UBC day 12- Art thou healthy?

I met a close friend last month, and as is the norm, I asked her, “How are you?” fully aware of what the standard reply would be. I was expecting an - ‘I’m fine’ reply but she zapped me by launching into a detailed account of why she wasn’t entirely fine. She began with ‘now that you ask’ and went on to tell me how she had been diagnosed with diabetes and how the stress of not being able to eat what she wanted was getting to her, and ending it but not before letting me know how her health check-ups and medications were eating into her finances.

That got me into thinking what actually defines good health. It brought to my mind the inland letters and postcards (that are completely redundant today!) that I used to write to my cousins and friends beginning with “I trust this letter finds you in the pink of heath and spirits.” Apparently, good health did not just mean being physically healthy, it also meant being healthy in spirits, the meaning of which had not been evident then!

What then comprises ‘good health’?

1.Physical health
Does good health mean being in great shape, being physically active and healthy? You bet it does. So how would you know that you are physically healthy? What a silly question to ask, you may say. You are right partially, because, physical health is the most visible form of being healthy. If you aren’t suffering from any of those life threatening health issues, you are fairly healthy!

But like they say, things are not what they seem to be, you might have to scratch a little below the surface to know what risks you may be prone to in the future, even if you seem quite healthy today. What then is the mantra for good physical health?

1.Get your routine health check-ups done- knowledge is always strength.
2.Eating right  is not rocket science. Our ancestors have been eating healthy forever! You don’t need fancy diets, just eat what your mother and granny always told you to!
3. Exercise and get proper rest- sleep for at least 6 hours if not more and exercise for at least half an hour each day.

2.Mental Health
This is as important as physical health. Stress, anger and hostility form a deadly mixture that is detrimental to the mind and to the body. Stress puts your body into a flight-or-fight mode and the constant pile up of stress never lets the stress hormone drop below ‘crisis’ level in your blood. Most of us are monumentally stressed, but we do not even realize how many tiny, inconsequential stresses keep annoying us every day.

There are many ways to de-stress yourself. Breathing properly is itself a huge stress reliever, but we do not realize that more often than not, we breath incorrectly, taking shallow breaths instead of deep cleansing ones! Take deep breaths, stretch your neck, relax your muscles, and meditate. There are other techniques like, visualizing a peaceful scene, listening to music, getting into a steam bath, spending time with pets, etc. Each one may have their idea of stress-busters, the only thing left to do, is actually getting down to doing THAT!

3.Social health
With the advent of technology, it has become more convenient to keep in touch with friends, you may say. It has become easier to meet each other on ‘Facebook’ rather than face to face! So where does that leave room for social interaction? Remember those times in school and college when unburdening your problems was so simple! You just had to talk to your best friend and Voila! They always had a solution to the most difficult problems! Does the joy of having a heart to heart talk with a few friends compare with posting your pictures in the most exotic place you have visited and getting a hundred comments on it? Is that all conversation is restricted to now?

With the kind of work we do, it becomes difficult to meet friends and relatives every day, but it isn’t impossible, is it? Add a little bit of socializing (and I do not mean partying when I say that!) to your life and you would realize how it adds to your good health!

4.Spiritual heath
I am definitely not hinting at going to astrologers or gurus! Whatever your faith, follow it and apply its essence to your life. If you do not follow any particular faith, accentuate positivity in your life in every way you can. This helps to keep anger, depression, pessimism, anxiousness and fear away from your life and probably also add a few years to it.

5.Financial health
Even if you have managed to take care of all other factors, you may still not be in good health, if your finances continue to trouble you. Whatever your income, whatever your expenditure, plan your finances well. Make saving a habit, it could be by way of mutual funds, fixed deposits or buying gold or land. However small the amount, commit to saving it religiously. It is not for nothing that they say, every tiny drop makes the mighty ocean and every grain of sand makes the vast desert.

So go ahead, pave your own way to “good health”, and the next time someone asks you how you are, make sure you are truly in very “good health”.

UBC day 11- Baba Gyaneshwar!

The little one is quite witty. He often stumps me with his one liners. I wonder if he is a born humorist! When he says those punch lines, he says it with a straight face and then bursts out laughing. He is that good!

Yesterday, I was teaching him spellings.

