Roots

I drive today on windy roads as the monsoon takes a break from the torrential downpour it's accustomed to bestow on the region.  The timing is perfect.  The day is cloudy yet clear.  The houses on the sides of the road are small, with sloping, tiled roofs.  "Hanchina manegaLu".  Surrounded by coconut trees.  A little further, paddy fields,  scores of them.  More windy roads that go past rivers made rich with bountiful rain water.  Birds in the distance, rice fields glistening freshly.  And that smell in the air.  It fills my senses, and makes the hair on my arms rise.  Everytime I come back, that smell.  I can see and hear the ocean in the distance.  The sea breeze brings more smells.  Memories of my childhood.  My grandparents.  Uncles, aunts and cousins.  That old house down that narrow winding street.  The pond at the edge of the sprawling "thota".  The mango tree in the center of the garden.  The coconut trees.  The well outside the house.  The detached bathroom "bacchilu mane".  The water heated in a "hanDe" with coconut husks burning in a hearth underneath.  The smell of wood and smoke.  The smell of rain.  The smell of my grandmother making coffee early in the morning.

I take a deep breath and soak it all in.  This is my home.  These are my roots.  Even though I live thousands of miles from here, I am Mangalorean in my soul.

Resilience

What is life if not resilient by definition?  How do those tenacious wisps of life and longing surface amidst pain and suffering despite the enormity of tragedies that inevitably strike?  How does one reconcile, accept, move forward and actually live?

This is how.  When you see strength and tenaciousness and resilience on display.  When you see acceptance.  When you see the desire to have continuity, the maturity and determination to keep going on, when you see the willpower to be and think positively.  When you see the willingness and ability to pick up the pieces and move on.  That's when your faith in life itself is restored.

You question faith and belief in a higher being.  Because tragedy seems so pointless and random.  You question the cause and need for how and why something occurred.  Destiny?  What destiny? 

And yet.  The desire for life amid grief is heart wrenching to witness.  And yet, it is inspiring.  And this is what restores faith.  In whatever cosmic blueprint governs the nature of how we spend our time in this life.

Milestone

Long overdue post.  Since it's supposed to be better late than never, here it is.  This year, that day.  They say it's just a number, and I truly and wholeheartedly believe that.  I don't feel the weight of anything.  I don't feel the length of anything.  I do want to take a moment to savor the significance, though. 

Time.  What to do with the realization of it's passing?  When time is measured in decades now, not even just years.  Where has it gone?  How has it flown?  And what to do with this realization?  Nothing, it seems.  Except, to look forward.  And to live in the now.  To be.  To fill up the space with gratitude as much as possible.  Gratitude for the blessings.  And the bounty.

Four decades.  I remember my childhood, my teen years, my school days.  The truly wonder years.  Those awkward fumbles into teenage.  The scary, yet exciting transition to college.  The twenties.  The decade of experimentation.  The growing up into the professional world.  The lessons and disappointments.  The realization of what the true world out there looked like.  The brave leap into new worlds, and brand new experiences, a partner by my side.  The quest to become something.  To learn things, to see things, to do things.  The resolve to achieve and accomplish.  The drive, the ambition.  The adventures, the mis-adventures.  The highs and the lows.

The thirties.  Motherhood.  A whole new era. Hitherto unimagined, now unfolded in all its frightening glory.  The unexplained love.  The joys without warning.  The sorrows without warning.  Life changed, forever.  Childhood, and more wonder years.  My little nest.  Getting a semblance of my old life back.  What could possibly throw everything off track again?  Why, motherhood of course.  Second time around.  My miracle baby.  More joys, more highs, more lows.  Exhaustion unimagined.  The pure exhilaration of seeing pure love and bonding.  The reason for doing it all. over. again.  Zero regrets.

Life.  Parenting.  Working mother.  Focusing on the things that matter.  Building a castle, a nest, a home.  Carving out my individuality.  Forging a path.  Never giving up.  Building my career.  Giving it my all.  Embracing the guilt trips, the obligations, the expectations.  Creating my own agenda.

Four decades.  As I sit and wonder what will be next, I am filled with pride.  There is so much to still do.  To accomplish.  I am filled with joy.  For what I have created, produced and driven.  I am filled with ambition, for what I want to do next.  I am filled with anxiety.  For what I know are uphill battles.  For the hard work I know has to happen, for the dues I know have to be paid.  But mostly, mostly, I am filled with hope.  That the next four decades will be the best ones yet.  Yes, a very happy milestone birthday to myself.

Stillness

We live in a time when the world is rushing around us, and we are rushing along with it in some kind of weird centrifugal dance that doesn't seem to let up.  There's always a backlog of things to be done, to attend to, to take care of.  The pace of completed tasks never keeps up with incoming, to-do ones.  Balancing work, kids, spouses, family, friends, social obligations, chores, and everything else in between is a never ending, never abating whirl, and many times we want to just pause, and jump off the swirling bandwagon, to take a breath, a respite...the weirdest thing is, we don't seem to want it any other way....right?  For we do have the choice, don't we?

That aside, and talking about choices, here is a choice that I think we should all make as often as we can.  The choice to be still.  Stop rushing, stop moving, stop browsing, stop scrolling.  Just be still.

Be still. Stay quiet. Slow down the thoughts.  No voices, no sounds.  Be still.  Beathe.  Listen to your breath, if you so choose.  But be still.

Even in yoga, that ultimate balm for the body, mind and soul (I speak from my own experience of years), the aim is for stillness.  Stillness in every pose.  The first step is to try the pose, breathing into it.  In the beginning you will stumble, and wobble.  You will fall out of it, you will look ridiculous trying.  But with practice, you will get better (much like life itself).  You will become more flexible.  You will ease into the pose more confidently.  However, the goal should be stillness.  Stillness in the pose.  There is a powerful sense of mastery and confidence that wells inside when you are able to be still in a pose, especially if it is a challenging one.  It is that moment in the time-space continuum where your body says to your mind that it has conquered the pose, and your mind says to your body that it has conquered the pose.  Strength and calm well up inside, and you experience a freedom like none other.

I try to make this same choice of stillness even when not on the yoga mat.  It's difficult to do, given everything that goes on from life's daily perspective.  However, making some deliberate choices help.  Like waking up early before everyone else does, and the craziness begins. 

The other day, I stepped into the backyard early in the morning.  The just rising sun had splashed brilliant hues of red and pink across the morning sky.  Made me think how beautiful this universe is.  The light breeze that blew was perfect.  The birds were all up, making some of the sweetest chirping sounds.  Not another soul stirred anywhere around me.  It was just me, and the early morning.  I sat.  Did nothing. Thought about nothing in particular.  No agenda, no planning.  No doing.  Just being still.

There is a deep power in stillness.  It resets and rejuvenates.  The choice to make room for it is up to us.

