Winkie's Way

The prize of things...

2012-01-21T22:37:00.000-06:00

Today we learnt some valuable lessons. Me and Winkie.

I learnt that as a mother, try as I might to detach myself from the display of overt emotions, I still feel them inside, which is perhaps why I struggle not to have to display it. That as a mother, I always wish for my sons to shine, and that I take a very personal pride in it. Even if I tend to play it down for the sake of company, or for the sake of myself.

There was an episode today, a wonderful, humbling, feeling, teaching, quieting episode where Winkie had the opportunity to take part in a competition. Where he did very well and made me very proud, of his poise and his quiet and sensible strength, but where he did not win a prize at the end. Its funny how the 1and 2 , become such important numbers we need the ownership of to have a feeling of validation in this world. That we....and our children...have worth and merit that can be proved to the rest of the world.

Its disquieting how much I seemed to have invested in that moment, which spelled the attaching of his name to either of those 2 numbers. How I held my breath, without even seeming to have held it. How much I wanted it for him, even when I convinced myself not to.

How words really come a poor second to that feeling of disappointment that a young boy feels in his heart, that acute pain when the prize slips away. Yes, he knows he did well. Yes, he is happy for his friend who made it 1st. Yes, he knows how proud his mom is of him. But he did not get the cup did he? And that hurts. Simple. It hurts.

It hurts.

But more than the feeling of that actual hurt, it hurts me more to know that I am still so easily culpable to this hurt. Not because I pride myself in having come such a long way in terms of personal development, but because swings of emotion are so scary sometimes. I am very afraid of feeling anything to a depth or intensity. It seems so much more safer to feel with a dull and fuzzy sense, than to have that emotion tweaked and amplified to this sharp, piercing thing, that just stares you straight in the face, leaving you no place to hide from it. This just goes to show the false sense of bravado I carry around me most of the time, just so I can feel that I have a firm foothold in my own life. So I must be honest and come clean so I can come free.

I am sad he didn't win the 1st prize. Or the 2nd. He did so darn well. But oh, the children who did, were great too. And they had that little extra something that earned them that spot. I am so appreciative of that, as much as I am disappointed that we could not have that extra something too. I am afraid to identify so deeply with my son's feelings. But it happens so easily, so naturally, that in the process I am afraid to pass on too many of my own to him. I want his world to be simple. His thoughts even more so. I am afraid of not feeling true happiness for the other children who won. None of that mattered if my son didn't. I am disappointed in myself that I still haven't managed to shrug it off, that I am still holding on to it.

But all is not bleak. There are things for which I am glad too. I am glad, we did it. Just so we could be exposed to this kind of thing. Especially for Winkie. Without even knowing for sure, I know that this is one incident in his life will have made its mark on him....transformed some tiny, significant part of him. His tears, one full hour after everything, and after we came home is evidence of that. He held himself strong until then. I believe he expected his name to be called out, and was surprised when it wasn't, because he had felt very happy with the way he had done. He had the generosity and courage to wish his friend in more than a few words...you did a very good job. Congratulations!....he managed to say. He was quiet and contained all the way back home in the car, as we discussed why the prizes went to the other children and not him. But the minute we got home, the emotion was too much to hold in his little heart, and it spilled over. Big, wracking sobs, as I squeezed him tight. And then, right there, was the pure simple joy, that my son was having an acute experience with life, right in front of my very eyes. What a privilege it was to witness it. This is the stuff that life is made up of, isn't it. These piercing moments of direct experience that shake you up from your otherwise slumber. And Winkie whose emotions are usually hard to read, was expressing and emoting so beautifully, so directly....I was happy, even as I was sad.

After the tears were wiped, and the coolness washed over, we all took a walk, in the snow to the Dunkin's on the opposite side of the road. And sipped hot coffee, and bit into warm hash browns, and enjoyed some moments as a family. He has been all smiles since then, the moment having passed. And as I helped him brush his teeth, I came clean with him too....I am sad Winkie, that you did not win. And right then, again, was the acute delight of seeing a role reversed...of emotions swapped. I pouted sadly, while he smiled wisely, nodded sagely and said....yeah...I know. And that's when it just became very very....very very...clear. And I told him.

That as his mother, I would be telling him many many things all the time. Lots of advice and words and directives. And he may forget as many of them as I try to pass on. But if he could just remember one thing.... one single, simple thing, please. That whatever you do, do it in such a way that you can be happy with yourself. Just like how he felt today. How happy he was saying it because he knew he had given it his best. That precious feeling was the prize of it all . The one that nobody can award, and nobody can take. The one which lies in your safe keeping...

Yes.....I will.....he said.

The lessons of the lost Zoop!

2012-01-12T17:03:00.000-06:00

Some months ago, Winkie lost his only, and most cherished, 7th birthday gifted watch in school. It was a Titan Zoop, with a cool basketball logo on the sides. He loved it, and I have to say it looked sporty and smashing on his wrist. That is until he lost it. This is what roughly happened from his account of things. It was a sweaty recess, and when he came back to class, he decided to take off the watch to cool off, and laid it on his desk. It was reading time, and one of his friends asked to see it. He handed it over, and it was also returned to him. Of that much he clearly recalls. And then he left his desk to go find a book or whatever and when he came back, it was gone. He looked everywhere, in his bag, under his desk, on the floor, and even made the whole class look, but no one could find it. And it was declared lost.

Now yes, the mind does tend to speculate on it, and think....what if somebody took it, and just didn't own up. It was a big possibility, and one that he kept insisting upon, but we were at a dead end.

When he came home with the news, on the one hand, I was pretty upset about it. We loved that watch, and it was a specially selected gift from his Chitthi for his 7th birthday and he could have worn it forever, I think. And he was so careful with it too. He was very very crushed and could barely get through that evening. On the other hand, there was a small part of me that was very secretly delighted. Its hard to explain why that was the exact emotion I felt, but there it was.

And to explain my delight, I have to digress a bit and tell you another story. One that happened close to 3 years ago. Remember that very exciting India trip, where my passport expired and I got left behind, only to have it stamped the next day and fly out on my own? Well, on that very same trip, I lost 80% of my wedding jewels to the back seat of an autorickshaw. And after the first freezing 2 minutes of shock at the implication, that same secret sense of delight was there. Looking back, it was definitely a weird emotion to have, but it was one of the most defining moments of my life. Because I got a sense of how far I had come.

You know how sometimes when something happens and right then and there, you get a faint whiff of the game and play of it all, and the whispers only grow louder, as you hear life giggling gleefully in the background, having just handed you a nice big blow, just to see what you will do with it. And the whole thing has a manner of such play and sport that you can't help but feel the glee yourself, and a sportive sense of challenge rises, and you feel like you have to pass this test. By God, you have to pass this test!

That is exactly what my delight back then was about. And in a small way, it is what it was about even with the watch. Back then, I had on my most graceful manner, and couldn't find it within the heart of me to rue what I had lost, 'cause that would mean failing that test in front of the biggest witness there was, is and always will be. The sense of that loss came weeks and months and years later, at different instances, when I couldn't dig in to my box of jewels anymore to find just the right thing to wear.

So when Winkie came home with the loss of his favorite watch, I knew he was being handed a similar test and the delight was over having seen through the whole charade of life. Aha! Caught you again!...I felt. Watch us ace this test now!

We talked about it and he decided he would go back the next day and search even harder, and if he couldn't find it, that was that. He would have to accept it gracefully. But till then, there was still some hope and he could pray as hard as possible, and send his fervent pleas out to the Universe. But going down the road of pointing a finger at someone, was a certain dead-end, because there was no way to prove it, and even if there was, was it the right one to take? It was a point of confusion, but one we didn't have to cross because he never found it the next day.

The sadness lingered over many days and he would look at a picture of his watch on the internet a few times, for that was the only keepsake left at this point. And he got another watch, with bowling pins on it, a much cheaper but just as cute one, when I went to the gem show some weeks ago. And he takes just as much of a pride and joy in it as he did in the one with the baskbetball logos.

So the lost Zoop taught us some valuable lessons I think. That life happens. And it can get very upsetting. That being attached to something, while giving that simple pleasure of ownership and familiarity, can also cause acute pangs of loss, when gone. That even when all seems lost, it is still okay to have hope and beam your prayer out to the Universe and cherish the possibility that you can find it again. That when you don't, it doesn't mean that that hope was misplaced, only that it carried it with it to someplace else. That parting was inevitable, but sweet things can come by, to take up the place that was left empty. That life goes on...

"I am full of love."

2012-01-11T06:39:00.001-06:00

...so says a soon to be 5 year old, in answer to a question he himself asks me. And the question...

Amma, do you know why I love you so much?

This while being perched on my hips, in one of those moments where you can't get enough of cuddling your littlest one. The question by itself was a statement, which by itself gave me immense joy to hear. So is it any wonder that I held my breath while waiting for him to reply?

Because I am full of love.

Something about those choice of words is a miracle. Something about the exact order of stringing them is supremely beautiful. And true. He IS full of love. And always has been. And the manners in which he expresses that love is what makes our days and nights with him such a memory. The kind of memory which you will not remember in particulars, but as a vapour of feeling, always swirling around you. Its hard to remember the finite details, because being with him means being in the moment. And that's why writing about him has always been so hard. How do you pin words to define a moment that was exquisitely lived and experienced, when it is already past? You don't. You just enjoy it, and carry that swirling vapour of memory with you.

He has this peculiar thing with his father. At night and many times during the day, he needs the comfort of rubbing his father's cheeks, just to feel the pots, read 'spots' for the stubble. It has this very reassuring effect on him, and almost feels like a sweet massage. I have tried to have this shifted to me no end, but he argues that since I have no pots, I don't get the pleasure. But he will still cuddle up to me in other ways. And any way is a bliss when it comes to him.

He will be the first one to rush to the scene when one of us has incurred a boo-boo and he will enquire even days afterwards about the state and the healing of it. He will remember when we ourselves have forgotten, and it becomes easy to feign some lingering hurt over it, just to feel the waves of his concern.

After a long Christmas break and on the first day back at school, in answer to the question...what did you do over the holidays?...he will be the one to tell his teacher, I had a lot of fun, but in the middle of it, I remembered school and I missed you Uma Aunty. And she will laugh heartily at all the words, because she known only too well his tendency to sweeten and use them well, but she can't help but feel the happiness of that effort made on his part. And when she narrates it to me, her enjoyment of the whole charade is obvious.

He is the one that likes to copy his brother in whatever he does, and even in the words he speaks sometimes, but when there comes an opportunity to put pen to paper and scribble a few words, this is what he chooses to write. As his first complete sentence. There is a grammar issue, and a missing period at the end, but the meaning is far from lost.

And the words he spoke to me, in answer to the question that he himself asked, are already a full and complete sentence, with a beginning and an end, and everything in the middle is love.

Tintin-ised!

2012-01-04T22:42:00.000-06:00

I grew up reading Tintin comics. I think my Dad owned quite a few titles and it would be kept safely locked inside his little book cabinet, alongwith a worn copy of Kane & Abel. And on many quiet afternoons, I would extract them and read them, over and over again, till I knew every single dialogue and every single twist in the plot.

Interestingly enough that is one of the few books I share in common with R, who is not too much of a reader otherwise. So, when Tintin was going to hit the big screen, there was no way we were going to miss it. We were excited to watch it and also see how the boys would take to it, especially Winkie. And he gave us a thumbs up at the end of the show and that very week, I got home some of the comics for him to read, starting with The Castafiore Emerald.

He was never much of a graphics novel type of guy uptil this point, so I read out a few strips and pages to him, getting him into the nuances of each character, and how to tell the difference between a word bubble and a thought bubble. And all the crazy things that Capt. Haddock usually says and how a glass breaks everytime Bianca sang. And with just those few introductory notes, he was raring to go on his own. And there's been no turning back since. Now, he can share quite a few observations with me. Like how Snowy, the dog, also talks and how he mirrors the same expressions as on Tintin's face.

The fever is so blazing that he renamed his Mii Tintin today. And plans to take it the extra mile, by making Thambi Snowy, R as Haddock, and me as....(a no brainer!)....Bianca. Now I better practice all my high notes.

Needless to say, I am quite thrilled that he loves what I once loved, and this will be something that joins us together, always!

2012

2012-01-01T07:37:00.001-06:00

I start this post, with no real thoughts, but only a vague urge that I need to write something. Something about 2012 and being at the crossover point, demands it. So in no particular order....

1. The thing I have learnt the most this year, is that it is okay to be myself. Even if all I am feeling is quiet, distanced and lost to my own world, its okay to be like that. People will eventually get used to it. Its okay to cut those ties of expectations that bind you to them, and be free on both sides. For maybe then, a more real relationship can blossom.

2. Children like to be liked. They like to be looked at. They like to be heard. They like an answer to their questions. And the more patient a reply, the better.

3. That when you really like them, and look at them, and hear them, and answer them, you get a very rare, precious look inside to their soul and what makes them tick. It is information you can use to soften all the edges of your own heart, when it hardens in rage and frustration.

4. The fewer words you use, and the lesser explaining you do in a conversation, the better it is. It shows that you come from a place of confidence, where not everything has to be justified and explained and understood with a perspective.

5. Whatever I see, whatever I label outside, is but a reflection of what already lies within me. And no wonder I was able to recognize it and label it in the first place. How can I not, when I have such an intimate knowledge of it?

6. That art is a therapy that belies understanding. And that a family that paints together, can actually make it....as a family.

7. That Thambi is a man inside a boy, and a baby at the end of the day. He talks beyond his years sometimes, with such a clarified understanding of things. He advises me no end, and especially when I play Wii tennis, but when its time for bed, he still needs a warm adult body next to him. I must learn to enjoy that more this year.

8. That Winkie, holds everything tightly within. That he doesn't use his freedom of expression that very much. That he could, more. But in all that quietness, there is such a wealth of restraint in him, with regard to things of this world. He can handle himself with such grace and poise in a crowd, that oftentimes, he gets lost in it. He loves a sense of conformity to things....and any deviance from that is what frustrates him. Now we all know what life will do with that! :)

9. That I still love my coffee in the morning. I have tried different ways to let go, to stop, to cut the bonds. But it will not have it. I am tied to my one cup. And its time I made peace.

10. That New Years' is not a time for resolutions. If there is true resolve, change can happen anytime, anywhere, and even within your heart. And everyday is a testimony to that. So where does that leave New Years then? Its just that time of the year, when you actually feel the length of the life you have lived and wonder in amazement at how fast it all went. Now that is customary!

Wish you ALL a more acute sense of living this coming year. May the transformations happen daily, without the fanfare, but with all sense of fulfilment.

P.S. - # 11 : That you can add any picture and find a symbolism for it, especially when you don't have anything else to show. Such as this one of a sunflower from my summer deck garden. Sunflowers are special in the way they always grow towards the sun. If there is a need for any resolution, then let it be this for me. To always grow towards the light...

34...

2011-12-04T07:23:00.001-06:00

Yesterday was the day I crossed over to begin the 35th year of my life. Continuing along the lines of basic, I was not wound up for this in any particular way. Rather, I just...r.e.a.l..l.y wanted to have a quieter version of a birthday, with the least fuss. And it did work out that way.

For one, one my my aunts from India called bright and early, and was the first to wish me. And since her call woke me up, I could come down to enjoy 1 full hour of almost solitude before everyone else woke up. Almost because I decided to call and speak to my parents, who were the first ones to greet me the day before, when the day began for them in India. I had a nice long chat with Amma, and felt like a little kid again, as she gave me advice and ideas on a couple of things. It was a very nice feeling, to know that I needed her and to rely on her wisdom instead of my own feet, for a change. It made her happy too, to sense my fleeting moment of normalcy. :)

And then the boys woke up. And came down. And Thambi climbed into my lap, gave me a hug and wished me. Which is probably the only special treatment I got from him, for he is Daddy's boy, and unabashedly so. And that is a whole separate post of woe.

Winkie got out his special card from hiding and gave it to me. It was pretty. Watercolours, yellow and pink blending softly. I could tell he had worked on it with patience and love, but there were some missing details. And as a mother I pointed it out to him. How the cupcake could have used a little detail in the form of outlining, and same with the tree inside, and how my name, and his name was missing, as was a personal message from him. The card was beautiful, and all it needed was that little bit of personal touch to make it truly from his heart to mine. He did sport a little bit of a pouted lip for a while, and tried to squeeze back some tears in his eyes, but it got through, for he took time out to do that and give it back to me. And now I have a card that was truly made for me. It was a tiger mother moment, but it went well. :)

R had his eyebrows raised at this whole exercise, but I stood my ground. It is the little things that make a bigger thing count, and impact. You get the little things right, and you have already told the person, how much you value them. Its all about the effort, isn't it?

And then, just as we were about to head out to watch Hugo in 3D, as a family, a friend, suddenly showed up at the door, and claimed she was there to whisk the boys away, so we could enjoy some adult time. I was in shock the first few minutes, as I contemplated spending a big chunk of my day without my boys, and that bit of sentiment surprised me, for I fancy myself a very non-sentimental person for the most part. :) Winkie wasn't sure he wanted to let go of our plans either, but finally relented, under the cajoling and the certain knowledge of a fun playdate and they both left, and the house was quiet. We grabbed a quick lunch and went to watch something we couldn't have done with the kids. That was rather nice. Followed by some window shopping, which again was so much easier to do without the kids, and some takeout dinner for us all, and the day drew to a close. All too soon, I felt. I could have used a few more hours of feeling like it only belonged to me, so reliving it stretches that fantasy a bit longer....:)

At the end of it all, I guess the one thing that I truly want, which I can symbolise by asking on my birthday, is something that begins with a 'd'. I asked my mother to ask it for me, when they went on their next out of town, remote temple of the boon fulfilling deity. Discipline. I want it, and lots of it. To rein in all my senses to a point where I am in control of it. To act always from a place of deep understanding and peace. To be a part of this world, enough to function in it, but not lose myself in its wildness. To have grace and a smile, no matter what. These are the things I treasure and seek, both within and without. And the only thing that remains to be seen, is whether this coming year will serve as testimony to this transformation, or is even this lifetime of mine, not enough to get there....

Basic.

2011-12-01T06:18:00.001-06:00

Basic. That one words describes my life of the past several months. We have been on a "basic" mode. Basic meals, basic ways of filling up time, basic ways of marking a festival, basic conversations...and just a very basic quality to life. Yes, things have been busier off late, but then again, when are they not? I think I was on a major mental burnout, and did not have the inclination, leave alone the energy, to communicate, or express. Words have this dual quality to them. They can carry powerful messages. But they can also spread around the vibes of inanity. Where a lot is spoken, for the sake of being spoken, but there was no real need for that many words to do it in the first place. See, even this last line could have been shorter. :)

So even phonecalls to friends or family became hard. Especially when asked the question....how are you? What's going on in your life? That basic question, became the hardest of all. Because then I would have to use words for it, and I was hoarding my words to conserve my energy for the things I absolutely had to do. Like the basics of daily living. You can just *tell* the vibes of all the judgements making the rounds in their minds. I could sense my mother's sense of frustration with me, like she was hitting a blank wall. Or maybe it was just my guilt at not being able to be the daughter she needed me to be at least for that 1/2 hour on conversation. Its all so complex and then suddenly simple, as I realise, that I am just growing quieter as a person.

The burning need to talk, to communicate, to opine, to conclude, to express....all of it was simmering down to a zero flame, slowly...slowly....because there is enough mental chatter inside my own head, and there is a sweet communion when even that noise dies down. So where is the need to talk outside?

But then, how can we function with the world, if we don't? How can we let people know we care, if we can't listen to what they have to say, or talk back to them in a language that they can understand and use to assure themselves? And so, I must try. Every now and then...to reach out and a be a little like my old self, if there is such a thing, and to make an effort at something, that just doesn't come so naturally to me anymore.

The boys are facing the brunt of this change too. It takes me every ounce of my strength to listen to them chatter and to speak out my own responses, so they know I am there. Even so, meal times are slightly quieter affairs. While a side of me battles with the romantic notion of catching up with your family over a warm, homecooked meal, there is a huger side that longs to commune with the holy act of eating and just do it in silence. And so I tell them, let's talk after. They are slowly getting the hang of it. And the next best thing is that they talk to each other, if not to me. And I am glad that there are two, instead of one.

Praise God!

2011-09-29T09:50:00.004-05:00

Yesterday, I received a mail that had these following lines in it. And there was a simple beauty in those words which was hard to ignore and write off to the usual sentimental cliche.

Happy moments, Praise God

Difficut moments, Seek God

Quiet moments, Worship God

Painful moments, Trust God

Every moment ,Thank God

And at first glance and first thought, the order of the action words for each life situation seemed about apt. But then you start digging a little deeper into yourself. And realise that so many of these are interchangeable. And when interchanged, can actually point to the place you are at in life, on that deeper level. So I played around with the words, to see if it still inspired me.

Happy moments, Trust God.

(that this too shall pass)

Difficult moments, Praise God.

(for the creative ingenuity of that exact life situation that you need to weed out something in your life)

Quiet moments, Thank God.

(for direct communion)

Painful moments, Worship God.

(glorifying all His attributes, while accepting that He is still beyond it)

Every moment, Seek God.

(He is the only one that succumbs to your grasp, and willingly stays there)

Yes! This was a slightly bigger challenge than before, and if I am really true in my seeking, I could be capable of all these things. And inch by inch, maybe there will be a point when I don't have to use so many words for it. Just one would suffice.

Happy moments, Praise God.

Difficult moments, Praise God.

Quiet moments, Praise God.

Painful moments, Praise God.

Every moment, Praise God.

How simple life is, when there are fewer words to choose from.

In just 3 seconds...

2011-08-10T21:35:00.000-05:00

5:30 PM and I am sitting in a large, brightly lit room. Itis an even 80 degrees and people are sitting,lined up against the walls, watching the scenes directly in front of them.There are raucous shouts and squeals, as some 30 odd kids, in all shapes andcolours and sizes and ages, splash merrily in their lanes, mimicking what theircoach asks them to do. I have a ½ hour to kill, and I have already decided totake along some of Winkie’s worksheets to review.

He has been working hard all summer, refining some mathskills and gaining efficiency in his problem areas with some English also thrown in to keep him interested, so thenumbers wouldn’t get the better of his enthusiasm. I have my bright pink felt tip pen for the task, and reviewall his trade first subtraction problems. He is definitely having a problemwith it, and I mentally decide that he needs another fresh worksheet just toget over this hump. From time to time, I am watching the boys in their lanes,but only cursory glances, for today I am more intent on the task at hand.

I look up and glance at Winkie’s direction and he islooking straight at me, his eyes meeting mine. He is trying to tell mesomething, and from his signing, I understand that he wants me to keep watchinghim. And just like that, the air is charged with something different. There isa higher prupose now, to my time. My child wants me to do something for him,and I have it well within my power to do that. And by God, I would do it right.I watch him do his dolphin kicks, graceful at times, struggling at times, butmaking it from one end to the other. He has almost made it, when the sense ofanticipation in me is just bursting. I can’t wait for him to get there and wipehis eyes, and look back over at me, secure in the belief that I would still bewatching.

It is so heady, knowing that this is one sure moment I cancount on. We cannot predict what can happen an hour, or even 10 minutes fromnow, for so many familiar equations can change in that time. But with just under3 seconds to go, before he reached and looked at me, there was a delicious instinctivesense of “knowing”. That it wouldhappen.

Even now, I don’t quite know why it stood out to me so much.What was it about that moment, that made me suck my breath in, and hold ittight, all keyed up for when he would make eye contact with me again. Maybe itwas simply the joy of being fully conscious at that time, knowing for sure,that I was going to be there for my son. Or maybe a part of it was derived fromthe sense of control you feel, when you know exactly what will happen in just ashort while, and yet it is exciting and novel, and it happens in precisely thefashion you expect it to.

So much of our life is played down due to failedexpectations. This was one moment that exceeded it!

Of what is outside the line of control...

2011-07-28T23:46:00.005-05:00

There was an incident that happened this afternoon. Something that left me very upset for quite some time. I was picking Thambi up from school, and as he has done many times in the past, this day too, he refused to come home with me, claiming how much fun he was having there. Unheeding all my requests to get in the car, I finally had to lift him up and walk him over.

And so there I was, in the hot sun, lifting a wriggling Thambi in one hand and his sandals and his lunch bag in the other, and I realise his side of the door is locked from the inside. It had stopped working alongwith the central locking system a long while back, and the only way is to open it from the inside, and usually, I just reach over from the driver's side and unlock it. But this time, since my hands were full, I asked Winkie, who was sitting inside to do it for me. But he didn't. All he made was this half hearted attempt to reach over, without taking off his own seat belt, which means he didn't even reach halfway across.

And just watching him, barely attempt to help me, while I struggled profusely with this guy, cut me very much to the quick. I dropped the shoes and bag to the floor and opened my door and reached in and unlocked Thambi's side, and deposited him in, all the while giving Winkie a cold look, as he looked frostily back at me. We had just had a little argument on the way over and I knew it was his way of paying me back. But it hurt. Bad. How can you watch someone suffer right in front of your eyes, and not jump in to help, even when you were asked to?