"A" for...?

"Apple..." pat came the reply.

"Good..Spell it..."

"A-P-P-L-E"

Like wise we went on with B for Boy to E for Egg. Then we came to F.

"F for...?"

"Fish".

"How do you spell it?"

"I don't know. You tell."

They had been taught that just a day before, so I decided to help him.

"F-I-S-H..... now repeat..."

"F-I-F-H"

"F-I-S-H, Chiku."

"F-I-H-H"

"listen carefully now, F-I-S-H"

"F-I-S-S"

Was he doing it purposely to annoy me, I wondered. 

"One last time, baby, It's S-H. How do you spell fish?"

"S-H."

I could have torn my hair.

"Chiku, last time now, concentrate. F-I-S-H. ok?" I stressed every word clearly. "Now tell me, how do you spell fish?"

"A-P-P-L-E."

Did you know Fish could be spelt like that too?

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I have this habit of making my kids eat by telling them stories about why it's good for them. When they have to eat carrots, I tell them that it has vitamin A and how Vitamin A will go to the tummy and crawl into the blood and settle in a small chair behind the eyes, so that they can see well.... (yea, yea.... that is the kind of stories I have to tell them....but it works....!!!!) You'll be amazed at how well my kids know which food contains what.

Today, the little one happened to see a packet of glucose while the fridge door was open.

"Mamma, I want Blucon D" he started.

"There's nothing in that..." I reasoned.

"There is. See it says on the label. It has vitamin D."

Jai ho baba gyaneshwar!!

Did you know Glucose contained Vitamin D?

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After dinner last night, I told the elder one to switch off the lights of all the rooms before he came to sleep. He did as told but forgot about the lights in the veranda.

"Dada," he called his brother, "Will the lights in the veranda switch off by themselves?"

Wonder where he comes up with all that!! 

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"Mamma, You put two forks in my fruit box today" he told me.

 I searched his bag but there was just one fork in it.

"There's just one here.Where's the other?" I asked him.

"I gave it to Abhinav, he said he doesn't have forks at home."

 Does he think he is Danveer Karna!! Fancy donating my cutlery like that! 

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UBC day 10- Getting a Tattoo....

that's my tattoo...

We celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary last year. I wanted to do something special to commemorate our special day. That's when I thought of getting a tattoo. I scoured the net for appropriate designs and consulted friends who already had tattoos. Finally I zeroed in on a lovely red heart with a ribbon running through the center....I decided to get hubby's name inscribed on it.

As the time for my appointment neared, the palpitations grew and I wondered if everyone around me could hear my heart thump as loudly as it was!! All that fearlessness had managed to drown in a sea of self doubt. At the last minute, I changed my mind, and decided to chuck the heart and just inscribe his name on my arm like an armband. The artist showed me several styles on his computer and I finally settled for hubby's name in a Gothic font.

The tattoo artist made the imprint on a piece of sticker and as I saw how big it looked I felt that distinct thumping all over again! I wondered if it would pain too much, will I be able to sit still for that long, what if I decide to give up in between....! And while I was lost in all that thought, he asked me where I would like to put it.  I squirmed like a worm that's just been dug out of its safe hiding place in the ground by a little school boy.... "Err..I would like to look at some other designs, Bhaiya", I said hardly audible. He gave me a my-time-is-too-precious look that I can never forget. While I expected him to throw me out, he handed me some books nevertheless. I flipped through his books and tried to figure what would hurt the least!

Finally, I saw this little "S" that looked quite cute! Hubby's initials...Perfect! "Bhaiya, this one", I proudly showed him. He gave me a weird all-that-drama-for-nothing look..I didn't look at him after that! He quickly made the design and I showed him my upper arm. Surprisingly, it didn't pain as much as I had imagined!

Hubby was totally touched and I thought I saw a little tear form in his eyes....(nah..I made that up!)

That's how I got my first tattoo. I say 'first' because, I now want another one. And this time it'll be for me. A butterfly is what I want. Symbolic of my name....maybe by my birthday!

UBC day 9 -The fire that rages within - part 2

Read part 1 here

He met the caretaker the next day.

“Jaggu Bhai,” said Arun, “I wanted to know if Bittu has been in a fire accident ever? The boy seems pretty scared of fire.”

