Tension of opposites...

I wear my heart on my sleeve,

That’s the way I am,

And you keep your thoughts hidden,

The guessing drives me insane!!

I would want to scream from the rooftops,

And let the whole world know,

What you mean to me,

And why I love you so.

You wear that cloak of secrecy,

And keep me in the blue,

I wonder if you let yourself in,

Or are kept wondering too!

I wish you'd say you love me too,

Wouldn't that be really nice?

Wonder what you’d say to that?

I know you’d roll your eyes!

It makes you feel trapped,

What liberates my heart and me,

I wonder if these emotions,

Are so alien to thee?

I'm hanging on to nothing,

To what can never be,

A juxtaposition of thoughts,

But that is who is me!

This tension of opposites,

Has me tied up in knots,

Breaks me into a thousand fragments,

And yet, adding up to naughts.

.

Scattered..

In to your soothing hands

I offered,

myself, entrusting

your heart,

to beat as one with mine,

hoping the rhythm of your body,

takes me to the altissimo

and entwines me in an enharmonic interval

before the chords explode 

into earth shattering beats

sending me into rapturous rhapsodies

and the heart into deep content,

lost in your covenant to be merged

into one, and become

ethereal and eternal.

         ****

The  percussion ceases,

even before it climaxes

the cymbals, the timpani and the tambourine fall silent,

I watch helplessly

as the chords plummet

and fall to their deaths

a double bar silences me even before

we could

Quaver and crotchet, Stave and clef
the covenant shattered
the duet scattered
dreams lying in the shards
broken not by the treble
but the Judas kiss
and now all is still

it is in this quietude

that I must drown

myself and

that inner voice of mine.

(Inspired by the character of the muse in Rangrasiya)

  

Here's to Goodbye's and to New Beginnings!

The last two months have been enormously exhilarating and at the same time exhausting. They have brought in a lot of emotions and excitement. I could not imagine experiencing two contrasting feelings at the same time. But the mixed bag of sentiments just washed over me like a wave, drowning me in its entirety.

Goodbyes are tough. It was tougher for me. 

I left Nagpur more than 15 years ago. A new job, a marriage and all that comes with it, took me away from the only place I have ever called home. But with my parents staying at Nagpur, I could go back anytime I wanted. It was my parental home, a home I had grown up in, a home that was full of memories...Going back had always filled me with happiness. There was a palpable excitement every time I saw that familiar yellow board at the railway station that said "Nagpur Jn". It always read 'Welcome Back' to me. And then trying to locate Dad in the ocean of humanity, and feeling the rush of warmth as soon he was spotted, had the ability to turn me to a child! The thrill of jumping into his arms, oblivious to the people around, receiving that warm hug from Mom and then riding back home looking at all the familiar landmarks, marveling at how much had changed in between, was incomparable! The home itself was a storehouse of memories! Every room, every wall, and even every piece of furniture had some memory attached to it. 

With my parents getting older, I wanted them to be closer to me, so after a lot of cajoling (read that as 10 years of convincing) they finally agreed to move to Bangalore. If it was tough for me, it was tougher for them, leaving behind a home, and leaving behind people with whom you have lived for 50 years is never easy. As we relived our moments, went through flashbacks, met old friends, had farewell lunches and dinners, we were on an emotional roller coaster. But nothing compares to my thoughts that night after all the baggage had been packed and dispatched and we slept in an empty house for one last night. The thought of bidding goodbye to that home forever, where I have spent the best part of my childhood was devastating. The thought of never being able to come back to that home again was depressing. It was like leaving behind a part of you, a slice of yourself and relegating it to history. 

What is it about goodbyes that make them so tough? Maybe it is the thought of separation and the uncertainty of reunion that makes it a misty eyed affair. Maybe it hurts, because we all hate to let go. Maybe that's what makes them so incredibly hard.

Someone gave us a card that said, "Don't be sad that you have to say Goodbye. Be happy because you will have happy memories that you will cherish forever." So true. Because that is all we left Nagpur with. A truckload of lovely memories. 

Goodbye Nagpur....and thanks for the abundant memories...the loads of love...the warmth of our home...the affection of the people...and everything in between!!! You will be my home always...wherever I might stay!!

As much as the goodbye was painful, the excitement of having my parents closer is undeniably amazing! I spent the better part of the last week, sauntering in and out of my parents' home here, attracting hubby's jealous jibes, much to my amusement. My kids can't have enough of their grandparents and neither can my parents have enough of the grand kids! From having to be content with enjoying mom's mouth watering delicacies just once a year, I can now just walk in and be treated to all the wonderful food she cooks anytime I wish to. Not to mention the relief of the immense moral support we will be to each other. 