The gift of life

I have been on a quest of becoming more mindful.  This journey has been going on for a while, but has assumed renewed urgency of late.  The reasons are many, less important.  The reasons are only part of the journey.  What is more important is the journey itself, and the aspiration of the end-state.  To be without judgement, to be in the now.  To focus on what matters, what is in front of me.  Not what happened yesterday, not what I anticipate tomorrow.

Needless to say, I have been perusing countless resources on mindfulness.  There are many out there, and I have been curating the most discerning ones, the more applicable ones.  Applicable to me, of course.  I don't presume to speak for everyone else.

I came across a quote on a website dedicated to being more mindful, more appreciative of the here and now.  The quote was of Bob Marley, the famous Jamaican singer-songwriter.

In an interview, with reference to his fame, he was once asked, "Are you a rich man, do you have a lot of possessions?" He replied, "I don't have that kind of richness, my richness is life". 

I read this today and it struck me like lightning, as I sat there, going through my regular day, worrying about my regular to-do's and not-to-do's.  "My richness is life".  Wow.

What is my life?  I take a few moments to count my blessings, all of them.  And I marvel at the bounty.  And putting anything material aside, is not my life itself a blessing?  The fact that I am here and now, and not somewhere else less ideal.  The fact that my problem of not being mindful is so much lower on the totem pole of life problems that others face.  The fact that I already have everything I need.  And I only need to remind myself of it.

This life is a true gift.  I could have been born as one of the other 7 billion humans around the globe, many in conditions less optimal that I am in.  Many in countries without the resources that mine has.  Many without the family and support that I have.  Many without the opportunities that I have taken advantage of.  And yet, I was born as me.  The gift of my life was given to me.  And today, I am filled with gratitude for it.

It behooves me (and you as well, really) to pay this gift forward.  In whatever way makes sense to you.  Starting with being the most decent, compassionate human being you can be.  Start somewhere, anywhere.  Also, stop being so busy and harried all the time, and acknowledge what is already there, and what you already have.  Acknowledge this gift of your life.  Trust me, it's worth it.

The reckoning

The man stood at the threshold, uncertain and nervous.  It was cold outside, and it had been a long, weary day.  Most days were like this one, nowadays.  The wind chilled his bones, and worry creased his brow.  It was cold, and every cell in his tired, cold body wanted to rush inside, and escape from the bleakness, from the dampness, from the darkness.  And yet, he hesitated.  What lay ahead?  He was not sure.

Thoughts flashed in his mind.  Happy times.  Confident times.  When he thought he had life under control.  When every move was planned, every outcome deliberated.  When he had made the most of everything.  Money, fame, family, friends.  It had all worked out.  He had it all worked out.  Ruthless decision-making, an iron heart, a stronger than strong will.  Never to be outdone, never to be defeated.  It had all worked out.  Were there setbacks?  Sure, they were.  Had they fazed him.  Never.  He always picked himself, dusted them off, and made the next calculated move.  Staying focused was his forte.  It always had been.

Focused on the outcome.  The end-game.  More thoughts - how that focus had eventually become ruthless. Doing whatever it took.  Playing the game with the single objective of winning.  Suddenly, people flashed across his tired mind.  People he had used, manipulated, hurt and rejected.  People he had stepped on, on his way to the top.  All the way to the top.  Friends, family, strangers.

He had enjoyed the power.  He had thrived on the elixir of that heady life where he was in charge, and his fame and fortune were growing.  There was nothing he didn't have, couldn't have.  And for a long, long while, he had everything.  He was invincible.

And then one day, a streak of misfortune made its way into the cushy scene of his life.  The perfect slow storm of bad luck, bad timing, back-stabbing people, misfiring calculations began to brew.  It took effect slowly, and he fought back with everything he had.  He became even more ruthless.  He became even more merciless.  He spared no one, and no thing.  But over time, his actions began to catch up to him.  He lost friends.  His family left him.  His colleagues stopped trusting him.  All he had was his fortune.  He then began using that for vice.  No matter that people didn't respect him.  He could still use his money to get what he wanted.  And so he did.  There was no luxury that he didn't buy.  There was no whim, no fantasy that he didn't fulfill.  It was ostentatious, and it was excessive, and it was obscene, but his money flowed like a raging river to fill his life with material pursuits.

And then one day, he began to run out.  Slowly but surely, he spent more than he made.  Recklessness caught up with reality, and he was soon out of a job, an income, a home, a safety net.  He woke up one day realizing he had to literally figure out how to have a roof over his head. 

He could not believe it had come to this.  Where had he gone wrong? He was the smartest person he knew. He was the best at everything. He had the best of everything.  How did he lose it all?  Dejected and depressed, he embarked on a journey.  It was a physical one, although he knew not what his destination was.  He just knew he had to get somewhere to reach the answers he was seeking.  He had to find the answers along the way.  Each day he would move, and keep moving, looking for something.  For the first time in years, he really saw the world, saw other people, saw things that he never bothered with before.  He understood people, and things.  He began seeing bits and pieces of himself in the scenes that played out as he went from here to there, on his journey.

On one such day, after he had walked for several hours, the weather suddenly took a turn for the worse.  It began to rain and soon he was soaking wet.  He no longer had fancy clothes and shoes, and protection from the elements. He no longer had a belly full of energizing food and drink.  He no longer had luxurious boarding and lodging, or people to do his bidding.  He longed for those things, but knew he had to keep going.  And so he did.

He walked and walked, wondering if he would ever find what he was looking for.  Did he even know what he was looking for?  Weary and bone-tired, wet from the still stinging rainfall, he finally came upon a house at the end of the road.  It was a strange, solitary house and he walked quickly up to it, eager to seek shelter.  Upon getting closer, he saw that there was something different about it.  Something that felt off. And yet, he was drawn to it.  It was dark inside, yet the door was ajar.  All he had to do was reach it and take shelter from this howling wind.  So, why did he feel hesitation?  Why did he feel fear?

By now he was shaking from the cold.  And so tired and hungry.  Maybe someone was inside, someone he could talk to, someone who would finally be kind.  Maybe he could talk to this person.  Start from the beginning, and tell the story of his life.  Maybe they would offer him something hot to drink, and some food too.  Maybe he could finally stop torturing his body and his mind, and get some rest. 

He walked up to the gate of the house, opened it and walked inside.  A sensation of foreboding washed over his wet body and tired mind.  Yet, he kept walking, putting one foot in front of the other till he was at the door step.  The door was ajar, and a small light shone in the back of the front room of the house.  Even though it was dark, he could feel the warmth from inside. 

He stood at the threshold, uncertain and nervous.  It was so cold now, and it had been a long, weary day.  The wind chilled his bones, and worry creased his brow.  It was cold, and every cell in his tired, cold body wanted to rush inside, and escape from the bleakness, from the dampness, from the darkness.  From the darkness that was this day, and from the darkness that was his life.

And yet, he hesitated.  He stopped.  He turned around and looked through the thrashing rain at the road on which he had come.  Something drew him back to that road.  He turned and opened the door some more.  Something drew him into the house. 

