Just as I am... without a plea...

Is the title of a hymn.

Is also a topic on which loads of poems, odes and songs have been written and sung. This terrible need to be loved, just the way you are, faults and all, is a universal hunger. Love which isn't only of the romantic variety, be it filial or in friendships, every one of us echoes this sentiment... the yearning to be allowed to be what we are and be loved despite.

As many people as there are and as many opinions that they may evince, to me this is the toughest thing to do and is really the true test of love. Can you love without being judgemental. Be it with your parents, partners, children, friends and the many relationships we have, can we really love them without trying to mould them, modify them, mend and bend them into being what we want them to be.

Each of us has our own set criteria of what is acceptable and correct and of that which is not. Our minds are made up and anything or anyone who doesn't fit into these little squares needs to be transformed into little clones of ourselves, to be mindful of and obedient of our rules. We constantly endeavor to change the people around us while claiming undying love for them.

And that is the greatest of all fallacies...

Understand this
As I comprehend that being you is essential to you
To breathe... to grow... to live...
I will step back
Fly away into a realm where you celebrate your life
We will meet... in those in-between spaces...
When you come to me
As I surely know you will, this love will draw you
Come as you... the one who is free...
Just as I am... without a plea

( Mother- if you ever read this... please know that I'm not being blasphemous)

Lorenzo forever...

I officially became a mother on the 27th August 1995 with Amanda's birth but my heart was pulled out of me and walked away on 24 October 1992 with the birth of Lorenze Dorian, my oldest nephew.
1992 was the year I got married and my sister-in-law Zeeta was pregnant with Lorenze. As is customary in Indian families, a girl returns to her parental home during her first pregnancy, for her confinement and delivery. Zeeta came to live with her parents, my in-laws for the last 2 months of her pregnancy which were busy spent in preparing for the arrival of the first grand child of the family.

On the evening of the 24th October, Zeeta went into labor and Lorenzo was born at 9:24 pm. He was swaddled in white when the nurses brought him out of the Labor room and handed him over, first to his uncle Egbert and then to me. I'm not exaggerating, but he smelled of brown rum, his father Ludger's favorite drink!! It was the first time I held a new born in my arms and I held him gingerly but with great caution not really knowing whether I would drop him with my clumsiness or worse yet crush him with my nervous hands. Battling this fear, I peered into this little bundle with wrinkled skin and eyes that were unwilling to open since he would peer with an eye and shut it immediately as if afraid to look at the world, and I fell in love. Completely.

Lorenze spent the first 2 months of his life in the family home and it was the most heavenly time. As a young bride adjusting into the ways and culture of a new home, it was like Lorenze and me were doing the same thing, taking first baby steps into an unknown realm and I guess we bonded. As he grew, he couldn't pronounce my name and since he was a year old, he's been calling me 'Bitta', which is now fashionably shortened to 'Bits'.

Onzo, our name for him, would come to Mangalore thrice or four times a year and we would go to Bangalore as many times to be with him. Every time it was time to part, he would begin crying and I would promptly join. We have shed many a tear at bus stations, him in the bus and me on the road, him wailing 'Bitta' and me sobbing uncontrollably. That child held my heart in his hands and still does as a 20 year old young man today.

My Lorenzo is 20 years old and is a rare gem, he is completely lovable, terribly intelligent, a brilliant orator, an awful singer, a prolific bassist, an organised student pursuing his engineering studies and above all and most importantly, is the young man you wish was yours. He is gentle, kind, and an accomplished diplomat far mature than his young years. Onzo is our first child and will always be special, the beauty of being him is that he has never let us down. Has always proved our faith in him and every year he acquires better skills, is more polished and is on the way to being a complete man.

ONZO... this is for you... my life changed the minute you walked into it. I became a better person. You are everything I love and I love everything about you, including your crooked long nose that showed promise of being like mine but ended up like your dad's. You are a gift to me and our family crazy as it is, will be bound by our common love for you and you will be the strongest link that will hold us I'm sure. May the future rise up to meet you with a promise of brilliance and when success comes a calling 'cos she sure as hell will, may you be humble enough to be affable and tenacious enough to sustain.

The companion of my emptiness.

When you walked in last night
seemingly exhausted, tired and worn
Do you think I missed the twinkle in your eyes
The skip in your gait
The lilt in your voice
The joy in your stance

I watch you with eyes that pretend not to see
Maybe I fool myself too well and you fall for it I can tell
When you laugh, I hear the footprints he left on your heart
You shine, like a million glow worms have pierced your soul
Your fingertips, they whisper unknowingly along the satin of your skin
Did he carve that path you are mimicking...

Marvellous, this new romance bringing to you the flush of joy
Of forgotten embers that once warmed you as it burned me
Yes, it hurts.
I want to reach across and slap you, maim you, wound you, tear you apart
How dare you, how can you, how will you
I linger for a moment in self pity and sorrow

When at last your moment in the sun of another planet has ended
And end it will, this novelty will bore you
The treachery will tear you
Its misery awaken you
Tread stealthily my love, this heart has taken flight
As you walk back towards me, know this
I'm broken, shattered, twisted, knotted...

A mirror whose shards of glass twinkle as they pierce...
Whisper softly, tiptoe gently and be the companion of my emptiness.

Honesty isn't any policy at all; it's a state of mind or else it isn't honesty...

It has been drummed into me that honesty is the best policy and that an honest person is a favorite of the Gods and being honest ives you immediate access to paradise.
It also is a quality I like and admire in people. But have you noticed that people who are very honest and up front most often than naught do not seem to be able to keep and sustain relationships.

Some relationships that are bound by societal norms and are hard to break survive the "what you see is what you get" partners and tolerate it and some how learn to live with it.

Freindship isn't though and I find that amazingly complicated. After all this is the
one relationship where there is no pretence or guile and should not be, this should be a place of supreme confidence in the self as well as in the other.

But I guess our capacity to take the truth and honesty from the other is a unique and individual thing. Maybe the truth which can be very harsh at times should not be expressed without thought and we should stop feeling so holier-than-thou just 'cos we think we have done the absolute right thing by speaking the truth. Diplomatic and discerning skills should be applied in all relationships.