Tears pricked at my eyes as I drove us all home, and I struggled to gain control over my emotions. I got into a bit of self pity mode. Is this what I deserve from my kids? Am I not doing enough for them? It was very difficult for me to stomach, that a child of mine could exhibit that much of coldness that deliberately.

While writing about my kids here, I have always tried to write the best of them, and remember only all the things that gave me the most reasons to smile. It wasn't that I was in denial about the hard days that are always there , but it is always better to focus on the good and sweet things, is it not? And give them all those nice memories to indulge in when they are older, if they ever get around to reading this space.

But today, I feel like writing about this. Its not so much to remember the flip side as much as what it made me realise and the simple force with which it dawned on me.

After we came home, he refused to get out of the car. And I was in no mood to cajole or request or even talk to him, so I walked in with Thambi, expecting him to walk in soon enough, for how long would he stay out in the garage by himself. A half hour passed by and still no sign of him. By this time, of course, me anger had evaporated, and I resigned myself to being calm.

Whenever I feel stuck for a remedy to a parenting problem, I just liken it to how God treats me, when I am being an errant child. I recall all the many times I have sinned and how my free will was never taken away as a result. I remember nothing of a lessening of love. If anything, I felt His presence more, as the Conscience within me, giving me the clarity of what I had done wrong, and what I still needed to do. And all of this was unobtrusive, and as gentle as switching on the bedside lamp, and never as a harsh flooding of light. And so I knew what I must do now, the love I still had to give, the judgement that I had to take away, the complete acceptance that I still owed him. And I breathed in deep and walked out.

And he was asleep. His head flopping to the side, his mouth slightly open, as he breathed in and out, in a tired slumber. My baby! How we act up, when all we need are a few extra hours of sleep! I went over and lifted him out of the car and carried him in, in my arms. One of these days, its not going to be easy to do even that, but today, thankfully, was not that day and I could be a mother to this child and carry him still.

He stirred as soon as I lay him down, and wanted to eat his lunch. I fixed him a plate, and we sat down together to eat. What happened, still bothered me. He may have been sleepy and he may have been hungry, but in my estimation, it was no reason for him to not click open his belt, and unlock the door. A matter of 10 seconds. It still hurt. And the words were bubbling up again. And I began the conversation.

That I was upset by his actions. That it was so easy for him to have helped me then, and how easy it would have made things for me too. How by choosing not to do so, he made it clear that he didn't care about me just then. That in life, as he grows, most of the choices he will be confronted with will boil down to just 2 things : whether he wants to be good or not. That he has full freedom to choose. And if he chose the latter, it may not make a big dent in his life, but inside, he knows what he did. And he knows whether that feels good or awful. But if he chose the good instead, even if it was at the cost of hurting himself, there was this wonderful chance that it would strengthen him from within. And make him feel right inside his heart.

I can only tell you all this stuff Winkie, I cannot make you 'realise' it. Because that is an inside job, and its your choice. And I am telling you this because I care about you, and I care about what you can become.

And with that, the words ran out. He heard me in full silence, with his head bowed down, and at the end he smiled at the choice of one of my words, which only upset me further then, and I walked upstairs to me bedroom to lie down and just breathe out the burden of my emotions. And I realised why it hurt so much. Because I was so embroiled in him, and the fact that he was my son, and any behavior of his was a reflection of my influence on him as a mother, and the pain was from this feeling that he was letting me down. It was all incredibly misguided, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. And forced the illusion out of my head, though not permanently. I am sure I will have to go through many cycles of this pain to come to terms with the truth.

But just then, it was a relief to know that while I could only work to mold his character as best as was within my reach, the outcome of that was way out of my league of control, and hence my worry too. When you know you can't control something, the most practical thing you can do is be peaceful about it. That peace came to me in the form of some shut eye through a catnap.

But this evening, my son also came to me, all of his own accord, much after I had left him alone and to his thoughts, and told me softly....

Amma, I am sorry.
I am sorry that I did not help you with Sathya. I am really sorry.

And I looked down at his face and into his eyes, the penitence written all over him. Several seconds passed. I had already forgiven him in my head, the second he came up to me........but wanted him to feel the weight of that pregnant pause, as he waited to hear the much anticipated words of acceptance. So he looked into my eyes, and I into his, and the silence stretched just a little bit, and I finally said....It's okay. And kissed the top of his head, and his hands came around me.

Yes, you do need to apologise for any wrong that you want to make right, but sometimes when the reply comes only at the end of the stretch of silence, you get to realise how much it means to you, and what a privilege forgiveness really is.

How do you live life well?

2011-07-27T10:35:00.002-05:00

That's what most of us want right, basically out of life. To live it well. To make many moments count. To have no regrets over anything.

So what does it mean to live life well? What is this elusive art that seems like a dream to accomplish & achieve. Something that is just beyond reach, that puts that distance between you and "it", and lures you more and more into chasing it?

Does it mean that you spend your life finding yourself? Discovering who you truly are? What are all your true values? Does it mean figuring other people out? How their minds work, and why they act the way they do? Does it mean being a good role player? A good spouse, a good parent, a good child, a great friend? Does it mean travelling far and wide and absorbing cultures? Or not travelling far and wide, but just travelling more within your means and enjoying that.

" Do not take life too seriously. You will never get out of it alive."

Does it mean plunging yourself headlong into a close knit circle of other people's thoughts and feelings, and feeling the richness of the tapestry of life as also its mystifying complexity? Or does it mean etching out space and time for yourself and your needs, in the midst of all the other tugs and pulls? Does it mean even knowing what your needs are in the first place? Does it mean stretching your body and your mind to rigorous disciplines, all with a view to tame the sense in one form or another? Or does it mean indulging in every sense and every experience to see what it all leads to, and whether eternity is hidden in there somewhere?

Does it mean driving safe, wherever you go, and travelling light? Does it mean reading books that make you see the stars that much brighter and inspire you to heights? Does it mean acting on your dreams, while countering gruelling odds, but having vision enough to make them that vintage reality?

Does it mean sitting back in an armchair on a rainy day, looking out, trying to see what is that last piece that could fit into the puzzle called life?

Does it mean finding that one place, and that set of people and circumstances to which you belong? Or keeping yourself so open that you could be at home anywhere, with anyone, so long as there is a smile to greet you somewhere and something soft to rest your head on?

Does it mean the pleasure of food, for after all, we all work to put food in our bellies, at the end of the day. Does it mean discovering your one true talent and dedicating your life to using it to create happiness for everyone? Does it mean always buying shoes that feel most comfortable, never mind if they don't always look good?

Does it mean finding something just when you think it was lost to you forever? Does it mean always making time not to rush? Does it mean sleeping a full 8 hours every night, with no dreams to toss you in and out of that drowning? Does it mean listening to music, not just while you are driving, or cooking or multitasking, but sitting down and listening, just to listen?

Or is it all of the above and then some, in a certain proportion, that is rationed balance between whimsy and something that can have better warranty? A sprinkling of this, a smattering of that, a generous 2 portions of something else, and next to nothing of the other?

I am full of all the questions and cannot help but seek some answers, and I started with the people I work with. Some answers were from the top of the head, and some came from a place of deep feeling. But whatever be the case, they all had to hit the pause button on their lives for a moment and just consider the question and dwell in the more silent spaces of their own hearts, to define that feeling that rose up to them as vapors of answer, and then to crystallise them into words for communication. And this is what they told me.

Living life well means to be happy, on the whole (there's that elusive term again!) and have a positive influence on others. And living it without too much of stress, and when it gets to that point, to just compare your life problems with that of another person and see whether you'd really like to swap with him or does your lot seems just about right. And when asked what being happy meant....pat came the reply....love and a treasure hunt!

And I realised....Yeah. Life is a treasure hunt all right. You are searching most of the time, going from one place o the other, searching for clues and a sign to clear the confusion, to clear the path ahead, bumping and jostling with other treasure seekers along the way. And sifting through piles and piles of things, to extract that one thing you call a treasure. That one thing that you would like to have, above all else, as an adornment in your life. That one thing that makes you feel like you have lived your life well.

Which brings us right back to where we started, doesn't it? The question that began it all. So is there an answer? What's yours?

[Image courtesy : Google]

Buddy Zoo

2011-07-25T14:14:00.000-05:00

In our home now, we have a new system for how we display our toys. Its called the Buddy Zoo system. More of why its called that later. For now, let me just describe what it is. To my untrained eye, it is just all the toys, cars, mini-teddies, blocks, actions figures, which were erstwhile lying neatly in their separate bins, now suddenly dumped onto two separate tables, and arranged in some cohesive fashion. But ask the boys and they will tell you a whole different story. They will have it be known, that both those 2 tables, on which these "things" are lined up on, are actually 2 countries. And since they are so close to each other, they are actually Australia and New Zealand. And of course, Winkie being the older one and the designer of the whole plot, gets to be Australia and Thambi's corner is New Zealand. For reader reference, the left pic is Australia, the right is New Zealand.

The 2 countries are separated by water. Australia is gifted with a nice beach, a nice new terrace house where all the cars can go. New Zealand has 2 big camping spots, and invites Australia over. Now I don't know at what point Australia took on a human connotation, but there it is. We do not question imagination. We just quote it. The mailbox is actually the tent (not in picture). In Australia, the wooden box is the house for all the cars to be in. The action figure is a soldier to help New Zealand fight whenever the need arises. The kid monitor is for communication between the two countries. Obviously technology hasn't progressed way more than that, but who am I to crib? But I am also told that there is an invisible computer in NZ, from where you go to mapquest.com to find directions to other places!! The teddy bears in NZ are all the family that lives there. Suffice it to say this covers many branches of the same family tree. The setup changes from time to time, depending on which toy is currently in, and which one is out. Once they even put these thin silver chains which I got them from the jewelry exhibition in their zoos.

For the longest time, the whole thing to me, was an eyesore. Sure I enjoyed this vivid imagination that could be called at will to conjure up the most fantastic situations to get lost in, but at the end of the day, I liked everything neatly tucked away and out of sight. But how can an entire country be dismantled? And two countries at that. *sigh*. So this is one thing I had to let go on. And I think I have it under my belt. These days, when I find a stray car or a teddy lying around, I don't just dump them back in the bins, I take the time to do my research and ask, which country they belong to? Heavens! It is always better to double check these facts and make sure, for who knows which character has gone visiting where, and God forbid they are found outside of that zone, and it was sure to escalate tensions between the two countries!

Yes, we have all become a part of the Buddy Zoo system. The boys are so into their world, that the minute Winkie set his eyes on one of his birthday presents from his Aunt and Uncle, a K-Nex bridge construction set, he had immediately envisioned how he would now build a bridge that would go over the ocean to connect the 2 countries. Now that's being committed to something!

Which brings me back to my promise to reveal why Buddy Zoo. Buddy, because he is one of the main protagonist cars, around whom all the excitement happens. The Zoo because it is my addendum. For how grating it was on my senses at the very start. And wanna hear a secret? It still is.

The Art update!

2011-07-23T17:42:00.008-05:00

On one day of the week, Winkie goes for Art class. Something that I thought he would enjoy, but not to this extent. I have never seen him as animated as the times that I pick him back up after his 1 hour and 15 minutes. And its not only because he enjoys art. Its because he likes his teacher so much. They share this rare chemistry, where they actually like each other and actually like talking, and as a result, what comes out as expressions of that time is that same friendly conversation. She guides, but he leads. She prods, but he perfects. She initiates, but he impresses upon it. And it is pretty gratifying to watch his personality and his happiness bloom as a result. Here is a sample of some of his latest creations (click on them for closer viewing), some of them in this new setting (top 3, in watercolour), and one from school (the pumpkin, in oil pastel) and one from home as an idea prompter from me (after we read the book, 'The Spider Weaver').

And this last one here, is my favorite. Its acrylic on canvas, his first ever canvas painting, and it depicts our recent holiday at the Dells, on a jetboat tour. The people on board are him, Thambi & their 2 cousins, who had come visiting, and they all enjoyed the rowdy splashing on this tour. I just love looking at those waves, and how choppy they look. All in all, bright, cheerful and completely his own expression, which now graces our side table.

A real life romance!

2011-07-22T10:48:00.013-05:00

You know how sometimes, when your mind writes a script for a situation about to unfold, with all the colours of the romance, but what actually happens is a far cry from it? It all still happens according to plan, but just the skeletal aspects of it. And all the other colours that came in, get blurry and hazy, because of the sharp contrast of reality.

For instance. when the summer began, I painted all these gorgeous colours of it in my head. Of how we would spend every darn weekend outdoors. Under the trees. With a picnic basket. A ball. A frisbee perhaps. The boys playing. Listening to birdsong. Et all. I went all the way. But then come summer, and come the actual weekends when it was time to make those day dreams come true, the reality was so much more drab and dry. As dry as the blade of grass, that has been exposed to day after day of 90 degree heat. On one such occasion, Winkie complained incessantly of the heat, and Thambi was afraid of all the bugs that had manifested just to bite him, even the imaginary ones visible only to his eye. And staying cool meant lugging around a knapsack full of cool drinks, while still taking those steep flights up on a trail trek. There was poison ivy generously dotting the fringes of the path we were taking, and rather than listen to birdsong, we were now vigilantly watching the boys, so they didn't land themselves flat on it. At the end of which, the romance of that vision was long gone, and the actual sight was so rooted in reality that it weighed us down, alongwith with the weight of that knapsack!

But then you come home, tired and hot. You take a cool shower and sit on the couch and think back on the day. And look at the pictures. And the trails look enchanting. The boys look like explorers. And even a sullen face makes for a mood of photography. And suddenly, the vision burns bright again and you feel like you've kind of met life face to face. And made eye contact. For that one charged instant. And the romance burns like a torch.

Picture this script now. An afternoon painting with the boys. In our brand new art space that is long beckoning. Colour will meet canvas in creations of conscience amidst interesting conversation and a little chatter with the boys. And it starts off nice. The phone's not ringing, everyone's well fed and in the mood to create and get along. But that's as far as the fantasy goes. Pretty soon, there's a tussle for the brush and one particular colour. There's the little one looking at his brother's work and feeling like he wants to do the exact same thing, and the brother hating being shadowed. More words exchanged, more pleas for my support. And I sigh. Here we go again. Thambi puts away his brush in despair, because its never going to look like Anna's. You do it Amma, he says. At least that way it might look good. And then we have a back and forth on why it is more important for him to do it than I. While on the side I am secretly fretting how they are forgetting to clean off their brushes in between 2 different colours and its all mixing and getting "messy". And the peace just flies out the window. Everyone's sulking now. And its going to be a superhuman operation to reverse those feelings. And I breathe. A looo...ong, slow breath. And let go of all the knots of expectations of how it should go. I take over the brush and do a few strokes, and hand it back to Thambi and prod him gently to try too. And he does. Back and forth we go, with lots of ooohs and aaaahs on how pretty it is, and slowly a smile creeps into his cheeks. So we didn't stick to the script, word for word, but the story still played out and came up with its own twists and turns, but we managed to make the happy ending. Somewhat.

A long day and I am looking forward to my bit of zen. Which these days means, watering the plants out front. The boys are cycling, and I am looking forward to the sound of the water sprinkling over the grass and leaves and flowers, and that crisp look of green, when the moisture has soaked in, and just the smell of a freshly watered garden. Calling out hellos to the neighbours as they walk their dogs and just breathing. Ahhhh! But the minute they see me getting out the hose, they are off their bikes and over to me in a flash, both wrangling to see which one can get a word in and have the first promised go at the hose themselves. I brace myself quite well for this impact, knowing it can overturn my vision, but prepared to hold on to it with a few revisions to the script. So I will let them have a go at it. 5 minutes for Thambi and 5 minutes for Winkie. Back and forth until they grow tired of it. And those last 10 minutes for myself. So thinking, I go back in to put the finishing touches to dinner. But 2 minutes into the first 5 minutes, and Winkie is already popping in to check whether those 5 minutes are up yet. And when its his turn, to tell me that the hose is leaking in all the wrong places. Or that he wants to set up the sprinkler instead. And Thambi complains that he is not getting his next round of 5. And when he does, he waters everything else except the plants. By now, all my dreams have been expertly overturned and I walk outside to negotiate. The air is tense and the words will have to be many. And it is tiring just to think of it. I take back the hose and ban them from touching it, if they cannot figure out a more peaceful way to work alongside. Both of them glare at me and I glare right back. Then one of them crosses the path of the water and gets wet. And squeals. And there begins that game. The other copies him deliberately, and before long, its an unspoken script, of who takes the next turn. The script casts its spell on me as well, for I am now deliberately splashing them down. And I have become the water monster, whom they have to rescue themselves from. And a perfect summer evening is had.

Pretty soon, I realise I am getting better at writing the script and also flowing with all the consequent deviations from it. So much so that the imperfections become the charmed aspect, and give it the character that truly makes it a romance. Take this for instance. A hot summer afternoon. No school, no homework, no chores. Just a Mamma and her boys and ice-cream! The perfect setting for a slurp party. We get out the bowls, and the Haagen Daz sticks. I know its going to be a picture moment. I can already picture the milk whiskers and dripping down the chin, and the complete absorption with chocolate and vanilla. And I couldn't have been more spot on. The pictures speak for themselves.

" Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans!"

I agree. Because the following instance is the perfect play of this great truth for me.

A Friday morning perfectly planned out. 10:30 at the gym for yoga, while the boys play it out in the new Wii room. And then head straight to Borders to pick out good bargains on their closing sale. A dreamy morning, thumbing through paperbacks and browsing the shelves. But instead there is a storm. The trees are shaking violently, and the sun is plunged behind thick ominous clouds. The light from my laptop is the only bright thing in the place. And suddenly the air is charged with romance. And the sparks are flying everywhere. The boys are thrilled and excited with this sudden shift in atmospheric conditions. It means party time. They rush upstairs to get all the pillow cushions they can find and ply it all on the sofa. They are building a house. Whatever conversation they are having is all part of their own imagined script. The one that was instantly made up on the spot, just like that. Not the one they had pre-written which they had to strive to adhere to, just like mine.

Watching them, I too rewrote my own script. A real life romance....went the title. And the words kept appearing. And as I toggled with the pictures on Photoshop, playing with the brightness-contrast settings and adding just that dash of blur, to play up that 'dreamy' quotient, I realised something. That it was good to have a script for life in the first place. And good to imagine all those perfect parameters going into it, and good to envision what it could be. Because seeing life in that way, was what made me so aware of life as it ultimately happened. And enjoy the play that we had going back and forth. I hand Life a script, and it hands me back reality. And who's to say reality and romance cannot meet and fall in love? For while Life convinced me to embrace the hard contours of my own initial dream, it also made its own brightness-contrast adjustments, and softened up some of those pictures with just that dash of dreamy blur, and handed it back to me, as a sepia toned moment!

Peeping out of the box...

2011-07-19T09:51:00.005-05:00

This morning, I laced up my shoes and decided to go for a walk. And not just around my community as I usually tend to do, but out. Across the street, crossing the main road and into the rarely explored world. Its funny how much we shut ourselves into boxes of different kinds, each one with its own pre-imposed restrictions and constraints. And the slyness of it is how you don't even notice it. Not until you unconsciously set yourself in the direct path of confronting it. I noticed mine in the slight hesitation, even trepidation, why even fear in setting off beyond the boundaries of my own community. And I was shocked at myself. At how deeply I had embroiled myself into the box.

So I set off on my walk. To see what life outside the box had to offer. And to see if I could open myself up to it. The weather was a little balmy, a sure promise of the kind of day to come, but the light morning breeze caressed in all the right places, and set in place a feeling of general well being. Inspired by the momentum of my walk, I began to notice the little things and hear all the high notes being reached, on many a tree branch. The pretty lavendar wildflowers, that could give the spring dandelions a run for their money; wild geese congregating on the banks after their morning swim; a red robin hop hoppity hopping across the grass; sprinklers going haywire watering the lawns and the street; 2 green deck chairs sitting pretty in the backyard, pink flamingos perched daintily between the bushes, looking like they just had a fresh coat of paint. And what is it about picket fences that makes them look so alluring and paints this picture in your head of something calm and quiet? And begs you to come with your own lick of paint to whitewash them with???

This was all the life that was happening, so vibratingly around me, when I hit the pause button on my thoughts. But of course the mechanism of it is a wily one. Its like on a tape player. How you have to press all the way down to start the function, applying all the pressure of your index finger, but all it takes to stop it, is just that light pressure on the 'Stop', just until that point, and it all releases with a loud click. So many times, I caught myself thinking about everything that took me away from that place, and from the person in my shoes. I made plans for what we would do that weekend, how we would get out and ultimately relax in these perfect surroundings, rain or shine! What I would do as soon as I got home. How I was going to cross that busy intersection of a road, miles before I even came to it. How I wished I had my Canon instead to take pictures. Just to name a few.

And this is precisely the kind of thing that has exhausted me and brought me to this point of being locked in a box. This incessant, unrelenting, mental activity, that doesn't let up, even in sleep, manifesting instead as vague dreams and a toss and turn night. The ultimate was when I was sitting down with Thambi and it looked like he was asking me something, and I don't know what happened, but it must have been a full minute later, when I realised that R was counting down some numbers, while looking at me and smiling. And I noticed it with a start, and then it dawns on me that he is counting down to the length of time it was taking me to respond to the little guy. Who all this while had been patiently repeating his question, without giving up on me. It was just so heartbreaking, to see how far I had gone, when there was absolutely no need for that trip, when the nicest possible thing was right there in front of me, waiting to be experienced.

How much of life has such been lost to me already? And how much more will I helplessly forgo, before I can just be simple again? Every day, I wonder. And maybe that is what peeping out of the box, every so often, reveals to you.

The one who is an experience...

2011-07-14T22:04:00.001-05:00

Sigh. Also the one that is hardest to write about, for how do you write about something that is a living, moving, evanescent experience..futile to pin down to a few hundred words, with a few choice adjectives strewn in? You can't. Yet, my maternal heart longs to write 'about' him, and the ever-cheery playfulness, that is the essence of his being. So maybe, I can content myself by writing of him w.r.t things that happened, words he spoke, smiles he wrought, as also his sometimes ruthless disregard for what I lay down as the law. Its all a big big game with him.

He is cheerful about most everything. Though he has also perfected the fine art of whining, in his rather high pitched voice, which acts like a super sonic laser beam, slicing through layers of muddle and thought, and disturbing the very air around you with shrill vibration, such that you are jerked out of your reverie of peace, and forced to listen. Right now, in his stage of innocence, all it takes to woo his worries away are a few well rehearsed sympathetic clucks, a rubbing of his back, and a warm hug. Why just yesterday he told me this very thing, where he sagely explained that he feels happy when I tilt my head sideways and say...awwwwwww. So just when I thought I had gotten away with the whole act, he in fact tells me that he sees right through it, but appreciates it anyhow. And that's how it always is with him.

He sees through most things, but plays along anyway. He gets into the act of most things, but retains his sense of humour about him. Its the Bhagavad Gita all over again, rewritten by the tender hand of an ageless heart. He is Joy cloaked in an Old Navy blue jacket, his eyes locked into mine in a direct gaze.

There was one day, not too long ago, when my spirits were very very down, and I began to weep. No moment was lost as he came over to my side, abandoning his play, climbing into my lap, to ask me....with a steady manner and that heart to heart expression on his face. What happened Amma? Why are you crying? Tell me. What happened?

And when someone asks you with such an air of self-assurance and comfort, you lean on that shoulder, no matter how small it is. And I did, with him. I rested my head on his lap and told him all my woes. He listened, his hand on my face, my hair, and repeated whatever I said back to me, in a questioning form, as if to confirm his understanding of it all. I nod all my affirmation, and then comes his advice. It is just what I need to hear, and several degrees more than what I thought I needed to hear. And it took me and shook me by shock. For no one could have said anything else to me then, that would have healed my heart as absolutely as he did with me. Our children are not who we think they are. There are unseen forces that mold them and enable them to be mediums of expressive truth. Until they begin to fill themselves up with the world.

And then there is his quiet absorption with little lego blocks. He makes some of the most imaginative objects with them, the precision, symmetry and design of which leaves us amazed. And yet, how many times have I made him hurriedly abandon his construction, just because the clock struck the magic hour of 8PM, and that much closer to 'my' quiet time. And how many times, have I cleared away pieces that broke away, thinking he could always do it again the next morning, not realising that each and every single one is an exquisite creation, a masterpiece that can never have a double, even from its Creator?

He has forgiven me all that and more and made it a point, everytime I wear a skirt or something fancy, to tell me that I look like a princess, as also telling me on the days that I have not decked up, that I don't look like a princess. Such that on the days that he does, you feel decidedly like one, as also the Queen Mother to a cute-heart!

We have this little secret love code, him and I. Only because it is considered secret and a code, the two remaining members of the household have also whiffed its scent and used it from time to time. Buts its only between the little guy and me, that it makes the most sense for. And it was born with a desperation on my part to try and tell him how much I loved him. I love you so much Sathya. I would say, and he would listen with a smile. And just to illustrate how much, I would add....Lot lot.....much much!...splaying my hands that much wider, to get his attention to the entire magnitude of it. His eyes would grow wide as would his smile. And pretty soon, all I would have to say is...Lot lot, much much...and he would know what it meant. And then it condensed even more and became the secret code, where I would say the first part, and wait expectantly for him to complete it. And then he would repeat it back to me, while I completed his sentence. And there would be generous smiles and hugs peppering the entire love process.