So here's raising a toast to the lovely old endings and the hope-filled new beginnings!! May the new bring as much joy, as much happiness, be as filled with amazing memories, and be as satisfying as the old!! 

Cheers!

The face..

Sana knelt besides Tina’s head, her left hand reaching out to caress Tina’s hair. But then, she suddenly withdrew her hand and brought it to join her right palm as if in prayer. She prayed not for Tina, but for herself. Give me the strength to bid her goodbye.

She slowly lifted the sheet of white that covered Tina’s face.

The face. What was once an epitome of beauty and arrogance, now lie shriveled and shrunken. The high arched brows and the smear of kohl around those beautiful eyes, the pout on her luscious painted lips, the well powdered nose, and high cheeks bones had all merged into one.

Just as her soul would merge with her maker. Finally.

The face. It looked so calm and at peace. Those arched eyebrows no longer questioned her presence. The pouted lips no longer spewed venom. Those kohl rimmed eyes no longer dug into hers. That powdered nose that always seemed an inch too high in pride looked subdued. Finally.

The face. What a contrast they had been to her own. A birth deformity had eaten into Sana’s features. One could never tell where her eye ended and her nose began. One could never tell if she smiled or cried. It looked like her features had merged into one. She had always been an object of hushed ridicule.

 She had envied Tina from the time their differences had started making sense to her. She had spent hours cursing her maker and more hours wishing Tina would be punished. Punished for being so beautiful. Punished for not knowing her pain. Punished for being everything that she wasn’t.

The face.It had been mangled beyond recognition. Tina had driven her car into a truck. Sana’s prayers seemed to have been answered. Now, they looked like sisters. She smiled and pulled the sheet back on to Tina’s face.

Tina’s death had put them on level ground. Finally.

Shubho Mahalaya!

Image courtesy: Pixabay.com

“Who in his sane mind lets go of such an offer? We need the money, don’t we?” asked Mishty, as she placed the plate of rice and curry before her husband.

 “Give me some ilish, there’s none on my plate” said Taranath searching for a piece of his favorite hilsa in the curry.

“You are worried about the maach? I don’t believe you! Spare a thought for Rudra. My poor baby is fighting for life and… ” Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes.

Tara sighed. He could sometimes be so lost in his own world that he could be oblivious to the pain of people around him. He brought her close and patted her head. “What has to be will be, Mishty. Have faith in Maa, has she ever let go of our hand?”  He was aware of his wife agony and he had been numb with pain himself, but tomorrow was an important day. His duty was paramount.

Their 8 year old son Rudra, had fallen from the top floor of an under-construction building playing hide and seek with his friends. Now he was battling for life in the ICU of a local hospital. Until last year, Mohun Pal, Taranath’s father had been performing the Khuti puja, where the first set of wooden planks would be nailed together. This would become the platform on which the idol of the goddess would be erected. Due to his father’s failing health, this year the onus was on Taranath to ensure that the journey of the Mother was held as per his family’s tradition. There was no way he was going to give up his duty and be by his son’s bedside. There wasn’t much he could do anyway.

 “I’m going to get puja items for the Chandi paath tomorrow”, he told her as he finished his lunch, “Do you need anything from the market for making the bhog?”

Tomorrow was a special day. It would mark the annual journey of the goddess, beginning with the Ratha Yatra. As was their family tradition, Maa Shakti would be invoked in the form of Chandi, amidst the chanting of the Chandi paath or recitations from the Chandi scriptures and artisans would seek permission from the divine mother so that they could create her out of clay.

Community pujas and market demands, including the recent demand from foreign shores had made most artisans go the mass production way, dumping the age old family traditions. It was a great way to make quick money. Indeed as Mishty had pointed out, no one in their sane mind could let go of such an offer. They needed that money for Rudra’s treatment. But Tara was adamant. For him, bringing the goddess to life in the most traditional way was far more important than making quick money.

Wiping her eyes, Mishty gave him a list of things she would need to make the bhog tomorrow. Tara smiled and touched her cheek lovingly, “Bhaalo, I will get going now.”   

