N for Nest

Isn't it fascinating to see birds build their nest. They gather sticks and twigs from places, and form such an intricate and delicate home for themselves.

During school, I remember we had a lesson on different kind of nests. Not all birds build the same kind of nests. Not all of them build them with the same material as well.. Some use twigs, some use thread kind of materials.

My favourite among them was the nest of the tailor bird. It's so intricate and also looks so beautiful. One day I would want my nest to be as beautiful as I find the tailor bird's nest... 

L for Love

Love is a very generic and commonly used simple word. In spite of being so common and simple, it's such a powerful word.

Is this a feeling from the brain?
Is it an emotion from the heart?

It is something which can be defined in many ways and yet it remains undefined. This is not restricted to any particular gender, age, living/non living, tangible/intangible. You can love anything in this world. You can love life.  You can love nature. You can love materialistic stuff. You can love something or somebody near you. You can also love something or someone who is miles away from you.

It need not be a mutual feeling, if you love something or someone there is no binding that it has to be reciprocated. Love is always unconditional. If it's not, then it's not LOVE 

H for Hiking

My first ever hiking experience, was when during my 9^th std holidays. We were to do hiking in the pristine Himachal. As kids, going on a 2 week trip was a very big deal. That was the first time I was travelling away from my family for such a long time. We trekked in the jungles and montains of himachal. We reached the tip of the snow point. It was the first time, I saw snow, the first time I touched it, the first time I felt how snow could numb you. The 1 week hiking taught me many things. Ofcourse as a school kid, I did not realize much. But as I think about it even now, I know, it’s been a great learning experience.

Well, after that for a few more years, I don’t think I did much of hiking. I started working and then, with G and his hiking friends, went hiking to KumaraParvata. This is one of the most difficult hikes I have ever done. Although we climbed from the Somwarpet side and got down from the Kukke side, climbing was a very big challenge for me. The peak is one of the most difficult ones in Karnataka. There was even a rock which was around 45 degrees, which we climbed, without any support to hold down. If not for G’s encouragement, I would have never completed the hike. Once we reached the peak I was ok. I don’t have much problems, getting down the hill, somehow I manage to get down, without much exhaustion. It’s mainly the going up part which is difficult for me. We had stayed overnight at a mantap there. The next morning, was one the most beautiful mornings of my life. All the exhaustion and pain which we endured the previous day was gone. Till date, I haven’t gone again to hike here, since I don’t know if I can do it once again.

We have been to quite a lot of smaller ones. Everytime, my worry is until we reach the peak, the moment I look up, my brain goes into denial mode. The moment I realize, its time to go down, my brain eases up, and I feel like a free bird.

2 years back, we went to Tadiandamol, the second highest peak in Karnataka. It was an amazing experience. We hiked in rain all the time. This hike had everything, plain land for a while (a nice breezy walk), a slight incline in the beginning, a thick forest in the middle, where the roots of the trees formed the steps, and then the final steep incline, where if you slip you go down few feet, with no support. The best part was the peak. It was so cold and windy that day, I realized what pins and needles actually meant. I could feel every little hair in my body being pulled from me. Infact it was so cold, I was already thinking of options on how G and my brothers were going to carry me all the way down, coz I felt like dying out of cold. The steep incline was the most difficult to get down, since it was all slush due to rain. Once we crossed that, I felt much better. All this was happening with rain as a background. It no longer felt wet anymore, we were drenched upto our bones, or so I would like to believe. Ofcourse the next day I had fever, and unbearable body pain. Was it worth it? Totally yes.

What do you bring back as souvenirs? Well, there might be scratches. There might be leech bites. There can also be scars. But what’s most important you bring back great memories. Every time I go on a hike, I have inhibitions, I have a feeling, I will not be able to complete it. There are times, when I curse myself for doing this to myself. But it also teaches you, patience, endurance, pushing your limits. Once you are back, you are in pain, you can probably feel every body part of yours screaming at you for waking them up. But that’s the beauty isn’t it? You are made aware of what your body can take. Hiking in all possible ways is a Life Coach.

G for God

God – a very common topic, I am sure. But the feelings for God. Is that common too?

I think my relationship with God, is a very private one. We might pray in front of others, might pretend not to believe in God, might pretend to have faith in God, depending on how our surroundings are. But what we really feel about God, is something we cannot express in front of others.

Are we scared of God? Or do we think of God as our friend? Do we believe, God will punish the evil? Is there an evil? Do the evil have their own God?

As children, we are always taught, be good, else God will punish you. May be God does punish you. But when is something we are not aware? I have seen people, who have not been very nice at one point of time, and felt, God are you going to punish them or not? Years later, I see them in a not so happy state. Is it their punishment? I don’t know. I probably don’t care anymore.

I know of people, who are scared of certain Gods, but are on friends with some Gods. And we also have our favorite Gods.

Well, I am not disclosing what kind of relation I have with God. Not totally. I sometimes feel its faith. There are days when I feel, God doesn’t exist, and maybe I am an atheist. There are other days when I have 100% faith in God. There have been days when I have had a conversation with God as if talking to a friend.