Am I advocating dishonesty then? My children will be the first ones to slap me... after all these years that I have been drumming into their heads about honesty and its virtues.
"Do not mistake freindship for a license to tell the truth. More pain has been inflicted by indiscriminate truth telling than by lies. Honesty too often means being hurtful and wounding someone. As long as you keep true counsel with yourself, it doesn't hurt if you dissemble with a freind." - David Brown

A lie, it isn't and should not be... the truth... before it marches on, needs to be checked, weighed, evaluated... If in your heart you are aware that what you say is hurtful... then maybe it shouldn't be said.
There are after all very many methods of conveying a thought with finesse and tact.... like when Alder tells me, 'You're not fat... you're almost the same size as Adele'.

Prayers... answered...

Have read this somewhere, that the worst thing that can happen to you is having all your prayers answered.
Quite a thought, we spend hours actively or passively praying, praying can even be simple wish that stems unbidden in the corners of your soul.
Fatalistic the thought isn't it... is it a consolation or self deception when we pacify ourselves with the above adage...
Bottom line being... I guess... that you make the best of what you have, whether you prayed hard for it or not....

“What the teacher is, is more important than what he teaches" -Soren Kierkegaard

Today is celebrated as Teacher's Day in India, in memory of Sarvapalli Radhakrishna, India's second President and is a day we celebrate our teachers' influence in our lives.

Many teachers have taught me in school and college, but there are only four I remember fondly... Yeah I was a nasty piece of sh*t.

So, Sister Veronica taught me in the 3rd grade, Mrs. Aruna KP taught me in the 8th grade, Mr. Uday Kumar taught me Economics in Law College and Prof. Rajendra Shetty, the Vice Principal of the SDM Law College who taught, The Law of Torts. Wonderful souls these, God Bless them and their vocation.

The batch of '94 that passed out of SDM Law college had their first ever reunion in August 2012 in the college auditorium to begin with at a decent mid morning hour, which ended in the disco and the beach, at a very indecent midnight hour of course.

I was lucky to be in Mangalore at the time and attend it. We met with our teachers in college. Prof. Rajendra Shetty, though has grown older is still the most dapper and stylish man I have ever seen. He inspired us by his looks, his carriage and dignity. His suave style was something we drooled over, was serious eye candy and he gave all the boys in the college, tough competition. Add to it, he was a brilliant orator and a warm and genuine personality... besides, he just validated my adulation by saying with a twinkle in his eye, that he remembered me vividly.

Funnily, we didn't start out that way. As beginnings go, it was the most disastrous prelude.

Reyana, Jolly, Shyams and I joined Law College, from St. Agnes, 'twas akin to Melville's Moby Dick waking up in an NYC nightclub. We were green and gauche, stupid and silly (ok! there persist some remnants to date :S) and I remember practicing the dandiya dance which we were performing for the annual day and some skirmish with students from the BBM batch where I ended up hurling a dandiya at a male student and maiming him. Which Prof. Rajendra witnessed, unfortunately. Sigh!

It was one of the many trips I made to the Principal's office and I was slapped with a three month suspension from college. But it was too close to the annual day and since we had spent weeks practicing, I was allowed to perform on stage.

Legs quaking like jelly, I stepped on to the stage with the rest of our troupe led by Pallo rani and when I saw Rajendra Shetty in the front row, jelly morphed into cement and I froze until Kuki poked me with the dandiya. Took me about a minute for the rhythm of the music to swamp me and then there was no fear, no audience, no one...

Once we were done and stepped out backstage to join the audience, Rajendra Shetty was at the corridor. Gave me the most beautiful smile and said, "if you can dance like that, you cannot be all bad, come to class tomorrow" and walked away. :)

Back to the present! He began his speech by thanking us, for being 'his teachers' and for continually challenging him. The joy on his face sparkled and we were transported back in time into the classroom where we would sit in rapt attention and absorb every word he said. I believe his classes had the highest attendance and the best percentage of grades.

Many of my classmates present were practicing lawyers, one is a high court public prosecutor, another the head honcho of a popular newspaper, two are politicians and the rest of us in different professions. He said something that each one of us could take home irrespective of our occupation.

Quote:

"I always have and do believe that what is morally wrong, can never be legally right, no matter what you do and how, where you are and when, how you conduct your affairs and those of the world around you and irrespective of how the world evolves in the future, let this be your striving and hold you in good stead. Let this be your model, may your lives be ruled by this principle and may all of you live and pass this legacy".

Unquote.

We walked out of that room, inspired and blessed...

I celebrate this day for myself too... was a teacher for five years and I found a fulfillment and peace that is hard to describe, to put it simply, I went to sleep every night with a huge sense of satisfaction, of a day filled with accomplishment and of course I was paid to talk... can you beat that!!!!

To the four teachers who inspired me, my colleagues in the profession and to all the teachers yet to be,

The noblest of all professions
you have made your calling
Your legacy lingers
long after your ashes are scattered
May the seeds you sow bear fruit and nourish
and when it's time to travel to the beyond
May you dwell in the house of the Almighty
for your race as his most Blessed and worthy angels would have been won...

Phenomenal Woman...

There's this streak of doubt that flits in and out of my mind, almost a constant. Times when I feel that I'm lesser than what I should be, more insignificant than is important, more empty than enough. Maybe it's just me, or maybe it's universal. These moments of agonising over, of self agony that seeks answers from within as well as from the external.

I don't feel alone in this, I'm connected and bound to many women, my friends, sisters... women... of all shapes, sizes, color and creed. Juggling many lives and operating in many roles.. there is a vaccuum at times, from the bustle there is a disquiet. When it reaches peak, I look for inspiration, support and strength and I do find it...

Have noticed that whenever a woman quotes from another woman's work, she's considered feminist. And feminist is a bad word! A woman who believes in and hold's her own and is vocal and demonstrative of it, is somehow thought as making an emphatic statement or as a bitter person. Through my college years and after, I'd been labelled as feminist and I was somehow proud of the word, even though it was said in terms that weren't positive.

I draw hope from one my favorite authors, Maya Angelou- the American author and poet, who I will quote many times in Garbled Thoughts.

“Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.”

The smile on my face arises from the warmth that emanates as it courses through my veins... the joy in being a woman... cranky and all...

All hail the nightie: The new Indian national dress.

I'm posting something I recieved via mail and think it's Brilliant!!! Thanks Ludger for sending me this... I would love to know the author and in case any of you do, please let me know. My salute to the author!
Quote:

The dictionary defines the nightie thus: Noun. Nightie (plural nighties) : (informal) A woman’s nightgown or nightdress; a dress-like garment worn to bed.

I was too embarrassed to answer the door in my nightie. Obviously, the entry was not written by an Indian.
Indians are not embarrassed to do ANYTHING in a nightie. They wear them while leaning on the front gate and chatting with the neighour. They show up at the grocery store in them. They think they are perfectly fine as temple wear. They drop their children off to school in them.