As the sun dawned amidst the blowing of the conches, the beating of the dhak and the recitation of the Chandi paath, Taranath bowed his head in reverence to the divine mother as he performed the ‘Khuti puja’. “Permit me to make you in clay, mother, as our scriptures specify. Come alive and watch over me, so that I commit no error in sculpting you as majestically as you should be.” He watched as Mishty laid down a grand bhog for the noibiddo or the holy offerings. He was glad she had not allowed her emotions to rule over her duty.

That evening, they received a call from Mishty’s brother, Prasanto, who was looking after little Rudra in the hospital. “Tarababu, shubho samachar,” said her brother excitedly. Rudra, who had been lying comatose for the past 3 months, had wriggled his little toes and the doctors had been excited with the development.

Mishty and Taranath wept like two little children, it was indeed miraculous that Rudra should respond on the day of the day “Khuti puja”.

Every day after that, Taranath with his team of artisans got involved in sculpting the idols of the divine mother graduating from one step to another and from one age old ritual to another. He sourced the Ganga Jal from the Hoogly, though it would have been more convenient to use tap water that was so readily available.

Mishty watched the structure being formed each day as she came to the workshop carrying food for her husband and his artisans. The headless structure of the goddess in straw and bamboo stood towering several feet above her in its entire splendor.

 The straw structure was complete and it was now time for the 'ekmaati' stage, when the structure would be covered in clay. It was time for Tara to visit the house of Yashomati, the courtesan in Sonagachi, and beg for permission to collect clay from her house. He would then mix this clay with the mound that would go into making the idol. The idea was that Durga puja being an all encompassing festival everyone had a right to be a part of it in their own distinct way.

Mishty had been against Taranath’s visit to the city’s red light area, but being the head artisan, it was his duty to complete the ritual. Taranath prayed that she would understand the significance of the ritual. It was a miracle again, that made Mishty change her mind. And this time too, the miracle came from the hospital. “Mishty, we found a kidney donor for Rudra” said Prasanto. “But there’s an issue. The donor is the deceased daughter of….” he struggled with words, “umm…..her mother is from Sonagachi.”

Mishty’s eyes filled with tears as she understood what the divine mother was trying to convey to her.  “Go ahead with it dada”, she said, her heart heavy with gratitude, “It is Maa’s gift to me this Durga puja.” She sat before the photo of the divine mother begging for forgiveness, tears rolling down her eyes.

She took out the new saree she had brought for herself, for the puja, and handed it over to her husband. “This is for Yashomati, give this to her and get the first handful of clay from her backyard.”

As the clay was beginning to mould the straw structure into shape, it was breathing life into little Rudra too. The Idol was almost ready. It was the day of the “mastak daan”, when the head of the goddess would be attached to the rest of body, amidst blowing of conches and pujas. The deity would come to life with that. And as Mishty had come to expect, the goddess showered her with a miracle yet again. Rudra’s body had been responding miraculously well to the treatment. His CT scans had shown that the clot in his brain had dissolved, as if on its own. Doctors at the hospital had been amazed with the progress.

Amidst tears, Mishty blew the conch over and over again that evening, throwing sindoor over the photo of the divine mother and dancing like one possessed.

“I want to go to the hospital,” she begged her husband.

“Wait until Mahalaya, it is important for me to do the ‘Chakshu daan’,” said Taranath. He had been craving to meet his child too, but the final ritual had to be completed. “Let me draw mother’s eyes and bid her goodbye. We will go to the hospital after that.”

On the day of Mahalaya, between ululations and the chanting of the Chandika stotras, Taranath drew the eyes of the divine mother even as tears streamed down his face. The divine mother looked astoundingly beautiful. His hands trembled as he brought them together in prayer.

They would bid goodbye to Maa for yet another year, while people would take her to their homes to be worshipped for the next 10 days. Taranath had completed his duty as was expected of him.

When Prasanto called that evening, Mishty knew what he would tell her even before she took his call. “Rudra has opened his eyes, isn’t it dada?” she beamed.  “Yes, but how did you know?” asked Prasanto surprised.  "Shubho Mahalaya, dada," she said smiling. "Shubho Mahalaya, Mishty." he replied.

Together they bowed before the idol of Maa Durga. Mishty knew she had been naïve not trusting the mother enough. The divine mother had not let go their hand. She never would.

Serial Killers!

Mom’s keenly watching a daily soap. I haven’t watched one in years, and from the recap that mom has so generously given me, I find it interesting. Looks like a good story line. It’s only half an hour, I tell myself. If that means getting time to chat up with mom, even on a pretty useless topic, why not! So I settle down next to her watching what happens next from where she’s left the story. (and by the way, there was no chatting up during that time, I had almost forgotten that opening my mouth was akin to hara-kiri, especially when mom’s watching those soaps!)

