Time: 6PM CST
Date: Jan 14th 2009
Place: Home
ACT 1:
Me: Arjun time to take a bath..
Arjun: NOooooo Noooooooooo... (lots of head shaking) ..bus puzzle...bus puzzle
So we did the bus puzzle for the 250000th time!
I played nice and reminded about the bath time again.
Arjun: choo chooo train (in a very loud happy animated voice)
Me: sigh ..sigh...(muttering some choice expletives..)
Arjun loves trains. (loves his Thomas and Percy. "Loves" would actually be putting it mildly, he is fanatically crazy about them would be more appropriate)
So there really was going to be no ignoring that...we did the train puzzle.
Me: Once the train is all done, we go upstairs for bath...okay Arjun?
Arjun just ignored me for the most part of that sentence.
Once the train was done and sufficiently admired by all..I carried him up the stairs kicking and screaming. We reached the landing, he stopped crying and just looked at me, like he just came upon a brilliant idea.
Arjun: Mama sleep...airplane sleep...Arjun sleep
This coming from a boy who never ever wants to sleep.
He climbs onto the bed and starts putting his airplane to sleep and waits for me to join him.
I was mostly shocked at this point, but quickly recovered and decided to play the waiting game.
I won...after about 2 minutes he was bored.
He jumps off the bed and runs to the TV room.
Arjun: Thomas train, play dvd...nooo nooo bath..nooo noo bath
At this point I was beginning to truly lose it. I was all ready to shake him up but better sense prevailed and I bargained with him. I negotiated for tv after bath. We had a deal . We even shook hands and kissed each other.
Now, if you shake and kiss I except you to not walk out of the deal. What do you think, after a really short walk to the bathroom..he changed his mind! He backed out of the freaking deal.
Exactly four more steps and we would have been in the bath tub..but no he changed his mind! He stopped, looked out the window, searching for something.
Arjun: Where Venus? nooo bath...more more Venus. (Doing the hand sign for more)
Translation, he wanted to see bloody Venus in the sky before taking a bath!! And guess what, it was a cloudy sky...so no Venus.
I laughed!!
PS: Note to self..don't teach him things he is not ready for!
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Sunday, November 9, 2008
The lady in the mirror - short story
It was a gloomy night, no stars, no shining moon, just miles of velvet night sky. She sat on her balcony next to her dead basil plant. She held the unlit cigarette between her lips and just waited. She was waiting for the verdict. Her verdict on her 27 years of life. In the quiet of the night, she could hear the drum of her heart, the tumultuous din of her racing mind. She stared vacantly at the sky, absorbed in her own thoughts.
Her mind fluttered like a butterfly from one story to another. Her life seemed so wrong and yet so vibrant. Could it be possible that a life so lost, a person in such despair could have had an exciting life? Maybe it was the high-spirited life that had led her to this moment. She was through with the pain, the anguish and the utter helplessness. She was not a weak soul but her strength was draining. She was six feet from the edge, drowning and too proud. She remembered the day she got the basil plant home along with Myka. She was determined to have Myka, despite her hectic life and the basil plant was to be Myka's friend. She had laughed loudly at her attempt to match the weird buddies. There was life in her then, she could laugh at her self. She realized the world, her small world was laughing at her now.
She was tired, she felt heavy carrying all the guilt. She walked across the hallway and saw her reflection in the ornate gold mirror. She had seen it in a flea market outside Paris. He lived there now. She had called it home for a few precious years but he lived there now and she can never go back. She carefully picked up the purple sateen pouch breaking her promise. This was not the first time but this would be the last. In that moment, she reached her verdict. Her lips formed a smiled, a smile of mockery and satisfaction. She safely stowed the sateen pouch back, maybe for the servants. That would be tomorrow ...but now she had things to do.
She counted them. Twenty in all. That would do the job. Her eyes closed, in her green silk camisole she was ready. She believed she was ready to begin another journey, hoped the next would be far less interesting and just mundane. Yes she wanted mundane and dull.