The nightie is a great social leveller. (Reuters)

One brave school in Bangalore is now trying to hem the tide. The Blossoms school has issued a dress diktat for parents. No more dropping off your children in your nightwear. Apparently people have started hanging around the school gates every day to get their morning jollies from seeing mommies in their nighties.“It became an embarrassment for everyone around,” principal D. Shashi Kumar told the Telegraph.
As expected, there has been some pushback. “This is too much, to say the least. Setting norms for students is all right in order to maintain decorum, decency and discipline but enforcing conditions on parents is illogical,” fumes H P Murali in the Bangalore Mirror. “We should be concentrating on issues like getting the child to school on time and not what his mum or dad wore while dropping him off,” concurs Dr. Anitha Roseline.
Blossoms obviously does not realise what is at stake here.

In the West, a nightie is a nightgown. When Michael Fagan broke into Buckingham Palace in 1982 by climbing a drainpipe and wandered into the Queen’s bedroom, the real scandal was that he saw the Queen in her nightie. “Her nightie was one of those Liberty prints and it was down to her knees,” he recalled on her 60th anniversary.

In India, the nightie has a new post-colonial reincarnation. When I was growing up my mother changed from her night-sari to her morning sari everyday. That was the way we marked the beginning of the day. Now it feels like the world has entered some kind of twilight zone where all those aunties run around all day with their nighties a-flapping. As samosapedia explains it’s “the most loued article of clothing any aunty owns… From Patiala to Mysore, Indian aunties are louing their nighties.”

I have seen the formidable Mahasweta Devi, one of our foremost intellectuals, now a feisty octogenarian, give television interviews in a sleeveless printed nightie. She was giving vent to her frustrations with the Mamata Banerjee government’s high-handed ways. I could hardly focus on what she was saying. I was too busy trying to figure the pattern on her nightie. Was it flowers? Or was it dots?
Koel Puri asked Sushma Swaraj what she liked to wear when she went for a dip in the Ganga. “I always prefer nightie,” said Sushma-behn.
Can a dress get a better character certificate than that? If it’s good enough for a holy dip in the Ganga, it’s good enough for any occasion.

I have no idea why the Dharmasthala Manjunatha temple in Karnataka is banning the nightie in its code of conduct.Blossoms and the Manjunatha temple have it completely wrong. The sari, which shows off acres of midriff, can provoke impure thoughts in the morning. The salwar kameez can show off too many curves. But the nightie is a class apart. Age cannot wither it, nor custom stale its infinite monotony. It is chaste, the sati savitri of women’s wear.

As Santosh Desai explains in The Wonderful World of the Indian Nightie “While belonging to the larger family of the negligee, the nightie is an adherent of a different school of thought altogether, being careful to steer clear of anything frilly, lacy, racy or sheer. It is resolute in its modesty and is feminine enough without looking fetching.”
Of course, our fashionistas rail against the nightie as some western import gone horribly wrong,like a noxious weed that’s just taken over our cultural traditions.
On a blog entry entitled Nightie Menace in India, Arjunpuri in Qatar complains:
"I had not even dreamt that one day I would get married into a family, where my own mother-in-law would be wearing a nightie! In spite of knowing that I don’t wear a nightie, my in-laws had purchased a nightie for me and my mother-in-law insisted that I wear it on the very first day after the wedding. When I refused to wear it, she made me to wear it on my churidhar and made my hubby to click my pic in the nightie. Thank god, the picture was completely blurred!
What the nightie-haters don’t realise is that the nightie is actually a triumph of Indian ingenuity.

It is now as Indian as khadi. The Indian woman has taken a piece of clothing and made it completely her own. She has repurposed it and made it fit her own needs and comfort. “Its current popularity has been generated not by any clever marketing but entirely by the user, who has seen in it value not originally intended,” writes Desai. It is women’s liberation– in a bag.

A close relative, a college professor, cannot wait for the moment when she can get home from work and take a shower and change into her nightie. Once she would scurry off to change if an unexpected visitor dropped in. Now she just has various grades of nighties – from good-enough-to-receive-the-courier-in to good-enough-to-meet-her-son’s-classmates.
The nightie has evolved without the help of anyone except for its loyal aam aurat clientele. It’s completely self-made. Sabyasachi would not be caught dead designing it yet there are entire shops in Kolkata’s Gariahat and Bangalore’s Commercial Street that sell nothing but nighties. Kareena Kapoor does not advertise it on television but women still flock to buy it.
No other article of clothing, not even the sari, enjoys such pan-Indian appeal. We truly all live in maxi city now.

Sneer all you want but the humble nightie is the great leveller of classes. The daily help wears one. Her mistress wears one. And there’s not often that much difference between the two nighties. Surely, that’s something to cheer about in a country where the gap between the rich and the poor keeps getting more and more obscene. Sonia’s NAC, take note.
The only thing wrong with a nightie in India is its name. It is not just a nightie. It’s a morningie. It’s an afternoonie. It’s an all-dayie.
Let’s just make it our national dress. It’s earned it.

How I'm responsible for India's performance at the Olympics... :(

I'm very fussy and finicky about my likes and dislikes and am a creature of habit. My physician, tailor, beautician, dentist, baker are those I've been going to for years and I'm very comfortable and change resistant.
Every time I come down to India I go to my favorite saree shop and make a beeline to my tailor.
This blog is a salute to him. He's a wonderful charecter: crabby, irritable, and cantankerous and has a hell of a lot of attitude. He stitches the finest saree blouses ever and I'd heard of him and his disposition and was kinda apprehensive about going to him but his craft amazing enough to brave it.
I went to him for the first time 8 years ago. Mustered courage and timidly went up to him and braced myself for an onslaught based on his reputation. I found this little man with silver bristly hair and intense eyes seated behind a pokey desk. Told him my business, I was the recipient of an intense glare and he said, "I don't come cheap".
As he was measuring me, when it came to my back, I said I'd like the neck of the blouse deeper, he stops abruptly and straightens up and says, "why do you want to wear a blouse at all?"
Next, as he measures my shoulder, he asks me, "are you an athlete?" I said no. "Have you played any sport amatuer or professional?" No again. "so, you didn't have any inclination towards sports?" by now I'm really embarrassed and mumble an almost incoherent no.
That was it, the little man standing in front of me with a measuring tape simply lost it... He drew up to his full height of 5"2 and his eyes glittering with rage he said, "Exactly, because of people like you, India didn't win a gold in the Olympics 2004. Lazy people, you have the physique, what for? No interest in doing anything for the country... ofcourse, the only thing you want to do is to have a good time... it's all your fault, and people ask why India can't win a medal".
If I could, I would have crawled under a sewing machine and hemmed myself in cross stitch. Suitably chastised, I beat a hasty retreat. Over the years, we've struck quite a decent camaraderie and when I went to him day before yesterday, I was shocked to see him, he has shrunk, is almost skeletal, been unwell and told me he's winding up. As always he was heaping abuses at everyone from his doctor to his neighbors and all Indians in general. His ire and passion are still alive, and I enjoy our conversations, his irascibility and his dry as sandpaper wit.
It was sad to see him in this state and I did miss his, "ah, you are the reason we didn't win a medal in the 2012 Olympics.

