[Before you begin to read, let me forewarn you, that this will be a lengthy post. But please do not go away without reading it in full. Thank you.]
Last evening was one evening I spent in the most useful and productive manner. I went to Feed my Starving Children. The notice for this came in a mail from Winkie's school. It looked like a wonderful service opportunity to share with my son, and I signed both of us up for it. Let me tell you how it panned out, in some detail.
" This is the true joy in life - being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap; being a force of nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy. ~George Bernard Shaw "
All I knew before going was that it involved packing food to send to hungry children across the world. I had no other clue about the organisation, the statistics, its operations etc. Winkie was excited with something different happening and I was looking forward to volunteering. As soon as we walked in, we signed up on a sheet, and then put on our hair nets (for hygiene purposes) and entered the presentation room, where many chairs were lined up. The room was almost full, and we took our seats. Pretty soon, Winkie spotted one of his dearest friends from school, and this time it was a girl and I was pleasantly surprised. The two of them were super excited to see each other and I got friendly with her mother too. And then the presentation began.
It started with a video. I will not go to any length to describe it...you can watch it right here...
It was a good thing Winkie was sitting in my lap, for the tears wouldn't stop. The pain of watching those images exploded in my chest and I couldn't stand how much people had to suffer. The video served its purpose. In those few minutes, the disconnect with the outside world was bridged and I am sure each one of the 88 of us in that room would have been filled with a sense of meaning as to why we were there. I knew I couldn't wait to get started.
" Dare to reach out your hand into the darkness, to pull another hand into the light. ~Norman B. Rice "
We made our way to the washrooms next to have a thorough cleaning of our hands and then it was time to go into the packing room. At first, they asked for volunteers to label the packets, and me and Winkie went for that along with the his friend and her mom. This part was simple, as we had to simply stick on the food labels to each packet, that would then be filled up with the food. After about 1/2 an hour of doing this, we walked into the packing room to tap someone else to take our place, so we could have a go at the packing too. Someone switched places and we got to work. Each packet of food contains specific grams of chicken flavoured powder, dried veggies, dried soy, and rice. They all go into the packet, one after the other in that order. Each packet has the capacity to feed 6 starving children for one meal, or 6 meals for one child. One might wonder why other kinds of food are not being sent. We were told the reason for this. It turns out that a malnourished body cannot process the nutrients from many other kinds of food, and this worsens its condition. So, a panel of food scientists in Minnesota came up with this optimal mix of ingredients that could start the healing process in a child's body. You have seen in the video above, and what a visual difference it has made to baby Moses and many kids like him.
Here's a video now on what this packing process looks like...
So for the next hour and a half, this is what we did. Akhil spooned the chicken powder, his friend did the soy and veggies, I did the rice, while another boy held the bag for us, and the mom sealed the bags and put them into a box. The process was smooth and flowed effortlessly and without confusion from one task to the next, and the beauty of it was that we could see the finished work, sitting neatly in brown box after brown box, growing in a big stack in the middle of the warehouse, where it was being deposited.
When the clock struck 8 PM, we were asked to stop what we were doing and given step by step instructions on cleaning up. Again, I admired the professionalism that governed this organisation. In 20 minutes, we were all done, and the room was neat and tidy for the next group of packers who would come in the next morning. Right after this, we all trooped back into the warehouse, where all the kids placed a hand on the boxes that were packed, and the organiser led us through a beautiful prayer....thanking God for bringing together this bunch of people, who gave their time and efforts so joyously, asking Him to bless the food that would now make its way overseas, to protect it on its journey, and to bless the people who would partake in it, letting them know that there were many who cared and there was still hope left in the world. It was a beautiful prayer and I was in spiritual heaven during it. The picture above was taken hurriedly from my camera phone, and its not of good clarity, but it will give you an idea of it.
After this, we went back to the washroom to clean up and traipsed back to the presentation room where a little surprise awaited us. On the table were trays and trays of refreshment, spooned out into little cups with wooden spoons. And what do you think we had to eat? It was of the ingredients we had just packed....cooked in hot water, and made into a porridge. I tasted it, and it was quite bland and chewy, but pleasant enough. I thought that was a wonderful touch...where you eat the very food that those people will eat and know what it is like for them.
Thereafter, the organisers shared some statistics with us. That it takes only 17 cents to produce one single meal. That we had packed 41 boxes that night, and it was enough to feed about 25 children for 1 w.h.o.l.e y.e.a.r!!! There was a collective gasp in the room as we assimilated the momentousness of what we had just heard. The familiar prick of tears came to the eyes and many a hand could be seen dabbing away a wet spot. In a few moments, we would give full force to those tears, as we watched the Thank you video. Here it is...
After watching it, and during, I know that each one of us there would have felt the rising resolve within our hearts, that clenched will that promised that we would do more...we could do more and there was no more time to be wasted. I know my life was transformed again that evening, and as always, it could not have come at a better time than now, when the seeds of restlessness are taking fruit and leading me to seek for a new direction to focus me energies on. I knew I had to go back and speak to the organiser and find out when I could come in next, what more I could do, when...
I did speak to her, and she gave me a person to contact and I have sent him an email and I hope to have a response tomorrow which outlines what I have to do to help. Of course I can always help out with money and they need so much of it, because of the rising costs of getting the food to its destination. But my hands were itching to get right down to the actual task of direct toil. Another way to help out is advertising. They do not spend any money on advertising, because they focus all their costs on procuring and distributing the food. So they rely on word of mouth. And that is where I come in, with this post.