So what is God to me? I don’t know yet. I don’t plan on finding out either. May be God is my best friend. Maybe when I am really in need, God will do some God deed. We are also taught isn’t it. God helps them who help themselves.

B for Boating

Boating – I had this obsession as a kid to do pedal boating. I always wanted to do it. As part of holidays, we went to Ooty and in the lake, we decided to do boating. It was the first time I realized, how difficult it was to pedal the boat. To add to it, I was scared of water, so on one side I was thinking what if I fall in water, on the other it was so tiring to pedal, how was I supposed to enjoy the cool weather and look at the mist forming in the nearby mountain and all that. All that was running in my mind was, when will this get over?

I blame it on the hindi movies. They show boating as such a romantic thing to do, and we young teenage kids just fell for it.

Years later, when me and G had not yet started dating, had gone to a theme park, along with other friends, and we were in a pedal boat again. We were too near the edge of the lake and the boat got stuck with the roots, and we used all our energy in getting the boat to the centre and then back to the starting point. If at all G had any plans of proposing to me on the boat, it surely dint happen.

After that, everytime we went to a place which had this small pond, and was called a lake, and had boating, I would avoid it all together. I never understood, why people would stand in the long queues just to go thru that ordeal.

Last Christmas, we were in Kodaikanal, with friends and our friend’s kid wanted to do boating. Usually when we go with friends with kids, and they want to do boating, they go for that activity and we go do something else in the meanwhile. But this time, for some reason, we ended up going with them. And howmuch ever I tried to avoid, there was no option but to go. I put in one condition. I will not pedal. Everyone agreed, since they knew I hated pedaling. With that life jacket the 4 of us sat in the boat. After that all I remember was hoping that we don’t fall in water, and that we get out safe. After about 20 mins, G and friend were tired of pedaling, and the only person who seemed to be enjoying was the kid. But all the elders had it enough, me with the boat itself and G and friend with the pedaling. So we got off from the boat, and I was one happy person.

I enjoy going boating though, row boat, speed boat, motar boat, cruise ship, ferry. Its just that pedaling part which I don’t like, and I feel its very cramped, and I feel stuffed, even if I am not the person pedaling. I don’t hate pedaling even, since I love cycling. So I don’t know what is it that is the problem. I think it’s the combination which I hate.. Boat +Pedal - Boadel 

Appa Office Amma Home

“Amma… What’s the cow doing there”, 3 year old Anagha asked her mom.

“That’s not a cow baby. It’s a bull”was the mother’s reply. Seeing a confused expression, she simplified it for Anagha. “It’s the father cow” was the next reply.

“What is it doing here” She asked.

Mom said “It has come to the farm to do some work. Just like how Appa goes to office”

“Where is mummy Cow Amma?” was her next question.

“Mummy cow is with paapa cow. Just like how I and you are” was the reply.

I was shocked to listen to this explanation from a family member. I am not a hard core male hating feminist. I am not a person fighting for gender quality too, as I know there are certain things which only one of the genders can do. Ofcourse, in situations where both are equally responsible, I am all in for equality.

However what surprised me here was, the mother in this situation is a working woman, may not be in the grilling IT scenario, but yes working nevertheless

So is this what shocks me. Is this what the kid will be taught. Its father’s job to provide and mother’s job to look after home and kids. Also, in the same family, the father doesn’t take care of the kid single handedly. He cannot it seems. It just baffles me. So why on earth did you even want the kid. So it’s completely the mother’s responsibility to take care of all the needs of the kids, and the father is just the financial support.

Seriously, such behavior I can find them less shocking if seen in a set up where, people don’t have much awareness. I wouldn’t even bring education here. As the people involved here are very much educated. You can’t even talk about seeing the same in their families, hence continuing, as I know both the sides the fathers help the mothers in household chores and the kid upbringing, and yes both the sides the mothers were working too.

I definetly don’t pity the girl in this scenario, as I don’t think she is being treated in a bad way. If it’s happening, then it’s because she has let it happen. But yes, I feel pity for the kid, for the kind of example the parents are setting up for her. And regarding the guy, even though I am quite courteous, when they visit home and all that. I know, the respect I had for him ealier is not there anymore.

All said and done, I don’t know how they are at home. Whether he does any work at home to help his wife or not. And even if I happen to know, I wouldn’t be in a position to tell them anything, since we would like to follow the policy of no interference. We will not interfere in other people’s life and vice versa. Nobody is allowed to interfere in our life.

Parents are the guiding points for kids. Not just what you preach. What matters is what you practice. So teach them the values in a way, they can follow. They will decide later in life whether they are right or wrong.

Innocent Laughter

It is said that laughter is the best medicine in the world. But would the same be said if its mindless uncontrollable laughter.

This incident happened when I was in college. My friend and me would go to college in her scooty. Just like you see regulars in joggers park these days, there were few regulars whom we had noticed during the daily travel. One of them was a girl who went to another college nearby. There was this girl whom we saw, every day. Let’s say, she wasn’t the usual kind of girl, and you could notice her in a small crowd very easily. Usually, we saw her in the traffic signal, and the day we din't see her, we would wonder if she was ok, or has she bunked college, and nothing much.