My Alder tree...

It's 15 years to the day that my Alder was born.
With the prior experience of Amanda being born in 7 months, Alder wanted to do a one-up. I went into labor in 6 months and 2 weeks and my doctor advised that I have take it easy and put me onto medication to settle my 'hyperactive' uterus (ahem!).
It was a scary 2 weeks as we were very apprehensive of an early delivery but the medication seemed to work and I settled into a routine of injections and tablets. My due date was August 3rd and the goal was to somehow sustain till then.
3rd, 4th and comes 5th August. My baby seemed unwilling to take a peek at the world outside, we were told it was a girl and I was waiting for 'Amber' to appear. On the 5th when I went and met the doctor and he advised admission in hospital as the baby was getting big he said and we had to induce labor.
Medication administered at night and we prepared for a late morning or afternoon delivery. 3:05 am and my contractions begin. My mother-in-law spent the night in hospital with me and she predicted that the contractions weren't strong enough and that the torture may well continue into another 24 hours. No, I didn't kill her.
Surprisingly though, the contractions kept coming but not in an unbearably painful fashion and my baby was born at 6:10 am. I was dazed with the pain and the knowledge that it was over before I knew it and the revelation that it was a boy and not a girl who I thought was making an appearance. My first thought was, 'oh shucks, I have to dress him in pink'. I had prepared for a girl with everything in pink.
I didn't get to see him until I was shifted to my room, he was washed, wrapped and handed over to my mother-in-law who wouldn't let go of him. My baby was a 10 pounder and simply beautiful. He fit the cradle exactly because of his sheer size and we had to order a new one to fit him into.
Beginning with his birth, Alder was an easy child to grow.
The name Alder is the common name of a genus of flowering plants (Alnus) belonging to the birch family and is a cousin of the elk and elm trees.
As I was looking up the meaning and description of the tree, I came across this bit of information,"Alder improves the fertility of the soils where it grows, and as a pioneer species, it helps provide additional nitrogen for the successional species which follow".
I cant help smiling and thinking how apt the words are for this precious child of mine. He is a giver and he does provide nutrition to our family and I hope to everyone around him. He is a fine human being and is one of the kindest people I know.
My prayer for him on his 15th is that he grows to be as strong as a tree, for his roots to penetrate deep into the soil which he nourishes as he grows, for his trunk to be sturdy and strong to withstand the ravages of time and the vagaries of nature and for his branches to spread out into the sky and span the earth above and ground below. For him to be a habitat for birds to build nests in and for his shadow to provide shade to every weary soul.
For his timber is strong, his veneer polished and his endurance everlasting... is my faith.

It's raining loss...

Droplets of rain that fall incessantly on my window pane
Break into tiny little beads of misty curtain
An almost flicker of eyelashes acknowledges the dissipation
There is no awareness of moisture on my face
Or maybe the fresh and the salt there have combined and unified
The erosion has begun and the sediments run like rivulets
Searching nooks and crannies to merge into
In the rush to infinity there is an empty space
Void of substance, patience and possession
Unerringly they form a queue to melt into the comforting abyss
Home is the cimmerian soul deliquesce in darkness
Complete is the surrender to the angels of despair
Eroded, disintegated, abraded till there's nothing left to lose.

U.G. Krishnamurthi

U.G Krishnamurti, is described thus in his website, The Essential UG as an enigma--a person who defies all classifications--a philosopher, a Non-guru, guru, call him what you may.

His writing touches a chord deep within me which hums steadily and doesn't shut off easily. Quote below:

"To be yourself is very easy, you don't have to do a thing. No effort is necessary. You don't have to exercise your will, you don't have to do anything to be yourself. But to be something other than what you are, you have to do a lot of things".

"My interest is not to knock off what others have said [that is too easy], but to knock off what I am saying. More precisely, I am trying to stop what you are making out of what I am saying."

"When you know nothing, you say a lot. When you know something, there is nothing to say"

Which is why I'm zippin motor mouth up today....

And all of you who know me personally can laugh now..... :D

In the beginning was the Word...

I’m at my parents’ home in Mangalore currently and am bored out of my head… I like to rummage in mum’s cupboards and bureaus. They are a treasure trove of memories. Came across The Holy Bible, presented to my mum in 1967, inscribed thus ‘Translated out of the original tongues and with the former translations diligently compared and revised. Set forth in 1611 and commonly known as the King James Version’
As a child, my first Bible was the King James version but as we grew, we were introduced to the Gideon’s Bible which is very popular now and is most widely and commonly printed. I read the Gideon’s Bible before I sleep everyday now, but I have a vague sense of “I’m missing something”. Actually not so vague… I know exactly what it is… it’s the language of the King James Bible that I miss, the comfort in the cadences of the words, the perfectly symmetrical sentences and the grandeur of verse, the usage of words that are now passé and archaic. It’s poetry pure and simple. I absolutely love the language used in the King James version. At family prayers, my brother and self were made to read the Bible every alternate day and I believe that my romance with the English language began here.
Why do we have to stop using words like ‘thee, whither, wert, thine, wouldst, thou, thy’. We Indians learn many languages and dialects often called as our ‘mother tongue’ and no matter how well we know the Queen’s lingo, we are still foreign speakers of the English language. Many of us transliterate directly from our native speech into English and the Indian English is a potpourri of sentences like, ‘You where went today’ or ‘For me sleep is coming very fast’. These are direct translations of sentences that make perfect sense and are of the right grammatical syntax in our native languages.
There is only one thing I miss when I translate from Hindi, Kannada, Konkani, Tulu or any other Indian language that I speak, it’s the respect we give our elders when we address them. You are you, whether you are my father or my son, but in each and every Indian language we have different terms depending on the hierarchical relationship.
The King James Bible gives me that. It feels good to say, ‘How Great Thou Art’ or ‘Have Thine own way Lord, Thou art the potter, I am the clay…’ a sense of satisfaction. Besides it appealing to my thirst for poetry…
‘In the multitude of my thoughts within me thy comforts delight my soul’ Psalm 94, verse 19.