From time to time, you readers have told me that I inspire you, that I have given you much to think about, and that it has changed your perspective. Well, if that is indeed true, then it will have happened through this post as well. And reading it, you will be seized by the fervour to DO something, that itch in your hands to get down to some real work. I am not asking for a donation, though money is always a good thing to contribute, as it facilitates so many other things. What I am asking you for... is one little change in your life, that will make a difference. It could be saving up pennies in a jar and donating that collection to your nearest charity whose work you can be assured of. It can be giving up that one takeout meal at Panera bread with the salad and drink on the side, coming to 15 dollars. It could be resolving to be so mindful of the food that you eat, saying a prayer beforehand, asking for a blessing. It could be never throwing out overripe veggies from your fridge, because you couldn't plan it well in time. Or it could be something that requires slightly more of your time...like finding a service opportunity in your neighbourhood. Something that involves you directly aiding someone in pain, distress, hunger, illiteracy, abuse, rehabilitation, trauma, old age. Because there is nothing more powerful for the destruction of the ego, than to elevate yourself to the role of a true lover and a true giver. And it is so humbling and so important to look into the eyes of the person who receives your service. It becomes imperative for the soul to connect directly with the soul that needs the help. These are my feelings, and I write them plainly because it is a resolve to myself as well, to wake up and get moving. When I put this here, it gives you the natural right to ask me at any point in the future, if I have done right by my words....to hold me accountable. So think about it. Research. And then...come back and tell me, what is your one change.
Coming back....it was the most natural evening to be had. As we labelled packets, two moms in a nearby table talked casually about their plans for the summer. Kids talked about their day in school and what they were doing for the weekend. In the packing room, music blared from the radio, giving us a steady tempo for our work. From time to time, groups of families would shout out a chorus of cheer, which had surely been practiced before, and which showed that they were oldtimers at this place. The feeling of community and unity was so strong in the air, that you could have sliced through it with a knife. And that is what I loved so much about it. That something that gave all of us so much of fun and laughter and pleasure, gave so many other people hope and a way out of the gnawing hunger that wracked their bodies and spirits. That it was so easy to give, and took so little on our parts and gave us so much back, right then and there. It was instant gratification at its purest form! And in the process of feeding many hungry bodies for a day, a month, a year...I was also feeding my soul, for this lifetime.
What is it about simple daily rituals that are so comforting in their predictability?? Why is it that the things that we secretly thrive on are the ones that are most neglected in our consciousness?? The answers to these questions lay steeped within them of course, though the questions do not seek.
For the past 3 days now, a new colour has sprung up in our routine, and it is only worthy to show its sparkle. It happens at that magical time of the day when the day's official work is done, time sheets filled in, and my little Thambi awaits me at the door, his bag in his hands. Its a new thing that his babysitter does, to motivate him to come home...by turning him into a man of purpose with a bag to carry! :)
He strides purposefully to the car and I breathe a sigh of relief that so much of the distance has already been bridged so peacefully, when suddenly, he drops his load to cry out....poo...poo! That first day, I stare at him, blinking in non-comprehension. By the second day, I know the drill. On the third day, I stifle a yawn, as I wait for this last bit of farewell drama to play out.
But for now...back to that first day, when I have no clue what he is talking about, but she does, and she comes running out, and he goes running in, and both of them meet halfway, and she scoops him up, walks to the tree in her yard and plucks out the smallest twig full of pretty white flowers to give to him. And there he holds his beloved poo, smiling contentedly. She asks him to give it to me, so there will be yet another burst of motivation to come to Amma, but he keeps it for himself, still blissfully unaware of the power he wields over a girl, with a bunch of flowers in his hands. This time, I scoop him up and belt him in, facing no resistance, as he admires his last minute loot. And we drive home.
The first day, he falls asleep, holding it tight in his hands.
The second day, he falls asleep, holding it tight in his hands.
The third day, he falls asleep, holding it tight in his hands.
Back home, his sleep continues, undisturbed on the bed, while the poo remains in the car. It is found again the next day, dried and wilted, brittle to the touch and ready to be tossed into the trashcan. For a fleeting moment, I remember the story of its journey, feeling the twinge of sadness, that it could have continued on its lush, breezy perch, for awhile longer, before this premature end, and I make up my mind to do what I can to ensure it in the day ahead.
And thus it came to Day 4. And it was as different from days 3, 2 and 1 as I had hoped it to be...where the poo...poo...still remained the same, but t.h.a.t was the end of that game!
...is not only the title of this post, but also the title of Winkie's very first book. That one that he has envisioned, written and illustrated all by himself.
I think the idea of a book took form sometime during Journal time in school, when he wrote a series of illustrated pages on why he liked Juan (his best bud) so much. It did not take very long after that, for him to understand that he can write on just about anything at all (he is soooo... ready to be a blogger!!), and his favorite subject....ancient mythology...provided the setting for his maiden project. I know you must be curious to see what's inside this book, so without any further ado....ladies and gentlemen, I present to Yoooooouuuu....We like rain so much!!! [Disclaimer : Please bear in mind that what you are about to view is the original, unedited first edition of the little masterpiece.Thank you!]
1. We like rain so much. (Note how he now includes his new baby sister in every family picture of ours!) 2. We like rain the sun is now up. 3. We like Indra because he helps the earth. 4. When Indra gets mad, he appears a storm. aaaaaaaaaah! Storms!!!!!!(Note, how he makes it sound like people are exclaiming ...... aaaaahhh! storms!!!)
5. Indra hurts Hanuman to save the sun. 6. Indra says sorry after he hurts Hanuman. (note the really sad face! :)
7. Hanuman will never eat the sun. (Love how sun truly looks delighted, and a tad relieved!) 8. Indra wants his earth to look beautiful that's why he makes water come.
9. Indra gets powers to put water on earth. 10. Do you like Indra? Yes we do love Indra. (Note how he's back to the old question and answer style of letter writing here. And don't you find the crown on Indra's head cute???)
The End!
