With unseen strings, I stay attached...

This week our theme is "The very first time..." The key lies in the ellipsis, it could be the tale of our first ever, whatever:-)So, let me tell you the tale of the first ever gang I ever belonged to. We were a gang of nine - 8 girls and 1 boy on the tow, each as different as chalk from cheese. The all brains one, the femme fatale, the joker, the serene as a buddha type, the forever complex stricken, the nymphette, the hot headed one,and the always practical made up the girls team. The lone male was nicknamed 'the comet' by my dad because he tailed us around and also because it was around that time comet shoemaker-levy was creating news.
College in Kerala always implied scores of unprecedented holidays thanks to the gazillion student political parties and their who-knows-what-for strikes. We used these days quite effectively landing as a mob into any one of our homes or going for movies.The practical one lived with her mother in a small one room apartment they'd taken in a women's help organization cum hostel. Her dad worked in the middle east and since mom and daughter were alone they chose this small nest of women comaraderie as home. It worked well for us too since it was just a hop, skip, and jump away from college. So, it was there we landed mostly and aunty (P's mother) was the most cordial of hosts. In fact, P's lunches were so delicious that Buddha and Joker, who sat next to her in class, finished it all up by mid morning. Hot headed got all worked up over this, at times, but I can't recall them ever having a show down over this. The gang did not take hot head seriously, anyway.
Towards the end of the first year of college P and her mom took up a  lovely little house even closer to college because her dad was going to retire and come back to live with his family. Initially, I remember feeling a little apprehensive about this sudden intrusion into our freedom but that wore out. I still remember the warmth with which P's dad greeted us when we first met him. With time, I came to love him almost as much as I did P and I could sense he too harboured a special, fatherly affection towards me. We just clicked. That genuine click of affection never happened with any of the others' parents, who were all equally cordial and nice. With time, I realize that God was perhaps priming us for what was to come.
As usual, our gang too had its share of cliques."A" and "D" were bosom buddies but "E" thought "A" was HER best friend, "B" wanted to be best friends with "F" who tried to run away as fast as she could,"G" was quite clueless, "C" was popular most and everyone wanted to be friends with her, while "P" remained the glue that held us all together. Someone was actively trying to woo comet and we had a tough time stifling the urge to slap the stupid female and save our comet since he then was really and truly a helpless, innocent, unworldy little chap.
The road inclined a little steeply from P's house to college. Her gait was as steady and slow as her practical disposition. I remember trying to impatiently pull her hand and make her go faster. She would try but stop in a couple of minutes, smiling and breathing in equal profusion.
Days and months rolled by and after what was the best time of our lives (subjective comment), it was the study holidays before the final exams.University exams in Kerala, in those days, extended over weeks and by the time they got over and the results were declared admissions in most other states, for higher studies, would be closed. It was the begining of April when our class teacher called me up and told me P was sick. He said she had a urinary tract infection but it was not bad.
It was easter week and since the exams were still days away I goaded my parents to take me for movie, a second show. On the way, on impulse I asked my dad if he would take me to P's house since she was sick. We live a good 25 kilometeres from the city (and the college and the theatre) and dad who generally did not accomodate impulsive social visits readily agreed, this time. I was elated that he agreed and really excited that I was going to pay P a 'surprise' visit. But when we got to her place, the door was locked. Someone told us that they had gone to church for Maundy Thursday. But just as I was getting back into the car, I heard P's voice excitedly calling out to me from further below the road, her dad and she were just coming back. I was so so thrilled. She told me she was just fine and I asked her to come along with us to the movie, which she refused. After jabbering away for some more time, I left. P, as usual came out of the gate to wave.
On sunday morning, April the 7th, 1996, Easter day, my class teacher called me again. To tell me, that P had died.
Years have rolled on. I visit P's home each time I go to Kerala. I feel I somehow owe her that especialy since fate made it so that I was the only one from the gang to have met her so close to death. Also, because I see her dad's eyes light up each time I go and her mom stifle a sob each time I hug them both, as fondly as I have hugged her. Uncle died a year ago. The last I met him, he was sick and a muscle debilitating condition had made walking without help, impossible. I lingered around for sometime, jabbering as usual but deciding in my mind that I should convince him and aunty to move into a cared residential facility, just for safety. I hadn't driven two kilometers from their house when I recieved a missed call on my mobile, from uncle. I called back immediately, worried. He simply said, "I wanted to check if I had your new number right". It was an unspoken request to come and see him again before I flew back to Muscat. So, I went back a few days later with Abhi. Uncle desperately held onto my hand and suddenly Abhi broke into violent and uncontrollable crying. I left soon after since she wouldn't stop. I knew I had seen uncle for the last time. I met aunty the last time I went to Kerala, it is much more difficult with uncle not being around. To see a soul in absolute lonliness.
P was the first ever friend I lost, to death.This is the first time ever that I write it down.

Colours...

Stuff and NONSENSE!

Cholestrol FREE, indeed :-D Did you know that even the most educated consumers fall for this marketing gimmick. Since when did plants start producing cholestrol?

A pound of flesh...

"Its a boy, again! How I wish I had a girl. My own doll", she says.