Scene one. Bushy eyebrow. And then, slowly the camera pans to the....the...the other bushy eyebrow. He’s supposed to be that mystery man, right? Hmmm….Someone asks a question and the shot is again on our man…I mean, on his bushy eyebrows….he doesn't speak, his assistant answers for him. Another dialogue…and zoom to the bushy eyebrows….yet another dialogue….zoom again to the bushy eyebrows….imagine having to be just content watching the man’s bushy eyebrows for the entire half hour. Eyebrows that looked like a mountain…sorry, two mountains. Man….! Why couldn’t you trim them a little? Especially when they were to be shown endlessly for half an hour! You could give Kroor Singh a run for his money!! (Kroor Singh, who? Chandrakantha... remember? Yep the same guy) And no, our man does not, as much as, mouth a single dialogue the whole time. The voice could be a giveaway, right? Yeah! The whole world wants to know who the man is…. And people wait with baited breaths….

Aah mistarees!!! The warldh louse tham, doan’th thaeey?

 But no, for today that is all we will get to see. The wait continues to the next day. The next day, we get to see a shot of his majesty’s shoes…. shiny, pointed, and black, with a dotted partition running like a creek from the center to the sides.  Ah! Now you are marveling at my ability to be such a keen observer of accessories, no? Don’t be! As much as I would be liked to be called hawk eyed, I am more like a nursery kid who has been taught to learn by rote! I saw them, the shoes, I mean, for a full 30 minutes!!! They walked back and forth, the heel making a perfect angle before being laid at 180 degrees on the floor. I swear the shoes made exactly the same angle with the floor each time they were lifted! And wow, the sound they made! Crunch...in slow motion….crunch….in slow motion…crunch…in slow motion…they went each time he lifted those heavenly feet and blessed the floor with them! As for the identity of our man….nah...not so soon love…he continues to be a…..mistaree!! If there was a knife nearby, I could have driven it straight into my belly!

Now I wanted to desperately see who that mystery man was. It is said all good things come to those who wait….yeah right!! Because, cut to the next day, and we generously get to see a shot running from the shoes up the trousers, slowly....if an ant were to be climbing up his trouser, I bet we could have traced its path upwards! There’s more….Yay!! I do a mental flip! The shot shows us every crease on his whiter-than-milk trouser and the camera’s going up…yeah, we’re there, almost baby, keep going...keep going…I try to be encouraging. Oh yeah, the tie, beautiful… yellow floral tie, eh? …whatever….but you are doing good, keep going…! Matches with the trouser and the blazer….well not really…but who cares….just keep going….come on you can do it….ah!! I can almost see the nape of his neck!!

And then…. almost liked a ruined orgasm….arrrrghhhh…..those stupid bushy eyebrows again! What the…?!! Really? What is he? Monalisa?  Why can’t you just show the bugger’s face?

How much free time do those producers think we have? They really expected us to watch such insanely stupid soaps, while they take their own sweet time (3 full episodes!!) to just show us that mystery man’s face?? And no, the face that will launch a thousand ships has still not been unraveled, mind you!

I throw a scornful this-is-what-you-watch look at mom, and she pretends not to have caught that look….I remember seeing such an insane shot 15 years ago in one of the first ever, longest running daily soaps on television. We haven’t walked a single step in last 15 years, have we? 

Over the top parenting!!

We were having a get together at a friend’s place, and while the adults were busy chatting, the kids were busy bringing the roof down with all the noise they were making! All of a sudden one of the kids fell down and the kid’s mom and dad both let out a short scream!

Even as I wondered whether it was the child which fell down or his parents, the mother ran to him, consoling him and the father frantically rubbed his head. To me it looked like the mother needed more consoling than the child! In the midst of that entire hullabaloo, I saw the child suddenly freeze in shock for a short while, before crying so hard holding his breath that I was sure he would turn blue if he held his breath any longer! Even before anyone could say anything, the harried parents made an abrupt exit with the child in tow and the other parents nodded sympathetically!

To read the rest of the post go to....www.parentous.com

And no, this is not the graffiti wall...the scribbling continues everywhere in spite of having a wall earmarked for him!

Life is a B......baffling beauty!

It is amazing how life gives you those upswings and downswings in equal measures!! She will never let you get too happy or too sad, too leisurely or too busy, too excited or too depressed! She knows just when to pull the strings and show you who's in control!