He has taken care to have these pages bound into a proper book thanks to 3 strategically placed stapler pins, courtesy R, and is often seen roaming around the house with it in his hands, like a besotted fan. Speaking of fans, Thambi is not to be left far behind. Last night, we heard the sound of him reading in the living room. (Yes yes, he reads, or whatever it is you call that mumbled mumbo jumbo that escapes his lips, as he pores over the pages, a picture of studiousness!). And guess what book he was reading just then! Maybe I should rename this post....The first book, and the first fan!
There is a contest for Mother's Day on Indus Ladies. It goes like this...
Share a special parenting experience. One that makes the family laugh, get sentimental, warms your heart or makes you weep....the tale which will go down into the annals of family history.
Hmmm. I smile as I think...this is what I have been doing all along, and it is in fact the tagline of this blog...reminiscences of the growing years with my sons. So this contest should be easy for me right? I have tons of incidents I could relate. Let me see....
Should I recount the time Winkie had an accident in school and I crumbled under the weight of my own emotions first before standing up again to help him?
Or should I write about the more recent time that it dawned on me that my son, though being my own flesh and blood, does not really belong to me?
Should I list out the various milestones that truly marked the age of change with Winkie?
Shall I recall with pride the way he looks when he sits down for prayer, knowing that to turn to it, you do not need an altar or a sacred space, just a little pause to go into that place between your thoughts.
Or should I delve into the nostalgia of that remarkably powerful time of Thambi's birth, which challenged the rawest of my emotions?
Better still, should I write about the boy with the pearl earring, who could say so much without saying a single word?
Or should I settle for this one incident....this one thing that took place, which hasn't made the journey to words yet?
Sun's up, morning's here Up and at them, engineer Chuggachuggachoochooooo Whistle blowing, whoooooowhoooooo....
It was a book I picked up in Landmark once, on a trip to India. Winkie loved trains and I thought it would be fun to read it to him. He took to it right away, and pretty soon, had learnt the words by heart. It was easy enough thanks to a great rhythm and rhyming words and not a big feat, in itself. But to us, who had seen him talk full sentences only recently, it was a cause for delight. Now the funny thing is, how something starts off small and insignificant, but becomes huuuuge due to association. This book-song assumed so much of character because it emanated from his lips. And it became synonymous with Winkie.
Fast forward 2 years and Winkie is now a big brother. The book is also a lot more worn with frayed edges and we don't take it out as often to read. Winkie is a full scale reader now at 5, and to hear him read from it, would have been a no-brainer! But not in the way it happened one day.
It was around 5 PM and I was wrapping up dinner in the kitchen. I could hear the boys playing and there was a babble of voices as they talked and squealed and did all the things that boys regularly do. And suddenly, there was silence, which in my work absorbed state, I didn't notice right away. It started off softly at first and must have gone on for a few lines....
.....Hurry hurry load the freight To the city, can't be late through the country, on the loose engine black and red caboose chuggachuggachooochooo wheels-a-turning, whooooowhooooo!
.....when the sound of that hearty whooowhoooo finally pierced the fringe of my consciousness and I looked up.
You know that song from The sound of music.....the one which the children sing to the Baroness for the first time. Christopher Plummer, walks into the house after his arguement with Julie Andrews, stunned to hear the sounds of music floating in his house. He stops at the door and as he listens to their beautiful voices, the song comes back to him, as if from a far off place. He hums uncertainly at first, trying to feel the tune, and then it all comes flooding back and his earthy voice joins their soft chorus and takes the song to a whole new level.....
Its my all time favorite scene in the movie and this digression is the only way I can describe how I felt upon hearing those familiar opening verses from that book. The memories of a time gone by, in the not so distant past, but distant all the same because of how irreversible time is, came flooding back, as I walked in to take in the scene with my eyes. An 18 month old Thambi was cuddled up close to Winkie on the Ikea chair, this book lying open on their laps.
'Round the mountains, high and steep. Through the valleys, low and deep. Into tunnels, underground. See the darkness, hear the sound. Chugga-chuggachoo-choo, echo calling, whooooooowhoooooooo!
Of course....it was all coming back to me now. How could it not, when it was a slice of our history as a family thus far. I came to realise then, that only medical milestones are marked by age and numbers and charts. The other milestones...the real ones, come from moments such as these, where there are just no words to describe, how truly momentous it was! When a little boy became older...old enough to read his favorite book to his brother! When another little baby became bigger...big enough to sit alongside and listen patiently to the entire length of the book. When my two sons created a world for themselves, with the same book, lying open across both their laps!
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[This is my contribution to the Mother's Day contest over at IndusLadies! Voting begins pretty soon, and I shall call on you readers to vote for me, if you would like to!]
Greetings wonderful MTBs!!! and good work to all of you! For having solved the riddle before I give you all this clue.
The letter " H "
Write it down, add it on... See the full word and hold strong. And now that this little job is gone Let's move on to the next little song.
“Shining bright at at midday Gently over her two young ones Avocado parathas, kit kat and her K series just make her days so much fun.”
Solve it and you get your lead Misguess, and you lose your speed Solve it slow but solve it now And before you go, take a little bow
Go to 'Comments' and leave me a clue Tell me which blog you are off to. Good luck! Good luck! Be on your way You have your work, cut out for the day!
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It certainly is interesting to view how everyone's mind goes into overdrive with my posting of the riddle! :) Now I almost feel silly for putting up the riddle all over again....because it was my way of trying to commemorate a day that is now a slice of history. Its April 25th and I can't help but think back to one year ago, when this was the date we had chosen to host that mega baby shower. A whole year later, I am astounded that it happened, and in the way that it did, and its hard to believe that it can ever happen again, though one can never rule that out. :DSo here's to that collective strength that gave tangible form to an enterprise of the heart!!!
So yesterday was Earth Day and this whole week, there is a range of celebrations in Winkie's school for this. And today's specific activity was to wear homemade necklaces made from recyclable stuff lying around the house. When I got the notice last week, it hardly registered and I was a little annoyed with one more thing I had to take care of. But the very next day, I got a BabyCenter bulletin in my mailbox on this exact theme and several wonderful craft ideas. And it was the exact answer to my "problem"!
