Ding-a-ling-a-ling

There’s a part in my heart

that sings ding-a-ling-a-ling

it says it misses everything

the joy, laughter & friendly baits

hushed conversations, impatient waits.

There’s a part of my heart

that’s forever an optimist

it draws suns, rainbows and endless bridges

this part goes rap-a-tap-tapa-a-tap-a-tap

how bad can it be?

another chance another dance

this is the only life I have you see

I am holding down this part

stifling it making sure its never free

some black holes swallow

the brightest suns

and unlike what  some wise men say

following ones heart doesn’t always pay.

Too many truths

There is my truth
And then there is yours
You believe in yours
Even though I know mine
Is the only one
That exists
Which one of us is lying
Maybe neither.
Finally
There is no one truth
Only what we believe
Or even
What we wish to believe
In this tussle
Of truth, beliefs and wishes
Wishes always win
Or maybe they always lose
Either ways
I feel defeated.

One of those days

There are days when everything seems wrong
There’s no solace in the sweetest songs
These days don’t come often
But when they do
Would you think me selfish god
If I come looking for you
You know me god
You know I am true
It’s just this
That I don’t often come to you
It’s not because I don’t believe
Infact it may be that
I believe too much in you
I believe you exist in everything
See everything I do
I hope today god
I hope my belief is true
Cause today is one of those days gods
One of the days I need you

My Age – My olympic medal

Age is just a number

just a number is age

when we come into this world

there is nothing in our hand

our bond is with just one person

and that too a bond of dependancy

for survival

Growth is beutiful

except in cancer cells maybe

as we grow

our circle expands

to include so many more

we learn

liveliness, humility, generosity

friendship, honesty, loyalty

hard-work, ambition, perseverance

kindness, responsibility

we develop relationships

and friendships

we nurture

we create.

Its a shame that modern man

has begun to look at age

as baggage.

The bent form

the wrinkled skin

the dullness of eyes

are trophies

speaking of our accomplishments

in Life.

All I say

is that when its time for me to go

I hope that I have

lived so fully

love so completely

laughed so heartily

cried so inconsolably

that the number I wear when I go

is no less to me

than an Olympic Gold!

This post is written in response to the prompt at the daily post “Age is just a number,” says the well-worn adage. But is it a number you care about, or one you tend (or try) to ignore?

 

 

 

 

 

 

A funny thing

A funny thing happened on my way to work

As I sat in my car rumbling and grumbling about the psycho boss

Who praised seldom and shouted a lot

I saw a neighbor dressed in khaki

Bidding goodbye to his young family

Will he come back one never knows

Where in comparison to him stand my ‘job woes’

 

A funny thing happened to me today

Just as I finished shouting at my little boy

He forgot his home work and scattered his toys

The news broadcaster spoke of a bus filled with boys

That slammed into a train fatally

I looked at the tear streaked faces of moms on TV

And wondered somewhat guiltily

Did they too shout on their little boys

About unfinished homework and scattered toys?

A funny thing happened when I went to bed

Complaining about how I never get any rest

How my back hurt from house work and my feet ached

The magazine I picked to read opened on a page

A paraplegic’s face stared out at me

My aches then seemed like a blessing to me

They showed what god had bestowed on me

A working body that ‘en’ abled me

A funny thing happened on my way to the mall

On a red light crossing my car came to a halt

A naked baby carried astride the waist

Of a little girl hardly nine years of age  

Looked imploringly into my face

I lingered, my car stalled

In my mind’s eye I recalled

The pegs of clothes that hung carelessly on my walls

Suddenly I didn’t need to shop at all

A funny thing happened as I went to eat

in a fancy restaurant on an upmarket street

Dressed in formals I stood waiting in queue

I saw a simple food cart roll through

Its bell tinkling, pleasant smells wafted by

Bringing alive memories not yet old enough to die

When food meant something hot and cheap

To be shared with a gang of friends and purchased by heaps

Suddenly the five starred restaurant lost it’s Appeal

I ran behind the cart for a  hearty meal.

