hi....real think
Sunday, July 3, 2011
my childhood liitle care little exitement
Childhood. So much fun! And then, we grow up and all fun stops. Sad, right? Anyway, one of the highlights of my fun filled childhood was my little piggy bank. Smart as they were, my parents had taught me the basics of saving with a very sweet, simple game. If I saved nine rupees, dad would exchange the money for a crisp ten rupee note. Likewise, coins worth ninety could be exchanged for a handsome 100 rupees note. I loved watching my money “grow”. It was such a satisfying feeling. I would give my post-school ice-cream and samosas a miss, and feed the money to the pig. And all that mattered was the fun exchange between dad and me.
As an adult, you all know of my shopping addiction. It is a difficult addiction to fight, and I mostly do a good job. Today, I have no credit card to my name, I carry a minimum amount of money on my person, so I would not be tempted into emotional binges. And I have started feeding the piggy again. And it’s been fun. Every time I iron some clothes myself, which is quite often, I put the saved money into the pig. Any time I find a stray coin lying anywhere in the house, I feed the pig. So yesterday, the piggy refused to “eat” any more. Today, I took out forty five rupees worth of coins and put in a 50 rupees note. And I cannot tell you how much joy it gave me!!!!!!!!!
As an adult, you all know of my shopping addiction. It is a difficult addiction to fight, and I mostly do a good job. Today, I have no credit card to my name, I carry a minimum amount of money on my person, so I would not be tempted into emotional binges. And I have started feeding the piggy again. And it’s been fun. Every time I iron some clothes myself, which is quite often, I put the saved money into the pig. Any time I find a stray coin lying anywhere in the house, I feed the pig. So yesterday, the piggy refused to “eat” any more. Today, I took out forty five rupees worth of coins and put in a 50 rupees note. And I cannot tell you how much joy it gave me!!!!!!!!!
my life my choice
There are so many things I wish I had said to my mother. Too many emotions and thoughts I left un-worded and unspoken. And now, she is gone. I want to believe in afterlife. I want to believe that she can hear me talk to her. I’d like to believe that what I am about to write will somehow reach her. Some of the things I could not tell my mother when she was alive…
I am extremely proud of you. My heart swells with pride when I hear people talk about what a dedicated academician you are. I want to turn around and tell them that you are the best mother a girl can ask for. I think you are gorgeous. You smell like all the good things in life. You laugh like a girl, and you have fabulous skin for someone who has never really been to a spa or a beauty salon. Your eyes are what I miss in myself. I wish I had them. They shine with pure and simple joy when you are happy, and become a bottomless ocean of sadness when you are hurt. I love the way you dress up. Your crisp, cotton saris and long hair make you look like God’s favorite angel. You look so dignified sitting in your office, officiating as your college’s Principal. I love the way you tell stories. I am in awe of your knowledge of world’s religions and philosophies. I wish you had done your PhD. I know you wanted to. I think you made the best Rajma-Rice in the world. You sang so beautifully. I really, really wish I had your voice. I wish I had something of your apart from memories and regrets. I wish I had called you more often, and taken you out to where I thought you’d love to eat. I wish I had bought you lots of chocolates and made you eat them. I wish we had taken a trip abroad, together. Just the two of us. I wish I had made you read some of the books I liked and read some of the books you loved. I wish I had read up more on what was happening to you. I wish I had watched some more movies with you, and told you some more stupid jokes. I wish I had stayed by your side when you needed me most.
I would give anything to spend just one more day with you. I have all this love inside me that was meant for you. And now, you are gone. I wish you were still around. I miss you.............