“Never. Though he would often wake up perspiring and shout for his mother.”

“He knows who his mother is?”

“How could he? He was 6 months old when someone left him at our door.”

This wasn’t leading him anywhere. He decided to meet Bittu’s close buddies.

“Chintu, Motu, do you know why Bittu is so scared of fire?” he asked the two boys.

They looked at each other and then at him.

“He would often say his mother died in a fire” said little Chintu.

Arun froze temporarily as if he had been hit by a light pole.

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

The heat was unbearable. The curtains and upholstery had caught fire. The whole building was on fire. He was screaming for help but there was no one to save him. He was slowly losing consciousness and slipping into a deep sleep.

Bittu got up with a start. It was that nightmare again. It had been recurring with an alarming frequency.  Bittu looked around. It was terribly dark. All he could hear was the thumping of his own heart. He had thought that coming to a new place would rid him of his nightmare, but he was so wrong. His nightmare had recurred thrice in 3 days. That was bad. In fact, he hated this family. All that love seemed so hollow. He wanted to run away.

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

“I don’t think adopting this little boy was the right idea” confessed Arun to his friend.

“Maybe you are right. But you know why you adopted him, isn’t it?”

He did.

He had been having recurring nightmares too. That woman had tried strangulating him so many times before. You killed my son, now I’ll kill you, she threatened.  He had woken up gasping for breath, each time pleading to be forgiven. As atonement for his sins, he decided to adopt a little orphan boy and bring him up.

It had not taken much to convince his wife. Their own son was terminally ill. She would need another child to direct her affection to after he was gone.

But now he wondered if Bittu was indeed that child he had mistakenly burnt when he put Sarla on fire. Had he come back?

He had always suspected Sarla, his first wife, of having an affair with his best friend. He had left her soon after Raghu was born as he had been convinced Raghu was not his son. A few years later, someone had told him that she was about to marry that friend. In a fit of rage, he had set her on fire with the help of his friends. But he had not realized that Raghu had perished in that fire too. He had later married Smita but by a cruel twist of fate, his own son was now terminally ill.

His hands trembled as he thought of it now, and to calm his nerves, he lit a cigarette and propped it into his mouth.

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

Bittu picked up his little bag, slung it across his shoulders and crept outside in the darkness. He saw a figure standing in the veranda, smoking a cigarette. He had to cross that way in order to get out. As he crouched and walked he kept his gaze steady on that figure. As he streamed closer, he realized it was Sahay. He didn’t want to be seen. And then his eyes fell on the hands. He stood frozen in fear! They were the same hairy hands that he had seen strangulating his mother. He trembled with trepidation, perspiring, in spite of the coolness of the breeze. He looked closer. Unmistakably, the same bracelet hung loosely from his wrist. An ‘A’ overlapping an ‘S’. 

Then he saw the cigarette butt fall from the hairy hands. It fell at his feet. He picked it up and walked around the house putting every curtain on fire. He stood near Sahay’s bedroom and threw the butt on his bed. Then he swiftly walked away without looking back.

Aided by the breeze, the fire had caught on and had ravaged like a wild beast. He could hear screams but he dared not look back. The morning broke with the terrible news of how the Sahay villa had suddenly caught fire and how poor Mr.Sahay and an unknown person had perished in the fire. Mrs. Sahay and her son had miraculously escaped, but there was no news of the little orphan boy they had adopted. Maybe he died too.

                                               ***************the end*****************

This story won the second highest score in the total points tally!!!

UBC day 8 -The fire that rages within.

This is also my entry for the IBL at writeupcafe and also won me the IBL Booker prize for it!! Yay!!

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The winter had gotten too cold for comfort.

“Let me get this fire burning,” said Sahay, as he walked to the fireplace. “It’ll keep us warm.”

 Bittu sat huddled on the farthest corner of the couch. He was already feeling quite warm in the oversized pullovers of Sahay’s son. This was actually the warmest he had ever felt. His previous winters had all been spent huddled together with Chintu and Motu under one tattered blanket that Jaggu dada had given them. It had just been a few days since he had been adopted by the Sahay’s but he already missed his bosom buddies. He wondered how Chintu and Motu were coping with his absence. Were they missing him too? Jaggu Dada was not the kindest of caretakers but Bittu had always felt at home at the orphanage. He had lived there ever since he was born.