And then there came this whole fashion episode with this long forgotten brown bead necklace from a Hawaiin theme party, which instantly adorned his neck, from the minute that it was discovered under the bed, along with his sunglasses from our recent Florida vacation. Together, the two would go on his persona, notwithstanding whether it was sunny or not, not even withstanding whether it was the outside or the indoors. And even if he was watching TV and even if he was reading a book. They thus became the twin facets to a very unique personality, and very soon, he took it a notch higher when he insisted that the best way of wearing it was to let the necklace dangle from the middle of the glasses, running down his nose, just so. And believe you me, we even went to the store and the library, looking like that, inviting the curious and highly amused stares of many a passerby, who all agreed...that he had a right to his tastes. Even his teacher in school did not have the heart to have him take it off while there. Instead, she admired his quirky style and had just one request of him. That he slide the glasses to the top of his head, while he did his reading, just so he could see better. If all the world, were as accepting of each one of us and our more harmless eccentricities, what a prized collection we would all be!?!

But a lot sooner than we would have liked or enjoyed,this phaset came to an end. So much so, that it is not me that begs him to wear it, and him that thoughtfully decides whether to comply with my request or not. And just when I think its all over, there comes the whole Buzz Lightyear phase. This time with a Mickey hat on his head, the same set of shades, and a mini bacpack slung over the shoulders. But this Buzz Lightyear, does not fight with lasers, he has a bow and arrow, thanks to his daily exposure to the Mahabharata. Talk about a true amalgam of cultures.

Buzz Lightyear or Hawaiin pilgrim, fantastic block builder or little lovebug, he remains true to his very name, and everyday with him is a fiery reminder of that!

Eight.

2011-06-16T21:50:00.000-05:00

So yesterday was Winkie's 8th birthday. And probably the first time ever that I didn't hit publish at the stroke of midnight on a birthday post. But then, this is the new me. The relaxed, I-am-not-in-a-hurry-to-blog-it-all me! :) And I rather like it. For it makes the times when I do feel like writing about them, that much more enjoyable. Like right now.

The boys are out cycling with their Dad. Dinner's cooked and ready once they return. And I have nothing else pressing or that I cannot relegate to a later time. So this is the moment. And going with the birthday tradition of years past, it will be in the form of a letter to my son, who has hung around for 8 meaningful years!

Dearest Winkie....

Yesterday we celebrated your birthday. I know you are always going to be remember it in your own way, and through your own words, which maybe I will publish here if you sit down long enough to write, but for the sake of sentiment and posterity, I'd like to remember it again too.

It was fun, wasn't it? Sure, things are always more rose-tintedly fun on hindsight, but it was fun! It wasn't perfect in execution, given the short term planning, but the way it turned out was perfect, given exactly the short term planning. The idea was born in my head the evening of the 13th. By then, I had already started gathering little presents for you, and I started thinking of how we could give it to you. We could stack it all together in a nice little mound and have you go at it. Or we could hide it in little places and have you find it. Or, better still, we could get the whole family involved in your treasure hunt and have them also on the edge of their seats as you raced to a nail biting finish. Aaaah! Yes! This last plan is so much better. But so little time! And 2 action packed evenings on the 13th and 14th as we took the train to downtown to meet your father there and hang out in the big city! I was almost going to cancel on the 14th plan, when Appa convinced me that I would have enough time on the train to think and write, and enough inspiration by the lake, in the 72 degree breeze of a perfectly beautiful summer evening. That did it for me. The prospect of creating some happiness in that setting, while you and Thambi played on the grass.

Of course, ideas are always more romantic as vapours in the head, than what actually takes place. Like for instance, how I could barely manage 3 uninterrupted minutes on the train, before you or Thambi would have your next fight and want me to negotiate. Or how the wind suddenly turned cold by the lakefront and made our heads feel heavy from the onslaught of it. And how we had to hurry off from there quite prematurely, and head back to the station to make the next train.

And how I slumped to bed exhausted and wondering how I would ever manage to pull it off, with coordinating with all the family overseas. But it happened. I managed to come up with the rhymes and riddles and sent them out with precise instructions on the 14th, so by 15th morning, most everyone was clued in. And your first clue was taped to a balloon by your bed. You saw it, but didn't read it, and came downstairs to ask me about it. I told you it had mystery, but you'd have to wait to explore it until your Dad and brother woke up and were ready to bear witness to the proceedings. Oh and filming it all, wouldn't have hurt too. And so, a good 1 and 1/2 hours later, you began. Rhymes and riddles, pointers and clues. You went from one to the next, following precise directions and enjoying the thrill of the hunt. Family were on call, waiting for the phone to ring, their riddle to give, on the screen in front of them. I think they enjoyed it too. The miles and distances shrunk, as they were actively involved in your search at different points of the timeline. And you spoke to each and everyone with excitement and anticipation, as their riddles also led you to unearth your little waiting gifts.

Allow me a small digression here. I recently finished reading 'The Last Lecture' by Randy Pausch. (For those who haven't read it yet or seen that video on youtube, now's the time!). In it he talks about the head fake or indirect learning, a football term. How you think you're learning one thing, but it actually points to something else. How your opponent may nod to one side, but actually mean the other side and is trying to throw you off in the process. Or something to that effect. Well, this whole process of a treasure hunt had its head fake too. While it was a fun expedition of using your brain cells and not knowing what was around the next bend, to me it was all about how you would get one more chance to bond with the family from this distance away. And how they would get a chance to be part of your orbit too. It was a way to get you to talk and communicate more, given your oftentimes reticent nature. And I think it helped to draw you out a little bit. And most of all, I hope you got that at these important junctures in your life, it is not things wrapped in colour and tinsel, but people who matter, whose wishes matter, whose blessings count. But if that flew right past your head now, no worries. The way I figure it, we still have another 10 more years of being under the same roof, for it to be drilled in. And I can be quite the tiger mother on that count! :)

So by the time we finished that little game (not!) it was noon. A quick note for you to remember what presents you got : A herbie car from Thambi, A Kinetix bridge construction set from UK, the game 'Spot it' from grandparents, 'Kanoodle Solitaire' from an uncle and a set of stacking tops from your other grandparents. The final clue told you to use up all your tooth fairy dollars at the store. And you knew which store and for what. So that's where we headed after lunch at Dakshin. To get you a swanky new bike, a long time in coming from the bike we got you 4 years back. You rode it, turned it and braked it and everything was good to go. You also decided to name it Blazer! And even there, we tucked that finall riddle which told you that one more present was on its way to you in the mail. But more of that when it comes!

In the evening we lighted up eight candles on the cake and brought it to you. It wasn't a surprise, because Thambi, excited and eager, shouted it out to you and so you knew, but then it was obvious anyway, wasn't it? There wasn't a lot of elaborate design process this time, and we went with a simple cake of summer flip flops for the summer baby that you are! You blew on it, though I don't think you remembered to wish on anything, and then we bit into it and it was delicious!

At the end of that day, as I tucked you into bed, you told me you had had the best day of your life. That it was so much of fun with the treasure hunt, and so interesting a way to do it. I am glad you thought of all the riddles Amma, you said. I am glad I thought of it too Kanna. And gladder still that I pushed myself to do it, when I could have settled for the even simpler option. Life is certainly more flavorful, when peppered with extraordinary moments such as these, when you have an acute sensation of enjoying all that it has to offer. One such moment for me, I think will be this final picture (top). We were both standing outside the restaurant, waiting to go in, when you asked me to click one of you. Click my birthday picture Amma, you said, and posed very sweetly. That slight smile playing at the corner of your lips, is one of your rarer varieties. And you looked dashing and with such nicely groomed hair. And what I liked most was your taking charge of it. You decided the spot, the pose and even that a picture should be clicked. And this is the new you. One who is slowly taking over the reins of his life, and taking responsibility for his actions and taking charge of a situation with a quiet strength and aura of control. I love these new colours of you that emerge from your young boyhood self, and I am grateful indeed at the prospect of all the years that lie ahead to unearth them all, a benediction of the highest Grace.

Happy date birthday yesterday, and Happy Star Birthday tomorrow, my champ!

Lovingly and best-est-ly!
Amma.

Yearbook!

2011-06-02T22:20:00.000-05:00

2nd grade may be remembered for many things out here....but it will go down in Winkie's history as the first year ever that he got his own yearbook!

Yes, it took me that long to order one for him at the end of a schoolyear, for that is how much of a non-school savvy Mom I have been. To have missed out on what is obviously a very looked-forward to school tradition for any kid....well it happened very naturally and year after year with us, because I just didn't *get* how important it was. Or what a small simple pleasure it is. And I may have just given it a miss this year too, had it not been for some mute sixth sense, that made me a wee bit more proactive and just in the nick of time, which can only be attributed to Divine Providence.

As expected, it was a last minute thing, because I did not order it when the forms came in. Nope. I thoughtlessly relegated all those school communications as non-important, and not concerning me, until yesterday when an email came, announcing that the last few copies were still available for those who wanted it. That's when a lightbulb flickered somewhere. But it was not until the next morning, that I felt compelled to do anything about it.

As I woke Winkie up this morning, I asked him what a yearbook was. Because I wasn't really sure. And the fellow who had been fast asleep a moment before, sprang up from bed and started explaining how a yearbook had pictures of everyone and how everyone signed it, and how he had never had one all these years of school and I swear I almost saw his eyes well up with tears. His serial number is 8 in class, and he portrayed the scene where all the numbers were called out one by one.....1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...and just as it came to 7, he would hold his breath and start wishing desperately that somehow, this time, his number would not be skipped. 7, 9...! And his heart would break just a little tiny sliver of a piece and mine into a thousand as I heard the melancholy in his voice.

The feeling that he had just described was not new to me. In fact, I have had several of those times in my school life, where I always felt apart from the rest of the crowd in some way....not quite belonging, but wishing desperately to be ordinary, just like everyone else, to fit in, to belong. So as I pictured that little tender heart inside him, wishing for that same thing, but instead facing the non-fairytale ending that is biting reality, I did feel a lot of heartache. In fact, I couldn't stand knowing that I had been the cause of such a bitter disappointment for him.

I realised then, with extreme clarity, how having a child really is about feeling the pain and happiness of another, as your own, and with a heightened of sentiment if possible. Just for that short period, you do lose a sense of your limited self and expand and grow more open to the feelings that course through another's veins, as if it were your own. And it hurts. Both the pain and the pleasure of it.

So hearing the story of his number being skipped everytime, did it for me and I hurried downstairs to act on that email. I frantically typed a reply asking for an extra copy, feeling positive that this story could still have its fairytale ending after all. Winkie's class was getting theirs signed that day, and I might just be able to get it to him on time. Such was my daydream. It lasted all of 10 minutes when I checked my email again only to read that all those extra copies had been sold out. Uh oh! But she did go on to mention that she might be getting some extra copies over the weekend and I could call back in to check the next day, but it was first come first serve basis. I said I would call back and try my luck.

And that, I thought, was that. This was Thursday, and now he wouldn't get it on time for last full day of school (Monday), so I might as well break the news to him. When he came down all ready and packed, I gave him the grim tidings and his face fell a little, but I made it up to him, by giving back to him his camera, which had been confiscated as a previous punishment, and which he was to get back only near his birthday. But now he was getting it a whole 10 days early. He was stunned and happy and joyous and excited. And he clicked and smiled and was his usual cheery, breakfasting self. And I marvelled at how easy it still was to distract him and make him happy.

Once I got to work, I checked my mail again. And once more, there was a mail from this lady who I will henceforth call an angel, for that is the role she assumed in all of this. She wrote saying, she had the PTA copy on her, and would I mind having that instead, to save on all the time of waiting? It had a little scratch on the side, she said, but other than that, looked as good as new. And I could pick it up this evening. I jumped at this sudden glimpse of a rainbow in the sky, and sent manifold blessings her way, as I hurriedly affirmed the plan of action (lest that be on a first come first served basis too...:D ), and didn't breathe a word of the same to Winkie when he got back home from school. He mentioned, without any pain how he had signed in all his friends' yearbooks and then went on to enjoy his camera some more.

Come 8:00 PM, I covertly left the house and drove over to Angel's home. She was there in her backyard, watering the plants and gave me the book and showed me the scratch, adding...I figured the PTA doesn't really need a yearbook, but this kid would! What a sweetheart!

I owe her a nice email right now, after I hit publish, telling her about my son's reaction, because boy! is it worth telling. I came home, hiding the book very cleverly beneath a bag, and he asked me where I had been, and as I was chattering away, I also managed to get the camera out and R hugged him at that precise time, to make it look like I was getting a picture of the 2 of them, and I slipped him the book over Winkie's unsuspecting head, and when they broke apart, Winkie caught sight of it, and started, then gasped and grabbed it, exclaiming....hey, that's a yearbook!

And his face! Oh his face! I will never forget that smile for as long as I live, and now you will see it too, thanks to all my expert planning! :D By now it had dawned on him that this had been planned and he gushed and went quiet and gushed and went speechless, all in turns. When he gushed, he said over and over how he couldn't believe it, and when he went quiet, it was to pore over the pages of his very own, very first yearbook and look for his class page. When he gushed again, it was to say that this was the best thing ever, and I know it was, and when he went quiet again, it was to flash the most heartful smile at me, and give me a hug of big thanks. It seems that all the kids would bring their books back to school tomorrow to get it signed by their teacher and the 2nd graders from the other classes, and he would very well have an opportunity to get his signed too. And there was a kid in his bus who hadn't got his copy either and they both talked about who among them was going to get his first, like in a contest, and by jove, Winkie wins this one doesn't he???!!!

It is 10:00 PM as he finally went off to sleep, tucking all his excitement under his pillow, with a lot of difficulty, gushing all the while of how tomorrow was going to be his best day EVER!

And as for me.........well, my heart is full after all that emotional breaking. And I feel keenly how much Winkie deserves this happiness, for he asks of so little from us, always accepting a lot of our no's, well meant as they are, with a wonderful forbearance. And I reflect on how sweet is the joy of gain for a little heart, when bitterly difficult has been the pain of denial. Winkie has been through a tremendous low and then a giddying high, which has helped him live out the pulse of life. But this doesn't call for a repeat performance of the same feat next year. Of that I am sure. :)

Of nest and trust and doing the best!

2011-05-27T11:08:00.001-05:00

Those who have been reading my blog for awhile now, know how much I focus on trying to change things within me. How I am constantly introspecting, for the meaning and place of things in my life and the way I am affected by them. How I know what are the true impediments to my own inner growth, and what I need to overcome it. And that one of the biggest things holding me back was my anger. But perhaps, you didn't know that last bit, because I wasn't that very aware of it myself, until now. But over the last 10 years, I learnt that had let a lot of anger grow within me. And that it was liberally expressing itself with my kids and my husband and my family in different ways. And that expressing it always always made me terribly unhappy in the end.

So much so that when my the form of my Spiritual Guru, passed from this earth, I was seized, not just by that initial grief, but right after, this great sense of urgency to transform. To lend some meaning to my own life, by giving up this great big obstruction, that did no good. To instead let some of that anger turn inwards, in a very positive light and let out that steam to fuel the real effort to let it go.

On Easwaramma Day, at Winkie's Balvikas graduation, I wrote this down on a little flower petal that was meant for giving up such vices. And then again, renewed that resolve among a group of my bhajan friends, as we all tried to let one bad thing go. The days following that were horrible. If possible, I got more angrier than ever, I let it show more fiercely than ever, through the most biting words and screaming, and it seemed like I had completely forgotten that such a resolve had been undertaken by me. Looking back now, I realise those were the death shrieks of my own Ego, as it realised it was close to annihilation. And it was putting up quite a fierce fight. But it eventually lost to the greater power....which was my sincere desire to change and be better.

After 3 bitterly frustrating days, the 4th day found me much calmer. The anger was still there, but even as it tried to bubble up to the surface, I became aware of it, and seized control back. I bit back words, I gave myself time outs, and forced myself to speak softly. I exercised a lot of restraint in my reactions, and found that I enjoyed that pause and breather to think things through. When things got overwhelming, I simply dropped to my knees and prayed, with a fervency and urgency, that was so liberatingly pure. And it always helped.

Slowly, whatever anger I still had became more impersonal. And by that I mean, that I still acted angry sometimes, but it was just to put a point across to the boys, that some things just weren't done. Inside, I felt no passion in that anger. It was calm...and quiet. One of the biggest things this effort has wrought in me is this sense of sweet restraint. I don't feel the urge to react right away. Do you know how big that is? Most of our problems happen because we cannot control our urge to react to something. I find myself being aware of whatever undesirable feelings and emotions still surface, and giving it the time and space to work itself out. And then I act.

But perhaps, the nicest after-effect, and not the subtle kind, to come from all of this...is my relationship with Winkie. Those who have been reading my blog for awhile now also know that I can have a complex sort of chemistry with him, quite unlike the more effortless one I have with my younger one. Now, Winkie feels the direct warmth of all my change and my efforts. He is a lot more relaxed around me now. We talk so much more. He is bubbling with things to tell me from school, whereas before I would have to pry even a single word out of him for a simple question, on how was your day! He likes being with me, and is more forthcoming with ideas on what we can do together. The times when I have to get strict and put on my disciplining mantle, he is more responsive and understanding of them. Sounds too good to be true, doesn't it? I think so too. But because it is all good, it is all true.

The biggest testimony to my goodness is from an incident this morning. It all happened so mellifluously that it can't even be sharply termed an incident, but let me coin a few words to tell you about it. He was ready for school. Bag was packed, I had done my bit for his lunchbox and everything and he was set to leave. I wished him a good day, but he lingered. Suddenly, before I knew it, he came and wrapped his arms around my waist and snuggled close in a hug, a very content smile on his face. Within a second, I was bent over him, planting a kiss on his soft cheeks and smoothing his hair, thinking simultaneously that it was time for a haircut. :). As he walked, he turned back so many times to wave and the gap from the loss of one of his upper milk teeth, made his smile even more goofier and sweeter. He was showering his love so liberally and affectionately, that at one point, it got too much to take and I started feeling conscious of it within myself, and played down my own delight, into a very casual smile and wave back. But the impression was left on my heart and I find myself giving myself a very hearty pat on the back through this post, for being such a good girl! :D

And I realise one thing.....transformation is so easy beyond a point. It is just reaching t.h.a.t point, that's the killer! :)

As for why I chose the picture of an empty nest on the tree outside my home....the reasons are 2-fold. One, there is an avid reader friend of mine, who loves the visual effect of a picture for each post. And 2, because the picture should have some relevance to the words underneath, and I figure this is mine. The sight of it makes me happy. Its been around for a few years now, and I think its still being used. And I think the fact I am most touched about, without even realising how touched I am about it, is that this little bird has trust in us, and faith in us, to have built a nest and left it there, knowing it can always come back to it. Something about that implicit trust, hones my protective instincts even further. Just like the trust, that people I love, have in me, to be the best thing that I can be! Yes, I can find a sob story for everything! :D

House of Expressions

2011-05-25T22:42:00.000-05:00

This is the perfect end to a day. Its 8:00 PM and the boys were in bed some 10 minutes ago. A rarity in this household, despite my fondest notions of an early bedtime. All the groceries are done and put away. The house is clean and organised and looking spic and span. I re-potted our biggest house plants and they seem even more lush and prosperous now. And best of all, I managed to do the one thing I had been dreaming of for awhile now. Setting up a proper art corner for the boys.

A place, where we could find all the supplies whenever the fancy overtook to create something. A place, where making that inevitable mess was still ok. A place that would be a little haven of peace and solitude and expressive energy. And most of all just a space they could go to on their own and help themselves to materials that were within their reach, instead of calling out to me for every single thing, which is how it has been so far.

The idea for this space having been born a long time in my head, I had been steadily preparing for it, by gathering all the stuff together and accumulating it in the basement. But I still had no clue how I wanted to go about it. It remained a vague dream in my head, until finally this last weekend, when I decided that me and the boys would head down, while R took care of feeding us lunch. But once there, I was again beset by this inertia of where and how to begin. How to make efficient use of that space? How to give consideration for the plants that still needed to be indoors and in view of the sun, and also my art corner, which would be light, and airy and bright enough for the boys to work in? So I just sat back on the couch for a bit and looked around, while the boys played and shouted around me, and finally, unable to sit back any more, just began with some simple broom on the floor action.

I swept the floor from end to visible end, and just the swish swish of that helped clear out my own dust in the head, and gave me a clearer picture. Soon, I was clearing out the soil of old plants that had long dried up, and watered the new ones, and after deciding to still keep our clothes drying corner intact, decided that the best place to set up would be right next to it. With that finalized, the rest was easier. I moved out stuff that didn't belong in that corner, like bits of old carpet, and extra blinds, and our old table etc etc., pulled in all the extra shelving that we had around the place and started opening the boxes of supplies. Before I knew it, it was actually taking shape, and the fun bits were how I could improvise and use stuff I already had to add interesting touches to the space. Like, how Winkie's decoupaged bowl from school craft-time, was now used to hold some of our paint tubes. Or how an interesting goody bag from a party was now a paintbrush stand. Or how some of the boys' old plastic sectioned plates, could now be used as extra easels. Or how the toyhouse we began and never completed, is now our supply house. :D. Or even how, the two 1000-piece Thomas Kincade puzzles, I had worked on 10 years ago and glued to the back of cardbord, to make it like a painting, could now be commissioned as an art piece for the space, acting as a source of inspiration, and giving splash and colour to the grey walls.

Before long, I was digging into Winkie's Kindergarten and 1st grade memory boxes, to extract all his other drawings and pictures and notes, and sticking them on the walls. I ran back upstairs and got all of Thambi's current ones from his folder and added a corner of his own, making that section of the wall a museum....of memories and colour, and little hands in earnest expression, and capturing the essence of the boys frozen at that point in time. I saved the really prized ones (pics later), to be framed nicely and mounted in the boys' room. But this made use of every other thing they had worked on and saved, and added so much, colour, character and cheer to the place.

At the end of it all, I sat back again on the couch, this time to enjoy the fruits of all my labour and it was a gladdening sight, which is the picture you see on the top, followed by a more detailed slideshow. Now it remains to be seen, whether it will be used and made functional in the way I envisioned it. And that's a whole different ballgame. But the summer's just beginning, ins't it? :)

This free scrapbooking design personalized with Smilebox

Feasting on the Mahabharatha

2011-05-17T21:08:00.077-05:00

For around close to a month now, I have taken to telling the boys one different story each night at bedtime. Its something I had always meant to get around to, but never made the time for in terms of planning. But thankfully, that bit of inertia was overcome and now I read up something different each day, and create the right atmosphere each night, with the lights off, sheets tucked under little chins, eyes wide as saucers in the dark, all other claims of life put on hold for those 20 magical minutes as mythology meets imagination, and carefully chosen words fall on eager little ears. At first they were whatever mythological stories I could remember from my own readings of Amar Chitra Katha. But when Winkie started out-narrating me, with his faultless memory in his more recent readings of the very same texts, I realised I would have to have a theme, and diligently research each story, to create that right effect of drama with carefully interjected details of nuances, which would delight the listeners and weave a blanket of charm and allure over all the protagonists.

And so it was that I began telling them stories from the Mahabharatha. As a child, and a teen, and even now as an adult, I was and continue to be most fascinated by this great epic. Every single character in the story has so many little inner stories to take you even deeper into their lives, and even take you off track from the main plot. But each one of these digressions allows you to taste the richness of it all and understand that mystical setting that was the period of the Mahabharatha. I love hearing about the grandsire Bhishma, and his ultimate sacrifice to give up the crown and even conjugal happiness. I love the air of mystery and victory in a swayamvar, as the princess chooses the one who truly deserves to have her. I love the mysterious ways in which some of the births take place, like that of the Pandavas and the Kauravas and even Pandu and Dhritharashtra themselves. I love Krishna's guiles and tricky advice, which when you sit down to analyse, you realise is steeped in dharma. I love the sound of all the astras that are given as boons to the brave ones who do the most rigorous of penances for them. I loooooo....ooove the story of Karna, and it almost always leaves a lump in my throat, to know how doomed he was from the start. His life was a most valuable lesson to all. I love the solemnity of that period, where a word once given, was defended to the end with your own life. Where war had rules and honor and subsequently, even dishonor.

And so it was with great pleasure and eagerness that I sat down to read a few passages each night, willing my tired end-of-the-day brain to memorise the names and places and people and weapons, to be able to recreate that vivid texture back to the boys in their room. I started off with the story of Vishwamitra and Menaka, narrating it in the most innocent terms possible. Winkie barely had the patience then, for he couldn't see what they would have to do with any of the meatier portions of the story, of the game of dice and the exile, and finally the war. But I told him every story would have a proper place to start, and there needs to be a period of build-up, which must precede the strong portion of the narrative. And so they both listened raptly, and understood who Shakuntala was, and that her son was the reason the homeland got her name, and that in this great line of ancestry, finally comes King Shantanu, who marries the River Goddess Ganga, and watches in shock as she drowns so many of their sons, and what was Bhishma's history even before that birth, and why he was cursed to this life, and also blessed to choose the exact moment of his departure from earth. And fast forward 2 generations, and how each one of the sisters Ambika & Ambalika react when they see the scary persona of Sage Vyasa, and how that affects the children they bear. And then of course, the story goes into overdrive from that point, and you are no longer steering it. It has now assumed a will of its own, and will see itself through to its final fitting climax and anticlimax.