I made a batch this morning. R said to simply melt the blue and green crayons over the stove instead of baking. But post the fact, I am thinking that baking would have yielded slightly more different results. Anyway, this was such a quick thing of tossing in two parts blue and one part green crayons and pouring the melted wax into a little cap to cool and set. And as it was setting midway, I made a hole in the center for the twine to go thru. 20 minutes later, it was fully cooled and popped out from the cap with a little bit of pressure. The twine made its way thru to the other end and Winkie wore it as a necklace around his neck.
Only, he wasn't too happy. A small portion had chipped off at the corner and he was thinking of Eline's colourful beaded necklace. I had to sell the idea to this guy quick, else he would be pretty pouty about it until he went to school. So I reminded him the meaning of his name. That it was the universe. And the earth was a part of that universe, right? So this is the best necklace in the whole world *errrr* universe for him!
He bought it! :) And retold this same story to his father. Hopefully his friends and teacher will hear of it too and he will enjoy his earthy necklace!
A long day is drawing to an end. For my children, whose faces I can make out in the dark of the night, the day is already done. They sleep peacefully, their little bodies heaving and sighing with every breath. I am usually so keyed up throughout the day, that I don't notice every opportunity you give me to have a laugh and share a smile with them. You are very generous with all those moments, and I am such a miser with all my love. Why such a difference, Lord? Why can you not make me your perfect instrument? Why am I so hopelessly flawed?
Yet, I know you are kind. You give a beautiful vision of clarity once in a while, where, just for a moment, I can glimpse right into the very heart of them, and feel what they feel, when they are at the receiving end of me. And when I thus become one with them, my whole heart is filled with so much of pain and compassion. Its not easy being them either. Its not easy being a child, who has no authority. Its not easy being told what to do all day long. Instruction after instruction belted out, in very impatient tones, hardly aware of the effect of such a thing. Words spoken in haste, actions stemming from harshness, a cold withering look, impatience to listen, overruling in a second.....how easily and how much all this becomes a habit.
Dear Lord....when will good intention ever meet action, not in random bursts of inspiration, but as a consistent and concerted effort? When will I have enough kindness both towards myself and my children to be a loving mother? Why do I always have to struggle so much for it everyday, think myself to distraction and yet not have something of substance to go on??? Why is it so hard to be the kind of parent that You are to me....the steadiest, most reliable presence in my life, giving, giving, always giving endlessly, in a manner of peace, with so much room for me to grow and make mistakes, with so much of acceptance for my mistakes, and with an overflow of love whenever I turn to You.....why am I a shadow of that only for a shadow of a time, and not more?
Why do You give us free will, if it is always God's will at the end of the day? Why can you not take over for me when I mistakes? Why do You always wait to be asked first, when you know I love you? Is that not a sign of your own Ego now? There are days when I simply cannot fathom or accept why You put us through the struggle everyday! Why do you wonder Who you are, and why are we suffering from the veil of illusion as a result??? Why should the Truth be so out of reach, with so few resources thrown our way to aid in the path. I did not ask for this jungle of earthly existence. I did not ask to be separated from You...
Today, as I drove to work, You whispered a thought to me......that having Faith meant never asking....Why me? and instead questioning....What should I do now? And as I listened, I heard you tell me...that the first question stemmed from passivity or non-doing, which is fruitless, and the second question exhorts action or doing...which is constructive. Well....everything is beautiful in theory and thought, but breaks down in application. Thereby the irony arises...where the beautiful theory now wears passivity's cloak and application and the failure therefrom equates to the action, which was to have been constructive.
But of course, You counter.....God helps those who help themselves!
Granted!! So dear Lord, grant me the will and strength of character to come through with honour and dignity. Help me be a good mother, the kind you will look fondly upon, the kind who knows she's done her best, as she goes to bed everyday...because right now, I firmly lack that conviction.Right now, I almost cannot bear that the day is done and another opportunity lost to be happy together. Right now, I am unable to look to tomorrow as yet another canvas You gift to me, to paint my colours on, and to this night as the moment of rest before the task. If I sleep fitfully tonight, it will only be due to an act of extreme mercy from You....
Its 1:00 PM and I can't wait to see the little guy. Just as I pull up the driveway, I see the curtains drawn and two pairs of eyes are looking out at me. As I walk up the path, a smile breaks out, and the minute I reach the door, he has turned his face away and buried it deep in her neck. Sound like a familiar post from not too long ago? :)
I am sure it does....but hang on...its not. The door opens and I walk in. He smiles shyly, and there's something more in his face that I can't quite read. 2 years old and I can't read his face???!!! He buries his head back in her shoulders, his face not meeting mine. She coos to him, little things that show the intimacy of their understanding with each other. She asks him to tell him how the trees move, because that is what she taught him that day. He is supposed to sway like them and move his hands, but he is still looking away. I smile, savouring the peace in my heart...the angst of the last week felt distinctly by its absence. She asks him to tell me whose hands had fed him the lunch that day, and when he still refused to look up, answered the question herself. Today, her husband, or Baby Tattha, Thambi's customised name for him, was the only one allowed to do the honours. And as she said it, there was a note of pride in her voice, an affection that was unmistakeably pure. And as I heard it, I marvelled at the ease with which these two people could pour their love into whoever walked into their house for some care. They had more or less adopted these two little boys who worshipped them, and the surest sign of that was the hesitation with which they greeted their parents at the door, when it was time to leave.
