New Challenges For New Year

In July last year, I did a two-poem take on Being-Friendly Challenge. Those of you who can recall will probably also know my inspiration behind it. Those of you who haven't read them yet, you can easily locate them by clicking on the "being-friendly challenge" link in the labels section under this post.

And it is with great pleasure I present before you all today, the inspiration behind the whole idea- the candid, caring, compassionate, and lovely Cindy Ackley.

A cancer survivor, and a most-dedicated licensed Massage Therapist living in Mesquite, Texas, she shares her life, experiences, and warm thoughts with the world, in her web-page www.lifeisbeautifulandhealthy.com. I love her every post, but if I have to pick my favourites, they are
• Don't Give Up! Dreams Do Come True! (for the sheer joy and magic it imparts).
and
• A Blessing In Disguise (for all the interesting aspects I learnt about life across the globe).

Full of motherly instincts, and love, care, and concern for all, she is one of the most amazing and inspiring personage I was blessed to meet last year. She graces my page today, to share with us what she and 2015 have set out for each other.

Thank you, Cindy for obiging to my request and adding this special touch to our first New Year together.

* * * * *

The guest blog by Cindy Ackley on the new changes and challenges 2015 brings along for her.

New Challenges For New Year

Every year on January 1st, we make resolutions or declare changes that we would like to accomplish. Sometimes these changes are self inflicted things like starting a new diet or healthy habit. More often than not, these changes are good for a few weeks or a couple of months, then we are back to our old ways.

This year my challenge is a bit different. I have found myself with an empty nest after my youngest daughter has decided to move in with a friend from work. My husband travels a lot for work and I am "home alone"! This year I will be discovering how to maintain my healthy eating habits and cooking for one. You may laugh, but this is really a challenge for me. I have always loved cooking and enjoy serving my family healthy dinners. I have always enjoyed the way that they rave about how delicious a meal that it was.

I am learning how to shop for one. I have already thrown out more produce than I actually consumed. Produce stands and Farmers Markets have things prebundled in baskets or bags and there is no way that I can use it all before it goes bad. I suppose I could if I ate the same thing everyday. That is way too boring! It is difficult to find a place that will sell you one handful of green beans, one handful of carrots, one half a bundle of asparagus and the list goes on.

On the other hand, this empty nest syndrome does have some positive advantages. There is much less laundry and house cleaning to do. There is more time for gardening. There is more time for just doing whatever I choose to do. Which may or may not get me into trouble! It could make me lazy or I just might write a novel. Time will tell.......

Worth The Effort

I shall always remember 2014 as a very eventful year. For so many things (good and not so good) happened at once during the past year. It practically passed like a whirlwind, took me by a storm and transformed me into an entire new being. On the whole, I'm grateful to The Almighty for everything and carry no regrets, grudges or anything as such.

But one event that repeated itself twice, and honestly took even me by surprise, was rather pleasant in itself, and left me with gifts of a lifetime.

The event: Tapping my inner potentials.

Why so surprised?
Because on both the instances I did not have the least idea that I was capable of such feats.

The first of it occured around mid-year, one morning as I was discussing a point with Amrit Sinha, a wonderful author, poet, and friend of mine. He is amazing in creating english haiku, and I still wonder as to how or what made him so confident that even I had the talent. I had not even thought about it, and he asserted he could clearly see it in my writings.

Nonetheless, his confidence in me, and the challenge of writing haiku in itself, had me give it an earnest attempt. I did make mistakes, and he was also so good as to correct and guide me.

But what do you think! It was 'love at first attempt' for me. I may not be so good for now, but it's become my passion and one day even I may be awesome at it.

Here's a new haiku I made:

New Beginnings

a new dawn beckons
all those asleep, lone, and lost;
it's new year, my friend

(You can read the other haiku's I have written, by following the link "haiku" in the label section of this post.)

The second such instance happened to me just as 2014 was wrapping up.

The end of old year, also means the end of the season's holiday for kids. My 4 year old nephew too was no exception. Studying in lower kindergarten, he too had his lot of pending homework to complete, get ready to don the uniform and go back to school once back home. Being more as his friend and playmate, I felt it my moral duty to sit with him and help him complete the lot.

Now, as neither he nor my sister would let me write in his book, I sat with a book and pencil of my own, and competing with him to finish his hindi lessons by racing each other to self-set milestones of three times or four times the letter. Thus adding a bit of fun along the way.

