Those respective first days of school...

[This was a post written on time, well almost, with pictures all clicked to go with it. Unfortunately, it remained in draft, because the pictures could not be retrieved due to some incompatibility between Windows 7 and the camera driver, which we are yet to find time to solve. At this rate though, the following contents will be completely redundant. So without any further ado, let me hit publish and hope that the words will create the pictures that are so elusive at this point.]

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Once upon a time, there was this mom, who loved to write in the minutest depth about most each day with her two children. And the "firsts" were always a big affair. The first word, that first time off training wheels, the first artwork...and the first day of school. Each one deserved a separate mention and celebration.

Now, things are a little different. She is a little different too. Gone is that sense of urgency to record each sentimental moment, though the sentiment is still there. Gone is that need to go into the detail of everything, at least to an extent. And gone are those days when first days of school got recorded promptly and individually for each offspring.

Today ushers in a new age for her, when she has to 'catch up' and write about the first 'days' of school, in one single combined post!

Okay okay...I couldn't keep up with the melodrama of it all, but the upshot as you may have got it (duh!), is that first days of school happened over the past week, and I'd like to capture some of its highlights, so they know, many years down the line, how to form that memory in their minds.

Winkie has completed one full week of 2nd grade. 2nd grade!!! When school started barely 3 weeks after our return from desh, we felt almost cheated of the summer days, conveniently forgetting that we had had our share of broiling and sweating it out this summer. Still, it didn't feel like that complete cycle of vacation time, and I felt morose about letting Winkie go to school. And so did he. He imagined the stretch of those long months ahead until May (when school closes) and stretched out his arms wide and gave this big, tired, sleepy yeeeaaawwn! And I empathised and sympathised, but was at his side at 6:30 that morning, drill seargenting his way off the bed. And school began. :)

But possibly even more than Winkie, it was Thambi that was decidedly earnest about Winkie's first day of school. He had gotten it into his head, that this was yet another thing to do with his brother and before we knew what was brewing, had his own backpack on his shoulders, ready to head to 'school'. He greeted Winkie's teacher even before we did, and mouthed off a couple of sentences, which she nodded sombrely to, not understanding a word, but patting his head on our way into the class.

The 2nd grade classroom was on the second floor and that, in itself, felt like a big change. His teacher seemed nice and I had heard good things about her like in particular, how she was very open to 'communication with the parents'.Sounded good! :) One big thing I was kind of hoping for was that Winkie's friend, the one who had made his last days of 1st grade so challenging, would not end up in the same class as him. And my prayer was answered. I didn't see that boy anywhere around, and I hoped it would mean Winkie could make more friends.

Winkie had his desk next to 2 girls, and once we put away all his supplies, we whispered a lot of nice things to him in his ear for parting words. He smiled and nodded, already having made that mental switch to his classroom environment. It was a bit of a task to extricate the little brother, who had made himself very comfortable a neighboring student's chair and could not for the life of him understand, why we would not let him continue on in school with his Anna. We lingered outside a bit, trying to catch sight of his little head, in the sea of 28 other little heads and for a while, even he kept his eyes tuned for us, and a smile on his lips. Soon, that moment passed, and his attention was finally claimed in full by his surroundings, and that was our cue to leave.

We came back home and Thambi was a little dull, playing quietly in a corner by himself, as if mourning his brother's absence. Pretty soon, the remaining morning routines claimed my attention, and before I knew it, it was afternoon, and soon after 3:45, when Winkie's bus would come around. And thus one week has rolled by. I still love the sight of his face in the first window right behind the driver's seat, every morning, as he waves out that final goodbye to me. I still love that first sight of him, when he runs home, hot and sweaty, and full of things to tell me, one of the first of which is whether he has finished his lunch or not. I love that he is telling me a lot more new names of kids from his class this year, which means he is making new friends. I love that I am feeling more involved in his classwork too, and how we are slowly making studying a small act of discipline after he comes home every evening. I love planning out his days for him, and how he almost inevitably likes doing whatever I have round up. I love strategising and analyzing how we could work together for him to do even better in school, in fact his very best. I love watching them both play outside together on the driveway, making up simple, childish games, a fight breaking out every once in 7 minutes, with the little one walking in to appeal to my higher authority in the matter. The 2010 school year has begun in full earnest, and I hope this same love will sail us through every day of it!

While Winkie went to school and R went to work, me and Thambi had the most glorious time to ourselves. He's at this awesomely cute stage of personified charm, where you can have long conversations with him about everything under the sun, and he will have his two cents to add to it all, such that at the end of it all, the point where westarted and the point of ending will have no relation whatsoever, but all that I can feel is the smile on my lips, as I watch him talk. He is a really fun guy to have around any time of the day, but that twilight period between 9:00 to 1:00 is the best of them all. When we went shopping for a black handbag, he would scout around the aisles, trying to spot the black ones, calling me excitedly everytime he thought he'd found a winner. Only to have me reject it for one reason or the other, which he would take time to process. You don't like it because its too big?...he would say and furrow his brows in concentration, as he walked this way and that, trying to find something smaller.