But I am getting ahead of myself. We still haven't gotten that far. Right now, we are at how each of the Pandavas were born, and we sidetracked a bit from there into the detailed life of Karna and his ultimate death. My spirits are a little low right now, for I am still not over his demise and how the fates played out for him all through the story. And was remembering so keenly Sivaji Ganesan's ultimate performance in Karnan, when I googled to see if was available even by the remotest possibility, and viola! There it was, a very old old print, but in full print nonetheless. I am super excited and looking forward to movie night on Friday when we can premiere it to the boys. Of course a lot will have to be translated, but it will be thrilling for them to see some of the action live. On the same note, I also managed to find quite a few full episodes of the Hindi serial on veoh.com, and am looking forward to those protracted viewing sessions.

Which all brings me ultimately to kutti Thambi's favorite story in the epic....that of Abhimanyu and how he entered the chakkafew and was ultimately trapped inside it, and assailed by Jayadratha among many others and overpowered and killed, but how he was the hero that we all love and rooted for all through. The story of Abhimanyu is truly a heartbreak and it really made a deep impression on Thambi. Its most entertaining to hear him narrate it in his yankee accent calling the Pandavas ...Pan-davas (with pan as in pan-card!). And thanks to him, his uncle and aunt from London and Altoid, who visited prior to that, know that story so intimately, that they can do a thesis on it, thanks to all the countless narrations he subjected them to on our long roadtrip over the Easter break, a few weeks ago.

But again, I digress. The Mahabharatha is on in full swing now. And its only a matter of time before I put my hand to my heart and start singing Mahabhaaaaaaaarath.....Mahabhaaaaaaaaaaaarath........Mahabhaaaaaaaaaarath. [Click on the link to listen to the original. :)]....punctuated with a solemn blowing of the conch, just before storytime. Yes, we are that hung over here. :)

[Image courtesy google.com]

Do you believe it?

2011-05-11T09:45:00.000-05:00

Just as we got back home after our morning station run, Winkie followed me into the house, and declared, a plaintive note in his voice...Amma, Sathya called me a bad boy!

Now I've heard this enough number of times, as the boys grow and repeatedly discover new dynamics to their relationship as brothers and playmates, but this morning as I heard it, a simple and immediate question formed in my head, even without my knowing, and I asked it. Do you believe that?

He was quiet. Do you believe that you are a bad boy, Winkie?..I repeated.

He nodded quietly in the no. That's it then, right?..I say.

Yes... he nodded, this time.

And that was it.

And quietly as it came, it was still a bolt of lightning, suddenly illuminating the space of my mind, much like it does on a dark and rainy night.

Anyone can say anything to us. And the only task upto us at that point, is to examine it to see if there is truth. If it is not the truth, the way forward is simple. It is false, so shrug it off. The reason that it bothers us, even to the extent that it does, is our 'inability' to let it go. At times, all we are required to be is a medium for things to pass through. But if we mistakenly broaden the scope of that role to to receiving and holding all that energy, then no doubt it will fester and harm our insides.

But if it is true, if it points to even a sliver of the truth, then we can dwell on it just a bit more, to pick out those grains of truth, and hold them tightly in our fist, while letting all that chaff blow away. We can look at those grains of truth again, and ingrain them into our awareness. And then, it is time to let even that go.

A 5 minute flash into the future...

2011-03-29T19:42:00.000-05:00

Spring break is here, and with just the right sense of timing and perception, the boys have decided that now is the time they will get along well together, without too many of their customary 5 minute interval clashes. A quiet afternoon, after work, and I am lying on the couch with this vague headache, which I cannot shake off over the past 2 days, which feels like its come on because of some toxic build-up. The boys who had been playing upstairs all this while are now playing around me. Not too loud, not too quiet, just the kind of noise level that doesn't rattle your nerves.

I have a shawl over my eyes to block out the uncomfortable light and am trying for a short nap, hoping it will kick off this nagging discomfort. But before my mind can release its hold and let me rest, a few thoughts come swimming up to the surface. And even as I am about to be caught up in them, I realise its happening, but feebly.

Sometimes, thoughts are so darn powerful, that while they happen, they have this truly dreamlike quality, making events, past and a forecasted future, seem so real, so tangible, and evoke emotions that are just as raw, that you know that you are bound to feel them at some point. Right then, I was having a sudden and intense perception of what it would feel like the day Winkie, as the first born, left the home nest, for his future. In a short 2 minutes, the scene played out, very very real, and the feeling of that goodbye, and the consequent emptiness in the house washed over me. I had always believed that I had a certain innate sense of detachment within me, which would only grow over time, to help me deal with that particular life situation, with a very stoic back. And perhaps, I still will. But I realised that I was also going to feel a lot more than I think I am capable of right now. The desolation of the children leaving the house, one by one, will surely find its way into my heart as well, and for that second, I even felt what that was like.

Disturbed out of my sleep mode, I threw off the shawl and looked around for the kids. They were still there some 10 metres away, playing some game conjured up from their imagination. But right then, even that distance was too much for me, and I called out to Winkie to come sit with me. He walked over, delighted by this sudden spotlight of my loving attention on him, and cuddled around my feet. I told him about my catnap dream, and he smiled some more. I told him that I wanted to enjoy all that I could of him for the time he was with me. He said ok, and cuddled some more. I turned my head, to see Thambi standing there, looking a bit left out and waiting to be called too. The instant I signalled, he bounded over and cuddled in the quickly narrowing space on the sofa. Before long, they were back in the thick of their game. In it, they had just escaped the chase of the shark in the water (the floor) and were now safely in the boat (the couch), and rowing hard to get to safety. Thambi tried to get Winkie to go upstairs with him, but for the moment that was out of the question as Winkie told him "I am staying here with Amma forever."

Slowly, the intensity of even that moment passed, and as my eyes closed under the pressure of my recent thoughts, the boys rowed themselves safely to shore, and made their way up the island, to their room. For the moment, all crisis had been successfully averted, theirs and mine, as I gave in to the luxury of sleep.

Old clothes, new memories!

2011-03-29T07:13:00.000-05:00

Yesterday morning, early enough by most standards, I was suddenly seized with the urge to do something that had been in the back of my mind for awhile. Which negates that it was a spontaneous action in the first place, but the early morning timing of it certainly was. I hurriedly punched in the numbers to deactivate the alarm system, got into my flip flops and thump-thumped my way down the stairs to where I knew I would most likely find it. There were a couple of boxes on top which I had to lift out of the way first. But underneath them all, there it was. Just as I thought it would be. Covered ever so carefully in plastic sheet on top, blocking out any source of dust or moth. I eagerly prized away the covering, and laid my hands on one single object on the top, lifted it out and measured it with my eye. Yup! It was about right. And when I looked inside at a tag, it said '3T'. This was it!

All of Winkie's 4-5 year clothes, carefully sorted some 3 years ago, the good pants, the good shirts, the still nice tees, and all laid neatly into this box, and covered up and put away so that in another 3 years, when the need for it was born, it could be opened again.

And as I found it again and opened it yesterday, I realised how intensely delightful this process has been for me. How I love buying clothes for their wardrobe, careful of price, mindful of colour and cognizant of my own tastes and preferences. How much of freedom I have in this enterprise and how it is my choice that they carry out on their backs, every single day. Its pretty amazing, when I get down and think about it. How much of delight they take when they have a new shirt to wear one fine day. To this day, I have never heard one negative remark, except for when only one kid has a new thing to wear, and the other doesn't, because the need doesn't call for it.

It is one of my simple pleasures every morning, to pick out something for them, and make sure the creases are out before they get it on. Winkie still hasn't reached that point of separateness where he wants to choose for himself. He is happiest when I do it for him. I love to see the end result of that everyday, as they walk in hair neatly combed, lip balm glistening on their lips, a dash of vibhuti faintly on their foreheads. Winkie almost always sneaks up on me quietly, to take me by surprise and contains his excitement at showing himself off with a very shy smile, which gets shyer when he notes the appreciation on my face. The little guy on the other hand comes tumbling down the stairs, every footstep marked and pronounced and even before I see him, I hear the ta-da!, in grand announcement! But quiet or all-out-there, they both wait for that same appreciative glance and exuberance from me in turn and I love to give it.

The novelty of a new shirt wears off sometime after the second use of it, and I think I say that more from my p.o.v, (for Winkie is still in raptures over his Mario PJ's bought 2 months back!), and it definitely doesn't last as long as that eventual day when the hem of the pantline is a good but sudden 2 inches short of the feet. When did this happen?, I wonder. I swear it fit him just last week! And after the next round of laundry, I put it away in a corner, the place where everything they have outgrown goes, happy that the rate at which this pile grows is still at a very manageable level for me. :) If its Thambi's, then 'Goodwill' is the usual recipient, after all the quality sorting and that goodbye isn't at all hard for me. And if its Winkie's.....ahhh! if it's Winkie's, then I linger just a little bit longer over those....knowing that there will come a day when I see it again. That when I see it again, it will be to clothe the form of yet another that is a piece of my heart.

And so, after that long winded and protracted attempt at sharing exactly what opening that box means to me...let me just say that yesterday was also the day we christened the first of those clothes. Thambi was pretty thrilled that he had a whole new box of clothes just for him. I was thrilled that I would be reliving some of those yester-memories, while anticipating the ones up ahead. And this feeling lasts all through the use of the box, until the very last garment is extracted and worn. And the faint aroma of it still hangs in the air, for many more wash cycles after. And so here he is, wearing the sweater Winkie wore to his 1st grade music concert, which shrunk in that very first wash and now fits the little imp nicely, with enough wiggle room too. Its amazing how much of personality he can insert into them and make those older memories truly a thing of the past!

The small big boy!

2011-03-26T08:36:00.002-05:00

Thambi is a whooping 4 years old. It happened some months back, of course, and owing to the pressure of time and then the distance of having crossed that threshold of time, I could not sit down and document that special day that was his, and the specialness that is him. But suffice it to say that he is now in full awareness of his age, and at times his age is big enough to license him to ask for some things, like going out to play on his own....with the words..

I am 4 years old Amma. I'm a big boy.

...with hands played out, a look of injustice writ all over his face. And then there are those times, when he will sufficiently play his age down and try to make me understand that being 4 is simply not enough. Like the time when I asked him to drive the car one morning!

Yes, I did ask him to do that. I told him, hey...I am tired today, YOU drive the car. And he looked at me, highly amused but seriously entertaining the question at the same time, demonstrating to me how he couldn't even reach the keys on the hook, so how would he drive Big Buddy car?

I am only 4 years old Amma. I am not a big boy, I am only small big.

So yes, age is just a number, which can be tweaked wherever needed to suit the situation. I think he's got it right. But recently, I discovered something he is apparently become old enough to do. And it amused me no end, when I saw the evidence of that action one day.

Another one of those busy mornings where I was working in the kitchen to pack lunches, and I grabbed hold of him that day, got down to eye level and asked him, very very nicely, to go upstairs, undress and get into the bath, by which time I would be upstairs. And his constant refrain these days is, a very eaggerated.........oooooooooookkkkkkayyyyyyyy! And he went upstairs, and busied himself and 10 minutes later I was there too and the rest of the process went on as usual. Once I got home after dropping him off to school, I went upstairs to make the beds and straighten up things and that's when I saw it. His near neatly folded pyjamas sitting daintily on the ironing table. It stopped me in my tracks. I remember telling him very clearly, to just take them off and leave them in the bed and I would get to them later, and I remember saying this with some exasperation, since he didn't know yet how to fold and put away his clothes, or so I assumed. But there it was, as near to being perfectly folded, as is possible from those little hands. The shirt laid on top of the pants and not on the bed like I had told him, but better still on the ironing table.

I pumped up with full blown pleasure at the sight and at the very thought of him in the act of doing it, carefully, precisely, thoughtfully and perfectly. It made me see him in a way that I had not really seen him until that point.....as a little boy, whose capacity and ability was growing, and not just as my baby whom I could always lift with one hand and cuddle and kiss and crush. When he came home I excitedly told him how happy my discovery made me and that I didn't know he knew how to fold and would he please show me how he did it again. And then, he pumped up with the pleasure of all my compliments and proceeded to shake out all the folds and laid them again on the floor, turning them this way and that, and then promptly curling it all up into a mock fold, which was still precise and still neat and still perfect, because he believed that he was doing it right! It was priceless!

Now, he takes great pleasure in folding in his clothes everyday and I take great pleasure to look towards the ironing board where I am sure to see the result of his efforts every morning. And life is simply beautiful with this small big boy that is a 4 year old!

The power of now...

2011-03-25T22:14:00.025-05:00

Have you all read 'The Power of Now'? If not, then you should. And I am not saying this lightly. I picked it up about a month ago, even though it was given to me by a friend even before that. You know how it is. Sometimes, the stars really have to come into that exact alignment, for a certain initiative to take place. And thus it came to be that I started reading the book.

What do I say? That it is the simplest possible truth of everything there is to be known in this life. That without the shades and nuances of religion, it lays the wisdom of all Eternity, in the simplest possible words. That the words just get you started, but somehow blend into the background, while the simplest possible understanding shines in the forefront. That it has changed my life. That it is yet another landmark in my growth as a person, trying to find her way. That it has broken down, into simple simple steps, the very cliche that is 'living in the moment'. I know now, how to Be. I can't do it all the time, but even when I regress, the awareness comes rushing up that I have slipped into the past or slided into the future, and that awareness in itself, is the present. I know now, the patterns of when I slip into my ego mode, such that if I feel anger, pain, frustration, sadness, emptiness, irritation...I know exactly where it is coming from, and the moment you know it, its hold on you is gone. I understand so much better, the patterns of pain I have created for myself. We all create patterns of pain for ourselves, such that everytime anything happens to create a ripple in our life, we identify with that pass accumulated pain and our reactions kind of snowball after that. Its called losing control of yourself. I know now how my body becomes stiff and rigid, when I identify with my mind and my thoughts, and its a very simple and elegant matter of just breathing a little deeply, squaring your shoulders to toss out that stiffness and become intensely conscious of what is happening at that point in time, to come into immediate bliss. It is now that simple. I realise now, that even if the person you are dealing with is struggling unconsciously with their ego, you can still help them, with your power of being acutely present.

And as a result, as a wonderful result, I know now what I was missing with my children. My two, sweet, precious boys, with their quirky little personalities, which is a cause for smiling, every single day. I have realised how much I was identified with my "role" of being a mother, that it took so much away from just being present with them and enjoying this thing called their childhood. I know how to be with them now. The struggle, that elusive struggle for that utopian place of motherhood is gone. When I am intensely focused on them, I stop being a mother, and am just me. And they are just them. And with that, we enjoy the simple delight of whatever we are doing at that moment, even if it is just struggling to get ready on time. Yes, even that becomes enchanting. All this new found peace is quite heady. And I want to share it with you. Please read this book by Eckhart Tolle. Let us not have an intellectual discussion on it, if you have, but just savour the experience of it, and spread the joy in your own life. True, many people have also discarded it as 'nothingness', and if that's how you feel about it, that is also fine. There is a time and place for everything.

I even had the opportunity to share the core essence of this book with Winkie. He was glancing at the cover of it, as it lay on the table one day, and put it down sheepishly as I walked in. I guess he must have wondered, what 'power' there could be in 'now'? :) But when I saw that smile on his face, something clicked for me inside, and I decided to tell him the 'story' of the book.

I told him, that right 'now', right 'here', there is a lot of power hanging around for us to take unto us and make our own. But we don't do it, because we, i.e., our mind is always thinking of something else that is not there. He might either be thinking of something that happened before or planning for something that may happen later (and here I gave him instances of his own thoughts from past and future, and he laughed at my accuracy!). So when our mind is elsewhere, it is not inside our body which is right now, here. So we lose out on gaining that power, that is there right 'now'. And the demons/rakshasas (which he now relates to as the bad thoughts and vices in him) take control and gain domination. And the only way to overthrow them is to bring the mind rushing back to the body, to stay with it. Which means that if he is eating at the time that his mind wanders away for a lengthy, unconscious stroll, then he brings it back into his body, by first becoming aware that it has gone away in the first place. And then, lodging his attention very closely to his food, watching it clearly, putting a spoonful into his mouth, tasting every bit of it, and feeling the juice of it going down his throat, and then just repeating that over and over again, and discovering not the monotony of it, but the splendid uniqueness of every rote act. But it won't be always simple to become aware and then become focussed the very next instant. Sometimes, there will be a bridging facility that is needed, to make that 'effort' fluid. And he could always start with his breath. Watching his breath, in and out, in and out, and then slowly expanding that awareness outwards to everything else surrounding him.

He got that. He really got that. And I was pretty pleased with myself for having found a relatively simple way to share this great, mega truth with him. If he could become natural at this, this early on, when his mind processes are slowly getting complex, how much more delightful every life experience of his would be, and with how much more aliveness, he could witness it all. Sigh. They say the best way to teach your children something, is to be the lesson yourself. And I hope that I can practice this beautiful art of living so sincerely, that it IS me, and thus he will know of no other way to be.

It is a dream.

But that is in the future, isn't it? :)

That gnawing trepidation called Fear...

2011-03-07T10:16:00.000-06:00

It was the last few minutes before the bus was to arrive. We had lazy words going back and forth between us, the time stretching out just a bit. When all of a sudden, his manner changed. The flash of yellow from the corner of my eye, being the reason. An alertness came into his form, and he hurriedly opened the door. Bye Kanna, have a lovely day, I called out, and the appropriate response came, but they were mere words. His attention was already diverted. He spotted his friend being the first in line for the bus, and he banged the car door shut. Poor Buddy!...I thought. His legs carried him at a brisk pace, resisting the temptation to break into a run. Somehow, at that moment it was very important to me that he not run. That he walk. That grace be kept intact even at 7 and a 1/2 years. A couple of girls from behind overtook him as they ran to the door. His feet almost broke into a trot, but only just and he was quick, but he still walked. Tension, of a subtle kind, was writ all over his body. His mind urging him to run, to be the first, to get there before the others. But something else, some other ancient instinct restraining that outright action. Still the fear was there. Palpable. It was almost like it had a form, one that I could recognize, and see as an external object.

It made me smile, for having caught it quite unawares like that. How often do you catch Fear in its tracks, and call it out? Yes I saw it then. In him. And in me for all the times that I had let myself be crippled by it. And us for all the times, we will continue to let it be so, until that one beautiful moment, when we can all recognize it and call it out. Hey, you are Fear. And you are here. I saw you.

Fear in the form of not being a good enough person. Fear of feeling too happy. Fear that there is something lacking in your child. Fear of what someone else thinks. Fear of guilt. Fear to deal with difficult people. Fear of being sad. And depressed. Fear of not having enough Faith. Fear of death. Fear of that phone call in the early hours of the morning. Fear when the phone rings and your reverie is broken. Fear, fear, fear. Its all fear.

But the wonderful, most compassionate thing about it all is....we needn't launch on a whole new campaign to rid ourselves of Fear. The very action of knowing it, for what it is, that is a big part of saving ourself from its clutches. Instead of letting it be the constant hum-drum of our lives, dictating all our emotions and actions, if we saw it separately for what it is, and where it might be coming from, we have already become powerful over it.

And the even more wonderful thing is the opportunity to teach it to my son. Why does he have to face years of living in the shadows of it, his true personality masked by its darkness? I can tell him now, in very simple words, in a way that he can understand, teaching him to recognize it too. And if I was wrong in thinking of that moment as fear in him, then maybe he will see it for what it is at some other point.

The point is that Fear will not stand in chance in the light that is our awareness of it. Once we have recognized the thief, his identity is forever known. So all we have to do, is be there to see it.

Right now...

2011-03-04T07:33:00.000-06:00

I started off with typing out what the time is right now. But then I erased it. Does now have a time? Isn't now, that time? So...let me start again.

The TV is on, unusual for this time of the morning. Its the treat the little one gets for braving the highest fever of his life so far. My throat is warm and soaking in the delicious sweetness of my favorite coffee. The day outside is actually my perfect kind of weather. The sun seems to sleep in a little longer as the clouds take center stage and sing their rain song. Traffic....whoosh...whoosh....whoosh. Everyone is going somewhere. The side table is stacked with some board games and a lot of tiny zoo animal figures and Thambi's cars, some upturned. Maybe they are still sleeping. :)

Half folded laundry is on the floor, a chore from last evening that I still need to finish up. I can hear the water pipes with their steady hum, as the sound of the tub faucet blares from the bathroom upstairs. R is getting ready for his day. He plans to work from home. Winkie still sleeps, and I greedily let him grab those last few minutes of blissful sleep before a hand comes to shake him awake. He slept late after watching American Idol with me. We are into it. I remember the look of smiling but tense anticipation on his face and feel like smiling too.

I rock gently on the armchair I am sitting on. I love this chair. Its right for my back and it has just the right tilt for a rock. I am here now. Happy to feel this familiar old urge to type into a place that feels like home.....words that come from a place that feels like home. Now is just wonderful!

Love your brother!

2011-01-19T10:53:00.005-06:00

1-19-11

Dearest Winkie,

It is confirmed. You are a letter writer. And believe it to be the best mode of communication. Especially when talking doesn't work. Or complaining. Or begging. Or anything. When your brother turns a deaf ear to all your spoken pleas, you write to him. And put it in his mailbox. Never mind that he doesn't read a single string of words yet. Never mind that even when I read it to him, he smiled most understandingly, as if he 'got' what I was saying, and went right back to his 'troubling' ways! None of that matters, because all you wanted to do was write and say it and get it out of your system.

I still remember that somber look on your face when you very purposefully strode over to me, to ask if you could tear a page out of my little lined notebook. You wanted to write a letter, you said. I nodded absently, because me and your father were busy brainstorming on how we were going to transform the toy-room into a boys' haven. I know now which pen you used, by the colour and mark of the ink. As an aside, let me tell you, that this pen gives you a very good hand. Your handwriting was unbelievable to me when I first saw the letter. Beautiful!

Anyways, 10 minutes later, you were back in the room, striding even more purposefully now, to his little mailbox. He was oblivious to all the goings on of course, as was your father. But somehow, in the middle of all that idea-throwing, I managed to catch the look on your face. Firmly set jaw, flashing eyes, and this determined look on your face....as if saying, There, that does it! You also gave me a curt nod as our eyes briefly met. And then you were gone.

Today, when some semblance of order is coming back into the room, my eyes happened to fall on Thambi's mailbox, and I suddenly remembered what was tucked inside it. Your father was there too, and we excitedly opened it, waiting to see what special words your mind had concocted. And we were not disappointed! I've already talked about the beautiful hand, so we'll skip that. But do you know how to spell the word 'thorough'? For that is what you are. One look at the neatly inscribed date on top, is enough to rest my case. Learn the meaning of this word, for you have already learnt what it is to be thorough. :)

Emphatic. That's another word buddy. How you emphatically stress on the 'If you stop troubling..' and the 'I will give you a surprise...' bit. Over and over again in a loop, such that he will get the message. Loud and clear. No scope of confusions. :).

Efficient. I love how you have used one sentence to convey 2 very separate things. You may have forgotten a comma there, or it may be a deliberate ruse to convey the double meaning. Love, your brother...you say, in a typical way to end a letter. And Love your brother, you tell him, keeping in mind the tone of authoritative request in the rest of your letter. Its brilliant how you hit two birds with one stone. No...no....we are not actually killing any birds here, love. Its a saying. Just saying. :)

Cognizance. Your singing off as Anna was a masterstroke. Especially after using the word 'brother' just before it. Its like you remembered how I have always stressed your importance in the family to Thambi, as his Anna. How I have always insisted that he call you that. By signing off thus, you are re-iterarting to him that you are his older brother, and he better believe it! And like an Anna, you will care for him and love him in all the ways that he should be loved and cared for. That respect matters. That names, while beautiful, cannot be half as charming as the relationship that precedes it. Somehow, you get that and I dig that about you. Now let us hope that Thambi shows that same cognizance. :)

Finally, let me tell you that what I liked most about your letter is that you wrote a letter. I love that you love tearing paper out of my precious notebook, and dishing out my favoritest pen out of the cup, to string together the words of your intent. I love that you are using the mailbox gifted to us long back, that I am still not using with you. I love that I get to keep and store your precious letter in a number of ways, in a keepsake box, through the soft copy picture here and through my own letter, right back at ya!

Love your mother,

Amma.

P.S. - Please remind me to get you your own stationery! Stat!

Meet Nic!