One day, we were waiting for the signal to turn green, as usual, and next to us was another 2 wheeler. And we saw this girl. We were not people who would judge others by their appearance. We were normal looking as well. So I am sure, it was not about how she looked. To describe – She was this plump girl (a little overweight), with a bald head and she wore a hat (like how umpires wear), and fat spectacle (it used to be called Soda glass at that time). We both were looking right. And as her vehicle neared ours and came to a standstill, a few seconds later, we turned our faces to left. The signal turned green, and this girl zoomed past us. We both burst out laughing. We had no idea, what triggered it. It was definitely not her appearance, since, this was her routine and we were used to seeing her this way. Infact, we used to find her cute, cuddly like a teddy bear. So, there we were, laughing like maniacs, on a 2 wheeler. Some elder people on the road were already looking at us nodding their head in disagreement (these shameless young kids).

We laughed till we reached home, and it did not stop there. Every few minutes we would remember the signal and laugh, or look at each other and laugh. We got stomach ache and still couldn’t stop laughing. We were actually rolling on the floor too. When mom asked what it was about, we couldn’t explain it to her, on why we were laughing. The reason – We din’t know.  We seriously did not.

I don’t remember how and why we stopped that ridiculous laughter marathon. But I vividly remember the scene at the signal. I remember she wore a beige colour salwar kurta. Heck!!! I don’t remember what either of us wore or what colour was the scooty. But this scene is etched in my mind.

To the cute teddy girl, we are really sorry for laughing, but it was definitely not at you. We know you din’t know we laughed that day like mad, as we controlled until you drove away. But just in case you saw in the rear view mirror and thought we were laughing at you.. Then its definitely not you. And, yes, every time after this incident, we saw you, you have only brought smile on our lips. Even now when I think about you, I can only smile.

Rice Payasam

Rice Kheer or the Rice Payasam – I hate it, there I said it. I really really hate it.

Payasam or kheer, is as such my least favorite sweet dish. I prefer the barfis, the gulab jamuns, the rasgullas, basically something which can linger in my mouth for a few seconds, and I can squeeze out all the taste in my mouth, before I gulp it in. With Payasam or kheer its just sweetened milk, with something additional in it, either rice or dal or semia or sabudana or rava or even broken wheat. So the moment it goes in your mouth, its gone thru the food pipe. What the fun in that?

I remember, it was always a torture during festivals, when I had refuse these payasams. Mom would give some reason for me drink, and when you visit relatives, they would tell you hundred other things on why you should have this tasty drink. One of my aunt’s even used this wonderful trick. “If you don’t drink this, then it means you don’t love your mother” (Bah!!!!) as if I would listen to that.. I would just tell everyone, I don’t care if you think I don’t love mom, but I do, and I don’t have to prove it by drinking this. Slowly people stopped forcing me to drink it.

Even today, I do make the payasam or kheer on festivals, but I hardly taste a spoonful, just for the sake of it. I don’t mind sevai Kheer to some extent, if its thick enough, like made from milk maid, or if its in the rabri consistency, and I alos don’t mind chilled channa daal kheer, again that’s coz it tastes like icecream to me. I cannot tolerate the khus khus payasam and most of all, I don’t like the famous “Rice payasam”. And I am totally aghast or give a weird experession, when somebody declares. I love Rice Kheer!!!!

Mom or Friend

One day, while I was still in school, I had a small fight with my then best friend. I was upset, but dint want to share it with anyone. Once I was back from school, I went to my room and cried, and slept on the bed.

My mom came to see what happened to me, and she saw a note in my hand. It was folded, and she could see dried tears on my cheeks. She realized there was something troubling me. She opened the note and in my handwriting were these words “I don’t have any best friend. I am all alone”

She did not wake me up, she let me get my sleep, since I was emotionally exhausted. When I woke up, she was there. She did not ask me why I had cried, or what my best friend had done. Instead she showed the note to me and said. “Never feel alone in life. I am there for you. If you have no other best friend. Always remember, I am your friend. I can be your best friend. If you want me to be.”

I probably hugged my mother and smiled. Somehow I felt I will never be alone in my life, now that I have a best friend in her.

Ofcourse, I grew up and probably don’t share every little detail with her. Sometimes she behaves like my mother and not my friend. But we are in a stage where we can start off where we left kind of best friends. We fight, sometimes don’t speak for days, and when we start speaking, it’s as if we never fought.

Sometimes I accuse mom, that she has completely turned into my mother and no longer my friend. But in a few days, we go back to being best friends. So as a mother or as a friend, I know she will be there for me always.. I can only try J

Last name or lasting name

I was in Std 10, and it was time to submit our details to the board. This was also the time where if there was any change in the name, we could do it, since that would be the name which would appear in the mark sheets, and these mark sheets were going to be an important document in our future. My name was absolutely fine, it was my last name which I wanted to get changed. It had so happened that in one of the previous schools, when they were to give my transfer certificate (TC), they cut short my last name to an initial. It stayed that way and we never bothered to change it. I was also ok with it, and dint bother much until this time.