When he tired of all that shopping, he would declare that he was hungry and ask for Chipotle mummam. Their veggie fajitas steal our hearts everytime, so I agree without hesitation, asking him whether he'd like to eat there or take out. Eat there...he will say, at first. No, home....he would modify a second later, and back and forth a few times, while I wait, fondly and patiently, for him to have his final call on it. Home..it finally is. And he tucks in, and how! We eat in the most companionable silence, pausing only to comment on how creamy the cream is, or how crunchy the onions are, or how medium spicy the medium salsa is. :) He then asks for icecream, and after a few double scoops, rolls on the floor, complaining of how I have overfed him, and how the next time, I should just give him little ice-cream and not big. Okay, I say in all seriousness, and we slowly walk up the stairs for siesta time. And this is perhaps the sweetest moment of all. One that nobody has a claim on, besides him and me. I draw the curtains down, I close the door, I fluff out the pillows, and he jumps in beside me, and we talk. Lazy, giggly pillow talk, laced with the somnolence of a gorgeous late summer afternoon, the curiosity of his questions dying down, as we just relax in each other's breathing, and give in to the sated happiness of sleep.

And thus we lived up that one week of togetherness, deepening our bonds in that sole company. And how unwilling I was to give that up to this routine of school. He still felt like a baby, even though he had begun school officially before. Still. Could we not go on like this for some time longer? But those hidden pressures always rise up to the surface, and you stick to the plan, and 1st of September, and it is his first day back at school. He was excited. I was too. He made me lots of promises, about how he would not ask to stay back home; how he would have fun with Uma Aunty, how he would see me after his lunch time and we could be together again. But the minute he had to walk through that door, he came around and hid behind my skirt, the pang acute. But how easily I wrenched him free, with a carefree laugh, as his teacher held him close to her. How effortlessly I walked away, without a backward glance, planning out the next agenda of my day? Now that I think back on it, I feel a little guilty. I wish I could remember the expression on his face as I left him. Had his muscles relaxed into that usual, goofy grin? Or was it turned the other way around, just slightly? Maybe I will notice it tomorrow.

But for all my callousness, I did not forget to notice the way he came running up the stairs like a rocket after countdown, flinging himself into my arms, with a delighted force and a laughter, so sweet, that it had me smiling all over. Oh that moment of reunion!!! This time, he goes to school all 5 days of the week, and becomes this busy little person, with a life all of his own, for those 4 everyday hours. And weekends and holidays, will become those cherished treats once more, where time loses its hold on us, as we move fluidly in our circle of love, trust, warmth and happiness!

Name is Sathya

There was one point of time, not so long back, when in response to the question asked, he would reply....Name is Sathya. 


There was no preface with an 'I', there was no pronoun. Name is Sathya, he said, clearly and confidently. Today, the 'I' has come into that sentence. It is a milestone for us, not because he knows the correct sentence structure, but because his 'ego' is making its presence felt.

'Ego'. One of the shortest words of the dictionary, with the biggest reverberations to mankind. I think about what this word means in the spiritual sense at many points of my day. Because that is how often I am confronted by my Ego. Simplistically, Ego is that feeling of 'I'. That which makes you view yourself as a separate being from everyone else. On its own, that's not a bad thing. Or a good thing. It just is. But the mind can add its scripts, leading you to 'express' that ego in a way that can be very divisive, or it can also be the means to help you dissolve that ego to merge with the Truth. That we all are ONE.

For me, most of the time, I see this divisive nature of ego playing up in my life. And so, Ego feels like a challenge to be surmounted at every juncture. It is exhausting, this constant effort, but also exhilarating, when some part of you is able to step back from your own skin, to view your actions and thoughts like a cool outsider, making an objective analysis. It gives you a sense of restraint, where once there was more reckless behavior. And you feel incredibly grounded. And when you feel that rooted and strong, you don't move as much in the winds and currents of life, and it makes you feel like you have tapped into Life's secret code. One that you have begun cracking, bit by bit, and everything that reveals itself thus, makes perfect sense. Both in terms of logic, and emotion. Its all a very beautiful metamorphosis. And it takes place, one Ego cycle, at a time.

But I digress. Whenever we used to hear....name is Sathya, we used to feel a little tingle of joy, that 'I' is still a mute factor in this little one's life. And as his name was intended to remind us, he reminded us very much of this Truth. Today, I was making up silly names to call him, as I dressed him for school. And along with giggling uncontrollably to all the silliness, he also declared, very clearly and confidently...I am not Shinnu Papa, I am Sathya.


The mother in me was finding joy at his correction. The seeker in me noticed the entrant of the 'I'. Together, they were a mix of emotions, which, as always, settled down to this calm feeling....that it is, as it should be. Name is Sathya...has to, at some point, change to I am Sathya. It is the law by which we are born. It is the role that we will play.And it will be the Truth, that we will eventually return to.