2011-01-14T12:20:00.001-06:00

I am glad today was one of those days, when the boys wore all their woollies. Jackets, boots, hats, gloves, everything. I am glad today was one of those days when I wasn't still in my PJ's, thanks to my early morning stint at the gym. I am glad today was one of those days when my cell was fully charged. I am glad for all these things, because we got into an accident this morning. Right after we dropped R to the station and were heading back home, just at that point when we were making a slight right turn at a curve, we went over an invisible patch of ice and rammed hard into the car ahead of us. Because he too had skidded in the same way and gone over a median. If he hadn't been there, it would have been just a simple skid matter, with minimal damage to Buddy, but since he was there right ahead of me, with a nice little bumper sticker that read 'Change the way you see....not the way you look!', we had to rear end into him, and Buddy had to lose his bumper, hood and God knows what else inside.

But thank God for the fact that we were going slow....25 mph, and that we weren't going fast enough to get hurt, and that the guy we rammed into totally understood where I was coming from when I told him about the ice, and that there was a police car just at the corner, who was at the said position after having tended to 2 other accidents at the very same point, and he could get to us in under 2 min, with neither of us making a call on the phone. A bit of a bummer that I still got a citation and a ticket, from hitting him from the back. Too bad that Winkie needed to pee so badly, he was miserable for the entire 2 hours that we spent there. But thank God it wasn't snowing, and it wasn't windy or bitterly cold, but just the regular cold which you could get comfy with, with a pair of gloves and a hat.

Thank God for the nice officer who stayed with us till the end, lending us the backseat of his car for the boys to stay warm in, entertaining them with conversation and questions, leaving me relaxed to make my calls, get things done. And one of the nicest things when you call the insurance company, is that they are not all business. They care enough to take the time to ask you....I'm so sorry about the accident. Are you okay? Was anybody hurt? Thank the Lord for that sweet tow truck guy, who gave me all the time I needed to clear stuff out of Buddy, before I handed him the keys to take him away. Thank goodness for the nice guy at the car rental, who told me on the phone....just get here Ma'am, and we'll take care of everything for you! What a nice thing that is to hear in an emergency! Thank goodness for R, who stayed calm and focused on the matter at hand, guiding me quietly through what I had to do next. Thank goodness for my own presence of mind, that pieced all the jumbled parts together, making a logical flow of it for staying on top of the situation. Thank goodness for that nice cheery wave, the driver of the car in front of me gave as he drove away. We parted on such nice terms. Of course, it may have been from the fact that it was not him getting the ticket, but why nitpick? :)

And thank goodness for this cute new little car that we have brought home. He's a Nissan Cube, the only other mid-size car there, covered entirely by the insurance, and whom we've aptly and promptly christened. Meet Nic everyone. We don't know how long he's staying, but you can be sure, I'll treat him real nice! :)

# 600. Just until the door.

2011-01-12T07:41:00.000-06:00

This is post # 600. And probably the slowest century I have made. :) And to commemorate it, I have a story to share. Something that happened one winter ago, but even now, even in this next winter, warms my heart...

As part of my work, I had to visit a farmhouse for some accounting. And being a farmhouse, there were some animals there, of which there were also 3 dogs. Two of them were still puppies, and one was pretty old and quite blind too, and if I am not mistaken, all three were collies. Now everytime my car pulled into the driveway, they would hear and come bounding rapidly from whichever part of the backyard they were in and bark around my car. Now I love dogs. I really do. But the sight of the three of them, nay two of them (for the blind, black one would just walk more leisurely behind the other two), on that high energy mode right outside Buddy, always had me tensing up for a quick second. I would always pray before I got out, and then walk casually upto the door. They would watch and follow me all the way through. The other 2 were actually very shy and would never let me pet them, especially this one golden one. He would always back out of reach if I tried to touch him, in that he was quite touchy. :) But the old blind girl was really sweet. She loved the attention, she loved the touch and would enjoy it liberally till the front door, and once I was inside, I would actually miss them. And everytime I went to work there, I always started out with that little fear and then start to relax as I got out and they kept their distance.

Now there was this one time, when I had to go back after a long gap. And I was once again a little stressed at the thought of countering that fear again. Moreover it was fiercely cold and the roads were pretty icy, and driving in those conditions always has me a bit tensed at the wheel. I turned into their driveway, and looked in horror as the entire path was layered with a thick coat of ice. It literally was like an ice rink. How was I going to walk that slight stretch from the car to the door, and that too with the dogs bounding up and down??? I was quite petrified with the ice, and paranoid of falling ever since my fracture fall. And that day, the prayer inside the car, was not just about the dogs, it was about the ice too. And making it safely across, carrying my purse as well as the big files, and taking each step without any other support.

I got out, and the black, blind one was sitting in a basket snugly in the garage. It was the end of her time, I was told earlier, and she wasn't moving much these days. I felt a little sad seeing her that way, but focussed my attention back to my own steps. Of the two pups, the golden one, the one who never liked being touched, was watching me from a few yards away. I wasn't even aware of him much, as I prayed and took a step, prayed and took a step....! And suddenly, he was there, right there next to me, snuggling against my right leg. The fear suddenly came back, together with the already tight knot that had built inside me, and I felt a moment of irritation as I wondered why he was doing that. Why couldn't he leave me alone like all the other days? But he wouldn't budge. He followed my every step with a step of his own, but pressing his golden body against my leg, his tail wagging. I almost slipped on the ice a few times, so precarious was each step, but in about 15 steps, made it to the door. And just as soon as we reached the door and I held the handle firmly for support, he bounded instantly away from me, joining his companion under a tree, a few metres away.

And that's when it hit me. It was in the abruptness of his departing, that I understood why he had 'dog-gedly' accompanied me. He had sensed my fear of falling. He k.n.e.w it. He just knew it. And he had helped me get safely across, lending me the weight of his body for support against my shaky leg, taking each step with me all the way till I got to a point of safety, where I was breathing easy again. He k.n.e.w it. And to this day, it takes my breath away and leaves my eyes moist.

How much I had been loved by this little pup? How much I had feared him, as the more spirited among the 3 dogs? How much he had taught me about selfless giving in the matter of 15 steps, and that one single action of walking away at just the right time? I may not have understood his intent, if he had not left me, that abruptly, at the precise moment my hand reached out for the door handle. How wordlessly, he had explained it all to me, without even trying? I went inside, completely overwhelmed, my life completely overturned in that one single moment, and cried fresh tears. It was a release of all that pent up tension, and experience of that pure, pure love of the Universe.

So this # 600 is an ode to this little beautiful golden collie, who has given me one of the most precious memories I will have with an animal. And hopefully, a little ounce of inspiration for all of us, as we plough on with the January of a new year, filled with the hope of better things, and of righting many wrongs. If we give as lovingly, as this little dog did, both to ourselves and the people in our lives, and to the Universe at large, we might just have a year worth reckoning!

A lot of heart!

2011-01-09T13:46:00.002-06:00

We spent an hour of this morning at the nursing home. Ever since we returned from our India trip last year, this is the first month we have made the visit back. The reasons are quite frivolous of course, and I am only sorry that we lost all those months of opportunity to spread a little cheer to some of the residents there. Even this morning, some lazy feelings kept surfacing every few minutes, but I am glad some greater resolve just pushed it all aside, and we were out the door by 9:45 AM.

The activity today was that of making a very festive looking pop-up New Year card. I looked around the room for MaryAnne, my regular resident, but she was nowhere in sight. So we picked out our supplies and headed to the nearest table. There were 2 old ladies sitting opposite each other and they were friends, who liked sitting at the same table.

The initial moments of being at a table are usually a little awkward, unless you have formed some rapport with them beforehand. Because otherwise, there is a bit of hesitation in how to approach them, what to say, without sounding patronising, when not to overdo a particular something etc etc. I always feel the weight of those awkward moments, so sometimes its just easier to sport a simple smile and stay silent, while allowing my mind to settle a bit. Most of the time though, any opening line gets a welcome response and a sweet smile from all of them. These are people who welcome this change of scene in their life, and are grateful, in this beautiful dignified way, of your making the time to come there and be with them, and in turn are very generous with their affection and their smiles. Sometimes, I think they're doing us the bigger service, by the natural way in which they put people like me at ease.

Now Winkie doesn't talk much on his own, and Thambi was in his silent mood and R wasn't around just then, so I just launched right in and asked them if they'd like a New Year card made. Rosemarie, on the left smiled her response. As did her friend opposite her. I gave Winkie some instructions and started doing Thambi's, while he slowly started to get more interested. And thus we went on in that manner, and over the industry of action with a purpose, some of the ice broke, as they wanted to know how old Thambi was and how many children I had, and Rosemarie shared that she was a great-grandmother to 22 great grandkids. Woohoo! What a number! In all her encouragement, I began to open up too, and a lot of that initial awkwardness worked itself out. I patted her arm from time to time, because that's something that's always heard, and always understood.

But I think the real love affair for her was with Winkie. She kept cooing encouragingly to him as he ploughed on patiently with the card, making it pop-up in just the right place, decorating his heart in interesting ways, adding flowers and petals and leaves, and a greeting on the cover and lots of nice words inside, addressing it to her name. At first he wasn't sure what to write inside, and asked me. You could fill it up with the words that you want to convey as a wish for her New Year, I said. But he didn't just take that at face value. He paused and thought to himself and started writing. And if I remember right, he wished that she stay well always and always have good company. I was really touched that he really thought about her life in that nursing home, and choose the words that would have some meaning for her. It was amazing. And more than me, she was prouder. Babbling happily over and over again, about his impeccable handwriting to her friends at the table, telling me over and over again what a good boy he was.

Just for that, I am really glad we went today. No doubt, someone else may have made her a very nice card and passed on some good wishes, but I am glad it was these particular words that she received. And that 2 generations, separated by 2 generations in between, had a chance to interact and share some kindness and lots of smiles. Everytime I am there, I come away with this sad sort of ache in my heart. Because old people need to be around young people. And young people need to be around old people. (And oh, please God, let me remember this when You call upon me to do my duty!). Energy and wisdom need to feed off of each other. Frailty and suppleness need to have that chance to appreciate one another. Despair needs to be wiped out with the exuberance and innocence of youth, and growing pains can be comforted best by the experience of the old. Its the natural law of life. And I don't know and have no right to judge the varying life situations that forces these old people to come and live together away from their families and their homes. Maybe, many of them are happier doing it, but mostly all I sense is this sadness. Disenchanment. Bitterness even. That makes it hard to make conversation with them sometimes. How can you ask them how they've been, if everyday sort of morphs unintelligibly into the next, with no real variation? If even the simplest of tasks is a struggle? How can you ask about their families and children, if it means making them remember some awful memories? How long can you stay away from the 'real' conversation, and come away not having connected at all? How can you say 'see you next month' at the end, when their time in this earth may have come to an end by then?

Sometimes, the questions seem endless and agonising. And I don't know what to do. So I just smile my most natural smile and look into their eyes, every chance I get, so they can at least sense that I am happy to be there, right now, even if I haven't figured out a whole lot else. And sometimes, its just worth it, when right at the end, as we are about to leave and we are waving our goodbyes, Rosemarie, stops me to tell me something. She holds her right hand over her heart, looks into my eyes, a very kind twinkle in them saying....he has a lot of heart, that boy. And she turns her head to watch Winkie affectionately, right until we pass out of her sight. Yes. A lot of heart. That's exactly what we all need!

Morning joy...

2011-01-07T06:21:00.001-06:00

Do you remember your very first waking recollection from your babyhood? The stir of that first memory which has imprinted on your brain, back from those days when everything else is woozy and you just have to take your parents' word on the kind of baby you used to be...

I remember mine. And it is a memory of milk. That first cup of morning milk. Or to be more precise, that first bottle. I must have been around 3 with a head full of dark unruly curls, and yes, I was still on the bottle and as memory goes, blissfully so. We lived in this tiny tiii...iiiny 1 room flat, where it was just the living room and a tiny kitchen off to the inside. And it was on the upper floor of a big house, which had been sublet to us. The rest of the rooms and the rest of the house belonged to the homeowner and her large family.

I remember waking up one morning, and making a sound of communication to my mother in the kitchen. Asking for my milk. If I remember right, all I really said was paal...out loud like that, in just that single word. And my mother signaled that she was making it. I remember how I was lying down, on my back, knees up, feet on the floor, with one leg swung over the other, probably my arms crossed under my head, waiting....waiting....for that blessed feeling of warmth to go down my throat. That day, the wait was extending. Maybe the milk was too hot and she was trying to cool it down. Maybe it was taking a while to boil over in the first place. Maybe, she was attending to others things too, in between. I don't know. All I remember is that torture of waiting, and terrible impatience to get it in my hands and into my mouth. I may have even murmured my disapproval when it finally did. But it was soon dissolved in the feel of the warm liquid, creamy, sweet and flowing in a steady suckle into my mouth. That is my earliest memory of heaven.

And today, I see it happening right before my very eyes, every single morning. Thambi takes after me completely in enjoying this little pleasure to the max. He will walk his way down the stairs every morning, each footstep a thump thump, signaling his descent. Some days, he is full of cheer and smiles, popping his head into the kitchen saying boo! Other days, he is groggy, grumpy and stretching himself this way and that to work the tiredness out. On those days, I will hear just that monosyllable....paal!, with a bit of a whine preceding it and following it. On the good days, he will hug my leg and say...Can I have paal Amma?

Good day or bad day, I always always give him the white glove treatment and ask His Royal Highness to go take his perch on his throne. I know the 'need' of that morning joy, you see. And he will always sit in this one precise chair in the living room. It won't be on the sofa, it won't be on the dining chair, it won't even be on the chair next to it. It just has to be this chair. I'll tell you why I think why, in just a bit. And he will wait. Patiently. With a ear cocked to all the sounds coming from the kitchen. He knows the sound of the dishwasher coming open, as I hunt for his cup; the sound of the fridge door as I take out the milk; the sound of the beeps on the microwave dial, as I punch in 4-8, then 'Start'. In the meantime, I would have busied myself with something else that caught my attention. 48 seconds later, the beep will come on signalling that it is done. Some days I get to the door with alacrity, eager to service my little master, with that perfect touch of perfection and timing. Some days, nay, many days, I get sidetracked with another chore. And that's when he reminds me. Not right away. He will still wait patiently, for about 10 seconds, before he decides that a reminder is called for, for his errant mother. He will stand up on that chair, and from that vantage point, he can see both me as I stand over the sink and the microwave, and now you know why it is that chair and not another. It took me a few days to figure it out for myself, this mathematical calculation on his part. :)

On the bad days, he will whine some more in reminder. And I will get to it, pronto pronto. On the good days, he will be lucid with words....Ammaaaaa, paaaaaal! The 'Ammaaaa'....a sound of fond impatience. And when I reach him with the blessed cup (it is cup, and not bottle thank you!), he will lecture me, on how I have to do it right after the beep and not a moment later. When I tell you to give me paal, you have to give me paal, okay?....his eyebrows raised, a note of firm discipline in his voice. Yes Kanna. I understand. Only. too. well. :)

Every morning, as this cup of milk exchanges hands, the energy of that early memory from some 30 odd years ago, fuels it. And isn't he lucky that he will not have to summon a lot of brain cells to reconstruct the fragments of this early joy, this pleasure of the morning. That he has all these words here, to do that for him, filling in pieces, adding colour, maybe even a quiet enchantment to this act of security, of assurance, that he is loved, and all is well this morning....

New Year's resolve, and some tidbits from the old year...

2011-01-06T09:49:00.000-06:00

When the new year began, I had Winkie sit down and reflect on the year past and write down some of those reflections. He listed out per month, as best as he could remember, all the things that happened that were significant. Then he wrote about what he had learnt. And then he wrote about his resolution for the coming year.

Now written out like that, the idea sounds fancy. But in effect, he just ended up writing about whose birthday it was in each month. One one line on that note, and that was that. I had to laugh, for he is just so eternally lazy when it comes to expressing his thoughts. I resort to a lot of writing endeavors with him, simply because I cannot get him to open his mouth to speak about an emotion or a thought that easily. At least when you write, words can tumble out, so I can make sense of them.

Anyways, coming back to the point, he learnt that the new year always starts out fun and that Swami is always in him. That first was a nice revealing thought. The second part...mmm....not so much. Because it was the very same thing I had said to him as an example, to illustrate my point of what could be a resolution. That he could promise not to walk off in a huff everytime I start my lecturing. :) Lazy fellow picked up that same line and made it his resolution. Oh well, I plan on holding him to it, as revenge! :D

But looking back upon his year a bit....I would say that its been a challenging one for him. Especially the second half. Remember that friend from first grade who turned into a bit of a bully? Well, even though he ended up not being in the same class as him in 2nd grade, he still caught up with Winkie during recess. And all the politics began to play out there. Now trying to write an account of this is a confusing thing for me, because Winkie has this very annoying love-hate relationship with this fellow. He likes him when he is good and plays nice, and he is upset by him to the extreme, when he plays it rough. And that happens with a very regular frequency. So, on any particular day, it was extremely hard for me to figure out if he was really being troubled by this boy, or was it just a case of two boys having a bad day of play. But e.v.e.r.y single day, I would end up hearing about him on some plaintive note. A did this, he did that, he didn't let me play with my other friends, he chases me even when I tell him not to, he tells on me for things I didn't do, he makes fun of me with other kids, and then one fine day....he choked me by catching my throat real tight.

For 6 patient months, we talked about it everyday at home, me trying to understand what exactly Winkie's feelings were, and Winkie trying out different strategies to get this boy off his case. From trying to devise a fair play method, where he played with him one recess and with his other friend the next, to ignoring him completely when he was being mean, to writing notes for a box in his classroom, for his teacher to read and take note of, to standing up for himself with this boy who is twice his height and weight, we tried it all together. But that last misdemeanor was really the final straw. For the next day, Winkie flatly refused to go to school and I could sense a bit of terror in him. He cried and cried and cried, and that quite worked me up. I called up his teacher, and she promised me that this boy would be detained from recess and dealt with, while Winkie could safely play with his friends. For a few days, that boy didn't show up for recess at all, I believe, and then there were many snow days when everyone stayed in. And then of course, the Christmas break happened. Yesterday, he was back at school. And as it turns out, he played with Big A again during recess. I asked him why, and he said that he has learnt his lesson and is being nice to me. He knows how to be good now. So today I played with him, and tomorrow I will play with my other friend. Its fair right, Amma?

Yes, it certainly sounds fair, though a part of me is angry as to what hold this child has over Winkie that he can't cut loose fully. Why can't Winkie just let this boy be and play with the rest of his friends and avoid any future trouble? But I guess, everyone can be given another chance. I just hope this child is worthy of it. Whatever it is, its all in good learning for Winkie I guess, for the world ahead, and to test his own strengths and to know that he is never really alone. Even when he is sitting in a playground full of kids whom he can't play with because Big A won't let him, he is still not alone. Of that I assured him. How could he be, when the wind still blew and the sun still shone, and pleasant voices rung in the air? That is your God, I told him, and as long as you have that, you have everything.

Secrets of happiness...

2011-01-03T10:28:00.000-06:00

Secrets to happiness, as learnt in the space of a year, which has now receded into the background, but the effect of which will always be felt....

1. Stay in the moment.
As much as you can. Yes, an oft heard cliche, but there is nothing better than it. To stay in the moment. To stay where your body is, and not leave it far behind when your thoughts carry you someplace else...far away.

2. Love and respect.
Treat everyone with it. If the love is not possible, treat them with respect. If even that is not possible, then treat yourself with respect and opt for silence. Silence is any day better than opening the mouth and letting the words tumble out, uncontrolledly. If silence is not an option, then even in the words that ensue, go back to rule # 1, where even the words have love and respect.

3. Pause before reacting.

It doesn't take that much effort, and everything doesn't have to be a knee-jerk reaction to something else. Act, don't react.

4. Tell the truth.
It's the most uncomplicated way to live. Tell it as much as you can without hurting someone. Don't even tell the little lies, the white lies. Everything becomes a cross to bear at some point. And if you cannot tell the truth in any situation, keep silent and smile. Look in their eyes when you do.

5. Eat well.
Put some thought into every meal. Keep it simple some days, work hard at it on others. Junk it up every once in a while. But junk it down too, quite a bit. Whatever you do, however you do it, stay focussed on the exquisite sensations of the present.

6. Work-out.
...by way of a little something everyday. Anything. Even if it means stretching. It means you have spent time with your body, which is what we work so hard in life to protect anyways. So work at keeping it lean. Lean on the strength of your muscle every once a while, instead of just your mind. Push your heart just a little past its edge. Tease it. And then reward it.

7. Keep your place clean.
...and swept and mopped and fragranced. The power of antiseptic happiness cannot be discounted!

8. Get organised.
And don't postpone it to tomorrow. Even if it is just for 5 minutes a day, do a little rearranging. It shifts the energy stagnating around that place and moves it around, with a swish and a swirl. And find a place for everything, and if it doesn't have one, then maybe you don't need it in your life. Don't think so hard about getting rid of it. Just do it. It takes years off of you.

9. Click it all.
Look at your life through the eye of a lens. It is exactly that cool 3rd person perspective that the doctor ordered. It makes you step back to view, and thus enjoy the view more.

10. Hug.
Just for the pleasure of it. Make it a real hug. Not the lukewarm, air still in between kind. But the squeezy, snug type. And pat their back in this comforting way. You may not know every struggle they undergo, but an anonymous pat like that gives more than most things. And just rest your head on a shoulder. Little or big. And feel life through their pulse.

Winter love

2010-12-30T12:20:00.000-06:00

I think Winter Break is one of the nicest school holidays there is. Its just sooo... nice to spend some relaxed times with the boys. I really feel like I have earned this time with them, and them with me. The days have been idyllic. A little bit of busyness, a little bit of laidback-ness, painting, reading, wii-ing, eating cheetos just before lunch, staying in PJ's, crayon-ning the glass of the windows, imagining spring, sitting down to a full spread lunch every day at the table....sigh, everything has been so relaxing...and therapeutic. And I don't want it to end anytime soon. I thought 15 days would stretch before me in this nice long winded way, but already there's just 5 days left. Where do these moments go, and why so fast?

I started off really not liking winter this time, and almost ended up going into depression over the sun deficit. Its taken me all of December to finally come to terms to give my love to it, and finally receive the love it has always given, and continues to give. I really do love winter. Because its the only way I would love my spring, with that exquisite rapture that I do every year. And its the only way I would breathe in every moment of my summer, knowing that each day gone is one day less of it. I love winter because it puts me in that exact spot of overflowing gratitude for all the cycle of the seasons that follow.

But sometimes....sometimes, when the snow is slow to melt, and the clouds huddle so close together, that it is hard to believe a Sun is out there somewhere, when the bloom of the flowers and the smell of the grass is still a distant dream...it is okay to cheat a little and imagine your way to that happiness. If only for a split second, that spring actually blossoms in your heart, before you go back to being to faithful to winter once again.

[For parents out there, Crayola's glass crayons are a fantastic addition to the Art Center, and a very promising investment. And easy to wipe off and redo, all over again. Go for it!]

Wii are familii!

2010-12-24T19:50:00.002-06:00

Santa's been extra generous with us this year, and picked up quite a few things on our wishlist. And we've shed some of that hermit-like existence to live a little, which almost inevitably means being generous on the pocket. We splurged a bit and bought some much needed stuff for the house, and some frills and fancies as well. After debating quietly on the whole DS issue, we laxed out on some of the rules, to buy us a Wii. Its certainly a fun buy for the winter, and spaced out, I think the interest may just last a while. The boys loved mii-ing themselves, though a change of music for that particular screen would be so nice! :)

Its a white Christmas out here. Its also our first year with the tree, and we started off with some basic ornaments, and some handcrafted ones by my sis. The other day, I was listening to the radio and there were people calling in, talking about what their special Christmas tradition is. I am still wondering what ours shall be.

After one whole year of being dryer-less, we finally replaced the old one. It was a pleasure using it to catch up on some piles of laundry, but I did so with tremendous guilt, almost as if I was being unfaithful to my clothesline downstairs. I am almost caught up now, and that means I can go back to our well-devised system, and thus enjoy the best of both worlds...machine and manpower!

Can you believe this year is coming to an end? I can, and then I can't. I guess, the mood for the year is set in many ways, by the way in which it ends....that most recent memory that colours it. And with all the retail therapy and the amazing literature I am gorging on, that means its a happy looking back. Happy enough that is. If I think any more about it, I might just change my mind.

So what has Santa snuck into that stocking of your this year? And do you have a Christmas tradition that you follow? Do share, if you do.

Leaving you with a single line from a most life and attitude altering book.......There are no ordinary moments! Merry Christmas, you all!

33 on 12/03...

2010-12-03T20:29:00.000-06:00

Kheri Ya Siku Kuu Yagu....or Happy Birthday to Me, in Swahili, or the closest possible interpretation of it! 33 years. My father reminded me that this is one of those birthdays where you can't flip the numbers and be that much younger. :) Yes, it's true. 33 is 33 whichever way you look at it. And I think that is what I love about this birthday. There is no scope for any other kind of interpretation. It is simple. It is straight. And that is the kind of day and days I have been trying to etch out for myself.