And just like that, out of the blue this idea struck me as to why not try doing it with my right hand. As most of you ,my friends and who have read my Blog "The predicaments of being a left-handed", know I'm a left-hander, it was quite a herculean task for me. This is how it turned out:

(You can see the difference in both hand's writing by the wavering in the later written units.)

I was ecstatic with this discovery, and when I questioned my own mirth over it, the answer was prompt and clear in my mind:

"It is because I'm not abandoning my natural talent. I shall always pride myself as being a left-hander. But ambidexterity is a rare gift, and when I have the potential, why not master it!"

As of this day, I can write different languages, do simple chores, colour and draw designs with my right hand moderately.

To Become Ultra-Orthodox

Today I welcome a very precious friend of mine, who has grown really close to my heart in the few months that we've known each other.

Judy is a Pedagogical Artist (Pedagogy is the Art of Teaching) from Israel. She is one of the most amazing, and vibrant personalities I have ever met; who derives such deep wisdom from simple everyday experiences. Her daily posts -to teach and to delight - always leave us with lesson for life and a smile to brighten our day.

You have to read her posts on her own web page www.cutthecrapsolutions.com to actually know what I mean. Her posts
● War is a Good thing (which deals with how minds and hearts can be manipulated with words),
and
• Don't Take It Away From Me (a post I've read over and over again),
are closest to my heart.

Thank you, Judy for honouring my request and gifting us this wonderful blog to make our first New Year together more special.

* * * * *

Guest blog of Judy Yaron on what she plans for 2015

To Become Ultra-Orthodox

As fit for the time year, people around the world are making their New Year resolutions. I’m not into New Year celebrations, but I can’t help jumping on the NY Resolutions bandwagon. These are mine:

• Drink more water, starting my day with warm water and lemon. • Learn to cook Indian food. • To become more Ultra-Orthodox

The first two are pretty self-explanatory. Let me explain #3.

Many years ago, I worked as a teacher-trainer in a religious community in the south of Israel. My teachers and I came from opposite worlds. They were Ultra-Orthodox: extremely pious Jewish women, devoted to their faith, who live their lives according to strict laws and commandments. I, in turn, am what you might describe as culturally Jewish. I take deep pride in my heritage; holidays are a time for family celebrations; but other than that I conduct a purely secular lifestyle.

We differed in our dress, our food, and the way we spend our leisure time, but that never came between us. Even our dissimilar beliefs in a higher power, our personal relationships and how we raise our children were never an unsurmountable barrier. For many I was the only secular person they had ever had a real conversation with, and so I became a window to the world beyond their town and way of life. As women we loved to talk and share our lives. We would talk about anything and everything.

One day I had a question of a religious matter and approached the principal of one of the schools, where I worked. He happened to be a rabbi, and we too often spent time discussing the ways of the world. When I posed my question he gave me a curious look. “You realize I’m not religious,” I reminded him. He then turned to me and said,

“Perhaps between you and the Almighty, you are secular, but your kindness, compassion and acceptance of others are Ultra-Orthodox.”

To become Ultra-Orthodox

Today I welcome a very precious friend of mine, who has grown really close to my heart in the few months that we've known each other- Judy Yaron.

A pedagogical expert (pedagogy is the science of teaching) from Israel(though she prefers to call herself an artist instead), Judy is also one of the most amazing, and vibrant personalities I have met; who derives such  deep wisdom from simple  everyday experiences, its always leaves us with a lesson for life and a smile to brighten our day.

You have to read her posts on her own web page www.cutthecrapsolutions.com to actually know what I mean. Her posts
● War is a Good thing (which deals with how minds and hearts can be manipulated with words),
and
• Don't Take It Away From Me (a post I've read over and over again),
are closest to my heart.

Thank you, Judy for honouring my request and gifting us this wonderful blog to make our first New Year together more special.

* * * * *
Guest blog of Judy Yaron, on what she plans for 2015

To Become Ultra-Orthodox

As fit for the time year, people around the world are making their New Year resolutions. I’m not into New Year celebrations, but I can’t help jumping on the NY Resolutions bandwagon. These are mine:

• Drink more water, starting my day with warm water and lemon.

• Learn to cook Indian food.

• To become more Ultra-Orthodox

The first two are pretty self-explanatory. Let me explain #3.

Many years ago, I worked as a teacher-trainer in a religious community in the south of Israel. My teachers and I came from opposite worlds. They were Ultra-Orthodox: extremely pious Jewish women, devoted to their faith, who live their lives according to strict laws and commandments. I, in turn, am what you might describe as culturally Jewish. I take deep pride in my heritage; holidays are a time for family celebrations; but other than that I conduct a purely secular lifestyle.

