Saturday, June 18, 2011

you know,

we do come to the end of everything. Like when you have not reached where you started for, and, you know there is a long way to go, but this is the end of the road. This is when you look around you... within you.

You shrug. So, this is all that I have. You sigh. And, this is all I don't want. Maybe, change a little so I can adapt and live with all that I have at the point that I have reached.

trh 19jun'11

this is a phase of figuring things out and healing myself and accepting... and, trying to make sense.

Friday, June 17, 2011


trh 17jun'11

moi - look Su, a miracle!
*gasping excitedly,* (eyes might also have been shining, though not too sure of that)
su - what is a miracle?
moi - look magic!!
(eyes have lost their shine for sure)
su - I think, it is a mushroom, right?
moi - *sigh*
(goes looking for her camera)

su is my six and a half year old daughter

Thursday, June 16, 2011

the night

we had to wait for more than on hour on the highway for the heavy rains to pass...


... as the taxi had not any wipers!


On another note, I am thankful for the (sometimes so tedious, it makes me want to cry) routine, of school, the four trips to the bus stop, home work, uneaten lunch boxes at times, waiting for Friday, and then wishing for school again by Saturday afternoon. Oh yes! Spare me the excitement of my little girl throwing up four times a day, or waiting with bated breath for the blood, urine, stool results, or reading the face and body language of the elegant and fun doctor, or the creative test of coming up with yummalicious options of rice gruel, phulkas and vegetables, which might at any time be thrown up. Thank you O Almighty for things settling back to routine.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

the morning

I asked her to soak in a little bit of sun...


and, I made sure I had breakfast by nine, hurray!


I was almost famished. Last night, as we were in bed, my brain slow, my back sore, my legs glad to be resting, the wise daughter declares (among other things), "pens are pencils without erasers!" I start and make the appropriate sounds and am soon lulled to sleep by the son chattering away on his pretend cellular phone, which, by the way is the daughter's ruler, on one side and her soft-spoken questions on the other. But, it was when she asked,"why can't we see God?" that I was glad I was just a second away from deep, dark sleep.

Really, why can't we see God?

Saturday, June 11, 2011

last night

the son put the bird feed in the aquarium. He was excited to have given the fish a completely new taste. I was aghast. The daughter, so very like me, rushed and brought me the pink fish net that we usually use to remove dead or sick fish.

Her eyes were worried and like big Os on her pixie-like face. My eye were tired, as were my reflexes, though, then they wouldn't be called reflexes right? But, the son's eyes were merry. They were joyous. And, I wanted that in me.

And, in my daughter. She has inherited all that I did not want her to inherit from me - my frizzy, wavy hair and my inhibited-ness. She is sweeter, stronger, stubborn-er than me, but she is as guarded. She thinks of what others will think. Just like me.

It pains me that I have a lot to do in making her this way, because her inherent nature is gentle, kind and soft, peaceful and loving, accepting and lovable, alert and soft-spoken.

Where I found an anchor in her, she found a timid mother, wife and woman; where I found joy and mindfulness in her, she found indecision and fear; where I found I wanted to be better for her, she found that how much better she tried to be, her mother's expectations of life would never be met.

This is a low-point of my life. It is the saddest feeling. And, when I sat down to write, this was not what I had in mind to write. It was supposed to be a post about how last night, I suddenly, yes, very suddenly, wanted to share my boy's mischief. About how it didn't matter that there's nothing intellectual or arty or posh or awe-worthy happening, but still I wanted to share, because this is what is.

And, this is what I had wanted this space to be. A record. A storehouse of memories and thoughts. About things like how in the rickshaw this morning, I might as well have walked in the rain because that was how much I was drenched. There was Sudha and her son Somesh and my son and me. And, the rickshaw was almost flying, the raindrops were sharp on the face and I was almost shivering in the strong, damp wind.

But, all I could think of was to make me some black coffee (dried and ground from the coffee beans in mu husband's home) with jaggery, click a picture of the steamy cuppa against my wet window and post it on flickr.

As with all things Shilpa-proposes, something-disposes. I leave you with a picture of what I finally clicked :)