She held her breath and waited. She counted again. Yes there were still twenty. She tormented herself for being fragile, scared and more so for being a coward. When the last of her emotions died, she was ready to get on with the business.
The phone rang. A shrill incandescence that would not stop. At first she didn't hear it, she was in her own zone, her own world. The incessant ringing, knocked her in her gut, forced her to awake, open her eyes, stretch her arms. She took the light in, bewildered. She heard her own raspy voice say, "Hullo". The voice on the other end, was telling her to open the gate. He had been waiting for a long time, outside. She recognized his voice, she always did, no matter the time or the day. She breathed, two shallow ones followed by two deep ones. She wasn't just breathing anymore, she could taste the salt, the torrential downpour. She realized, she would be alright. The light dawned on her.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Beauty of the beach: All pictures from Key West
Tiki huts and tiled benches, and the possibility of a glorious sunrise.
Hold your breath and wait......brightness will return
Take a leap of faith, and you might just reach across.
Friday, October 10, 2008
About me
I got up this morning, and decided this day, was going to be all about me. Hence the title and post.
Iam from the land of hot winters and hotter summers. The place where power cuts were an everyday thing and water was sacred. This is where I learnt to draw water from a big deep water well and to read complete 700 page novels in (bad) dim kerosene light.
I have a love-hate relationship with the house I grew up in. When I think of my home of early years, I think of a rambuntious person with a multiple personality. In her bosom I learnt to walk, dream, think, rebel and belong.
My first grade teacher taught me to speak english and also danced with me. That was the first time I danced in someone's arms. She made a lasting impression. I truly believe she was the best teacher I ever had.
I had two cows, a dog and some stray cats growing up! I am sad, my son is a year and a half and has never seen a cow. And he loves cows. In all probability cow was the first word he uttered.
PS: All the animals were vegetarians:) Yes even the stray cats and that is a hard hard thing to do. My mother has talents, what can I say.
My other dog died on valentine's day when I was 19. Tragic!
My grandfather was not my real grandfather but he was in all possible ways my grandfather. His silvery white hair, cherubic face that was never clouded by anger and the lovely lovely cushion like belly. He was beautiful inside out. He was the greatest story teller who unveiled to me the magic of books. He held my hand while I slowly fell in love with reading and proudly looked on when I buried my head and got lost in a world of my own.
The first book I ever bought with my very own hard earned money was a huge grey dictionary.
It travelled with me on my voyage to the unites states and some where along the way I have lost it. If you find a grey british dictionary with my name on it, call me! I could use it right about now! ( I spell badly!)
I had a crush on a boy without ever meeting him. And then when I met him I did have a crush.
Needless to say, I was very young and juvenile.
I kept a diary from when I was ten to eighteen. Tan coloured, well worn with my lovely cursive and secret codes for highly secret stories. There were some juicy details but most of it was PG I think! I have lost that book. What a shame!
I now have small black book (a beautiful gift from a talented friend) with inscriptions from Calvin and Hobbes as preface.
My favourite quote is "virtue isn't better than vice, it's just different".
I still have to sky dive. I have been on a ultalight trike, a hang glider and a paraglider. I loved them all but enjoyed the hang glider the most. I wish I were a bird sometimes.
I was a bad cook. Then I watched a ton of cooking shows when I was breastfeeding. It felt like the appropriate channel to watch. Now I like baking and am half a decent cook.
I ran away when I was thirteen and came back five hours later. It wasn't all that glamorous.
I am drawn to the moon and the stars. I can stare into the sky endlessly for hours with no real purpose. It all started when I was six. One of the best memories I have, is of a 4AM sky on the way to grand canyon.
Maybe there will come another "all about me" day. Until then....
Iam from the land of hot winters and hotter summers. The place where power cuts were an everyday thing and water was sacred. This is where I learnt to draw water from a big deep water well and to read complete 700 page novels in (bad) dim kerosene light.
