Been away..back now

I haven't been able to write for a while, for the usual reasons. But it is nice to be back. We have managed to move house and I am in love with the new place, although we have had to lock it up for a bit until we can get back to India. But the few days I spent there, waking up at dawn to see a briliant sunrise, to hear birds chirping outside my window, especially the koyal or the cuckoo, to hear the wind rustling the leaves in the trees despite the mad, mad, MAD construction noises.....I hope we live there for some years. I want to.

Despite some very turbulent times I have had in the past few weeks, I am carrying some inner calm, if not peace. Times still are turbulent. Family members are sick, or recovering, and anxiety on their behalf occupies my mind. But there is only so much I can do to agitate myself and I think I have crossed that threshold.

When I fel the calm rippling inside me I tell myself that I love my family, and I cannot please everyone all the time. I have decided to stop trying to, hard. I will always love, and I hope not to hurt. And if that is enough, then I am happy. If it isn't I have to learn to be happy with that imperfection, and keep trying. I can be me, and I can hope that is enough. I can stretch myself, but not to a point when I cannot recognise my image. There is so much I can do, and I will do it, and bit more, but not too much more than that. I pray it is enough.

A Simple Day

I had a simple day today.

I did not make anything fancy for breakfast, and we ate at the table, without hurry. Then we had no rush to do any chores, because we had done them yesterday. So we had no rush to do anything by a certain time. We took it easy and got ready and went out.

We went by the lake and took simple pleasure in having a simple lunch next to the lake, standing up. Then we fed the pigeons and ducks at the lake, took a leisurely ride on the public transport back home.

We got home and watched a movie together. We had a great time talking to family and friends on the phone. And enjoying our daughter and her moods and expressions and joys- her innocence was such a renewal of life force for me, as exhausting as it is most of the time. I laughed with my husband at her shenanigans...puled her legs, played with her, and my life was alright.

We had a day insulated from the madness of everyday, and by having a simple day, we filled our life with joy. I may not be exhausted after the weekend, which is the symptom of a 'happenning' and 'swinging' life, but I was relaxed and happy and content, and I did not think of the many many complications of my life for one whole day.

I had a simple day today. I hope to have many many more, with my husband and child- simple and unremarkable, but infinitely blessed , and hence, scintillating.

Good Luck, My Darling!

Things are speeding up. We do so many things faster now, and don't even think twice about it. I was struck by this as I was planning to take a holiday over the Easter Weekend. I booked my tickets online, and did my hotel reservations also using the internet. I researched all about the sights and means of getting to them online, I am going to purchase entry tickets for most of the places I plan to visit over the internet, and then, all I have to do is stick to the itinerary.

As we become more planned and regimented and disciplined will we miss out on doing things based on sudden impulses? We are currently in a world where things become obsolete faster, and entire ways of life are changing through the new advances in technology which is also happening every year, half year, quarter, week (...ok not weekly yet!). But you get the idea...we are running faster to stay in the same place.

I remember when I was in my final years of school, when I was old enough to think deeply about things and ponder, and I was that magical 'young and fresh' of mind, I used to sit under the trees in the grounds, or look out at the trees in the garden next to the classroom, and dream and hope and write poetry. To wonder at the magic of Tennyson, and Ulysses, to try and wonder how things must have been for Lochnivar, to wonder about the times of Tagore...poetry was a big part of my life then.

But I find it difficult to put pen to paper anymore, I don't think I have the time to do things like that anymore, I keep reading how the language is dying because of shortened versions and text messages, and the lack of reading....some of it must be true..

What then will happen to my daughter? Will she read poetry ever...I am sure it will be so 'uncool' (or whatever the relevant term is/will be) by then...I wonder if she will know the wonder of reading the stories in a book, and painting imaginary pictures of the scenes of fairy tales, instead of having talented animators paint them for her in numerous animated films..she may never know how it is to dream idly, sitting at a window looking out, for she may never have the time..