I am extremely proud of you. My heart swells with pride when I hear people talk about what a dedicated academician you are. I want to turn around and tell them that you are the best mother a girl can ask for. I think you are gorgeous. You smell like all the good things in life. You laugh like a girl, and you have fabulous skin for someone who has never really been to a spa or a beauty salon. Your eyes are what I miss in myself. I wish I had them. They shine with pure and simple joy when you are happy, and become a bottomless ocean of sadness when you are hurt. I love the way you dress up. Your crisp, cotton saris and long hair make you look like God’s favorite angel. You look so dignified sitting in your office, officiating as your college’s Principal. I love the way you tell stories. I am in awe of your knowledge of world’s religions and philosophies. I wish you had done your PhD. I know you wanted to. I think you made the best Rajma-Rice in the world. You sang so beautifully. I really, really wish I had your voice. I wish I had something of your apart from memories and regrets. I wish I had called you more often, and taken you out to where I thought you’d love to eat. I wish I had bought you lots of chocolates and made you eat them. I wish we had taken a trip abroad, together. Just the two of us. I wish I had made you read some of the books I liked and read some of the books you loved. I wish I had read up more on what was happening to you. I wish I had watched some more movies with you, and told you some more stupid jokes. I wish I had stayed by your side when you needed me most.
I would give anything to spend just one more day with you. I have all this love inside me that was meant for you. And now, you are gone. I wish you were still around. I miss you.............
color of my skin
A couple of years before I was born, my parents lost a baby to foetal maternal haemorrhage. So when she was expecting me, my mother was extremely apprehensive. She was scared of losing me, and would talk to me when I was in her womb. She read a lot, rested a lot, and prayed a lot. I was fortunate enough to be one awaited baby. So when I was born, it came as a shock to my dad when one of my aunts commented that it was unfortunate enough that he had a girl, but having a girl who was dark-skinned was just plain tragedy.
Neither of my parents took her comment very well. In my own home, I was a little princess. They tried to protect me from this vapid and shallow perception. My mother always made me believe that I was the most beautiful girl in the world. But the inevitable happened. As soon as I started going to school and interacting with the world, the color of my skin came up again. It haunted me in my teenage, when well-meaning relatives and family friends suggested “cures” for my dark skin. They taunted my mother for letting me play in the sun, and for enrolling me into a karate class, when she should have been rubbing some miracle ointments on my body in order to make me fairer. She was also accused of not doing certain things during her pregnancy which would have ensured a fair baby. It did not matter that I debated well, was a school captain, and a good student. I was still dark-skinned.
The color of my skin followed me into my marriage. In a family of largely fair-skinned people, I must have stood out like a sore thumb. Now I am well into my thirties, and it is still a part of the package. It does not matter that there is lots more of me, other than my skin. It’s the color of my skin that people see first. But there is more to me.
I love the color of my skin. It’s mine! I also love blue, and I have a blue themed bedroom. I also love the color red for all its fierceness. I love white meat over red meat. I love Asparagus, green and white. I like cheese with crackers. I like doodling, even though I am no good at it. I like candles, and I feel nothing beats their soft, dreamy light. I like ice-tea. I write poems sometimes, though I never
read them out to anyone. I don’t like the dark, but am not scared of it. I am fond of babies, and feel that all mothers are special and beautiful. I like fresh flowers in my house. I love the smell of Rajnigandha. I like Khus (vetivar) and find it to be the best summer drink ever. I love having friends over, and I am very proud of each and every one of them. I love with abandon, and I love much. I am no dancer, but I love dancing anyway. I am a strong woman, and people have admired me for my poise and strength. But I am also emotional. I can feel others’ pain. I never baby-talk, and am often guilty of calling a spade a spade. I cook. I like adding up the numbers on the number plates of auto-rickshaws around me, when I am stuck in traffic. I talk to my two potted plants kept in office. I talk to dogs, and cats, and birds. And sometimes to myself. I hate getting into a cab first because I hate sliding in on the cab seat. I hate going to the gym, but manage to drag myself there. I am scared of water, but managed to learn swimming. I like overcoming fears, and my biggest fear is insignificance. I have endured pain, heartbreak, grief, betrayal, manipulation, and I have survived, with my wit intact.