I have a love-hate relationship with the house I grew up in. When I think of my home of early years, I think of a rambuntious person with a multiple personality. In her bosom I learnt to walk, dream, think, rebel and belong.
My first grade teacher taught me to speak english and also danced with me. That was the first time I danced in someone's arms. She made a lasting impression. I truly believe she was the best teacher I ever had.
I had two cows, a dog and some stray cats growing up! I am sad, my son is a year and a half and has never seen a cow. And he loves cows. In all probability cow was the first word he uttered.
PS: All the animals were vegetarians:) Yes even the stray cats and that is a hard hard thing to do. My mother has talents, what can I say.
My other dog died on valentine's day when I was 19. Tragic!
My grandfather was not my real grandfather but he was in all possible ways my grandfather. His silvery white hair, cherubic face that was never clouded by anger and the lovely lovely cushion like belly. He was beautiful inside out. He was the greatest story teller who unveiled to me the magic of books. He held my hand while I slowly fell in love with reading and proudly looked on when I buried my head and got lost in a world of my own.
The first book I ever bought with my very own hard earned money was a huge grey dictionary.
It travelled with me on my voyage to the unites states and some where along the way I have lost it. If you find a grey british dictionary with my name on it, call me! I could use it right about now! ( I spell badly!)
I had a crush on a boy without ever meeting him. And then when I met him I did have a crush.
Needless to say, I was very young and juvenile.
I kept a diary from when I was ten to eighteen. Tan coloured, well worn with my lovely cursive and secret codes for highly secret stories. There were some juicy details but most of it was PG I think! I have lost that book. What a shame!
I now have small black book (a beautiful gift from a talented friend) with inscriptions from Calvin and Hobbes as preface.
My favourite quote is "virtue isn't better than vice, it's just different".
I still have to sky dive. I have been on a ultalight trike, a hang glider and a paraglider. I loved them all but enjoyed the hang glider the most. I wish I were a bird sometimes.
I was a bad cook. Then I watched a ton of cooking shows when I was breastfeeding. It felt like the appropriate channel to watch. Now I like baking and am half a decent cook.
I ran away when I was thirteen and came back five hours later. It wasn't all that glamorous.
I am drawn to the moon and the stars. I can stare into the sky endlessly for hours with no real purpose. It all started when I was six. One of the best memories I have, is of a 4AM sky on the way to grand canyon.
Maybe there will come another "all about me" day. Until then....
Monday, June 23, 2008
Conversations
My most wonderful friend A, in a far away land, read my blog a few days back and we had a lovely conversation (via email of course, but none of the loveliness was lost in translation!)
I met him when I was in school, and to him goes the credit of introducing me to one of the things I cannot live without. He said, I was missing out on life if I didn't drink coffee and I have been hooked since then! What can I say, he is a true friend ,showing me the pleasures of life!
Well he is also a true romantic (in the more spiritual sense of the word) and his question on reading my post on love was "have we 'developed' so much that we're afraid to acknowledge emotions that make us human?" That got me thinking a little more on what I confess, was a very casually typed post.
If I were totally honest, I have to admit, I am not all that cynical about love, at least not all the time, but most times, I am more comfortable projecting an edgier cynical image.
Hence his question, quite touched something in me. Am I alone in thinking/feeling this way?
I read, hear, talk, look around and there is this mad quest for this perfect other half, the one soul mate who magically is going to complete your life, make it more cheerful and help find yourself. I object to both "perfect" and "one soul mate".Maybe if we spent less time, looking for someone else to rescue our soul and more time in introspection of our own we would never need another to complete our self. And then maybe, we would be perfectly happy with the imperfect but truly interesting and fulfilling loves of our everyday life.
