it has bitten me.

this organization bug.

but, i can't tell you 

how much it has helped me.

and, i found a place to store glass bottles

and glass jars,

and, to use them creatively.

yeah, that up-cycle razzmatazz.

am now part of the bandwagon.

remember, that time i was ashamed 

to show you the inside of my closet...

not anymore!

also, one creative thing per week resolution

of mine - check :)

eating Nutella is yummy, painted them empty jars with kids is scrumptious, too

easy-peasy to find and match with what you're wearing

PS

you bet I've earned my coffee :)

it was

my son's birthday last Friday. there was a small kiddie party planned. and, like always, i was on it. but, in the run up to the party, i amazed myself with the amount of work i got done. it was not just the cleaning part, where unlike the past years, i actually sorted, arranged and organized. not just dumped them out of sight!

i was ready with the prep of the food beforehand. that is a first. usually, it is like i get chef's block or something. i am so worried about how the food will turn out, i keep putting it off till like two hours before the guests are to arrive. and, then brag about how i'm living on the edge and all. *shakes head*

the fridge is purged, clean, smelling fresh with not a single dish without a cover in it! the fans are wiped clean. all but one cupboard is sorted. no old clothes remain. and, along with all of this, i managed to season some mangoes pickled in brine. found cooling themselves in the far recesses of my fridge, where they have been for more than a few months now, i think. all this in the last four days.

PS

the burdday boy

clouds pregnant with rain

stifling the ever bright sun

with not a leaf in motion

perspiration sticking on neck and back

weighing down the mind

eyes searing the sky

hands keeping busy

heart bursting with frustration...

...

... and, the thought of an oil massage 

heavenly to the senses

but purge worthy in the humidity.

so, i did the next best thing.

made some light, soothing oil for the hair.

some aloe, camphor and curry leaves...

... heated in coconut oil ...

to make a lightly fragrant and nourishing oil for the hair.

    every morning, i used to wake up, boil milk, let the water for tea boil while i brushed my teeth, washed my face, put kajal and lip gloss, blinked at the mirror twice and hurried to sip the celestial beverage, the sweet milky, strong tea. and, my day used to begin.

    after my long hiatus in Kerala, we woke up really late the first morning, since we had arrived past midnight. we trooped to the nearby Mac Donalds for breakfast. i was kind of dizzy. it was hot and humid just like in Kerala, but i was feeling the brunt of it in the concrete jungle.

    ordered for cold coffee, and was addicted to it for a week. the husband was still drinking tea. despite making it two-three times a day, i could not bear to sip it. then, he was advised not to drink milk after a bout of indigestion. so, we shared our cups of black coffee.

    clouds are lighter after venting rain, curtains are dancing in the cool breeze, the sun is sulking and making his presence known. it is a confused weather, this morning. neither hot and sunny, nor damp and cloudy. the summers are giving way to the rains. it is inevitable. change happens.

    i changed. as simple as that. as simply as that. but, people around me don't know. my husband doesn't think so. only a part of me knows. the rest is confusion. my home doesn't know, it is a mess. i need to straighten things up. face my demons. evolve.

    

three drawers full of dvds and blurays

stacked so high, there's two more piles you can't see

now, sit prettily in three large files, taking one-tenth the space they actually took!

i believe, i've earned my coffee :)

PS

i remember, i got this magical idea from Arundati, book-marked in my mind. and, here i am, getting down to it after almost two years. better late than never :)

a clan no more

    making a phone call home is always pleasurable. there is always news. and, in the times now it is almost instinctive to pick up the phone and call for anything, everything and, sometimes just to hear  'your voice.'

    a couple of days before i left home, there was a huge thunderstorm in the evening. trees uprooted blocked roads, branches fell on electric lines, leaving us without power for more than 28 hours. the strong gusts of wind pushed a white hen from the branches of the coffee tree, which is where the cock-a-doodle clan roosts at night.