"We want a boy", chorus the newly wed, "Someone to do my last rites and light my path to heaven", adds the "traditional" groom while his coy bride smiles on.

"This year to the girl child", announces the man in power.

" We've tried almost all the best infertility clinics in town. This one is our last resort", sigh the couple.

" How dare the government talk to us about birth control. Let us propogate our kind", exhorts the religious head, all sound and fury.

In between all this cacophony, the little whimper is almost inaudible. Now, it is louder. Now it is feeble. And, now it is gone. Call it the innocent victim of a man's lust or maybe a woman's mirth. Call it a 'could've been happy baby', 'would've grown up soul' or maybe just a to be rotten 'pound of flesh' in the communal dustbin.

Resolutions, yet again?

This time I decided to keep my resolutions tangible and acheivable. Afterall, where was the point in consistently promising myself the moon and consistently failing, each year every year. So, this time it is doable. And, not just any old doable. These are things that I anyway love to do, in bits and spurts as and when time and convenience permits. Here is the list:

1) Set aside10% of whatever amount is spent on all of our birthdays or any other special day for any one social cause that, we feel,really makes a difference. In my case, child and women issues top the list.

2) Write down a small review/account of every book  I read. My absent mindedness makes me forget most names, both that of books and of authors.

3) Stop offering help to people who do not ask for it. By that I dont mean I quit helping someone obviously in dire need and not in a position to actively seek help.

4) I am a chickatarian (dont know if that usage is official, but anyway) and so, I quit eating that for the whole of January. Don't ask me what purpose that serves. Maybe, just checking if my long term plan of shifting gears to complete vegetarianism is achieveable :-D

5) Actually count and write down atleast one incident/person who has been a blessing, each week.

6) Resume Yoga from mid january. Pushed till then since I want to go back to a teacher, atleast for a few sessions, to get back into active practise.

7) Give my little girl undivided attention for set hours. By that I mean, not to let my reading, cooking, cleaning or facebooking interfere with the time I allocate for her.

8) Learn one new skill before the year is out.

There, now it is all out in the public :-D

Of negativisms and opinions...

Met a lady at the holiday bazaar yesterday. She too had a stall - that of her paintings. Serenity, yoga, peace and calm seemed to be the main motifs she portrayed and I also overheard her talk these over to a stall visitor. The lady, however, was the picture of disconcertedness and seemed to very easily fret. In time, she asked me about my bakes and so more out of reciprocal goodwill I asked her about her paintings and then about her membership with the Arts group (the bazaar was conducted by a women's guild which has several interest/hobby clubs under it). "Oh yes, I'm a member", she said and continued, "... but then, anyone can become a member there. Most of them are housewives who are wanna be painters. Just look at the display and you will see", she piped. I looked around but not being an art connoisseur did not think all were bad. " Ah, I do see they allow wannabe's into the club, because I too am a member", I said :-). Quiet for a second,she felt the need to assert the seriousness of her talent (her pictures were indeed well done) and said, " You see, my pictures are an embodiment of what I'm feeling inside. I don't, like the others, select themes such as Life in Oman, places, etc. I draw from inspiration within". Ah, I see.  Later, she bought tickets for the charity raffle that was held and she won a little metal embossed picture. She came back and grumbled, " Ah! I don't like it at all". Later, she bought a little muffin from me and I repeated my refrain of, " please do let me know whether you like it or not". She ate but said nothing. After a while, someone came by my stall and got very excited when he saw my almond cookies ( I, of course, was delighted at such rapture). He said, " My friend bought these and gave me a piece. He wasn't sure which stall he picked it from. So, I came searching for it. This is so good". I was genuinely delighted and thanked him with, " Thank you for letting me know since not many people take teh trouble of giving positive feedback". A few minutes later, teh lady told me, " I liked your cake. It reminded me of the coconut laddoos I used to have in bengal during my childhood". The only good thing i heard her say in the 6 hours we spent as neighbours ( and, i dont mean good things about me).
I know I come out with acrid comments about people and instances that ire me. But then, people who know me also know that I'm equally lavish with praise and compliments too. But this lady and another acquaintance, who  seemed to state her opinions as if they were gospel truths, had me thinking...Unless, I get my act straight I will end up like them too. That doesn't mean I intend to turn into a saint. But, I will make it a point to begin the mental extrication process to remove from my mind the people who need'nt to have gotten there in the first place. And, reinforce the belief that I need not feel pushed to attend to every challenge for an arguement. Neither do I have to compromise on my principles nor do have to let them disrupt my peace. Also, I will have to eliminate those people who seem to latch onto me only in times of need and are nowhere in sight when I need a hand in return. Only my child, that too when she is this young, has the right to expect such unconditional, such self centred support from me. No one else. Hope to resume my yoga once the back ache settles. And, this does not mean the end of my 'cryptic cribs' on FB :-D

My 'bottle-art'

I paint on glass. Having moved to Muscat a few months ago, am still groping my way through the place. yet to identify a place that will sell me glass cut to specification and a frame maker who'd frame the glass to my satisfaction. till then, thought I'd turn to bottle art...Discarded wine bottles, used vinegar bottles, and little bowls from 1,2,3 shops have all borne the brunt of my creative urge...here are a few