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..
Friday, February 27, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
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!!
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!!
Monday, February 23, 2009
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.
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.
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