He sighed.  He closed his eyes.  He took a deep, long breath.  And he stepped inside.

Big is little, little is big

"Everyone wants the big things in life — meaningful relationships, a great career and financial success. The secret to experiencing these big things is to make sure you get the little things right day in and day out."

Excerpt from a larger post about nuggets for success in work and life.  There is no shortage of these type of adages for sure, but every once in a while, something seemingly inane like this jumps out at me, and gets my brain gears clicking and turning.  This time, I had been ruminating along something similar for a while.  How it is that there is no big bang in life.  There is no big "A-Ha".  There is no thunder and lightning realization of what everything means, no big pot of gold, no blinding light at the end of the tunnel.  Certainly not when the years have rolled by, when time begins to be measured in decades.  What matters, is what happens every day, what you make of all the little moments that make up the big puzzle of life.  The little things.  

Choosing little things, and making those choices deliberately is what can make or break the "big" thing.  And over-focusing on the big thing will take away from choosing the little things to focus on.  And that's where you can get seriously caught up in a self-fulfilling prophecy of sitting around waiting for something big to happen, some big change to occur, some pivotal moment when realization dawns, or something changes, or someone changes, etc.

That is simply not going to happen.  People will not change.  Luck will not turn.  The moment will never feel right.  Yet, the only thing in your control is the here and now. And what you can do with it.  So, how about making it count?  How about just giving it your all, anyway?

Because these little things, done day in and day out, as if they were the only things that mattered soon begin to add up.  They begin to feel like the norm, they begin to define who you are, and what your life means.  

The little things.  What you read when you have twenty minutes to spare.  Who you think of when you want to be grateful.  What you decide to put in your body. Who you think of calling when you pick up your phone.  What you want to tell you child at the end of the day.  How you want to show up at work tomorrow.  What you decide you will learn today.  The books you choose. The friends you keep. The games you play with your children.  The battles you choose to pick.  The chores you share with your partner.  The games you decide not to play.  The pressures you opt out of.  

The little things.  Get these right.  Do these right.  Mean them, everyday.  Mean them anyway.  It's OK to not be perfect.  Of course, it is.  But know that it's the little things.  Always, the little things.

Hope

So much has transpired that to put any semblance of a chronological account that would make sense on any level seems like too much of a daunting task.  And I'm not even going to try.  As I tried to make sense of all that was happening, much as coming back to this space might have seemed inviting, I wondered that in the end, what do I even have to say, really?  What, indeed?  And what for?  As if it mattered in the least bit!  And so, I vowed I would not even bother.  That my time was probably better spent elsewhere.   And yet, something draws me back here.  And I realize that writing is therapeutic for me.  Yes, it does not matter - what I write, or what I have to say.  Yes, I could probably use the few minutes to do something else.  Yes, in the end, what the hell do I have to say anyway? (*Cynical smile*).  In any case...  As I type this totally rambling note, I ruminate that how it is with life that with sadness comes clarity.  That when you struggle for inspiration, you can only ever turn inward.  That enduring does make you stronger.  That love, deep-rooted and all-transcending does bail you out, time and again.  That if you look around you and learn from the people you interact with everyday, and if you revise those lessons before you fall asleep each night, you have made that day worth your while.  That somethings can never be explained.  And that they needn't be.  That you can hope, and that sometimes, hope is the only thing that can get you through the present.

New beginning for an old space

This has been such a long time coming, that I've lost count of the number of times I resolved to get back to this poor blog, and then never did it.  The few times I ventured as far as putting the proverbial pen down to paper, my overly critical self took over as usual and was not happy with the format and structure of the old blog.  Myriad times, I dabbled with deleting this spot in the ether-world and starting a brand new blurb somewhere else.  Then the sheer enormity of doing so made me hit the cancel button very quickly.  Myriad times, I returned to this tired, ignored blog and sat down to make changes.  Then sheer laziness took over and I quickly gave up.  The argument was who reads this anyway?  And aren't there twenty seven things waiting in my to-do list, and that too from yesterday?  This was so not a priority.

And so on, and on.  Until I realized one day that it's actually been 4 years since I even bothered writing anything.  Four entire revolutions performed by the planet around it's life giving sun, and I could not even find one post in me.  Shameful.  However, I forgive myself.  As this in itself is one of the new themes for this new year.

And I'm back, as you can see.  The question was - what do I do with this thing?  Do I delete all the old randomness and keep only what looks good to the average discerning reader?  Do I scrap and re-invent?  Or do I keep everything, as it's a window into my mind from time to time even though most of it totally verges on randomness?  How much time and energy do I invest?  Is the damn thing even worth it?

Well, after much thought, and some futile attempts at complete re-invention, I landed on keeping all of the old, and adding a touch, no - a splash of new.  Some general de-cluttering, a lot of organizing, some visuals that speak to me, and freshly renewed resolve to ignore this space no more.  And there you have it - the same old space, with a whole new beginning.  Happy new year!

Turning Four

What must it feel like to turn four?  I dont remember it from when I was four.  I do have recollections of early birthdays but not as early as four.  So, now, as a parent, I wonder what it must feel like.  Because this is the first one, where N has any sense for what the concept is all about.  I dont think he fully understands it, but he recognizes that it is a milestone, and that he is older ("bigger", in his speak) than someone who is three.

Adios Amigos

And it seems like I am done here.  For now, there's a new space out there, a fresh start.  For the sprinkling of those of you who came by this way, my many thanks.  You know where to find me - ping me for those new co-ordinates.  See you on the other side!

So much

So much has happened to write about, not even sure where to begin.  I try to think of one thing that defines me today -that really and truly defines me, and that is motherhood.  Not once, but twice.  My journey, my tribulations, my survival, and my reason for being.  My purpose in life.  My miracles.  Not one, but two.  My gifts from a higher power.  I must have done something right to deserve them.  So much has happened.  So much.  Humbles me.  Awes me.  And motivates me - to be the best that I can be - for them.

Back

Back after ages.  Had ignored this space for a long time.  Had not forgotten about it though.  Deciding today to put a stake in the proverbial ground and declare that I'm back.  For there is much to say.  There always has been.  Especially now.  Especially back then.  Well then, without further ado, here goes.  It's good to be back, and here's hoping this stint qualifies as decent.

Birthdays and blessings

Thinking of you so much today.  Time has flown, but you have brought that to my life which I think I cannot live without, ever - unconditional love.  And joy. And meaning, like never before.

I hope you are having a wonderful day.  I will stop by to hello soon.  And then, yes, we'll have some of your favourite cake to share with your friends.

Five - just so unbelievable my love.  Today, I send prayers and thoughts of gratitude for being given you.  I wish all the best blessings for you, but I cannot be thankful enough for you truly are and have been my biggest blessing.

Love always, always,
Mamma

Big day

And so, today, just like that, my little baby donned his big-boy school back-pack, walked with Dad to the bus stop and climbed the big yellow bus on his first day to Kindergarten.  Yes, to the big school.  Like a big boy.  Looking all excited.  So full of anticipation.