We differed in our dress, our food, and the way we spend our leisure time, but that never came between us. Even our dissimilar beliefs in a higher power, our personal relationships and how we raise our children were never an unsurmountable barrier. For many I was the only secular person they had ever had a real conversation with, and so I became a window to the world beyond their town and way of life. As women we loved to talk and share our lives. We would talk about anything and everything.

One day I had a question of a religious matter and approached the principal of one of the schools, where I worked. He happened to be a rabbi, and we too often spent time discussing the ways of the world. When I posed my question he gave me a curious look. “You realize I’m not religious,” I reminded him. He then turned to me and said,

“Perhaps between you and the Almighty, you are secular, but your kindness, compassion and acceptance of others are Ultra-Orthodox.”

The newness of New year

The English calendar has taken another roll and it is new year across the globe wherever the gregorian calendar is observed.

I remember as a child New year was no less than our birthday for us. It was all about new clothes,  new accessories, lots of sweets and candies, the last day of school vacations and lots of fun, games and wishes.

A few years yonder as little girls and boys, it gained more priority. What with all the new year plans and resolutions, and heedings from teachers and parents to make this occasion an opportunity to excel, improvise or change for better. Lots of resolutions were made and broken, lots of goals were set and accomplished/abandoned, and lots of promises were made and kept.

As we grew into teenagers and our avenues and dimensions expanded, group resolutions and plans were made, diaries and notes kept, memories were captured in words and images and greeting cards and gifts exchanged. New year became a time to let bygones be bygones, reconcile differences among friends and mend broken hearts.

image courtesy: www.gettyimages.com

This ritual continued more or less unaltered through our college years, and then suddenly, stealthily all definitions changed as life changed gears, and new year plans, resolutions, exchanges and all seemed childish.

But the joy and hope of new beginning remains and my wishes on new year are more heart-felt and sincere. New year means new endeavours, new interests and renewed hope and confidence to me.

And I have planned a whole month dedicated to bring in the new year, connect the past with the future and glorify the gifts given to us and the inspirations that enlighten us. There would be a very special dedication to a wonderful legend, few expression of talents, and a very unique series of guest-blogs spread across the month from some really wonderful friends I met last year.

Do, if you dare

I have seen lives ruin, homes shatter and promising futures dim out because of one deathly habit, yet I cannot understand the inducements it holds. The allurements of nicotine is strong and above rationality.

One of my very dear friend once asked me if I have to put my finger on one such habit in men that I really hate and beyond my tolerance which one would It be? I did not have to think long and the answer was straight and prompt: Smoking. (Being brought up in Indian scenario, incidences of women smokers is still not common and almost alien to me, and belonging to muslim community the evils of alcohol is equally remote).

My maternal great grandfather failed his lungs because of his addiction to beedi (a rustic form of cigarettes) and that heralded the downfall of his empire. I don't blame him for the consequences of his death, but he was a very commendable man and deserved a better death.

One of my aunt's husband was a chain smoker and died of lung cancer  within 13 years of their marriage. He was a very gregarious man and had thousands of colourful dreams. It took away his entire earnings and savings to try and save his life and in the end he left a void in his wife and two little boys lives, plus some really pressing and heavy debts. and I know how different their lives would have been if he had only kicked the habit and was still here.

My father's uncle invited Asthma on himself due to the same nagging habit of smoking, my mother's uncle died of heart failure because he couldn't kick the habit despite young with several family responsibilities and doctor's strict warning, and more recently one of my sister's brother-in-law suffered a nearly fatal gall-bladder infection as a result of his heavy smoking and had to have it chopped off to save his life.

If it did anybody any good, it was understandable, but God only knows what made man to invent such a nasty habit, and what hooks people to its horrible smoke! Of all thing I know, humans were and are better off without it.

A beautiful poem contributed by a wonderful friend I met recently, Jeanneclaire Probst.

And I do know a few men who won over it and whom I salute for their will-power and achievement.

My mother prides over her father who loved his family above himself, and when his mother-in-law showed him sense, on my mother's birth, to quit smoking for his better health and future, he took heed and never touched a cigarette again. Whenever he felt craving for it since then he looked at my mother and the innocent trust and love in her eyes steeled his will.

My uncle himself is so grateful for that one slap my father gave him when he was caught smoking for the first time. He says it was his wake-up call and he could not dare touch another cigarette for years after that and soon understood my father's care and his own good in that one slap.