    she was disoriented and ran into the kitchen, when the back door was opened. but, we were as surprised to run into her at dinner time as she clucked loudly and ran helter-skelter. she found an opening and ran outside into the night, now pitch black with no street lights. not even the haughty rooster could help her. and, his favourite wife, grump-a-cluck was, secretly, very glad indeed.

    later in the night, as i was getting ready to sleep in the farthest corner of the house, i could hear rustling leaves. i hoped it was the lost mrs cluck. but, by mid-morning the next day, her headless carcass was found by our domestic help on the stone fence not far from their roost. by this time, the high and mighty one and his harem had already fed and gone to the neighbours, as is the routine.

    so, one afternoon i called home and i was greeted with sad, emptying news. whatever it was that had eaten the hen on the night of the thunderstorm had struck another time. again, the poor headless hen was buried near the largest jackfruit tree. 

    a couple of mornings later, mr rooster looked lost. clucking nervously he paced about the courtyard. a search in and around the premises revealed that the last two hens had gone missing - no carcass, no feathers! a mystery in our midst, theft on our minds.

    there was foreboding enough, no one was surprised the rooster had wandered of. really, he needed gals and was free of his domesticity. so, he strutted on the road conscious of the admiring glances of people passing by, who were wondering which house he belonged to. by afternoon, he had been caught and killed by the watch dog of the Convent three houses away.

    the Mother (of the Convent) was very sorry indeed, but, really, what could she have done. amma was so horrified, and exhausted, that she has let the rickety coop be. maybe, after a few months, she will feel like revisiting the sounds of the hens, the warmth of a freshly laid egg, the call of the rooster who would never let us hear the last of it if the feed was not scattered on time. for now, the void is palpable across two states, the silence deafening, the loss tangible.

    

PS

pictures taken in happier times.

    

    

    

    I looked around at the near empty stands. It is the end of the season. And, the rains have started, said my dad, the circus expert also specializing in weather. He moved in front, to our row, because the son insisted his grand dad sit him on his lap and fan him with newspapers that we had thoughtfully carried.

   This year, we reached my parents’ home in the last week of April, in time for dinner. And, before dessert of freshly plucked sweet mangoes was cut and served, dad was piping of how he was waiting for us to come to go to the circus. It had been their wish to take the grand kids along, gushed mom. Oh well.

    The announcements were made. We were prohibited from taking pictures. The show began. This teenaged boy with the sweetest of smiles started his acrobatic stunts. It was like he was made of silicone, of the baking dish variety. I gaped. Then, I clapped. The acrobat turned to me, his hands raised like gymnasts at the end of their act, his smile causing his eyes to twinkle.

    Silence. But, for the drone of the announcer, the background music being played live, the whirring of the giant pedestal fans, muffled traffic from outside. These were classy performance, from animals to clowns to cyclists, jugglers, trapeze artists and acrobats. There was an appalling lack of applause.

    Mom had argued, last night, that circus people were not making too much of money. It was up to us to encourage them and keep this tradition alive. So, we cheered, and clapped. Dad said, hear, hear, which embarrassed me like anything. It would have been magical had people also joined in to thundering claps of appreciation.

    

    My parents visit the circus every year it comes to town. It is childhood memories for them, happiness shared between them about the times then, years ago. The circus leaves in the last week of April, and we reach home for the annual summer holidays only in May, which means we never get to see it.

    Not that I was interested. The son is still in kindergarten, and the thought of carrying him, with all the diaper paraphernalia, little boxes of snacks etc was too much for this momma, who couldn’t wait to thrust both her kids into the hands of her parents and escape into oblivion.

    

the one picture i took. it was before the announcements 

    There were instances of loud applause, especially during this dance routine in the air on two flowing white curtains. Sure, they had seen the routine before in one of them dance reality shows on television. They also had the programmes nicely spaced, with animal and bird antics coming up at neat intervals keeping the kids entertained when they got bored by the stuff that grown-ups would enjoy.

    The last time I saw the circus was in the tenth standard with my two cousin brothers and my maternal grandfather. In those days, there were lions and tigers and ringmasters with whips. Not so anymore. Still, by God, I was happy I got to see the circus.