Never a Superstar

Here's a link to Harsha Bhogle's write up on V V S Laxman - info that threw light on the artist and the muse - the artist of Words and the muse who's lauded as an artist. An impressive work - either way!
www.cricinfo.com/magazine/content/story/480388.html

Child.

Great Things
Come in little packages?
Pin straight, stark black Hair
Cascading onto the forehead,
Framing a tiny face.
Little hands and feet,
Almost dangling
Out of over sized tees and shorts.
Power packed attitude
That punches in the palm
With a puny twist,
When asked for a Hi Five.
Sorrow filled tiny eyes
When the discovery
Of not bringing the lunch Dawns.
Monkey like gait,
Laughing, screaming,
Making havoc on the way
Sly, sassy, little kid
That touches the heart
With his lack of manners
And abundance of mischief.
Great thing, tiny package
A tot that is hard to be missed!

One more.

Birthdays were always fun - and this one is no different. I'm taking a deep breath and thanking God for all the blessings and great friends he sent my way:-)
Happy B'day to me~!

Number

The day I was ten and six
I loved sparkly things,
Lady bugs, drops of rain
Painting nails
reading books.
The day I was ten and six
I sang in the shower
loved splashes of color
collected earrings
wrote love notes to my lover.
The day I was ten and six
I stopped to watch the world pass by
I laughed and cried
watching comedy and tragedy
on screen and off of it.
The day I was ten and six
I was a girl woman.
I dreamed of my home
my kids, my chores
I wrote poetry and prose
and loved solitude
as much as I loved crowds.

Time passed, I became ten and six
twice over.
I am a woman girl
still loving bumble bees and lady bugs
sparkly trinkets
nail lacquer, well written books
Still smitten by my lover
Still singing in my shower.

ten and six or thirty and two
You just stay you.
The count-up of age is just a number
It might apply to your laugh lines
and hair density.
But
The inside remains the same.

Ponder

Ten years ago, when I was a newcomer into adulthood, marriage and this country, I was looking at things in a different paradigm - by things, I mean all things in general and kids in particular. I'd always been more compatible with people out of my age group and the older group of friends I have in my friends' dads and moms is evidence. My vibe with kids was great too. The curly haired, dimpled cutie that lived in our neighborhood was an instant draw towards me. I used to babysit her while her mom grappled with a younger kid and a career path. So, this little one, let's call her Farah, was like a roommate of sorts, sharing my living space and the secret to the stash of treats in my pantry (that existed to cater to all the little ones that I baby sat, out of sheer admiration for kids) Farah's personality was as vibrant as the color of her auburn tresses that cascaded down into Shierly Temple curls. Her middle Eastern descend contributed to her glowing complexion and soulful dark eyes. She was a very confident kid, that was not afraid of speaking her mind out. Once I let her into my house, she'd walk into the kitchen, open the pantry door and demand for a cookie or a candy. "Give me a treat" she'd command, and I'd follow her cues and give her what she wanted. Her confidence came with a fearless streak of curiosity. She'd look around the house and touch and hold everything, including my fine china that was displayed with pride in my "easily accessible by a five year old" kitchen Island shelf. Little did I know about the concept of child proofing.
Farah was an easy definition of a brat for all the neighbors. I was probably too young and immature myself that I'd actually expected a five year old to have impeccable manners and 'under-wraps' curiosity. I was borderline judging her and joining force with the 'holier than thou' mothers around me. For a good couple of years, I'd expected kids to listen, not yell, not demand and not throw tantrums when things don't go their way. It was probably the product of the influence of moms who either thought of kids in two categories, namely - their kids and bad kids, or moms whose child raising experiences went to college along with their kids, or young women like me who weren't moms yet.
And then, one day, in a telephone conversation with a relative about some bratty kid, I said it. "Kids are not dolls - how can we expect them to stay at one place?" I was far from being a mom, but the wisdom dawned upon me that Farah wasn't a brat- she was a kid and kids don't understand the concept of impressing others with their best behavior at all times. If I'd want a cookie at someone's place, I'd not ask them for it - I'll probably wait and get disappointed but would not ask, since I am aware. Since I am an adult and probably since I know how to pretend to not want something.
I say one thing to all moms that label kids - That " It is never a kid's fault. If a certain kid in the school comes and says an utterly rude thing to someone - firstly it might not be what is sounds like. Secondly, the kid is probably parrot talking from what falls in her ear shot. And from my own experience, I had realized that, more often than not, it is not the parent's fault either. In the process of growing up and assimilating all the data dumped onto their tender brains throuh what they see and hear - kids say or do inappropriate things. If an older kid is particularly pesky, I'd probably point fingers at too much pampering, but we never know why they say what they say. So my golden rule with kids is "Never Judge" I'd heard adults who brand kids as manipulative or attention seeking. If a little girl shows interest in dress up or feigns a bottle brush as a mascara wand, it doesn't mean that she'd grow up to be an attention seeking man eater. It is just an innocent process of growing up or at the most, the double Xs in her chromosomes.Many of us probably look it it as the latter if it is the fruit of our love - Sad but true!
In my early years of education, I was a pathetic student. I remember a teacher branding me as a ' lazy fool'. I was too young to understand what it meant then, but those words ring in my ears after a good quarter century. I grew up to be a school topper, but somehow, the "lazy fool" managed to stay fresh in my memory. They didn't cause me any damage - They could have.