Would love to read your thoughts on this post.

All those who smoke, just give this blog a serious thought and which is a better option for you?

Honey-sweet trail of travels

We all love a good journey. May it be a casual visit to a relative in neighbouring town, a family vacation to a well-acclaimed destination, a day off at our favourite club or a business trip abroad. Whatever the reason, whatever the destination, as long as the trip is pleasurable, hassle-free, non-disastrous and embarked with the right companion/s (even if it our own self) it is always fun, memorable and refreshing. Few, who are a bit more of the adventurous kind, do love a little hassles and off-the-track experiences, but at the end of the day- all's well that ends well.

But those journeys that we embark on with kids have a different magic and uniqueness to it.

Visit http://membership.clubmahindra.com/TeddyTravelogues/index.html for some amazing travel stories with children.

I still recall the family vacations and school-picnics of my childhood with awe. Even after so many years, their magic is not lost to my own eyes. Those fake treasure-hunts, excavations and explorations arranged by our school staff on our trip to the countryside hamlets near our town when we were in our primary school. My first trip to the family-resort "Silvan Villa" in our home-town, our first visit to the Jawaharlal Nehru Planetarium and Bannerghatta National Park in Bangalore when we were in high school, and my visits to Tamilnadu via the meandering-descent of hillocks near Pernambat. All these trips are so special for their once-in-a-blue-moon experiences and the magical turn of events their offered.

I still remember how excited I used to become at the prospects of train-journeys. For me the chuk-buk chuk-buk sound of the engine and the off-the-road trail amidst lush-greenery transported to a world of magic and surprises. I especially used to look forward for night-fall when the tiny fluttering glow-worms would appear to add the finishing touch.

But the travel-experiences involving my little nephew have a different-feel in themself. He is around 4 years old now. I remember the first time we took him outdoor on a little trip to the neighbouring town. He must have been just over 5-6 months old then, but he was so amazed by the entire new experience, to realise that the world was bigger than the confines of our home he was used to till then and so many people rushing about in strange seaters (read, vehicles) and all, he clung tightly to our fingers by his tiny fists and kept startling and looking around at the chaos around and every new sound his mind registered. He fell asleep in an hour or so but his expressions and trust in us are embedded in our hearts forever.

He now goes to a play-school in Bangalore and recently went on a little-trip to the famous Cubbon Park there from school. It was his first school trip without his parents or any family member around and we were all wondering as to how it will all turn out for him. The first he did after returning home that evening was call up my mother and relate the happenings.

You can guess the magic and excitement of the novel experience he had, in the conversation that ensued between them.

He: You know! I went to the park today and came back just now!"
My mother: How wonderful! Did you enjoy, love?
He: Yes! You know, granma! it was VERY good.
(not waiting for any further questions he went on himself).
You know! There was a VERY BIG train also there. (meaning, the famous toy train meant for joy-rides). It even goes round like a 'D'...
My mother: Really! That's amazing, precious.
He: And you know! The bus we went in... of our school! It was also SO BIG!

Have you ever held a sparrow?

Years ago, one warm summer afternoon we were called out of our doors with the sound of a soft thud on our porch. Probably something had fallen over our underground tank-top.

And indeed something had. To be precise a living thing- a sparrow. We are still at a lose to guess how it landed there, but it did appear very scared. A cute little thing, it sat cuddled in one place looking around with utter helplessness and shock. When it realised our presence it cuddled up even more.

We were worried if it was hurt. I and my sister were about to check on it when my mother stopped us and warned us against touching the innocent thing for its own good.

My mother has spent her childhood in the countryside of Tamilnadu and witnessed from her own eyes, so she knows. Sparrows are very puritan kinds and never ever forgive being touched by a human (she does not know if they have other species in their taboo list). Once a sparrow is touched by a human it becomes an out-cast in its community and never taken back. In fact (my mother has seen so herself) the rest of the sparrow community pecks the erring bird to its death.

Maybe that is why, as I realise it now, I don't recall even one of the sparrow handlers in zoo and museums ever hold them. They have always entreated them to perch on their balled up fists.

So, have you ever held a sparrow? If so, have you seen it through to the end?
What is your opinion in this regard?

Tackling the teacher's cane

In a recent blog, "Has there ever been a Mrs. B in your life?" my dear friend Judy Yaron, described the agony she suffered as a child from her English teacher, where her teacher actually thought she was doing Judy good by questioning everything she knew, but in reality she was trampling her confidence. This post reminded me of similar incidents from my own life, when I felt tortured by my kannada teachers (the regional language of where I live) during my primary and secondary schooling.