And what will happen then? Will dreams, and imagination, and fantasy and poetry die a slow death? Will the future arriving every new day with 'better, faster, seamless, at the speed of thought' choke out the human side of things- a little prone to error, a little dreamy, emotional? What shall we do? How do we keep it alive?

I am in future shock ever so often, when the future arrives and I am a little unprepared for it. And then I catch up...my daughter will not feel that. But I hope she will learn to have dreams and imagination and creativity, despite the future and the speed it is forcing us to move in...I hope her poetry survives the future shock and makes it to the surface. Good luck my darling!! Dream on..

The Lure of Superstition

Often, in the face of that which makes me weak, I look to support my crumbling faith with props. Many a time, I find that I seek correlation between unrelated things, and I try to think back and find linkages to events, that would explain the turn of events in a way I understand. Perhaps find a way to allocate 'blame' for something that has gone wrong in my life, or figure out something that seems horribly unfair.

Looking into all the traditions and rituals of our rich and varied Indian culture, I find innumerable such instances whereby I succumb to the lure of superstition. How much of our worship is truly a submission of our mind to meditation on the Divine and how much of it is empty ritual. Yet, I do so try to be perfect in my practice!!

So much of our day to day living and speaking is a submission to the lure as well. Trying to deflect the 'evil eye' from our blessings, especially children, trying to distract attention from something beautiful by oainting horrible monster faces onto it, the lemon and chilli burning, all of that ultimately is an illogical admission of our helplessness in the hands of 'evil' forces, of 'fate' as we understand it.

The lure of astrology as is practiced across our country and indeed the world is also no less a lure of superstition. Although the study of the stars themselves are based on a bodyof study that cannot be thrown away as baseless, and neither need it be so, the supplication we make before it in our consultations and quest for 'correction' of a faulty positioning of stars inone's chart, shows how incredibly dependent we are upon the extension of the hope that if we do 'this' or 'that' we will remedy the ills of our lives.

To have the strength to say 'no' to it all, is a draw upon our deepest core of strength indeed. For it is to say that 'I do not care if I am tempting the Fates to bring their worst on all I hold dear'. A mean feat indeed.

But it also means I supplicate to the will of a Force which I can neither control, not comprehend, but which I believe is inherently Good, and which wants the best for me. To take the reigns of 'control' away from a sphere which I understand and can manoeuver in, to one in which I have no clue as to the lay of the land, but in which I can see the beacon of faith guiding me.

What then shall be greater? The lure of my Faith, or the lure of Superstition. As I oscillate between one and the other, I hope to find the answer in the Middle Path. A little of both my friend, a little of both.

My God, I loveyou!

This was not a declaration of undying romantic love. This was a declaration I saw pinned up on the softboard of a friend when I was in college. It puzzled me then, but I kept my puzzlement to myself. It was after all private territory for anyone, and I did not mean to pry.

I have had several friends who have been very devoted to the pursuit of God. There were those who kept elaborate and numerous fasts, and did plenty of pujas for various gods. There were those who visited temples,or churches or mosques, everyday. There were those who donated insanely rich items to temples like silver armaments, gold ornaments for the diety, rich silks and drapes to decorate the sanctum of temples. I have known those who gave freely to charity as a means of reaching God through service to man. I have seen a family embrace me and my safety as they would their own daughter for not to do so would be a violation of their faith, in that they felt that a promise given is one given to the Lord, and its fulfilment a means to reach the divine.

I have watched devotees spend hours decorating the area where they would sing devotional songs, becase they believed the Lord would come and listen to them as they sang, and the place would have to be worthy. I have heard of miracles like appearance of ashes at the foot of idols and pictures of dieties as a mark of blessing, idols drinking milk, miraculous cures and the like.

I too have searched and known God's infinite love and grace. In my search, I have tried all manner of seeking: prayer, chanting, fasting, meditation, reading of spiritual books, et al. I have felt a supreme protective shell housing me in times of deep despair, carrying me through. To me, though I know not what that was, it is a touch of the miraculous, the divine.

