the cool breeze

heralds the rain. it is a respite after the sticky humidity of the last few days. i am thankful. i am so thankful because now i know (and hope) that kukku, our african grey will get water. she flew away three afternoons ago.

she has flown away before. but, then she couldn't fly far with her clipped wings and landed on the first floor of another building in our residential complex, ignored the sprouts they tried to feed her and almost bit open anyone who came near her. she was back with us in less than two days!

this time, i don't feel anything. no heaviness of the heart, no sinking feeling in the gut, nothing. its like the sub-conscious, or the soul, or whatever is that profound quiet voice, has made peace with the inevitable.

they are intelligent birds, these african greys. she could mimic our cough, the reverse sounds of two cars in our building, "blackie, blackie, come here," "blackie NO," and "aveeee," and a number of bird calls. i used to joke with H that she talks too much to herself just like buck of ice age 3. what makes me lose confidence and saddens me is the thought that maybe she wanted out.

she was left open in the house, like we do twice a week, for her to fly and after four rounds she just flew out of the window, flew out of the balcony, flew into the blue sky... just like she was meant to. the wings are just a bonus.

kukku and i

PS

by now, posters with cash reward to anyone who finds and hands her over would have been pasted around the neighbourhood.

things that make me go *awww*

little boys in check shirts...

little girls in ribbons....

and, bright, warm-my-heart light.

today

the husband has taken the kids to the park below. it is awfully quiet around here. the afternoons suddenly become cooler. the days are shorter now. winters are not far.

the view from where i'm typing

the daughter has school tomorrow to practice for an upcoming theatre festival. did you hear that sound? it was the sound of my weekend crashing.

oh well! at least, the school buses will ferry the kids.

life's like that

the weekly eight-hour power outage continued for another five hours and the inverter batteries ran out. 

mini diwali last night

plucked out an orange gerbera after spotting a new bud on the plant. makes me smile every time i lay eyes on it.

don't miss the light

the neighbours upstairs renovated their kitchen the day before. the plumber worked on the pipes from my kitchen. aunty sat with me for the two-three hours, for my security, she said. then the next day, they painted it without notifying me and i now have paint splattered sill, pane, window and plants.

blah! i tell you.

PS

am now going to drink the tea that has been brewing. that should make everything all right.

you are the salt.

you are the mother. without you the family is lost. you are the one who guides. you are the anchor, the pivot of the family. but, you are unseen. just like salt. anything without salt is tasteless, useless. it adds to the flavour, it enhances the taste. without the salt, the curry is just goop. - excerpt from last Sunday's sermon

su's rainbow ripple

sunday morning table

before church

PS

i am the salt. so, i would like to believe.

ahem!

PS

photographed by the son on my phone as i was taking pictures of them for the September sun post. there were ten more, but these are the least shaken of them all.

lines

i stood there,

as sparrows tittered,

sunshine scattered the mist,

made the dew on my lips twinkle.

i stood there,

as sparrows flitted to the shadows,

the sun shone proud and strong,

my wilted lips trembled in the little wind.

i stood there,

as sparrows ducked for cover,

the sun hung his face behind heavy clouds,

my lips seeped in their wrath,

my arms tried to hold in the burst of crystal.

i stood there.

i stood before God.

i stood my ground.

at school

six year old's teacher says, she has stopped crying for everything. one day, the teacher told her that if she wants to be beautiful, she should not cry. that was the end of that. so, it seems.

going through four year old's work sheets. look ma, i do circles, he said, pride in voice and stance. it  asked to circle the letter A, and he had circled, very neatly, every alphabet there. ditto with circle the fruits. 

my artist boy and my beauty-conscious girl :)

the September sun

on and off holidays.

festival season. power outages. rain. first term of the academic year done with. books already in tatters. keeping kids entertained....

origami tulip

origami dog

post-its, too

all in a rainy day's work

*joy*

we baked chocolate muffins yesterday. i packed two for her short break. she tells me, momma, for my seven years birthday, i want a star shaped chocolate cake made by *here she pauses for effect, eyes sparkling* momma... *now lifts her right leg and right hand.* i said really!

she continues, just make some chocolate cream. and, also some white cream and write happy birthday. i said okay.

baby, i forgive you your teenage for this show of faith in me

voices

sleepless. alone in the lower bunk. visualising all that needs to get done in the morning, for us to make it to the two school buses on time. i should sleep, i think. it is necessary to sleep at the same time every night, i have read ever so many times, in so many different pages.

the satyanarayan pooja is over. the aratis have been sung. prasad distributed. most of the building folk have retired to their homes after the dinner, an annual ritual. just a few people linger on. they must be the organisers. taking care of things. evaluating the dinner. Hindustani classical music plays in the back ground. some chatter, some laughter carries through the rain, the shut windows and to my ears.

closer still are the sounds from the next room. it has been about ten days or so that they now sleep with their father. the blackster must have jumped on the bed. the children giggle and titter at the mock anger of their father. bedsheets are dusted loudly. pillows thumped.

little growling sounds from the dog. a stream of sweet chatter from the daughter. little pauses where the son absolutely must contribute to the conversation with a word or two interjected loudly, rashly. the father enjoys the attention. the children bestow their affection. the father is at ease. his kids happily comfortable.

i find it hard to concentrate on their little questions. their little stories. not at this time. never at ease while putting them to bed. i am paraniod they are not sleeping and have to wake up the next day. i don't want their sleepy morning tantrums. i am working out the next day. essential for them to make more little stories. ask more questions... i feel sleep coming. it is best this way.

for her Daffodil miss, on teacher's day

mangala murthi morriya

PS

at my friend's house.