Saturday, September 15, 2018

Semusing #15 - Debate

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

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

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

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

"Which phrase?"

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

She starts laughing.

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

The dad breaks into an uncontrollable chuckle.

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

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

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

Friday, September 14, 2018

Semusing #14 - Bless this Mess

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday, September 13, 2018

Semusing #13 - Hinge

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

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

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

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

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


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




Wednesday, September 12, 2018

Semusing #12 - Force

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

Tuesday, September 11, 2018

#11 - The current


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

# 10 - Inspired

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

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

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



Pic Credit - Chaithanya Kanni

Monday, September 10, 2018

Semusing # 9 - For better or for Verse


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Picture Credit - Chaithanya Kanni

Sunday, September 09, 2018

Semusing # 8 - Hack



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


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



Semusing #7 - The Mother board

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

:-)

Thursday, September 06, 2018

Semusing #6 - Unidentified Baggage


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, September 05, 2018

Semusing #5 - The Oxymoron syndrome

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

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

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

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


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

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



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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pic courtesy - screenshots from youtube.