And me?  I woke up at 3:00 AM and couldn't sleep afterwards.  Mental check after mental check of all the things that had to be in place - forms filled, clothes picked out, items for the back-pack, lunch, snacks...

And when the time actually came, and I clicked the last picture before he headed down the street to the bus stop, I fought back sudden tears.  There was my baby, a baby no more.

Oh Child...want to hold you and hug you for just a little while longer...even though I know I better get used to this feeling now.

gratitude, more today...

time is flying. and there are so many things to be done.  its overwhelming, but they have got to be done.  and so, i pause for a teeny bit. and try to take a deep breath. and send a prayer of thanks to my support system. cannot do it without them. never could. never will.  filled with gratitude. and hope for the future. that i shall learn from all this. that i shall become a better person. more mindful. more grateful. and make that go around, where I can. and where I should.  new beginnings. new milestones. so many, many things to do. praying for strength, patience, endurance, perspective.  hope. that eternal thing that comes along every now and then, and keeps fueling the engine. for, forward we must keep moving always. for, to stop, dwell, or give up, is never, ever, an option.  i end this little piece of perspective with a deep, cleansing, calming breath, and thoughts of gratitude.

memories

Dedicated to G - my very own personal muse for over 3 decades.  Love and hugs!

these times

plans. upon plans. miracles. work.  stress. vacation. home. jet lag. family. food. mom. dad. rains. bro. sis. surprises. more miracles.  friends. perspective. love. laughter. life lessons. trips. cousins.  uncles. aunts. conversations. gratitude. letting go. dexter! trans-atlantic flights. home away from home. missing you.  strangeness. volunteering. heat wave. letting go some more. home renovations. home alone. friends. time like i've not had for ages. perspective. resolutions. missing you more than i can bear. anticipation. movement. joy.  nervousness. realization that this is what i was meant to do. meant to be. that i want nothing more. that nothing else matters.

letting go

someone asked me the other day if N was ready to start kindergarten.  Oh, yes, I said. He's ready.  I think he is, he's been geared up for it for a while.  although he doesn't really know exactly what it entails though. new school, new friends, new teachers, new routine.  I think he'll be fine though.  children are so naturally resilient and this child is especially so adaptable and goes through life in such a no-fuss manner, that I do think he'll be fine.  It's me I'm worried about.  I am not ready for the new routine.  I am not ready to accept that I'll have to let go some more.  I'm not ready for him to face this new world.  More than anything, I'm not ready for him to be growing up so quickly.  Where has the time gone?  where have the years flown?  How do I hold on to something so precious?  and how do I make sure I am making the most of these fleeting years?  they say true love knows no bounds.  they say love is learning to let go.  how to learn that lesson, when every fiber of my being yearns to hold on...

what if

what if you really and truly transformed your way of thinking.  What if you decided that today is the day is the day you will start.  What if it begins here and now.  What if you woke up and suddenly felt the possibilities are endless.  What if it all starts here and now and with you at the helm.  What if you were at the centre of the universe, at least the universe where who you are and what you are are the only things relevant.  What if you this and only this was the only thing that ever and always truly mattered.  What if.

recipes of the week

- Oven Roasted broccoli seasoned with salt and olive oil - absolutely yum
- my favourite kadhi - threw in white kidney beans for good protein measure...onions, ginger, and tomatoes also of course
- daal made with days-long sprouted moong beans.  nothing beats my good ol' Nayak's Masala.  No idea how long they've been around but they come to me specially ordered all the way from Diana's Udupi!!!!  And the day they stop manufacturing it will be a devastating one for me.
- Vermicelli uppit with lots and lots of grated coconut
- Kiwi, lime and mint juice - yep, gotta keep the fresh juicing going
- Green grape and almond gazpacho - absolutely delish
- Mango juice with vanilla essence and elaichi - so refreshing
- Good ol south indie sambhar with onions, potatoes and carrots that Im seemed to devour
- my all time fav bindi (okra) palya - nothing more than sauteed onions and okra, salt and jeera powder. So, so good
- And since dessert should never be left out - the simplest bread pudding ever - with whole grain bread, no less.  Oh, but everyone is allowed decadence, especially with home made desserts, so mine was a can of yummy condensed milk.  Raisins, milk, and almonds made up the rest of the ingredients.  Now, I'm just debating whether I should go all out and get a tub of vanilla ice cream to go with this.  Hmmmmm, maybe tomorrow.

Busy as I've been in the kitchen, cooking for one is no fun at all.  Come back sooooooon, my lovies!!!!!!

morals and life lessons

Dodda: Once upon a time, there were two cats. They saw a piece of bread at the same time and started fighting. So, to resolve the issue, they went to the Judge, Mr. Fox. Fox took a weighing scale and to balance the scale kept eating little bits of the bread until there were no more pieces left. The moral of the story is?

Mr. Nayan: Do not go to the judge.

Robots and Empire

~Isaac Asimov

Needed a dose of fiction and the book from Asimov's Robot series stood out as an immediate choice from among others at the book sale.  One long trans-Atlantic flight later, I had read the sequel to the Robots of Dawn in Asimov's series.  This is the kind of stuff that breezy friction reading should be about.  Yes, I'm a fan of science fiction in general, and would pick this genre over others in a heart beat, but Asimov is especially skilled in making his stuff easy to read and entertaining at the same time.

And so it was that I spent a couple of hours reading about Daneel and Giskard, and their super-human (errr, super-robot) powers, etc. etc.  Fantasy notwithstanding, it takes a certain imagination to make this kind of uber-futuristic view fairly imaginable for the reader.  Good stuff.

Long, lean, and squirmy-wriggley-wormy little boys, it seems....... :-))

I look at the world and I notice it's turning

While my guitar gently weeps

With every mistake we must surely be learning

Still my guitar gently weeps

~The Beatles

A Thousand Splendid Suns
~ Khaled Hosseini

Let me start by observing how incredibly difficult it must surely be for a writer to produce not one but two great stories/novels, and that too back-to-back.  An almost un-achievable feat in my opinion.  But Hosseini seems to have achieved it.  A really beautifully written story, and especially poignant for me as it focuses on two women as the central character of the story that spans two generations at a time and in a country that has seen, and probably continues to see the kind of turmoil, instability and turmoil that borders on unimaginable for people like us.  Indeed, reading about Afghanistan makes me send a prayer of utmost thanks that I was born in India, that although belongs to the third world, and has many drawbacks - is still peaceful to live in, and is not beyond hope as yet.