So my name instead of abc.N.xyz was shortened to abc.N

I filled the form where I said my name was to be changed to abc.N.xyz. What senior faculty in my school told me at that time baffled me. He said, why bother to change your name, anyway after marriage you will change your last name.

I don’t know what was in my mind at that time I replied to him “Sir, I might not really change it at that point”. He laughed it off and went his way.

I dint really submit that form at that point, as I was a little disturbed with this conversation.

Anyway years later, when we were about to get married, I discussed this point with G and told him that I will not change my last name, and I am glad he was ok with it. Infact, he said it was my name, and what I wanted to do with my last name, was his wish. I was dreading, if he hadn’t agreed, I would have to fight with him for the same. I even joked to him once saying, if he was ready to take my name as his last name, then I would take his name as my last name too. I don’t remember what was the response. I think we both must have thought “Yeah!! Right!!!”

There have been many people who have questioned me on why I still haven’t changed my last name. And my response is always “Why should I?”. And this is something which my husband and me have to discuss about or choose not to bother about. So who are you to ask me?

I don’t remember very well, why I thought of putting this incident on my blog, but this incident has always nagged me. As teachers, we expect them to give us certain values. This might have been a small incident in my life, but what if the same person had told me, why are you studying, all you are going to do is get married and stay at home serving your husband. How would that have affected my life? Would I have questioned my “Sir”? or would I have kept quiet?

Thanks to my parents and my in-laws for not asking me to change my last name. Its not that I would have changed it. But, yes it surely saved some melodrama in the house J

 

Hum saath saath hain

Few days back, I was reading an article, where an old rickshaw puller stays in Calcutta, and his wife and kids stay in a small place in UP. He has been doing this for many years. He only visits his family thrice a year, on festivals. I was just left wondering, what kind of life was it, and here I am not talking about rich and poor, poverty or above poverty. How much earned. He was away from his family - His only wife and children.

I have no idea, about, why he left his wife in his village while he came over to a far off place to earn. Yes, initially may be he wanted to settle down, but she has been there all thru her life, waiting for the husband 3 times a year,  and taking care of their children. I am not sure if other family members were involved. Their kids are now pretty much grown up, the eldest working in a factory and contributing to the family, the youngest still doing his degree and a daughter who is probably married. But this man and his wife are still apart.

Its not like I have not seen couples being apart in different places for better income, but I never realized this situation as the couples. There were always kids involved, the dad worked in some place, the mother took care of the kids holding the fort in a place called home. What about her desires to be with her husband? I never thought about it when I was kid.

But after meeting G, I cannot imagine staying away from him. We laugh, smile, roam around, fight, tear apart each other’s hair, sometimes behave like we can’t stand each other, but we are together. In these many years of being married, there were in different places for a few months.. The first time, it was when we were recently married. We would take breaks and stay with each other for a week or weekend, and then second time was a couple of years back, when G was in a different country and I was in India. These months felt like a thousand daggers to my heart.

 

Wen I think about all those couples who stay apart, not because they can’t live with each other, but because they can’t afford to live with each other, my heart goes out to them. At such times, I thank my lucky stars, and decide to never ever fight with G or even argue with him.

 

 Yeah right!! Like that’s gonna happen. Neither me or him can stay with each other with such formality. We need all the feeling in little doses. Kabhi khushi kabhi gham.. We need it all, but together (hum saath saath hain).

 

Me and my writings

I was probably in 3^rd or 4^th Standard, when I had done some blunder for which I was punished. I was very sorry about it and wanted to apologize to my mother about it. I couldn’t bring myself to go in front of her and apologize. I did the next best thing which came to my mind. I took a piece of paper and wrote. “I am sorry mummy. I will not do this again”. Of course, I took much more than that for me to pacify mom. But this slowly became a norm. I used to write, and finally would make it up. Ofcourse, I used this technique for good things too.

Slowly, I started to make greeting cards. So, for every birthday of my parents, my brother, I used to make a card, and write. My parents still have the cards I have made for them on these occasions. Somehow, this has stopped in the recent years.

When the time came, to tell about G, I couldn’t muster up the courage to go in front of them and talk about it. (even the song Pyar kiya to darna kya – kept playing in my head… there was no chance that I would go and tell this on their face). So I did, what I did the best. I wrote a letter… err correction, a very long letter. I think it went upto 3 pages. To my embarrassment, mom still has the letter.

There are many reasons I like to write or type. Some of which I have thought of are:

·        Sometimes I write, just because I like my handwriting, and it looks beautiful on paper (this doesn’t happen all the time. Only at times).
·        When I am on the system, I keep typing because I have selected a beautiful font.
·        At times I write, because I like the way, the pen is making an impression on the paper.
·        I keep typing, because I like the sound when I press the keys on the keyboard.
·        Sometimes, it’s also because I like looking at my fingers typing away. (now I am starting to sound creepy)
·        Oh yes… one main point.. I have some thoughts bursting to come out of my system

But all this when I want to write. If somebody comes upto me and asks me to write or make a ppt, I can’t type a word. Even though I could write paragraphs, I wasn’t very great with essay writing in school, especially if somebody gave me a topic to write. Even if someone comes upto me and says, I will give you a month to write about something, I might not be in a position to write a word until the deadline is over.