 

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda. The Write Over the Weekend inspiration for this time was

‘A funny thing happened on my way to….’

BFFs !!! Besties – Yes, Forever – No

The prompt at The Daily Post today is ” Do you — or did you ever — have a Best Friend? “

If I’d been asked this just a couple of years earlier…

Pat would have come the reply ‘yes’, Yippee!

I have them. Not one not two but maybe even three!

Wasn’t I just very very lucky

But then things happened and life handed me lessons

It seemed there were still some it hadn’t taught me

I had my heart break well after thirty

You know a heart break by a friend is worse than a heartbreak by a lover can ever be

Its not that I don’t have friends now

I am never lonely

There are people in my world

Who really care for me

To laugh and play and even be sad and rant

I always have adequate company

Its just that now Ive learned

To not label them in tags like ‘Besties’

People grow and change and that’s how its meant to be

The one who is there for you right now

Is your only true ‘Bestie’

Welcoming ‘Books, Coco and me’ to the blogging community

 

Most of my friends in the blogosphere know ‘M’, my daughter. Many of you may also remember from my various posts about her that she is an avid reader. She has loved books since the time she was a teensie weensie baby!

At the ‘ripe’ age of nine M told me that she wanted a blog of her own. “Ok” I replied, a bit amused “But what will it be about?” “About Books!” Came the prompt reply. “What about books” I asked, wanting further explanation. “Book Reviews” M said. It seemed ‘M’ had really thought this through. M believes that even though there is a lot of literature for children, there are not enough reviews of children’s literature by children. “When adults write reviews of children’s books, they don’t do it right”, M lamented.

Over the next few months M wrote several reviews of books she had read and left them on my desk to transcribe. I am ashamed to say I never got around to doing it. Partly because I was afraid that the ‘editor’ in me would ‘corrupt’ her words with my adult sensibilities. I wanted her posts to be completely her own – her words, her style… all her!

The larger more mundane reason was lack of time. Somehow there was never time to write any of my own blog posts and hers definitely got relegated to the undefined future.

In the meanwhile M acquired a ‘second’ love! She and her brother were gifted a puppy by their doting grandparents. ‘M’s’ still mythical blog thus changed from ‘Books, Muffin and Me’ – ‘(Muffin being our pet name for ‘K’ her younger brother) to ‘Books, Coco and Me’ (Poor ‘K’- he is not happy by the way he has been bumped out of her blog!That too by a dog!.)

This time when M came home for the holidays (She has recently joined a boarding school). She practiced her typing skills and managed to feed in two blog posts. Starting a blog is a long somewhat tedious process for anyone. For a ‘just turned ten’ years old, with a life full of distractions and an endless list of stuff she wants to do, it becomes a lesson in patience. M has learned to be patient. With help from an aunt she has found a theme, designed the format and published two posts! Whew!

Sharing them here with you all. We hope you will visit ‘Books, coco and me’ and shower it with some blogosphere love. So next time M is at home for her holidays she can enjoy reading your comments just like I enjoy reading mine!

Meet coco my puggy pup

Fifteen books every little girl should read

thea stilton       malory towermiles to go miley cirus bear for felicia anne of green gablescocorainbow magicwishawozzawriter

Railway children

A tourist in my home…

Coming back home after a long holiday! the kind of holiday that is so immersing that it fogs your brain, makes you forget your passwords, the  place you kept your keys or the day of the week it is……In a couple of days I will get my grip back, the time zones will reset again and the last 40 days will become just another ‘summer holiday’ . But before that happens , before my daily life reclaims me I am offered a unique chance. An opportunity to look at my life from the outside. The travellers lens are not yet off and they allow me to peep into my home, my cosy office, the unanswered mails that lie on my desk and the highlighted notifications in my inbox with a sense of detachment. A kind on non urgency pervades the air. As if another minute or another hour or even another day flying by will have no major effect.   The mountains I saw , the rivers I dipped my feet into, the wild woods I walked in seem to have rubbed their own sense of timelessness onto me… A sense that says Humans come and humans go… Nothing that takes place in our paltry lives compares to the hugeness of this world. And is thus insignificant! This will not last forever. Shortly the all important clock, that hangs on my living room wall will reclaim her place as the fulcrum of my life. But for now I am enjoying this feeling of being but a tourist in my own home… a visitor to my own life… of looking through a camera lens into this joyful world, I call mine :)