So, here is the thing, though.  Although extremely well written (Hosseini so does have a flair for keeping his narrative smoothly flowing, with a certain quality for getting the reader completely absorbed in the tale), and poignant, and factually representative of the historic and political situation in Afghanistan - plight of poor people, women, etc - you still end up (probably unfairly so) comparing this book to The Kite Runner.  Which was the better book, by an indisputable margin, for sure.  That book was way more moving, powerful and like a breath of fresh air.  In many ways, Thousand Splendid Suns was a little predictable in the general direction it went.  Kite Runner held me captive from the moment I turned the first page.  I remember wanting to cry on so many occasions (I probably did) as I read the book.  Of course there were a few "filmi" elements towards the end (somehow writers seem to have this compelling need to necessarily tie the so-called loose ends in the story line with bizarre outcomes to the narrative).  But those can be overlooked by the brilliance of the overall tale.  And the sleekness with which Hosseini waves his tale.

Anyway, all in all, enjoyed Hosseini.  For a second time in a row.

And so starts the longest two and a half weeks of my life.....

Fifteen years.  Of holding on to an illusion....

Shankar!!!!!!!!

Thanks R for sending over this piece of sheer brilliance!!!!!  OMG!  Just fell off the chair laughing.  Such a well made piece!!  The analogies are just hilarious :))))  That the desi Dexter should be a God-fearing South Indian is just too cool, I say!!!

On a related note, the final season's premier is about a month away!  What say G & R, how about a premier party in good ol' Bengaluru??????!!!!!  Together we should toast the King of Blood.  Cant wait!!!!!!  OH, how will it all end, pray tell!

Soul music

IMO there is nothing more appealing than a man's deep, soulful, musical voice brimming with emotion.  Especially if the emotion is being meted out via a Hindustani classical rendition.  Add Shankar Tucker's now classic fusion touch to the mix, and what you have is a divine caress to the soul.  This Shriram Iyer chap is pretty darned good.  Beautiful piece, listening to it over and over again.

26.2

March 16th, 2013
Rock N Roll Marathon, Washington DC
WhoooHoooooooooooooooooooooooo!!  26.2 Baby!!!!  A-Mazing!! (*Pride*)

shop-o-phobia

N now officially has shop-o-phobia.  P claims it comes from him.  I believe that.  Until recently, the little child used to willingly come anywhere.  Any outing offered an opportunity for entertainment.  Adventure even.  Until now.  And it makes me sad.  In any case, when I announced we were going to Kohls, I get a tantrum in return.

Me: C'mon N, put on your shoes.  We're going to Kohls.
N: I don't wanna go to Kohls!!
Me: Please N, hurry up.  We have to go.  I'm going to buy you new shoes.
N: I don't want new shoes.
Me: Ok, then I wont buy them.  But we're going now, so HURRY Up!!!
N: I'm not coming.  You go by yourself.
Me: What are you going to do then?
N: I'll stay at home and play with my cars
Me: But you cant stay by yourself.
N: Why?
Me: Because its not safe.
N: Why?
Me: Because you're a kid, and kids need adults to stay with them?
N: Why?
Me: Because that's how everyone does it.
N: Why?
Me: Because I said so. Now, are you going to get ready or not?
N: No Mamma, I can be here by myself.
Me: No you cant. I just told you, you wont be safe by yourself.
N: No Mamma. I will be.  If I'm not safe, I'll call 9-1-1. (Triumphant grin)

fastpoke

Speed Demon N is obsessed with the speedometer while driving (indeed he is obsessed with being fast with everything.  He hates being a "slowpoke").  Go Faster Baba, Go faster Mamma, is the constant order from the backseat.  From where he sits, he can see the needle and numbers.  So, today, he and Dad are driving at a mere 50 MPH on Fairfax County Parkway and the tyke asks to go at 60.  No, sorry.  Can you go 80 then?  90?  100?  Actually I want you to go at 120.  Dad replies that if he does that, the cop will take them both to jail.  Speed Demon is now wide-eyed and wants to know what the cop will do if they went at 140.  Dad scratches his head and tells him at 140, they will both be taken to jail and not be given any food, only water.  "Only water???!!!!!!" asks the little rascal incredulously.  "What about juice?!!"

As good as we've gotten at answering a thousand questions about anything and everything, my son still has the ability to leave us speechless every now and then!!

birds and bees? not yet, please!

A very pregnant Imon comes home for dinner.  My four year old knows she's going to have a baby.  He also knows the baby is inside her, now obviously in her tummy.  And so, in all seriousness, he tries to put cause and effect together (like he does for everything these days), and asks her with a straight face "Did you eat the baby?  Is that how it got in there?"

Ok, then.  I could afford to laugh this time.  After all, I have a few more years before I need to correct the facts (yikes)!!

As I've mentioned multiple times, the entertainment index in our household is off the charts. :-)

going back in time

Came across this somewhere on Facebook (it does have its uses on occasion).  As I read it, it was like my soul reached out and caressed my heart as if to say, "All is not lost, and at least you can have this memory".  Such a beautifully written piece.  This was my childhood.  This was my life.  These are my memories.  Almost all of them.  As I reflect back on the memories this has evoked, I am suddenly cognizant of the years that have gone by.  So many of them, as a matter of fact.  Today, more than ever, I yearn for that simpler time.  That simpler place....those sights, sounds, smells.  Poetry indeed.