Their strict demeanour and unapproachable attitude actually made me turn away from the language. I was petrified of them, and fear and I don’t do well together. Where students generally respond to fear and learn what is at hand, my mind blocked out the subject itself and what I needed was a survival skill to escape punishment and the teachers' attention. My solution lay in memorising the questions and answers, and I managed to read and write enough to pass the exams, without really learnt the language.

This trick came very handy in tackling the classes in my high school years. As to why teachers of this particular language tended to be so strict is beyond me! There was but this one teacher (of kannada) who was strict but somehow I was able to impress him everytime.

In his very first class he tested our language skills by making us write the words he dictated on the blackboard. The good ones succeeded, the not so good ones got in his black-book in return. When my turn came he gave me one of the words he usually found students err- his name, Prabhakar. As kannada has different symbols for each phonetic, he found students usually got confused in them. I simply spelled out the word in mind and put it on the board. And lo! I had got it right.

One of the reasons that worked in my favour with him was that he was lenient enough to explain complex parts in English and allowed us to discuss them in English as well. Nonetheless, whenever he chose to bombard us with questions, I would be shivering inside hoping he would not ask me (which he never failed to do). However, using the survival skill I keenly developed during primary school, I would stand up with all confidence and answer to the point. Like a computer my mind fetched from memory and answered any question he asked.

Thus, by succeeding in creating an illusion of understanding the language, I passed my courses with flying colors, when in reality I could hardly speak a complete sentence on my own without mistakes.

Role distance plays

Continued from "Distance, thou art strange."

Where distance has played such magical medium on one hand, it has on the other played the trickster who slowly, silently, flungs us in the labyrinth of daily routine and such priorities where we don't find a way to interact with each other except once in a blue moon. These have been friends from my childhood and school life, who have seen through life with me. We have learnt together, played together, grown up together, shared our dreams, confided our secrets, been partners in mischief, spoken hours at length about everything and nothing! With whom I understood the meaning of friendship, who have now moved to various destinations with their life, but are still as dear to me.

Taranum Fathima, Arshiya Nausheen, Trupti Jain, Mahalakshmi Satish Balaji, Kavita, Charanya, Kusuma, Seema, and so many playmates of my childhood...
I can't blame them, I hold myself responsible most of the time. I have been the one to drop my end of the thread, to give in to the delicacy of the situation and not pursued them enough.

I still recall the after school minutes I spent with Arshiya on the steps of our school waiting for our parents to pick us up and sharing all the knowledge we had in the world. I was so hurt when in the first year she chose someone else as her best friend! But she proved herself to be a true gem and kept me as close as ever.

Charanya was the first to separate choosing another high school, but for years till she moved to another city we met often, exchanged letters and stayed up to date with each other.

Trupti was the next to go away with her family shifting to Pune, but the distance was yet to not settle between us. We sincerely wrote letters to each other every two months, and what letters they were! Each of a dozen+ pages, complete with the latest minutest development to the last detail, livened up with jokes, quotes, designs, drawings and picture postcards!

Anybody else who saw it wondered how we could write and read such novel-sized letters to each other and what on earth could we have written in such close knit handwriting, but only we knew how short the letters seemed to us. Yet now, we have each other's phone number and email id but have no time except for an occassional Hi.

Taranum has been another gem and probably the one amongst us who goes out of the way and to lengths to maintain a steady interaction and never forgotten a friend. Maha and kavita have tried their best to remain in touch since distance set in, but we all have a void in our lives which only we can fill.

My note to them is: "You remember, whenever I was asked who my best friend is, I always replied as- All my friends are best in their own ways.

I wasn't wrong and I can still proudly say so. Thank you for enriching my life and sorry for all the forfeiture on my part."

Distance, thou art strange!

It's really funny how distance plays such tricky games with our heart. Sometimes when it takes two close ones far from each other, they writh and wither in each others memory, and sometimes it becomes such a casual thing we accept it like morning after night.

I understand more than blaming distance, the onus lies on the love and dedication the two people shared betwixt them. But what when the feelings are equally true, and affection equally indepth in both the instances? I speak from my own experiences here, and of friendship- a relationship I hold truly precious and sacred in my life.