 

It may be a while before I unpack, catch up and start writing again. Saying hello to my blogging friends with this poem I wrote last year , almost same time http://http://justanotherwakeupcall.wordpress.com/2013/07/06/stains-from-a-holiday/

 

 

 

 

She is going away…

She is going away…

I didn’t want to write about this since I already wrote about this last month. But since the last few days it’s all I think about. The thought I sleep with and the dull ache I wake up with. And it is impossible to write about anything else.

My little girl M is stepping out into the BIG BAD WORLD. All on her own. In the nine years eleven months she has been in my life (not counting the nine months she spent in my tummy). I have experienced the best and worst, the happiest and the saddest, the proudest and the most  anxious minutes of my existence. And on the cusp of her day of departure for a  residential school, they play out like a video tape in front of my teary eyes.

The happiest day of my life: The day I had M. The pictures show the tiny tiny M lying in the arms of  a smiling beaming me. There is not a sign of the pain and tiredness I know I felt. Holding my little ‘cookie’ wiped it all away. As soon as M was born I asked the doctor (a dear friend), “How  is she?” “How do you know it’s a she?” she asked. “I just know ” I mumbled without a trace of doubt.

I had miscarried twins before conceiving M and thus she had become even more precious to me. “She has to be the most ‘sonographed’ foetus in the world!” my sister in-laws joked as I rushed to my doctor friend each time I imagined I didn’t feel her move or move enough. I was an anxious mom to be. But the only thing I wanted to know was whether my baby lived. I was determined to not lose her. That it was a ‘her’ was never a question I needed an answer for. That, I just knew.

The other thing I knew was that M was going to be a book lover just like me. From the early stages of pregnancy I read to her. I read aloud short little stories that spoke of happy cuddly things, little mushy poems that rhymed and meant nothing and I knew that even as a baby M enjoyed them. Our reading time together became a tradition that’s been with us till now. It has been a joy to see M graduate from listening wide-eyed to classic fairy tales (Her favorite was Goldilocks! ) to lying next to me absorbed in a copy of “I am Malala” . These days she prefers to read on her own while I lie next to her and catch up on my own reading. But our reading time together is still the most enjoyable part of our day. Ten years of ‘reading time’ with M will always be the  most cherished moments of my life.

The proudest moment of my life: M was a fast learner, speaking fluently before she was even one. But having no other yardstick to compare her progress by I never attached much significance to that.  It was only after she started going to school and I started getting her progress cards that it dawned on me that M was quite special. Her school has a beautiful concept of writing short character sketches along with children’s report cards. These are short notes that the class teachers write about each child in their care. M’s notes always spoke about  her willingness to share, to resolve differences, help and adjust. But they almost always also mentioned her shyness and her tendency to prefer to remain in her own zone.

I was thus very apprehensive when she was chosen to be sent to Delhi to represent her school for an inter house quiz competition. The teacher said ” We have never taken such a small child before, do you think she will be able to cope?” Barely Eight, would she be able to travel overnight with a group of senior boys and girls ? Would she know how to sleep in a train without rolling off the narrow seat, use the awkward loos, change into her uniform all by herself? Wouldn’t  she be nervous to stand up on the stage and face strange crowds? M is a fussy eater, What kind of food would she get? I was nervous like hell  as I accompanied her to the railway station. M must have been apprehensive too, I could see it in the way she clutched tightly to her small suitcase. But as the train blew its whistle ready to roll off she put on a brave smile and waved me off – whispering in my ears “Don’t worry mumma, I will be okay.” That day as I saw her standing  on the doorstep of the train bogey, trying to be confident. I was proud of my little girl. She was facing a challenge unlike any she had ever faced before but instead of giving in to doubts she chose to treat it like an adventure. Two days later when I collected her from the station again, she was grimy and tired but bright-eyed with her first taste of victory. On reaching home she ate like a starved puppy and then snuggled into a long deep sleep. To this day , the trophy on her mantlepiece stands in my mind not for her general knowledge but for her ability to put aside her doubts and take on life’s challenges by the horns.