Sometimes when we touch...

I want to be a songwriter... like Dan Hill. This is another of my favorite songs, it's almost as if the words were torn out in anguish and despair... a keeling almost...

It's such a lovely twist on the conventional scope of relationships... are we or aren't we? Is it.... or is it not?

What's in a name... we have to name everything we discover and create, from a disease to a flower, a sculpture to children...

In between the structured and the layered, the exalted and the expelled... the darkness and the bright... there is an empty space that we rush to fill in.. we need that. It's the control freak in us. Anything unnamed, unclaimed, unsaid... isn't!

Think again...

Sometimes When We Touch - Dan Hill

You ask me if I love you
And I choke on my reply
I'd rather hurt you honestly
Than mislead you with a lie
And who am I to judge you
On what you say or do?
I'm only just beginning to see the real you

And sometimes when we touch
The honesty's too much
And I have to close my eyes and hide
I wanna hold you til I die
Til we both break down and cry
I wanna hold you till the fear in me subsides

Romance and all its strategy
Leaves me battling with my pride
But through the insecurity
Some tenderness survives
I'm just another writer
Still trapped within my truth
A hesitant prize fighter
Still trapped within my youth

At times I'd like to break you
And drive you to your knees
At times I'd like to break through
And hold you endlessly

At times I understand you
And I know how hard you've tried
I've watched while love commands you
And I've watched love pass you by

At times I think we're drifters
Still searching for a friend
A brother or a sister
But then the passion flares again

My rainbow of colors...

Am posting one of my favorite poems - 'Colors' by Yevgeny Yevtushenko

When your face
appeared over my crumpled life
at first I understood
only the poverty of what I have.
Then its particular light
on woods, on rivers, on the sea,
became my beginning in the colored world
in which I had not yet had my beginning.
I am so frightened, I am so frightened,
of the unexpected sunrise finishing,
of revelations
and tears and the excitement finishing.
I don't fight it, my love is this fear,
I nourish it who can nourish nothing,
love's slipshod watchman.
Fear hems me in.
I am conscious that these minutes are short
and that the colors in my eyes will vanish
when your face sets.

This poem brings out a sense of sadness in me that I cannot describe, I love the play of words... The poet so beautifully expresses his inadequacy, his joy and writes his own epitaph. 'Love's slipshod watchman'... Wow!
As love poems go, this one has to be one of the most woebegone ballads. It's general tone is of pessimism, yet there is this celebration of awakening, an epiphany almost.

I guess we are all familiar with the figure of speech that we learned as part of english grammar -'personification' also known as 'Anthropomorphism'. This poem is a perfect example of the opposite, '
Chremamorphism' is giving characteristics of an object to a person. When the poet compares a human face to an object as he does in the first line, 'when your face appeared'... 'Then it's particular light'... 'When your face sets'... he reduces a person to a thing.

Love is very much like that isn't it... it reduces you, depletes you, destroys you and nullifies you... until you are nothing but an object... but hey! An object of divinity and immortality... one that shines through a prism of light, bursts into the brilliance of the colors of a rainbow...

Who's bothered about the permanence of that arc, that variegation, that band of color... The fact that it was... even if for a breviloquent while... that suffices!

May the colors in your eyes propogate a brilliant canvas!

Pushpa... I hate tears...

It's the silliest line you would hear, yet it has acquired cult status. Rajesh Khanna, hailed as India's First Bollywood Superstar passed away yesterday.
Cannot claim that I am a fan, he was my mother's generation but there is something about what I heard which has remained in my psyche.
When I was very young, we didn't have a television at home, infact, TV came into sleepy Mangalore in 1984 I guess and we had one at home a year later. The only channel available then was the Government run Doordarshan which we religiously watched since we had no choice otherwise anyways.
Sundays and Fridays were special. Sunday would feature a National Award movie in regional languages at 2:00 pm and a Blockbuster movie in the evening and Friday had the medley of popular hindi film songs called Chitrahaar.
Rajesh Khanna's movies were very popular and quite regular. What has remained with me is this memory of mother and me watching 'Aradhana' and mum saying in shocked tones, 'you know, when I was single and working in Bombay, every time a Rajesh Khanna movie released, the ladies compartment in the train was abuzz with excitement. One of the women said, Rajesh Khanna is my God!!! As mother narrated this, she was shivering and shaking in outrage. As a devout Christian her sensibilities were terribly offended and the statement too blasphemous to be real.
So when I hear of or watch Rajesh Khanna on TV, I'm instantly transported back in time and my mother emerges in all her hell hath no fury frame and her scorn is a living thing, even after all these years.
We never grow up do we.... prisoners of memories...
But remember... Pushpa... I hate tears...

Just you...

Tip toe with stealthy feet…
With the silence of velvet footfalls
Shimmying into barren lands
Lighting forgotten embers
To the blind what is the beauty of your countenance
Do the deaf know the melody of your voice
When the softness of your hair kisses my face
The scent of you that invades my every sense
I look at my hands with a wonder
They glazed over the satin of your skin
My face has welts where your eyelashes kissed
I am empty with an emptiness of the cup that overflows
All my questions answered
Shall I say that now there is a me I don’t recognise
You are the pain I rejoice in
Joy that tinkles like wind chimes that sway gently
Caressing the wrinkles of the heart
Creases that you iron out with ease
Stay, you are home
Just you.

Ladies Hostel...

The major news making the rounds in a Mangalorean website since yesterday was the apprehending of a young man clad in an Abaya or Burkha.
He was caught with his girlfriend, pants down, making out in the bathroom of the Ladies Hostel.
I occasionally check out the website for gossip on my hometown, the website is completely without class, cheap and downright proletarian. I love checking it out to see the pictures and greetings posted there. It makes me cringe and laugh, yeah yeah... cheap thrills.

The news that it carried though about the boy and the pictures featured, shocked me and has quite disturbed me, I have been thinking about it since yesterday. The pictures feature the boy, half naked with his jeans open and his underwear showin and one pic even has a cop yankin him with his jeans with the boy's bottom exposed.
All of this on a supposedly 'news worthy' website. It's disgusting. Ok, that in itself was bad, but they have many pictures of the boy and what's worse... comments galore, almost everyone condemning the boy, his religion, his upbringing, parents, society, internet even!