I do not know whether there is a God, and what form he or she takes. What renunciation is, and the meaning of renunciation and detachment as a means to reaching a higher goal. What piety demands in infinite rituals, and sacrifices and self flagellations: both real and psychological.

I do know there is a Supreme Divinity who holds us all in Love, and though I cannot be detached and I cannot renounce and I cannot meditate, I can rejoice in the blessings I have, and thank It/Him/Her. I can love It/Him/Her. I can draw strength from it, be humble when I bring my thoughts to that center, and build my life around an anchoring belief in the Supreme. As long as I can do my job, and understand that It/He/She will take care of the big picture, of the infinite causal relationships and their effects that comprises this vast creation, in a manner that may not always be best as I understand it in my limited wisdom, but as It/He/She does in their Infinite wisdom. Letting go of fervent wishes for this or that, submitting in humility to the Plan, and trusting and having faith.

Its simple but infinitely difficult to do. And it may not be correct or the Truth. I do not seek the Truth, I seek an anchor and a solace in a life where I have been uprooted and thrown to the winds very often. And I find it in my faith as I understand it.

Its as simple as speaking to a parent like figure and saying "My God, I love you!"

The Aroma and Beats of Home

Last evening was a wonderful evening. It was one filled with the feeling of being at home, really. Not a general feeling of existence but one of a sense of being grounded, of peace. It started with cooking dinner. I was making a simple meal, but I decided to make it the traditional way. As the pot simmered the aroma of rajma curry(kidney beans) filled our little apartment. And I was playing a traditional folk song as well.

And if I closed my eyes I could almost imagine I was back in India, home.

Its amazing how much one can simulate the sense of home by merely cooking a 'home' dinner, and listening to music that would evoke the memory. I remember longing for the aroma of my mother's lunches, and listening to Tagore songs when I missed my home, while I lived in a boarding school. And listening to Arabic songs sometimes when I missed my parents' Gulf settled life

Music beats and aromas of typical spices. So much of our Indian life is centered around those two things. On a sultry afternoon, when heat swirls and humidity sits heavily, you will always hear the strain of somebody's radio or music player playing some movie music. And someone somewhere would be cooking something...curries, dal (lentils), vegetables, chapatis (flat Indian bread)...and the aromas would mix with the music and create the typical sense of home. Settling in that music and spice ridden atmosphere..I would settle down to my books to study, or to read a book.

Aromas always rustle up images to me. When travelling in a train, around mealtimes, when everyone opens their packed food, or trays of food are served, there is a typical amalgamation of the aroma of food from different people's homes. In the southern part fo the country, it may be the aroma of typical fare such as curd rice, idlis (steamed dumplings of rice flour) and Sambar, biriyani. In the north it would be the smell of puris and parathas(fried breads) with pickle, and vegetables. Mingled with the slightly metallic stench that is most commom to Indian railways. And since I have seldom travelled without my music, the music would also surround me through my headphones. Mingled with snatches of conversation, the rhythm of the train clacking along, and thoughts and words from a book would swirl in that miasma of aroma and rhythm. And the train wouold be taking me home, or away from it, so I would be thinking of home too.

Its similar with bus journeys too, although bus journeys have their own smells. And so do air journeys. And journeys always lead to or from home, so they are always filled with their own sets of emotions: pain at parting, the anticipation of meeting, soul weariness, steeling of resolve to continue..emotions that evoke some songs, and rhythms.

I miss home. I miss the music, the colour, the emotions, and the aroma. Not always pleasant. Not always warm. Provincial sentimental fool that I am, is nothing like the aroma and beats of home.And so I muse and ramble and introspect today.

Crystal hues

Have you ever looked into a lake full of crystal clear water? Or looked at the sky where jet streams actually show? I have.