And I realised, not with a start, but in a very clear, gentle light....that my child was no longer mine alone. He belonged to them too. For the time that he spent with them, basking in their love, giving of his smiles and sweetnesses, I had no claim on him, and it was a humbling thought. It was like having the camera's zoom lens pull back some 10x times and give you a wide angle view of that scene and what it ultimately meant. That love which is the promise within every form that is born, is not restricted within it at all. From the individual, it assumes the form of the universal through its expression. When it speaks, it is the language of one form to another, through a kiss, a hug and the teaching of how a tree sways in the wind, and when it speaks....it fuses, one form of love with another, getting so interminably mixed that you can never tell them apart after that! I was grateful to this universe that transferred the care of this child from one set of responsible hands to another, and kept the flow of love going, fuelled by his own little charms.From time to time, I fill in a friend on his little antics, knowing how much pleasure she takes in them, even via the voiceless medium of a chat. Many months ago, when she visited, a spark between them was ignited, and the effect of pure delight he had on her was obvious. She got his essence in just the way I understood it. She knew what his special thing was. And she knew how easily one loses it in the wilderness of life. And so I take joy in telling her about him, in sharing about this child that now belongs to both of us.
We were at a friend's house last weekend, and Thambi's chemistry with A is palpable. Every 10 minutes, I spotted him in his arms, or flashing him a smile, or cuddling on his lap. They had this unspoken understanding of affection that you can never hope to immortalise in mere words. A true connection transcends that, doesn't it? And watching my son's interactions with my friend....I once again had that out of body view of the mysterious workings of the universe and its fulfilling.
And I knew once again, that this child that is mine, isn't really mine. He belongs to Love.
Everyday, on our route to the station, there is a stretch of road, which I aptly think of as...the grove. On a very gross level, one can describe it as a beautiful bit of land with tall trees lined symmetrically on either side of the road and in the little tract of a divider between them. Every tree stands at an equal distance from the one next to it, and every tree is matched by another, right alongside, separated by the distance of the road. And if the leaves could talk, they would whisper every word of delight that has ever danced in the spaces between them, emanating from the heart of every one who enters the grove.
Because...what makes the grove so special is that it takes the form of a visual retreat for all those who drive through it. For it lies on a stretch where one end opens out to the railway tracks and industrial land and the other end opens out to more commercial plots. So from whichever end of the grove you enter....the minute you are inside it, you are swept into a whole different world. One where nature flows unhindered by any signs of stark civilization.
And this is the kind of evergreen spot that looks good in every season and moment of the day. This picture was taken last fall, just after all the leaves had dropped away, leaving them dark and bare. But its glory does not diminish even in all its nakedness. Can you just imagine the colours the fall would paint onto this landscape??? And how driving through the grove in that limited window of a few weeks could open up the vista of the most alluring prospects of reds and oranges contrasted with the deep blue sky!!! Can you picture the pure white perfection of this place, after a heavy snowfall, when every twig and every branch of every tree in the grove will loyally hold up its share of the frozen sustenance, teased by the gusty wind every now and then, which howls through the spaces and disperses the white all around??? Can you then visualise, how after many months of emptiness and longing, little dots of luminescent green finally deck the brown barks, catching the light from different angles, where the sun peeps through the branches and thawing many a heart after the frigidness of a season???
I have bemoaned many a times how we live in such a boring part of the Midwest which affords very little sensory delights of the landscape. But for those moments when I pass through the grove, every irreverential thought is hushed and a sacred silence fills the space and sanctifies every fibre of my being, in this presence of beauty.
If you are ever wondering what to gift a mom on her baby shower....you might want to give this a try! I attended a baby shower a week ago, and was stumped on the gift. Here was a second time mom who had everything she might ever need, and moreover, the sex of the baby was not known. What then???
By some random googling, I came across the idea of painting on onesies to personalise them. And my enthusiasm went into high gear. More googling revealed more designing ideas and I burned the midnight oil and enjoyed myself on these little white bits of cloth. The result was this...
Now I know I am going to OD on my fabric paints for awhile to come, before they finally see the end of day!
The past week was pretty rough on me. And I realised that I have a pretty low threshold for hard work. I was working extra hours everyday, and add to that the daily cooking of 2 fresh meals and cleaning and laundry and chores, and what was left was a very frazzled me, with little time to spend with the boys. There were tired tears at the end of every day and an outpouring of my own inadequacies to keep up. Looking back, it felt like some form of a dark age, and I cannot believe I put myself through so much of guilt. It was stress at its most heightened state for me.
But there's one very good thing about stress. It forces you to let go of whatever excesses you have piled up on to your shoulders in the name of work to be done. And because it just all gets too much at one point, you shed the extra load and realise that it was never an essential. I love this process of simplification of life that comes from working yourself up to a point of saturation.
This week, things are looking much clearer. What started the healing was admitting my helplessless to a friend. I never realised how proud I had become, that I could handle my life, my issues and my burdens all by myself, because I was strong. This very pride crippled me in communication...making it hard for me to talk about these little things and admit that there was a chink in my armour. Saying it out in solid words, was the beginning of true catharsis. With that, the dam burst and the flow of admittance became easier. My whole being began to breathe more freely, and properly...for the first time in a long time. Thereafter, it became easier to say that I had been stressed and to accept it myself, rather than trying to find a silver lining in e.v.e.r.y s.i.n.g.l.e t.h.i.n.g! Phew!
Friday evening saw R come home much earlier than his customary time. The weather was gorgeous, the mood was right, and we headed out to our usual jaunt, where we first welcome spring. Waterwhoosh. The boys let loose and went berserk and we just immersed our senses in the beauty around us. It was a golden afternoon and the perfect healing for my fractured soul. I was grateful beyond measure for this revival. And as I think back on all of this, I realise that a lot of the damage I did to myself came from worry. And since worry is a huge generic term that doesn't quite cut it, I shall attempt to enter into the heart of it and narrow it down to what was specifically bothering me.
1. Thambi's refusal to come home happily at the end of each day - I usually never tend to give these things too much credence, but this time, it somehow got to me. And realising it, means unlocking the power of this thought, for it no longer bothers me.