But leave me in front of an ocean or in a jungle, or like now, in a room where the window is open and the cool breeze keeps my curtains waving, I can write, and write and write, like how I am going on, now - aimless, content less. I wish my love to write, never diminishes… If not for the content, I would like to keep this for various other reasons.

Ok… I no longer want to see my fingers type… So here I stop…Until next time.

How punishments shape our life

In the recent years, I have friends who have kids, and sometimes I get to hear anecdotes from their life. Most of them are hilarious, smart and witty for a 4 year old, you must think. And then, I also get to hear on certain days

“I am feeling so guilty, I shouted at my kid”

“I am feeling so bad I scolded my kid”

“He/she has become so naughty. I actually threatened to hit him/her”

This makes me wonder, how would our parents have reacted, every time they scolded us or even better when they gave us those bruises.

Well, to be fair to my mom, I have disobeyed her so many times, lied to her, back answered etc, which has resulted in me getting punishments.

One day, when I was in 2^nd standard, it was a daily activity of me going to a friend’s house which was in the next road. My deadline was to be back home at 6.30 pm. But that fateful day, we went to another friend’s house and we forgot about the time, and mom had come searching for me, along with the aunty (mom of my other friend). That day I was locked up in the Toilet, reason – I lied to her about going to Friend A’s house and not Friend B’s house, and also not adhearing to dealing. Well, after that I was really scared about skipping the deadline.

Ofcourse, later she made me sit on her lap and explained what my mistake was. Also, I lost the fear of being locked up alone in a room.

Another time, by this time I overestimated me to be super smart. I thought, “Everytime mom hits me I tell her, not to hit me and I am sorry. So if I tell to hit me, then she might get all senti, and stop hitting me.” Wonderful idea I patted myself.

So that day when I did something worthy of getting a beating, I did something which mom never imagined I would do. She hit me with her hand. I went to the room, got a belt from inside handed it over to her in a filmy style and said “You want to hit me, then take this and hit me. Atleast your hands wont hurt Ma”

Now what happened next was totally opposite to what I had imagined “My mom took the belt and hit me”. The reverse psychology theory did not apply here. And all I remember was never to use my smart brain when mom is angry. I never told her ever again “hit me”.

Much later, she checked if there were any wounds and I never even felt that I was beaten some time back. It made me stronger, everytime I would get hit by accident or even if I bumped into things. I could just brush it away and continue with my work.

Once, only because I lied, I had to wash vessels, including idli plates, milk vessels etc. May be that’s is why I love washing vessels now. The shine in those vessels brings a smile to my face. Any I digress. So, if you see, my punishments were not always getting hit, they were some essential things which we need to know.

I have not washed many clothes, may be that’s why I am not very fond of it, and let the washing machine handle all the stress.

Today, if I have sweep, or clean the floor with water and a mop, or wash vessels, or do dusting. Basically all these household chores, I have learnt it as a part of some punishment, and when I do any of these activities, I do it perfectly. So any time our maid is on holiday, and I do these chores at home, the floor is sparkling like a mirror and no dust, and the vessels are sparkling clean.

And I must admit,  inspite of all these punishments, I have been pampered a lot, loved a lot. A small sneeze or a cough will result in multiple calls from my parents, and even though it becomes annoying, it feels nice to know that you are being loved by them.

May be my mom, also felt guilty when she was punishing me. And everytime I get punished, I could see her in more pain. So I am sure, it was more of a punishment for her than me.

So for all the punishments, which have helped me shape up, I would really like to thank mom.

“Like every after every storm, the sky is clear
After every incident like this, I could see the love for me in my mom’s eyes more clearly.”

“Like how a goldsmith, shapes his gold

Every incident has shaped me into what I am today”

Birthday Parties

Yesterday, I went to attend a birthday party of a 3 year old, G’s cousin’s son. As kids came into the house. There were more than a dozen kids, since there are lot of kids on that road, also since the cousin has a daughter and her friends were invited too. The party was no doubt very noisy, with kids chattering away to glory, and felt good, seeing them so excited about the birthday party.

This incident took me back to the birthday parties we would attend. Anytime between 4.30 – 6.00 PM we would be invited for the cake cutting. I would be forcefully made to wear a nice dress (something frilly) , and then the face would be painted with the Ponds powder, and a nice bindi, matching bangles and earrings. At times I would even protest, “It’s not my birthday Ma”. After all this, I would be given a box wrapped in presentation cover.

“Give this gift to your friend after the cake cutting” would be the instruction. “And don’t spill anything on your dress” would be added. “Yeah right, that’s what I am going for, to spill the ‘to be tasty cake on my dress’ and get back to get scolding” would be my thought bubble.