In the meanwhile, I may as well continue the silly games and tease him about being shinnu papa, and eventually let him win out that fond arguement and let him be the Sathya, who is the promise of our lives!

The joy of a handmade Chathurthi!

We didn't dress up the boys for Janmashtami this time. Perhaps, the tradition is now officially over in our household. I don't know yet. But I was not feeling well on Janmashtami day, and it ended up being a very low key affair. But thankfully, my spirits were up and soaring for Chathurthi, and it was a grand one in our home. Grand, in the simplest possible way, that is. :)


I think I finally got over my fear of making kozhakkattais this year. In fact, I will go so far as to claim that it is one of the simplest cooking tasks. Really! So I didn't make that most perfect batch. The rice dough could have been a little less sticky. As a result, the covering could have been a little less thick. And according to R, it could have had a little less salt as well. But overall, once you put it in your mouth, you enjoyed that taste of sweetness that burst into your mouth, creating fireworks of a different kind. And you reached for one more. And one more. Until there was none.


And I think I want to make another batch of it tomorrow. :) R helped me with it, as he always does ever year. Its just tradition. He enjoys making kozhakkattais and he is also good at them. So while I make the outer cover and the stuffing, he sat with oiled hands, on the floor, forming them into little cups in his hand, stuffing the balls in just the right size, covering it and sealing it off just right, praying all the while. But before he did all that, he did another little thing that makes for a delightful story. He made our very own Ganesh idol this year, and he made it without ever having the intention to. It just happened. And that is where the story begins.


too started out only planning to make kozhakkattais and keeping it simple, thus. But when I woke up that morning, and opened by mailbox, to see pictures from Chennai, of the elaborate, yet in-ostentatious efforts of my MIL, of kozhakkattais and sundal  and payasam and more, I felt chagrined. Here she was putting her best foot forward, year after year, celebrating every occasion with style and devotion, and here I was settling to take the easier way out. I just felt inspired to see how I could push myself just a little bit more than usual, for this one special day. And that's how it started...another story in the making. I remembered how I had some sprouted channa, lying ready in the freezer and out it came to be steamed. And just below my mom's recipe for kozhakkattais which I was looking over with an intensity that could have burned a hole through that paper, was her recipe for paruppu payasam. And just 4 lines of instructions. Was that it??? I could do that, I thought. And in went the dals alongwith the channa for steaming. All 4 burners of my stove got going, in a symphony of effortless multitasking, the processes flowing in this seamless tandem of motion, and by the time R came downstairs from readying the altar (no I haven't forgotten that story yet!), the dishes were cooked, the vessels cleaned, the counter wiped down, and a workstation set up on the floor to sit, crosslegged, to make the kozhakkattais.



Which takes me right back to what R was so busy doing upstairs. So he wanted to just make a small little mound of Ganesha, with sandal and turmeric like we always do. Only there wasn't enough fresh turmeric left, and he didn't want to have to use the kitchen one. So improvisation was called for. And he used a fresh packet of vibhuti instead. Vibhuti, sandalpaste and kumkum were the raw material. His head visualised all the design elemnents. His hands worked the paste and made it into a pliable dough, willing to take on any form he bestowed on it. He must have had a flash of what it is like to be God, or so I fondly like to speculate. :) It is easy to make a Ganesha....he says. For this is a form so versatile, that the resemblance begins with the very least effort at modeling. But that is also his modesty speaking.


Little ends of a matchstick for the tusks, kumkum to form the eyes, and trail the path of the trunk, the hands, the bellybutton. But the question of ears was still up in the air. In between, he came downstairs, to quickly ask me whether we could offer the two lone little flowers from our kanakambharam plant, for worship. I said yes, of course, and he plucked them and bounded upstairs. But once there, a different kind of inspiration struck, and the flowers that were to be laid at the feet, became the ears instead. It fit perfectly! And I was oblivious to the whole process and operation, drifting in my own little culinary sphere downstairs.


So when I first set my eyes on it, I was j.u.s.t.  s.i.m.p.l.y  b.o.w.l.e.d  o.v.e.r! I am, as you all know, a fan of anything simple and handmade andmoreover homemade! And here was our very own perfect, most eco-friendly Ganesha waiting to be worshipped and fed and already very very loved. That effort of that whole morning came together for me just then. I didn't feel that we had shortchanged on anything anymore. This was as close as it got to an ideal Ganesh Chathurthi for us. The camphor was lit, the aarti done, the water sprinkled for purifying the prasadam and we sat down sated with the fulfiment of hardwork and handiwork.


Yesterday was immersion day. But our Ganesha still stands firm. We, or at least I, do not have the heart to have this form crumble into formlessness. If I lift him in my hands, he stands nice and firm, as if etched from stone. So for now, he sits in that little golden plate, a yellow rose each at his either side, and we have taken to getting our daily dose of vibhuti directly from the source that is him. And extending the feeling of Chathurthi for just a little longer....