2. The fact that Winkie is not registered for any classes this spring - Thanks to my procrastination, I missed all the deadlines for registration for the various classes I was considering. And I never became one with this worry, by being fully conscious of it. Instead, I let it eat me up from within and gnaw away at any chance of peace. I am more sensible about this now, as I realise he is not going to be an extracurriculars-dunce for this lapse of mine. Yes, its indeed laughable, but that is the nature of worry...in how the little things sneak up and claim so much of your energy.
" I keep the telephone of my mind open to peace, harmony, health, love and abundance. Then, whenever doubt, anxiety or fear try to call me, they keep getting a busy signal - and soon they'll forget my number. ~Edith Armstrong "
I worry that perhaps, I don't talk to Winkie enough. Or read to Thambi enough. I worry that Winkie does not get much academic learning from school and I must compensate that at home. I worry about his cursive writing and math skills, and art awareness. I worry about how to give Thambi the same kind of focus I gave his brother. I worry about finishing my assignments on time. I worry about never having time for many of the creative ideas that take form in my head. I worry about working out. I worry about eating right. I worry about drinking enough water. I worry about neglecting mine and R's health and about having well check ups. I worry that we never have enough time to play and enjoy life. I worry that I will always be stuck in the cycle of everyday routines, and never get out to discover more of life. I worry that I will never travel as much as I hope to. I worry about whether we will live here or move back. I worry about whether my parents will ever visit me together. I worry about what camp to register Winkie in for the summer. I worry that I am falling short in every darn way. I worry.....I worry....I worry.
There, I said most of it. There must be more where that came from, but they have not made my conscious acquaintance yet. Its a relief to even write all of this down. That must be a good thing right?
I know that all of this is actually ok. Nothing is wrong with my life. I am lucky, blessed and privileged in everyway. Only, this weakness in me holds me back from savouring it fully, as it should be savoured. There are moments of course, very many moments, when everything is actually crystal clear. I look into the pool of water, and I am greeted with a perfect reflection, undisturbed by any ripples of negative thought. Now, thankfully, is one of those times.
The Mad Momma and Gauri, ask me to pick For Around the world in 80 clicks ...5 THINGS I love about being a mom for another little tag is going around! And this is where my merry rhyme ends While I attempt to do it for my friends!! :)
Ever since I got tagged, I have been wondering what 5 things I will write about. For I was certainly not at that point in life, where I was celebrating being a mother. A frazzled mind, overworked body and sagging spirits....these are the attributes I have been sporting off late. But yet, the challenge lingered inside me, and I wanted to know for myself, more than anybody else, what are the things I love about being a mother. And so, as part of a journey to the Self, I am attempting this tag....
1. I love the rawness of the emotion that I feel as a mother, towards my children. Its not there, all the time, yet, at some odd points it surfaces from deep inside and mesmerises me. Like the time when Winkie had an accident in school. The emotions that coursed through me at the time, were an awakening. That I could care this deeply for another. It was highly disconcerting, but I realise that for now, it is the closest I will get to True Love.
2. I absolutely love the capacity for physical love that is inherent in the relationship with a child. Seeing that beautiful smile erupt on a little face, with the bunny teeth peeping out, nuzzling my cheek against those droopy cheeks, watching with fascination, eyelashes that touch the roof of the eyes, finding a perfect resting spot for my nose in the crook of a little neck which squirms delightedly with the tickle-ness of it, placing my hand against another little hand, marvelling at the smallness, the perfectly moulded fit of a needy hug....aaaahhhh!....these are the moment of bliss, when the entire world is lost to oblivion and the only thing that exists is that act of bliss!
3. I love that becoming a mother was what put me back in touch with my writing. If it hadn't been for them, I may have just gone through life, never really connecting to what is essentially my heartbeat! And I love that they give me so much to write about, and through my writing, I can actually explore some of the corners of motherhood, that does not arise to the conscious spectrum.
4. I love being a mother, because it made my husband a father. And it gave an otherwise emotionally contained man a chance to express his soul, thereby giving me a glimpse of it. And the very idea of two seemingly disparate people coming together, to pool all their available resources towards nurturing a third life, is so great an enterprise, when you actually think about it.
5. I love being a mother because it gave me the opportunity to intersect the tangents of so many people. If I weren't a mother, I would have never signed up on IndiaParenting and met the loveliest bunch of women, one of whom tagged me on this. If I weren't a mother, I probably would have never started blogging, which in turn rules out half a dozen relationships, which is enriching my life today, and one of which is directing me to do this tag.
Enough mush now! Let's get back to business. Rules of the tag....
Just write a post of your own (5 things that you love about being a mom/dad) and find someone to link to and tag - someone from your own country, if you like, but definitely someone from another country (Google is a good resource if you don't know any; google any country name and 'mom/dad' in their blog search function) (be sure to let them know that you've tagged them!) - and link back here and HBM and leave a comment.
Now whom to tag gets distinctly exciting in this novel tag, because it invites you to actually google and find a mom in another country, whom you don't know and pass along the baton to. I really like this idea and am going to set aside any shynesses I have about tagging an unknown person and go ahead and do just that! Here goes:
It was in about.com that I came across a list of recommended books for Easter, and picked this one with the selfsame title, by Gail Gibbons. I was very curious to see how the subject of Jesus' crucifixion and subsequent resurrection would be dealt with from the pov of a young child, and I am pleased with what we saw and read. Winkie has been asking me all week what Easter is all about and I've been putting off the explanation till the time we could read about it. Last night, it happened. And it was a spellbinding 15 minutes. He remembered Jesus from our story books from Christmas last year, and was very intrigued as to why He had so many enemies. He was fascinated when I told him about some of the miracles He had performed and his downcast face, with a 100 questions written on it, was enough proof of the effect of the pages on the crucifixion. And just when he thought that was it, we turned the page over and were greeted with the happy, joyous account of the resurrection. That really was the epitome of the book for him. Overnight he has become familiar with phrases like Palm Sunday, Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter Sunday. And suddenly, everyday of this Holy Week becomes more significant to him as he relates it to a point in the story of the last few days of Jesus.
