The other day, I was hanging out clothes and I heard the distressed wail of a baby- I craned my neck and saw a baby crying his lungs out- he was lying on a bit of cloth under a tree on the ground below our building. His mother was doing some grinding or some other such work near by- she was talking to her baby as her hands continued toiling. The baby would hush for a while and then again resume crying lustily when he realized that his mother was too busy to carry him. Finally she stopped her work, washed her hands from a tap near by and then swooped the wailing baby in her arms- The infant stopped crying almost immediately as its mother continued talking to it… and I was suddenly conscious of this pang, an ache in the depths of my being...
At some point, I was aware of a longing , to run down and pick up the baby- to hold a baby, to cuddle it, to talk to it- to hear it make gurgling sounds- to smell its baby smell-
…There is this ad on TV( Johnsons baby product- obviously),in which the mother is so moved by the sight of her sleeping baby, and then there is this another one in which this kiddo upon observing a leaky pipe waddles off after swathing the leak with its own diaper! Another one in which the mother is speaking on the phone while keeping an eye on her baby- and suddenly the baby takes its first unsteady steps- she’s left holding the phone open mouthed- totally mesmerized by the magic unfolding in front of her-
My brother sends us the video of his toddler- and I think its so nice to have such memories recorded- I don’t have any of my sons- sometimes, when I read through old diary entries of my sons in their childhood, I feel a kind of loss- and I have less such records of my younger son- be it snaps or diary entries- and I feel so many beautiful memories have slipped beyond reach- and I enjoy reading fizo’s, Priya’s, and ano’s accounts of their babies-
and though I’m relieved that the sleepless nights- colic and other childhood ailments are behind me- still sometimes, I feel like revisiting those memories yet again…
Natasha Josefowitz
Where are the children of yesteryears?
Where is the infant suckling at my brest
I find no traces of her
In that other young mother…
Where is the little boy,
Who crept into my bed?
Is there anything left of him
In that balding young man?
My little children
Are no longer
They live only in old photographs-
Wouldn’t it be wonderful
If all our children
From all their past b’days
Could visit us just once in a while!
Monday, August 29, 2005
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
When I'm bored....
Sometimes, when time weighed heavily, I used to pick up a pencil and scribble- but now its been a long time that I did any drawing- I usually copy from some drawing, photograph- I have very less patience and by the time I’m half way, I cannot wait to finish the picture- no finishing touches… Besides I don’t think I have any particular talent, I scribbled away just to while away time…
a few random sketches...
and a few scribbles
a few random sketches...
and a few scribbles
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
yet another Independence day has passed us by...
Yet another Independence day has passed us by- this year too we had flag hoisting at our colony. It was the collector – he was scheduled to arrive by 9 a.m and on the dot he alighted from his vehicle. Our association president however had announced that the flag hoisting would be held at 8 a.m and so most of us assembled by 8.15. It was a deliberate ruse, we later heard- to ensure that most of the residents would be assembled by the actual time! We did not know of this ruse, and began grumbling about how the collector was not punctual as usual.
A couple of the residents gave speeches about the country, Independence, about today’s generation not being aware of the significance of the sacrifice of our leaders….when there were no more volunteers to speak, patriotic songs blared from the loud speakers.
Suddenly one of the ladies remembered an old Paatti ( grandmother) in the colony who was a good orator and had apparently taken part in the freedom struggle. A couple of ladies went to call her and she came immediately mighty pleased. However she did not forget to whisper in our years, “if you had informed me about this earlier, I’d have dressed up for the occasion. It is important to be presentable. Clothes make the Emperor and the beggar”.
She marched up the dais confidently- a sprightly woman in spite of her age, and gave a short but inspiring speech without ado. After the speech she sang a song penned by the great poet Bhaarathiyaar.
The collector came on time and hoisted the flag- there were a few speeches, the usual distribution of flags and sweets, and some women who had hurriedly got together sang a patriotic song.
Last year not many residents had assembled for the function, but this year many turned up though some preferred to watch the proceedings from their balconies.
Perhaps one does not often think about the country’s Independence, so many of us tend to take such things for granted- I was born into a free India, and though I am aware fo the problems and achievements of my country at some level, I cannot claim to have raised a finger towards doing my mite. On the other hand it is quite possible that I too have lamented about the corrupt system, I too have complained about the politicians- and then quite complacently resumed reading blogs…
It is true that I very rarely visualize things or incidents at a National level- I tend to think of Humanity at large, the geographical barriers notwithstanding, and yet, I realise that it is important to remember the strides that our country has taken down the years. I am not clear as to what role I can play – may be I can start with just trying to be a good human being, and trying to bring up my children to the best of my capacity, trying to instill healthy values in them. Beyond that, at this point I am not too sure how I can contribute to the growth of my Nation.