Just when I thought how hunky dory life was, giving me enough time to lazy around, marveling how I was able to lounge around with a new book every two days, turning every nook of my house into a cozy little haven, thankful for kids who were minding their own business, for family and friends who were pouring in their love every waking hour, and showering my self with love too, doing things that made me happy, gymming, reading, writing, cooking, and so on and so forth.... suddenly she decides to put a brake to all that! And suddenly I find myself thrown into a cauldron of bubbling emotions!!

It is like the clock turned faster, the minutes went by without waiting for the seconds to complete their time, just as the hours went by without letting the minutes tick through theirs. There's suddenly more writing assignments, more wedding orders to be completed, the schools decide to dump in projects at the same time, the body decides to go on a strike, with the migraines and apneas competing amongst themselves as to who could make me sicker, and all the festivals deciding to gang up in one power packed month. In short, there's no time to breath!!

From being in a space where I was reading two books in a week, I found it difficult to find time to play a tag game and name 10 of my favorite books! From riding on a bullock cart I was suddenly riding on the Maglev!

But that's how she is , isn't she? She never lets you think like you are in control. Clever little lady!

There have been times when I have been so excited about something, that I could barely breathe (yep, that sounded cliched!) and before that excitement could kill me, she drew the curtains and put me in a totally depressed state! There have been times when I have been so sad that I almost thought I wouldn't last the night, but no, I did. And then, I received a sudden rush of happiness that made me more alive than I ever would be!

I guess, unless these cascades happen like precision clockwork, we wouldn't know one from the other! I guess that rest I had in the last month gave me the energy to pull through this month. I guess, that's how the highs and lows pair off together. And that's why I know, when I get too tired to chug along, I'll be allowed to disembark from the Maglev and ride my bullock cart again.

Important things you should say to your child..

Children look up to their parents for support, for validation, and for encouragement. They look up to their parents to emulate them, to teach them right from wrong and to hold their hands when they falter. So the onus on us to be all that to them is even more than we would like think! It’s an oft repeated statement that we should be careful of what we speak to our kids and what we speak when they are around. It is equally important what we say to them through our gestures and words. Kids are like those highly absorbent sponges, soaking in everything they see us do or hear us say.

Here are seven important things you must say to your kid-

I love you – I say this to my kids every single day, as they leave for school, as they retire to bed and anytime in between. My kids light up every time I say it, and they tell me that they love me too. It’s an obvious thing, but it needs to be said. Hugs and kisses are other forms of showing your love. All these verbal and physical forms of love makes kids feel secure and cared for.

To read the rest of the post go to...parentous.com

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An apology

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 48; the forty-eighth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

                                            This post won me the silver batom!! Yay!! 
  
                                                        ***************** 

 "Don't you think you must apologize to me?" That sounded more like a demand than a request.

Trust Mr-know-all to flaunt his arrogance like that! she thought. So typical of him! Why did always think he could do no wrong? He always assumed she was the weaker one and his sole purpose in life was to guide her! 

"And why would I do that?" she asked.

"For all the hurt I have endured because of you."

"That is not true!"she exclaimed. "Are you accusing me of causing you hurt? Me????"

"I am...! I think before I act. That is how I shield myself from getting hurt. I don't act impulsively like you."

"One doesn't 'think' when one is in love." she looked hurt.

"That is the more irrational thing I've ever heard! When you don't think, here is where you land." 

His sarcasm was getting to her.

"Ha! What would you know about love anyway, you practical fool!"

"What would I know??! Let me tell you what I know, being in love is like living in a fool's paradise. Would you dare to disagree?"

"But it is still paradise." The tinge of sadness was evident in her voice. 

"So why are tears flooding your eyes then? Being in heaven shouldn't hurt like hell."

"It hurts when the person who made you feel so special suddenly leaves you hanging. It's crazy when the person who swore that he'll never hurt you, is the one who hurts you the most."  

"You messed up your feelings and you messed up mine. I was treading with caution but you made me toe your line. You convinced me you were right. But now I know you weren't! I would have done well to have let my thoughts rule me than having your emotions butt in!"

"Okayyy....if it is an apology you want, you shall have it. I'm sorry for hoping you'd know what I want." she had had enough of his rebuttal, of telling her how wrong she was. She knew she wasn't, but she didn't want to keep arguing with him. He'd never understand anyway! 

They had always been poles apart. He, the rational mind and she, the nimble heart. 

                                                         ****************

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Participation Count: 07

Role reversal..

