And how I smile!! :) :) :) :)

There was a time when 11 a.m would bring with it a sense of anticipation. The sound of the 'plonk' on tin, was very soothing. It was I should know. Those were the days when all that you needed to convey to the person living across miles was 'the snail mail'. The lovely handwritten sheets, the blue 'inland letter', the dull yellow post card. They were all there to witness smiles, tears, screeches as news let itself out or just the shy acknowledgement of sweet whispers of love from a loved one.Oh yes!! those were the days!! *sigh*

There were times when an urgent ( remember urgent meant 'emergency' ) message had to be sent, we had to trudge along ,amidst the pressing responsibilties just to stand in the crowded, dingy, dark stained walled post offices, only to send the limited edition messages. " mother arriving, 8 pm train", grandmother serious, please come immediately" ...They had charges for each word..so brevity meant saving those few coins ;) Telegrams were overshadowed by pagers and then the upmarket mobiles., but the fun was lost..no more calculations before trying out various ways to pen down your thoughts, into those miniscule spaces that the standard letters and postcards gave us.

It was fun though, when we would try to open the letter in a hurry and end up opening it at the wrong end, only to realise, that the letter was sliced into half :D...so it was a jigsaw puzzle after that.I used to write a lot of letters then, receive as many or many many more...I remember writing on trips to friends giving them a minute to minute updates, writing to my family when I would go away for weeks on NCC camps whining about the food, but raving about the time I was having. Though the fact that the letter would choose to finally reach its destination a week later was no setback, I would love to write. I guess that trait I imbibed frm my father who ,living in a different city because of work, would so lovingly write to each of us in our family a separate letter...no common letter for all of us to peep into..my brother was very young a kindergarten kid, but he would get one too...which we sisters would read out to him.

Nowadays I still try my best ( very poorly though) to keep in touch with the pen, paper and stamp routine...some of the stamps I used to have as backup( would buy one whole lot of 1 re stamps to avoid the walk up to the post office to buy them), are ready for archiving, its been that long. I do write a few bits here and there to family, those cards posted for birthdays, or new years...but they have never seen the inside of that solid looking, red coloured tin box on the street side. It goes straight onto the desk of the courier chap, and of it goes in its swanky settings to the destination...no more peeling of stamps in a hurry, no more trying to figure out where the card came from.

Times have changed, but some things do remain ; the excitement of seeing a card or letter handwritten, postage stamp stuck in the corner and the black half legible stamped seal on the cover...

I was the lucky one today...and that smile has been pasted and refuses to dissolve..

She said in her latest post, that Friendship can be found in unusual places. It sure does..I met her while browsing gingerly through my new found interest, the 'blogworld'..many posts and a few calls in between we did manage to meet too...was so thrilled to be part of her book launch session...Reading her posts, i'm caught shaking my head constantly, 'cos we are so alike as moms...and when she wrote this post many posts ago, I won her handwritten card prize :D....yes I was grinning then and I am grinning now....I am in receipt of her beautifully handmade card. My sons were so amazed to know that people send cards in such ways too ( they need to be educated on surprises too... ) and they were going " so sweet no ma!!, "awesome" "she made it herself", " why did she post it" " the little one had this to say " how did she send it from there???" and then I knew, I had made my own day...

Thanks Preethi, for the card, for the memories attached to it, for the sentiment that goes with it, and most importantly the friendship that tags along slowly behind it....
A HUGE THANK YOU!!!!

An island of my own!

In our hectic, fast-paced, consumer-driven society, it's common to feel overwhelmed, isolated and alone. Many are re-discovering the healing and empowering role that community can bring to our lives. The sense of belonging we feel when we make the time to take an active role in our communities can give us a deeper sense of meaning and purpose. -- Robert Alan

The only way to make friends with time is to stay friends with people….

Community living is something I love. While growing up as kids, we used to live in apartment complexes, because our father worked in a place that gave him such accomodation. I had no complaints then.It gave me memories of a lifetime.
It taught me that it is:

Easy to make friends.

Families move in and out, so often, you get used to the packers and cartons much more easily than some others .
It taught me to smile even when I heard umpteen hammers banging through my wall. It meant, I would have new neighbours soon..
Dinners were special events during vacations...because we would get permission to go play after. And the fun in playing in the dark, was something we never thought was special then. Now when my kids wonder what to do, after they are exhausted with playing through the entire day, I remind them that they could go play later after dinner, and they oh! so love it.

