Ageing Whispers....

I am an offspring of the seventies. A couple of years, and I will be embarking on the naughty forties! No, I am not lamenting. Actually I am excited. Can't wait to get naughty. Chronologically I am 30+(a big plus). Somebody told me I'll be middle-aged soon. Personally I think I have just lived a quarter of my life. So still time to cross that threshold. I live my life vicariously. I look 40 something, act 30 something, and live like 20 something. It is all in the mind. If you feel you are old, you ARE old.. If not, you are not.

Two score years ago, 50s were considered as well past middle age, and 60s getting really old. And 70s... oh my!! They were the oldest.. But now, 60 is the step stone to middle age.. till then you are young! 60 to 80 middleaged, and afer 80, you slowly start to get old.. I feel old age is always 25 years away from you.

Last month, I had a lunch with my professor. I was concentrating on the juicy beef when suddenly she exclaimed "I can't believe you people came out from the college 15 years ago". Oh man! That was an instant fill to my empty howling tummy. 15 years? I had thought that it was only 4 or 5 years since we left university. Now, that made me feel a bit.. a wee bit.. a teeny weeny bit.. old. It's really funny. When I was a teenager, I had really felt more matured. But after 30, I keep forgetting that I've left my twenties behind. Filling 0ut forms is always a little tricky. I have a hard time remembering and calculating how old I am! They should actually put two columns there... mental age and chronological. I bet no one would want to fill the chronological column.

Why should these numbers decide how we feel? It should be like Mark Twain said: "Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter."

A heart that loves is always young!!!

What's in a name, after all?

His parents mustered on one side. My folks marshalled on the other. The debate was getting hotter. The topic? Well.. What to name my firstborn!!

Hey comeon! It's my son, after all. And I wanted to name him Nikhanj, since at that time Kapil Dev was the epitome of my handsomeness. (I swear, there IS such a word!) But none could utter the name by the book, and it had to be gulped back as soon as it sprang out of my mouth. Then I implied on Rhett. It is single syllabled, uncomplicated.. I am a hardcore fan of Gone With The Wind. All I got was some glaring and sneering stares. I had another choices too, like Rochester or Darcy or even Chicken George. But I didnt dare to voice it. They were looking at me as if I'm bizarre!

The clock was running in marathon pace, and the visitants were flowing in. Still we were not able to get any near to a decision. The name should start with "M".. proposed his folks. Most of their names were starting with "M". But then ALL our names were starting with "S". So it should start with "S", advocated mine. His and Mine were making Ours strenuous. One squad's proposal were opposed by the other.

The time had come. The lamp was lit. Now no more musings. I had to come up with some name.. I was in a Catch-22 situation. "What about Rahul", a cousin, eyeing my dilemma, hinted. My mom, being a Rajiv Gandhi fan, and my father-in-law, being a pakka congressman, didn't have to think twice. We were all given the same choice.. YES or YES??

Thus the name Rahul was bestowed upon the little one. Little did we realise that this name is going to be the most popular in Bollywood. Every month one or two movies are released with Rahul as the hero. Now when our hero asks us why such a generic name was given to him, I just sigh.. How refined my Nikhanj would have been.... Nevertheless I attain solace in the bard's lines.. What's there in a name!! But.... It IS elementary, my dear......!!!!!

(A)waiting Whispers...

Here I am, sitting with a dab of henna on my hair to colour my blacks, (I won't say to cover my greys.. or should I say to pepper my salts?), shelving my tumbling thoughts, tossing away the unwanted, nurturing the sweet ones, and staring at the blank screen of my laptop, waiting... My darling hubby hates henna. He says it is akin to using cowdung.. When I go near him, he twitches his face as if he is smelling the dung!
This blog is becoming an addiction.. oh not to me, but to my friends and relatives and other altruistics.. they think they can sneak inside me, and know all my hidden secrets. Who would ever think that people might actually be interested in what time you get up, what you eat, what you drink and what you dream! So they think that I am an easy-peasy ? Ahh na naaa.. I am the same old self... a heart brimming with secrets, never letting any cats out.. But they tell me they are waiting.. Waiting for new revelations.. It has been quite a while since I've posted anything..

