Happy New Year!

We are human. We want to be good; we want things to be good. We want to be better; we want things to be better. Even if we don’t believe we are seeking perfection, we want to move towards bigger, better realities. Bigger, better realities as we see them in our mind. Our heart is full of possibilities, our head is full of dreams… We want to realize our potential, we want to draw out our potential… all good things, I’m sure. And that’s why we probably make New Year resolutions.

The perfect physique, the perfect diet plan, the perfectly organized home… okay, okay I’ve never gone that far even – the somewhat organized home, the somewhat good exercise plan… you get the drift.

And yet, now I cringe at such resolutions. Is it because, for the past several years, I’ve tried my hand at being disciplined in a bid to be healthier - diets of sorts (even water and liquid fasts), exercise routines, alternate remedies - you name it – boring, funless regimens that I’ve followed like a little robot trying to heal itself.

And each time something has not worked, it has seemed like defeat. A crumbling of the image in my mind of the person I want to be, and the life I want to live.

So has this been my search for perfection? It’s a rude reality for someone who does not even think of herself as a perfectionist. But maybe I am, and maybe I’m not willing to rest till I’m healthier. But is there anything I am sacrificing in this focused, goal-oriented bid to be healthy and seem healthy?

Now  I simply balk at New Year resolutions. These elusive, mirage-like things smell like defeat even before even getting started. And to make resolutions, means to take stock of the past year. And that has all the trapping of a great big existentialist crisis. Just cheery, huh? What better way to start a brand new year, than with the kisses of doom I seem to be blowing right at you? Sigh…

If you’ve just written out your resolutions, tucked them under your mattress, and have every intention of fulfilling them, more power to you! Ignore the words above. I sincerely hope it works out for you.  

Happy New Year everybody! Here’s hoping that the year ahead is happy for all of us. And here’s hoping we figure out what that means for each of us.

Here’s to wiping slates clean and having the hopefulness of heart to fill them with better things. Only the things that matter. Here’s to knowing those things, rather than seeking a global nature of perfection.

Here’s hoping that I can make most, okay scratch that, many days of 2015 count. That I smile more, that I feel at peace more, that I accept things better; that I sacrifice fewer days to worry or restlessness, or disgruntledness, or pressuredness,  (and ahem… that I make up fewer words. Sigh…)

That I be able to pick myself up after a defeat, dust off the hurt with compassion and plod on, awake and aware to the joys around me, able and willing to throw some light on them, and see them better.

Happy 2015 everyone! It’s going to be a great one!

Is the magic in the… believing?

The correlation between logic and magic is apparent. As logic rises, magic dwindles.

When you’re nine years of age (or younger), logic slowly starts creeping in. As it grips a steady foothold, many beliefs become shaky. Soon there seems to be a tussle between magic and logical reasoning.

The logic makes sense, but where is the fun in that? Where is the magic in that? Even a nine-year-old knows that. Steadfastly, she knows she must believe – firmly and resolutely – to make the magic last a little longer…


Santa's list - 2012. Some of her lists included stuff for the parents (necklace with gems was for mom). When those things didn't show up, she once said dismissively, "You grown-ups don't believe... that's why it doesn't work..."

This year was interesting. Santa has been on shaky grounds. But she didn’t want to take any chances – just in case. I can almost see her holding on tight – trying to believe – even when a part of her brain (and friends?) are telling her otherwise.
Besides, our Santa has always had some issues… She hasn’t quite said so, but…our Santa has some flaws.

Santa is lazy.

Some years ago, Santa left her a note saying that they were out of remote control choppers at the North Pole, so he would parcel her one through Amazon. Hmm…

Santa is not always resourceful

“How is it that Santa has the same wrapping paper as we do?”

“I think he used the one from our cupboard.”

Santa just plain forgets.

About eight months after Christmas - “Santa had said he would send me the quill and bottle of green ink by mail. He never did. He probably just forgot all about it. (eyeroll)”

Santa is cheap.

“I’m going to ask him for a big blue sapphire stone. He’ll probably get me a fake one. But that’s okay.”

Santa gets preachy

“Some parts of Santa’s letters are fun and some are just a little weird” (weird = full of advice).