http://thepoetryof.wordpress.com/2012/11/29/a-certain-south-indian-childhood/

A Certain South Indian Childhood

By Pavithra K. Mehta

The poetry of a certain South Indian childhood means that you have bathed in at least three waterfalls and been blest by more than one elephant. You know with a knowing that predates language: the scents of jasmine, of camphor, coconut oil, and filter coffee. Know them the way you know the particular sound of your mother’s bangles. The way you know the sound of the latch on your front gate, and the sound of wet laundry slapping stone. You belonged to an off-key choir of schoolchildren who chanted morning lessons in unrecognizable English and ear-splitting unison. Your to-go meals were eaten aboard trains and came wrapped in banana leaf and newsprint, neatly secured with twine. All your uncles rode motorcycles. You are an encyclopedia of wonderfully specific wisdom. You know what a hill station is, and are familiar with the many shades of cow dung. Also the urgency of pressure cooker whistles and the buoyant trill of bicycle bells. You know exactly how stubbornly red earth will cling to white canvas footwear. And how deliciously lime pickle will stain a snowy bed of curd rice in the bottom most compartment of a steel tiffin carrier. You spent a monkish amount of time sitting cross-legged on the floor.You memorized a poem about daffodils long before you ever saw one. You were raised by a village. Leaning out the window of a schoolbus you didn’t yet know was a luxury, you watched little girls march bravely to school. Small brown faces dusty with talcum powder. Beguiling bite-sized ghosts in their too-big pinafores and two tight braids doubled-up and tied with bright ribbon bows. In a lamplit shrine you waited for the shred of holy leaves the priest pressed into your palm that later tingled your tongue.You placed a coin in a withered, grateful palm on a busy street, and wished with sudden fierceness that you lived in a fairer world. You encountered an anonymous rickshaw driver or tea stall owner who did you a kind turn when you were most in need of one and then promptly disappeared. Unsung talents dwell in you. Such as the ability to drink water from a tumbler without your lips ever touching the rim. You were raised in a home crowded with miscellaneous context. Bougainvillea. Black bobby pins. Bore wells. Beaded lunch baskets. Brooms that require you to bend while sweeping. Bandini dupattas. A scythe to split coconuts. Steel buckets. Storerooms. The spit and crackle of mustard seeds in hot oil. Power cuts. Petticoats. Gas cylinders. Guava trees. Geckos. Head baths. Handkerchiefs. Kerosene lamps. Kannmai. Kolam. Cotton wicks. Custard apples. Curry leaves. Ceiling fans. A cyclone of cousins. A fond flock of aunts. Tear-off calendars. Turmeric stains. Whitewashed walls. Red chillies dried on hopping hot terraces. Key bunches tucked into sari waists. Safety pins stored on mangalsutras, and sticker pottus  on mirrored surfaces. Stories of mango-stealing monkeys. Hibiscus bushes. Heirloom silk saris stacked in the mystical recesses of your grandmother’s olive green Godrej scented with a strange, heady mixture of sandalwood, incense and moth balls. You traveled a fantastical landscape cluttered with color and chaos rendered familiar by dailyness. Loudspeakers. Lopsided buses. Buffalos. Bullock carts. Banyan trees. Boiled peanuts sold off carts in paper cones. Paddy fields. Dried river beds. Dragonflies. Temple bells. Bus conductors sporting pink nail-polish on a single untrimmed thumbnail used to tear off tickets. Bananas, green, yellow and red hanging in thick clusters like the fingers of a giant. Stray dogs. Colossal crows. Cricket matches.The peculiar and literal sales pitch of street hawkers whose hoarse, hypnotic chants floated above the din of narrow streets and into open windows. The crumbling and friendly (if somewhat Draculaesque) smiles of the city’s paan-chewers, Diamonds that flowered and flashed in an old woman’s nose ring. A vegetable vendor’s impossible earlobes freighted with dull chunks of gold and stretched like chappati dough down to her shoulders. Women jostling with curved rim water pots at taps that ran dry (their wells of rough-mannered affection did not).Weddings where hundreds came and nobody rsvpd. Where the serpentine notes of the Nadiswaram coiled through the air only to be overtaken by the adrenaline rush of the mridangam in gettimellam mode. Where food was ladled out of large shiny pails by sturdy men and you were plied with freshly fried appalam the size of frisbees, mountains of steaming white rice, and shockingly orange jelabis sticky with sugar syrup. One day you watched a man climb to the top of a coconut palm pulling himself up with his bare hands. On another, you touched a garland thick as a tree trunk woven from tuberoses and marigolds. You woke a baby fast asleep in a cradle fashioned from nothing more than an old cotton sari, soft with use and slung low from a ceiling hook. Once upon a time you were bitten by an army of tiny red ants.You wondered about the white stripe that dances the length of a squirrel’s back. You rode triples with your sister on your father’s trusty scooter. You opened a pale blue aerogramme. You chewed a neem leaf (the memory still has the power to pucker your face). You cracked open a tamarind pod and sucked the sweet and sour flesh off its hard black seeds. You were stalked on a hot summer night by an impressively single-minded cloud of mosquitoes. You caught sight of a spiky green chameleon in the garden. From a small roadside stall that sold soap and sugar, peppermints and pencil boxes, you purchased at the princely sum of fifty paise, for a geography class, the outline of a world map printed on grimy grey paper. Nameless continents and countries stitched together. One vast and various world of implacable mountains, whistling deserts, talkative oceans, and fertile jungles. Not unlike the nation of a certain South Indian childhood. Each day a planet and a profusion. Of unremarked yet not unremarkable experience.

my little munchkin

Just unbelievable that 2012 is over.  Time is truly flying by.  I have spent the last several days just reflecting, and there has been so much to reflect on.  For the most part, I keep thinking of N, and the absolute joy he has brought into our lives.  Could not have asked for a sweeter, smarter, happier, and more loving child.  I am amazed today, that my munchkin of 4 years and three months loves airplanes as much as he does.  Obsession is more like it.  He can spend hours just standing by the runway Dulles or Reagan and watch the planes take off and land.  Over the holidays, he spent days at Udvaar Hazy and the DC Air and Space.  He can look at models, engines, propellers for hours on end.  He can fly paper airplanes for hours.  He has a dozen toy planes that he plays with over and over.  All they do is land and take off, but in his vivid imagination, they cross the skies over the clouds and oceans and land in distant places.  Only to take off and come back again. :-).  I asked him recently whether he wanted to become a pilot when he grew up.  He considered.  Then he looked at me and shook his head.  No?  Firefighter then?  No?  Doctor?  Chef?  Policeman?  No, no, no.  What then, I asked, really wondering.  And my little munchkin says, in all seriousness:  I want to go to the office like Mamma and Baba, and work on the computer.

No words.  Really.  :-)

Last man in Tower

~Aravind Adiga

Having thoroughly enjoyed his block-buster "White Tiger",  I had reasonable expectations for this one.  It is always the case.  So rarely does a second, third book of a debut winner measure up.  I headed into the book with an open mind.  Give it a try, I assured myself.

Well, here is what I have to say.  I cannot, in the recent past that I can recall, ever finished a book in one sitting.  Not even the White Tiger.  That's how good I found this book.  Adiga's writing style is just great.

Now, having said that, I was disappointed by the way the book ended.  I cannot tell you just how disappointed.  It had SUCH potential.  I think the reason the whole planet is not talking about this book is because of the way it ended.  I mean, c'mon, Mr. Adiga, surely you must have had alternate endings in consideration?  I would love to see them, to see what made you choose to end your super strong story in this manner.

I am not going to give any spoiler alerts here, because I sincerely still think the book is worth reading, despite the end.  I just wanted more in the end.  The build up was there.  The plot was certainly there.  The characters had all come to life in my mind.  I was waiting for the encounters.  I was waiting for the suspense to end with a bang. And in the end, there was poof - nothing.  Just a brief and un-fulfilling update to an ending episode that the entire story built up to.  Disappointing, to say the least.

But still, a very good book.  I will give Adiga another try.  But next time would probably be his last chance with me.

skyfall

Ok, then.  This was a must watch for me, of course.  And so I did.  And it delivered.  Yet another facet of 007's life and history are revealed, and he is presented to us for what he is.  An ageing spy, but still the one who can bring it on.  No, he's not defying death (not too many times at least).  He's not winning against all the bad guys.  And he's certainly not getting all the women.  But he's still the spy whose reason for being is justified, and glorified, and reveled in.  By his most ardent fans, friends and foes.

