Musings

In Distress

noreply@blogger.com (Anu) — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 14:03:00 +0000

In Distress

A bright blue saree, a large nose pin, orange marigolds in snow-white hair, a bulging shoulder bag and a face that showed every wrinkle of her 70 or so years of age. She was walking bit by bit towards my parked car; my attention divided between the book in my lap, and the people passing by. She stopped and put a hand out to rest against the car’s hood; gently closed her eyes, took a deep breath and wiped the sweat off her forehead with her saree pallu. The sweltry day was taking its toll on her slight frame, and the disproportionately large bag seemed to affect not just her gait, but also her breathing.

My heart beat faster with an unknown urgency. She reminded me of a delicate bird, struggling because of the weight someone had clipped on to its wings. Was there a way I could do something, anything, to stretch those wrinkles around her mouth to a smile? But then, had the lady noticed me sitting inside the car, she would not have rested against the hood. Would it be feasible to take away her few moments of respite just to fulfill my desire to help? Would she feel embarrassed, and walk away once I made my presence known? I stilled my body while my mind frantically groped for answers. Would I even be able to communicate with her as we most probably would be unable to converse in a common language? I started looking around to spot my driver, wanting him to ask the lady if we could give her a ride.

Of course I forgot about the head movement, of course she noticed me, of course her calm expression changed to a cautious one and of course she jerkily moved her hand away from the car. I grabbed the water bottle next to me, smiled, gently opened the door and offered the bottle to her. She looked at me hesitatingly, shook her head with downcast eyes and walked away.

I was so annoyed with myself. I should have been more careful not to move; instead of lending a hand, I had burst the lady’s miniscule bubble of privacy.

I was feeling blue and I saw blue in the car window again. She was back. I opened the door and patted the seat next to me. She sat down, opened her bag and offered me a banana. I took it and offered her the water bottle again. She took it.

I ate, she drank; we smiled. She rested for a couple of minutes. Those minutes brought such tranquility to me. She took my head in both her hands, made a small kissing sound in the air, opened the car door and walked away.

I was trying to help someone in distress. In turn, I became distressed and she kissed my distress away.

Beauty in the Trash

noreply@blogger.com (Anu) — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 12:04:00 +0000

The stench permeated the car interior. I rolled up my car window the very instant my olfactory senses were aroused to a heightened state. The words ‘shock and awe’ flashed in front of my eyes. With a shrinking nose and expanding frown lines, I looked out the window to track the instigator who had defiled the air.

A rickety tractor, which looked like a shantytown house on wheels, was parked ahead to my left. Ripped, dull brown cardboard sagged against its sides creating a makeshift enclosure. Ropes and wires at various places held the jalopy together. This mournful object was imparting the unearthly odor; one could well call, ‘the smell from hell’. Curiosity got the better of my nose, and I peered at the tractor through the window. It was overloaded with mounds of garbage of all sizes, shapes, decaying intensity, colors, etc. I wished my daughter would return from her class soon so we could leave.

The article ‘Singapore- The Squeaky Clean City’ in the glossy magazine in my lap was unable to hold my attention any more. I eyed the mangled remains of packaging, vegetables, bottles, paper, plastic Styrofoam, and the likes in the truck. Partially hidden in this pile, I noticed a lady sitting atop the garbage in a corner. She was sorting the garbage into smaller heaps and I could decipher plastics in one section, bottles in another, neatly folded crinkled paper in another.

There was a hypnotic quality to the earnestness in her labor. Being surrounded by foul smelling garbage did not mar her beauty. Rather, the dismal surroundings enhanced the exquisiteness of the festive red saree draped seductively and red bangles that slid up and down her arms as she worked. Suddenly she smiled, dug her hands into the pile and pulled out a glittering golden ribbon; a discarded party decoration. She tenderly straightened it out, wound it around her hand, jumped off the tractor, arranged the sparkling trimming around the tractor’s bonnet up front, and took a couple of steps back to view the effect. Her face, resplendent with joy, reminded me of a mother doting on her child.