Speaking about waiting, now I am waiting for that magic name to appear on my screen. This waiting is a real torture. We start to wait from the day we are knitted in our mother's womb.. to come out to this world, to walk, to talk.. We wait to grow up. We wait for recognition. We fill our days with those little moments of waiting... We cannot remove it from our lives. Once, long before, I told my.. ah well, someone, who was planning a loooong trip, that I'll wait for him as long as he wants. "For what, dear?", he asked. I didnt reply. I could have told him.. "For you". But then I knew very well that was like chasing a rainbow. Not the waiting, but the fusion.(It is still a con-fusion). Life drifts by.. still I hold on and wait..

When I was a child, I used to wait for trains. Lying down on my swing cot, face pressed against the windows, enjoying the soft kisses of little raindrops, I used to pin my eyes and ears whole day to see them hasting off whistling sweet lullabies for me... I used to wait for a hug that never showed up on my doorstep. I used to pine for a hug from my parents. I dream of being hugged when I toss and turn during sleepless nights. A real hug came my way from a Russian dentist, and then from a close virtual friend when we met.. but the pity is both were women! Still have to find out how a hug from a man will be.. My hubby adheres to my parents footsteps, and so ensures that he doesn't do any faux pas.

And my waiting continues. I am waiting for a rebirth of wonder. I am waiting for the magic fairy to touch me with her wand. I am waiting for those sweet nothings which I crave for. I am waiting for the Midas touch in my garden......!!!

Secret Whispers...

We all have secrets which we hope will go down the drain with time. But they are always there, hiding in some corner.. In childhood they are innocent, tucked away in the imagination like a favourite toy hidden from a sibling under the bed. In adolescence, it is a soft feather, carressing you warmly, hugging you, and lurking as a smile around the corner of your lips. Then, when the mind grows, somewhere in its labyrinthine hollow, your secrets become your prisoners. You keep it behind closed doors, and seal it tight. If, somewhere along the way you slip, and let your guard down for a moment, someone innocently might crawl inside through those closed doors... and a new secret is created!

One of my best friends had a big problem when we were very small. She got very less marks in Social Studies. When we got the report card, her eyes welled up with tears. Her already round eyes became rounder, like a fried papad....
Two seven year old heads glued together, ideas rushed back and forth, but couldn't crack the case of escaping her father's wrath. Dejected, she was on her way back home, when , only a sandwich away, she saw the way out. There, on the entrance of her house, was her dad's name in block letters! She took out her report card, and her pencil, (pens were not allowed in Lower Primary) and clearly wrote down her dad's name along the dotted lines... IN BIG BLOCK LETTERS! (Well, she was clever enough to know that signature means writing your name..) Next day, with a beaming grin of triumph, she handed back her report card to the teacher, who took it without a blink. But mysteriously, her dad materialised after an hour, and he and the teacher were having some secret whispers.... I looked at my friend's face which was as white as her uniform shirt. A moment later her dad hoisted himself right before her eyes, and father and daughter exchanged a long glance. Her lips began to tremble, and two little pearls were waiting to leap out from her eyes. He scooped her up in his big arms, and giving a peck on her cheeks, exclaimed "Who else can be more creative than my daughter!" That was a bountiful moment. Tears flowing freely from her eyes and nose, she kissed him and hugged him tightly. And the teacher too, witnessed the scene with a sly smile.. What would have been in her mind? Yet another secret...

Deflating the inflations..

I am a big "O"!

A round face, round eyes, round nose, round cheeks, round chin, and a round mouth. Whatever you can see in the name of neck is also round. Then comes the round body with small hands dangling on either side to make it rounder.. So at the first glance, it looks like.. a small round on top of a big one.

It is babyfat, my friends said... even after I had my own babies. Chubby cheeks, cutie chin,.. they sang. Where ever I saw lovely cute and healthy body parts, others saw fat. I am not fat. It is just that my weight doesn't correspond to my height. The problem is with my height. I am comfortable in my own skin, no matter what frame it is stretched over. I used to admire my dimpled thighs and ballooned belly. People with a round face are quite jovial, and are very lucky, says those learned ones.