“Ah! Here we go!” said Sahay as the fire leapt up from the logs.

“No!” screamed Bittu closing his eyes and covering his face as soon as the first flame leapt up in the fireplace.

“Are you ok son?” asked Mrs. Sahay gently caressing his hair.

Bittu did not reply. He ran out of the room and hid under the staircase. Mrs. Sahay found him weeping copiously and shivering with fright.

“Oh, you poor baby,” she said pulling him out of his hiding hole. “Did something scare you child?”

No answer. Just a few more sniffles.

“It’s ok. Let me put you to bed. You’ll feel better.” And with that she led him to his room and tucked him into bed.

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Two men stood by the door blocking the exit. Two others had pinned his mother down and he saw her struggling to break loose. One of them had covered her mouth with his big hairy hand and held her hands together with the other. A bracelet hung loosely from his wrist, something like an ‘A” overlapping an ‘S” in gold at the center. The other accomplice was pouring some liquid on her clothes. He saw her eyes turn red….very red, before they eventually bulged out and she stopped struggling. There was a collective round of laughter and then the man with the hairy hands took out a match box from his pockets. He lit a cigarette and propped it into his mouth and threw the lit matchstick on one end of his mother’s saree. A huge ball of flame suddenly engulfed his mother’s body and he saw the four guys running out of his house.

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

“Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa………”

An ear splitting scream rented the air and almost jolted the Sahay’s out of bed. Mrs. Sahay rushed to Bittu’s room. He was sitting up, staring in to space, beads of perspiration running down his forehead.

“What happened? Did you see a bad dream?”

He sat like a rock.

“Here, drink some water,” she prodded, pushing a glass of water into his little hands.

“Why don’t you sleep next to him Arun,” she asked her husband.

“No, I’m ok” said the little boy.

“Sleep tight little one, we’ll all go camping tomorrow. You enjoy that.” said Mrs. Sahay, pulling the sheets over him and gently placing a kiss on his forehead.

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

The forest was beginning to get denser.

“Let’s camp here. I don’t want to go further in.” protested Sahay’s son. “It’s getting scarier too.”

They set up their camps on the banks of a stream nearby while Sahay piled up the wood for the campfire. Bittu watched him nervously as he lit the fire and put on the music. The sight of the fire leaping up and dancing in the gentle breeze was intimidating and Bittu’s face drained of colour.

“No fire...No fire… put it out…put it out…” he screamed waving his hands frantically.

“It’s going to be cold soon, son, we’ll need it to stay warm” he reasoned.

Bittu began sobbing uncontrollably and Mrs. Sahay forced her husband to put it out and suggested that they head back home.

What’s with this boy, wondered Arun, as he doused the fire that had taken so long to ignite. He is just ten, but terribly scared of something. I must find out. Could he have been in an accident? Probably a fire accident?

                                       **************to be cont****************

Read Part 2 here.

UBC day 7- Lazing around....

I look out of the window,

at the little drops of rain..

the lovely smell of the air,
flooding my heart and soul...

the sun playing hide and seek,

with the dark clouds drifting above,
the breeze cool and fresh,
the sounds mellifluous...

I laze around in bed, cozy and warm,

not yet ready for the day

waiting for sunshine to kiss my face

and fill the beautiful corners of my home

there's so much love in the air, 

I'd rather let myself be lost

in the magic of this season,

a season for hibernation..

UBC day 6 - That Tuesday thingy

The sun makes its magnificent ascent into the horizon. Like a magician weaves his wand and pulls out a rabbit from his hat, someone just pulled it out from the blanket of the night. I wonder if you saw it. The little birds coo and cluck and chirp, saluting the first warm rays of life. Music so mellifluous and tantalizing, my hair stands on its ends. I wonder if you heard that…

The maddening day unfolds and I see people running around… everyone seem to be in such a tearing hurry. The voices of mortals and machines replacing the sweetness of the music. I strain my ears to hear that celestial music… The tunes are lost… enveloped in sea of noise. Paradoxical!  Sound drowning sound, fancy that!