There I was; so disturbed by the stench, yet so enamored by the sight. I fervently felt like adding beauty to this already beautiful lady’s day. I tried talking to her but she spoke Kannada, I spoke Hindi. I saw a flower lady near by and bought some extra long lengths of ‘gajra’ jasmine flowers strung together. Walking over to the star of my day, I offered her the flower string. She graced me with a delightful smile, hesitatingly took the string and immediately arranged it in her long hair. I prayed that the fragrance of the flowers may be powerful enough to prevail over the smell of her surroundings. Sounds like a cliché, but she did prove that a lotus has the ability to rise beyond the dirty water it grows in and maintain its purity and beauty.

Feel Like Breaking Something?

noreply@blogger.com (Anu) — Wed, 13 May 2009 09:00:00 +0000

Mera desh mahaan, log phir bhi pareshan
My country is great, but the people are still upset/unhappy

Dekho, magar sirf pyar se
You may look at me, but do so only with love

Thand rakh, ai bhi pass ho jana hai
Stay cool, this too will pass

Duniya gol hae, phir milenge, ta-ta, bye, bye
The earth is round, we’ll meet again, ta-ta, bye

Rab hi malik hae
God is the boss

The above would evoke a sense of ‘déjà vu’ in anyone who has traversed some roads in India. Such avowals, and plenty more philosophical and comical ones, are painted on auto rickshaws, trucks, and buses throughout the country. Reading these and pondering their relevance to life is a pursuit that helps keep my mind off traffic and pollution.

Another very common declaration on auto rickshaws is “Buri nazar wale, tera moonh kala”, which translates to, “To the one with the evil eye, may your face be blackened”. In the Indian culture a face is blackened to insult an individual. However, walking to my hotel in Dehradun I saw a parked auto rickshaw that said-

Buri nazar wale, tera bhi bhala ho
To the one with the evil eye, may you be blessed as well.

I stopped. I read the saying again. This was a first for sure! A diminutive smile sprung on my lips. I chuckled. In spite of the blazing sun overhead, I felt a wisp of cool shade find its way to my heart.

I went over the auto rickshaw person. “Where to?” he asked, I answered, “I don’t really need to go anywhere, but may I speak with you for a minute?” He looked at me quizzically through his over-sized sun glasses, shifted a bit in his bright red, skin-tight, transparent shirt that showed off his bulging biceps. Then ignoring me, he started digging under his extra-long hot-pink painted pinky with a screw driver. I repeated my question and he shrugged his shoulder nonchalantly; reminding me of my teenager saying, “What ever.”

Deciding to get to the point, I asked him, “This saying written on your auto, did you get it painted?”

“Yes, why?” he quipped.

“I found it very interesting. What made you change the ‘black face’ one to this one?”

He laughed. The sun glasses came off. I could see his large black eyes lighten up. “Madam ji, I like breaking things. I broke my parents dream when I dropped out of school. I break a bottle of alcohol every night. I break the hearts of girls in this city. I break the bodies of people who mess with me. This time I decided to break something different- the chain”.

I reminded myself to breathe. And asked, “Break which chain ji?” The ‘ji’ tumbled out on its own. I wanted to ensure he felt respected.

“The chain of evil eyes, Madam ji. See, if you look at me with an evil eye, and I blacken your face, you will look at me the same way again. The evil will keep coming back to me. Instead if I ask God to bless you; I break the chain of evil eyes and black faces. Better for me too, correct na”, he said it all in one breath.

Wow! Could breaking something ever be better?

Mom, I Cherish .....

noreply@blogger.com (Anu) — Fri, 08 May 2009 12:34:00 +0000

Would you like to write a couple of lines on what you cherish the most about your mother and/or your parents?

Share it please.

Be a part of making this journal a special ode to all the mothers (and fathers too).

Together let’s say “Happy Mother’s Day”

****************************************************************

I cherish the comfort in knowing that my parents’ love, acceptance and support for me is always secure, no matter what. I am truly blessed!

Who am I?

noreply@blogger.com (Anu) — Tue, 05 May 2009 13:29:00 +0000

Am I who I think I am?
Or
Am I, who you think I am?

Answers lurch at breakneck speed
Thoughts saunter along
“Slow down, speed up,
Stick to one side,” I plead

Perceptions, contentions
Run parallel, diverge
A new question tags on
Will the lines ever merge?

Merging would be joy
Or compromise?
Is it even a possibility?
Or a mere fallacy?