A couple of the residents gave speeches about the country, Independence, about today’s generation not being aware of the significance of the sacrifice of our leaders….when there were no more volunteers to speak, patriotic songs blared from the loud speakers.
Suddenly one of the ladies remembered an old Paatti ( grandmother) in the colony who was a good orator and had apparently taken part in the freedom struggle. A couple of ladies went to call her and she came immediately mighty pleased. However she did not forget to whisper in our years, “if you had informed me about this earlier, I’d have dressed up for the occasion. It is important to be presentable. Clothes make the Emperor and the beggar”.
She marched up the dais confidently- a sprightly woman in spite of her age, and gave a short but inspiring speech without ado. After the speech she sang a song penned by the great poet Bhaarathiyaar.
The collector came on time and hoisted the flag- there were a few speeches, the usual distribution of flags and sweets, and some women who had hurriedly got together sang a patriotic song.
Last year not many residents had assembled for the function, but this year many turned up though some preferred to watch the proceedings from their balconies.
Perhaps one does not often think about the country’s Independence, so many of us tend to take such things for granted- I was born into a free India, and though I am aware fo the problems and achievements of my country at some level, I cannot claim to have raised a finger towards doing my mite. On the other hand it is quite possible that I too have lamented about the corrupt system, I too have complained about the politicians- and then quite complacently resumed reading blogs…
It is true that I very rarely visualize things or incidents at a National level- I tend to think of Humanity at large, the geographical barriers notwithstanding, and yet, I realise that it is important to remember the strides that our country has taken down the years. I am not clear as to what role I can play – may be I can start with just trying to be a good human being, and trying to bring up my children to the best of my capacity, trying to instill healthy values in them. Beyond that, at this point I am not too sure how I can contribute to the growth of my Nation.
My son's poems
I have posted a couple of poems penned by my elder son. He is fifteen and had written these last year- after which he has not attempted another...
The Song of Dawn and The Spring Symphony
The Song of Dawn and The Spring Symphony
Shedding the cloak of Invisibility
How does it feel to remain invisible? You can see everybody, hear everyone- and nobody can see you, hear you…sounds exciting, interesting, intriguing- yeah- I too would’ve thought it would be something like that- but now, I think otherwise- it feels strange, and it does not feel too good- nothing amiss-
I have been wanting to throw off this cloak of invisibility for days now- esp since it was thrust upon me I had not wished for it- I had not asked for it- it just fell upon me…and there I was hidden from view- and then there were those random moments, when I was allowed sneak peeks into the world outside- but it was a one way view- I would greedily peek thru- wanting to catch up with everything and everyone- the world was moving on steadily- had I doubted it would not ? Somethings I would understand and some I would’ve no idea- I would whisper…softly- wanting to be heard and yet not sure- but the invisibility had made me feel like an intruder sometimes- just in my mind, I was aware- and yet I could not find my voice- I knew that I just have to speak louder, but it was like I had lost my voice- or may be I had forgotten the language? And then I would get ready to holler after a little deliberation, a little thought- and poof- the cloak of invisibility shrouded me yet again- The world kept moving- hey wait for me…I wanted to scream- wait ., wait…but nobody heard- and I kept gazing into the darkness…
Writing down thoughts, feelings used to be such a personal thing- just between my diary and me- and it did not matter- but this community thing has become a big “nasha”- I want to hear, I want to be heard- now is that good or bad…who knows? It’s the “EGO” in capitals- that’s what they say- my thoughts need to be shared- not to be validated perhaps- yet there is this need to be heard- while I address the community at large- and yet- actually, I feel like I’m talking to each at a personal level…there is a certain expectation, a certain idea as to how each person reacts, responds- an there is a curiosity value- one hears voices in response- be it assent or dissent there is a sense of self gratification- a sense of belonging- while I’m fully involved in the activities of the “real” world- a very satisfying life in its own way- yet what it is that I seek in this sea of voices, words…what is it that gives me a feeling of feeling “left out” when I’m unable to participate- when I do not find a voice/ or the medium to express my thoughts- Is it good or bad- I know not- but it is- that I cannot deny…but yes, I am concerned about this need in me- I can and will find a way around the life of invisibility- if I have to , but then there would be a void…
