lady 3- I would guess that he doesn't like what they eat. I know we had an Indian neighbor once and the food stunk to high heaven. You could always tell when she was home and having dinner.
And the last reply to the thread was a somewhat kind one.
Lady 4 -That must be comical to watch! Lol! I actually love Indian food. But, I've only tried a few things. Who knows what she's poking in his mouth that he doesn't enjoy. :)
End of conversation - or so I thought since I didn't follow the thread anymore. Instead I started my usual ponder of the shocking culture differences people have.
When I first watched 'Titanic' I was kind of upset to see Jack and Rose sneak out and make love. To me love had nothing to do with sex. It bothered me to no end that Rose would sleep with Jack when she was engaged to someone else and then it bothered me further more when she moves on with her life and has kids and grand kids after Jack dies. That was because I was young and naive and did not completely evolve as the person I was destined to be. I was brought up in a society where Brides and Grooms met in a formal setting and decided to get married after one single meeting though I was too scared to follow the same route and made the choice of a partner myself. Pre-marital relationships were a sin to me. I would not in my wildest of dreams accept being in a pre-marital relationship as understandable. I watched Titanic as a young bride. Two things were alien to me - my own personality that was kind of under-developed and hazy and a foreign country where public displays of affection were as commonly spotted as people on the road. I loathed western culture. The loathe grew along with my familiarity to a completely new culture till I met my neighbor V who is quiet older to me. I found a true friend in V though we were from cultures as different as day and night. She dated numerous men before she found her true love. She and I shared only one thing in common - our gender. All else was different. We were from different generations, races, countries, cultures and backgrounds. But that did not stop me or her form being each other's best friend. She would drop her jaw to the floor to learn that me and my hubby were virgins before marriage and I would drop mine when she shared with me her numerous escapades with prospective partners. I slowly started to accept that being in pre-marital relationships is not as bad as I thought it was - though I would not have been caught dead in one and she realised that being in an arranged sort of marriage is not as bad as she thought either though she would not personally consider it in a million years. Now, I had come a long enough way to watch and actually enjoy watching "Sex and the City" without being judgemental about the four ladies and their quest for a completely compatible relationship - love, sex and everything in between.
Back to where the ponder began - to the 'Funny Neighbors' thread - Isn't it really funny that Indians as a culture are grown up on a healthy diet of mythological tales where Yahsoda, the mom of Krishna carries him on her hip and feeds him butter from her hand as she takes him out into the front yard and shows him the Full moon?? We just don't seem to understand that it is okay to let the kid eat by himself or herself. I actually thought that it was funny how westerners leave babies in their nurseries with a baby monitor on. "How cruel" I used to think and still think - not even "How funny" which looks pretty mild in comparison to "How cruel"
When my pediatrician asked me hiding his cynical smile if we co-sleep - I replied rather proudly that we do. It is one of the many things that we are taught to do differently by our culture and co-sleeping is not as bad as he thinks it is. Just like pre-marital sex might actually not as bad as I think it is.
The innocent ladies attributing the "poking of spoon" in a toddler's mouth as the toddler not liking the mother's food is nothing but lack of a perception, a lack that I thankfully un-lacked as I grew up understanding and respecting different cultures. When my third grade social studies teacher told us that coconut oil is used for cooking in Kerala - the whole class did a mock-mass-puke in chorus. An oil that is used to apply to the hair being ingested was a thought to invoke barfing. Now I see Chinese people frying snakes and centipedes and ingesting them when I watch the travel channel but I am courteous enough not to barf out loud. I think it is really not as bad as I think it is if it is looked at from the other person's perspective. Food is food is food. Right? and there is a paradigm shift in all things. Our holy cow ends up on a million American dinner plates - is it cruel? No. We spank our kids - is it barbaric? No!
My father's cousin once told me that we all need to travel. "That is the only way we can understand different cultures" he opined. I was a teenager. I did not know what the big deal about understanding cultures is - now I do or so I think!
I think the greatest thing a person could learn is to learn to understand that there is a vast world beyond our comfort territory and what is right to us might not or should not be right to everyone else.
I actually like the concept of making a child sit at one place and eat. Aarti does it once in a while but for a good number of times I let her walk the expanse of the house while I sub-consciously enact the "Yashoda" episode and feed her my delicious food. Now, if an American neighbor looks at it and thinks that it is because I don't cook well, I should probably shrug it off and go being who I am and at the same time realise that I should let her be who she is.