Soul mate, wherefore art thou?

noreply@blogger.com (Anu) — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 13:37:00 +0000

A beautiful yellow butterfly shared the air space with us for a couple of minutes while our taxi was en route from Dehradun to Delhi. Then I noticed another butterfly, brown in color, flying in tandem right under the yellow butterfly. They soared, dipped, and inched to the sides as a graceful ice skating team dancing in perfect harmony. “Ah! Soul mates”, I sighed to myself with longing.

This was the beginning to a seemingly long thought process. Is finding a soul mate a romantic fallacy, a quixotic belief such as ‘love at first sight’ or is it a truth that is meant to be, a jigsaw puzzle where that single piece with the perfect fit does exist. Is it a destination or a journey? Is the connection based upon spirituality, emotional fulfillment, physical attraction, common goals, magnetism drawing opposites together, thinking alike or having been together for so long that life seems incomplete without each other?

Strolling down the meandering path of memories, I could not pinpoint one single person who has understood me at all times, with whom I have always felt complete, who accepts all of me, all the time- just the way I am, or who has the ability to perpetually bring out the best in me. It was quite a dispiriting thought; having covered half or more of my lifetime and still no sign of the perfect jigsaw piece.

I decided to plunge deeper into the thicket of thoughts and reminiscences. I remembered the times when a friend was there to listen to me without being judgmental. And the times my husband helped unravel difficult situations for me, his efforts to bring me happiness. The emotional fulfillment my children bestow upon me, especially the times when I held them as tiny bundles, secure in my arms. My confidence that my parents love me just the way I am. My sister’s willingness to be a perfect friend and sister rolled into one, whenever I need her. The thoughts I could share with my brother knowing that they would always be secure with him. The spiritual connection I felt while sitting on the porch swing and eyeing the immense greenery in our yard.

So yes, I have not found the “one” soul mate I may be destined for. But then, perhaps this search is not a destination; it is a journey with several milestones on the way. My soul mates complete different parts at different points in my life. Yet, the nagging thought stayed forefront, “What about the times when the whole still has a hole?” What then? Am I destined to be incomplete, with holes?

Pensively I looked out the window at the butterflies and realized that the brown butterfly flying in synchrony with the yellow one was nothing, but its shadow. It dawned upon me that the only way to fill all the holes and find my perpetual soul mate was to look into a mirror. This search must end within my own self. There are jigsaw pieces that will fit at various places in my life, but I must become the piece that will complete the puzzle.

Does that sound right, or is this just another case of “sour grapes”?

If only I could hear, what I deem as meant for me, nothing less, and nothing more!

noreply@blogger.com (Anu) — Sun, 26 Apr 2009 11:15:00 +0000

Have you ever wished for the ability to close your eyes and in effect close your ears as well? The ability to stop the constant cacophony, to hit the mute button on all electronic devices, to zip the lips of people around you, to soundproof your tympanic membrane . . .

My recent round trip from Bangalore to Dehradun left me wanting to move to a city where sign-language was the law. The ordeal started with the 6 am airport bus. The radio blared songs. These were interspersed with a very peppy DJ ensuring that the listeners were paying attention and with advertisements of sexy wardrobes capable of changing my life, apartments that could make my home heavenly, grocery store prices that could double my purchasing power. Wow! What else could one ask for?

Well, the two fellow travelers behind me ensured that the 1 hour trip thoroughly enlightened me on the architecture of their under-construction houses, how the grills would be hidden to show off the floor to ceiling windows, the balcony door would have a metal plate sandwiched between the wood, the roof-top garden would be waterproofed, the drop down ladder from the attic could be widened so their wives could access the attic as well, etc, etc.

The cell phone of my vivacious neighbor to the left had a ring tone of a child wailing on the top of his lungs. I am sure she could win a popularity contest hands-down because her phone rang every 1-2 minutes. Of course, there were at least 7-8 other cell phones with distinct ring tones ringing melodiously at various intervals as well. The gentleman in front of me was ragging a junior at this unearthly hour; telling him how to handle the next client to clinch the contract. I had selected a seat right under the TV screen thinking that I would be able to see straight out the front window of the bus without an onslaught from the movie that was playing. I forgot out of sight does not mean out of ears as well.

What amazed me was the ability of my ears to decipher each and every sound byte and feel the assimilated information pounding in my head. Would technology ever advance to a stage where two conversing people would do so at a wave length privy just to them? Where my cell phone ring would be heard by no one but me? Where I could tune in or tune out of the radios dispensing information to the public? Where separations in the acoustic spectrum would ensure that one person’s music does not become another person’s noise?

