MellowDrama

Shagufta Ahmed Jawed. and I got to know each other at the YWCA in New Delhi where both of us were learning the ropes of the world after being ushered out of our respective universities. A few years my senior Shagufta worked hard at increasing and improving her educational qualifications besides holding a full time job. I did not know it then but starting her own business was her dream and all her efforts were aimed in that direction. She went on to establish herself in the field of commodity trading and after years of hard work and today is a name to reckon with. While she was at it, life gifted her two beautiful daughters and a son. She is raising them along side raising her 'first born' as she likes to call her business. Shagufta brings with her an old world charm and set of ethos that are becoming difficult to find in this fast paced world yet she believes in marching with the times and keeps herself updated on the technology front as well. She extends warmth and love t

I am worrying.  About the chicken I have taken out of the fridge to cook, which I don't want to cook.  I don't want to cook it today being a Thursday and this piece of religious sentimentality lodged in my head about cooking and consuming meat on certain days.  I can't leave it as it has been now lying in the fridge since Monday and the husband fears it will rot. I also share the fear and so may be I will just get cooking. But I also have two submissions. There is no lunch ready for Netra if she comes home early today. So I am worrying about that too. I have not even started on one of the submissions. I have no ideas even. It is 11 already and the day is running ahead with its own plans and un-kept promises. A broken tap in the kitchen. Dinner preparation. Clothes strewn around the house. Unmade beds. Cluttered side table. Dust on the study table. Clothes that have been on the rope for the past two days I think I will just go cook the chicken.

The sound of rain drops falling on a surface, whoever captured that and the music in them must have been a genius. The song from 1942 A Love Story- Bajta hai jal tarang teen ki chaat pe jab, motiyon jaisa jal barse describes it best. The song itself gives a pristine feel, has lovely looking Manisha Koirala and an ever handsome Anil Kapoor. Though not one for getting wet and all the fun while getting wet or being wet in the rains, I am hooked to hearing and seeing the rain fall. It has happened after years of being unaware of the magic of the downpour, of years in haste, of years of hurry. Being in Kolkata and home alone in this weather, the monsoons, in all their grandeur I fixed myself in a spot near the French window of the bedroom that doesn’t look out to any garden or any such beauty but which offers a wide view of the grey skies. And I watched as it came in a rush like a hurried office goer who has to be present at the appointed hour. I caught myself humming O sajna bark

There is a line between any two things. At times it is there fleshed out nicely between the dos and the dont's and sometimes we carve it out for our sanity. There is a line, a fine one between trying hard and trying little. Not too hard not too little. May be this moment I am trying too hard to be a writer. May be at that moment I was being too little of a mum. Who can say, if not I? Balance which brings calm, peace, happiness is difficult to attain; more so to maintain. It is a real beauty. I know I have achieved it off and on. Maybe that is why I crave it. -------------------------------------- Why are we so obsessed with adjectives? Why is the girl not sufficient? why does she have to be a good girl or a handsome boy or a succesful boy?

One of the most complicated and least understood developmental disabilities,  autism , is a result of a neurological disorder that interferes with the development of a child’s social interaction and communication skills. It may begin at birth and its symptoms might become noticeable within the first two to two-and-a-half years of a child’s life.  Coping with an autistic child  can be physically and emotionally straining.  The parent needs come out of the varying degree of grief, disbelief and guilt they might feel on getting a diagnosis for their child and help the child discover the beauty of life. An article I wrote for women's web lists some useful hints for parents who have just received the heartbreaking news.

A neighbour has nicknamed Netra Miss Hindi. This was done because Netra insists on speaking Hindi with her friends. She is beginning to understand Bangla and can very well understand and converse in English yet she chooses Hindi to communicate. Its only when forced to use English, she prattles in the said language. Teaching English is mandatory. We do understand why that is today but we do not know who made it that way. Speaking with your kids in English to familiarise them with the language is great and all but Hindi, our own language, our mother tongue should hold a place of pride, first in our eyes and head. Hindi is sweet. Hindi is more effective in terms of giving you the exact word for any emotion, moment or feeling than any other language maybe. Hindi is vast. And while we are talking about children, Hindi is far more easier to learn than is English with its confusing phonetics. Though I admit that English wins hands down in being an adapting language that has not shied a