I can't describe how grossed out I feel. And very let down and cheated... I do know that the website isn't really an accurate description of Mangalorean people and culture, but the narrow mindedness and archaic thinking as evinced in the comments are totally demoralising.
"In order to judge properly, one must get away somewhat from what one is judging, after having loved it. That is true of countries, of persons, and of yourself". - Andre Gidé

I don't really appreciate passing judgements... I try not to most times... but this spate of nasty comments has really bothered me... What kind of people live in Mangalore now...? was I wrong in my pride in my hometown... it's my security blanket, a vital part of my identity. I plan to go back home to spend the dusk of my life there (If I dont kick the bucket before my grand plan that is) but peering into that society from the outside as it were, as I am doing now... I'm not very sure...

Is it me? Is the change internal... I dont want think so... I am trying very hard to understand, rationalise, assemble and structure my thoughts and feelings... I need to have a place I call home, one that I love and respect and have deep faith and pride in.... My friends back home haven't changed a bit, that I know... Life goes forward... why is Mangalore driving furiously on reverse gear...

Double meaning

Check this out- First day of the week and I have dragged myself with great reluctance to office, bleary eyed, swollen feet and all…
Rings the phone… the Chief Accountant is at the other end. Asks me if the Finance Director is in office.. I’d like to say ‘sod off’ but I probably will get my backside whipped for that, hence mumble a polite ‘I don’t know’.
I need to get my salary and have to bloody well be politically right, so I say, ‘So is it urgent?’ and he’s like ‘yeah, I need him to sign some documents’.
Not-so-polite-but-being-good-girl-me asks in somber tones, “oh… top urgent?” and the reply I get is “performance guarantee for a company that deals in erections”.
Like I said earlier I have with utmost and sincere reluctance brought myself to work and obviously not all faculties were working fine, without thinking I typed the same message to the Top Gun… your presence is wanted as we have to give a performance guarantee to the company that deals in erections.. and hit the send button faster than you can say Jack Robinson.
Ever had the feeling… this woozy confused state that you are content to lie in and the sudden jolt that shakes you off and brings you to reality in a heartbeat with the first thought in your head that goes ‘what-did-you-do-you-idiot’.
I cringed as I saw the message, was wondering what he who reads it will make of it. Living in a world and working in a place where even a mundane, ‘how was last night’ may have sexual connotations, I was embarrassed, hassled and felt intensely foolish.
I cannot forgive the English language for changing so much that I cannot even use words that we did with gay abandon as we were growing… or is it my head…? the grey cells are completely corrupt and I read puns in sentences that are absolutely not ‘pun-ny ‘. It used to have another word, ‘double meaning’ as children we used to refer to puns as double meaning. As an adult double is used only with whisky and gins… oops! I mean chins.
As always.. there’s many a slip between the cup and the lip and that which dribbles lands safely on the double chin….

If today you called...

If today you called...
I'd surrender the garments of glory, to embrace the light in your eyes
That warms the forgotten recesses of my heart
And fills the caverns of my loneliness with sweet music...

If today you called...
The walls would crumble into bits of gravel
The winds would seize the curtains of my sorrow
Dissolving the years of stone and mortar...

If today you called...
I'd whisper beloved - from within the screams that reverberate
And sounds that tremble in solitude of incidence
Among whispers that engulf the valley of memories...

If today you called...
You will finally hear the words unsaid, the thoughts unread
The tears unshed and the dreams of the almost dead
In the swirls of subconcious and the whorls of the living...

If today you called...
I'd crumble and confess that you belong in the cells of my being
In the trembling of my breath, in the muted laughter
The uncelebrated rites of passage.. In the oneness of my soul...

If today you called...
I'd tell you I know; I know that I will never wear your cloak of love
Its invisibilty now stark in the darkness of revelation
Its terrible beauty a testimony to the glory of wasted lives...

If today you called...
I'd simply say nothing and let the distances grow as the longings simmer
I'd sing to you that the sun has set and the years have danced
Skipped along in exact tune the aborted foetus of our story untold...

Say nicely for me...

When Alder was small... maybe about 2 years old, whenever something was said to him which he would percieve as impolite or rude, he would scrunch up his face and demand... 'Say nicely for me' and until it was complied to, he wouldn't budge.

What a lovely rule to apply in life... 'Say nicely'... honestly, it's such a simple rule that it seems so weird to say it aloud even. How many times have we noticed that a kind word stems, if not dispels anger and that you can really catch more flies with honey than with vinegar!

We teach our children so many skills which we hope will take them far in their careers, how to be smart, discerning, dedicated, focused and such. We teach them what we think we lack and hope that they will pick a skill set that we admire in other people. We want them to ape the best of us and climb the ladder of success early in life. We enrol them in courses which we believe will add on to their existing repertoire. I know parents who are extremely competitive and I guess successful adults are products of parents who take immense interest in and charter their childrens career paths.

Phew!!! How many times do we teach them and in how many ways that being polite, exercising control over anger and a gentle demeanour combined with sweet words... these can take us far beyond the horizons of success so percieved by the world. Some may argue that this is for the weak and only those lacking in real skills need to resort to this. In no way do I mean to take away from what I said in paragraph three, as a parent, I want the best for my children too and will play a part in their development but I guess the best gift will be when they grow up to be people who are gentle souls, caring individuals and the type who it will be pleasure to keep company with.

Say nicely for me...

The malady of relationships...

Why are some relationships so fraught with pain and agony... why is it that sometimes love just ain't enough. Why are we cynical about most things, including the comfort of relationships and yet desperate to keep them...

In a world of constant uncertainities, the steadying influence of a relationship keeps us rooted... we're caught up in this super sonic pace of getting the best of everything, of life, a model family, a great job, uber cool friends... the designer homes, cars, gadgets.. holidays... the more exotic the destination.. the higher our market value...

At some point in life, the emptiness of the so called successes we have so hankered after stares us back in the face far harder than we do when we see Pamela Anderson. We offer the least respect to relationships and yet when it's gone... we fight to keep it. To what lengths then, should we go to preserve something thats dying and on its way out. Some people seem to have this uncanny knack of saying goodbye and ending things and moving on in life.. when do you know that it's time to let things be and carry on... How long should one hold on to a painful and festering relationship...

