Saturday, April 30, 2005
in an ocean of spirit,
yet our lips are always parched.
That thirst is the flawless scheme.
A lack that leads us the way sun
nudges shadows along.
- Duane Tucker from Reflections on Rumi
Only sweet-voiced birds are imprisoned.
Owls are not kept in cages.
Friday, April 29, 2005
Riches are not from abundance of worldly goods, but from a contented mind. Prophet Mohammed (Peace be upon him)
I am probably as materialistic as anybody else and enjoy the good life too. However one word occurred to me yesterday, abundance but its source was not green in color. It came to me at the end of a simple, satisfying day while having dinner with my family.
I felt such abundance thinking about greetings from those I am only beginning to know. Phone calls and messages from friends who want me to stick around for more years. Emails, from those who care but don’t bother expressing it often. Hugs and Kisses from my family. Sharing cakes and sweets with strangers amidst shy smiles. Gifts bought with the thought of making me smile.
I want to cherish this feeling of abundance and to remember it, to make a souvenir out of it, to visit it at those times when I might feel shortchanged or forgotten.
Thank you god and bless us all.
Monday, April 25, 2005
The sweetest smile in the world, pitter-patter of busy feet and a big soft tummy, that’s my mommy. She believes everything in the world can be handled, with a cheerful smile and brisk action. A beautiful woman, she has given so much of herself to her family, that I don’t think she has anything left for herself. There is so much I love about her and so much which she has taught me.
Its my parents wedding anniversary tomorrow and its followed by my b’day the next day. I would always tease them saying, look god has given you a wedding gift in me but to be honest they are my most special gifts.
My dad: shaved, showered dressed every morning, early, ready to work, ready to take on the world…every day of his life. Struggling, grappling with problems, sour but always trying his best. His naiveté, his simplicity…oh I could go on about my parents endlessly. There are many things we don’t agree upon but I love them so much! God bless them always!
My life is not what I wanted it to be but my parents are all that parents could be…. providers and nourishers…. selfish me.
Friday, April 22, 2005
sunflowers in a vase,
early spring morning,
Monday, April 18, 2005
Saturday, April 16, 2005
The day is over now; has ended, is history is no more and I am so glad. I don’t like myself when I feel like this. I am off to make myself another cup of tea…then try to go for a walk…hey k saved me that trip to the kitchen, she got me the tea…god bless her.
...my heart too has gone of too sleep. Perhaps I'll catch a late-night movie on TV tonight. I saw 'The Others' day before yesterday, it was a spooky movie with Nicole Kidman in it...very nice, spooked me out a little, in a nice way.
There is something I want, there is something I need and its the same song every day and I’ll be damned if I go to seed. hahaha...you can see the frame of mind I’m in.
PS: I made pancakes a little while ago and my mother has been trying her hand at making Jalebis, a terribly calorie-laden Indian sweetmeat to which my youngest bro, who should be in the movies, says that all the wimmin of this house should make a video "Who's Fat!' and sing it to the tune of Who's bad by Michael Jackson. Hehe...
How come I did not inherit the its-fun-to-do-difficult-things gene from mummy?
Thursday, April 14, 2005
Its funny how seriously we take our silly notions about ourselves. Around this time I became a serious-minded girl, with scary glasses and untidy hair. I use to look down upon make-up, refuse to wear it because I believed it would be like lying to the world. I was deeply attracted to beige and went on to graduate to all shades of browns. I was the girl, who would walk around the school grounds with hands dug deep down in my blazer pockets, sleeves pushed back to elbows and down-cast eyes. I was painfully shy around this time and had a lot of issues but I was a sweet girl then.
A change of school made me overcome my shyness and the pastels entered my life but before long I fell in a deep long affair with peacock blue. That was the only shade of blue which I liked, rather if I saw anything in that shade, be it a glass vase or a dress, it was sold…yea…to me. Life went on merrily with blue for a long time but quietly crept in a pale green, the shade of a new leaf when sunlight falls on it, this color entranced me. Now these two together ruled my heart. I wore the darker greens but rarely.