I think the whole world has an attitude problem - and a perception problem. And by the way - I do not judge Jack Dawson and Rose Dewitt Bukater for what they did any more. I actually have come to appreciate the concept of two souls uniting at a mortal level when love prevails.
That being said, I am thankful that I seem to have come over both my attitude and perception problems:-)
What goes around...
My stint at Ogilvy changed one thing about me - I do not take even the most boring commercials for granted. Even if it is a home-printed handout that the local dry cleaners leave on the front porch, it gets its due attention. I look and analize if the message is said in a honest and entertaining manner. So it was but natural that I noticed the commercial being aired for "Pure Michigan" which aims at enticing the audience with the taste of a 'Michigan morning.' The sun rises over a lush, wind bent grassland, there is a picture postcard perfect windmill in the foreground which for some strange reason makes my heart leap in a feeling of De-javu. The voice over tells that we humans have twenty five thousand mornings - give or take and we spend them on treadmills and traffics. And we should makes sure that a few of them are "Pure Michigan"
So the commercial made me do my usual detours. 'Twenty five thousand mornings' loomed large in my mind. It made me do my usual girl math - that is sixty eight something years of mornings we have by the way, and that made me rearrange my priorities about spending the left over mornings of my average life expectancy. If not 'Pure Michigan', let it be Pure California I thought. For someone who doesn't spend the mornings on treadmills and traffics, I thought I neither belong in the 'normal' nor in the 'ideal' category - which brings me to the point I am trying to blog about - not being a morning person and also not being in a position to deal with the other 'non morning person in the making' that is shaping up as we speak. A friend once asked me why all my blogs are late night. It is simple - My lights of my brain start functioning as the lights in my neighborhood go off and reach their momentum as the night progresses. That kind of explains why I am blogging wide awake at 1:53 am and why I panicked when the state of Michigan put before me the average number of mornings I have. It was like a 'pun intended' wake up call and it also stirred memories of my childhood which I am about to share with my august cyberspace company to make sense of my title:-)
I think I kind of borderline abused my mother with my non-morning personality. "What time is it?" I would mutter in a half asleep state, when she used to come into the room I shared with my sis to wake us both up to get ready for school. She would tell us the time. My mind used to do the girl math. "Another ten would not hurt" I would reassure myself and doze back to sleep and dream of getting up and getting ready. And then the dream would be interrupted by my mom's voice, climbing a notch on the irritation meter. "what time is it?" I would ask. "Time to get up" she would snap back. And then I would get my lazy, non morning butt out of the bed and get ready to school. Once I got up, I never wanted to go back and tuck myself in the sheets. Which kind of makes me wonder if I actually am a morning, non morning person - which is like being a morning person to begin with, but leaning more towards being a non-morning person just because I don't care to be what I really am. And why do I get a weird feeling that I am beginning to sound like Dr. Seuss?
Anyway - One day, my mom called out to wake me up and I did the usual "what time" routine and she gave me the usual 'sitcom' comeback. I drifted back to sleep. The moment I opened my eyes and gazed at the wall clock, I had an early teen heart attack of sorts since the time was past 10 am and I'd officially bunked the school:-)) Yeah - she kind of taught me a lesson - but being the wanting to be non morning person I was, I went back to my "what time?" question routine in no time though I was careful not to ask her for 10 mt extensions on the free wake up yells for a good month or so. I fondly remember those days as the precursor to the many tiffs my mom and I were going to have in the teen times to come.
Fast forward some years and Aarti my three year old needs to be in school by 8:45 am and I need to get up and get her ready and drive her to the place. I wake up, get ready and keep on trying to wake her up. Though she is not old enough to understand the concept of time, she has her own way of asking me to let her sleep. I come up with all kinds of innovative ideas to get her out of the bed to get her ready to go to school. I call her my baby, make bulky promises and let her take a bubble bath while the minute hand on the wall clock moves forward along with my stress levels. This to me is an 'aha' moment - an 'aha' that escapes inadvertently out of my lips as I sharpen my creativity to get a reluctant, persistent and adamant toddler out of the bed. An 'aha' that makes me wonder if this is what they mean by saying what goes around comes around.
I probably took after my dad in the morning department and gave my 'very morning' or 'can't afford to be non-morning' mom all the stress that my dear daughter gives me today. Today I am a morning person, though I do not see lush grasses and scenic landscapes in my mornings. All I see is sizzling skillets, piling dishes, out of control temperaments and feel grinding nerves. Did I tell I feel I sound like Dr Seuss?