How can Santa have so many flaws? Now parents, on the other hand… Blame it on increasing logic or whatever, Santa just seems more and more like the parents…

Yet she wants to believe. For not believing makes the magic go away. And where is the fun in that? Where is the magic in that? Even a nine-year-old knows that.

Although it makes me smile, I realize we don’t have to be only nine to do that. There are times and there are things we want to believe in, even when our mind is telling us otherwise.

And each time we are unable to do so, does a little bit of the magic get snuffed away? How powerful is believing? Does believing translate into hopefulness as we grow older? And is there magic in that?

So is the magic in the… believing?

Happy Holidays everybody!

Just receive…

I may have said this before. There may even be a blog post somewhere – I honestly can’t remember. But even if I may have expressed this earlier, I experienced it a few days ago and felt the need to write about it. I want to write about how it is sometimes feels easier to give than to receive. And about receiving in general.

I saw my naturopath (and friend) the other day. She had beautiful gifts, she had made – the most wonderful “luscious lemon lotion” and homemade soap. I was very touched. I remembered I had a gift for her and of course, had forgotten to carry it. (Hmm…fact aside, that I saw her again after that, and it is still with me. Sigh…). As I received her gift, I mumbled something about forgetting to bring her gift. About how scatter-brained I was.

She tapped me gently and with a smile, simply said to me, “Just receive”.

Words left my mouth. Thoughts left my mind. I became quiet and did exactly what she told me to do. It was a rich, short and beautiful moment in which I appreciated her gift, her gesture, all the love and effort she had put in making this absolutely fantastic stuff. (Side note: my nine-year-old captured the lemon lotion and now wants to open a store that will sell only that!!).

For me, her two words seemed more valuable than the lovely gifts. And I gave her a hug for the gifts, the words and the wise wise advice.

This is the season of giving and there is beauty in that. But in this season of giving, is it time to remember that receiving is an art in itself? One well worthy of cultivating?

Is it then easier for some to give than to receive? Does it sometimes make us awkward, does it make us wonder if we caused much trouble or inconvenience to the other person (I’m not talking only about gifts, but favors, or any form of effort another person puts in for us).

Giving on the other hand is free of such concerns. It puts us back in control. So does receiving make us lose that sense of control – just a teeny tiny bit? But again, my hunch is that joy and mirth and happiness often involves losing that sense of control – even if it is a teeny tiny bit.

I never imagined I would ever put myself in the control freak category. I still don’t know if I belong in there. I don’t know if there should be such a category even. I do get a sense though that there are times, when certain aspects of our life seem out of control, and we try to control what we can. But again, I digress… I want to write about receiving and all the beauty it can bring to us and the giver.

For when we receive well, we create beauty for ourselves in that moment, feel gratitude, connect with the giver; we create beauty for the giver by receiving well. And what a beautiful complete cycle that it.  

So, in this season of giving… is the best gift to give ourselves the one of receiving?

Taking responsibility… how much is ours… how much can we hold… and how do we know?

I like to take responsibility for things. Yes. It’s just the way I am. And it’s only recently that I’ve realized that I do so.

It doesn’t sound like a bad thing. No, it sounds responsible and reeks of all things good and honorable. But is it truly so? Has it been good for me?

Truth be told - at this point in my life, it sounds just plain exhausting. I feel exhausted at the mere thought. So then, can I just take off, buy that boat and leave life behind and sail into the horizon?  (I’m thinking of a short story by Daphne du Maurier, “Adieu Sagesse” (goodbye wisdom). I loved the title enough to remember it – and if vague memory serves right, it was a humorous story about how it’s never too late to fulfill your dream - an older man who lets go of responsibility and expectations, and buys a boat or something like that).

I know that won’t work for me. For I’ll keep thinking of people and unfulfilled responsibilities I left behind. Yes. The sail into the sunset will probably involve me pacing the decks. Just great. I can’t even think of a hypothetical sailing into the sunset, without ruining it. Sigh…  

I recently saw a dietician. The last time I saw her was between surgeries (when I was much better) and she was not happy to see the steps backwards that I seemed to have taken. “What do the doctors say?” “What are they doing? What is the prognosis?” She had a stream of questions for me.