"In a deteriorating love affair, you maybe deeply torn between the choice of holding on or letting go. If you remain indecisive, the internal conflict can depress you and even make you ill. You should make a quick determination whether to hold on by fighting or let go by retreating. Holding on unsuccessfully is like clenching your fist tighter and tighter until your knuckles turn white. Letting go is like opening your fist. It feels better, but your hand is empty." - Paul Lowney;

Isn't it the most frustrating bit of advice you have come across... What you need to hear is some definitive answer or firm guidance, cut the crap and tell me what to do... When you have been through a roller coaster of emotion figuring out should I hang on... should I let go... the last thing you need to hear about is another confused soul adding on to your angst.

But there is some good sense in the above. The best of what it says... 'the internal conflict can depress you and even make you ill'... Let go... let it go.... Take a deep breath and let it go... So easy to say.. I know. But I guess winners are those who know that they have touched the nadir and make a conscious effort to shrug it off and move on and not let their lives be colored by the cancer of a dying and painful relationship.

In all of our lives there would be though, an unbidden flash of memory that may come at the most unexpected and awkward of times... a sudden flash that may cross the brain and sear the heart..., 'should I have worked harder at keeping it...'

And yeah... you can hit me now... :D

Anjali...

What makes a friend… I’m blessed, truly am! Anjali is someone I should celebrate for the world to see and know.

On Friendship - Kahlil Gibran
"Your friend is your needs answered. He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving. And he is your board and your fireside. For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace. When your friend speaks his mind you fear not the "nay" in your own mind, nor do you withhold the "ay." And when he is silent your heart ceases not to listen to his heart; For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed.
When you part from your friend, you grieve not; For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain. And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit. For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught.
And let your best be for your friend. If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also. For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill? Seek him always with hours to live. For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness. And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures. For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed."

How many people do you meet in this lifetime to whom you can say these things to? Feel so deeply about? Love and be loved so completely and have the comfort of just being yourself… warts and all. Let me try and describe Anjali, will be a test of the descriptive writing classes I took… Anjali is the funniest person I know, I mean her repartees, banter and sense of comic timing, she’s witty and makes me and a lot of people laugh senselessly. She’s artlessly funny, it’s just a natural talent.

She is like an open book, no surprises and no artifice, a bit of a ‘Susie’ as we call her… sophisticated susi! How many people do you know who will travel across thousands of miles just to spend a week with their friend, every year for five years? Ever since we have come here to the UAE, Anjali has come here from Bangalore, every year… Every time I think of it my jaw literally drops (closes, when I hear her voice say, melli… see those teeth man going ‘upper forward march’) and I am humbled and very proud at the same time. It’s simply wonderful, having the comfort of a friend like this.

Anjali is super smart and can accomplish any task given to her, be it in her career or personal life. She’s an achiever and was top of her line in exhibitions which required her to travel around the world. I have been to so many places through her stories.

I’ve known her since we were both six and I really got to know her 12 years ago. I have come to love completely my worst critic, after myself, ‘cause with her, I know that no matter how deep my fall or total my decline, regardless of how steep I climb or mercurial my ascent, she doesn’t give a damn. I’m ‘Melli’ and that is enough. Worst critic she may well be but she doesn’t judge. In fact she makes excuses for me, umnnn… not while she sometimes rips me apart with her acerbic tongue. She’s frank, open and honest. Among the many things that attract me, is her utter honesty. And you will hear it like it is. No pretense.

This is for you Anja, for being my BEST friend, my confidante, my support… My life, am sure would be vastly different if you weren’t in it. I wouldn’t have laughed as much for sure! You make me think (which is in itself, a big feat!) you make me feel like the luckiest friend on earth… you irritate me to the point that I have to finally move my lazy ass and act!

All of us play different roles, daughter, sister, wife, mother, friend, companion… we excel in some and suck in the other, we are crappy at most and brilliant at few or maybe we are mediocre at all… Anjali is Brilliant as a friend… the best there can ever be. You know, I guess its better to be superlative at something rather than be passable at all.

Thank God – he chose Anjali to be my superlative friend!

On beauty...

I'm always amused by the concept of beauty and by the attention it recieves. Of the mania it supposedly purports and passions it arouses. Through the ages, people have devoted their lives in pursuit of something beautiful - possessions largely and of course women. Remember Bathsheba who incited David's lust leading him to kill her husband, Cleopatra who brought the mighty Ceasar to his knees or a Helen of Troy, the face that launched a thousand ships... The Kohinoor diamond, Botticelli's Venus, Michealangelo's David.. Da Vinci's Mona Lisa.. I could definitely go on...
Between beautiful women and works of art, I guess you have to hand it to the people whose mania to own and capture immortality via beauty led them to disregard morality and the values and belief system.

As I'm writing this, I looked up the meaning in Wikipedia and quote, "Beauty (also called prettiness, loveliness or comeliness) is a characteristic of a person, animal, place, object, or idea that provides a perceptual experience of pleasure or satisfaction."

I'm a big fan of Somerset Maugham, an English playwright and novelist who was quite disdainful of this concept and craze around beauty. He said,
"Beauty is an ecstacy; it is as simple as hunger. There is nothing to be said about it. It is like the perfume of a rose: you can smell it and that is all...
But people add other qualities to beauty- sublimity, human interest, tenderness, love - because beauty does not long content them. Beauty is perfect and perfection ( such is human nature) holds our attention but for a while.
Beauty is a blind alley. It is a mountain peak which once reached leads nowhere.
Too much has been written about beauty. That is why I have written a little more. Beauty is that which satisfies the aesthetic instinct. But who wants to be satisfied? It is only to the dullard that enough is as good as a feast. Let us face it: beauty is a bit of a bore."

I can't stop smiling at this. Every time I read it, I'm amused... interested and it gets me thinking... To me, the most beautiful things in life are my two children. It seems there is only one beautiful child in the world and every mother has it. But yes we can rationalise and say that beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder and if the beholder has a sophisticated eye - well, Somerset Maugham can take a hike.
There is much beauty to be found in the world though, in the unbridled smile of a child, in the calm of the sea, the finality of a sunset and the promise in a lover's eye...

And in your eyes... God knows what beauty lies...

Silence is Consent!

Was in a training at office, "Zero Harm" - an EHS initiative.
The presenter keeps repeating these words, 'silence is consent', sometimes very excitedly, like breaking good news. Sometimes very gravely as if announcing deatth and sometimes in a whisper, like soothing a screaming child.