However, the book doesn't just stop with Christ's story. It moves on to tell us how Easter is celebrated around the world, what were its origins (the word Eoster), what is the significance of eggs and the egg hunts which are so popular today and so on. In all, there is a wealth of information, packed into a very reader friendly format, and I stood as much to gain from it, as my son. The world has a maddening pace all its own, and its wonderful to have a week like this to connect to a part of history that is so ancient and mysterious and deep and joyous and sorrowful, and see yourself as part of a whole, even at the level of a child.
Wishing all you readers a very Happy Easter! May hope resurrect in our hearts and light the path to the road ahead!
There used to be a point of time in the not so distant past, when the moment I picked up Thambi from babysitting, was guaranteed to be be filled with the maximum smiles, in a day. He'd be sitting hoisted, on Kumari Aunty's hands, looking out through the panes in the door. The minute he spotted me, the smile would break out, and sparkle all around. His voice would be filled with delighted, as he mouthed my name over and over again, almost as if he could not believe it was actually me. The minute the door opened, he'd leap over to my arms and settle there, waving his caregiver a cheerful, carefree goodbye, as if saying...Lady, your job is done. I am going h.o.m.e now.There used to be such a time, and it me feel good about everything....good about going to work, good about coming back home.
But suddenly, that time seems past. Without giving me enough of a breather to cherish it, I am already looking back at how things used to be. For now, the scene has changed quite a bit. He still watches through the pane, waiting to see me drive in. But when I walk up the path, and to the door, what used to be a smiling face, is now buried deep in her neck, unwilling to look at me. His whole form radiates an unwillingness to make the switch once again from babysitting to home. He refuses to come into my arms and runs inside the rooms, when I try to come close. We spent a good 5 minutes in this game of cat and mouse, before I decide enough is enough and I gather him writhing and struggling, into my arms and strap him in to his seat. He cries, holding his arms stretched out....aaatti, aaattti....the tears streaming down his face.
And while I love to see his bonds with her deepen, it also makes me a little sad. Why do I have to be cut out of this circle of love?
I spoke my thoughts to R yesterday, and he of course, diagnosed the problem immediately. With this new routine of ours in place, I have had very little time to spend with him, on a one on one basis. For as soon as we get home, he is asleep, and wakes up only after Winkie's back from school. Thereafter, the evening simply rushes past and once R is home, he gets all the love and attention. So there is very little interaction between me and him now. And on some level, he must be reacting to this sudden gap between us. I can understand it. R's equation still remains unchanged and thus Thambi's relationship with him flows undisturbed by any changes.
In any issue, proper diagnosis is half the problem solved isn't it? I always believed that. Now I have to try to find a way to be just a bit more organised and just a bit more efficient, and get all my chores and cooking for dinner out of the way by 4:00 PM, so that that precious slot of 3 hours, from 4 to 7, belongs to me and the boys alone, without any other claims on our time. That is the only way I can think of changing things from my end so that he is more at ease with each transition. I hope I can make it work!
Ammmaaaaaaa, a sweet voice pipes from the back. Pa pa pa pa paaa paaa. When I hear that very familiar sound, I turn back smiling, knowing exactly what it means.
For sometime now, Jashn e bahara has been his favorite song. If I want to lure him from his toys to unwind for bed, I ask him if I should sing him pa pa pa pa paa paa, and I can be sure it will catch his attention, he as runs over hurriedly, climbs into my lap and settles face down on my shoulder. If he is about to have a meltdown, it is one of the few things that can distract him. And on car rides, when he is cranky, the promise of this song calms him down. That is the power of pa pa pa pa paa paa.
Now, Winkie has a favorite song too. And its the flavour of the season. A few weeks ago, it was not the trend, and a few weeks from now, it may be forgotten, but right now, its a top hit. The mahabali maharudra song from Hanuman. In their own separate worlds, such defined preferences are not a problem. But when their world fuse...that's when their preferences collide, and how!
We were sitting in the car yesterday, when I heard the familiar request for from the back, in that ever sweet baby voice. And even before I could oblige, another voice chipped in...asking for favorite song. Oh dear! I knew how easily this could turn into WWIII, so I told the big bro who would understand a fair deal, that I would play Mahabali right after Pa pa pa pa paa paa. He said ok. And I also told Thambi that I could play his song only once since it was Anna's turn for his after that. I don't know what he understood, but I figured he would understand a fair tone. (yeah right!).
Pa pa pa pa paa paa
ended in under 2 minutes, and I flipped to Mahabali, with trembling fingers, knowing it was not going to go down easy. Sure enough, there was an irritated protest from the back. Once again, I turned back and explained nicely and he listened. The song played, and he didn't protest. Winkie enjoyed his song, I enjoyed the calm before the next storm. When it ended, I flipped it back to Pa pa pa pa paa paa. Only the protest sounded again, this time more irritated than before. What??? I asked indignantly, I am playing your song. But he squirmed and fidgeted restlessly in place, clearly unhappy. I flipped back to Mahabali, thinking that was what he wanted, but nope. No measure of calm in sight. Then Winkie figured it out and said....Amma, he wants the other song, the Azeem o shaan shahenshah song. How did he figure that, I asked, totally befuddled. Oh, because he heard that song when you were changing songs and now he wants that.
!!!!!