We moved out , and into a colony culture. The emotional space around me was the same, except the houses were all horizontally aligned. We had more hiding places to look forward to. We got to become very skillful with street games. No matter how many vehicles ( those days, it was more of bicycles and scooters- the la vespa kinds) than 4 wheelers, so our 'lagori', I-spy, hopskotch, etc were all played around obstacles( stones, dirty roads, angry moms, watered down gutters during monsoons, and sometimes, those slithery crawlies called snakes too) Yes! we saw it all...We played games on the sit-outs, after dark, and sometimes had a dinner in a friends house, only because "R aunty's rasam was tastier than our dosas :(...
Life moved on, I got married, moved into my new family and also into a new environment. An independent house bang on the main road. I was in shock...I smiled at all and sundry, when I came out to put rangoli, but only got silent glares in return. I learnt to slowly behave like they wanted me to. No more running out to the next house , cos my rasam was very boring. I learnt to live through it, and learnt to make friends too...I didn't give up , you see..I made friends with the people who came to buy veggetables, the lady from the milk booth, I did it too... and it worked!
And then I wanted my kids to experience the same life I had, had...so we moved into apartments again.
I saw my sons thrive, they learnt to fight out their childhood arguments, withstood bullying, learnt to eat in a neighbours house, without feeling scared. and they actually loved it all
Now I have moved into my own house in an apartment complex. I was worried initially. I was used to a smaller community and this was huge. I had my apprehensions. Would I find my son, if he's hiding under a stairway, what if he gets stuck in the innumerable elevators. What if's became more than 'they can'. It worried me...I had those sleepless nights too...

Life slipped easily into a routine and before I realised it, there were nearly 200 and odd families who had moved in. We began to smile, bump into each others paths and doorways, much more easily. I found my kids easier than I had imagined...I just needed to holler out, and then someone would step out to help in the search..nowadays the search starts by itself...I have kids who give me a regular update about my sons whereabouts, and of course, i'm loving it.
The camarederie with which we all live together, the events we plan together, the laughter that resounds when one of us can't stop cackling, the gossip which returns , the rasam which still tatstes better in the neighbours house. I'm smiling through it all.

Today is ONAM a festival for Keralites. We have a very small number of malayalis in our complex, compared to the

hundreds of others. But when there are more heads that combine, it doesn't matter anymore. They got together to draw out their lovely pookolams, and of course invite us hungry souls for their yummy Sadhya....

I'm still smiling through it all. I know that life's not going to be boring anymore...it might be too packed and hectic, but it doesn't matter ...it helps me smile through all those stressed 'exam moments', bruised knees, frantic project sessions, endless cooking and tantrums galore. It helps me laugh it all away...it keeps me from "growing old inside"!!!!!

Free, and unfettered

Does independence actually mean freedom from someone? Or does it mean you have the opportunity to break your shackles. Being fettered is just a mind game. It’s all in the mind. If you feel the world around you closing in, all you need is to let the window of your soul, and mind open…just watch and see how life, fresh ideas, lovely thoughts, beautiful smiles and laughter seeps in slowly, but surely.


Read this ( click on the coloured word to see the article) very nice article and thought I would share it with you all….I wonder if any of you would agree with her.

She smiles like a twinkling star!!

Her eyes twinkled when she smiled. And smile she did so often it was contagious. She radiated a unique sense of energy to those who followed her.
When she laughed her laugh lines stretched so wide it reached the next beautiful smile. She was one with a million dreams, an endless heart, the hand that soothed several tired limbs and the one just wanted to be.

When her partner cried like a baby because she left him alone to go out and meet her friends for her daily round of gossip, she’d get upset. But naturally, it was her intense determination to let the world in on her world. She was so softspoken, one had to strain his ears to hear her. So childlike, her enthusiasm was so infectious.
Her motto in life was to “Live on, its not the end of the world”. As a couple she and her partner had raised kids to the dozens, children , grandchildren and greatgrandchildren. When he touched the babies, it was as if there an invisible protection bubble being created around the child. She insisted on visiting every new born in her family. Nothing would stop her from taking those quick, nimble steps to reach her destination.

Her hair combed so neatly , I wondered if she ever felt bored not to, any single day? Her hands always laden with glass bangles, ones she always insisted I slide it through her soft wrinkly hands. She was special, and she was beautiful for us through her lovely thoughts and her most generous nature.

On the day she celebrated staying together for 75 good years with her partner(75th wedding anniversary), who was nearing a century, she was shy. She blushed when we teased her. She recollected some real wonderful moments with all of us. …and some present there turned beet red!!

She was asked to talk about her extended family, and her life in a joint one. Her position as a wife, mother, grandparent, teacher, friend, guide and most importantly just being HER.. She was as excited as a little child with the candy , seeing herself on television, it made the whole family cherish that moment.
Most remember her for her lovely goodies she would cook up, some which she said couldn’t be made without the right amount of dedication and love. Pour it in, close your eyes, feel the fragrance wift through your nose, if it smells good to you, so will it taste for your people, she said. The aromas, still slowly slides through and settles on our senses…we still hold onto those moments.
Cherish it we will, because at 93 she was our only best…she was our GRANDMOTHER.

