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Showing posts from July, 2016

Do you wear a mask?

I wake up to a dull, rainy morning. I wonder if it had been raining all night. A smallish water body at the far end of our apartment is looking bigger today and there are plenty of mini muddy pools dotting the lane in front of our gate. I'm in a hurry to fix the lunch, snack and dabbas for the kid and husband and as is my wont, the mind goes on a trip of its own. The hands mechanically chop, pull out and put back various spice containers, and scoop out the near exact measures of spices into the curry, broth, and sundry items that are being done, all simultaneously.

I wonder about the little girl in the lovely book I read last night. How she finds her happiness even in the bleakest of situations. So many lessons for me to imbibe, I reckon. I'm distracted by the child and husband rushing to be ready in time. I'm annoyed at myself for waking up late. I'm trying to fasten my pace if it was even possible. My mind wanders off yet again.

I'm disturbed by how I'm unab…

A page from a diary

The chill of the mid-morning breeze hits my face as I gingerly push open the french doors of the living room. I can feel the goosebumps on my naked hands. The hot tumbler of coffee and the vibrant swing in my verandah cajole me to ignore the stuffed nose and dull ache in my head. The fragrant vapour from the tumbler caresses the face, acting as a soothing balm for my stressed muscles. I close my eyes to savour the strong beverage slowly, letting it melt away the sluggishness of the mind and body.

 As I gently rock on the swing, the view of the neighbourhood that's cut from the ground realities fills me with mixed senses. It seemed perfect if not for some ugly truths. I can choose to dwell on the superficial. In a way, the outside reflected the inside of my mind. On some days I prefer to gaze contentedly at the calm surface. On other days I'm swept by the strong tide into murkier waters. Several thoughts flit across my mind as the tumbler lies now cold and empty in my hand. I …

Am I ready for a pet?

If you're like me, you would dread the day your child will ask," Amma, can we pleeeease have a pet?" All puppy-eyed and a tone full of hope, this question will have you stumped for immediate answers. In my case, R started with ridiculous choices like a dinosaur or a giraffe, eventually boiling down to more plausible ones like a dog, cat or "at least a goldfish"!

The demand for a pet, as is common with kids in this age bracket, has been a consistent feature for a while in our household now. However, the more important point here is whether the household aka I'm ready for this.

To begin with, I'm or was never a pet-loving person. No offense to pet-lovers, please. I don't recall asking my parents for one. Even if I did I'm sure it was only because my friends did the same. I remember being very scared and uncomfortable around pet dogs and cats. I'd stand stiff holding my breath while the sometimes snarling, sometimes cute creatures would sniff …

Why I love my weekend mornings

Come September and I'd be completing a year at my weekend Zumba classes.  I can proudly say that for the past 10 months I've, without fail (well, almost), woken up earlier than usual on weekend mornings to head out for my Zumba classes. I'm smiling as I type this because this wasn't how it all began.

I had my own doubts and misconception about Zumba and felt it wouldn't suit me. "I've two left feet!," I'd declared to my friend-cum-trainer, aghast at the suggestion. She'd smiled and urged me to give it a try.  I surprised myself by signing up for the classes because a few years ago, I'd have completely dismissed the prospect of venturing into a program that was even remotely close to dancing. As though on cue, I chanced upon this encouraging write up later and felt good about my decision.

Today, I'm positively glad to have welcomed Zumba in my life. Contrary to the popular myth, it's a perfect fit for non-dancers since it's not…

Things to watch out as you transition into a bigger platform

Two seemingly disparate thoughts had been playing out in my mind but as I dwelled deeper I realized that they were intrinsically bound together. A transition by my 6-year-old into first grade and my writing. Quite an unlikely pair of thoughts to share a connection, right? Allow me to explain.

R has begun first grade this year. Now, I've come to understand that for kids and parents, this comes as a fairly huge step from the more cocooned atmosphere of a preschool. The subjects to learn branch out into several from the 3 or 4 main ones in pre-kg. There are also different subject teachers that the kids need to interact with as opposed to just a couple in the early years. Since the kids are entering a more independent phase, they are also being trained to be more responsible. That translates into self-written homework notes in the school diary (under the teacher's guidance) and being able to handle a bit of a burst in studies and related activities. So, in a nutshell, there's…

Tracking the chain of thoughts

The house is quiet, earlier than usual. The routine has been usual for me. Picking up old newspapers, shoving them into the closet, putting back the sundry lotions, face powder, and knick-knacks into the dresser, collecting the clothes strewn around and sorting them out. These are programmed into my body and my limbs automatically carries out the tasks.

Voices in my brain complain and reason out alternatingly. Another track in my brain is thinking about a possible topic for a post on my blog. Ideas gather in an unruly manner, jostling to get ahead, vying for attention. I try to accommodate, give justice to each of them, fatigued in the end, not finding anything worth writing about. The train of thought pauses to ponder about my worth as a blogger. I shake my head to dust off the doubts. It shouldn't matter.



A quick scan around the house registers a sense of orderliness. Satisfied, I spend a moment to appreciate what I see. It's a bitter-sweet feeling. Feelings of displaced an…

5 ways to move beyond your writing faux pas

Writing blunders. Don't we all make them? If you don't then maybe this piece won't make any sense to you. I can speak for myself and I've no qualms admitting that I make a whole lot of them. On my blog here, in my work-related writing, over formal and informal emails, there have been instances of minor and even gaping flaws.

So, how long do I dwell on my writing faux pas?
Each time I've realized the shortcomings, I've cringed. My ego is bruised and I cower in embarrassment to think of how I might seem to others. I imagine the sniggers directed towards me; someone who claims to be a writer and yet has not pocketed the nuances and finer aspects of the trade.

Despite this, I sleep over my failings. I brood, sulk, but emerge out of the shadows of self-berating and criticism. To write again. To falter again. It does not happen as easily or automatically as it sounds. Nevertheless, I try not to dwell too much on the damage already done. The more important part is to …