Some days back, R's cousin wrote about a hiking trip he took on his birthday and shared pictures that he had taken. One of them was of a sunrise on a mountain top. Gorgeous colours, vibrant reds, the beautiful, resplendent round ball. I was terribly envious of that view. I wanted that kind of glorious sunrise so much for myself. And somehow that was what was running through me the whole week following that. And I knew right then, that it was all I wanted to do for my birthday. Disregarding the fact that it is the peak of winter, or the temperatures are sub-zero, I just wanted to stop and take the time to soak in this everyday miracle. Because, a miracle it is. Every single day. How many things in life are this constant?

Even now when I look back, I am amazed by the obsession it became within me. And how surely I knew that this was the "thing" to do. It was almost as if my life depended upon it. And that's not an exaggeration. Because I am at an extreme crossroads in my life right now. There is nothing cataclysmic happening on the outside, but plenty shifting, turning and churning on the inside. So much, that I can't even understand half of it myself. All I know is that change is once again brewing within me, and it will bring about some deep alteration in my being. That much, I know. The rest is a fog of feeling, a cloud of thought, nothing clear, nothing definite.

I woke up at 6:00, bundled up in the most sensible manner, and headed out to Dunkin's across the road for some coffee. Hurried back, just in time for a 6:15 pre-dawn scene. The venue was my driveway, or rather my neighbour's since he's closer to that neck of woods by the house, that I love so much. The barren treetops acting as the perfect backdrop, or rather front-drop, for the scene; the sky slowly lightening, layer by layer, deep midnight blue, to slowly injected shafts of white, a pumpkin orange slowly lifting it all up, as the glow filled the sky. The coffee warmed my throat, even as the cold slowly crept up my fingers, which were exposed to the dials of the camera. I sat back in my chair, my back to the road, so that I would not feel conscious of anyone driving by. It was quiet. And my soul was quiet, my mind sinking lower and lower into this abyss of peace, in tandem with the sun that was rising. I was exquisitely happy. I was smiling all over, and even more so, when the garage door opened at 6:45 AM, and out pepped the hooded face of my little guy. He came out jacketed, scarved and gloved and into my arms singing Happy Birthday Amma. A kiss, a hug, a kiss again, and climbing up into my lap for a warm cuddle. No matter how much you cover yourself up in woolens, in is truly the nearness of another human being that really warms you up.

My neighbor was opening his garage door, and I sheepishly explained the curious scene to him. He smiled and wished me, and I knew it was time to call it a morning. I deposited my coffee cup into the recycle bin outside and noticed the thin film of snow on the cover of the trash can. A sudden inspiration...to mark my day, and to sort of sign off on that secret rendezvous I'd had with my own life....I etched that little message on the bin. Looking at it made me happy. It still does. I hope it made our trash guy stop for a moment, and maybe even smile? It thus becomes my picture of the day. I am celebrating this whole month of December with a daily picture. This one marks Dec 3rd on my calendar, and I humbly welcome the 34th year of my life!

Lulu.com

2010-12-02T15:18:00.001-06:00

I generally do not do any kind of site promotions on this blog. Unless, it is of a very personal nature in some way. So most promotional request emails asking to check out one product or the other, just gets deleted. But when I saw a mail from lulu.com some weeks back, with a specific request, I really had to take notice. Because c’mon. Its Lulu! I have a very sentimental connection with them. One of my best ever Mother’s Day gifts came from Lulu.

So this very pleasant associate writes, asking me if I’d be interested in doing a free photo book giveaway for my blog readers. That I could order one for myself, free of cos, firstt. And then, if I liked the product and the whole Lulu experience, I could devise my very own contest for my readers and have one of you win one too, courtesy of Lulu. It sounded very different from all the other emails, and like a lot of fun, and so I signed up to do it. And I hope you will too.

So, I spent a couple of hours one evening, going through old photos that have been long since archived, digging up picture after picture of the boys, to see in final print. I tried to match up the pictures by exact age. Left side was Winkie’s. Right side, Thambi’s. Newborn, 1 month, 6 months, 1 year, their 1^st birthday cakes and so on. Ending with lots of blow-ups of them as brothers, in all their sibling moments. It was a very sweet dip into nostalgia and a very smile provoking evening.

The order was sent in, and I had my book in under 10 days. Shipping and handling included. Hard bound. Gorgeous on a coffee table and attracting the eyes of everyone who has visited thus far. The only thing on my wishlist from Lulu would have been to have a more variety in choice of backgrounds for the pages. Other than that, the creation process of the photo book was quite simple and user friendly. And I’d love for you guys to get your own copy too. But as ever, there will be just one person chosen for it. And we’ll make a contest of it.

Let’s see. Remember those text talk challenges from a long time ago? Ideally, you’re supposed to say yes, but if you don’t, just follow the link and familiarize yourself. Below, I have given out 5 words, randomly picked from the dictionary, with eyes closed. Try making a meaningful sentence out of it, using ALL 5 words, in any particular order. You cannot change the form of the words. i.e., you cannot turn a verb into an adjective, or make singular into plural etc. Just use them exactly as is, but in any order of arrangement. The shorter the sentence, obviously the better. And single entries, please. J You have until Monday evening, 6:00 PM my time (CST), to submit answers, at which point the contest will close, for the polling to begin, where you all get to choose the one you like best.

The words :

Expose historical scorn retreating flake

And oh, unfortunately, this is open only for those in the continental US. Simply because of the free shipping and handling aspect. But polling is open to everyone. So don’t wait until Monday. Write in soon, with the sentence of your choice and try your luck. It will be fun! J

Yet another birthday surprise!

2010-11-29T16:03:00.000-06:00

Just when I think I am all out of energy and ideas for surprises, it so happens, that there is just one more way to try and do it. And thanks to the robust energy of a few close friends, my own was tanked up to set the stage for yet another surprise for R's 37th Birthday.

So much has been happening in life to claim my time and focus completely.So much so, that a lot of the things I would have otherwise made ample time for, had to be re-prioritised in the scheme of things. Simpler ways of adhering to the festivals, very simple everyday meals, definitely lesser time with the boys, and afternoons spent simply catching up on some sleep! R's birthday would have gone under the same guise of downsized living, had it not been for our friends, who in their excitement to plan something of a surprise for him, actually injected that much needed shot of enthusiasm into me as well, so that I too could be part of the discussions, and together we came up with a fool-proof plan. I can boldly say fool-proof because of that look of utter befuddlement on his face, as people started to pop up out of places, screaming out just that one word!

Winkie was in a dance program recently and I had to take him to practice on that particular Friday, the eve of R's birthday. He was home with Thambi, and in that quiet stupor that comes from a prospect of a weekend. Right after practice, at around 9:30 PM, our friends all congregated at a gas station close to home, to discuss the finer details of the PLAN. I would go home, as normal, having just come back from "practice". They would all enter the garage and hide behind the car. The lights would be off, as I walked in, suitably rearranging my face into a serious expression, as I proceeded to reveal to R how sometime during the practice, some person who had parked next to me, had made a dent in our car door, due to their carelessness when opening their door. And how it doesn't look too good and would be come and see it?

He, of course, would be suitably upset at the prospect of Buddy being hurt, and would most likely charge outside, annoyed with me and this whole incident. And how, just as he flicked on the lights to the garage to walk out, everyone hiding would converge on him instead, screaming and laughing.

There were several possible glitches of course that could happen. The kids would have to stay real quiet too, and we know how well that goes with young ones, who are super excited about something. I would also have to summon my most superior acting skills to deliver the dialogues with just that right touch of apology writ on my face. Smirks would have to be contained as I became the character of the penitent wife, guilty for the hand she has played, albeit unknowingly.

And as luck would have it, all these stars aligned just right for that perfect execution. The kids were in absolute stealth mode. I didn't hear a thing. And I walked in expecting to find R in the living room, but it turned out he was already upstairs putting Thambi to bed. Which gave me that much more time to compose myself. I told him the story of the car, and he was already annoyed, as he walked down the stairs, and opened the door of the garage, while also slipping into his slippers. And just as he flicked on the light switch, everyone jumped out of hiding, yelling and screaming, and perhaps one of the loudest yell came from R himself, as the surprise and shock of the ambush expressed itself. There are no suitable pictures for any of this, and even I missed that look on his face as I was right behind him, and our friends say it was the "ultimate". He looked horrified, and I'll just have to take their words for it, as you'll have to take mine. :)

Giving thanks for the long and much needed break!

2010-11-29T04:59:00.001-06:00

Its 4:36 AM and the Monday after the Thanksgiving Weekend. I am sitting here at the computer after saying goodbye to the friend who came to visit and to spend time with me, winding down. We had this grand plan of keeping things ultimately simple. No gift giving. No elaborate food preps. No major holiday plans...other than to rest, relax and rest in that exact order. And what a grand success that was!

Today, I am glad it is Monday because the Sunday and the Saturday and the Friday preceding it was filled with soul soothing stuff. A get-together with old friends, good, solid karaoke fun, lots of afternoon naps, and movies and Harry Potter mania satisfaction, and books and games with the boys, their laughter and constant chatter and even the constant tears ringing the air with feeling and gusto. All simple normal, family stuff shared in the company of a friend who is family in disguise.

I've needed this kind of normalcy for a long time now. Because for the longest ever stretch that I can remember, life has been on this crazy fast lane for me. Involved back to back in some project or another, all fulfilling in their own ways, yet, they took a lot out of me, in terms of energy and enthusiasm. And left me feeling very very wrung out. I sort of fell out of the loop of being a regular mom to the boys, and turned into this super stretched multi-tasker, careening this way and that in an effort to make everything balance and work, and each day run as functionally as possible. So while each day was functional, it was not filled with some of the quality stuff that marks the moments of life. I stopped to smell roses, I hardly read to the boys, we were always rushing off to one thing or another, and the strain just continued to mount. Even family back home started to tell the difference, as phone calls started to dwindle, and those regular updates of the boys through posts and pictures which they had been so used to, stopped coming in.

Which is why I was looking to this Thanksgiving weekend as a sort of lifeline. It would be the one short spell where the claims on my time would be limited to just the minimum things of tending to family. And that was it. And having my friend's presence here would soothe some of those frayed nerves, as I talked through some of my stress and just c*h*i*l*l*e*d out.

Right now, I feel like I am able to breathe again. Slow, deep, leisurely breaths....as the prospect of a lazy December of a dwindling year is just around the corner. My favorite time of the year, my favorite month of them all. Holiday lights, birthdays, anniversaries, winter break, carols on every station of the radio, white, serene snow, wind and warmth, lots of movies, coffee every morning, a release from all expectations past, a breather from all the hopes and tasks of the next year, lots of writing (oh yes!) and chocolate from time to time. :) Yes, in just another day, it shall be all about that.

I have lots more little little stories to share. I want to break all the silence and talk to my heart's content, and I hope you will too, to keep me company. I want to tell you all about R's birthday and all the stuff that Winkie has faced and braved in school and all the things that are changing in him, and how Thambi (we have to change this nick!) talks nineteen to the dozen with a bigger accent than his simpleton brother, and how the sole mission of each day is to get in his brother's face as much as possible. And I want to do this one little contest on the blog, with a prize and everything. All that is coming up soon....so if you're still out there, reading me, please break your silence too and say hi and let me know that you are there.

Never Complain. Never Explain.

2010-10-27T15:23:00.000-05:00

Personal transformation is an alteration. An adjustment to a way of thinking that was deeply ingrained all this while, finally shaken up one one explicit thing, or a combination of factors that lead to that one point in time. Such that that deeply held notion comes lose, and you are able to examine it more closely, and see it better for what it really was all this while. And when you s.e.e it...finally, really, see it..you cannot rest with it anymore. The desire to change starts to rage within you, and c.h.a.n.g.e is what churns out of it. And suddenly, you are no longer what you used to be. You are better. You are purer. You are more conscious. You are more questioning. You are more discriminating, in the best possible way. Always pulling yourself up short, at that exact crucial point, when that same mistake could be made again.

There is a lot of struggle at first....when you begin to practice that change. Even though the discerning quality in you has been sharpened, it does not follow suit that your actions will follow the prompt of your Intelligence. No, that takes several more rounds of painstaking effort at application, and the resultant failures thereof. But each effort is a success. Each thought to do better, whether followed by action or not, is a triumph. And soon, you will weary so much of not getting it right, that one day, you just will. Exactly in line with your thought and your better, keener sense. And that is when the change becomes you. There is no difference anymore, to tell it apart, because it is you, and you are it.

Such that it will be something that gets noticed in you, by those who relate to you well. They will say....you've changed. It might sound like an accusation sometimes, or it may be a very quiet remark of deep resound. And sometimes, you know of it even before they do. Because somewhere off late, the mind has loosened its hold on you, and there is more peace and less heaving, in reaction to everything in your life. There is a little bit more stillness, and a lot more quiet. The breathing remains even...perhaps even deliberate and slow and very very luxurious. It is an ecstasy of the highest possible state. There are very few feelings that can top having that steady hold on your breath...

Happiness is a friend that calls at will and surprises you every once in a while. But it is not the feeling or the sensation in my heart that satisfies me. What I thrive on, more than anything else, is this insane quiet, just at that point when everything is going crazily berserk around me. The way I feel even more like a stone, rooted to a spot, no matter which way the wind blows. And it is blowing, let me assure you, at close to 65 miles an hour, if the weather in Chicago today can be believed. :)

What brought this on? Just this very potent and very simple message I read today. Let me share it with you.

Never Complain, Never Explain.

~ By Greg Hickman

"Never complain; never explain. Don't justify the error; fix it." ~ Henry Ford II

Quite a number of years ago, I stumbled across a phrase in a magazine that really piqued my interest. The phrase simply said "never complain, never explain.” From the moment I read it, those four words really hit home with me. To my way of thinking, they summed up the philosophy of all winners. A winner should never waste his or her valuable time complaining or making excuses.

I decided to tape a piece of paper containing this phrase to a wall in my office along with an accompanying challenge. As soon as I went an entire day without voicing a complaint or offering up an excuse, I could take the message down.

I have always enjoyed a good challenge and I figured this phrase could provide a tough test of my will for a day or so. The first day or two quickly passed without me accomplishing my goal. "All I need to do is toughen up a little and I'll get the job done. No problem," I confidently reassured myself. A month later, the piece of paper was still taped to my wall.

I couldn't believe it, I still had not gone just one day without making a complaint or offering up some sort of excuse. In fact, I had complained about something and made an excuse about something else at least one time every single day for a month. Not one or the other - but both!

I was disappointed that I had failed to accomplish what had originally seemed like such an easy goal. But more than that, I was embarrassed. Now I was really motivated to answer the challenge and get this message off my wall once and for all. Make no mistake about it, I would get the job done this time for sure!

Five years later that torn, tattered, yellowed piece of paper with the simple little message was still hanging defiantly on my office wall. How could this have happened to me? I really gave it a good shot, but one way or another, I would always find a way to slip up at some point during each and every day and start complaining or explaining about something or another. One thing I learned from this challenge was we all complain a lot more than we think we do and we make excuses left and right.

I know what you're probably thinking right about now. You think it will be easy, don't you? Ha! I thought so too. I now realize that the fulfillment of that simple little pledge will be a lifelong pursuit of mine.

Even if you and I fail to live a single day devoid of any personal complaining or explaining, we can still significantly cut down on the amount of complaints and excuses we make and that is indeed a very good start, isn't it? When you take on this challenge, you will begin eliminating a lot of negative feelings and destructive actions from your life and consequently will become a much better person to be around.

There is no better time for you to get to work on your very own "never complain, never explain" challenge than right now. All you have to do is stop complaining and quit explaining and get started today.

____________________________________

So, I have done the obvious. I have printed this out in the largest font that will fit on an A4 in landscape, and am taping it to a kitchen cabinet, which is where I do most of my complaining anyways. :)

I must have heard this...never complain...many many times, through many many inspired sources. But did I k.n.o.w it? No, I did not. For knowing something, means knowing it intimately. And intimate means 'in'. 'Inside'. And I don't know it in that way at all. But I hope that is about to change. The day I take that paper down, I will tell you about it!

S.E.T

2010-10-26T06:49:00.003-05:00

These days I have this new daily online fascination. To play SET. Have you played SET before? It is this cool critical thinking game, where you make patterns in sets of 3. There are, of course, different levels and you never quite know which one you are going to get on a particular day. And you have access to only one puzzle a day, unless you want to google like crazy and find out the New York Times SET puzzle or dig up a few more. (Would you please pass the links, if you find them, please?). This way my energy doesn't have a burnout, quite as fast, 'cos I am famous for those as a Sagittarian, and the fascination goes on longer. And pit yourself against a friend, and these distinct Monica-like tendencies ('Friends' fame!) to compete and win crop up, to keep it interesting! Which has never quite happened, by the way, at which point, I can conveniently assume a zen-like attitude and say...I am in it, not to win it, but for the fun in it! :D

Yeah its fun! And its competitive too, even if you just try to beat your time score from the previous day. And it gives my brain power a bit of a zany boost, together with the caffiene every morning. Try it! :)

CROCUS 2010

2010-10-23T07:47:00.002-05:00

CROCUS is here again in 2010 at Saffron Tree. And it seems only a short while ago that we celebrated it in 2009! This year we are covering all the various aspects of culture, hopping nimbly from Arts & Crafts to Mythology to Folktales to Lifestyles to Food to Traditions, and so much more!! So don't miss it. Be there this week from October 23 to 30th and catch all the multicultural picks, and be sure to write in to let us know how you like the reviews. Because your support means everything!!

A New Life

2010-10-22T19:11:00.001-05:00

Last week, I put together some clothes and coats and shoes and other stuff, to donate to the flood victims in Pakistan. As I was going through some of the boys' outgrown jackets and shoes, Winkie noticed my efforts and asked me what I was upto. And I told him, explaining to him what a flood was, and what it could do. And asked him, if maybe he would like to do a little drawing to add some cheer and prayer to the bag we were filling with all the stuff. And he said yes.

He worked on it for some 10 odd minutes, the picture of rap attention, and once done, folded it down the middle and left it in front of the altar for a little while. Then he brought it to me. By that time, I was done gathering everything together and was sitting down for a breather. What I opened up to see, quite too my breath away too.

I have always loved Winkie's minimalist style of expression and this one was no different. Lots of clouds, lots of rain pouring down, lots of water forming underneath. It looked like a flood. And it could have also been the shower of blessings that would also rain down on those people, thanks to the efforts of some of these organisations to aid them. And more than anything else, I loved what he wrote....

"People of Pakistan, Do not worry. New life is coming back to you. Just wait and see."

Polishing the silver...

2010-10-13T17:48:00.001-05:00

It was a long due task. One that I had put off for many months, given how busy it has been in our lives. But today, when I got an open slot of time, with no claims on it, I got out the Bon Ami powder, which is supposed to be a wonder in the way it makes silver shine. I was eager to test it out and I got to work. I tried it out on a very lightly blackened diya first and wonder of wonders, it did the trick! The silver sparkled and gleamed with every turn of the light, while I rejoiced in how easy it was. Next came the incense holder and the process was repeated and the results were sparkling. Fully enthused, I got out the sandal paste holder. This was the blackest of them all, and I knew it would take some repeated scrubbing effort at most. And so I began.

The outsides were the first to respond. They succumbed to the pressure of the powder and allowed their true nature to be revealed. But not so much with the inside. I rubbed and I rubbed and I rubbed, and rinsed every once a while, to see if there was any change. If there was any, it was of a tiny increment, such as not to be very visible to the naked eye. But I labored over it, my hands rubbing hard, rubbing patiently, rubbing persistently, assured that in time, the silver would reveal itself.

The treatment at this point, was still gentle, and the effect of it...just a tiny improvement from its previous state. After a while, I realised that I would have to speed it along. The silver will have to show through at some point, isn't it? So why not try another method?

I put some water to boil in a pan, and once it started bubbling, I added a good 2 tbsp of the powder. It started frothing and foaming, and I dipped the holder into it. It sank right in, the water claiming it fully. But not quite. Some of it the outside of it was seen over the surface, and what had earlier been a bright silver, now became a radiant silver. Thinking this had done the trick, I pulled it out with a tong. The progress was evident. The black had lightened to a grey, the stubborn stain was finally lightening. But there was still some way to go. But at least I knew what was working. I put it back into the water and left it there to simmer in the heat. I went away for a bit, always knowing that I would be checking on it from time to time. A good 20 minutes like this and when I finally dipped it out, it was the lightest possible grey. Aha! Beautiful!

I rinsed it out in cool water, and took some powder in a paper towel and began the rubbing again. The last remnants of grey gave way to the original silver that was in the holder. After every few seconds of hard, persistent rubbing, I would rinse it off in the cool water, to wash away the traces of dirt. And finally, I stopped for what I felt was that perfect state of cleanliness. I admired my handiwork from every angle, took pictures of it and committed to writing about it here.

For the undercurrents of what I had experienced, may perhaps be, already evident. Life had played itself out through this exercise. Like the silver holder, we too get blackened from all the exposure to the air and the elements. Like the silver holder, we too need to get cleaned from time to time, through the loving and gentle hands of God, who knows and believes in our true nature. Like the silver holder, we too, will undergo persistent rubbing and scrubbing through all the trials we face. And when that isn't enough, God will turn on the heat. It will scald and burn, and be an acutely painful experience, but it is necessary. But it isn't His fault, like we many times seem to think. Silver is a metal that reacts to chemicals, whether in the air or on contact. And it tarnishes as a result. We too get grimy and accumulate the dirt of the deeds of many past lives. Can we prevent the silver from tarnishing, in its use? No. But we can certainly play our part in restoring it to its natural beauty. Which is what God does. And tries to do everyday. And He gets there, eventually. Just as we get to Him. Eventually. In His inifinite kindness, He allows the cool waters of rinsing to pour over our lives every once a while, to give us a respite from the heat and the friction.

All that final rubbing and rinsing finally paid off for me. I now have a holder that looks beautiful and pristine. And I can use it in the worship of the very God that cares for me, in pretty much the same way!

I can. I will.

2010-10-06T15:43:00.004-05:00

A mantra is a powerful thing. Yes, I seem to be taken with a lot of mantra these days.:) But seriously, a mantra is a powerful thing. Especially, when it is a personal one. Its almost like you invest all your intent, and focus into a few chosen, deliberate words, and suddenly infuse them with a potency, which only grows with usage and time, and unleash that power as and when you call upon those very words. A mantra is a very powerful reminder that we are a product of thought, our thought, and that if thoughts can lead us astray, as they often do, they can also pull us back, to the most ideal place and moment.

" The mantra becomes one's staff of life and carries one through every ordeal. Each repetition has a new meaning, carrying you nearer and nearer to God.” ~ Mahatma Gandhi"

This year, for school and for everything else that would constitute his life, I thought it would be a great idea for Winkie to have his own mantra. Maybe one for every school year too. And nothing could have been better than I can. I will.

Without getting too much into labelling and typecasting, it seemed to me that this was one thing Winkie could afford to try and change about himself. His capacity for confidence. He always prefaced any new thing with self-doubt, and almost decidedly, self-defeat. His almost certain knowledge that he needed help before he could need himself, to do a job. And it always irked me to see this in him. We suffer through so much in our lives because of a lack of self confidence, and it was too painful to watch my son on the beginnings of that path. Self-confidence is a journey and an end in itself, and not one that can be made a part of you overnight, but it seemed like a mantra would be a good place to start. Especially on the eve of a new school year.

He took to it a lot faster than I expected. He was taken with the idea of having a mantra of his own, and he resonated with this simple one, which he practiced to say with emphasis to himself, with a clenched, powerful fist to boot. And that was how he began his school year and every other thing of change. And I am pleased to say that he has been making good use of it. Every time, before an Otter Creek math fact worksheet, he takes a quick pause to repeat this to himself, along with a prayer. I can. I will. And then goes on to beat his own goal. This is a simple instance of how he leans on its strength to forge ahead, but I can see the transformation it is making to his psyche and the way he thinks things through.

Anytime, we hit any sort of road block, I ask him....what's your mantra?

An instant smile lights up his face, as he remembers that he has one and says...I can. I will.

The 'I can', is soft. Thoughtful. Tentative. A preparation. But the 'I will' is pronounced. Emphatic. Decided. Deliberate. Convincing. Winning.

And whether or not he achieves his goal...that becomes secondary. Because the attitude has already changed, his belief in himself has been reaffirmed, every else that follows, is on the winning curve. And everything else he does is with a smile and a laugh at himself, for having gotten down in the first place. Which is exactly how it works.

I too, have a mantra. And it is...2010 is your year!

What's yours?

Om Mani Padme Hum...

2010-10-05T22:44:00.001-05:00

I have had the fortune of the indelible memory of two very powerful sound moments in my life, so far. And now, a third one has come into my life. A powerful, sweeping, tingling, spiritually charged, goose bumpy moment when music and voice came together once more, to still every thought in my mind, and make my heart scream with joy and undiluted bliss, and such a powerful yearning, as happens once in a rare blue moon.

It was at a spiritual retreat that we attended over the Labour Day weekend. It was Sunday evening, and time for bhajans. And I was deathly nervous, because I was singing one too. There I was sitting in the second row, along with the other singers, trying to keep my spine straight and my breathing even, and just relax into myself and let the music of my own soul, guide my voice to its natural place in the song, when the time came....when it began. That haunting, beautiful, eternal, sweetly mournful melody...wafting, note by stringful note to my ears. The oriental mood that it set, instantly calmed my nerves, and I began to float and lose myself to its intense beauty. And then they began to sing...