If someone wise had opined that children are like God, they had meant it in the same exact sense that children are free of malice, pretense and presumptions. So, the ones that are all grown should step out of their malicious, pretentious, presumptuous shoes and take a second glance at what they are evaluating.

Farah moved out of our neighborhood a few years later - for many, she might be the bratty, ill mannered child. For me, thankfully, she'll always be this exceptionally pretty angel in a child's disguise.

This and That!

These are really individual blogworthy, thought worthy topics - but I'm determined to put these across before they fade just as soon as they emerged - so here goes the ponder hodgepodge.

After a long long, really long, ( did I mention that it was very long?) time, I actually got to watch a full length bollywood movie, in all it's mushy glory. The movie - named "Pyaar Impossible" means "Love Impossible" in literal translation, dwells upon the thought that people just get attracted to each other based on looks and love cannot actually happen if someone doesn't have the first recommendation in the form of looks. While the though on which the movie is built sounds pretty convincing, I beg humbly to differ and not attach the stigma of looks to love, since, in my own radar, I'd come across men and women who were not conventionally handsome or pretty, but still managed to attract a whole bunch of the opposite sex towards them. Any relationship cannot sustain upon the foundation of good looks (for long!) So unless you are a teenager, or mentally a teenager, you should not take the thought very seriously. Whether you are a babe loitering around in scandalously short dress (to work) or a dude with over sized geeky glasses and overgreased hair - Love is never possible nor impossible based on the length of your dress or the thickness of your glasses, Period. So, the thought the movie is based on is semi flawed. Priyanka's character is totally flawed. She is shown as a self made, successful professional but fails to reprimand her six year old daughter when she puts her nannies through borderline torture too good to tolerated even when it comes form a light eyed, cute little girl. May be it is the mom in me over reacting, but I'd lose my credibility as a person if I let my little girl get away with calling someone "froggy" or "my slave".

As much as I hate to admit, and given my hard to please criticism, I should give the credit where it belongs and agree that Uday Chopra, for once, came across as talented. After all, he has the same genes as his dad and older bro. It seems the dialogues and script were written by him and that's where the amateurish streak comes into play. May be I should just let the compliment be and not dilute it.

Finally, I cannot believe, that I actually watched the movie, squinting and oblivious to the six course meal that was being prepared in the background while I watched away at my friend's place. The Hollywood type chick flick was all I needed to call my weekend relaxing - thanks to the gang who took care of Aarti while I forgot my surroundings.

On a different note, I did get a chance to feel 25 again since Aarti went on an extended playdate which actually became a sleep over/live over for a couple of days. Sarat and I had our usual spiritual talk on the way to a friend's - which happens every time we get a chance to be alone. So the topic this time around was 'Karma"

The concept of Karma baffles me. While on one hand we say kids are like God, on the other, countless kids across the globe are put through abuse I cannot fathom or put in words. This was my question for the spiritually enlightened other half - "why does God put kids through this?" Why cannot someone bare the fruits of his or her Karma once they are grown and actually understand the profoundity of the ways of the world as we perceive them. The answer was pretty convincing - God does not put anyone through anything. It is just the choices we make that put us in situations. So, the person who is harming a child does it out of his free will - and God doesn't have control over someone's will. So folks, Choices it is - Between Good and Bad and Evil and Divine. So may be, if each of us is more introspective about the choices we make, may be the world can be a place free of child abuse.