Life whizzes past me while I stand and stare. The pace scares me. It almost makes me giddy with trepidation. Makes me want to run away! And then I see those smiles, some wrinkled, some youthful, some happy, some sad, some cheerful...but smiles all the same..so full of life, so vibrant, so true. 

Then I see it. The huge ball of flame. Just as it is about to drown itself into the horizon below. A vibrant orange colour, the igniter of passion, signifying zest for life, enthusiasm, unending energy, fun, informality, friendship, open-mindedness and so much more! How liberal and unconventional. It slowly begins its descent downwards, till I see the last of it. The orange sky with its jewel is all but gone, and the sky is now growing pink and purple. There is something ethereal about what I am seeing. It is beautiful to the level of intoxication. It almost takes my breath away. Beauty and nobility remains even after everything has faded into nothingness.

I sit on the moist grass below and look at the dark horizon. Another trick is about to unfold. I can listen to that music again. All over again…

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That Tuesday Thingy is an  Indiblogeshwaris initiative. It is an attempt to write,an attempt to challenge yourselves in unknown spheres and stop by the little things in life. It is an attempt to look at life from a blogger's point of view. That's the video prompt for this week's writeup....Time traveler by Rahul Sharma.

Also linking to The Ultimate blogging challenge.

UBC day 5- On the brink of the third world war!!

Sanjana was helping her 8 year old prepare for his 'spell-bee' contest. Word by word, she helped him learn the spelling, explained the meanings of words he did not understand, and assisted him in forming sentences with the words using it in its correct form. Then they reached the word that could have been the reason for the third world war to erupt.

“Now, spell  ‘Criticize’.”

“C-R-I-T-S-I-Z-E”

“ No darling, it is spelled C-R-I-T-I-C-I-Z-E” . Do you know what it means?”

“No mamma ,I don’t”

“It means finding fault with someone. Let’s use it in a sentence now. ”

“Dad always criticizes me. He is my criticist”

She laughed.

“No my love,you must say, ‘He is my critic’, not criticist.”

Hubby dearest was romancing his laptop on couch nearby. His ears tweaked at hearing this comment from his son.

“That's not true, why do you think I always criticize you?”

“Dad you always find fault with everything that I do.”

She interrupted.

“Beta, people who criticize you are your well wishers.  If they tell you that you are doing something wrong, don’t take it as criticism. If I tell you about the mistake that you are making while skating, am I criticizing you or trying to improve you? If I just praise you and don’t find fault with your  technique, you will not know where to improve, isn’t it? People who just praise you may not really be your well wishers.”

He seemed to ponder over it for some time.  Then came a seemingly innocent question.

“Yesterday when we were going to Rashmi Aunty’s wedding, you asked Dad ‘Am I looking good?’ He said ‘The green sari would have looked good’. But you didn’t listen to dad’s criticism and argued with him. So if he criticized you , then he is your well wisher, so why didn’t you listen to him?”

Hubby dearest was quick to douse the fire before it broke out.

“Beta that wasn’t criticism, your mother looks beautiful in whatever she wears, I thought she would look prettier in green. It was just a suggestion,” he said with the look of a soldier who had just missed being hit by a missile.

“So if it was a suggestion why did Mom feel bad and argue with you? She said that you find fault with everything she does.”

Sanjana realized it was already quite damaging that the child was noting down every squabble they had, so she chipped in helpfully,

“Beta I didn’t realize it was just a suggestion, though I later did.”

He pondered a little more and came up with another missile.

“ In that case Dad, when you praised Sneha Aunty at the party and said she looked beautiful, you were not her well wisher and that is why you didn’t criticize her? I thought she looked pretty awful in her red sari.”

Hubby dearest wasn’t anticipating this at all!!

 He looked at Sanjana and immediately recognized the ‘ Oh-so-you-were-flirting-with-Sneha-behind-my-back’ look. Secretly she was pleased that her son had found Sneha’s red sari obnoxious too. She stared at him and waited for him to answer, tapping her fingers impatiently on the table.

“ Err.. I was just being polite, beta,’ he explained trying to save his skin. “Now run and finish the rest of the spellings.”

“ I am confused. If Dad’s criticism was a suggestion and dad’s praise was ‘being polite’ then what is the actual meaning of criticism?”

She was wondering what to say, when he shot yet another missile, this time at her.