I don't know if the proverb "Distance makes the heart grow fonder" suits the instances I relate to here, because they have always remained at far flung places from me. But yes, they all have surely become important part of my existence in such a short duration that I strongly believe destiny had planned our friendship.

Cindy Ackley, Judy Yaron, Elly Stornebrink, Yatita shah, my group of co-authors from the anthology "Love stories that touched my heart", so many friends and siblings I made via facebook and in my college years! Our interactions have usually been of touch-and-go nature, and always via one telecom media or another(except for a few whom I have met for a short duration). But my friendship with each of them has clicked almost instantly, and the honesty, trust, joy, comfort and respect I share with each of them, (I know) comes from true friendship.

A personal note from me to each of them: "I don't know if we would ever meet in person, but somehow it already feels like we have, and I'm so grateful to each of you for all that you have done, have been and mean for me."

Continued in Role distance plays.

Once a first bencher, always a first bencher!

As promised in my last blog "M for phobia" here is how me and my friends became the designated first benchers in our first year of pre-university course.

Having lived 10 years of our life by the rule-book, abiding teachers, following discipline and being the goody-goodys of school, like most teenagers even we had thought we'll at last taste some freedom, there won't be any more uniforms, class prefects, assemblies, bells announcing the school hours or punishments for missing a class.

But let me clear our intentions here. We had no desire to go wayward or stir up any storms, just simple and safe liberties that will give us the ecstacy of quitting the title of "school-girls". One such liberty we looked forward to was taking whichever bench we preferred, for we were really tired of being allotted seats in class by our class-teacher through out the school years.

But it was not meant to be! The first we attended, most of the classmates had already arrived and taken the benches of their choice (leaving the first three empty). We didn't think much about it and as we were 6 in all, we occupied the second and third row, as the last few benches were very distant from the lecturer's podium, and we were not sure if we would be able to hear them.

The day went well, except for the little disappointment that nobody felt like changing seats throughout the day. But it happened the same way the next day and for days following it. Even the lecturers started recognising us as the front benchers.

It wasn't a big deal, but we only wanted to break free from the dull routine. We even tried going early and taking other seats before others arrived but their usual occupants always fought their place back. They said it was the perfect spot for them and they either didn't want to be noticed by the lecturer, or be bored by their lecture, or had important gossip to share which couldn't wait and obviously impossible to be done right under the lecturer's nose.

We even offered sweetly the front benches to few other sweet types, but no! They were too nervous to sit there and be noticed by the lecturer so easily. Their chosen spots were their perfect hiding spots!

Thus, by choice, by force, happily and unhappily we became the "designated" and "perpetual" first benchers of our first year pre-university course.

M for phobia: part 2

Continued from Part 1

The first time was when I was in my 1st year of pre-university course. I was in college attending a language class, and I and my friends were always the first benchers (will tell the story behind this in my next blog). Right in the middle of the lecture in hopped a big green grasshopper right in front of me, and kept hopping about as if super-excited to be in a college for the first time (though I seriously doubt if it was its first time). Those who suffer from any phobia can understand how strongly it affects us.

I tried to block it out, tried not to notice it and even moved a few benches behind to help myself stay calm, but no! The -hopper hopped all around the class, and I startled about my seat everytime it did so, sometimes I stiffled a screech, sometimes I almost screamed.

Finally, the lecturer in class ( a wonderful professor with the ideal blend of cordiality and discipline about him) had had enough. He asked me laughingly a couple of times to ignore, but when I failed to do so, the next instant STOMP! That spritely little life was crushed under his feet.

I believe he did it for me. Even if it was to restore order in class, the act's onus lies on me. It didn' t deserve to die, nor did I deserve for it to be killed! I only wished it out of the class. One innocent creature died because of my childish behaviour...

The other died earlier today. A tiny little green grasshopper this time. It had somehow landed itself in our backyard and by chance I and my mother happened to be there on a chores.

It was our presence or the chaos, it got excited and started hopping about the place(actually fluttering about, to be more precise). I don' t know, if our mutual fear attracted it to me, it thought I would save him or it was trying to scare me off, but it kept coming towards me. I tried to keep myself calm and act mature, but my mother noticed how terrified I was and as she is not apt in the art of catching them and releasing in the open, she did what she thought the next best thing for me- out flew the broom and SWAT! A little life was again lost because of my irrationale fear.

I wish I could undo both the instances, but it can't be done. I'm truly sorry for the lives thus lost. And if I have any sentiments through these twin blogs, I'm sorry about it too!