Today, for now, as I was reading some old posts- the comments – esp abt the world becoming a smaller place and the ensuing comments- suddenly I was seized by the desperate need to scream out loud…I want to be here- I want to hear you- I want to be heard- and I’m not embarrassed by this need…because that is what I am- and I cannot pretend…I like to hear from you- and when I use the pronoun “you”- I mean you, you, you and you…each and everyone of you- you have the power to make me feel happy, sad, dejected- I chose to bestow this power upon you- when I don’t hear from you, I miss you- I wonder about your silences- I like it if you seek me out if I am not around- makes me feel good- I wonder if you missed me when I was not around…
I started this one, on an impulse- I wanted to literally scream- and then I got stuck with words- I kept deleting , rephrasing- because, I was thinking of the your reactions- your responses- and then I thought what the heck- I cannot stop being what I’m- and so that I may not flounder for words- I paused not to think about you, you and you- to whom I’m speaking- I just imagined I was writing in my diary yet again- and then the words kept tumbling …rolling one after the other- falling upon themselves- and here they’re let loose-
I have been wanting to throw off this cloak of invisibility for days now- esp since it was thrust upon me I had not wished for it- I had not asked for it- it just fell upon me…and there I was hidden from view- and then there were those random moments, when I was allowed sneak peeks into the world outside- but it was a one way view- I would greedily peek thru- wanting to catch up with everything and everyone- the world was moving on steadily- had I doubted it would not ? Somethings I would understand and some I would’ve no idea- I would whisper…softly- wanting to be heard and yet not sure- but the invisibility had made me feel like an intruder sometimes- just in my mind, I was aware- and yet I could not find my voice- I knew that I just have to speak louder, but it was like I had lost my voice- or may be I had forgotten the language? And then I would get ready to holler after a little deliberation, a little thought- and poof- the cloak of invisibility shrouded me yet again- The world kept moving- hey wait for me…I wanted to scream- wait ., wait…but nobody heard- and I kept gazing into the darkness…
Writing down thoughts, feelings used to be such a personal thing- just between my diary and me- and it did not matter- but this community thing has become a big “nasha”- I want to hear, I want to be heard- now is that good or bad…who knows? It’s the “EGO” in capitals- that’s what they say- my thoughts need to be shared- not to be validated perhaps- yet there is this need to be heard- while I address the community at large- and yet- actually, I feel like I’m talking to each at a personal level…there is a certain expectation, a certain idea as to how each person reacts, responds- an there is a curiosity value- one hears voices in response- be it assent or dissent there is a sense of self gratification- a sense of belonging- while I’m fully involved in the activities of the “real” world- a very satisfying life in its own way- yet what it is that I seek in this sea of voices, words…what is it that gives me a feeling of feeling “left out” when I’m unable to participate- when I do not find a voice/ or the medium to express my thoughts- Is it good or bad- I know not- but it is- that I cannot deny…but yes, I am concerned about this need in me- I can and will find a way around the life of invisibility- if I have to , but then there would be a void…
Today, for now, as I was reading some old posts- the comments – esp abt the world becoming a smaller place and the ensuing comments- suddenly I was seized by the desperate need to scream out loud…I want to be here- I want to hear you- I want to be heard- and I’m not embarrassed by this need…because that is what I am- and I cannot pretend…I like to hear from you- and when I use the pronoun “you”- I mean you, you, you and you…each and everyone of you- you have the power to make me feel happy, sad, dejected- I chose to bestow this power upon you- when I don’t hear from you, I miss you- I wonder about your silences- I like it if you seek me out if I am not around- makes me feel good- I wonder if you missed me when I was not around…
I started this one, on an impulse- I wanted to literally scream- and then I got stuck with words- I kept deleting , rephrasing- because, I was thinking of the your reactions- your responses- and then I thought what the heck- I cannot stop being what I’m- and so that I may not flounder for words- I paused not to think about you, you and you- to whom I’m speaking- I just imagined I was writing in my diary yet again- and then the words kept tumbling …rolling one after the other- falling upon themselves- and here they’re let loose-
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
at the movies...