Then couple of years back, it was yellow, the color of the sun and I worshipped it. If it was yellow, it was mine. I loved its brightness. It was never a jaundiced hue for me…. it was the color of beaten gold, the color of endless mustard flowers and of fried eggs, sunny side up. Teamed with silver-gray it was sharp and bright, with a pale green, fresh and dewy.
I was happy in my world of gold, when gradually red started seeping in. It nudged its way into my heart, a book here, and a dress there and soon enough people were asking me if it was my favourite color. That’s when I realized Red had stolen my heart without my even realizing it. I wear it now without being embarrassed or feeling silly now. I even look good in it and to imagine that I was scared of wearing it at a time. Bah! I like most of its shades too and Pink; both the soft baby pink and the bright fuchsia make me drool.
Though the constant ones all along has been white and to a lesser extent Black. I have come to appreciate gray now. The only colors that don’t appeal to me are the ones that don’t say much or speak in pretentious or sad tones. I like shades and I like combinations of various colors now, not just with the perennial black and white. The funny parts is that none of them have stopped being my favorites, its just the play list has gotten longer with time. All of them are parts of me.
Monday, April 11, 2005
Friday, April 08, 2005
Thursday, April 07, 2005
It had taken her almost a week to prepare for the fancy-dress party. She had made her wings from feathers she had been collecting for the last many years. Each morning while waiting for her school bus, she would pick up the feathers, which often lay tangled in the bushes or lay by the dirt road. Mostly white but a few gray and black ones too. She would clean and dry each one of them and store her treasures in a box lined with tissue, under her bed.
Carefully she had painted the feathers in all the colors of her paint-box and glued them on the cardboard wings to wear over her white frock. Only her mama had known about her wings and she had smiled and kissed her when she was all ready to go. She remembered Mama had said, that she was her beautiful butterfly, the tears began to roll down again. It did not make sense. She had been so proud of her wings. She had wanted to dance and laugh with them. The river surged through her wiggling toes
Many years later
She is all grown up and pretty now and she does not need them. She does not run away anymore but stands her ground; firm and strong and looks them in the eye. Sometimes she can even laugh at them though mostly she could not care less. But some nights she can still hear them, feel those hot tears welling up in her eyes, after all these years. Somewhere deep down her wings are still soiled and torn.
What will it take to mend them?
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Sunday, April 03, 2005
I had bought those roses from a florist, almost a month back, I was longing for yellow roses. I was longing to see sunlight fall on them from a window. I had bought some tiny white flowers too, they almost seemed like a spray of mist around the yellow roses. I had enjoyed drinking tea and Kahwa while looking at my yellow roses. The wicker stand was from Orissa, a coastal state in Southern India, bought years ago by my parents when they had gone there with a friend and his family. The friend is no more and their family has developed new and strange values.
The intricacy of the folds of the flowers is heightened by their fragility. There is a meaning here, which I am not being able to grasp right now. The only lesson coming to my head is, moisturize, moisturize, moisturize and drink more water, to keep my skin looking young and fresh. Most of the times I cannot be bothered but then suddenly somewhere, on a day like today when I have not even washed my face, I will start worrying about stuff like wrinkles and growing old. There was an article in the newspaper today about how living healthy can make our bodies biologically younger than their chronological age. Don’t smoke, exercise, sleep on time, don’t fret and don’t stop learning that was the gist of the article. Hmmm…sounds good and do-able.
Hmmm, fretting I thought only dad does it, but I have noticed I too fret rather more frequently than is good for me. Its scary how we pick up our parents bad habits, while all along swearing we would be better. So much, for good intentions, makes me feel like a fraud now for getting angry all those times with him for worrying too much. He has mellowed over the years. As kids we were scared stiff of running into him when he was in a bad mood, as we would end up making it worse for him. Growing up taught me how difficult those years were for him, makes me appreciate and respect him more than ever now, yet we still have a reserve between us. I am still the scared girl trying to stand up to him but now he doesn’t seem like the giant that he used to be and I feel mean and nasty when I reply back sharply. Perspectives change with time.