I muttered things like – they’ve tried stuff, they’ve just asked me to stay on the antibiotics till whenever… That led to a gasp from her. And finally, she calmly said, “It seems like they’re just letting you be. You should ask them for better ideas”. I could see she was sad and frustrated and had my best interest. But I also felt that the doctors had done their bit and now it was my responsibility to figure out how to feel better.

But her words got me thinking. She believed it was not my sole responsibility to figure out how to be better. That I shouldn’t be trying one thing after another (again) – alternate treatments, diets, etc etc… I told her I didn’t think I would, for I simply don’t have much fight in me anymore.

Yet, I thought to myself, I will. For I believe it is entirely my responsibility.

I suppose I feel responsible for the things that happen to me. Some time back, I saw my doctor when things worsened. I could pinpoint a weekend after which things had gone south. It had been a busy weekend and I was convinced I had done something wrong. I badgered the poor man into helping me figure out what I had done wrong – too much activity…a little alcohol…Diet… everything else I could have possibly done wrong. My doctor finally joked, “It’s all your fault…” For the first time, I saw some humor in the situation, but I only went on to badger him with more questions… sigh… it’s the dog with the bone all over again – remember the first blog? Sigh…

Now you see how I wouldn’t be able to set sail in that boat? Even if my behavior has a whiff of “Adieu Sagesse” in general?

Sure, taking responsibility is a great thing. But how much is ours… how much can we hold… and how do we know?

It exists in other areas – relationships, parenting, projects, career… How much responsibility is ours? Who decides? How do we determine? How do we know at what point to let go?

By taking more responsibility than we should, are we actually doing a disservice to others? Are we preventing a better situation to arise by trying too much? Trying too hard?

Just where is that fine line of balance and who the heck are the people who get it – and how the heck do they get it? And why the heck can’t I??? Hrrmmphh…

Maa..aaa... Maa..aaa...

Kids are often proud of their parents. There is one thing that makes my nine year old, particularly proud of her mother. Yes, her little heart swells with pride at her mother's ability to bleat. Yes. You heard right. And yes. I am sufficiently *palmfaced*.

Just today she proudly bragged about her mother's exceptional skill to six team members whilst working on a skit for a lego competition. Seven kids begged me to bleat for them. Sigh...

"Okay okay," I announced, "if you guys do your entire skit without interruptions, I will bleat for you" ahem... Trust me, just typing that out makes me want to never remove my palm from over my face again. Fact aside, that I actually kept my promise... Sigh... 
Although I can never put this skill down on any resume, seven kids looked visibly impressed. Just for a brief moment, my net worth may have rocketed in their wide eyes. 

"How can you even do that?" questioned one kid. "I don't know," I replied. "Lots of practice, I suppose." I told them briefly of one of my childhood homes which had an empty patch of land at the back with a well. Goats would come and graze there (this was not the countryside, just a random patch of land with a well in an urban area).

I spent a chunk of one summer vacation, on the wall between our house and the well, perfecting my bleat and scaring away the goats that came there to graze. Ahem... I tried the same with crows, but didn't quite perfect that one - the crows just got annoyed and flew away. The goats on the other hand, would look around, confused and bewildered. (I always wondered what I had just said to them in goat language - profanities possibly, for they always looked startled and displeased before they ran away.

Apart from the fact that I sufficiently embarrassed myself today, given that other parents heard me bleat (which is why I would post this here... Sigh...), it got me thinking about kids today. 

I wondered if any eight or nine year old would spend their time perfecting their bleat. I can't imagine any of them would have the time to do so. I want to question how busy we keep our kids (mine very much included). Everything they do is focussed. Everything they do serves some kind of purpose - music, sports, art, schoolwork... Everything they do, develops their personality, their interests - or so we imagine.

Sure, the value of the things I focussed on are widely  dubious. Whether is was bleating or whistling - not just tunes, but very ruffian-like - with my fingers in my mouth, by rolling the tongue - loud and shrill, and ruffian-worthy - oh well...

I doubt these skills have helped me in life - not to say that I am doing anything particularly noteworthy, but I suspect you may remember similar "skills" you may have developed in your childhood. 