Saw the movie “Black” with my puttars a few weeks ago. Had been waiting to see this one on the large screen for long- had lost hope that it would ever be screened in the city here we live…but it did happen- DH had promised that we’d go for this one . Long, long ago, very long ago, there used to be a time when we went to the movies every week- sigh…those were the good old days- but that’s lore of yore now- the prospect of setting out atleast a couple of hours earlier, then waiting in the queue, and finally sitting holed up in the theatre for more than 2 hours with the dolby stereo screaming right into the ears, coming home with a headache was very daunting , I manage to let the tear ducts overflow for almost any movie- DH just cannot sit in one place staring into the huge screen for so long- and so we stopped going to the movies!
There used to be time when I’d try to make DH ( dear hubby) feel guilty for not taking me to the movies- I’d point out how Mr. D took Mrs. D to the movies- and he’d reply without batting an eyelid- “shall ask Mr. D to take u along too next time!” Hahaha- Fat joke- tickle tickle laugh laugh…needless to say- I stopped taunting him.
But Black was to be an exception- however when it did come to the theatres, DH could not make it because he was too busy- we were putting up stalls at a Health Exhibition in our city- the experience and exposure was crucial for our company at this juncture- and so I magnanimously let him off the hook- of course, I did make sure that he realized the significance of the sacrifice I was making ( I’m sure I heard a hurriedly smothered sigh of relief) - and so went to see Black with my puttars.
It was being screened in the smaller theatre in the multiplex- there was this never ending queue for the other movie “anniyan” and the “Black” ticket counter was deserted. Now there was three of us- the people from the other queue eyed us as if we were extra terrestrials…Puttars squirmed- the elder one told me we better watch the other movie becos they wouldn’t screen for just three. I refused to budge. Thankfully, soon a few more lonely souls trickled in hesitantly- and eventually, I think there were abt 20- 30 turned up!
Now, there’s not going to be a review of the movie- it would suffice to say that I’d applaud even if Amitabh Bacchhan sneezed- I believe staunchly that it has been my unstinted devotion and adulation that has contributed to AB’s success and glory- ok atleast 75% …
I loved everything abt the movie- have always enjoyed Bhansali’s larger than life visual vistas unfolding on screen- ( yup, loved “Devdas”- there I said it).I loved the shots, the angles, the acting, the blacks, the whites- the colours- or the lack of it, the tears, the water, the snow- everything …I sat at the edge of my seat watching, listening- my elder puttar tried to remind me to sit back a couple of times and then let me be-
And yet, somehow, the moments in the movie did not linger with me afterwards- usually, I keep running over the dialogues, the scenes- the acting long afterwards-
They were changing the posters already as we filed out after the movie- Black ran only for 2 days I think…
After the movie- went to dinner with DH- and came home…
There used to be time when I’d try to make DH ( dear hubby) feel guilty for not taking me to the movies- I’d point out how Mr. D took Mrs. D to the movies- and he’d reply without batting an eyelid- “shall ask Mr. D to take u along too next time!” Hahaha- Fat joke- tickle tickle laugh laugh…needless to say- I stopped taunting him.
But Black was to be an exception- however when it did come to the theatres, DH could not make it because he was too busy- we were putting up stalls at a Health Exhibition in our city- the experience and exposure was crucial for our company at this juncture- and so I magnanimously let him off the hook- of course, I did make sure that he realized the significance of the sacrifice I was making ( I’m sure I heard a hurriedly smothered sigh of relief) - and so went to see Black with my puttars.
It was being screened in the smaller theatre in the multiplex- there was this never ending queue for the other movie “anniyan” and the “Black” ticket counter was deserted. Now there was three of us- the people from the other queue eyed us as if we were extra terrestrials…Puttars squirmed- the elder one told me we better watch the other movie becos they wouldn’t screen for just three. I refused to budge. Thankfully, soon a few more lonely souls trickled in hesitantly- and eventually, I think there were abt 20- 30 turned up!
Now, there’s not going to be a review of the movie- it would suffice to say that I’d applaud even if Amitabh Bacchhan sneezed- I believe staunchly that it has been my unstinted devotion and adulation that has contributed to AB’s success and glory- ok atleast 75% …
I loved everything abt the movie- have always enjoyed Bhansali’s larger than life visual vistas unfolding on screen- ( yup, loved “Devdas”- there I said it).I loved the shots, the angles, the acting, the blacks, the whites- the colours- or the lack of it, the tears, the water, the snow- everything …I sat at the edge of my seat watching, listening- my elder puttar tried to remind me to sit back a couple of times and then let me be-
And yet, somehow, the moments in the movie did not linger with me afterwards- usually, I keep running over the dialogues, the scenes- the acting long afterwards-
They were changing the posters already as we filed out after the movie- Black ran only for 2 days I think…
After the movie- went to dinner with DH- and came home…
Wooing the wayward muse...