“ Maybe I understood what it means. Mom, criticism is what you give to Raj uncle from your office, isn’t it? Every time he comes with his report you tell him there are mistakes and he has to correct something. Then he has to correct and bring it to you and you find some more mistakes with it.”

“ Yes you can call that criticism,beta.”

“ But sometimes I wonder why you don’t tell him all his mistakes at one time. It will save him time coming to see you repeatedly.”

It was now her turn to become red-faced. ‘ This little brute had noticed THAT?’ She purposefully tried avoiding looking into hubby dearest’s eyes.

“Err…no, Raj is actually a little clumsy with his work, he makes new mistakes every time.”

“Mom….”

Before he could continue, and the peace of the earth could be shattered by the third world war, she interrupted.

“Beta, now that you have understood criticize, let’s move on to the next word, spell Croak.”

UBC day 4- Of mother's and kids.

My second child was born prematurely. My water broke at 32 weeks and by the time we rushed to the hospital; I had flooded the house and the car. And later the doctor’s examining table. Within half an hour my tummy looked flat! I cannot even begin to explain how sacred I was. I remember myself praying all along that the little one was safe. The doctor told us how the baby’s lungs wouldn't be properly developed at 32 weeks but there was nothing we could do but opt for the little one to be delivered.

that's him

The baby was delivered safely, but he developed bronco pneumonia soon after. I had just been able to have one look at the baby’s face; I had not even held him close, when they shifted him to the NICU. A day later I was allowed to walk to the NICU and see my little one. There he was….with his little feet connected to some machine and a drip set running out his tiny hand, an oxygen mask on his nose. The little chap was obviously irritated and kept shuffling. Every time he moved, the drip set would slide off and the nurse would search for a new place to prick on the tiny hand. It pained to see him go through all this. They finally bound his hands and legs with tape and secured it to his bed. That way he couldn't move at all.

I didn't have to stay in the hospital for long and after 10 days, I was asked to come to the NICU every 3 hours to feed the child. We had to wait for our turn outside the NICU and the nurses would let in mothers in batches of three or four. Every time I saw him through the glass wall of the NICU bed, he would become restless and wait for me to pick him up. It was daunting to pick him up, the drip and wires made it so difficult. I didn't want to accidentally disturb something and end up hurting the baby.

Every day, there would be new admissions and discharges, and we prayed that we could take our little one home soon. One day as we waited outside the NICU for my turn, the nurse brought out a little bundle and held it while the child’s parents signed some papers for discharge. I couldn't help but observe how milky white the child’s face looked. I thought maybe it had taken after its mother who looked quite fair too. And then as the mother took the child into her arms, she began to cry. It took me a while to realize that her child wasn't moving. And then the doctors came out, patting her shoulder, while her husband held her, trying not to cry. I couldn't even begin to fathom what grief the mother might being going through, holding her dead child in her arms.

I shook uncontrollable as my husband tried to steady me. The fear for my own child’s well being had suddenly multiplied manifold. When I was finally called in, and held my little one in my arms, I whispered a prayer in to his ears and told him how much I loved him. I held him close and the nurse had to snatch him away from me after I refused to hand back my child to her. I didn't want to leave him in the hospital any more. After what seemed like eternity, he was finally well enough to be sent home with us.

that's my rockstar!

By God’s grace he is doing well now. He is 3 years old now, but even after all these years I am unable to get the picture of the baby and its mother out of my mind. At the same time, I am happy God gave me enough strength to survive those stress filled moments of my life.

UBC day 3 - Yap...Yap...Yapp....!!

There are people who talk and then, there are people who TALK. 

I obviously belong to the second category! It does not matter whether you are a known person or a stranger, whether you are an introvert or an extrovert, or whether you even want to talk in the first place! Nothing can stop me from from chewing your brains off with my incessant chatter! Sometimes I feel, the term, 'nineteen to a dozen' was coined just for me!

No new place is new enough for me to keep my mouth shut. And no person is new enough for me not to begin talking to them. I can be at ease anywhere, with anyone. My mom says, I have the ability to make walls talk, if there's no living soul around! I often wondered if being this chatty was a disorder. I wondered why I have this urge to keep conversing?  For quite sometime I thought it was normal to be able to converse. But many stiff upper lips and polite smiles later I realised, that it wasn't!