I like putting nail-polish on my feet and kohl in my eyes. I have always lived beyond my means, loved my food, and hated sycophants. I doubt this will ever change. I am sincere, mostly honest, mostly fearless, and mostly friendly. I can be a bit of a bully sometimes. I hate being bullied. I like cheesy songs. I like strawberry milkshakes. I also like chocolate milkshakes. I love Nigella Lawson for daring to the woman that she is. I am all this and more. Much more.
But strangely enough, sometimes, all people see about me, is the color of my skin.................
Neither of my parents took her comment very well. In my own home, I was a little princess. They tried to protect me from this vapid and shallow perception. My mother always made me believe that I was the most beautiful girl in the world. But the inevitable happened. As soon as I started going to school and interacting with the world, the color of my skin came up again. It haunted me in my teenage, when well-meaning relatives and family friends suggested “cures” for my dark skin. They taunted my mother for letting me play in the sun, and for enrolling me into a karate class, when she should have been rubbing some miracle ointments on my body in order to make me fairer. She was also accused of not doing certain things during her pregnancy which would have ensured a fair baby. It did not matter that I debated well, was a school captain, and a good student. I was still dark-skinned.
The color of my skin followed me into my marriage. In a family of largely fair-skinned people, I must have stood out like a sore thumb. Now I am well into my thirties, and it is still a part of the package. It does not matter that there is lots more of me, other than my skin. It’s the color of my skin that people see first. But there is more to me.
I love the color of my skin. It’s mine! I also love blue, and I have a blue themed bedroom. I also love the color red for all its fierceness. I love white meat over red meat. I love Asparagus, green and white. I like cheese with crackers. I like doodling, even though I am no good at it. I like candles, and I feel nothing beats their soft, dreamy light. I like ice-tea. I write poems sometimes, though I never
read them out to anyone. I don’t like the dark, but am not scared of it. I am fond of babies, and feel that all mothers are special and beautiful. I like fresh flowers in my house. I love the smell of Rajnigandha. I like Khus (vetivar) and find it to be the best summer drink ever. I love having friends over, and I am very proud of each and every one of them. I love with abandon, and I love much. I am no dancer, but I love dancing anyway. I am a strong woman, and people have admired me for my poise and strength. But I am also emotional. I can feel others’ pain. I never baby-talk, and am often guilty of calling a spade a spade. I cook. I like adding up the numbers on the number plates of auto-rickshaws around me, when I am stuck in traffic. I talk to my two potted plants kept in office. I talk to dogs, and cats, and birds. And sometimes to myself. I hate getting into a cab first because I hate sliding in on the cab seat. I hate going to the gym, but manage to drag myself there. I am scared of water, but managed to learn swimming. I like overcoming fears, and my biggest fear is insignificance. I have endured pain, heartbreak, grief, betrayal, manipulation, and I have survived, with my wit intact.
I like putting nail-polish on my feet and kohl in my eyes. I have always lived beyond my means, loved my food, and hated sycophants. I doubt this will ever change. I am sincere, mostly honest, mostly fearless, and mostly friendly. I can be a bit of a bully sometimes. I hate being bullied. I like cheesy songs. I like strawberry milkshakes. I also like chocolate milkshakes. I love Nigella Lawson for daring to the woman that she is. I am all this and more. Much more.
But strangely enough, sometimes, all people see about me, is the color of my skin.................
my life on that day....
It was my birthday this Sunday, 22nd May. ......I brought it in with a few friends. There was food, beer, home-made Tiramisu. And lots to remember. Another year got added to my age. Another year went by. Another year of experiences gathered. And now, I have a year less to do what I need to do before I die. The clock just keeps ticking. I see how time is running out, for everyone around me. I see people cling to their dreams, unable to jump, afraid there won’t be a net to break their fall, afraid to take off, unable to fly. I am myself suffering from post birthday blues, and my view of the world is a bit negative right now.