Parents are supposed to be role models for their kids, but how often kids teach us valuable lessons too! I attended a parent-teacher interaction at my elder one’s school yesterday. His exams had just got over and the discussion would be about the child’s performance and other things. When my turn came, I introduced myself and the teacher’s eyes kind of lit up when I mentioned my child’s name.

“Oh, so you are S’s mom? I have been waiting to meet you”, she said.

My son is hardly the mischief monger types and the expression on the teacher’s face clearly was happy, so there was no reason to be concerned!

Read the rest of the post at parentous.com

Why kids lie?

We all dream of bringing up our kids to be honest individuals. Well, if not for the world outside, we at least expect them to be totally truthful to us. But more often than not, we find them fibbing their way out of everyday situations!

Why do kids lie?

So why do kids have this tendency to lie? Actually the answer is quite simple! They lie for the same reasons that we adults do!! There could be different reasons-

To get out of trouble- Kids might lie to cover up something, hoping to avoid punishment or consequences. For eg.  Scared that mom might punish him for breaking an expensive vase, a kid might say, “Mom, I did not break the vase.”

For personal gain- Kids might lie to manipulate a situation or to set up something. For eg. A kid might tell dad who does not know the routine, “Mom always let me eat chocolates before dinner” hoping to get that candy bar, he knows mom will never let him eat!

To impress – Kids like to make things up and hence exaggerate stories and try to impress others. For eg. A kid saying to his friend, “I caught a big fish last Sunday when I went fishing with dad, it was as big our boat.”

To protect someone- They might lie to protect a loved sibling, or friend.

To read the rest of the post go to  parentous.com

Just right books...

There’s a lot of talk about getting kids into the habit of reading. Reading not only improves the child’s language skills, imagination and vocabulary, but also helps build their character. Yes, good books have that potential! Often we find that children become good readers, one book at a time.  

My friends often ask me what the right age is to introduce books to the child and how they can help their kids with picking the right book. I’d say the key is to start early and initially you will have to pick the books for the child. Buy books instead of toys and read out to them whenever you can, not just at bedtime. This creates a ritual, one that they associate with a “cozy time” together with the parent.

To read the rest of the post...go to  parentous.com

Fickle love...

The nip in the air makes me want to snuggle back into the comfort of the warm sheets. Outside, the rain in all its splendor and sparkle embraces the earth even as she shudders at his touch. As they dance together, their dance of love… I watch them, and my own heart pines for the love of my life. I wait for him to cup my face with his warm orange ray and smother me with kisses. I love the way he flirts with me each morning, streaming in like I belong just to him. But he’s been playing hard to get of late! Where is he today?

Ah! There he is! So he plans to tease me and play hide and seek from behind the clouds? Wrong move!  He should have known better than to keep his lady love waiting like this! It’s been a long wait now, and just as my patience starts wearing thin, I see him emerge smiling from behind a cloud. Not so easy love….keep waiting, I say, as I pull the screen and snuggle back into bed.

And then I see him.

What a stunner! Every cell in my body tingles with excitement at his sight and every hair stands on end. I cannot take my eyes off him!!

 I take a deep breath and his unmistakable scent fills my senses with pleasure. If there’s something called love at first sight, then I’m sure this is it! Did I just fall in love all over again?

As if by magic, I drift towards him, his scent more magnetic than any charm that has ever held its sway over me. Unabashedly, we come closer and I feel his warm body giving me the much needed comfort from the nip outside. His hug melts my heart! I know I crave for that kiss, but again, I know better than to hurry up that moment! I close my eyes and soak in his scent, as he draws me closer and engulfs me in his kiss.

Did I just die and go to heaven?

Definitely feels so! I throw a guilty glance outside and see a bright golden ray knocking on my screen, pleading to be let in. But it is too late now. Fickle love…. doesn’t wait for anyone. You might have to try harder later, I tell him, because I just lost my heart to this smoking hot, tall, dark and handsome, not to forget, heavenly smelling……. cup of coffee!

Speaking up..

“Hi champ, how was school today?” I asked my son as he trudged in looking a little sad. He is usually quite chirpy and is forever bursting to let me in on all the minute details of his school day the moment he barges in, but today he looked slightly off colour.

“What seems to be the problem, champ? Want to share?” I quizzed not wanting to be overly nosey.

“Dance sir slapped me on my cheeks. I lost balance and he just slapped me.” He looked hurt.

“You could have tried explaining what went wrong.” I suggested.

“I did. He said he doesn’t want to listen to anything.”