Om Mani Padme Hum..
Om Mani Padme Hum..
Om Mani Padme Hum..
Om Mani Padme Hum..

That beautiful Buddhist chant...which I learnt for the first time, how to properly pronounce in every word. And how to sing along with all those beautiful celestial voices, that were giving me so much of joy in tune. I was in bliss, pure and complete. Just as I am now, as I listen to it in the background and write, playing it over and over again, to keep the mood it invoked alive, to keep floating in that sea of sweetness, now and then finding a word out of a corner of the mind, to try and do at least an iota of justice to this emotion.

A serenity of space, a cool calm of the mind, yet so much of longing and desire woven into every note and nuance of music, a longing of union, of love, of a deep deep gratitude for so much of love.....h.o.w m.u.c.h a few words repeated in such a melodious loop can convey!

This is a moment, when I am convinced beyond any single thought, that life is beautiful, with a purpose even more so. And it has meaning. And simplicity. And so much to smile for. And so much to live for. And so much to yearn for. When all that is yearned for, can be had, just now...just as you are...just by closing your eyes, and opening up your heart petals, to soak up every breath of wind in that song.

That song is here, where you can listen to it. It may not impact you as powerfully as it did me. Or maybe it will. That is a matter of happenstance. Maybe it was because of the frame of mind I was in when I entered that hall. That slight tension, as I couldn't wait to get over my bit of song, so I could breathe easy once more. That sinking gut feeling as I worried about missing a line or singing something out of tune. Maybe that's why it acted as powerfully as it did. Or maybe it was the way the singers sang it. The deep male voices melding with the sweeter female tones, in the backdrop, connecting your heart to the divine current, quite effortlessly, through their effortless singing. Or maybe it goes beyond all this to a deeper reason. That maybe there is some kind of cosmic connection for me with anything Buddhist and any thing that rings event faintly of Tibet, this chant seemingly emanating from those distant, white mountain tops, and from some distant lifetime, that is now making its presence felt. Or may be it is a little bit of everything. Or nothing at all.

Whatever it is, I know now that I have something for life. Something that I can hug to myself, like a delicious secret..the force of which will miraculously drive away all my stress and leave me limp as a rag doll, and just so insanely calm and lucid, that nothing could be as important as being in that moment with that song. Each of us must have one such moment in our life, and one such thing to cling on to, and fall back on, when life throws up a tornado every once in a while. Something that transports us right to the heart and eye of it, where the calm instantly descends, and gives you a perspective of everything that is hurtling viciously around you.

Om Mani Padme Hum...is it for me. And as I keep hearing it over and over in my head, there is the sight of a little pink rose, on a bush outside the office window of my friend's home, where I was making her listen to it once, that keeps leaping to my eye. The way that rose danced to the wind, as if in tune to the music coming from inside...the two finding their own little symphony and symmetry of perfection, making that moment, so intensely sublime and quiet for me. Its like you instantly, in just this snap of a finger, are able to shed every single thing that acts as a burden of thought in your life, and tune into just this one all important thing, that it is the bottom line. That reminds you, that no matter what else is happening, life is as it should be. And you are where you are meant to be. And now is the best that it can be. Its a powerful, powerful thing...this ability to pierce through to the heart of life every once in a while, and discovering this little activating switch that you flick on, to get you there. To the song, and to the moment when time stood still, even as the song played in the background...I offer my eternal gratitude!

New beginnings on 4 legs!

2010-10-01T11:47:00.000-05:00

This is indeed a big milestone in our lives. The day we actually went ahead and bought ourselves a new dining table.

Let me set the record straight. There was nothing wrong with the old one. Nothing at all. Except for the fact that the screws were coming off the undersides of the chairs every once in a while, or that the cushions had gone completely flat from all those years of sitting (about 9 years), or the fact that I was so sick of wiping off yet another smudge of fingerprints off the glass table top, or just the plain and simple fact that it was time for a change. The out with the old, in with the new kind!

Still, for the longest time, we couldn't make up our minds to do it. Again, to set the record straight, I certainly could, but a certain *other* decision maker, couldn't find a justifiable enough reason to want to replace it. After all the table was in perfect working condition. And if we used table cloth, we needn't have to see or even get fingerprints on it. Point. And if we just replaced the chairs, we were good to go. Point again. And so we spent the next couple of years, looking for just that right kind of chair that would go with our very perfect, glass top - covered with a table cloth - no visible fingerprints - table. We found a couple in Ikea, only they were always out of stock. It happened with a few other places as well. Trust us to like the one thing that everybody else liked!

With all the delay that was taking place, I also switched gears on R, and began hankering for a wooden table. One that we wouldn't have to dress up with a table cloth if we didn't want to. One that we wouldn't have to worry about applying too much pressure on the glass top for fear it will crack. One that wouldn't get visible fingerprinting evidence on it. :D I just wanted a simple wood table, that Winkie could do his homework on. That the boys could spill their milk on and I wouldn't have to spray on a glass cleaner to make it finally look like there's no top on, in the first place. So you know how it is. When the lady of the house is unhappy, things have just got to change, your principles be - - - - - -!

And so, we started hunting again. This time for a proper dining set. A small enough table to fit into our breakfast nook, but large enough to seat 6 chairs. One that was in wood and not glass. A wood that was not too dark, and not too oak either. The chairs, not upholstered, but plain wooden, so we could add our own cushions to it. And all this at a price that made us happy. You can imagine how that went! The years dragged on, just as we dragged ourselves to a furniture store every once a few weeks to check out the latest stock, and the newest sale. And a good 5 years have passed in this manner. Until, the story of our table hunting became a local legend. Friends learned of it and even before they asked us how we were, on the phone, it was a ...How is the table hunting going?....or....Do you have a new one yet?

Okay. So I exaggerate, but just a teensy bit. For on that fated day, when the tide finally changed, and the Gods in heaven conspired to finally bring opportunity and action together in just the right alignment for us, I was chatting with my friend Altoid, who did, for the record, ask me if we had bought a new table yet. No, not yet...I told her sheepishly....but we are getting closer Minty. Words that I now recognize as being portentous, in a good way, of course. :)

It was a Tuesday, and the boys had swimming. R dropped us there and said he was heading to the furniture store in the same strip mall, and would see us back in an hour. Good luck with that!..I thought to myself and proceeded to enjoy the next 60 minutes watching the boys splash and drink the water, and float and sink and doggy paddle. And when he picked us up, he had that look on his face...like he could be on to something big. Yes! It was big alright. He had seen something that he liked, the price was great, only it was not in wood.

!!!!!!

But strange are the ways of the mind, and the erosive effect of time. For by this point, I was so saturated with all the back and forth action we had done, that I was willing to completely compromise on this one big desire, to go and check out his choice. I walked in to the store, completely prepared to shoot down yet another perfectly good table.....when I saw it! True, it was a glass top one. But this glass was so thick and so sturdy looking. Yes, the chairs were black (again!) and we couldn't use cushions on them, but that saddle stitching on the edges looked decidedly classy, and the firm ergonomic support felt great! What's more, there was this nice little platform that rested beneath the glass top, making it the ideal place to store coasters and placements and other knick knacks. The icing on the cake was the price of course. It was unbeatable! And in this split of a second, I did a complete 360 degree turn, and walked out with a big smile on my face.

I think that shocked him more than anything else. He hadn't really expected me to like it, and he certainly hadn't expected to walk back into that store to sign on the order form for a new table. But that is what we did. And in another week, became the proud new owners of yet another glass top, 6 seater, dining table. Oh btw, when I called up a neighbour friend to ask for her help to haul it back, she squealed out in delight, congratulating us heartily on our new member. I don't think she even sounded this excited when I had told her about my pregnancies! I rest my case.

R worked hard to assemble it. It was back breaking work, because that thick glass top really was thick. And heavy! And something to fear, very much, for our backs, and I hope we never have to dismantle it! The day we retired our old table to the basement (for its temporary home), was a slightly sad one. It had begun its life of usefulness with us, in our first year of marriage, gifted by R's friends as his wedding gift. It had seen the kids as babies and borne many a spit-up, cereal spill and spoon banging on its tender see-through surface. And outlived all the chairs that it came up, bravely asserting its usefulness and lasting. And so, I made a ceremony of it. I walked around the table a few times, caressing the glass, thanking it for everything it had withstood with us. And said goodbye.

And there was a welcoming ceremony too. Decorated with fresh yellow roses, right on the heels of Ganesha Chathurthi, the glass top sparkling brightly after a thorough wipe down, and the ceremonial milk boiled and kept on top of it, it has begun its life with us here, in the fall of 2010. Life is not perfect. No, far from it. I still cannot stand the fingerprints, or the hand smudges when we rest on it, or the cloudy, foggy look when the cloth doesn't wipe it down neatly. Nor do I like the fact that I cannot sit cross legged easily on the chairs, without some manipulation, because that very useful platform under the glass, restricts that leg space so. In fact, this is a bigger peeve for me, than even the fingerprints now. But we will have to find our way around it. No one is perfect. Not me, and definitely not this table. But we will learn to deal with each other's limitations and learn to get along, while I completely sit back and enjoy the ergonomic ecstasies of my saddle stitch chair!

Those respective first days of school...

2010-09-29T18:51:00.003-05:00

[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

2010-09-15T10:35:00.003-05:00

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!

2010-09-13T14:52:00.007-05:00

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....

DS or not?

2010-08-22T16:22:00.004-05:00

As parents, we have tried to steer clear of too much of media exposure for the boys, and especially Winkie as the older one. I have already talked about how much TV had impacted our lives earlier on, and now, even though we have cable television, the boys watch only recorded programs on the DVR and that too not everyday. And all they are allowed to watch so far are Curious George, Little Einsteins and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. We have watched these with them from time to time and the shows seem simple and childlike. We could expand their viewing library, but that would mean we would have to watch it ourselves first to see what would be right for them. And we have no time for that.

The boys, for their part, since they are not exposed to anything else, don't ask for anything else. For now, they are content watching just these shows. It inevitably means, that Winkie is not savvy enough to hold his own in a conversation about anything else that a typical 7 year old boy watches. Which is no big loss according to me, but sometimes I wonder. Just a bit.

Like on the question of the peer pressure of buying a DS over this weekend. Having watched a few of his friends handle their own individual DS consoles and play interactive games, on a few occasions, the desire to have one of his own seized strongly. And we came to learn of it, when he hugged my legs tight, and shed a few self pitying tears. It certainly won our pity for him but not a confirmation that he could have one of his own. I spoke to a few friends, trying to get viewpoints to help us decide. The reason why there was even a decision to consider was obvious. Although our underlying belief (as naive as it gets) is that it IS possible to raise kids innocent of all these gadgets, doubt rears its ugly head from time to time, over whether it will make our child too innocent and hence socially inept to mingle and feel part of a crowd. We worry over him being the 'odd one out', and whether he will have the courage and the confidence to withstand that position.

Because at the end of the day, that's what it boils down to. If Winkie were capable of understanding why we impose these restrictions, and stand up to any pressure on the strength of these arguments, and feel that he is a normal kid, just like anyone else, no matter what they think, then there is no issue at all. But as adults itself, we grapple everyday with the weakness of insecurity and ego pressures, to think clearly on the strength of our own core belief system, so how then can we expect a child at such a tender age to become one with this great philosophy?

Yet, I cannot give up the belief that he will learn it one day and each stage of his life will give him opportunities to develop and exhibit it. And as parents, it is our solemn duty to open him up to this truth. That he is perfect in himself. That life is about the fulfillment of desire and also the sacrifice of it. That intelligence is about developing the ability to discriminate between the two kinds, and have the strength of resolve to say no to oneself. Its a tall order, but any worthy cause will never be short of a challenge. And the responsibility of one's life and character to mould, is perhaps the worthiest of it all.

Today, Winkie does not have a DS or a PS or whatever else acronym it is that captures the market fancy and frenzy. It doesn't mean that we will never buy him one, but for now, some part of his nature has not pushed him to push this with us. He has displayed a healthy curiosity as a child to experience what he sees his peers enjoying. And there is nothing wrong with that. It is only our more willful adult mind that casts our own doubts into the mix, making the matter more complex. Today, Winkie still revels in the idea of a quiet time. We had unlearned that precious lesson over the past several months, but now, I have got him back on that track again. Every afternoon, he has a choice to either take a nap if he is tired or spend some time quietly and preferably with a book. And to get him motivated, I have stocked him up on his favorite Magic Treehouse series. And every afternoon, when I enjoy my own quiet time, either with a book or a nap, I see him poring on chapter after chapter in this utter concentration, which I just love. So much that I have taken several pictures of him just reading. Read read read. And if he is done with the book, he knows how to stay within his own silence. He knows better than to wake me up from a nap, so he will just sit with some random object in his hands, sometimes as random as a pencil or my hairclip, and fly it up in the air, soft sounds coming from his throat, aiding in his mental game. Thus he patiently bides his time, until I am ready to come out of my own little cocoon and be interactive once more. And I think this is a very precious thing indeed. Being able to be with yourself, without boredom. And I'd like to keep this going for as long as possible!

Born to Run

2010-08-18T07:29:00.004-05:00

3 weeks into August, and we are all settled in. Its almost as if we have always been here. But that is an exaggeration. I do remember and reflect on my times in India, because of the little ripples of quiet effect that is still coursing through me. But, more of that later.

Onto present times. there is this big cloud hanging over my head right now. In the form of my upcoming 1/2 marathon. And it is beginning to cause little anxiety pangs every now and then. I trained hard that first month in desh, but did not keep it up that second month. As a result, I am not back to where I started, but close enough. I have gotten so much healthier and fitter since that time, but it still may not be enough to finish that race, and finish it, I so badly want to. Its the pace. I am having trouble picking it up. Endurance isn't a problem, speed is. I don't want to hop onto a bus midway or 3/4 way because I am out of time. But I also must stop thinking like that and focus on just running.

Have you guys read Born to Run? If not, now would be a great, grand time to do so. Its phenomenal. It will make you want to strip those expensive running shoes off, and go sprinting across the living room, to the outside, on your bare, bare feet and feel the real power at work. Till I read this book, I never realised shoes could be such a scam (though I know I certainly cannot do without mine), that there is a secret tribe of ancient people who run as naturally as they breathe, and that one of my biggest running mantras could be stay loose. It is a book not just for a running enthusiast, but for just anyone who believes that life has many secrets left to unlock, and this book contains one of them! Maybe I should pick it up again! :)

For now, I am going to visualise editing a picture of that medal to post here to you all about. :) I have a practice 12 miler coming up this Saturday. We are getting an early start on it, with the hopes of an equally early finish. It will give a much needed boost to my confidence and prepare me mentally for the race in 3 weeks. Sept 12 is the big day, so please pray that I come back to you with a picture of it! :)

On that note, let me leave you with this awe-inspiring story of a person who struggled against her worst odds!

One year since the break...

2010-08-05T07:39:00.000-05:00

Its going to be almost 1 year to the day that life changed because of a broken ankle. Even now when I look and think back to that period, I don't know whether to smile or frown at the memory of it all....knowing how much of goodness came from that time. I am reading back on those 60 comments that I received from so many of you, telling me consistently this one thing....that I will make it. You were right. I did. One year later and I can really say that with some confidence.

It really was a period of imposed rest. It was very restful, once I stopped worrying about how things were going to be managed. And I stopped worrying, the minute so many others stepped in for my sake. That was the time we renewed our Blockbuster membership, and I watched at least 2 movies a day. That was the time, I wrote and felt and felt keenly on a lot of things, because the wave of emotion was that high. That was the time, I got back in touch with my embroidery and used a lot of that time to put colourful threads to the needle and watch my ideas take form. That was the time, I read and how. I gobbled up most every book that came my way (thanks UTBT, there is still a lump in my throat when I think of your goody of a parcel!). And when I couldn't find books, I found the online versions instead and read the entire Twilight saga in the stretch of a week. That was the time I made plans for all that I would do when I could walk again. I think the desire to train to run was also rekindled around the same time. That was the time, when life also became segmented into...before the fracture (b.t.f.) and...after.

Today, one year and counting, I am healed. Though not in that complete way, where not even a twinge of pain or stiffness or discomfort is felt from time to time. It is true. Once broken, some tiny sliver of a crack is always there. The x-ray may show it otherwise, but the sensation speaks differently. Still, if I am in a position today where I can run a mile without pausing to catch a breath, then I have truly come a long way from the days even b.t.f. But one decided aftermath of this is the way I approach a flight of stairs. Every instinct in my body screams at me to slow down and measure every step I take, especially when it is an unfamiliar one, my hands reaching out to the side to hold onto something for support, every caution exercised to stay firmly on ground. And whenever I see anyone in crutches or cast or wearing that big black duck boot, my heart goes out in a state of extreme empathy and compassion, understanding acutely what they must be enduring physically, their pain mine, for that single, connected moment...

Walk safe everyone. Climb safe. Run safe. Stay safe. And eat your calcium. Your bones are yours to love.

Picking up the pieces once more...

2010-08-03T06:03:00.000-05:00

Its good to be back! It seriously is. A friend said this was the final crossover, if I have returned from a trip without the ritual attack of homesickness that comes in its wake. Maybe I have. I knew this time felt different when we set out on the trip.

Still sentimentality never does leave fully. The day I left my parent's place, I opened my Dad's cupboard to look at all his clothes lines up there, feeling a rush and wave of affection. I even kissed a shirt of his to seal that love. And then I pushed all those feelings back down, for it won't do to indulge and immerse and get weepy on it. To think I am finally getting more practical after all these years! :)

Air travel is surreal. You are in one place one minute and in another in what feels like the next! The transition is so drastic that there is quite a bit of disorientation from the process. And this time, both happened simultaneously, the slight disorientation as well as the sweet settling, familiarity of being back home. It felt really, really nice to see the house again. Because it hit home that this was purely our creation. A space we had carved out from the separate lives we had lead to cohere into a family, with its own distinctive tastes in life.

The boxes are still unopened, save for one. Mild jetlag still prevails. The house is still blessedly clean from all the hours of spring cleaning I had invested in it before I left. And our life here has been so welcoming and warm, giving us back the threads to pick up from the last point. Family is again a phonecall away and even though that hurts a bit at first, it is what we are used to and hence claim as normal.

I am still taking things very, very slow, unpacking at my own pace, still waiting to distribute the boxes of sweets, and still trying to figure out what my priorities should be now that I am back. One thing I realise is that I have unlearned a lot of the good things that I had started off on while becoming a mother. My patience and creativity are at an all time low and the degradation began long before this vacation was decided upon. I shockingly realise how much of effort it is going to take me to re-learn those things, which once seemed more natural to me. I sometimes wonder whether I have it in me still. Some days, even the thought of reading them a book, seems like a far fetched concept to adopt. There is thus a lot to aim for and struggle towards and I must find my way to it.

Makes me almost smile back at what I've written, wondering if there is any clear connection between all these haphazard thoughts, induced by a wonderful cup of coffee, on a very wet and rainy morning...:)

My true vacation getaway!

2010-07-25T22:59:00.000-05:00

I love this house. Because it is the one where my parents' rest their weary heads at night eveyday. But that is how its always been. I remember that last house in Bahrain, that they had lived in when I visited with an 8 month old Winkie. It was the last house because within a year after that, they also vacated the place to move back to desh. It was the smallest of all the flats we had been in and logically so, for us three kids had already moved out of the household by then. So for the 2 of them, that tiny 2 bedroom flat, with a tinier living room and an even more tiny kitchen, was quite sufficient, even barring the inconvenience of climbing 3 flights of stairs to get there.

True happiness, I found in that house. That might sound like a loaded statement, but it was so. Because happiness to me then, meant a near-uninterrupted night of sleep, and a very, very willing 2 pairs of extra hands to carry, cuddle, clothe and kiss baby Winkie. And I got that in plenty there. I was almost in a state of trauma by that point, after 9 relentless months of sleepless nights rocking and walking that terrible sleeper of a child, and I would have given just about anything for just one night of a straight 6 hours.

This was also a time when I got to reconnect with a phase of my life that didn't involve motherhood, that of meeting with a very old and very loved school friend. I would leave Winkie behind at home and with an almost carefree abandon, go check out the latest cine flick with my buddy. Not to mention shopping trips and walks, and lengthy phone conversations, and squatting flat on the floor of the tailor's shop, poring over design booklets and coming up with our own sketches of what would look good and her textile designer instincts were always good with that, but I digress.

Everytime I said I loved that house, my parents' would protest comparing it with the bigger and more spacious flats we had lived in. But this is the one I will love most, because it was the one that housed me when I was most raw and needy. Simple meals cooked in that simple, small kitchen, waking up late, to see everything already done, and having to do very little to get by for the next 7 hours before my parents' came home from school, other than feeding and playing with that bundle of cuteness that was Winkie, their own personal anticipation as they trudged wearily up the stairs, knowing that our smiling faces awaited their return...ah...it was such happiness, that you could just sink your teeth into it and taste it and chew on it.

And its amazing how that association of love to home to people to love still continues, here in this dusty, rusty old flat by the beach. Dusty because nobody can clean it spotless like my sis, on one of her marathon weekend cleaning sessions, and rusty from all these many years of proximity to the Bay. All of which is beside the point. I love how my mornings start...when I walk out of the bedroom and see my mother's beatific smile, mouthing a cheery good morning. How the minute I brush my teeth, she starts preparing coffee. How I took over this process from her, to be a little more self reliant, but it just didn't taste as good as the cup she made. How she or Pops would leave the PC on for me, to indulge my weakness of sipping while surfing. How the view from the vantage of the computer table, of the greens of the trees, beyond the top of which you could spot a sliver of the beach, because of the emptiness in the horizon; I love the balcony I can walk onto everytime my phone rings with the voice of a friend, promising a heartful conversation, which can be had only in that idyllic setting. I love the view of the small Ganesha temple, from the kitchen balcony, the one that Pops unfailingly has a darshan of every morning, first thing after brushing his teeth, a routine I was privy to watching because of that one odd day in which I actually woke up early. :) I love that tiny kitchen, where my Mom draws border lines with the magic chalk, that will put our own border management to shame, to keep at bay the army of ants that will otherwise descend, to the destination of sweets and savories on the shelf; this kitchen where aloo roast is that cherished passport to time travel to the 90's when those leisurely Friday afternoon lunches, meant that we all sit together as a family on a mat on the carpeted floor, and fight for those last remaining potatoes. I love those lengthy conversations that I can now have with my mom while I sit on the floor of the kitchen and chop up the veggies for our lunch, as she readies everything else, the whole task of being there, made more pleasurable by the company.

But just as a long time ago, when the understanding finally crept in that home was a place to be tapped from within my own heart, so too do I realise now that any home that my parents' choose for themselves, to put the stamp of their personalities on, will evoke this same feeling of quiet euphoria in me. It will be the haven recreated from the fancies of my childhood, to give rest to my often conflicted adult heart. And as long as this roof remains standing, I will never need to go in search of a vacation home, or a getaway. The love within these four walls takes care of every weary bone in my body!

Love in action

2010-07-23T04:00:00.001-05:00

Its been a week since we returned from our trip to Parthi and already the world has entered back into our system. But there are still many things we retain from it. My personal account of it will follow later, but what the boys have taken away from it has to be narrated.

We were at the station after our entire Parthi pilgrimage, waiting to board the train to Chennai at 10 PM at night. As we walked on the platform to the exact spot where coach B1 was likely to be stationed, R noticed a beggar asleep. He was lying on top of some newspaper carefully spread out, and next to him in a covered little bundle was his little baby. It was chilly Bangalore night, and the baby slept on the newspaper like its father, wrapped on top only by a very old and very dirty towel. Noticing this, R immediately asked me for a bedsheet that we were carrying. As I was finding a good clean one for him, another thought struck me. We had bought two very cute mini pillows to be used in darshans and in the room, and we had it handy outside too. And it seemed like a wonderful opportunity to help Winkie put his love into action. And to hopefully impress on him that the 5 human values were not just part of an SSE curriculum, but something that he could actively cultivate in life.

But there was one problem. It would not be very easy to convince him to give up his pillow, because he had grown very attached to it. He loved it. He slept on it and he took such good care of it. But we drew him close and softly told him the plight of that little baby lying there atop a newspaper, on a cold, dusty platform. He was resistant at first, pointing to the other pillow that was Thambi's. Next, he said that the blanket would be enough for the little one. But something in him began to soften as his heart connected to the need of that other individual, even as his mind pleaded to him of his attachment to his pillow. The conflict was on in full earnest, but he gathered the will to walk over with his father, to hand over the warm sheet and the soft pillow for that little baby. The father accepted it immediately and as we watched, he inserted the pillow softly under the child's sleeping head and covered him/her snugly with the sheet. Our hearts were full on seeing this, and I am afraid so was Winkie's, for big. fat tears spilled over as the pain of losing a beloved objected renewed itself with greater force. A big tight hug, lots of soothing words on the bigness of his action and encouraging words stopped the flow as he took in what had just taken place. I hope its a memory that will be strong in his heart and act as a beacon of inspiration for times when the self seems more important than seva.