To my grandmother who passed on, to celebrate her life along with her husband 13 days ago….they’ll make merry with the angels, and I’m sure bring more smiles to those up there.

p.s (The baby in the above picture, in her lap is my firstborn.)

He shares our childhood memories

"Our siblings push buttons that cast us in roles we felt sure we had let go of long ago - the baby, the peacekeeper, the caretaker, the avoider.... It doesn't seem to matter how much time has elapsed or how far we've traveled....To the outside world we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other's hearts. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. We live outside the touch of time."

My brother who could be SEEN but hardly heard, one who went about his ways, in his own special way. He makes us feel all puffed up when we see him grow and grow he did on all sides though. For all the pinches and punches he withstood, the elder sister standing tall to bully and ready to ambush. Pushing him to the far end of the family spectrum, 'cos he was small and young...giving him the odd chair on the dining table. He took it in his stride and let us into his world. He grew up and we left those skinny two legs behind, we search for them high and low, but we found in its place a bean bag to envelop and warm our souls..he's our brother, round and tall...he's there for us cordless or not..we love him just as he is, and we are proud...he's the only one who can be called "MY LOVING BROTHER" love

For my brother who means the world to me...HAPPY RAKHI

Revival?

As evening descended a familiar feel to the day took place. The lights brightened, the lamps were lit, all arrangements were checked many times over to receive the many guests who would arrive at our house, for the haldi kumkum event.

It was the Varalakshmi pooja and it was being celebrated in a very traditional way. The pooja being done in the morning, the evening was set aside, for the ladies who would come in bringing their smiles, their finery, their lovely silks and of course a lot of gossip too.
The main topic of discussion would weave its path from hot topics like which saree was the latest in pattern, to who had made the best prasad.

This year, we had a double bonus in the form of ‘Go Green’. Some of the ladies had brought in their huge bags to take home the bounty from the various houses they would visit. It was so heartening to see this awareness, because invariably they would ask for a plastic bag to take home the many cups, coconuts etc from all their visits.

It also took me back to the time, when we as kids would wait with curious breaths..for such occasions,…The colony where we lived, organized a small recital of VishnuSahasranam every Thursday , Each week it would be held in a different house. As kids we were not so much into religion, we were interested in meeting our friends, passing our time running around and of course trying to figure out what the prasad for that day would be. If it was in the house of ‘prasad choice’ , we had to troop in before the aarathi or else the glares we would get from our fathers or other elderly people in the gathering would make us run for dear lives. So it had to be at the appropriate time, time enough to be part of the recital, but not early enough to get bored out of our guts.. I remember there was this particular verse which would mean the last part was nearly close. It was the “ Vanamali gathi shaangi”….(for those who know this , will understand what i'm saying here )our well trained ears would catch hold of that word , and in we would file in, silent, sly and smug. Loud enough for the parents to hear our devotion, we would sing the last few verses with utmost precision ( of course we had been reciting just that for so many weeks, we had to be perfect at it ).

Then the time would come for the distribution of prasad…the much awaited part of the day. It was fun, the anticipation, the repeated requests for more, the patience we developed, just to eat what we loved the most. These small , simple events of our lives interspersed with so many bigger ones, it overlapped and then slowly got absorbed. Not knowing how, I realized, I have learnt most of the traditions, all handed down through subtle methods, none forced on us reluctant kids. No amount of persuasion can bring a bored child to smile, when he/s she is made to sit through something they don’t like. But they do learn by watching as they grow and this was obviously what our parents excelled at, without making it obvious.

Sadly kids nowadays hardly have time to absorb such niceties. They are more interested in their psp's, games, etc. :( I’m not saying it should be made compulsory. But traditions would die a peaceful death if it were not for such methods. If it means the kids get to eat their favourite sweet, only on such days, I’m sure they would wait with more interest…and relish it all the more. I’ve been trying to follow this too….tried never to force my kids to do something, but made it interesting enough for them to watch, got them to help around with the arrangements, invited their friends over so they have company and just let them be…
I’m hoping one day it will help pass on traditions and culture which Indians are so rich in.

Its very gladdening to say, that now after all these years, years of having lived in far off lands away from these old culture pots...the very same "prasada eating only" kids, have decided to facilitate the celebration of Ganesh Chaturthi...and when my father spoke to me about it, I could hear so much pride in his voice...he was proud of his many children who had withstood all the glares only for this...