To read the rest of the post...go to parentous.com

Obsessing? Nah...

“Stop obsessing over your son,” hubby dearest chided me. “He is 10 now. He can take care of himself. How long will you continue to hover over him like this? If he is more than 10 minutes late, you call the driver, if I am 10 minutes late, you start calling me, and sending me messages. It was ok as long as it was me, but now at least spare the poor child.” The sermon seemed never ending! He said a lot of other things, which my mind did not even register. Yea, I have this innate ability to selectively hear things and screen out what I don’t want to hear!

The situation in question was an impending trip to Kanyakumari with the school karate team. As in the past three years, I had flatly refused to send him anywhere out of town, on his own. Hubby had not taken very kindly to my refusal this time. I didn’t want an argument, so I did what I do best in such situations; I walked to my room leaving the conversation hanging in mid air and hubby throwing up his arms in despair.

How unkind! Obsessing wasn’t even the right word! This word was being used too often nowadays, and it certainly wasn’t making me feel comfortable. As if hearing this term from my hubby wasn’t enough, a dear friend said so in as many words. He felt my constant need to keep communicating was suffocating. I don’t know when my son will begin using that term!

I know what ails me, of course I do. I have been living with it practically all my life, so my actions are quite rational to me at least!  I have been contemplating talking to these people about it but this has never been a topic I have wanted to talk about. How do I explain that I wasn’t obsessing, it was not even just concern; it was something deeper, something more rooted in my subconscious….it was fear.

I must have been about 12 or 13. It was the day of the result after the final exam. I remember it was the 7^th of May. I had fared quite well and had been excited to share the news with my closest friend, N, who lived a couple of streets away. I remember that I wore a green polka dot skirt and matching top. I told my mom and hopped to my friend’s place that afternoon. As I climbed the steps to her apartment, I saw that a lot of people had gathered there, and even more in my friend’s house. I tried to get in the house but an uncle stopped me. He told me, “Beta, go home and tell daddy that G uncle has passed away.” G uncle was my friend N’s dad.

I remember feeling shocked and scared at the same time. Death was not something I had dealt with before. I remember running back home debating with myself if I should tell dad ‘the news’. I remember seeing dad watching TV. I remember running to him and sitting on his lap holding on to him like a baby monkey would hold on to its parent. I also remember not telling him ‘the news’ at all. I didn’t want him to go and see G uncle. I was terrified that something would happen to him if he did. He read the news in the obituary the next day and was sad that he couldn’t go see his friend one last time. And I remember being anxious wondering what he would say if he knew I was aware and had not told him. Luckily that never happened.

It has been more than 20 years since that day, but every detail is so vividly printed in my mind like it was yesterday. It is surprising, since I am quite an absent minded and forgetful person. I am the kind who walks to the refrigerator to take out something and forgets what it was as soon as I open the door. So to remember an event that happened 20 years ago, for every day of my life after it happened is nightmarish to say the least.

People have strange fears and some of them are quite irrational too. This event happened so long back when I was just a child but it left a lasting fear of losing a loved one in my mind.

At that time dad worked with a bank and was quite active in theater. So after banking hours, he and his team would gather for rehearsals and he would often return home late at night. I remember always being anxious till he came home. I remember never sleeping a wink till I saw him back home safe. I was always the one to open the door whether he came home at 1 or 2 pm. When the bus he was travelling in turned turtle near Shiridi during one such tour for a drama competition, I remember being distraught to the point of being delirious till we heard that he was well. And then I shifted to a new city, got married and found a new family but the anxiety to know that he is ok never left me. I call dad at least once or twice a day to keep checking on him.

With marriage, the anxiety spread to my hubby. Hubby’s works calls for late nights too and the anxiety over his well being got added to my already tense mind. Hubby has often wondered aloud why I have to keep messaging him every hour to know when he will be back and to know if he is ok. I didn’t know how to explain it to him.

My elder one is on that list too. He is a black belt in karate, and has won several awards in local competitions, but when his karate master requested me to send him to a tournament outside the city, I panicked.  I refused to send him citing his young age. I have been citing the same reason for three years now and master was quite angry with me when he said, ‘It is because of mothers like you that talented kids like your son will not prosper.’ It hurt me to be spoken to like this, but I haven’t changed my stand yet. With mounting pressure from my son to send to send him to the competition this year, I am already panicking. If his school van is late by 10 minutes, I keep calling the driver to find out why the delay happened.  