M for phobia

A funny thing about we humans is that everyone of us, in general, nurture a fear/phobia of little things. I know, psychology considers this a serious and innate problem, whose roots may lie in some childhood or very old occurrence which the mind has forgotten but it's effect remains.

The phobia can be anything- fear of height, of water, of darkness, of crowd, of isolation, or even insects. What I find funny is we believe ourselves to be the most supreme of all creatures of the Almighty, yet in a little corner of our mind there's such a strong fear of a minute or mundane stuff.

I suffer from partial insectophobia, meaning I don't fear all insects, just cockroaches (esp. the kind which glides about) and grasshoppers. And bless me! These two creatures somehow find a way to be around me ever so often.

I'm a little more insensitive and brutal towards the former. I just want it killed. No other option. Even if it's out of my sight, it never goes out my mind until it meets its end. But for the latter I'm a bit lenient. They have such innocent look about them (esp. The green variety), and I don't really know how harmful they can be! So, if they are taken out of my sight, i'm happy about it. But they were killed twice for me, and I'm really sorry about it.

Continued in part 2

The suicidal saucer

I am crazy about crystalwares and earthenwares. From china ware, porcelains to potteries, I just can't resist their sight or bringing the best of them home. Its the beauty of one, and the elegance of the other that makes them so dear to me.

There is this one cup-saucer set we have now, made in France, which is my special favourite. It is such a pretty piece; off-white with an elegant little pink posy right in its middle. If you hold it up to light, you can see light almost stream through it.

We use it only on special occassions and by some mischance or another one particular saucer from the set always fell. I kept a notice of it, since it first fell, so I can tell. But what amazed us initially was the way it survived without a single crack everytime.

Then I learnt it was made of toughened glass, but it didn't make us any more careless towards it. Yet, it was found a way out from the cabinet and as if it was determined or cursed to dive towards the ground everytime, it never missed a chance.

It at last, fell to its death a few days ago just as I left it on the rack to dry. It shattered to so many pieces, it really seemed an irony to its various escapes. Being of toughened glass, it did not shatter into jagged shards, but rather broke into tiny pearly beads of porcelain.

Yet, it was still so beautiful even in its tragic remains that even as I disposed it, I had to fight the urge to collect them all and store away from the world.

I, tortoise

There is this fun online quiz I once took as to what animal am I. It might sound weird or silly, but the purpose of the quiz was to emphasise the basic traits of the animal in our attitude from the answers we pick, thus metaphorically making us the animal.

I got "polecat" as my result, though I hardly agree with it. As far as I know, polecat and me are poles apart!

The other day, in the intro to my blog on Judy's challenges (tests of friendship) at facebook, I called myself the proverbial tortoise. Later on, recalling it I realised how true it actually was.

Like the tortoise, I'm usually slow and cautious in my approach and carry my nutshell on my back. I little something disturbs me, I snap shut myself into it and make it seem as if I'm not there at all.

And if I'm provoked too far, I can be cruel and my retort hurt like the tortoise's bite.

My family and friends often I talk ancient wisdom (though they don't always appreciate it).

And like the proverbial tortoise, I persevere long and hard. If I have made up my mind or if I think it is important to be done, I go head long into it. I must either succeed or lose even the last ray of hope, but see it to the end I must.

So, what animal am I?
I am the Tortoise.

More beautiful than the end

I embarked on this daily blog challenge by chance. I had joined UBC few months ago as a desperate effort to revive my blogging spirit. I used to blog so often n spontaneously when I first began it nearly six years ago.

I had my account at rediff back then, and the site was called rediffiland. You can still find my blogs there via this link-

It was a beautiful site with wonderful outlook about it-very social, friendly n happy-go-lucky kind. Then, I don't know what went into the heads of rediff's creative department, or what madness possessed it, it decided to revamp it, closed it all down, and re-opened it as rediffblogs with an almost lifeless, fussy and all-business appearance. It killed the fun of blogging and dampened the spirits of we fellow bloggers. We gradually scattered and migrated to other sites.

I came to google's blogger. But blogging didn't feel the same again. I blame myself for it. I must have not taken things in the right stride.

Then again magic happened! A chance reading of Judy Yaron's blog and commenting on it changed the whole equation. She noticed me and my absence in the challenge, and prompted me to join it. I really can't tell you how thankful I am, Judy.

The first few blogs were spontaneous, then inspirations, anecdotes, imagination and encouragement took over and I all seems right again.