I'm definitely not boring and don't talk nonsensical or hurtful things, but I always manage to find something in common and starting a conversation is never a difficult job for me. There are friends who've told me they are usually introverts and are amazed at how they could converse so much whilst with me. There are friends who wait for me to turn up at parties. It great to hear these things, but at the same time, I also wish I'd learn to tone down a little bit.

Hubby dearest once secretly recorded my conversation with our friends and later played it back to me. I was horrified, to say the least! Though it was an engaging conversation, I was yapping away like there'd be no tomorrow! I am sometimes amazed at the sheer amount of things I speak!

Blogging has definitely helped me channel all that I want to say. I wouldn't say I talk less now, but yes, it is way lesser than it used to be! 

UBC day 2 - Flushed pink!

I heard this expression once, “I’m not who I think I am. Nor am I who you think I am. But I am who I think you think I am.” 

I had to read it repeatedly to even understand what it meant! The meaning became clear to me but not until I suffered this expression myself!

I said something incredibly stupid to someone, stupid enough to make me want to cringe at the very thought of it! And if I could somehow have the proverbial “chullu bhar pani” (a handful of water) I would have gladly drowned in it! The more I thought about it, the more my face turned a nasty shade of pink! I apologized repeatedly to that person, as if doing so would rid me of my embarrassment. And the apology addict that I am, I kept apologizing at every given opportunity! “Just one more apology and I’ll be ok” I would think. But I didn’t feel good at all. Far from that, I felt worse!

Theoretically, if I could stop myself from revisiting my past, and try and stay in the present moment, I would probably not feel embarrassed, because what I said belonged to my past. It belonged to a different time and place. Practically though, it was impossible to disassociate oneself like that!

And apologizing kept taking me back to my past. That was a vicious cycle I was getting myself into!

As I tried to rid myself of these feelings, I realized that most of the times, we base our identity on what we think, other people think about us. We assume that people are reacting to our embarrassing act in a way that they may or may not be. And so we base our reaction to our perception of what we guess their reaction may be. That is a lot of needless guesswork!!

Embarrassment belongs to the disorder known as perfectionism. Think about it. You are embarrassed because you didn’t live up to your standards. That tiny little gap between your expectations of yourself and your performance caused that embarrassment. The fear of being perceived in a way that is less endearing than we would like it to be.

And that’s when I realized I need to learn to laugh it off and allow myself some tilting. By the way, having an ant like memory, as in my case, also helps!!  

No one’s perfect anyway! 

The Ultimate blog Challenge- day 1.....How it all started...

Shilpa has always been an inspiration to me. I simply adore her ability to push herself and keep writing. She's taken up one challenge after the other and I have often marveled how she comes up with such creatively crafted post every single day!! And so when I read about her taking up this "Ultimate blog challenge" I found myself wondering if I should do so too! 

Self effacing doubts had all but clammed up my mind...Will I be able to write every single day? What will I blog about? But then it also seemed like loads of fun, and that's what got me started.

The Ultimate Blog Challenge is a virtual event for bloggers held every quarter – January, April, July and October.  The goal is to write and share a new blog post every day during the challenge month.

It’s hosted by Michele Scism & Michelle Shaeffer, two entrepreneurs and bloggers who several years ago discovered the amazing power of blog challenges and decided to create the UBC to get more bloggers connected and motivated to succeed!

In case you would like to join us, all you have to do is…

• Join the challenge here
• Register as a Member here
• Select your category and get Listed on the UBC Blog Directory, here
• Join the Facebook & Twitter communities
• Get great blogging tips and tactics : Yes, you will get blogging ideas everyday in your mail!

It's Day 1 of the challenge. The first thought that came to me was the first day of starting my blog. 

 I had been writing since I was in school and all those little diaries and notebooks have moved with me where I went. We were inseparable. There were like treasure troves that contained poems, stories and little snippets of my life. How could I ever leave that "little me" behind? When a friend suggested that I could put all that in my own blog, it sounded like a great idea! And that's how this blog was born. 

I wrote random stuff, and could not really call myself a niche writer. So when it came to naming the blog, I decided on naming it  "The Little Princess". That's what dad calls me..... his little princess and being daddy's little girl it sounded perfect to me. That my stories are more female oriented happens to be a coincidence!! And yes, that they sound like a fairy tale, is even more!! 

