Posts

sacrificial lamb post

I don’t know anything other than wriing. This is what I have been doing for the longest time ever. This is what I return to when everything else disappears, leaves me alone. This is what I have been trained to do. This is all I know. This is what I always wanted to do. But I ask myself often why haven’t been doing this if it matters to me so much. I haven’t written in a year or so. Made space for everything but this. Why? Did I not have enough time to do it? Did I not have enough things to write about or did I not care enough for my own self? I think the last one is somewhat true. I hardly ever do things for my own self. Why is it that then I complain? Have I been programmed (in modern day jargon) or destined (in ancient jargon) to comply? Why is it that every thought that I ever have is about another person rather than it being about me myself? And then someone calls me as portraying as the injured, devious. Really? I wanted to tell him good now that you have seen beyond the façade wh

boom boom

scraed of the boom in my own voice. i hve become loud. i hardly speak. rather i think i am shouting all the time, even when i am holding a normal conversation. alearned man says that ths agitation is the sign of me being unhappy with my own self. i agree something is exasperating me. driving me up the wall. can't put my finger on to it. but i thought i was at peace. a misgiving may be, now that i am showing signs of fraying at the edges. missing gym might have contributed to it. but i know its not entirely this or that. it is a bit of all the this and that. but what to do? some me-time should help. but i got lot of it this gone weekend owing to the fact that Friday was a holiday and S was saat samundar paar and dear darling daadi was available to look after chun. what is it then, that would heal me? a sumptuous lunch may be?

of new years

i love those times in a year when one can freely look back, sum up things and get retrospective. birthdays are one such occasion and the other one is the year enders. like this one. this year for me has been one that brought with it the joys of seeing netra turn in to a chatter box-motor-mouth kid who actually started to behave her age and the naughtiness quotient touched new heights. it has been remarkable in terms of the new things that netra has brought home in the form of never-ever-heard-before nursery rhymes and songs. and we are thankful for them because i can cope with them better than the cockroaches and big black ants, dead and at times alive, that she would often bring like the prized catch. the year has been a good one in terms of work as well. freelanced (still to get paid but what the heck) i hv managed to loose the grumpiness somewhat. managed an outing. a break from the usual suspects. watch a few movies that i had been wanting to see for a while (x-men origins: wolveri

what women need?

something's gotta be wrong with me. i have somehow lost the ability to do what i want to, say what i mean, thankfully i still mean what i say (well, almost, ummm...largely). why? i have often asked myself. the answer is not too direct or clear. but it borders around the fact that i have been brought up to believe that if you do anything putting your'self' first you are selfish and you know, being selfish is not a good thing. but of late i have realised that though certain things have stood the test of time hold good even today as they would in 'satyug'. there are things that have changed dramatically. now to teach a child to put herself at the bottom is to take away a lot from her. to train her for a lifetime to put herself and her needs on the backburner. and i dnt think that is fair. mothers and grandmothers are a classic example of this. looking after their families' every need they drive their minds and bodies to a great extent forgetting in turn that they a

dinner guests

would like to invite Jane Austen, my aunty Mrs Misri, a friend Tenzin nangsyal and ace choreographer-cum-director Farah khan. Jane Austen the English novelist whose romantic fiction are social commentaries laced with biting criticism. What attracts me to Jane Austen are the plots of her work which are comic in nature but highlight the dependence of women on marriage to secure a social standing. This interesting a phase in a girl’s life is something that I have been through. The importance of getting married to the right guy of some social standing can not be undermined in today’s educated society even. The love for Jane Austen is something that I share with my other two guests Misri aunty and Tenzi as my friend is fondly called. The importance of marriage and hooking the right guy in the times of Austen, youth of Mrs Misri and the Tibetan society will become a great topic for conversation. Farha Khan who married quite late as per Indian standards and did so on her own terms as in marry

creative thought

If you could host a dinner party and invite any four people, either living or dead, whom would you invite and what would the five of you discuss together? There is no right answer concerning the dinner guests; rather, we want you to be creative and thoughtful in your response. Space is limited to 4000 characters. found this in my mail, my sis who has cleared GMAT and taken IELTS needs an answer to this question which has been asked by some varsity she is applying to. she had hired some agency, whom she refers to 'people' to write her applications. she (i presume)paid them a whooping amount and is broke now. i wonder who is going to buy her ticket to wherever she gets admission and who is going to pay for her fees, boarding and lodging. i hate the idea of foreign lands so i am not an option that she probably has. my sisterly love also bars me from helping her fly far far away from where it won't be possible to see her without the aid of Internet or know that she is alright.

Bad mum

I often get a feeling that i am the worst mum. the word ma is generally associated with qualities which somehow read patience, wisdom, calm, so on and so forth. i dnt think i have any one of these. there are many more in my head which i knw are nt my strengths but when i look at the mother bit in me, these three are the prominent ones i find missing in myself. chunnu has become a motormouth and so naughty. largely all that she dooes brings on a smile. but there are days, hours and minutes, very often some looong seconds as well when her incessant chatr-patar nudges me to launch into tirades. things that i knw make no sense to her but often bring on a hurtful expression on her face. then i berate myself for being such a looser. for shouting at her. for running out of patience. for not knowing or not conjuring up a better way to deal with her. for not being calmer, warmer and wiser.for being the worst possible mother. for not loving her enough (maybe!)

Nutan aunty and the magic of OST Judwaa

I am not educated in music but know my sargam and the 7 'sur'. I also love Hindi filmy songs. There is not one emotion that they do not express. We have songs celebrating love, happiness, parting, sadness, birth, death, marroages, mother-in-laws, hardwork, nature, nanha-munnas and what not. I have been brought up on a healthy dose of filmy songs from the 50s, 60s and 70s. Being a child of the 80s and 90s, I had time and leisure in life to pop in an audio cassette into the player and loose myself to the melody. I don't know how, when or from where did I get the silly notion that with age one has to restrict his/ her choice of songs. Somewhat meaning that as I age I had to restrict myself from right away jiving on a groovy number. This horrid notion thankfully was broken by a woman I met in Pune many years ago. I was sent to her to learn baking but more importantly I learnt that we are supposed to live as we wish and dance or sing at the top of our voices to whichever song we

musings

i am not in love with you neither are you, i am told we are just bored and hence the attraction but then i dnt knw why i look at my phone a thousand times to see if you have dropped a message a call that i might have missed despite keeping it by my side all the while at nights i lie awake thinking what could have that meant that which you said while i was being a little inattentive i prod myself to discover meanings, in unsaid words i wait for you at places where there isn't a chance for you to show up you surprise me, i laugh the ring of which i like a lot you make me nervous, i check my reflection in the mirror and i smile i fall short of words in your presence a sigh is all that can escape from my heavy heart poor thing knows that we are just bored of our own lives and hence the attraction

It's a daughter thing

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An SMS in the morning tells me this week is being celebrated as Daughter Week. First of all the sweet message: Daughters are the most precious of our treasures, the dearest possessions of our homes and the objects of our most watchful love. Being a daughter did not really do a lot for my understanding as having one did. If Gods would not have had their way, I would have been blessed with two and would have been much better off. Having a daughter is a grace. They fill your days with their warmth. They snuggle up to you even when you are not at your cuddly best and even the most loving husbands would not want to hug you. Just open your arms to the daughter and she will tumble in to them, if you are lucky enough you might even get a few wet and sloppy kisses. My daughter, when she is flooded with love for me, creeps from behind and puts her arms around my neck or my legs whatever is easily accessible to her and there is no other thing in the world to compare it with. Being a daugh