In another 1/2 hour, his mama had arrived carrying a bag with tees for the boys. And as Winkie received his gift, we didn't miss a beat as we told him how quickly he had been rewarded for his kindness and his sacrifice.

A whole week after the fact and Thambi still remembers how you reach out your hands to the light of the arati and touch it to your eyes. Only, this extends not only to the light of the flame, but to just about anyone you may see, even on the street. An example : Last evening, as we were walking the streets on a shopping trip, and we passed a beggar with outstretched hands, calling out to us. Winkie went forward with the change in his hands and dropped it into his open palms, and our little copycat master did the same. The man was beyond happy to get so much of change and raised his hands in blessing for the boys. He held it over each one's head, blessing them individually. Mistaking that for the typical arati, Thambi, reached out as if taking the energy of the light and touching it to his eyes and he did this a couple of times, much to our amusement and I must say, delight. The moment was light and one that evoked laughter for cheerful innocence, but it didn't make me lose sight of the all important fact. That man's blessing was a divine fact that played itself out in front of our eyes, and Thambi's taking of his blessing in that form, innocently done, was the ultimate lesson of how we must all perceive one another. As individual flames of that same atmic truth. Love is all. All is One.

A perfect plan, that starts all wrong!

2010-06-29T07:42:00.000-05:00

June 24, 2010, and we set off on a road trip.And it had all the thrill of adventure because it was not supposed to have been a road trip at all. Having misread the 15:25 on the ticket as 5:25 in the evening, we ended up arriving at the station a good 2 hours after the train's departure, much to our stunned shock and Winkie's soulful tears! A hurried conference followed, with alternative plans being considered and researched. The steep, last minute prices made flights for 8 people out of the question. Other trains were of no use because of the REGRET/WL sign against each one. The only choice, not being a choice at all, was by road and even that began with anxiety, since the first agency we called, had absolutely no vehicles available thanks to the Tamizh Semmozhi Manadu being held at the same time! But of course, all windows cannot possibly be closed at the same time, for how then can we breathe? That little window was another agency which did have a car available, a luxurious 8 seater, which made the 12 hour journey to Shencottah seem like a breeze! We went for it, but not before breaking our heads on how to route this trip under the alternative circumstances, what segment to drop and what to tweak! Finally, the gameplan was set and we needed to turn in early to be ready to set off at the crack of dawn!

The adventure was underway and I had prepped Winkie a bit the night before, as he was already quite broken up about the missed train. As we talked, he understood that he may be eating in strange places, and not have the cleanest toilets to use, and be on the road for hours on end, but it would all be one big adventure that we would remember and laugh about later!

Its funny how adventure works. When you claim something as one, adding that special tag to it, it does indeed take on that ephemeral form, where every turn is exciting, bringing something unexpected. And its amazing when you start praying for even the little things...a decent place to have breakfast, a reasonably clean toilet somewhere...and you end up with exactly that. A place that served some of the yummiest vadais I have ever tasted, as part of a scrumptious buffet style breakfast, and attached to the same place, were a set of clean, clean public bathrooms, the kind of which is a rarity in roadside India. What is even better is when the kids decide that they are not beneath using it, and do so to their heart's content, rather, their stomach's content. :D

What's even more amazing is what happens when you don't pray. Little things pop up on the roadside to enchant your desh starved heart! Endless groves of coconut trees that seem to touch the horizon, the ghat formations dotting the rural landscape, their sides lush with vegetation, brightly painted yellow bus stops every few km; the 3D Ganesha picture hanging from the windshield, which lets you spot 3 different profiles of the elephant God, as it turns tantalizingly this way and that; a softly sleeping child, his head cradled in the lap of his grandmother, his body supported atop the firm legs of his father, his feet touching my hands, as I scribble these exact details of his posture!

All the while, the mind paints its signs in the inner chatter with the head...some needless thoughts wandering through some of the dark, unlit corners, trapped with no means of escape. But it is not said lightly that the pen is mightier than the sword, for when I finally resort to the reprieve of opening my notebook to write, I have taken up the torch to shine a light in those dark corners and scare away the blackness of it all. My cheeks have softened and a smile is easy once more...and despite the constant motion of the car reducing my words to an undecipherable scrawl, I enjoy the beauty of release and write in a haze, to release the beauty that surrounds me outside the window and finally flowers within my heart!

Happy 7, my little man!

2010-06-15T04:50:00.000-05:00

My dearest Winkie,

Today you turn 7 years old. 7 is a pretty significant number in the Vedic sense. It was a time when a young boy was initiated into the path of Brahman, with the official thread ceremony. It signifies the true end of childhood, for henceforth, your sanskaras become binding on you. Whatever actions your perform, leaves its impressions, which will be carried forward until expended, in this life and the next. And psychologically as well, it is supposed to be a time when the boy moves away from the fold of his mother and closer to the father, the peers, the community. That single number 7, is supposed to be the gateway to all these changes.

And right now, from our very micro perspective, it feels like nothing has really changed. You still need me more than ever, and more so now, here in Chennai, where everything has been a shift from the familiarity of home. I thought a lot about what to write for this letter of yours, and could not come up with anything special, other than the mystique of the '7'. So I am going to content myself with giving you a simple record of how our day is panning out and is expected to pan out.

You woke up only around 8:30, but there were so many calls on the phone before that of loving family wishing to talk to you to wish you. Appa will call you later in the evening, when you've already got a headstart on your day. The morning started off on a sour note for you, as you refused the mango complan that you had wanted me to buy for you. I didn't want you to waste the milk and you didn't want to touch it and we went on like this in some vein, until finally you settled for some Bournvita. You should know, that we have a lot of these kind of fights every day. And it was no fun repeating it on your birthday as well. :)

We had a nice plan going, for soon after an early lunch, we went shopping, just you and me, to busy busy Mylapore, to buy you whatever you wanted, as a gift from your grandparents and your family. We bought you a proper watch this time, not a toy one, though I still thought it was way too early for one. But your Chitthi had so painfully researched it and chosen one that she wanted you to have. So her wish was fulfilled, as was yours. My preference was that it be analog, and it is.

We bought you something to wear tonight for the dinner with the grandparents and family. Sandlas to replace the worn ones you have now. Clothes and sandals for Thambi too, since it feels nicer that way, and you took some interest and pointed out which shirts to pick for him. Yesterday, I had placed an order for a blackforest cake, saying 'Happy 7th Birthday Akhil'. You were with me, when we did it, and could barely contain your excitement.

As I am typing this now, you are lounging around, trying to pass the time until 7 PM. I love you. I really really really do. In my heart and dreams, I had envisioned feeling terribly mushy and making every minute and second of your birthday happy for you. But its been difficult, because my fuse, as always is short, and our chemistry is such that we always find ourselves on sparring ends. But you are my son...the one who changed my status forever, and every part of you is special to me for that.

Even as I find myself wanting to change a lot of things about you, I love all your little quirks, everything that moves you to tears, and everything that makes you erupt into a very unwilling smile. I love your two crooked little bottom teeth, and that irresistible smile. I love your shyness and being one of the few ones to know that so much lies beneath that veneer of silence. I also wish I wasn't one of the few who knew that, because I want you to glow and shine in everything you do in your life, kanna.

I am sorry for everything else this past year, where I have made things more difficult for you, and I am glad for everytime afterward that I have pulled you close for a hug and a firm kiss and to say I love you. Because I do. I do. I do. I do.

I hope you have a wonderful rest of the day. The very fact that you look forward to your birthday every year, is proof enough that you know that we care and we love, even through this limited form of expression. I chose this picture for your 7th, because it shows you laughing with abandon, with your arms open, as if receiving everything coming your way. That is what I wish for you more than anything else. For you to welcome everything in your life, the good, the great and the grim, with such love and faith that you stand so deeply rooted in that sand, that not even the strongest wave can move you from your point, as it washes and recedes, and you still have that look of cheerful abaondon on your face.

God Bless you for all time.
Amma.

The heart and its lover...

2010-06-06T10:57:00.000-05:00

The heat was what hit me the first day. For the first time ever, I wasn't sure I would be able to withstand it. Thankfully the rains came down just in time and cooled away some of the stress, making the prospects of the next 2 months a lot more pleasant.

I have realised one thing about being back in desh....how every trip I make is a barometer of my spiritual reading. How I can sense my own inner growth and stand firmly atop the mound of progress that I have made which gives me an even better bird's eye view of the road that I have travelled to get there. India strengthens and fortifies me very intensely in this way. I am closest to my fountain of peace here, I have come to realise. I just love it!

Another thing that hit me about this time, is not a culture shock of how much things have changed, because I really don't know how much it has, never having really grown up here, but how much more at home I have become in Chicago in these last 6 months. I had been lost and drifting for awhile, not enjoying any kind of firm anchor to life, but I have found myself again through the heart of a friend who has really shone the light in all the dark places and forced me to get my blinders off. And just like that, whatever resistance I had to the country I was still living in, that feeling of restlessness, of being a nomad at heart, of never knowing where quite to settle...all of it just came into sharp focus and reached a clear visible point. I know that Chicago has become a true home for me, after a really long time. I have begun to love my life there, in the way I should have always have. I find my attachments strengthening with every new friend I make, and talking to whom stirs my heart. And just as peaceful as it all is, it is also again unsettling. Because it gives rise to some big questions once more about where we shall be 5 years down the line.

But I can never ask myself a big question and remain impregnated with it for long. Cutting the ties that bind...is my motto these days. I am finding that all the issues, big and small are answered with this simple test : Does it adhere to the 5 human values?

Sathya Dharma Shanthi Prema Ahimsa

In other words...Truth, Rigth Conduct, Peace, Love, Non Violence.

This is the litmus test for any step we want to take in life. Its easier to ignore this 5-fold principle for the smaller things in life, which we can easily ignore as not creating much impact...though at a subterranean level, it all adds up. And it becomes easier to view it in the light of the bigger life issues, since we need all the help we can get at the time anyways!

In 3 short days, I feel the tremendous power of love. Its all love, love love, love, love. That's all there is. There is nothing more to life than this. Of this I am convinced. But how easily, those blinders come on in a moment of weakness and a flash of insanity! Still, every step has been a step forward. And I am loving this keen feeling for life once more. India always does that to me. Touches me in places that I had forgotten could exist. Challenges me to heights that I would not have the fortune of being tested to. Transforms me in ways that is a leap of faith and understanding. My heart will always belong to her, but somewhere, it is expanding to take in the happiness that I have found across the 7 and something seas!

Time to fly the nest...again..

2010-06-02T07:34:00.004-05:00

School's out. Summer's in.

Its time to exchange the dollars for rupees, and pack the kurtis in place of the capris. After 15 months, we are heading to India again today. This time minus all the drama that preceded the last visit. I have checked my passport 3 times, and had a second pair of eyes look at it. We are in agreement, that the numbers are aligned right. Still, I have this innate anxiety now, that will not abate until I have cleared the check in counter. :)

I shall be traveling along with my boys, and somehow, this time, I am really looking forward to it, like never before. The nurse at the doctor's office shook her head disbelievingly yesterday, about 20 hours with 2 young kids. But I told her..."What's the stress in that?" And with this firm faith, we shall step on that plane to cross the Atlantic, hoping no sudden ash from a spewing mountain will cause a detour or delay.

There's so much of life to be covered in writing, things that have really made a mark on my emotions, things that have been inspiring, but I don't know where the time goes anymore. The moment passes and soon, the weight of emotion that would have fueled me to write would have settled, leaving no words behind, just a slender string of hindsight.

Let me give some snapshots at least. Winkie is a successful graduate of 1st grade. In Fall, he will be ready for second grade. His last 2 weeks were a bit rough with the said friend making him miserable with said behavior. But we have been talking a lot through it, and I have had a chance to listen to his thoughts and he has had a chance to listen to mine. In many ways, I am glad that it happened at the end, and didn't color his entire 1st grade experience. We will bolster ourselves to become stronger and wiser to find our way through 2nd grade and the rest of life, as we go along. But for now, he has packed his little bag with a notebook, a special pen from me, and lots of snacks to become a sophisticated traveler. He is anticipating his 7th birthday with a lot of eagerness and happiness.

But even more than him, it is Thambi that awaits his brother's birthday. He will not accept any other birthdays thrown in, in the middle. Some time ago, Winkie took the effort of teaching Thambi the sequence of a day. How it is first morning, oops sorry....how it is first sunrise, then morning, then afternoon, then evening, then sunset and finally night. And for days, nay weeks after that, this was repeated like a mantra every sunrise, morning, afternoon, evening, sunset and night, and there were many a surprise quizzes too. But we passed that test, only to find that it is a different sequence that is spinning like an unstoppable record now from those little lips. The sequence of birthdays. First Anna buthuday, then Appa buthuday, then Amma buthuday, then Sathya buthuday! That's the simple part. In honor of our upcoming vacation, Winkie's going one step further and throwing all the other family birthdays into the mix, with the little fellow trying to keep up and let's hope this conversation lasts long enough to cover the next 24 hours until we set foot on land again. By that point, we will have had a peaceful journey behind us, and a delighted set of family before us who are thrilled to have their birthdays duly noted in his calendar. He is at the point of highest charm right now. Where a streak of babyhood still remains, mixed in with the sweet lisps of toddlerhood, blended interminably with the unique complexities of being a bigger boy. *sigh*. He makes our hearts turn so.

As for me, I am at a very calm turn of life right now. I am a lot more comfortable in my own skin, after having taken the reins of my health in my hands and aligning myself on the path of achieving some of my goals for this lifetime. I have taken up running with gusto, and it comes second to yoga for me, in terms of being a personal retreat from life and my chaotic mind. I have signed up for the 1/2 marathon this coming fall and training for it in earnest. Boat Club Road is going to be my haunt in Chennai and some road by the beach, when I am staying at my parent's place, so if you see a woman with a water belt across her waist, earphones plugged in her ear and running in her brand new Saucony Hurricanes, you'll know she's me. R's been ragging me about the water belt incessantly. But I'll have the last laugh when I can run hands free and hydrate to my heart's content in sweltering Chennai! :D

So that's about me, about us, and about life with us. Please send a quick wish above-wards for a smooth, "uneventful" flight and I'll catch you all from home soil.

Love & Light,
-T!

As God is to me, I shall be to my son!

2010-05-18T09:12:00.000-05:00

Winkie woke up very crabby this morning, with his allergies bothering him again. Some medicine helped the itchy eyes, but he was still not ready to go to school. Just as I was toying with the idea of making him stay home, some instinct (thank God they exist!) told me that there was more to it. I asked him if there was something else bothering him about school. And yes, there was. His otherwise good pal in school, whom he loves to hang out with and play during recess, had started being mean to him. Making the others purposely tag Winkie to get him out, making fun of him in some ways, and little little acts of meanness that could be hurtful when added up, and even on its own.

This is a situation that can get quite tricky quite soon. But I was sure of one thing. There would be a lot of talking going on, between me and Winkie. There was no doubt in my mind at all, that love (the outright kind) was always the first recourse that I would talk to him about. Even though it is super challenging for a child this young, I would not lose this opportunity to talk to him about how love could change a lot of things, at least within him. Barring that, it would be best to walk away from that situation and that person. Just stop the interaction, so the opportunity doesn't arise for this petty pressure.

I still have to dome some thinking on it, and talk a lot to Winkie to try and get his feelings out in the open and understand exactly what is going on. And I think we can get off to a good start over bagels at our favorite Dunkin's across the road. I have decided to surprise him after school, with this little treat, just me and my boys. And while Thambi digs in, Winkie and I can talk and understand each other calmly, without the rush of school.

For now, he is on that bus on his way, rather unhappily, to school. It hurts to think of him so deflated like that, but whenever I weaken with thoughts like these, I always remember the relationship that parenting emulates. That of the relationship between an individual and God. When I have a problem, it deflates me at first, the enormity of it. And God watches on, as He always does, not weakened by His love for me, but all-knowing and all-seeing, and I always imagine Him with a gentle, benevolent smile, that is quite unruffled by my problems, but with compassion flowing like a steady river towards me. All I have to do to tap into His calm Love, is to turn and look for Him. And when I do, He is there. Always.

As I watched Winkie walk to his stop this morning, these were the thoughts running through my head. I wished my son would turn and look at me, and see me smiling and rooting for him. I wished he could sense me transferring whatever energy I had in the form of firm prayer and positive thought. When he reached his stop, he did turn back once to look. And when his bus passed by, he made eye contact and waved at me. Whatever anger and upset he was feeling, he was still able to set that aside to wave at me, like always. And with that, he has shown his faith, unknown to him as it may be, right now. And where there is faith, there is always hope. And God.

I have no doubts at all, that he will face his life in school, and come back to tell me about it. And when I open that door, he will be standing there with a smile on his face...

There is going to be magic!

2010-05-10T17:31:00.002-05:00

Friday afternoon, 3:45 and he walked in, a big sheepish grin plastered on his face, his hands crossed behind his back, both a sure sign that there was something hiding there. I asked, and he said 'nothing'. And then, without the usual dawdling over taking off his shoes and unpacking, he headed straight upstairs. A minute later, he was back down, and still looking at me with a sort of expectant air, wondering if I knew what he was doing. I guess this is the sweetest thing about innocence....how it envelops you so completely, that you don't even pick up on the guiles of people.

I continued playing the game with him. Why did you go upstairs kanna?...I asked.

Nothing. I just went to check on Thambi....he replied, the innocence still speaking, mixed in with his set of simpler guile. I let it be.

But fate had other plans. I was upstairs cleaning out the guest bedroom, when I found a piece of paper sticking out from under my sewing machine. I pulled it out, and before I realised what it was, I found myself looking at his Mother's Day creation. Words leapt out at me in that exact word art form that I had recently loved. Coffee, tea, helpful, worker. These were the ones that stood out even in those few hurried seconds that automatically and quickly scanned and relished in secrecy, before hiding it back in the same precise manner.

Come Saturday morning, and I declared...Tomorrow is Mother's Day. I wish it is a special day.

The person that was meant for heard me loud and clear. And with that secret excitement playing on his face, he replied to me in full earnest....it will be Amma. Just wait and see. There is going to be magic. I loved him right then and there, when he declared that promise of magic, but how could he know that the magic was all about that very moment, when he still believed in his secret, and nursed my expectant happiness of it!

Sunday, May 9, 2010. Mother's Day. We started off to an action packed morning. It was graduation day for Winkie's Balvikas class, and we had to be at the temple by 8:30. He was in 3 skits and this was a crucial stage performance, if not his first. He was a sevadal, in the first one, an orange in the second, and playing the role of a Balvikas student in the 3rd. This picture is a scene from the 3rd. He did great on stage. Mixed in with that tinge of nervousness, that heightened sense of alertness when his part was to come, and a general sweet, goofy grin as he tried to spot his Dad in the crowd, he was a very contained and composed young man. I loved watching every nuance of emotion flit across his face and I loved him in his white pants and white shirt, enhancing that aspect of purity.

We came home and he asked me if I was ready for that magic. I was tired and a little hesitant, knowing that I would have to put on a bit of a show to express the novelty of receiving. But he was excited and went for it. It was behind his hands once more, and I played the part of nonchalance rather well. And somewhere in that process, he was offering it to me. I loved that he had thought to call me a daisy. What mother does not enjoy being likened to a flower? :) I also loved that he had noticed and commented on my new found fascination for long earrings. I also asked him about those words he had used for me and why.

It was coffee and tea, because I loved drinking those. It was helpful, because I helped him extricate his favorite book from the shelf that he could not reach, though I always remembered the length of time, a good 30 minutes, between his request and my action on it. He said I was a worker, because I worked so hard at cleaning the house. This, I could accept because I had been slaving to spring clean the house the past week. Flowers, was a nice touch, because he knows that I love to have fresh bunch of flowers on the table every week. Beautiful was beautiful, when he explained that I was looking that way with my new earrings. Kind, caring & loving, was a generous helping on his part, which only accented my guilt at all the times I hadn't been that way, but inspiring me at the same time to become those attributes. It is the purpose of our life isn't it, ultimately?

The big grand finale was in the form of his inspired little poem, a last minute touch that he added, as a little love note to put in my blue box, the one I had meant for such communication many moons ago. I was amazed that he remembered to use the box, an even more with the words he strung, in this cute hallmark style.

This was one of those first Mother's Days that R didn't have to pitch in for to make it stand out for me. Winkie did it all on his own, thinking through it from start to end, and executing it all in a manner, that will leave me smiling for man years to come. And especially now that I have this record of it to jog my sentiments once more.

Happy Mother's Day to all of you, and hope we can feel the joys of what we do, every single day, in every peak and trough of emotion!!

Love has attributes!

2010-05-03T12:04:00.004-05:00

My Dear Kutti-Thambi!

Is this my first letter to you? Feels like it. I am writing to tell you of a precious treasure you now have for your collection of memories. Not that it means anything to you right now, blissed out as you are sitting on a dirty doormat, munching on chocolate from our Target trip, in your light blue dolphin tee shirt, and gray track pants. But it will be special when you get bigger and can understand just the specialness of what this gift is. Because it is the gift of thoughtfulness and that sweet thoughtful love, that Anna is so capable of, and surprises us with, from time to time.

Last week, he came home with this computer printout. They had had some time in the lab that day, and were playing around with font transparencies. How if you type the same word 12 times, it gets brighter and brighter, than if you were to do it just 5 times and so on. Most of his friends chose words for their parents and friends, he told us, but he chose you. And I can tell you, it made us happier than anything else he could have done. We love it when he chooses you, and thinks of you. When he till date, remembers, every Thursday, during library time, to bring home one book, exclusively for you. Last time, it was another story of Curious George, and you were really thrilled by it.

What was even more special was reading his choice of words as attributes for you. He acknowledges that you are naughty, and that you are, most especially with him. You creep on an unsuspecting Winkie, and just give him a push from behind, why even from front and scamper away, to a safe distance, waiting to see the effect of that deliberate teasing. And he always obliges you with all the drama you seek, while obliging us with a very unwarranted increase in the level of noise. You tickle him when he eats his breakfast, purposely slowing him down. You try to scribble hurriedly on pieces of his paper, the ones he so carefully tries to guard. You want to sit on the exact chair that he so temporarily vacated. You love sleeping on his pillow when he is still brushing his teeth. So he is very very justified in calling you naughty.

Cute. Oh yes. He couldn't have been more on the dot than when he called you this. The way you so adamantly correct us these days on every little thing we do or say, even though we haven't been wrong, yet, you have to have the satisfaction of having the last word on it, now t.h.a.t is cute. Like last night in bed, when I called you Jingu Johnson. And you corrected me, even in sleep and said your name was Sathya. Which of course, is true, and we stand corrected, but you can't blame us for calling you JJ either. It suits you really well! :D

Adorable. Oh yes!! Its adorable the way you sit and sing bhajans. Clapping hands to perfect beat. Matching tone and pitch and lyric and song to that perfect hearing that made you assimilate that music in the first place. Its adorable the way you always call out a greeting to a stranger passing by, even if they aren't looking your way, making even the grumpiest person sport a smile just for you. Its adorable the way you do a 100 meter dash when you first spot me getting out of the car, when I come pick you up from school, those little legs on high gear, right until the minute you reach my arms, shouting....my mommy, my mommy, announcing me to all your friends.

Little. Yes. You still are a little munchkin, which it makes it even more adorable on you. Your littleness is the sweetest thing, when you hold your teacher's hand and walk to the park, while all the other kids are holding each other's. You get that special privilege of her grip since you are the littlest there, and enjoy watching you and feeling your littleness. 'Little' is the beauty of your little hands as they engage in some task, be it building blocks, or pointing to something outside the car window, or simply holding a glass of water in your hands, and sipping from it. I secretly admire your littleness everyday, and its one of the reasons I named you Jingu Johnson. :)

Playful. Well, he couldn't have found a more precise yet profound word for you. Playfulness has been your trademark all along. You have made a game of every thing, and what's more, inspired us to play it with you, teaching us, so subtly, to enjoy life and take it on a less than serious keel. All we have to do is look at you, as if we are just about to pounce on you, and you will make a dash for it, laughing wildly, at the possible thrill of the chase. You also play with my emotions, making it range from sheer frustration to the blissful height of a lost love in just a matter of seconds. You are the ultimate gameboy, my little love.

Fun. Does this even need an elaboration? When has it not been fun being with you? Okay, let me not get carried away, for it certainly is not fun during mealtimes, when you have decided eating is not to be your way of life, even from a basic survival point of view. And okay, its not fun, when you both are fighting and constantly clashing, and whining and crying. Not one bit of fun! But put together all the rest of the moments as above, subtracting from them, these minor annoyances of unness, and you might just be able to take up a patent on 'fun'. And if that doesn't fall through, you always have this little brotherly award to fall back on.

Because that is exactly what it is. He has, during the course of his busy school day, stopped to think of you, and what words describe you best, and put it together in a way that is artsy, and aww-inspiring. And besides, writing you this letter, and using it as my next ode to happiness, I also want to have it signed by him, and framed for you, to keep and cherish and remember the bonds that has made you the naughty, fun, adorable, little, playful, cute, Sathya for him!

Pleased to the last punch,
Amma.