I was also a bit creative, dusted my SLR and took some pics that might revive my pic blog, if I can get past the inertia.

Ego

I, Me, Myself
Oblivious to all else!
Making the world revolve
Around one little "I"
Or what I like
And What I believe!
I, Me, Myself
And my religion.
My love for power
And loathe for all else.
My little self
Occupying the center stage
While there are wails
Of pain and hunger-
Of plight and Fear.
I, Me, myself
And what benefits me
Me and Myself alone.
Love and lust
All for myself -
Shunning all else.
One day, this I, Me, Myself
and My love for power
Shall probably be replaced
By the power of love
That looks beyond
I, Me, Myself
And embraces all else
As my own!

JLT

Clusters, bunches, collection
Of thoughts
To ponder upon
No will to write
In sight!

iFad

I saw this being touted in our hallway, my kid brother showing it off like Heidi Klum would walk in the Angels ensemble, complete with wings ;-0
I must admit, it was smaller and lighter than I thought and I could dump my idea to buy a kindle for this hot new dude on the block.
The iPad could be at these finggertips pretty soon.
To buy or not to buy!
Decisions, Decisions!! ;-)

Versatile

You step into the world
Eyes cringed form the bright light around.
One look at me,
And my emotions flow
Unveiling my inmost joys
From the windows to my soul.
You wail from the slightest pain
Your routine shots
Or the piercings that I vainly put you through
To dangle little diamonds of joy
On your earlobes.
The hurt from your wounds
Inflict onto my heart
And my emotions flow yet again
Unveiling my inmost discomfort.
Ah, the dual role of tears!

The Ginger Spring Angel

The weather around the bay was perfect. I, for the first time had to get rid of my hoodie in three bitterly long winter months when I ventured into buying seedlings for our vegetable patch. The surroundings looked like Thomas Kinkade's suburban work of art, with the pleasantly shining sun creating a halo like effect on all the buds and blooms around. I walked into the Nursery section of the humongous home improvement store - only to stop without my notice to watch a little angel run past me to the floral display in the front of the nursery - A lanky little figure with red curly hair which was a shade darker than her bright orange spring dress that flowed around her svelte frame. Fuchsia sleeves and sash around her outfit matched perfectly with her rosebud like lips. Little freckles, more like smudges than spots formed arches on either side of the bridge of her nose that was as chiseled as it could get with a slightly upward tip. Her eyes were the most dazzling Azure blue and if she weren't as young, I'd not have, in a million years, believed that the color was naturally occurring.

This was an Angel - her spirits as fiery and wonderfully wild as the color and curl of her bright hued hair. If I wasn't imagining it, I think I saw a whisper soft halo moving with her like a focus light. At one point, the Angel bestowed upon me the chance of meeting her eyes - I smiled - probably in awe - and she smiled back, flashing a row of perfectly imperfect pearly whites. A smile so genuine could only come of Angels. Thank god Tinker Bell is a Disney creation. If she were real, she'd have turned as green as her outfit with one glance at this work of art. There wasn't anything missing here - except, perhaps a pair of translucent wings - thanks to my appetite for imagination, I could see them right there - placed perfectly on either side of her cascading tresses.

The creator is so thoughtful, he let me have a glance at one of his masterpieces, not just a glance - but a glance with a hint that came in the form of a blue and green butterfly pained on her left cheek bone. She probably didn't need that black cord and the dangling fuchsia heart pendant, or it was another cue from the creator as to how she got my heart tangled onto her, or those animal print accented boots that made a tinker like noise when she ran around the nursery. Her whole family was there - but none of them seemed as divine or as smitten or aware as I was of this little Angel's aura. May be, the ability to spot Angels among humans is as rare as Angels themselves.

She got on to the pile of foul smelling potting soil bags and threw her hands up in the air - shouting " I am the Queen"

Indeed, she is the Queen of free spirit and pure innocence - and The fairy that came to me holding the torch of God's unmatched talent. Sometimes He acts silly. He outdoes himself and confuses me with where I should focus my attention. I walked back amid the Scenery like afternoon, blind to all else, except the divine charm of the little girl that crossed my way and blessed me with the joy of beholding, admiring and appreciating my heavenly Dad's creation.

Depicted above is a raw sketch on microsoft paint - I know I can never ever imitate Him - but I do hope I made my emotions reflect in my ponder!