Pitter Patter raindrops....

 

(image courtesy: Google)

There’s something so romantic about the rains!

The first drops of rain on the parched earth…just like a long lost lover gently kissing the woman of his dreams who has long been waiting for him. And when he comes she breaks into raptures. The buds blossom and the peacocks dance, telling him how much she’s waited for that moment of bliss. An all encompassing aroma lifts them to another world, and together, they sway….. to the song of love.

As I look out of my window and see the first dark cloud, it fills me with delight. The scorching summers have drained me of life. The sight of the rain cloud makes me run out into the open. I do not want to miss that first drop of rain, do I? I eagerly look up at the sky and wait with bated breaths. The moment of waiting is finally over when a tiny drop lands on my nose. Ah! He’s here, I tell myself, and wait with my arms spread wide and a smile wider than that! And then the magic happens! He pours down with all his might and I soak in his love. I breathe in the aroma that keeps filling into every cell of my body till it reaches my soul and tears flow down my cheeks. That is the kind of spell that the rains cast over me, holding me in its captive and I stay on like a happy prisoner…

I wonder if it is sheer coincidence that I was born during the monsoon, August, to be precise. Is that why monsoon is so dear to me? Could be! And the rain god makes sure to pour down with his blessings on each one of my birthdays, making it just that little extra special!

I had just finished my exams in May and no prizes for guessing when I landed my first job! In fact, I remember coming back home drenched after my first interview! It felt like the rain was congratulating me on my achievement! The rains have always been a harbinger of good tidings for me.

It was during one such lovely monsoon that I first met the man of my dreams. We got married four monsoons later! Need I mention when we got married? During the monsoon, of course, in September! Nothing could be more romantic! Our best moments have been those of going on long rides in the rain, Kishore da crooning in the background, and stopping at “tapris” or roadside tea stalls for that hot bite of the samosa and a hotter cup of ginger tea.

My best childhood memories are those of getting wet in the first rain of the season. Entire families would descend on the terrace of our apartment and the old and young alike would enjoy splashing with glee! It was considered healthy to get drenched in the first rain. One would supposedly be free of all ailments if the first drops of rain fell on you! Myth or not, we enjoyed every moment of it.

The beginning of the rains marked the re-opening of schools and meeting old friends. The excitement of wearing brand new starched uniforms and sparkling clean shoes is unparalleled. The rush of adrenalin as we entered our new classrooms and grouped together with friends is unforgettable. And it is these good old school days that I reminisce about even today when I think about the most carefree days of my life!

The rains also marked the beginning of the festival season. It starts with Ganesha Chaturti, when we would rally around for donations, help with installing the idol of Ganapati bappa, conduct the 10 day festivities and madly dance in the “Sandall” (for the uninitiated, that was our community dance without a fixed form or manner, you just needed to go all out and dance!). How can I forget  Raksha Bandhan, Krishna Janamashtami, Navratri and Deepawali that follow soon after? There would always be a little drizzle on the Lakshmi pujan day of Deepawali.  And it would feel like the monsoon was bidding us goodbye. Farewell until next year!

Sandwiched between two extreme seasons, the rains always provided a respite from the sweltering summers where the temperatures rose to a jaw dropping 48 degree Celsius and the winters where we almost froze at 5 degree Celsius! The temperatures were always right during the monsoon, neither too high nor too low.

My love with plants and gardening in general, borders on the crazy. If you are attentive enough you might even catch me talking to my little darlings! I find that these grow best during the rains. During monsoon my home garden is filled with pretty blossoms in every possible hue. And in turn it fills my heart with indescribable happiness.  

What better way to enjoy the rains than with mouth watering hot foods to tickle your palate? You can almost always smell that aroma of piping hot tikkis being made here and there, bubbling hot coffee elsewhere or tangy chats somewhere! And to sit by the window looking at the rains washing everything clean even as people walk by in colourful umbrellas and raincoats, while sinking your teeth into these delicacies is bliss!

I relate a lot to the rains because they are so much like me. A little moody, temperamental sometimes, romantic at times, lazy at other times, but never fail to bring a smile every single time!  

That’s what the monsoon means to me!!