Again as my dear friend A says, people are different, the meaning of love for each is different and there is no point in trying to explain what I think about it, because I never would find the right combination of words. It is what it is. As in the truth of life, the meaning of life, why we live, why we are who we are. We all think about these things, we have answers sometimes, but somehow the minute we try to explain it, the purity of the thought vanishes! I guess life and love are to be experienced and not talked about:)
Wise words from the one who once said you can't live without lattes: You say "What is love" ? I say "Why even attempt to define it?" Without further words, I am off to experience life and love with my one year old!
I met him when I was in school, and to him goes the credit of introducing me to one of the things I cannot live without. He said, I was missing out on life if I didn't drink coffee and I have been hooked since then! What can I say, he is a true friend ,showing me the pleasures of life!
Well he is also a true romantic (in the more spiritual sense of the word) and his question on reading my post on love was "have we 'developed' so much that we're afraid to acknowledge emotions that make us human?" That got me thinking a little more on what I confess, was a very casually typed post.
If I were totally honest, I have to admit, I am not all that cynical about love, at least not all the time, but most times, I am more comfortable projecting an edgier cynical image.
Hence his question, quite touched something in me. Am I alone in thinking/feeling this way?
I read, hear, talk, look around and there is this mad quest for this perfect other half, the one soul mate who magically is going to complete your life, make it more cheerful and help find yourself. I object to both "perfect" and "one soul mate".Maybe if we spent less time, looking for someone else to rescue our soul and more time in introspection of our own we would never need another to complete our self. And then maybe, we would be perfectly happy with the imperfect but truly interesting and fulfilling loves of our everyday life.
Again as my dear friend A says, people are different, the meaning of love for each is different and there is no point in trying to explain what I think about it, because I never would find the right combination of words. It is what it is. As in the truth of life, the meaning of life, why we live, why we are who we are. We all think about these things, we have answers sometimes, but somehow the minute we try to explain it, the purity of the thought vanishes! I guess life and love are to be experienced and not talked about:)
Wise words from the one who once said you can't live without lattes: You say "What is love" ? I say "Why even attempt to define it?" Without further words, I am off to experience life and love with my one year old!
Thursday, June 5, 2008
A setting sunTuesday, May 27, 2008
what is it they call love?
I mean really, what does the word mean?
I have been guilty for overtly using it, probably a trigazillion (10 times back and forth from the moon) times. I wonder why my vocabulary is so limited and why I lack the art of expressing thoughts and feelings more clearly than just abstractly swinging the word love all over the field? I am sure I am not alone in this, why else would hallmark sales be so good?
Sometimes I walk through the card aisle in the grocery store and I literally need a brown bag to puke the contents of the morning meal and sometimes I am humored by all the plastic, well intended flowery words. And yes, I am a cynical bitch, my little sister reminded me this morning! What lovely compliments to begin the day with?
Anyhow, truly what does one mean when they say love? And yes I know it's not measurable but sometimes don't you wish it were?
Honey, add up those beautiful diamond earrings from three summers ago, the red boots from this winter, the many lunches I have lovingly cooked for you, (so you never die of hunger - which is a high possibility since you can't tell when you are hungry) the night when I held your head while you puked your gut out in the toilet, the countless number of times I have hugged you when you were down and blue and also all the episodes of sex the city you made me watch. Add all that up, and that's how much I love you. Wouldn't that be simple?
I have a little baby boy. He is no longer a baby, I have been told. I hear, they are babies for 11.5 months precisely and then just like that they are toddlers.My dad still says baby when he talks to me...I guess he didn't get the memo. I am rambling but all this question of what is love, and how much do I love thee, led me to ponder fleetingly on this - How much do I love my baby? Do I love him enough? Should I love him more? I acknowledge it is a slippery slope and that's why it floated in my brain for a less than a millionth of a fraction of a second. But there it was and I had heard it..damn my brain and it's crazy thoughts.
The little one with his own mind (imagine that), his own thoughts and feet and hands.How much do I love him? Do I love him more than any one else in this world? I should right, being his mother et all, I should love him to death. And I think I do. But how do I know?