I turned to my co passenger- my daughter, to share my marvelous vision of the future. My voice at varying decibels had no auditory impact on her. With her eyes closed, she certainly was tuned out, at peace, at rest, enjoying. I decided not to intrude upon her reverie. To make my wait for science’s leap towards noise-free living less inaudible, I realized, I just needed to follow my daughter’s route- purchase a set of head-phones and use them. Except that I would do so without a MP3 attached to the other end.

Will Smile, Will Smile Not

noreply@blogger.com (Anu) — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 01:10:00 +0000

The first week into our recent visit to US while standing in a long check-out line, my daughter, Meera observed, “Mom, most people here seem to be so friendly. They smile even at strangers. Nobody does that in India”. She was right. Subconsciously I had noticed that as well, though had never vocalized it out loud.

I asked Meera if she had noticed any similarities amongst people who smiled at her. She thought about it; I thought about it; and we recalled that most often it was the older generation that was more generous with smiles. Also that African-American store employees not just smiled at us, but also added, “How y’all doing today?” or “You have a good day now”.

Taking an early morning walk in a park with my sister, I noticed that almost everyone muttered, “Good morning”, or acknowledged us with a subtle nod. We crossed an African American gentleman who surpassed the others here as well. He nodded to us along a cheerful, “What a beautiful day!”

By now this had become a sort of preoccupation with me. I would cross people in stores, restaurants, parks, streets and try to look them in the eye with a hint of a smile. While approaching my target, my mind would play the game of ‘he’ll smile; he’ll smile not’, ‘she’ll smile; she’ll smile not’. My findings reinforced the earlier inference about the older generation and African-Americans. Young people (students) at a UC Campus seemed too involved in their own thoughts/lives and passed me by as if I was invisible. Moms with little kids in grocery stores certainly smiled, albeit wearily at times. Babies smiled and waved most of the times. Professionals in suits and shiny shoes or heels pretended to ignore me though I could sense that their lips quivered a bit. All library employees smiled. I am sure the totality of the surroundings played a role there. The lady behind the flower counter in the supermarket smiled. The mailman eating lunch at Taco Bell smiled. The policeman and policewoman sitting at the next table did not. Not even a single worker at the airport smiled.

I continued with this madness half way across the world in Bangalore, India. The rules of the game are different here. Smiling or not smiling is a cultural issue. ‘Respectable’ women smiling at strangers are unheard of. I smiled at the person at the grocery store cash-counter but he acknowledged just the presence my shopping basket. College students responded to my smile with a quizzical look that said, “What’s up with her?” I smiled at a young guy herding 15-20 buffaloes across the road while I sat in the patiently in the driver’s seat; he smiled back with a 1000-watt smile and a wave. The professionals at the Tech Parks were thoroughly engrossed with either a cigarette or a blackberry or both. I was absolutely non-existent to them! The old lady selling flowers always smiled back even though I never bought any flowers from her. The young lady selling flowers did not smile. The watchman nodded curtly with a “Good evening, Mam”, but did not smile. The woman holding a baby on the backseat of a scooter rewarded me with a beautiful smile. The little boy selling magazines at the traffic intersection smiled ear to ear. At the shopping mall men a lot older to me gave a lopsided smile, men of all other ages either seemed to look through me or seemed perplexed at my demeanor. Irrespective of their age women shoppers did not want to waste time on smiling at me.

So, what’s the conclusion? Nothing really. It was a fun exercise that took my mind off mundane worries. Here at home in Bangalore, I no longer cursed the buffaloes crossing the road; rather I tried to find humor in its absurdity and smiled. I did not avert my eyes from the flower lady just because I did not want to buy flowers. In the shopping mall instead of focusing on the crowds, I tried to focus on finding a prey to smile at. So, until I am labeled a nut-case, I’ll continue with my exercise. :-)

Death- What does it rob one of?

noreply@blogger.com (Anu) — Sun, 14 Dec 2008 08:42:00 +0000

I found out yesterday morning that a dear friend had lost her husband in a road accident. She herself was in the hospital recuperating from extensive knee and plastic surgery. The only grace of the episode being that their seven year old son suffered just a minor fracture. It took me a while to sort my thoughts- immense sadness for my friend, anger at the traffic in Bangalore, shock at how life can change in an instant, anxiety about her future and a void in trying to figure out what to say to her, how do I tell her to be strong and how can I be there for her while she grieves.