And would youbelieve it??? He was actually right. I played the song and he visibly relaxed and listened. Once it ended, I made no move. I thought that would be the safest card to play. But no. Winkie demanded his song once more saying it was his turn. And so, with resignation, I flipped once more...back....folder....Hanuman....Mahabali. And it came on.Thambi protested once more, but kept quiet after I offered the same explanation of fairness.This time again, I didn't make a move when it ended, but I wasn't given a choice. The noisy fidgeting began and I switched to Azeem o shaan. Nope, that was not it. Oh great, so now he wants Jashn e bahara again?...and I play it. Nope. Not it either. What then?????
Suddenly the light bulb came on. Oh, so this guy has completely switched tracks and loyalties. And just to see if my guess was right, and to quiet the whining, I played that song. And what do you know.....he relaxed!Only, Winkie couldn't! For it wasn't okay that Thambi had picked his own song for his favorite! Mahabali now had two takers! *sigh*
I had an anonymous comment to my post Dhyanam, and it raised some very intriguing questions to my mind. I took my time chewing on it, and then sat down to compose a reply. What started off as just a few lines, morphed effortlessly into my usually essay! :) So I figured it would be better off as a post on its own, because it crystallised my own thoughts for me.
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Dear Anon,
Firstly, I did not interpret your comment as a judgement. The more I read, the more it intrigued me, for you were bringing in a new line of thought here. So for that, I thank you. Btw, I thought God was a pretty good superhero...in all the forms he has taken...Rama/Krishna. No? :)
Praying for a kid, too early...hmm. A very interesting thought. I see your point when you talk about the loss of innocence. But no, I don't think it is too early, especially at Winkie's age, and even more especially, for Winkie.
What does 'innocence' mean? It means among a few other things, freedom from sin, moral wrong, or guilt through lack of knowledge of evil. Now Winkie is, IMO, already at an age where he has begun to differentiate between right from wrong. He knows what is good behavior, and what is not. And when he sees movies like Hanuman, and more of our mythological stories, he sees the kind of evil that he will hopefully never have exposure to in real life....killing, gruesome violence which one can read about casually only in these stories. And he naturally has many questions about them. How do you reconcile all this to a young mind? How does one make him understand the significance of these stories and these incidents that have happened, and how do we justify all the violence? My answer is....that you narrow it all down to attributes.
A rakshasa need not necessarily be someone who assumes physically gruesome forms and goes around terrorising people, and chopping their heads off. For that matter, God or your superhero :), need not be the one who slices off a demon's head with a discus, or points an arrow to someone's gut. They assume the form of attributes within each and everyone of us, the good and the not so good. This way, hopefully, Winkie need never have nightmares of rakshasas coming to attack him at night, from behind curtains or underneath his bed, though he will recognise a rakshasa like attitude within himself, when he feels guilty of some wrong. I think this is a very valuable lesson in self introspection, that we can never discount at any age. How many years of sadhana does it take a grown up, with enough of the world and its illusions lodged inside him to step back and self analyse intelligently??? Why should not my son have a head start in this???
Praying is not a thing for adults alone. God and his grace is not restricted to adults alone, though yes, adults need their prayers more, as a time of communion, (not necessarily to have them answered), because of how little we live in the moment. Children are natural meditators that way and need less prayer, as such. But it is said that beginning from the 7th year of a child's life, his actions begin to bind him into sanskaras (or karma in other words). And when he is at the threshold of this state, prayer is a good thing to have at your beck and call. That is also why the traditional thread ceremony (upanayanam) was done around this age (7-8) in the olden days, because he will no longer be under the protection of his parents' karma, but will be subjected to the forces of his own.
I remember when I was a 5-6 year old. We had just moved to Ethiopia, and lived in a small village called Nazareth, and my father wanted me to walk across the road from our house to the grocery store to pick up one thing. I was fluent in the language, and the people were warm, loving and friendly. And it was just a one minute walk across the expanse of road, and shorter if I decided to run it. But it was night and there were no streetlights....only the light from our home, and the light from the shop. I knew I had to go, and the only thing that saved the terror of that dark in me, was prayer. I took Muruga's name, and muttering it feverishly under my breath, I made it across and then back. Saying it gave me such an incredible feeling of strength and assurance, that I WAS NOT ALONE! Can anything beat that feeling? No.
Another incident happened to my husband. He must have been 5 at the time, when he lost sight of his parents on the streeth during a shopping trip. They had already gone into the shop ahead of him, thinking that he was close by them. But he was left outside. Can you imagine that terror of being lost and not finding that familiar secure face??? I have had this happen to me many a times. And guess what he did??? He prayed. This time, the elder brother's name was taken (Ganesha) and he said little slokams in his mind and searched for them with his eyes. Can you guess what happened then??? A man who was watching him from across the street, crossed over to him, spoke to him gently, took him by the hand and led him inside to the shop back to his parents. To a young absorbent mind, is there a happier connection to make? I don't think so. And on the deepest level, I believe his prayers were answered and his security in life was established.
I think children need training to tune to the higher frequency for all their trials and also the highs. And what better time to attune them to this, than when they are bright and eager, enthusiastic and wide eyed, fresh and willing to soak it all in??? If teaching a child the power of prayer this early is stripping him of his innocence, then I would by all means, like to still do it, because one day soon, his innocence is going to be stripped naked by the wiles and guiles of the world. And I'd rather he have a headstart of this with me TODAY, in a way that could aid him in countering these tumultous external forces TOMORROW!
I believe, most intensely, that my sole job as a parent is to show my child the path to God. And at every age, I hope to do that in a manner that I consider appropriate to his age and level of maturity, and the experiences around him. I don't think that is a loss of innocence as much as it is a flowering of his being to open up to the sunlight of spiritual TRUTH.
the chicken powder, his friend did the soy and veggies, I did the rice, while another boy held the bag for us, and the mom sealed the bags and put them into a box. The process was smooth and flowed effortlessly and without confusion from one task to the next, and the beauty of it was that we could see the finished work, sitting neatly in brown box after brown box, growing in a big stack in the middle of the warehouse, where it was being deposited.
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