I have changed countless diapers, sung really bad lullabies, held him till my arms ached and then some more till I no longer felt them, so he could sleep, hugged him tightly and prayed to make his pain mine when he was hurting. Do I love him enough? I sure hope so.
Sometimes I stare at him (when he is sleeping) for a loong time and I have tears in my eyes. I tell myself those are tears of a strong intense emotional reaction to this priceless little sleeping angel. But maybe, just maybe they were tears caused by prolonged staring!
Maybe you don't measure love. Maybe you just enjoy it , savour it , live it and move on to the next moment to enjoy savour and live. (Notice I didn't use the word love. I really wanted to type enjoy, savour, live and love). And maybe I will understand all of this someday. Isn't that why I am here anyway? (Another slippery slope and for which I lack the elouqence and more importantly the knowledge)
In the mean time , I will read and re read Siddhartha till I am blue in the face.
PS: And for the record, I am not smoking or taking any happy pills. And why then, these crazy notions? You would have to ask my brain.
I have been guilty for overtly using it, probably a trigazillion (10 times back and forth from the moon) times. I wonder why my vocabulary is so limited and why I lack the art of expressing thoughts and feelings more clearly than just abstractly swinging the word love all over the field? I am sure I am not alone in this, why else would hallmark sales be so good?
Sometimes I walk through the card aisle in the grocery store and I literally need a brown bag to puke the contents of the morning meal and sometimes I am humored by all the plastic, well intended flowery words. And yes, I am a cynical bitch, my little sister reminded me this morning! What lovely compliments to begin the day with?
Anyhow, truly what does one mean when they say love? And yes I know it's not measurable but sometimes don't you wish it were?
Honey, add up those beautiful diamond earrings from three summers ago, the red boots from this winter, the many lunches I have lovingly cooked for you, (so you never die of hunger - which is a high possibility since you can't tell when you are hungry) the night when I held your head while you puked your gut out in the toilet, the countless number of times I have hugged you when you were down and blue and also all the episodes of sex the city you made me watch. Add all that up, and that's how much I love you. Wouldn't that be simple?
I have a little baby boy. He is no longer a baby, I have been told. I hear, they are babies for 11.5 months precisely and then just like that they are toddlers.My dad still says baby when he talks to me...I guess he didn't get the memo. I am rambling but all this question of what is love, and how much do I love thee, led me to ponder fleetingly on this - How much do I love my baby? Do I love him enough? Should I love him more? I acknowledge it is a slippery slope and that's why it floated in my brain for a less than a millionth of a fraction of a second. But there it was and I had heard it..damn my brain and it's crazy thoughts.
The little one with his own mind (imagine that), his own thoughts and feet and hands.How much do I love him? Do I love him more than any one else in this world? I should right, being his mother et all, I should love him to death. And I think I do. But how do I know?
I have changed countless diapers, sung really bad lullabies, held him till my arms ached and then some more till I no longer felt them, so he could sleep, hugged him tightly and prayed to make his pain mine when he was hurting. Do I love him enough? I sure hope so.
Sometimes I stare at him (when he is sleeping) for a loong time and I have tears in my eyes. I tell myself those are tears of a strong intense emotional reaction to this priceless little sleeping angel. But maybe, just maybe they were tears caused by prolonged staring!
Maybe you don't measure love. Maybe you just enjoy it , savour it , live it and move on to the next moment to enjoy savour and live. (Notice I didn't use the word love. I really wanted to type enjoy, savour, live and love). And maybe I will understand all of this someday. Isn't that why I am here anyway? (Another slippery slope and for which I lack the elouqence and more importantly the knowledge)
In the mean time , I will read and re read Siddhartha till I am blue in the face.
PS: And for the record, I am not smoking or taking any happy pills. And why then, these crazy notions? You would have to ask my brain.
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