Hmmmnn.. am thinking, I've always believed that in silence, lies my greatest strength. That I have let my silences tide over difficult, confrontational and volatile times, I let things pass, ease.. melt.. settle, just by being stoic and accepting. That's the way I am, it's in my basic nature to be non vocal about the things that really matter (Really?!!?) Umnn.. just lost my line of thought at that.. am thinking.. Me? and non vocal? I dont need anyone else to tell me how much I talk - jeez.. sometimes I tire my own auditory senses. :D.. Boy! I can talk and then talk some more and exhaust the listener.

What am I claiming then, when I say that I'm silent and let things go.. I am this split personality.. which of us isn't.. but I guess I have these two strong splits.. one which cant shut up and the other which shuts up at the most important times.

Silence is really assent, I do believe that.. in retrospect everything is in sharp focus and in technicolor detail isn't it..
How many times have we wondered, if I had acted on my instincts and said something, maybe at that point it would seem a red herring, but time would prove that it was the wisest move. Speculation isn't always idle, especially if it leads to strengthen resolve.

The balance should be in managing these two strong personalities that are in contrast to each other and get them to either behave in tandem, or create another me that picks the best of both and knows when to operate from in which mode.

I'm a basket case.. I think at times.. I mean, I'm astounded at the many creatures that dwell in me. Some I recognise easily, others are a revelation and I'm like.. 'where the hell did that come from?' Why can't life be more simple, less complicated, silent and calm, proper and strait laced.. why can't I be easy to handle.. even to my own self.. I'd like to wake one morning and look in the mirror and say, 'Ah, its you - boring and predictable, but definitely easy to handle'.

I'm lying!!! Liar Liar... I love these complexities and confusion and the chaos.

Silence, now that would be boring.. and yes, I guess I have reached a point in life where, my silent me will speak up when should and the other nonsensical blabber mouth will cow down before the silent one.

God Bless my family and friends.. as they tiptoe around my various personalities, trying to figure which freak is currently operational!

When will I grow up and act my age.... mature maybe?

Maturity.. what is this really? Is it when you stop behaving in an irresponsible manner and think, ponder, muster and weigh your actions.. In that case, I fail every time.. I'm far... miles away from all of the above.
If I were a catholic, my blog would be my favorite priest at the confessional...
I want to be a mature person, someone who is careful in her ways with people, situations and life and doesnt spend days agonising over the stupid things I do.
"The things you learn in maturity aren't simple things such as acquiring information and skills. You learn not to engage in self-destructive behaviour. You learn not to burn up energy in anxiety. You discover how to manage your tensions. You learn that self-pity and resentment are among the most toxic of drugs. You find that the world loves talent but rewards character. You come to understand that most people are neither for you nor against you; they are thinking about themselves. You learn that no matter how hard you try to please, some people in this world are not going to love you - a lesson that is at first troubling and then quite relaxing" - John Gardner
I'm writing this so that I can keep reading it, maybe it will be something that this thick skull will absorb. The foolishness I indulge in, have to put a lid on it. I really want to be someone I can look in the eye and not cringe, someone I'm proud of.
I have to stop feeling stupid for my actions, what best way than acting in a mature and responsible manner. I will keep reading and re reading this and will show economy in action, word and deed.
And try and never be in a position from where I look at myself in shame.

Uggy Booby Doo

I have this horrid habit.. giving indecipherable names to that which I love, human or animal.. This is Leo, our Rottweiler. He's a year and a half and is the most loved member of our family.

December 2010, after months of begging, pestering, cajoling and pleading from the children, Anil goes to the Sharjah animal market and returns with a crate marked ' From Tashkent'.

Peering from inside was this little pup with doleful eyes, a cut tail that wagged furiously, it was love at first sight, beginning with Anil and ending with me. Amanda and Alder had surrended themselves completely to this wonder.
Begins debate, what do we name him.. After much opinion - Leo was chosen, simply because that is his star sign. His birth certificate said he was born in August.
He brought into our home affection and fun.. the kids now growing dont much care for cuddling and petting but with Leo, anything goes, they kiss him, forever hug him and of all the weird things, Alder even bites him.
We vaccinate the dog against what he may contract from human bites!
In his vet's clinic, there's this poster which says that 'Until you have loved an animal, a part of your soul remains unawakened'.
The warmth and joy he greets us when we return home(even if we've been away for a mere five minutes) and the games he loves to play, from being chased around the house and garden, to diggin up the herb and flower patches (not funny!) are endearing.
At this moment, he is chewing up my hairband and peering through his doe eyes and refuses to give it up no matter how much I plead or threaten.
Gave it up... some things are just not worth losin your equilibrium over.. he teaches me this all the time.. its like the battle between the stream and and the rock..
So what is Uggy Booby Doo... that's what I call him, besides Babushka and Ugly... :D
Everyone gets mad when I say 'Ugly' and he comes running over. Alder has tried to psych him.. peers into his eyes and keeps chanting sonorously.." you are not Ugly.. you are Leo".. over and over until Alder himself looks hypnotised.
I sit and watch the drama and softly whisper.. 'Ugly...' and he comes leaping towards me. The episode always ends with Alder storming away in anger at me and my Uggy..
I will talk more about him and what he brings to each one of us with our different personalities..
For now.. Uggy Booby Doo.. well he is our baby and we couldn't be more content.

On children..

My first blog of the year 2012 and I want to write about the passing of time.. the year that just went by and of course my children, who overnight have turned into mini adults..
Jeez.. when did they grow man.. Friday afternoon at our ritual family meal, my son points to his birthmark, which is fiery red on his cheek and says, "this is a love bite.. I got this hickey from Peri Peri (my husband's dreamgirl)"
I was completely and utterly bamboozled(funny word this.. bamboo+booze+snoozled). Just a few days ago when I sported a decorated neck, he had piped up, "Mumma whats that?" And now he calmly discusses hickies..
My poor mother... just 'cos I'm a devil, I'd like to repeat this conversation to her.. She will instantly retaliate with, "how does he know? And should he?"
Read this, " A child who is protected from all controversial ideas is as vulnerable as a child who is protected from every germ. The infection, when it comes - and it will come - may overwhelm the system, be it the immune system or the belief system" - Jane Smiley
........in defence of my son and ultimately me?
I dont know... but I have believed that a child has a right to accurate information and as far as possible, we as parents should not withhold it.. I haven't yet had my 'birds and the bees' conversation with the kids yet, but have a feeling that I might be educated rather than them!
The year that will be... I'm sure will rock!