As soon as you reach the friend’s house, there would be balloons in everybody’s hands, and some of them would be munching on a few chocolates and biscuits, which would be kept on a tray in the centre of the hall. Far off, you would see the dining table, where you would see glasses filled with orange coloured liquid, and next to it would be a big bag of chips, and if you were lucky enough, you would also see pakodas or samosas. These would be served to you later, after the main event.

You would then grab a couple of chocolates, and rush to meet your other friends. And like long lost pals, you would chat nineteen to dozen, as if the conclusion to this discussion is going to solve the world crisis. Who cared at that age, what world crisis was!!!!! All we were bothered about is, when will we get to eat the cake, and after all this celebration, after we went home, we had another great event to attend to, complete our homework.

Once the hosts realized that most of the kids had come, more importantly, the birthday kid’s best friend had come, and by now the child has no patience, we would all be assembled to stand behind the kid, while the candles would be blown and cake be cut.

Oh in the meanwhile, we would all wear those birthday caps and those ghastly masks which would cover our faces. Seriously, whats with the masks, first you ask the kids to wear the masks, then you take their pictures, and then how do we recognize ourselves…. The dress which we wore… I mean really, the dress which we wore, so we have to keep an account of what we wore to which friend’s birthday.

Anyway, back to the cake cutting, after this event, all of us would be asked to take our seats, and a paper plate would appear, with the cake, chips (our local lip-smacking hot chips), samosas or pakodas or anything else, and then to quench our thirst, the orange drink. Oh yes, before all this, we would have dutifully given the gifts to the birthday kid.

At times, we would even have some games and prizes, I might have won a couple, but I was usually not that lucky. I didn’t even know about the concept of return gifts….Darn!!! Wouldn’t it have been fun, if I had gone and asked “Aunty, I dint get my return gift”. Then within days, this news would have reached mom, that I had asked for a return gift, the consequences of which would definitely not be in my favour *shudder*

After a mini second helping of chips, and whatever else, we would then wash our hands, and then leave bidding the hosts good bye. Now on the way home, we would discuss on how awesome the cake was, come to think of it, we had no idea of flavor or colour. It was cake that’s it. Also, mentally calculating what we could demand from our parents for our birthdays. Ofcourse, any of these ideas were never considered for the birthdays, but the kids can dream alright!

Once home, we would be interrogated on what we ate, how much we ate, did we behave properly, did we overload our tummies with chips as if we had never seen any. After the 1^st degree of investigation, we would be sent to change to the normal clothes. And then the clothes would be investigated for any blood stains from the murder, ok ok just kidding, a few stains of ketchup and the interrogation would be as close. You would be told “how you should eat and all that”, and if you were a good kid, and had not dropped even a mm of the chips on your dress, then you be given a compliment “Good Girl”. 

 

Finally the nail in the coffin would be “You have spent all your evening doing time pass, now off you go and finish the homework”. And thus, ended our super exciting event of “Birthday Party”

The bees and their sting

I was in a team meeting today, and there was some disturbance in the call. None of my teammates are in my location, they are all in a (will not be disclosed) foren location.

I gave my update and in between was listening to the call as well. There was a collective laughter, why I had no clue. After a while one of the guys gave his update and before it could go to the next person, he intervened.

Oh and yes folks, there is a small tip I have to give you guys.

“Never squeeze a bees sting”. I was shocked, went into sort of panic mode where my brain was running “What did I miss?” “What did I miss?”

He continued, just take the prick out, if you squeeze the sting, it can only cause you more pain. Yada Yada. I was sure, I hadn’t dozed off in the middle of the meeting. I am very alert and always look out for the word “Arathi, your turn”. So where did this bees topic come up.

Then another person says, “So why don’t you take an hour long session on bees and their sting, in our next team meeting. We should definetly add it in our agenda”

The first guy says, “sure I will prepare a presentation”.

*Collective laughter from everybody*

The next person started talking about his status.

I am still trying to figure out why this topic came into picture… “The bees and their sting”

Dance like there is no tomorrow

“Aawara bhavre jo holle holle gaayen”, this song from Sapnay (Hindi movie), brings back lot of memories. No, it was not because I am a fan of Kajol, I am not really a very big fan of hers.It’s not because the song was pictured in beautiful locations, but yes it was beautiful. It’s not because Hema Sardesai, the singer was the latest sensation at that time. So what is it, one might think! It’s the time spent with my cousins.

This song came when I was in school. It was during summer holidays, all the my younger cousins and my brother at time would consider me their leader, and do everything that I would tell them. So up we would go to the terrace and sing this song, and I was their choreographer. It goes without saying that I would be the lead dancer, and the other 4 were my background dancers, but all of us would have the same steps. Ofcourse I copied some of the steps… esp the line “koyal ki kuhu kuhu, papihe ki pihu pihu”. We would practice as if we had some performance scheduled. Infact, we had perfected the first stanza of the song, getting the beats right and also getting the steps in synch.