I met such wonderful friends here like Judy Yaron, Cindy Ackley, Elly Stornebrink, Sophie Bowns, Huma Masood and all; and learnt so much from you all. I really love you all dearly.

This 31 days journey has become more important and beautiful than it's destination, and I admit like all beautiful things I am a tad disheartened that it will end soon.

Caught in a thunderstorm

I had been on a quick last minute shopping with my sister last summer. It was late afternoon and was growing darker by the minute from the gathering clouds, but we both believed the rain would put off until dusk; and who minds getting a little drenched?

We were at the marketplace, when suddenly people around us gasped at the sky and scurried into hiding like fishes do at the sight of a shark. We both were amazed at the almost uniform reaction, and before we could realise or think further, the clouds fell on us with all their force.

We were dumb-struck for a second at the suddenness and force of it. The rain lashed at us, pelting heavy drops with such ferocity as if angry that we had not noticed it coming and not got out of its way.

We both ran to the nearest shelter we could find, but being in such a sudden storm almost in the open is completely a different thing. You never feel out of its way. In front of us, the rain continued to fall with a vengeance, the sky stared on, all swollen and sore with thick lofts of cloud, and the random frequent blazes of lightning accompanied by thunderbolts were a phenomenon in themselves.

Now, there is a myth prevalent here that lightnings are particularly attracted towards first-borns, newly-weds and beautiful dames. I don't know the theory behind it, but our dear mother had warned us so before we left home and pleaded we come back before it rains. So, for a while I kept teasing my sister as what do I do if any lightning notices her, as she was all the three combined! I did not want her to die on me and requested her to hide behind me for the sake of atleast her newborn son. She chided me along playfully but soon we both fell silent before the might of the lightnings before us, and the awe their commanded.

They were almost like over our head, and the power their possess is beyond words to explain. It makes us feel how vulnerable we humans are, and how precious the life within us is. Our heart leaps at their sight and we are thankful for every second of life spared to us!

We returned home nearly half an hour later when the rain receded, unscathed much to our mother's relief, but more humbled towards life and all the more grateful to the Almighty.

our pet came home!

I and my sister always desired to own a pet, though I wonder if there would be one adoptable animal my family wouldn't have apprehensions about.

I and my sister are wary of dogs, my mother jumps up the chair at the sight of cats, my father will not hear of any rodents (even if they are cute little squirrels), plus bless me! I am so full of all emotional weaknesses towards all creatures born to fly and roam free. How can we cage the birds and rabbits and parrots, when they world is the wilderness?

Then one sunny morning our pet found its own way home. My mother had just opened the valve to let the water supplied by municipal corporation into our underground tank, when with the water out popped a wee little fishy.

My sister had been beside my mother then and was the first to notice. She immediately brought our attention and fetched a pail to draw it out. We still wonder how that tiny thing happened to survive all the process of filteration, bleaching and machinery to reach us. But it was a wee little baby. Just a day or so old maybe.

We sisters were so excited, we had found our pet. We immediately adopted it, transferred it to a glass tumbler, and placed it on the window sill. We called it Stuart Little as it was so little and as white as its anime namesake.

We made tiny balls of wheat and borrowed cooked grains of rice from the kitchen to feed it, and talked long hours to it, because we had heard fishes and plants grow well if we interact with them.

As weeks passed by we saw it grow bigger in centimeters, and got a couple of gold fish to give it company, so it may not feel lonely. Soon, we bought a glass aquarium, lined it with pebbles, artificial weeds and plants, and completed it a mermaid-in-a-oystershell aerator.
We got few more fishes of all kinds to make a big happy fish family. We learnt to even clean the aquarium. Whenever we found any two fishes fighting, we would take one of them away and place dunce in a jar next to the aquarium for few hours.

One of my school friend even lent me a book on caring for fishes, but it was an elaborate book and we could only muster patience to flip through it.

But it was through this book that we learnt not all fishes socialise and some species are even blood enemies. Alas! It was too late. The war had already gotten bloody.

Before we could decide whom to keep together and whom apart and how, many bigger fishes had lunched on smaller ones, and our Stuart Little too was gone.

But the needful was anyway done, but the magic was lost. The others died their timely death, and we never felt like bringing home another fish or pet home.

Wandering clouds

I vaguely remember my primary school initiating a school magazine when i was in my 5th or 6th standard. Vaguely because it never took flight.

This is the poem I composed back then to contribute to its first issue.

Wandering Clouds

Clouds, great clouds,
They wander up above;
Come in all forms,
In all shapes,
Bring rain for plants to grow.