Complete

On 5th sept. 2013 we became parents to a baby girl. :) Arjun loves his baby sister. :) Becoming parents all over again is wonderful.

Kids Jumbo: my school's name !

Arjun my son would be starting school from 16thOctober. This is our last week together where we can have him to ourselves. He will be  a grown boy now. Towards the end of my pregnancy I would want to keep Arjun to myself safe and sound within me :) sometimes forever. Arjun's daddy is feeling sorry for him..here begins his life..

I was telling him and myself to look at it this way..he will have first friends in his life. My boy is so full of wonder about the world around him. He will get to hang out with people his age. He will be 2.4yrs this month. He will like school I am sure. He is more social than I ever was..much more tolerant than I am and much more adaptable. Today I woke him up a little earlier than his usual wakeup time and bathed him quickly to see if could get ready by 8.30 for the 9 o'clock school. We managed to get ready almost half an hour before time.

Time flies.. Arjun speaks so much now. That unconditional love he showers upon us..particularly me..It's the best thing that can happen to anyone.  Motherhood.

More than him I am worried about how I will manage to leave him at school on the 1st day. I just pray to the Goddess as she is the mother to us all that I am letting my son take his first step in the world out there, I won't be there all the time with him at his every step but she would be..so for her to be there for my Arjun as his protector throughout his life even as he becomes a man of fifty and hundred someday.

Waves ripple

The sea once tries to tell the waves, story of the water playing dead in the river. But the waves know better. The river has its water living life differently. Waves bubble. River has its ripples.  Foam is the afterthought. The ripple probably is the wrikle on the forehead for the river as it tries to share a tale

It is like that..

The tenderness like that in the moment when the tear rolls down and a fingertip touches it lightly..Racing pulse like that of a kingfisher as he dives with strength in the water. Love is like that.

Love is like that tear that fills your eye but doesn't fall when some good old memory crosses your path. It is the millionth 'why' you ask yourself knowing you don't have an answer even the millionth time :)

In a thick rain forest a tree falls down. New shoots come. But the earth holds tight to the roots of the tree that fell.

Old Sliver

Today I came across my old silver rings and bracelets and other silver stuff. Silver that has turned black. The rings I wore as a teenager.. stuff that defined my spirit then. I always liked gray more than golden. It has a depth I used to say.

One particular rose ring that a silversmith created for me and a silver pen; I found them again today after a couple of years. I keep them such that I find them again after every some while. It reminds me of those times I wore silver. The younger me had more layers sometimes I feel. Silver would make me feel that the metal is able to reflect those dark corners in my mind, those blanks in my sentences, those poems I left incomplete. The gray said it all about me.

Today sometimes I find that old silver and wear a ring or two for sometime. Every time I keep it back. It doesn't return the spirit I once had. It only gives me a memory of what I was.

:)

I don't know what life was like before I became a mother on 18th May, 2010. I used to blog then.. and if nothing at all I miss that element of my earlier life a lot. I will not blame it on time or the toddler who was a baby once for not letting me blog. Some experiences are too fulfilling and leave no space for words to fill in and explain how it felt.

I can't explain the tear that rolled down my cheek when I heard my son's first cry.

I can't explain how good it feels..

But blog I will..whenever I can.

It takes strength to create and stupidity to devastate. The waves called me out. I have been listening to their rhythm every night. The waves missed the rhythm of my beats. Long hair open, running free like the ocean foam grey in the midnight. Feel of the sand under my feet again..footprint or no footprint..I was there at the sea last night.

Lost

Do you feel lost in your own lane sometimes? The block had a home, your home somewhere down there. You return back home one day and realise you are lost in your own lane. You can't just find the home at all. It is maybe like you have outgrown your old t-shirt. Your home has outgrown you, or you have outgrown the home.

I am not returning today. I am on my way to a discovery. Is it the wooden twigs that I need to find for the nest or is it the hollow in that bark? Or maybe if I look harder I might find myself in some lost time with some lost home.

I am not returning back from here. I am on my way to a discovery.

I will be there

23rd November, 2009

I will rest under the flowers in your meadow.

Under the green young blades of the grass and the flaming yellows of the orange flowers

That way I can be with you even more

I will be there in the dew drops on the lotus leaf in your pond

In the wind that warms you with the morning sun

I will be that single ray of sun that travels across the white thickness of the clouds and touches you every morning.

Bring me home

My beak under my wing
I can hear the raindrops on my roof still
the bright orange,cutting the sky
some shade of yellow I can see still

Bring me home
to the shade of green
to the warmth of a heart
the cavity in the tree bark

The color of my skin,
on the touch of my fingers ,
the walls of the house,
like my flesh and blood,
come alive.

Lost

When you hear from someone you used to know sometime long back in your life, it also means you meet yourself from another time. You left yourself behind to become the new you. It's not like you are sad about who you are now. It's only about how you wish you could have also retained the old you.