Oh, well.  Forget all that.  Bond delivers.  I just think Bond has truly come of age now with Daniel Craig.  Skyfall is sophisticated (indeed everyone of the previous Bonds were just jokers in comparison:  recently caught Die Another Day and just had to laugh at the ridiculous stunts on display), and doesn't try to make Bond into the super-hero that he's not.  It calls him out for what he is - an ageing spy.  But it still delivers in the immaculate style that is quintessential Bond, the thrill that Bond fans always seek out.  Now, the plot itself leaves something to be desired.  Why Bond would take M to a dilapidated mansion in the middle of nowhere with absolutely no back up nor re-enforcements to try and thwart out the evil-caneevil is beyond me.  But I don't really care.  What I really liked is how Bond has evolved.  Its a damn good feeling to know Bond is growing older and wiser, just like me, and countless other fans.  :-)

And of course, Craig as Bond and Adele make just an irresistible combination.  Simply superb opening sequence as Adele supercharges your senses with her masterpiece.

Ah, Bond.  You entertain me so.

The White Stuff

Woke up this morning to see a layer of white on everything outside.  Best part if we didn't expect it.  First snow of the season.  There's a good 2 inches now, so its the real thing.  N jumped out of bed when he heard of it.  And then he put on all his gear and went outside to make "footprints in the snow".  I still see them outside the door.  Tiny prints, running around in circles.  Excitement and enthusiasm.  That's what he experienced.  Peace and a sense of calm.  That's what I am feeling.  Somehow a winter and no snow don't seem to go together anymore.  At least now, we have the real stuff.  Especially when I see the neighbor's kids making snowballs and throwing them at each other just now.  The innocence and joy of childhood.  Its what makes this world a better place.  Really.

Sun and Sand

Feels like an annual tradition now.  Winter sets in, and we head south.  This time it was to Key West.  And so it was, several balmy days of sun and sand, and eighty degrees.  I was unprepared for the topography of the place.  Basically marshland turned tourist mecca.  The Everglades - showed up there literally on P's insistence.  And I'm so glad I did.  As I sat on the boat and coursed through the brackish backwaters of the everglades, looking at the flora and fauna, a sense of calm descended on me.  Miles and miles of marshland. We spotted crocodiles and alligators (only place in the world with both), and tons of birds and dolphins too. It was just spectacular.  Tip of the continent, we gazed out at the vast Atlantic.  Just beauty, and it felt fairly untouched.  It probably is.

Then onto Key West, the southern most island of the Florida Keys (some thousand little islands).  Basically miles and miles of bridge get you there.  Its amazing, you drive literally through the ocean, on a bridge for the most part.

The next few days were either in the pool or on the beach.  Getting a tan.  Soaking in the sun and the island and all that it had to offer.  Out a few miles into the Atlantic to look at coral reefs and amazing under-water wild-life.

N started to bawl when he realized we had to come back.  He thought we had relocated there.  Poor child.  Oh well, as long as we stay in this winter wonderland, we know that we will at least seek out a warm and sunny destination to bask in, albeit for a brief while, every now and then.  So, that's reason enough now.

Ran baby, ran!!

When: October 27th 2012
What: Walker Whitman AIDS Run
Where: Washington DC
How much: 5K
Time: 28 mts

And so, on a gorgeous fall morning, it was that moi ran my first long distance race, along with a thousand or so others.  Not bad for a month of on and off training.  Not bad for having plantar fasciitis (often painful) of both feet.  Not bad for doubting I could ever be a runner again.  Not bad at all.

Would I do it again?  Oh, yeah.

inspiration

Navy Airforce Half Marathon in 2 hours.  Way to go P!!!!  In Nayan parlance - "Hug and Kish!!"

Nadia

Lovely rendering of this fusion piece originally composed by Nitin Sawhney.  This rendition is composed by Shankar Tucker who I am a fan of.  Tucker is an American clarinist who is now studying music in India and came to the world stage through really neat compositions spread through the "ShrutiBox" on youtube.

This piece is based in Raag Desh (a personal favourite of mine) and although kudos is to be given to Nitin Sawhney the original composer for the musicality of the piece, Jaunita John here more than does justice to it.  Don't miss how Tucker ends the piece with his clarinet.  Lovely.

And this is the original commercial version of the song.  The song is about a girl singing in longing for her lover who is on the other side of a raging river.  The river doesn't let her cross over, in spite of her pleading with it.  Her beau ('saiyyaan') calls her, but in vain.

And finally, check out this version by Jeff Beck.  How awesome is it?

All in all, not tiring one bit of this tune.  

Running

Never thought I would sign up for this.  But here I am.  Bravely entering the realm of long distance running.  In spite of the naysayers.  In spite of the doubters (biggest one of them all being yours truly).  In any case, here's to trying, and hoping to not give up.  There is, I am finding, a certain zen-ness if you will, in the whole affair.  And it is as much of a mental commitment as it is a physical one.  And therein lies its very power.  

khamaaj

Humble attempt.  This one is for you.

Thanks G for the accompaniment.

Such a boy!

Obsessed with airplanes.  Its amazing to watch.  He's been to the Udvaar Hazy Air & Space museum here in Chantilly oh around 100 times in his 4 years and yet he would go there anytime, again and again.  Once there, its a common sight to see him stand in front of an airplane engine, mouth open, absorbing the way it moves, and works, wondering, putting it all together in his little brain.  Fascinating.  And at home, he has a score of planes, different shapes and sizes, and he'll play for hours on end with them.  Imagining them taking off in DC and landing in Bangalore (that's his favourite destination!).

Other obsessions include cars, and trucks, and motorcycles and trains (building the entire track set).  Planes are still the standing favourite.

Oh and of course - taking anything apart and putting it together.  P involves him in all such projects these days, and its really cute to see them together.  Little engineer in the making?

Such a boy.  I wonder is it because he doesn't have girly toys?  What would happen if I bought him a doll, I wonder.  How much of this is conditioning (even though I had at one time resolved not to bring him up with stereotypes)?

I recall an incident at daycare, that I will never forget.  This was when he was 2 years old.  In the class, you have a good mix of boys and girls and you have all sorts of toys.  Whenever I would drop and pick up N, I would see him play with all sorts of toys, but never with the dolls.  The girls on the other hand would be "mothering" the dolls - rocking them, putting them to sleep, putting a blanket on them and patting them gently, etc etc.  It was a really cute sight.  I'm sure N would observe and wonder what that was all about.  Well, one day, I guess he figured he would try it out for himself.  I walk in there one evening, and I see N "playing" with a doll.  I use the word "playing" extremely loosely here.  Because this is what I saw - N had procured a doll.  He then proceeded to throw it on the ground.  Then he snatched a blanket from the shelf.  He threw it on the doll, covering it completely - face and all.  And then, he kneels down, and starts whacking the doll hard.  I guess he thought he was doing what he saw the girls doing (patting their babies to sleep).  Only that instead of putting the doll to sleep, he was actually beating the life out of it.  What's more, he had a gleeful grin on his face while he was whacking away to glory, as if to say "See, I can do this too!!!".

As for me - I didn't know whether to laugh my insides out, or to feel sorry for the doll.  I decided to let him play with planes and cars for the moment!!  Gosh!