I called her on the phone to sense whether she was up to meeting people or wanted to be left alone. After an awkward moment of silence, she said, “I’ve lost my best friend. ” She choked on her words, repeated them thrice and started sobbing silently. The agony in her voice did not show any resentment at the unfair hand she had been dealt with, any indulgence in self pity or any fretfulness about the future. It was a stark statement about what she no longer had. It had a chill that could engulf the warmth of an entire planet and yet feel cold. “A best friend, I don’t have one any more.” Her child like simplicity carried within it the wisdom of being able to pinpoint the very essence of her loss.

I was reminded of an email where another friend of mine had written, “Old friends are indeed like old wine, intoxicating to the core.” I thought of my bereaved friend’s loss. She had lost not just an old friend but her best friend. She had lost that what intoxicated her in life or rather, what intoxicated her towards life. What else was there for her to say, she had summed it up so poignantly.

A Rendezvous with a Goat

noreply@blogger.com (Anu) — Thu, 11 Dec 2008 13:54:00 +0000

Last evening, I plucked baskets full of spinach, coriander, methi (fenugreek), eggplants, peas and beans along with a few tomatoes, radish, a small pumpkin and a papaya from my vegetable garden. The sky was draped in an orange glow, butterflies in several color combinations were fluttering at a distance, the wind was gently playing with my errant hair strands and heaven seemed to have descended upon earth. I was consciously making an attempt to enjoy the ‘bliss’ and stop myself from thinking, “What am I going to do with all this?” The maid, the driver, the gardener and the neighbors everyone seemed to have had enough from the above bill of fare. My daughter had vowed that she would never make her kids go through the bounties of a kitchen garden.

A sudden movement in the corner of my eye brought into focus a rather large sized goat jumping over the barbed wire fence; headed for a luscious dinner courtesy my green patch. My blissful quandary vaporized in a moment as I tried putting on a ferocious scowl and started looking for a stick. The visitor seemed quite determined to have a feast and it continued ignoring me nonchalantly to the point of being rude.

Maintaining a respectful distance, I clapped, whooshed, clucked, stomped; all to no avail. I was amazed at how my thoughts seemed to change in micro seconds. I wished I was a cowgirl who could smoothly lasso the goat and tie it to a tree; thought about hurling the stick at the target but my dismal record at darts kept me from throwing the only weapon I had. I cursed my husband for not being around when I needed him and finally exhaled deeply and told myself to calm down- there was no point in getting hyperventilated.

I glanced at the baskets that I had hurriedly deserted on the ground and I glanced at the goat that was now nibbling at the edges of the spinach bed. A premonition from the heavens came to me in that moment! I grabbed some veggies in a basket and ran towards the fence. Dumped the colorful mix there unceremoniously, puckered my lips and made well, er… loud kissing sounds. That certainly caught the goat’s attention and it started moving towards me. I pointed to the laid out tomatoes, spinach, eggplants and beans, batted my eye lashes and prayed I made an impressive sight to the four legged creature. Halleluiah! The goat started moving towards me. Calmness had left me again and my heart was racing. I hastily started tossing the stuff over the fence, hoping and praying that the goat followed the food and I had enough time to get out of the way.

So all in all, the goat was out of my yard and I no longer had to think about ways of off-loading the day’s harvest. I just hope this uninvited guest does not show up again soon. And I sincerely hope for better ways to set my heart racing!

Decluttering My Mind

noreply@blogger.com (Anu) — Thu, 18 Sep 2008 04:48:00 +0000

During the last couple of weeks, I have been trying to simplify my life and my emotions. I still have a long way to go however; I have had some interesting one-on-one conversations with myself. Thank God, I am by myself during a large part of the day otherwise; I would make quite a comic character with various expressions darting across my face at random intervals. Thus far, these conversations have revealed the need to declutter my mind.

This seems to be quite a B2B exercise. No, not the usual business to business, but the back to basics. Here are my findings so far.