Oddly, I am not plagued by this fear when it comes to my mom or sister or even my little one! I cannot understand why that is so! Apart from these 3 men, there are two of my closest friends, whom I’m anxious about all the time. One of them is a 17 year old friend, D, and the other is S, someone I know just since 3 years. Why the fear is selective, I have no answer. My friend of 17 years,who is more like a brother I never had, just lost his mother and I was worried sick if he was ok. I was calling him every waking hour.

I have this constant urge to know that all is well with these 5 men in my life. So I have to keep communicating with them and not getting a response makes me miserable. 

Dad is of course a sweetheart; he loves to hear from me anytime of the day, and never minds how often I call him.  But the other four are quite the opposite. While hubby is quick to show his irritation at being sent so many messages every day, the elder one cannot understand why mommy has to be so unreasonable. And S even told me that my constant need to keep communicating makes him feel trapped.

 I just hope I don’t have additions on this list. I cannot bear to keep worrying myself sick about more people. And I cannot bear the thought that these men think I’m obsessing over them or I’m possessive. I’m not! I also hope these men read this post and know that I’m waging a battle with myself every day, trying to be sane yet losing my mind and sleep over them. I wish they’d show me some love and let me know they are OK. Communication is my only medicine and by denying me that they drive me insane!

Waiting...

Not a kiss, not a hug,

Not even a passing touch,

All I want is a little something,

To show me you care as much.

A word here, a smile there,

To know I'm in your thoughts,

Tell me my sweetest heart,

Is that asking for a lot?

  

                                 

My Appa- My Hero!!

I am writing about #MyRoleModel as a part of the activity by Gillette India in association with BlogAdda.com.

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Dear Appa,

As I begin to write this, I realize I have never written to you before! Perhaps, I have never felt the need to write, or tell you anything. You have understood every unspoken word and every unfinished sentence. Irrespective of whether you saw that expression on my face or heard it in my voice on a faraway telephone. That’s the power of you and your bond with me. 

Eternal.

I remember never having needed to ask you for anything. I have never known what to ask. You always gave it to me before I even realized the need to have it. You have brought me up like a true blue princess and I have never known what want is all about. You have taught us to be satisfied and happy than greedy and needy. You taught me that money was only as important as the things it could buy and never a penny more.

You stood against relatives who jeered at you for convent educating your girls. You told them your girls will make you proud one day. I hope we make you proud!  You gifted me my first moped on my 16^th birthday with a license to drive. You have let me ride free on the roads of life ever since, showing me what independence is all about.

It was you who pushed me into attending my first interview armed with a hand written resume and oodles of confidence. Whoever had heard of hand written resumes? But I remember you telling me that I had the most beautiful handwriting, the most charming smile and intelligence and if anyone would get the job, it would be me. I remember brimming with conviction that if you thought I could then I would. I remember dancing holding your hand as I showed you my appointment letter. You didn’t think twice when I wanted to go to a different city for that job. You gave me your blessing, while others thought you were being foolish to let a girl stay alone in a strange city.

You let me marry the man of my dreams; in spite of threats from the society, in spite of being ridiculed and in spite of being isolated. Letting me have my happiness was far more important to you than anything else. You always trusted my ability to make decisions, and I couldn’t thank you more for it. Without your faith, without your approval and without your blessing I would have faltered at every step.

You taught me how work was as important as family, friends and hobbies too. If your colleagues talk about your passion to your work, your zeal for theater and writing is still appreciated by your friends and your commitment is most valued by your family. That intricate balance of the three is something I still yearn to learn.

I have never seen a more positive person than you and I have always marveled at your strength to remain optimistic in any situation. You taught me that there is always a way out of our problems and no issue is big enough for us to give up. You taught me that no pain is permanent and the worst situations will also pass. Your sense of humor is your biggest charm and there is hardly anyone who will disagree to that!

You taught me never to hate anyone. You taught me the joy in giving to others, and reaching out to anyone who needs my help. You have led by example and that has taught me more than words ever could.

I never knew what inequality or gender discrimination was all about. Maybe that’s why I never understood why some people would kill their own girls, or deprive them of education or make honor such a big issue. Maybe that’s why I never understood what men could do better that I couldn’t. Maybe if all dads were like you, nobody would either. I am so thankful you raised me that way. Not like it was expected to raise girls, not like raising a girl as a boy, but simply raising a child, empowering me with skills to face the world, doing the best you could for me.

You have always been my hero and I may not say this enough, but you have been the best part of me growing up.

Love you always Appa,

Your little princess

Appa and me!!