Sometimes it is also about how you could have done better then. The situation you were in that time and thought it to be boring and now treasure as a memory; you wish you could have done better. Today my harmonium teacher visited my parents place. He knew he wouldn't get to meet me. He knows I am married. He is 80 years old.I didn't have his contact details and couldn't invite him for wedding.

I spoke to him on phone. He was happy to hear about how I was doing. Then said that I sound the same I used to in school. I shouldn't have given up on music. To make him feel better I said I would sometime in my life pursue it again.

I know that person they are talking about. I remember the old yellowish picture.I know those fading black lines too well. If I hold a pencil again, I will be able to trace the lines.

Fight if you must.

People and their stories amaze me. Every time my maid gets beaten blue by her husband, I feel lack of education makes him the beast. She sits chatting with my mother. Home is where the hell is. Poverty, hunger, trampled ego at the construction site where the man works must be the trigger.

People like me only write about such tragedies on their blog. When things take a disturbing turn.. we write. What else do you do when you see abuse in a house of literates? Why does the Indian Male like to control? The manner is sophisticated in the house of a doctor or engineer. Words draw the lines and cut the wings. The women from cultured, socially accomplished families listen. The moment these educated women raise their voice they are disgraceful.

The woman has to be like that. Willing to sacrifice for her family’s good. Walk barefoot up the hill to please the lord. Sit submissively as the father-in-law roars senselessly. The woman as a girl was adored by her parents and thought as a thinking person whose heart broke too. For the love she feels for her husband and her parents she shuts her mouth. In the family of literates her career, hopes and self-respect are nonexistent.

What makes some of us so insensitive? Every person is born to achieve to her fullest potential. Why are we so fond of cages? I know someone who is in her fifties and loves her life a lot. She wears shorts and loves gardening. The minute that phone rings and the man is about to come home she covers herself in sari from head to toe.

Fight if you must. People who care will love you still. You bore a child. People say nothing is as painful as that. You cared for that life with all your might, as it grew inside you. You promised yourself you will never let it happen to your daughter.

Dear God

Dear God,

There is this new thing bothering us all here. Its name is some Flu. It has made our world a dark and dull place. Fear in every eye here. We have people covering their noses in cloth. Children are wearing surgical masks as they hold their mother's hand and walk around.

The old poor lady in my vicinity was at the chemist's shop yesterday. She had come with a 500 Rs. note to safeguard her grandchildren. She was there at the shop with her money that made her toil like a donkey for the whole of the month to buy the masks and eucalyptus oil. The chemist had run out of stock already. He told me that every bottle is sold, very mask is sold. The old lady was wondering aloud where on the earth would she have to go to get the stuff she needed.

In the news where swine flu is the star of the day for many past days now.. they had squeezed in another story with it. Some part of India is hit by a dreadful drought. Farmers were shown squatted on the cracked grounds with their families. The farmers have waited whole of the monsoon for the rains to shower its blessings. But instead, swine flu came in.

Artists are busy painting the huge Ganesh idols. People bringing life to these idols are wearing masks too. Schools have closed down and children are left locked indoors. This is not like the summer holidays. The children won't come out to look at the idols when the festival arrives.

Some 7-8 kids died of diarrhea in some remote village. In the middle of the flu interviews and tips and things to dos and travel advisories they managed to tell us about this other happening too.

It is bothering me. The city which is in ruins every couple of years because of the bomb blasts and yet manages to wear a smile and is present in the local trains and schools next day has changed.

Jui

The Mask

I simply love my city. Mumbai. The day my city too made it to the news for Swine Flu, changed our lives. While the rest of the world is looking for masks ranging from the official N95 to the locally made or the Made in China version us Mumbaikars wasted no time. Like any regular native my day begins in a local train here. I witnessed the change. At our railway stations we are now armored and ready. Like a shield made in pure iron ore we are wearing our handkerchiefs. As we are known to be the busiest city, we don’t get time for such mundane tasks. Our handkerchiefs look pale shade of yellow as we wear them on our nose. Some of these poor pieces of cloths were maybe kept safely in our trunks somewhere deep down for this day to arrive. Like the riffle kept deep down somewhere, to be found and used only in case of need; these scarves/ handkerchiefs are taken out now.

Women in Mumbai have come up with an even better option. This included me too on one of these days. Why carry 2 pieces of cloths? Duppatta is a multipurpose device. One uses it to dry wet hands, bandage wounds ( as shown in bollywood) and now to warp it around one’s nose. But personally, if I was to confess, I would say I have since the day I was introduced to this Duppatta have always believed that washing it as frequently as the dress is really not necessary or impossible in some cases. Some of these multicolored things need to be dry cleaned the first time. So one uses the dupatta atleast 4-5 times before washing it.