Attendance- Remember the morning attendance in elementary school. Amidst the flying paper balls, squeaking chalks, chairs scratching the floor and cough attacks; we made sure the teacher heard our ‘Present Mam, Yes Mam, Here Sir’. Not being present meant having to get a note from parents the next day- and who on earth would want to explain that to parents! Well, I think, I forgot this attendance lesson once out of school. I need to learn to ‘be present’ in ‘now’. I need to get out of the habit of being absent- bunking the present to take a hike into the past or the future. Now is what is central!

Attention- I can still hear the shrill cracking voice of my Maths teacher, repeatedly repeating, “Girls, complete attention, focus, concentrate. ” Later on, the corporate world taught me the significance of multi-tasking and I took pride in my multi-mindedness. Single-mindedness was deemed so regressive. Well, the unlearning needs to surface again. I have to unlearn the alleged asset of the corporate sector, and go back to the childhood basics. One action at a time, one thought at a time, one goal at a time. It works wonders to declutter the mind and create space for the important.

Lists- Any childhood memories of taking a crisp white sheet of paper, undoing the lid of a pen with flourish and then writing a to-do list with complete deliberation? Next, holding the sheet aloft and admiring it- polish school shoes, sharpen pencils, fill ink in pens, set school backpack, go out and play. These lists fed my narcissism- I felt important since I had so much to do! Now, I realize such lists will be my savior. I need to write these lists (to shop, to read, to watch, to do with children), banish them from my mind and address the issues only when it is their time (at the store, library, movie rental place, free time with children). Otherwise these never ending to-do interruptions continue to pop as Jack-in-the-boxes in my mind and interrupt my attempts at single-mindedness.

Will keep adding, suggestions welcome.

Unconditional Love

noreply@blogger.com (Anu) — Thu, 11 Sep 2008 08:21:00 +0000

During some ‘hide and seek’ sessions of silent reflections, I often grapple with the concept of ‘unconditional love’. I term these sessions ‘hide and seek’ because while I try to ‘seek’ an answer to one thing; I realize that I must answer other hidden questions before I can address what I was seeking.

The Wikipedia defines unconditional love as “To love someone regardless of his or her actions or beliefs”. My dilemma is trying to figure out whether I am capable of giving such love.

Do I love my children unconditionally, do I love my spouse unconditionally, do I love any of my friends unconditionally or do I even love myself unconditionally? More often that not, my answer to all of the above is a hesitant, “Umm, not always.”

Let me start with myself. There are occasions when I hate myself for not being more of a go-getter, my impatience with my immediate family, my inability to continue with lengthy debates, my innate resistance towards learning to drive a stick-shift, etc. So am I completely happy with or in love with the person I am? The crucial word here is ‘completely’. No, I am not completely happy with who I am, though for a huge majority I am happy with who I am. Therefore, don’t I love myself conditionally?

Loving one’s child unconditionally is said to be the foundation of parenting. I must love my child for who he/she is, not for what he/she does. At a very high level I can understand this. Irrespective of what my children do, I shall always love them. My heart will always care for them and they will always be a part of my prayers. However, there are times when the children do not fulfill responsibilities repeatedly, or fail to understand the importance of what they are being guided towards; that I do find myself reluctant to give them a loving hug. Do I consider this non-display of affection a motivation for my child to change? I don’t know. The love at that time is perhaps like a wave in the ocean that is in a trough formation.

A certain set of traits made me fall in love with my spouse and made me desirous of going through life’s journey alongside him. So falling in love with a person implies falling in love with a personality and a set of physical attributes. Therefore I comprise of a ‘personality’ and ‘physical attributes’. Now, would ‘unconditional love’ mean that irrespective of any changes in the above two factors, my spouse would always love me? How can one love a person for who he/she is and not his/her behavior; when it is the behavior/personality that makes an individual who he/she is?

I got a small insight into this question a couple of days ago. I was telling my daughter that it is ok for her not to be serious about her studies as long as it is ok with her to have a career accordingly. She would have to give up her dream of becoming a doctor and be content with flipping burgers at a fast-food place. She thought about it, looked at me and said, “Mom, if I can be happy flipping burgers then it should not matter whether I become a doctor or not”. I was stumped.

I realized that to a large extent ‘unconditional happiness’ is the basis of ‘unconditional love’. If I take a vow to be happy at all times, I will automatically start on a path towards unconditional love. I will learn to celebrate every moment, every incident and every person in my life.