But then one day I had enough of it. Well, it can be bothersome, to have my size commented on. It's time to say bye to my babyfat, I decided. And make that O an I. Well, there's no harm in trying, right? First I tried to fool people by camouflaging it with brushes and blushers. The warpaint was on! Still the O remained an O. I decided to start deflating from my cheeks. "Blow balloons", someone suggested. "I will send balloons in crates", my cousin teased. Chewing gums will help you, said a magazine. I chewed and chewed, but the only result I got was an addiction to those chewing gums. My face started to look like that of a ruminant's. Suck air in, and then blow out in force whenever you can, said a friend. I started doing that everytime I remembered, regardless of time and place, until I realised that those stares and sneers were actually meant for me!

The realisation dawned that home remedies are not going to help. So I put on my shoes and went in search of a trainer. He has agreed to change my complete upholstery. So now I am jumping, running, puffing, panting.. all just to shrink my carefully bloated body! Only one part was needed for the inflation.. my mouth. But for the deflation, it takes the combined work of all my mental and physical organs.. To inflate is human, to deflate, Divine!!

A woman to love...

I am a strong woman, and quite stubborn. Life has not always been kind. But I think in the end, it is what you make out of it. I have learned to trust my instincts, and do whatever I believe to be right and just. I am open, my heart is whole, and so, I can love fully.

There are many things that I love and enjoy. I love my beautiful home, my swingcot, raindrops, chocolate ice cream... I love to sketch, paint, read, dream, the still dark night... I love Irish coffee, Ksara wine, Bacardi with Ginger beer...I love books, music, silence, rains, forests... I love my mom, my two darling boys, my husband... Yes, I am a woman to love, and in love!

I can honestly say that I love somebody, so very much, with all my heart. And there is nothing that can take that awareness away from me.

I love him for his character, warmth and generosity, for his passions, for the way he makes me laugh, for the way he is so open about his feelings, for the way I know I can trust him more than any other person I've ever known... I love him for his kindness and gentleness, for his honesty, for his talent, for his creativity, for his ambition, and for his drive... My lover, my best friend, my soulmate...!

I'm sorry if this sounds too good to be true, and you are reaching for the sickbag. But I don't have to kiss enough frogs to recognise my Prince...

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Yet, I was never blind in love. I chose to be strong, in the sense that I felt I had to do everything on my own, that I didn't need anyone, nor could I depend on anyone or ever fully trust anyone. There were times when I felt empty. The facade I maintained allowed me to live the lie that being strong meant never letting anyone in. I was a scared, bitter person masquerading as a strong, self-reliant woman. When you try to contain everything, pretending everything is okay, it eats you up--and when you live each day with it, you soon forget that there's something wrong.. and you eat it up. Why should I be imprisoned by my circumstances and let it affect my life? I am not going to let my circumstances decide who I am going to be! I am not going to let all that I didn't have determine my future or cap my potential. I am not going to be limited by what others have said about me or what is expected of me.

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I live honestly in the present moment, bravely facing what lies ahead, complete with new understanding of what lies behind me, though no longer subject to the past. I am becoming all that I am meant to be...

Reating.. or.. Eading..?

I was not brought up in a "Everybody eat together at the table" home. The rule was if your stomach growls, have your food. I started to bury my nose deep into words while having food. Suited me fine.. I could gulp down all the crap that has been served to me. I could watch my diet pefectly. I never knew what I was eating. I could eat less and be full too! There was only one problem.. one single meal lasted for hours. The lifeless papers used to become alive in front of me. I used to lose myself in other people's mind. It was one of the great pleasures that solitude could afford me.

It was a nightmare when dad used to come on leave, and we had to eat together. Dad quibbling over table manners, Mom's complaints about the report cards, the correct posture, correct sound to make while chewing!!! And those vegetables which I was supposed to eat for my eyes, ears, nose, skin.. Phew! It was too much. No more books on the dining table. I had to talk. Holding intimate conversations with the invisible characters of a book and with the visible people sitting around me were beyond comparison.

But the lightning struck when I forgot to make sure that this habit is ok with the man I was going to marry. There even if your tummy grumbles, even if you are ready to swallow a horse, you wait till everyone come. When the food is served, you opened your mouth and talked while eating! Food started to have some flavour. My tastebuds started to work and told me which is which! Never knew chilly was spicy and tomotoes were sour.

Now when my children carry their food in one hand and a book in the other hand, I keeep quiet. But my gourmet hubby scowls. I exchange meaningful glances with my kids, and wait for my hubby to go back to office so that we can lose ourselves again in those imaginary places, with our invisible friends.