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.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Monday, August 6, 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, August 3, 2012
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
Thursday, August 2, 2012
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
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
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
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
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!
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!
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