Any other insights, anyone?

A Soothing Balm

noreply@blogger.com (Anu) — Sat, 30 Aug 2008 11:13:00 +0000

“Let us be silent, that we may hear the whispers of the gods.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson

The past 3 weeks, to a large extent have been about me, my, and I. With the husband, son and mother-in-law gone to US; my daughter and I form our twosome family in Bangalore. Meera is at school from 8 am to 3:30 pm and during this time I am my sole companion. I don’t remember ever having so much uninterrupted time just to myself.

In the beginning, I was really not looking forward to this solitude. I feared boredom, restlessness, pensiveness and sheer loneliness. I was emotionally strung about my son’s going to UC Berkeley because I felt he had grown-up too quickly.

In reality these days have been a one of a kind sojourn. Solitude stills the mind. Stillness clears it. My mind refuses to entertain a hide and seek game with my thoughts anymore. It disallows me to tell myself, “Oh! I don’t have the time for this right now”. It takes the restlessness out of the system and coaxes one to bring to forefront the questions, issues, thoughts that had been lurking in various corners of the mind. I deal with them one at a time, at my own pace, with my own logic, without any defenses, and revel in the cathartic experience.

Many a times I do not speak for 7 or more hours and even such short periods give me a new appreciation of ‘Vipassana’ and ‘maun vrat’ (a vow of silence). It seems as if I literally see time pass by; I am here yet, I am not here. Well, I could also say, “There is no distraction, therefore I am completely here”. :-)

I have not been able to resolve all those lurking issues that fed my restiveness. However after having faced them calmly, I am more comfortable accepting them in whatever unsettled stage they are. Solitude has brought rest to the restlessness.

Needless to say, I still look forward to 3:30 pm when my chirpy daughter is back from school. She fills me in about her day at a speed that makes up for the silence in my life. Having enjoyed the calm earlier, I thoroughly relish the excitement that she brings home.

Gotta Make My Own Bliss

noreply@blogger.com (Anu) — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 07:34:00 +0000

The beautiful bungalow we have rented on the outskirts of Bangalore has breathtaking views and a sloped terracotta tile roof all over. Inside, a ceiling with wooden beams shows off these earthen tiles, offsetting the cream colored walls with red oxide cement floors. These tiles are a true example of beauty and practicality being unable to function hand in hand. For the last couple of weeks, each evening has been spent positioning garbage cans and buckets all over the house to capture the rain water dripping from the ceiling.

This morning I was walking through the house with my neck craned up, trying to spot the leaky tiles. I was irritated at the ‘sealant guy’ who has supposedly sealed these tiles a number of times. It was beginning to dawn upon me that this was another one of those things that I would have to learn to live with- dodging the buckets and garbage cans when I get up to check on my daughter at night. The incessant rains of the last few days had not helped perk-up me up and this certainly was not my idea of rain-water harvesting.

I walked about with a sore neck and a doubly sore mood, when unexpectedly I was enveloped in warm light. I relaxed the corners of my squinted eyes and continued standing under the large sky-light in the foyer. Psychedelic yellow, orange and red swirls filled up my blind vision. They were beautiful in their own blurry manner; continually changing in color, pattern and intensity. I was so overcome by the visuals and the warmth that I failed to think about the leaking tiles. I knew they still existed in the background but taking pleasure in the peace that surrounded me seemed much more vital.

Those couple of minutes of composure were enough to ebb away my frustration at the rains, the leaks, the tiles, the buckets and the incessant dripping sounds through the night. The warmth of the sun rays tenderly reminded me that inherently my bliss is there to find, it depends on what I choose to focus on.

How does a mother come to terms with an empty nest?

noreply@blogger.com (Anu) — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 15:22:00 +0000

How do I come to terms with my child going half way across the world, with not being able to ruffle his hair for days, weeks, months at a stretch, with not seeing his bed unmade anymore, with not finding any dirty clothes in his laundry basket, and with not having a sweaty and filthy son back from soccer asking me if I wanted a hug?

The realization that my first-born is no longer under my wings is such a bitter-sweet feeling! I know he is eager to stretch his wings and test the air-currents. I hope during his flight he remembers to look far out and set his target somewhere on the horizon. Of course he will not be afraid to venture some NASCAR loops and skids while flying. I also trust that along the way he will look at some migratory birds flying in unison to cover long distances and learn from them the marvelous spectacle of team-work to help attain one’s goal.