And what is awe inspiring when you do it, is this-- you do not see clear colourless matter, but colours. The most brilliant greens and blues and turquoise, brilliant white clouds and the most incredibly vivid sunsets.

I watched awestruck as the sun sunk below the horizon over the lake of crystal water and skies of crisp clean air...painting the horizon in shades of pink, orange, peach, and purple...

And it came to me then, a stray thought...

If we clear our minds of all the pollutants, clear our hearts of all the negativity...will we be able to distill the light that God sends our way and make beautiful colours?

Shall we try to? It will be more peaceful in our hearts for no one can be sad or depressed in the presence of beauty, and if the beauty is within...then it will shine out! Lets hope it will.

And if beauty is foolish, and inner beauty is a desperate hope, let it be...in crystal hues, we will find the Divine and we shall be free!

Cinderella

A fairy tale. A dream for most young girls. The gold standard for romance in my view. What is it about this tale from centuries ago that touches women and makes us little girls whenever we think of the story?

The story of a girl who is gentle and kind and good, but ill treated by her stepmother and stepsisters. Who slaves away in a kitchen and scullery inspite of being incredibly beautiful and gifted. Do we find empathy with this character, as women who go through life performing so many chores and duties, many of which may not be for ourselves, but for the people in our lives: parents, siblings, husbands/partners, children, friends, groups...the deeds that go unthanked so very often.

And whose vindication comes in the form of a fairy godmother, who gives her the opportunity , with magic, to go to the ball and meet the prince. Don't we all want a little magic, a little escape when we can all be beautiful, wearing a glamorous outfit, and attending a fabulous event? It is the ultimate dream, to be the belle of the ball, to be the person who hushes up the floor as she enters the room...and across the floor stands Prince Charming.

Prince Charming- the embodiment of the ultimate romantic dream- a man who has everything laid out for him: power, wealth, the kingdom itself, but who wants to marry for love. Who refuses to settle for anything less.. Handsome, heroic and chivalrous: the stuff of a young girl's dreams. He has eyes for her and her only, he hangs on to her words and wants to spend the rest of his life with her, without doubt or misgivings or excuses and with respect. Commitment, right away: WOW! (No wonder it is a fairy tale... :D)

The two meet and fall in love and it is indeed magic, isn't it? But the fairy's magic is time bound, and will disappear at midnight. And when the clock strikes the hour, Cinderella flees and the moment of love is gone. And the wonderful, romantic end: where the prince searches for the girl, across the land, and finds her. Vindication.

In the story, there are all the elements: that of being the underdog and neglected one in a family, but of beating the odds and finding love. Which girl would not want that to be part of their story? It's the ultimate unattainable dream, and yet we dream the dream and see it shatter all our lives. And in varying degrees we learn that it is a dream that we will never have, but we still have the dream tucked away in the corner of our heart, and we never stop it from existing somewhere and creating the dissonance.

I watched my daughter lean her chin on her round little palm and watch the song "A dream is a wish you heart makes..." from the Cinderella movie made by Disney...and as I saw her look enraptured to see the drama unfolding on screen I wondered if another dream was taking root in her young mind, one that would reach out into the future and touch her life by setting expectations.

She even looks at pictures of bridal gowns and calls them Cinderella! What appeals to her? She doesn't know the meaning of love, or romance or dissapointment yet, but she still loves the concept of Cinderella. Another little girl, another dream..

Maybe her dream will come true, and maybe it won't. I cannot know what her future will hold. But as her mother, I wish her less disappointments, less heartbreak and more love. For she is my Cinderella. She is the closest I have come to a dream come true..

Home..

The lyrics of the John Denver song "Country Roads" are ones I have sung often enough, and when I say "Take me home..." I may not be talking of the Blue Ridge Mountains or West Virginia, but it doesnt change the spirit of the song.

I read somewhere the other day that we can never truly go back 'home' to the place we grew up. Because home is a place in time and space that we left behind when we moved away...and that is a place we can never go back to. We can visit to look at the physical location of the place where we spent some good times but we can never really go back.