Its not enough to be connected to the net to be able to post something...I realised that one needs to be inspired to be able to write something- it is intensely disheartening to be sitting all poised and ready to post something interesting and the mind refuses to cooperate...I have paper and pen ready ( yup, I first write down my musings on paper and then translate them on to the comp- I'm afraid I'll forget how to write with a pen) but no ideas, words pour forth...:-(
I can only console myself that since I'm definitely afflicted with some kind of a block, then perhaps I am a writer of sorts...I mean only writers are said to have these blocks rite??
Wooing the wayward muse
I can only console myself that since I'm definitely afflicted with some kind of a block, then perhaps I am a writer of sorts...I mean only writers are said to have these blocks rite??
Wooing the wayward muse
Back from obscurity...
“ Do you know why a blog is maintained?’- a special friend demanded of me over the phone a few days ago…and as I was pondering deeply for a profound answer..she enlightened me: “ to post blogs madam”…and as I was digesting that tidbit, she proceeded to threaten me with dire consequences if I did not resurrect my dead blogspace at the earliest…
So Neelu, this one is for you, now that you have transformed the look of my page, I really must post something…
I vanished from the virtual horizon thanks to the net service provider- there is this solitary soul handling all the net traffic by himself- and obviously he was unable to handle it on hiw own … I’d be in the midst of reading blogs/ listening to music online and pffffftttttttt….suddenly I’d be thrown out of cyberspace unceremoniously…after counting to ten, I’d pick up the phone to call the solitary reaper…err…net provider…and if and when he came online he’d apologise profusely, promising to set things right at the earliest- he’d also throw some technical jargon at me citing it as the excuse for the lapse. Often his definition of “earliest” and mine differed vastly. After the technical snags were resolved, the solitary net provider was admitted for surgery ( kidney stone). Now, how could one rant and rave at an ill person, so I was denied the option of screaming at him.
The first few days of net deprivation was tortous- withdrawal symptoms were acute and painful- but when it eventually dawned upon me that this deprivation was to continue indefinitely, I decided I better seek other recourse in the interest of my near and dear ones. I brushed off the dust off my hitherto neglected sewing machine, oiled it …got down to cutting and sewing a couple of blouses and tops. Also resumed my embroidery- began to watch soap operas on TV…did a bit of catching up with real life socializing- reminded them of my existence- gladly they did not look me up and down trying to figure out who I was…and thus I learnt to survive without the net- but yes, I did miss not hearing from my virtual friends…
However, I think that finally my net woes are over… and I hope I do not ignore my blogspace further…
p.s: Neelu- I loved the new look of my blog space...Thank you...and now that I have posted something I hope you will not carry out your threat :-)
So Neelu, this one is for you, now that you have transformed the look of my page, I really must post something…
I vanished from the virtual horizon thanks to the net service provider- there is this solitary soul handling all the net traffic by himself- and obviously he was unable to handle it on hiw own … I’d be in the midst of reading blogs/ listening to music online and pffffftttttttt….suddenly I’d be thrown out of cyberspace unceremoniously…after counting to ten, I’d pick up the phone to call the solitary reaper…err…net provider…and if and when he came online he’d apologise profusely, promising to set things right at the earliest- he’d also throw some technical jargon at me citing it as the excuse for the lapse. Often his definition of “earliest” and mine differed vastly. After the technical snags were resolved, the solitary net provider was admitted for surgery ( kidney stone). Now, how could one rant and rave at an ill person, so I was denied the option of screaming at him.
The first few days of net deprivation was tortous- withdrawal symptoms were acute and painful- but when it eventually dawned upon me that this deprivation was to continue indefinitely, I decided I better seek other recourse in the interest of my near and dear ones. I brushed off the dust off my hitherto neglected sewing machine, oiled it …got down to cutting and sewing a couple of blouses and tops. Also resumed my embroidery- began to watch soap operas on TV…did a bit of catching up with real life socializing- reminded them of my existence- gladly they did not look me up and down trying to figure out who I was…and thus I learnt to survive without the net- but yes, I did miss not hearing from my virtual friends…
However, I think that finally my net woes are over… and I hope I do not ignore my blogspace further…
p.s: Neelu- I loved the new look of my blog space...Thank you...and now that I have posted something I hope you will not carry out your threat :-)
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