Anyway, I realise, that if we look at the world - we all seem to stand in a circle. What we give from our one hand comes back to us form the other in the form of 'aha' moments, reality slaps, stressful mornings and monster kids. :-))
BTW, do you think it is the genes that make Aarti the way she is? I hope not. I do not want her to detour as much as I do and change topics as much as I do. Come to think of it, I should have done the voice acting for Dory in 'Finding Nemo' since I seem to change the topic more times that a partial amnesiac does:-)) On that note, I retire - hoping to make at least some of my left over mornings, nothing extraordinary or ecstatic - but just mornings sans drama!
So the commercial made me do my usual detours. 'Twenty five thousand mornings' loomed large in my mind. It made me do my usual girl math - that is sixty eight something years of mornings we have by the way, and that made me rearrange my priorities about spending the left over mornings of my average life expectancy. If not 'Pure Michigan', let it be Pure California I thought. For someone who doesn't spend the mornings on treadmills and traffics, I thought I neither belong in the 'normal' nor in the 'ideal' category - which brings me to the point I am trying to blog about - not being a morning person and also not being in a position to deal with the other 'non morning person in the making' that is shaping up as we speak. A friend once asked me why all my blogs are late night. It is simple - My lights of my brain start functioning as the lights in my neighborhood go off and reach their momentum as the night progresses. That kind of explains why I am blogging wide awake at 1:53 am and why I panicked when the state of Michigan put before me the average number of mornings I have. It was like a 'pun intended' wake up call and it also stirred memories of my childhood which I am about to share with my august cyberspace company to make sense of my title:-)
I think I kind of borderline abused my mother with my non-morning personality. "What time is it?" I would mutter in a half asleep state, when she used to come into the room I shared with my sis to wake us both up to get ready for school. She would tell us the time. My mind used to do the girl math. "Another ten would not hurt" I would reassure myself and doze back to sleep and dream of getting up and getting ready. And then the dream would be interrupted by my mom's voice, climbing a notch on the irritation meter. "what time is it?" I would ask. "Time to get up" she would snap back. And then I would get my lazy, non morning butt out of the bed and get ready to school. Once I got up, I never wanted to go back and tuck myself in the sheets. Which kind of makes me wonder if I actually am a morning, non morning person - which is like being a morning person to begin with, but leaning more towards being a non-morning person just because I don't care to be what I really am. And why do I get a weird feeling that I am beginning to sound like Dr. Seuss?
Anyway - One day, my mom called out to wake me up and I did the usual "what time" routine and she gave me the usual 'sitcom' comeback. I drifted back to sleep. The moment I opened my eyes and gazed at the wall clock, I had an early teen heart attack of sorts since the time was past 10 am and I'd officially bunked the school:-)) Yeah - she kind of taught me a lesson - but being the wanting to be non morning person I was, I went back to my "what time?" question routine in no time though I was careful not to ask her for 10 mt extensions on the free wake up yells for a good month or so. I fondly remember those days as the precursor to the many tiffs my mom and I were going to have in the teen times to come.
Fast forward some years and Aarti my three year old needs to be in school by 8:45 am and I need to get up and get her ready and drive her to the place. I wake up, get ready and keep on trying to wake her up. Though she is not old enough to understand the concept of time, she has her own way of asking me to let her sleep. I come up with all kinds of innovative ideas to get her out of the bed to get her ready to go to school. I call her my baby, make bulky promises and let her take a bubble bath while the minute hand on the wall clock moves forward along with my stress levels. This to me is an 'aha' moment - an 'aha' that escapes inadvertently out of my lips as I sharpen my creativity to get a reluctant, persistent and adamant toddler out of the bed. An 'aha' that makes me wonder if this is what they mean by saying what goes around comes around.
I probably took after my dad in the morning department and gave my 'very morning' or 'can't afford to be non-morning' mom all the stress that my dear daughter gives me today. Today I am a morning person, though I do not see lush grasses and scenic landscapes in my mornings. All I see is sizzling skillets, piling dishes, out of control temperaments and feel grinding nerves. Did I tell I feel I sound like Dr Seuss?
Anyway, I realise, that if we look at the world - we all seem to stand in a circle. What we give from our one hand comes back to us form the other in the form of 'aha' moments, reality slaps, stressful mornings and monster kids. :-))
BTW, do you think it is the genes that make Aarti the way she is? I hope not. I do not want her to detour as much as I do and change topics as much as I do. Come to think of it, I should have done the voice acting for Dory in 'Finding Nemo' since I seem to change the topic more times that a partial amnesiac does:-)) On that note, I retire - hoping to make at least some of my left over mornings, nothing extraordinary or ecstatic - but just mornings sans drama!
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