Why must I have such different dreams? Dreams that go against the grain of normal living. Dreams that might become a loved one’s nightmares. Why can’t I want a house, a big car, a huge bank balance, just like everyone else? Why can’t I see clearly what needs to be done? Am I missing the signs? How do you know if you are making the right choice? Shouldn’t I be thankful that I have the luxury of choices? No one around me is truly happy. They seem to have everything I think will make people happy. And yet, they are unhappy. So what truly is it that I seek? Is there a map, a recipe, an equation? And where is the time to look for all the answers when another year has been lost?
I am so tired of all the questions. Am I even asking the right ones? Phew! I am getting old, God. Show me the way fast. I don’t want to lose any more years. Do questions bother you too?
Why must I have such different dreams? Dreams that go against the grain of normal living. Dreams that might become a loved one’s nightmares. Why can’t I want a house, a big car, a huge bank balance, just like everyone else? Why can’t I see clearly what needs to be done? Am I missing the signs? How do you know if you are making the right choice? Shouldn’t I be thankful that I have the luxury of choices? No one around me is truly happy. They seem to have everything I think will make people happy. And yet, they are unhappy. So what truly is it that I seek? Is there a map, a recipe, an equation? And where is the time to look for all the answers when another year has been lost?
I am so tired of all the questions. Am I even asking the right ones? Phew! I am getting old, God. Show me the way fast. I don’t want to lose any more years. Do questions bother you too?
Things are not easy
I am a little angry, when in fact, I should be furious.........
There is so much about life I can’t really understand. And really, I am 34, right! Old enough to figure out a few things for myself. I don’t understand people, their angst, their rudeness. I cannot quite understand their generosity, their kindness, their love, their passion either. The Yin and Yang of existence is so far out of my reach. I have to figure out life as each day passes by. There should be a user manual or something. I mean, where is all that Algebra I learned in school? Or the complicated Chemistry equations that had me up all night worrying about my mid-term scores? How exactly did they help? They did not teach me how to deal with a spinach-on-your-teeth fiasco on your first date. Or how to stop anxiety attacks when rainwater assaults your lovingly decorated living room. Education was, in my current opinion, quite useless. So I have to live, every day, and figure out life’s many challenges. Like how to deal with the grief of missing my past life, my family and a lost love, while also celebrating my current life, loves, friendships and opportunities. I have to learn to move on, and still be able to look back with fondness, without all the bitterness that has often haunted my thoughts this past year.
There is so much about life I can’t really understand. And really, I am 34, right! Old enough to figure out a few things for myself. I don’t understand people, their angst, their rudeness. I cannot quite understand their generosity, their kindness, their love, their passion either. The Yin and Yang of existence is so far out of my reach. I have to figure out life as each day passes by. There should be a user manual or something. I mean, where is all that Algebra I learned in school? Or the complicated Chemistry equations that had me up all night worrying about my mid-term scores? How exactly did they help? They did not teach me how to deal with a spinach-on-your-teeth fiasco on your first date. Or how to stop anxiety attacks when rainwater assaults your lovingly decorated living room. Education was, in my current opinion, quite useless. So I have to live, every day, and figure out life’s many challenges. Like how to deal with the grief of missing my past life, my family and a lost love, while also celebrating my current life, loves, friendships and opportunities. I have to learn to move on, and still be able to look back with fondness, without all the bitterness that has often haunted my thoughts this past year.
few things about myself
So I guess it would be helpful to say a few things about myself, though as I am not known for being egotistical, it's always hard. I really love to travel around and see different places. I live for sunrise, sunsets and long car/van journeys, but most of the time I sit on my own daydreaming about adventures I need to have.
I don't really have much of a social life; I go to school... read a book, but no one likes an idiot...
I'm just a massive loser really.
I'm not going to sit here and write paragraph after paragraph, telling you about myself. Talk to me, I'm not too shabby.
Here is where I post whatever catches my eye or inspires me; Everything comes from different sources,
I don't really have much of a social life; I go to school... read a book, but no one likes an idiot...
I'm just a massive loser really.
I'm not going to sit here and write paragraph after paragraph, telling you about myself. Talk to me, I'm not too shabby.
Here is where I post whatever catches my eye or inspires me; Everything comes from different sources,
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)