When you don't know how to cope up with grief, you innovate to take your mind off it. Death is an entirely new sort of shock to my system. I did not know how to react to it. I cried. It came naturally. But I did not cry for the gone one but for those whom he left behind. I tried quantities when his voice rang in my ears. I counted the people who came. Then I counted those who wailed louder. Then those who sniffled. Then the ones who repeatedly wiped their dry eyes. Then those who averted their gaze. Then the few who had words to offer and those who did not pretend to empathise. Then the ones who were well-versed with the hollowness that death of a son leaves in its wake. I counted the ones who caught up with friends, exchanged news, had their tea and went their way. I counted the number of paper cups we disposed off. I counted the number of meals we consumed. I counted the trips I made to the market. I counted the number of faces that instantly aged. I counted the

I have been on sort of a reading spree. In the past one month alone I have managed to finish reading the Grey series, The Time Keeper, A Thousand Splendid Suns, After the Darkness, as well as a Mary Higgins Clark suspense thriller All Through The Night (Though I neither found it suspenseful nor thrilling.) I had started Our Lady Of Alice Bhatti (OLoAB) before all of these. I read about ten pages and thought it to be one of those books that I would not be able to read or even skim. After putting it down for a month I picked it up to lend it to someone who wants to read it and I thought I might as well take out my bookmark. As I was taking out the bookmark I read the page it was placed on and for a strange reason I was hooked to the book. This re-affirms my faith in the fact that it is neither too late nor too early, everything happens in its own right time- a point that echoes in Mitch Albom's The Time Keeper (I loved the book and found what creative writing is about, but that

There are those like me who sit and think of starting a writing project. Then there are those who go ahead with the plot, write and get that sweet sweet word on to their CVs- PUBLISHED. Arti Arlene Martyris belongs to this second category. She not only has two published books under her belt but one of these has been self published. Here is more from her on being published. Hi Arti! take us to the beginning of the beginnings. Hi! I  belong to Goa. Writing was a hobby until  my first story, 'Trauma' was published in an anthology by Writing  Knights Press, Ohio, USA, in 2012. Then a poem,  'Am I No More Human?' was published by Indian Ink, a bimonthly  magazine based in Kerala, India. Now my first romance novella 'Facebook  Pyar' has been published by Indireads Incorporated and Rabia of Chakia is  my first self-published romantic adventure novella. What is the storyline of  Rabia of Chakia? Like I mentioned earlier  Rabia of Chakia is a romantic

http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2010/05/19/childrens-books-for-grown-ups/ http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2013/01/10/chus-day-neil-gaiman / http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2013/01/07/charles-addams-mother-goose/

After all the fairy tale drama that is ensuing in our life and honestly some of it before  (we- me and the daughter are very melodramatic people) there have been questions and often random statements by Netra that make me wonder how she must have concluded this one or that one. Like when she said very matter-of-factly  Love to bhoot hota hai (Love is a ghost) or when the husband and I are arguing heatedly, she will coolly walk up to us and depending on her current favourite, threaten the other one, Main thunder ko bolun ki aapko le jaaye? (Should I tell thundering clouds to take you away for making such ruckus). She plays with the bottles- her nanhe bachhe - for hours together and can come back with an episode that happened to her in the previous school and ask for an explanation about being bullied or left out of a game in the neighbourhood. These are the ones that I particularly find hard to answer. Human behaviour is difficult to explain, no? But then maybe she can use some

So the summer holidays are here. We are not headed to either naani's house and we have time to spill. After a couple of days in this spilling I realised that Netra should now be introduced to the princesses. Who else is good at bringing those countless princesses to life than Mr Disney. So I downloaded all the princess movies that have been made under the Disney banner. Starting with Cinderella to the current rebel and if I may say, my fav, Brave's Princess Merida. There were some after effects that I knew of and expected to occur after so much royalty being doled out to my 5 year old. But there were some more, which nothing could have prepared me for. Her Highness had been insisting on being called Princess for some time now but after seeing Cinderella, she responds only when addressed as Princess Cinderella. When I told her that Cinderella was not even a princess to begin with, I was told "Ban gayi na wo, jaise main ban gayi" (She turned in to one, like I did)

writing is a strange thing. it gives you wings.  it lets you soar or lie flat on your back all day long it lets you lose the structure it allows you to dream it allows you to give meaning of your own to events, situations ----------------- This post was supposed to be many posts that should have been written over a period of time when I did not even open my blog. Horrible ain't I?  But as is usual, I made plans as well as in some corner of my mind made lists of tasks that I would finish and then get down to writing the blog entry on the topic that has been bothering me for a while or that interesting episode with my daughter. Alas! that time never came and I realise that it will also not ever come, waiting as I do. I also read, early in the morning, an article by a successful journalist-turned-momee-cum-domestic goddess (yes! it seems that even amongst journalists a species extraordinaire does exist. There goes my excuse for doing everything wrong or not indulging in T