Will our kids remember any such skills? Are we robbing them out of something intangible, something unexplainable by not giving them the free time to learn to ahem... Bleat? Oh well, bleating aside, I am referring to the tenacity to learn something entirely by themselves, without any instruction whatsoever, without any lesson, without any YouTube video, without any purpose... for no reason whatsoever...

Sure, my daughter is acquiring her own skill sets - moving around the wood floors by sliding on all fours, playing the guitar lying down on her back. But she often gets frowned upon for doing so. Yes. By the same mother who spent hours learning to bleat and scaring away poor goats.

Truly, where is the fairness in that?

Sent from my iPad

Lights out!

A part of the Bethany neighborhood has been in the dark since 6 a.m this morning. It is about 8:30 a.m right now and the morning rays are unwillingly, grudgingly trying to seep in through the windows, throwing light on the dark house, waking up each room one by one, turning dark blobs of furniture into more recognizable and familiar shapes. The hallways and staircase remain in the dark - unaware of the morning that has commenced in the rest of the house.

Our nine year old was beyond excited. It was all a big adventure for her. She came to my room and excitedly whispered, "this is just like your childhood. Can we make wax flowers?" 

"No. You have to get ready and go to school," was my killjoy reply. "Schools are open," I said thankfully and dryly.

Still excited, she wore her headlamp and danced about the home, trying to be a human strobe light. Fun? Yes. For a little while. Till we got bustling, trying to get her to school on time. 

She seemed tad disappointed. For we had recently chatted (over candle light dinner,mind you, with all the lights in our house turned off), about the frequent power cuts in my childhood.

 I told her of frequent power cuts, of having studied for exams using candle lights and flashlights. My mind went back and told her how kids in the neighborhood would get together in candle light, and play games, especially song games (bhendya), which involved singing (badly - so perfect for me), bollywood songs in teams. It was loud and noisy and fun even if it ended mostly in arguments.

I told her of how my sisters and I would make wax roses from the candles that were lit. (I have one very creative sister). We would tilt the candle (the long stemmed ones) and make a drop of wax, then scrape it off quickly and carefully, while it was still warm and malleable and pinch it into a petal shape. Once we made a bunch of petals, we (my sister mostly) would join them together by melting the ends and binding them together quickly and deftly to form a flower. And there was our beautiful translucent rose. Some got stems, some were painted... I believe my sister made beautiful candles with wax roses soldered on the sides.

These were the fun/creative memories my daughter heard about. 

But our morning was not such. Even if it started fun, I turned into the customary repeating machine - eat your cereal, eat your cereal, eat your cereal, don't dawdle, don't dawdle, don't dawdle, wash your face, put some lotion, you have food stuck... 

No we didn't make wax roses she requested. I don't know that we'll ever make wax roses. I don't know if I have that kind of patience or calm or creativity in me anymore. If anyone is inspired to make them, do invite my daughter.

But I felt a little bad as she went off to school and I wished I were as fun as before, as calm, as not-so-overwhelmed, as not-so-tired or flustered.

No. We didn't make wax roses. I mostly shooed her around, got flustered with trying to light the stove, worried about the food in the fridge, the garage door opener, fussed her to layer up and stay warm... You get the gist.

Is it the sense of responsibility or overwhelm, or lack of energy that has turned me into this "let's-not-make-wax-roses" person? Do I see more of the problems now than the possibilities? Am I more in touch with the lets-now-deal-with-this-crisis? Is that making me view more things as 'somewhat crisis'?

I charged my phone using the car charger and have a small gnawing worry about the food in the fridge. Hmm... If it weren't this cold, and if the heater were working, I suppose I could plod through every tub of ice-cream in there. Why in the world do we have so much ice-cream anyways?

And I just realized that although I'm typing this away on my iPad, I can't post it till I get my wifi back... Hmm... The coffee shop will serve me coffee and wifi and will have the heat on. And going to the gym... ahem... only to shower... Yay! I finally see some value to that gym membership.

And there I go again... Looking at the problems, sensing the worries, being more in touch with the problems than possibilities. But being aware of it, and seeing the humor seems to be helping - even if only for this moment. For after all, that warm coffee shop with its promise of twirly pipes of steam from a mug and wifi followed by a nice hot shower in the gym make me smile - well, at for now...

Sent from my iPad