The holidays got over and we never danced to that song again, but all I remember of that song is all of us practicing “from the bottom of our hearts” to this song. I have danced during my school time for lot of songs, this is one of the most cherished ones.

Then came the time of “Taal”, and that signature pose of Aishwarya Rai, in her white costume. The song was Ramta Jogi, where she does a split. I have tried doing that a zillion number of times, but every time I was successful only in hitting my knee to the floor, so much that now at times when my knees pain or I have any trouble, I blame it on that song. I loved the other songs too, Taal se Taal mila, was one of my favorites, it was such a nice song to dance to, and in my room, I would be transported to the landscape of Himachal. Along, those times came “Kaho Na Pyar Hai” I would like to watch the songs and copy the dance steps, and most of the time if they were simple enough, I would learn them too.

Then came the time, when I would just dance with dad, bro and mom and try to teach them waltz and salsa, err, I don’t know the dance, the very basic steps with them to the songs “Dekho Dekho Janam hum dil apna tere liye laaye” from Ishq. And another musical piece.

Now, as time goes by, I don’t dance to the new songs, no time to watch them and also to try and practice them. But yes, on certain days I just want to dance away.

 

Dance like there is no tomorrow J

My almost trip to Central Jail

My almost trip to Central Jail. Yes… you read it right.

 

This incident happened in school. One day, in class, when we were getting bored with Social Studies, there came an announcement, “On the occasion of Gandhi Jayanthi, we would be taken to the Central Jail for a visit”. All the students were asked to get a permission letter from the parents, that we could go to Central Jail. The entire class was buzzing with excitement. It wasn’t a garden or a temple or even fun world, we would be going to a place, where they keep the criminals, where they are punished for a lot of unforgivable crimes. This was something totally unusual. Some of the girls, declared, they wouldn’t be coming.

 

“Who goes to Jail to see criminals. I don’t want to see”, said some.

“My parents will not allow me to go”, said some others.                                                                                                                                                                   

Some said to me “your parents let you participate in everything, so you will definitely go”

 

This made me more enthusiastic. Wow!!! I would be visiting a jail. I had never ever seen a real jail. And all I could imagine was from what we are shown in movies. I was very curious. I was eager to go home and ask my parents for permission. I wanted to rush home. As soon as the bell rang that day, I rushed to the cycle stand. That day, I couldn’t wait for my friends. I told them, I had to leave soon, and rushed out of school on my bicycle.

 

At home, as soon as mom opened the door, I told her “Ma, they are taking us to Central Jail for Gandhi Jayanthi. Can you please sign the permission letter so that I can go”. At this point, I had not taken off my shoes, not changed out of my uniform. I had not even taken the bag off my back. I was just a step inside the house.

 

My mom, usually the cool one, who lets me participate in extracurricular activities, stared at me and said “To Central Jail?”

 

“What’s wrong with your school?

Who takes children to Central Jail? Are you criminals? They don’t have any brain. I am not letting you go.”

 

This was my cue to just keep quiet and go to my room and come back to eat my snacks, I was hungry. Instead I blurted out “Please mummy, all my friends are going. I want to go too”. It was like I had set off a ticking bomb.

 

I don’t remember what all I had to listen. But I do remember that it was long lecture. And I remember it was long, since I was standing in the same position for a long time, my back had started hurting. I started to feel hungry. And my imaginations were running wild, that I would feel dizzy and fall down, then mom would cool down and later allow me to go and visit.  None of those happened. All I could feel was how uncomfortable I was, and I was too scared to even move an inch.

 

In the end, I heard mom say, go and change, start your homework. “Oh Thank God!!!” I thought. I rushed to my room to change, but I was still not sure why mom dint let me go. I couldn’t dare to ask her why she dint want me to go. And that evening was like walking on eggshells around her. I dint want to make her angry with anything. I think I dint watch TV that day ( I anyway didn’t have the mood to). I did my homework, even sat down to study. At dinner, too I quickly finished and went to my room to continue my studies. I slept without talking much to anybody.

 

The next morning, mom said “It’s for your good that I am not giving you permission. You will understand someday.”. I dint want to argue, I nodded my head and left for school. I was envious of everybody who got the permission letter. I was very angry at mom “Why did she have to kill my desires” is all I could think of at that point.

 

Days passed, it was Gandhi Jayanthi. After our usual celebrations in school, all the students with permission letter, were to get into the bus, which was going to Central Jail. I sadly, left on my cycle. When I came home, mom asked me if the students left for Central Jail. I replied to her and went to my room.

 

Mom came there and said, you know in earlier days, before independence, these jails were the place where freedom fighters and even if we went there, we would be meeting good people. But now, it was filled with bad people and it was not a place for kids. Well, on that day, I just agreed, also because I knew, there was no point in discussing it anymore.

 

I don’t remember much of what my friends had told me the next day. But till date, I don’t know why mom had not allowed me to visit the Central Jail. So I was almost going to visit Central Jail. I did not. Now I don’t want to, but may be next time, I will ask mom, why she dint want to me go. It was not that the school officials were fools to take the kids and go… Some day I will get an answer to this…

Amar Chitra Katha... Amar Rahe... Forever

As kids, most of us would have loved train journeys. An important reason why I loved these journeys was, it was a beginning to my reading habit, I fell in love with reading comics, I fell in love with Tinkle and the likes. Most importantly, I fell in love with Hindu Mythology.