The saddest day, in my parenting memory unfolded when M was three months shy of  two. We had welcomed K her younger brother a couple of months earlier into our family. It had been a hectic time for us. K was born in the peak of winters and had suffered from severe cold since the first day. Between tending to a sickly new-born and taking care of the needs of a toddler I was perpetually tired and haggard. That evening as I sat M in my laps for her nightly story and asked her about her day. She began to stammer. My chirpy bird who had been talking fluently since she was eleven months old and had hardly even lisped was stammering! It broke my heart. The next day the stammer was still there and the next and next… Was this genetic? I had a close relative in the family with a stammer. Will my little girl have to face the jokes and sniggers that I had seen my relative suffer? Would it be assumed that she is ‘slow’ in her mind because she is ‘slow’ in expressing herself? Was this a passing phase? My husband and I googled and read every single article we found on stammering. Finding no answers in our small town, we headed to Delhi. The doctors and speech therapists we met were not very encouraging. They counseled us on how to deal with the condition but could give us no clue about the reason for its onset or prognosis. To the best of their understanding the stammer was here to stay.

We returned from that  trip heavy-hearted and dejected. Each time M spoke our eyes filled with tears. But we were determined to not give up. We were not going to lose this battle. And we came up with our own theory. We decided that the arrival of the baby had something to do with the affliction. And even though the doctors insisted that ‘insecurity’ due to a sibling did not manifest into stammering at such a young age, we believed otherwise. My mom in law – M’s dadi stepped in and took over the daily care of the baby. K was brought to me only to be fed and bathed, spending the rest of his time with his dadi and dad. A month or two later the stammering stopped. Just as suddenly as it had creeped into our lives, it left us for good. For a year or two we watched anxiously. Wondering if it would claim our little girl again but thankfully it never did.

K and M have had their share of sibling rivalry. But slowly over the years we were able to convey to them that they were both cherished and loved and that in some crazy way our love instead of dividing between the two of them, multiplies and grows manifold to encompass them both. Today, K and M are inseparable. Being just a year apart they understand each others thoughts and feelings better than we ever will. They snigger together about classmates, swap jokes only they find funny and share secrets, that we have no access to. And if there is one person who is going to miss M more than us her parents,  it is K her baby brother.

Her going away is a test for all of us. And like all important tests this one too is difficult. But if we pass it and we hope we will, the fruits will sweeten our lives forever.

This post was written for Parentous – a parenting forum. For more interesting stories and posts related to parenting and children do visit us there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Being A Queen

Love is wonderful! It makes our steps lighter and our hearts happier! It makes us feel more beautiful and liked and cherished. It increases our confidence and self-worth. It makes us feel on top of the world. As if  we own it!

Why is it then that the same love begins to bind us? tie us? suffocate us? change us so much that we cease to exist as the individuals we once were?  Metamorphosing instead into something that fits the expectations/ convenience of that special someone.

No wonder when the happy love bubble bursts as all such bubbles must. We realize that we are now just shadows of who we used to be. Lost and bewildered we feel cheated! Feel cheated that the love that promised so much did not last forever. (Like in the movies/ or romantic novels). Cheated that the person who once thought we were amazing and faultless  now can’t seem to find in us a single good quality!

Does it always have to be this way? And what does one do when one’s world comes shattering down like this? Mope around, cry buckets or reinvent oneself and emerge a Queen?

I just saw it – Bollywood’s latest coming of age film – Queen was awesome! I loved it! Go watch it if you haven’t seen it already. It will make you cry and laugh (often both together), and leave you feeling so exhilarate-ingly free!!!

I do not write movie reviews usually. But this one just got under my skin!

Do you  enjoy watching movies? Which ones are your favorites and why?