It took me some time to figure this out. And so I kept struggling with the thought of going back home. But I have been roaming around places all my life... I have attended 9 schools, been to hostels and met so many people. Some may call my life exciting, and indeed it has been so. But I always longed to go home, wherever I was. When we were in Kuwait, where my father worked, home was India, and visits we made there to meet friends and family. Displaced after the invasion of Kuwait to return to India, home became the friends we had made in Kuwait. Once I went away to boarding school, home was wherever my parents and sister were.

And so home was moments snatched from here and there, a cobbled dream. It was a place where I would not be lonely, or judged- where I could cry and rest and heal. I spent more time longing for home than actually living in one. And when always in that state, as with anything we dream of, we gave the 'home' dream colours that it did not possess.

Time passed, and I grew without realising it. I longed to set down roots. I longed to have a more anchored existence. I got married. Home was such an intense dream even then. And every time there was a dissonance with the picture I had painted, I exploded, imploded and ripped myself apart.

Motherhood became imminent, and I was sentenced to bed rest, courtesy of several complications. Sitting in bed, listening to music, and staring out of the window, I started to feel calmer. When I felt my daughter move within me, and answer me with kicks when I spoke to her, I felt peace. Looking into her tiny, perfect little face, I realised home wasn't a place, it was a person.

Home is where the heart is. And so, home is anywhere you put a piece of yourself, your heart. Home is the fragrance of my sleeping child. Home is the rush of unadulterated joy as she rushes into my arms for a little hug, just like that. She is a part of me, a part of my soul that I set forth into the wind, to set sail and conquer the world.

And when she sails away, what will home be then? A memory? Who knows...I certainly don't. And I don't want to. Home will come to me then. For now, I am there.

The Mozart of Madras- Jai ho, Jai Hind

When accepting his Oscar, A R Rehman said that he had always been faced with the choice in life between love and hate. He chose love and that has brought him to that point... Watching him say those words made me wonder whether love had made him the musical genius he is.

Before there were the Oscars, and before there was Andrew Lloyd Webber and the hype reached the levels they are at now, there was Rehman and there was his phenomenal music. Even today listening to "Chhoti si Asha" or "Tu hi re"gives me goose bumps. He was that good from the onset. I always thought he was a class act- his music stood apart from the rest of the music I heard.

His unassuming and low profile persona also endeared him to me. He always let his music speak for itself. He is a classic example of someone for whom the sheer quality of his work gave him the success he has achieved. He did not have to toot his horn, or beat his own drum. What he did was toot his musical horn, and beat the rhythm of his music. And the world, listened. It was forced to bow its head in tribute, and it fell at his feet: a genuflection to genius!

When listening to his music, if you close your eyes, you can stand on the stage with him in his signature style: Arms flung up, legs braced for impact, and head flung back and singing with abandon.

He certainly is the Mozart of Madras! He is everything a true artist should be: someone who reaches out and conquers the world, with his art, his love, his compassion and his humility.

Every year as we watch the Oscars, and we see as emotions leap and jump at the announcements, we smile but we just think of the cast and crew who are caught up in it. But this year, the leaps and joy was not limited to the cast and crew. An entire industry, a nation leapt and was joyous!! Jai ho, Jai Hind!! We love you Rehman!!

Beginnings..

I start this blog as something which is different from my other blog. I want this to be an outlet for thoughts as they go through my mind, as they swirl through the landscapes of my days. It could be called a journal I suppose, but I hope it will be more than that.

I arrive late on the landscape of blogging, but the space is vast and limitless and I too want to tread my path, and meet new people and express myself. I have no agenda. I hope to have open discussions with people.

If you read this space, do respond, as it will make my day to have answering 'Coee!' calls to the words I am hurling into cyberspace.

It is exciting to set off on a new journey always...we shall cross different lands, and make our own path through so many places- some explored, some virgin lands. Let's hope it will be a grand adventure.