My grandmother, mother, did tell  stories of Ramayana, Mahabharata, but to see those characters in books was a completely different experience. Ofcourse this was much before we saw the characters on screen on DoorDarshan.

The train journey meant, a magazine for my mother and 2 Amar Chitra Katha Books for me. And the best part was, I got to choose the comic books. In one such selection, I choose the fat book (compared to all the AMC books) of Ramayana. The cover page was captivating. The calm face of the Blue coloured Rama, with the beautiful Sita sitting next to him, a deer running in their vicinity, and the devoted Lakhsman nearing the couple, something which has never faded away from my memory. That has been my favorite cover page in the comic book genre.

There were times when I have read these comics and questioned my granny or my mother, on those sub plots in the main stories which they have told me. My mother was more than glad to get me those books so that I would stop troubling her with stories, alas, she could never get rid of the cute little curious brain of mine (ahem ahem.. I was cute back then)

My brother, was not as inclined as me towards Hindy Mythology, but I loved reading those books to him, rather narrate the whole tale, page by page, every picture in the book, and at times, add my own story to it. Proabably making up stories started at that time. And as if my mother dint have enough of me, she now had two of questioning, why Rama did not protest, why Hiranyakashyapa, had to be killed by half man half lion. How Parasurama and Rama both incarnations of Lord Vishnu, challenge each other? How could Ganesha made of Clay come to life? Lot of such questions, she would at times drive us away to study our curriculam, and during vacation times, point us to our granny, who would then tell us more stories.

My fascination towards Amar Chitra Katha’s Mythology stories did not end with my childhood, or even my studying days. When I was in an Indian Store in Atlanta, I happened to see a thin comic book. I recognized the logo, and went near the book with the same enthusiasm as I had during my childhood. Ofcourse, I read a couple of pages in that store, and with a heavy heart kept it down.

Now, everytime I see those books in any of the book store, and we are scouting for gifts to be given to kids, its always my first choice, a set of these books. And some day, when I have kids, and they grow up to start reading, I will get them loads of these comic books. 

Well, I can start collecting them now, who says only kids have to read them :)

Ghanta Singh

Sometime last year,on one of the radio stations, they had a section called “Ghanta Singh”. I used to like it. At times it would be silly, but most of the times funny, on how the section went. Few months went by, and they changed it from Ghanta Singh to Mr.Ghanta, and the series continued. I dint understand why they removed the Singh in the first place. I then assumed, probably it was offending some people and that’s why the change. 

A few months back, in company, I saw one guy, a sardar. He wasn’t too tall, not too short either. Rather he had a cute face, in a way an innocent look. Words actually fail me here, in his description. But as soon as I saw him

I told G “He looks like Ghanta Singh”.
G was surprised, “When and Where have we ever seen Ghanta Singh in the first place”.
“I don’t know. I just feel. It’s him. And I am so glad to see him” was my response.

From that day, till date everytime I see him, I can feel my mind and heart calming down. It’s like being in a serene place. I don’t know what effect he has on me. But however tensed I am or upset I am, the moment I see him, it brings a smile on my face. It’s the affect a stranger has on you, unknowingly. I definitely wouldn’t want to go and speak to him or even let him know about this. It’s nice this way.

It’s been a long time since I have seen my “Ghanta Singh”.

Ofcourse there are some people, who can just spoil our mood, just by their aura in a room. But let’s look at all the good people who make moments better for us.

Waves

The sound is so mesmerizing. You can easily get lost in them. It’s a constant thing. Day or night, it is the same sound. The intensity might vary at times, but if you observe closely, it’s just the same.

What is it that I am writing about here? It’s the Waves. Waves in an ocean. In the vast ocean, there probably aren’t as many waves in the middle. But the shore has only waves. The sea shore is where we belong. There is humongous amount of human inhabitation, so to us, the first thing about ocean is water and of course waves. All we care about is how huge the waves are. Will it take away from us, something we love? But legend has it; the ocean never takes anything away from us forever. Whatever it takes, it returns the same, after a while. Well, in what condition, it is up to us to imagine.

I was just looking t the ocean. It was throwing at me, some small, some huge waves. What was it trying to tell me? Probably I could take a message:
A wave which looks huge, very huge at a distance, might die down, before it comes to the shore. This is like a problem in life. At far, it might look huge, but it might not be a problem at all, by the time it comes near us. But that doesn’t mean we ignore everything which is huge at a distance. Similarly, a wave which is small at far, might just build up and hit you as a huge one, and sweep you off your feet. Aren’t they so similar to our problems? It is up to us to remain alert at all times, yet enjoy the small waves the ocean throws at us. Just like our life.

As strange as it seems, the mighty ocean filled with salt water, and of course mysteries inside, has a great lesson to teach us, creatures on the shore.