In the light of Swine flue we have become like the old monkey tale our Mothers told us when we were kids. One monkey throws the cap all follow the lead. In the ladies compartment one wears her mask all follow the lead. Some by holding the handkerchief to their nose, some by wrapping their all clean fingers around the nose and mouth and some by using their duppattas.

I am reminded of Jim Carrey and his mask. Imagine one mask with a whirlwind speed makes us super powerful against the flu named Swine Flu!

I am a girl child.

Don't make me guilty for what I haven't done.
Don't tie me down to your old customs.
Don't blindfold me.
With closed eyes, I see light much brighter.
I am a girl child. Don't look at my mother with disgust.
She is a creator. She built her world around me.
Don't pull me out of the nest into your cage.

My God lies in me and my mother.
It is not in the ritual where a saffron clad male sits closer to the idol.
My God lies in my prayer.

The forest

Green running free and endless. The forest trees tall, creepers carpet the ground velvet, flowers brocade the green with pink and yellows. My heart beats in my chest as I run with the wind here. Pleased to see the trees don't end and the design continues under my feet. I fear if I touch the tiny petal it would create ripples in this design.

The forest in the valley is like the life of a candle, tough wheatish mountains protect it, like hands protect the flame.

Frozen

I am not ready to write about it yet,
the shadow lost
the winter frost
the lamp at the side of my bed
the book lies there face down
as the night kills me slowly
closed eyes
to the rising sun

Run

Run like the wind
on the blades of the green grass
freedom
like the wild horse
run like you have grown wings

Across borders
and the Himalayan range
Close your eyes
reach where you cannot
run

rain like a bullet
in your back
with that pounding heart
run

All it takes is love

I called her after 10 years. She was my school friend once. She recognised my voice. We both were happy to hear we had become wives now. We talked about our hubbies and how we had met them.

Ordinary day it seemed till I had spoken to her. After that conversation I was left smiling and content. I was happy doing the routine things at work. I was full of interest talking to the same people I meet every day at work.

In the last few months I have found my long lost friends. Some of them I got to talk to after 17 years! The experience is emotionally very satisfying. The people who you thought were lost and forgot a long time back, suddenly, destiny makes them and you cross each other's way again. People you knew when you were a child seem to leave an imprint on your mind. Years come and go. New people come into your life. You share a lot more with these people. As a teenager or an adult you have much more to you than you had to you when you were young. Maybe..

Mind is a slate , you can write the most on it when it has space. It must be true. You always find a way to your childhood. It is by returning to the people. It's not about meeting them again and calling them every single day after that. No. You moved on and yet left a piece of you there. It's about only calling them once and listening to their story. They didn't leave a vacuum when they left you. It's like finding a very old book after a long time. You don't need it. But you touch it, turn a couple of pages..it makes you feel content in that moment. You keep it back again. Maybe for you to find it some other time.

All it takes is love..When you are young, your heart is more open. It appreciates and loves almost every experience that comes it's way.

Since morning

I have painted the blue of the ocean green waves just outside our window for you to see. The morning sun rises from behind the green veil , I painted for you. The world was not built. The world was painted. Every leaf of every tree is a painting. Colours change the seasons. The flowers in our garden and the trees in the forest ; the water is golden as the sun meets your eye. The orange flames crackle in the hearth as the world gets painted in crayon.

Look differently

I like to look at the world all the time. I think I would have liked to be some bird sitting atop some wire crossing my city Mumbai. I would have preferred to be in no hurry as such and look lazily at everyone down there rushing here or there.

On my way back home I take a taxi everyday from my office to a railway station. I like the ride and the time I get to myself very much. I like it when the taxi moves slowly and is stuck in traffic for some time. I like it even better when it gets stuck just opposite a book vendor with his shop on the footpath. His stock very up to date; duplicate books, most recent ones.

Then the taxi passes a hukka shop. In the middle of Mumbai I am not sure who looks at the shop full of hukkas every day. The lane is not a tourist frequented lane at all. Through the glass walls of the shop I always admire the arty looking glass work. There is blue, green glass making the wooden brown of the hukka look like some piece which would fit as a piece in the collection of a museum.

My taxi drop's me near a bus-stop every day. I cross the road and enter the railway station from there. I look at the bus stop to see who is waiting for the bus. I don't expect any known face to be standing here, I don't know where the bus goes. I like to look. Yesterday, I looked and my heart missed a beat.

On the iron rod of the bus-stand people usually rest their backs and stand. Two small hands held each other and stood there with their heads almost touching the ground. They were hanging like bats do on the same rod, where people stood waiting for the bus. I almost yelled out to them to be careful; when they swung on the rod and were hanging with their heads up now.

They were doing these circles , hands held tight, smoothly like some trained acrobats. Where people stood; on their feet, the two hung on looking at the ground for sometime and then going in a circle and again hanging there looking at the bus-stop from a different angle all together.