Socially unacceptable and therefore supremely entertaining

Put yourself in the mindset of a four year old and what do you have?  An extremely acute understanding of socially unacceptable/embarrassing behaviors and topics to talk (even sing songs) loudly about.  And that, is exactly what is unbelievably fun to bring up and indulge in.  The more public and proper the situation (and therefore more inappropriate to indulge in), the better and funnier it is.

Thing is, it actually is funny sometimes.  Not the behavior itself, but the mirth it induces in my four year old.  And its a struggle to either contain my own laughter or hide it/laugh when he's not looking, and find the right level of seriousness to chide him about it.  What's worse, a scolding only results in even more mirth, often ending in uncontrollable laughter.

Honestly don't know when this phase will pass (really hoping it is a phase).

The topics/behaviors in question have to do with pee-ing, poop-ing, burping and farting.

Sigh.

Fall is in the air

Sunshine aplenty.  Sixty five degrees.  Crisp breeze.  Foliage turning hues.  Driving through classic Virginian country-side.  Rolling hills.  Winding roads.  Listening to Pink Floyd.  Peace.  Love.  Gratitude.  Life is good.

Luray

Situated in the Shenandoah Valley, this is a spot worth seeing and experiencing.  Second visit here, but was equally enchanting.  Huge sprawling underground caves with hundreds of stalactites, stalagmites, columns, pools and other formations that are simply breathtaking.  So beautifully preserved and showcased.  Thoroughly enjoyable.  Took hundreds and hundreds of years to form.  Puts time and space into perspective for a few seconds.

of serial killers....

.....only the good ones.  For that's what he is, ya?  A good bad guy.  And I've mentioned before that I like that sort.  Latest TV obsession, this.  Have to say, its been done really well.  I really like Dexter's internal dialog.  Very humanized.  Got a call from G last week at 3 AM his time in India.  When asked incredulously what he was up to at that ungodly hour, he replies that he and the wife are engaged in a marathon Dexter viewing session.  !!!!.   Good to know we are not the only crazies in existence.  Blood does run thicker than water....blood...hehe, get it?  No?  Go watch the spatter analyst at work.  Tell me you don't find it at least somewhat intriguing.

back to the basics

Feeling this overwhelming, totally compelling, excruciating need to simplify everything.  To get down to the basic elements.  To remove all superfluous layers of so-called sophistication, drama, and complex explanations for everything.  To get back to the basics.  To simplify, simplify, simplify.  To bare the truth, the fundamentals, the core.  To find acceptance.  To be reminded that in the end, your needs, your actual needs are really fundamental and few, and that if you focus on just that, and filter out all else as irrelevant, then clarity might, just might  begin to seep its way in....soooo, here's to trying, then.

acoustic

Nothing more appealing than just a guitar and a great voice.  Acoustic is the true talent.  Great rendition, this one.  Rob Thomas is good, but do check out the guitar segments.  So, so neat.  And oh yes, the back-up singer is really, really good.  This is why acoustic is so appealing.  It showcases all aspects of the performance and gives credit to real talent.  By the same argument, every flaw is easier to see, and the basics (like your voice) have to be really strong in order to appeal.

long weekend

Finally time to wind down a bit.  Its been non-stop and taking off a few days with the long weekend finally presents an opportunity to breathe.

Luray Caverns, Virginia.  What a wonderful experience.  The caves are magnificent.  The trip was so nice.  The place is so peaceful. set amidst the Shenandoah mountains.  Natural beauty and serenity abound.  Skyline drive presented breath-taking views of the area.  All in all, peace.

Tomorrow, the water park awaits.  N can barely contain his excitement.  And hey, I'm looking forward to it too.

just like a love song...

New song repeating on my running play list.  Worst thing I did to myself in the past few months was to not work out like a maniac.  Stress makes you want to stop everything.  Big, big mistake.  Am so happy I am back now.  This kind of thing needs to be like an addiction.  Listening to the beat while the sweat drops and the muscles stretch is almost like an aphrodisiac for the mind and soul.

Jesus to a Child

Great performance.  Such confidence, heart and soul.  Beautiful orchestra accompaniment.  Loving the composition and the lyrics.  Listening to this one over and over.

Kindness in your eyes
I guess you heard me cry
You smiled at me
Like, Jesus to a child

I'm blessed, I know
Heaven sent, heaven stole
You smiled at me
Like, Jesus to a child

And what have I learned
From all this pain
I thought I never feel the same
About anyone
Or anything again
But now I know

When you find love
When you know that it exists
Then the lover that you miss
Will come to you on those cold, cold nights
When you've been loved
When you know it holds such bliss
Then the lover that you kissed
Will comfort you when there is no hope in sight

Sadness in my eyes
No one guessed, well no one tried
You smiled at me
Like, Jesus to a child

Loveless and cold
With your last breathe you saved my soul
You smiled at me
Like, Jesus to a child

And what have I learned
From all these tears
I've waited for you all those years
Then just when it began
He took your love away
But I still say

When you find love
When you know that it exists
Then the lover that you miss
Will come to you on those cold, cold nights
When you've been loved
When you know it holds such bliss
Then the lover that you kissed
Comfort you when there is no hope in sight

So the words you could not say
I'll sing them for you
And the love we would have made
I'll make it for two
For every single memory
Has become a part of me

You will always be
My love
Well I've been loved
So I know just what love is
And the lover that I kissed is always by my side
Oh, the lover I still miss
Was Jesus to a child

conversations

It's what's keeping me going these days.  Keeping me moving forward, helping me put one foot in front of the other, as I strive for inspiration, and solace.

Conversations.....

...with P, my friend, philosopher, and guide.  Who accepts me and always has, for who I am - with all my shortcomings.  Conversations about life, family, goals, plans, and aspirations.  Conversations about our son, that never, ever fail to amuse, amaze and inspire.

....with Mey, my confidante.  We have our differences, and yet, I have so much to learn from her.  The more you do for us, for me, every day, I am reminded of all the years of sacrifice, so that I may have the best possible.

....with Pa, my pillar.  I can only say that I am blessed to have you.  My role model, in every way.  If I am half the parent to my child that you are and have been to me, I would consider that an achievement.

...with my friends...N,P, I...for being there.  For not judging.  For offering hope, strength and optimism.

...and most of all...with my son...my love, my life.  These days, you are so articulate.  So imaginative, so thoughtful, so full of life, and hope and dreams.  You are a joy.  You are hilarious.  You are precious.  You are my reason for being.

difficult reading...gosh

The Black Swan
~ Nassim Nicholas Taleb

Is it just me?  The book club I'm part of at Cap One chose this book for this quarter.  We're at the end of the quarter, in fact, there's 2 weeks to go before the club meets again and I am eons away from finishing the read.  Thing is, I'm not able to get through this stuff.  The author is completely failing to get me engrossed.  His style of writing is very tiresome.  I need to find a strategy to get past the initial inertia I am experiencing to see if the book has any promise at all.  Finding it extremely difficult.  Maybe I'm just not in the mood overall.  Or maybe the book is crappier than some of the reviews suggest.  Maybe I just need a better book.  Recommendations anyone?