I remember the times when he was asthmatic, and I stayed up all night watching his chest fall up and down and subconsciously monitored his breathing rate. Now on his own, I hope he finds the insight and determination to handle his body with the care it deserves. If only he could see his body as the newest model of the hottest Porsche around. Ah! How he would love to put the best quality oil at the right intervals, rotate the wheels, maintain the air pressure, take care of any scratch (God forbid such happens!) and feel proud of the 0 to 120 it could do in flat 3 seconds. I pray his imagination allows him such visualizations so that he can exercise regularly, eat nourishing food and continue to feel the wind whip through his hair while driving the Porsche down the freeway.

The joy in his eyes when he made Christmas ornaments as a child outshone all the Christmas light decorations in the city. It was the true spirit of Christmas, for he sold the ornaments to help vaccinate infants in a remote village he had never visited. I have faith that he will continually swoop and stop during his flights to share his blessings and feed his soul.

It takes tremendous strength to be honest with ones own self. I wish his journeys bolster this trait. There will be times when happenings will cast doubts along his way, when those closest to him will question his intentions, and when he will feel lost. At such junctures, I wish he makes time to halt his flight, rest, introspect and have a candid conversation with his inner self to find the correct direction. What fortune if such a rudder takes the place of ‘Google Maps’ in his life!

At times strong winds will sting his eyes and I hope he accepts those tears just as he will accept the tears of happiness. Understanding his emotions will bring him peace and reduce the turbulence during his journeys.

So, how does a mother come to terms with an empty nest? She learns to embrace the word ‘hope’. Hope is such a beautiful sentiment with the ability to bring calm to pathos and to replace chaos with peace. A mother hopes that the world her child embraces will give him much more joy, success, love, and peace than she would ever have been able to.

Taming Nature, Was It Meant To Be?

noreply@blogger.com (Anu) — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 15:00:00 +0000

I stood on our porch this morning and gazed at the sea of greenery in the backyard. Several hues and heights of green fluttering gently in the wind, presented a sight that would bring calm to any mind. A few more steps and I stood under three magnificent trees, took a deep breath and looked up at the canopy formed by their knotty branches. The clear blue sky playing hide-and-seek with the leaves and a few bright yellow butterflies dancing amidst the sun rays immediately made me wonder if that is why we tend to look up when we think of God.

Suddenly a sharp insect bite brought the reflective frame of my mind to an instant halt. I realized that the sea of green I was standing in, was actually an overgrown mass of knee-high weeds, and mounds of crab-grass that had somehow managed to not get engulfed by the dandelions and poison ivy. Such a shame
, I thought; to let this place get into such a disparaged condition. Hey! Wait a second, I thought again; hadn’t this very sight from the porch just brought calm to my mind.

Thus began the conflict, the battle of right versus wrong! One part of me told me to get a glass of iced tea, sit on the porch swing and enjoy nature as it was meant to be. Let it all grow wild, let the survival of the fittest come into play- who cares whether it is poison ivy, crab-grass, dandelions or any other plant. They all look serenely beautiful from a distance. The other part, of course blamed me for being languid and not allowing nature to nurture as it was meant to be. Get down on your knees, pull out the weeds, dig the soil, soften it, knead it, water it and plant something useful. Watch the glory of the saplings germinating, flowers coming to fruit and then sit on the swing and enjoy the bounty.

So I sit on the swing, without the iced tea, without the bounty and ponder. Who am I to pull out these vibrant greens that seem to grow so possessively on this piece of land? They were here before I moved into this house. Or a larger question, who am I to try to regulate what sprouts from the womb of Mother Earth? That too, for my own benefit? In a perfect world order, would I have the moral authority to do so? Now, is it truly my lethargy that is feeding these audacious notions or have I really hit upon an all important query in life? At this point, I don’t have a resolution and the pondering needs to continue. However given the speed of my thoughts, one thing is for sure; I will need to make quite a few trips to the grocery store to put vegetables on the dinner table. For home-grown vegetables to even be a possibility; the veggies will first have to participate in the ‘Survivors’ show being played out live in my backyard. Tune in, 24/7, nature’s first reality show!