me Archives - Page 6 of 10

24/06/201515/04/2017

Notes from a self conscious soul – 1

It strikes early – this monster called self-consciousness – and it never does leave one alone. We’re fairly easy to spot – that lady who can string a decent enough tune yet is unable to sing in company, that man at the party with a formal smile on his face, the young girl fiddling with her phone as she waits for her friends – yeah they’re the ones.

I’ve been there, done all of that. I’m still there, in part at least.

If you’re one of the other lot – that self-assured breed – you cannot even begin to imagine what we have to put up with. When you’re pushing us to do that dance, or sing that song and we’re standing tongue-tied and helpless we’re not being drama queens, or kings for that matter. It’s almost a physical thing – the nasty nit picking in born self critic – that’s holding us back. Our brains stop functioning, our throats dry up and our limbs refuse to obey us, deferring instead, to the monster.

We’re hating the attention, yet can do nothing except wish the earth opens up and swallows us, which it consistently refuses to do.

And there’s more.

1. We get labelled snobbish/moody because we rarely initiate conversations. The truth is we are often dying for someone to talk to us first.

2. Obviously then, we don’t make friends easily. When we do make friends, we’re the best kind since we are never presumptuous and tend to be very thoughtful.

3. Our jokes are continuously hijacked by the more vocal members of the group. And we’re not even sure we mind.

4. Standing up for our own birthday song is excruciatingly painful so we’ll often hide away all of that day.

5. As for photographs, it’s always a “No, Thank You”. Over time, we perfect the art of skillfully avoiding them or looking carefully casual when the camera does come on but we can never really be casual. And we often hate our snaps.

6. A haircut is an embarrassment. A bad one is a catastrophe.

7. We never believe compliments. Nope we’re not being modest, we really don’t. We do love them though, who doesn’t? But we still don’t believe them.

8. Everyone’s opinion matters to us – from the nosey neighbour’s to a perfect stranger’s. Not a great place to be in, I tell you.

9. We dress to fit in, never to stand out. Oh we can be chic and stylish but never flamboyant. ‘Understated’ is our thing.

10. We stick with the rules simply because that makes it easier to hide away.

A lot of my tribe are great in their chosen fields once they learn to camouflage the monster, which most of us do. We might even trump it for a while, only until we try something new or get into an unfamiliar situation and there it is in all its mocking glory, laughing at us for thinking it gone.

If you’re still with me, chances are you are one of my kind. Stick around for my next post where we’ll figure out a monster-bashing strategy.

Meanwhile the rest of you self-assured people just be gentle with us, will you? We mean no disrespect but we take time and a HUGE amount of effort to step out of our comfort zones. Don’t hurry us, don’t harass us. Be patient, we’re getting there.

10/03/201515/04/2017

‘I’

Somedays I want
No food to cook, no beds to make
No laundry to fold, no rugs to shake
No fights to sort of girls and boys
a little respite from all that noise
No kids who slowly drive me mad
Not even their ever wonderful dad.

Somedays I want to put up my feet
to pick out a book and read and read
to sit in a mess if that’s what I want
to wear raggedy rags I wouldn’t dare flaunt
to swing in a swing or snuggle under a quilt
to watch mindless TV without a shred of guilt.
to listen to a song and sing out loud
or lie on the grass and watch a cloud.

To rekindle a friendship over a hot cup of tea
A long forgotten friendship with myself and me.
In the books and quilt, the grass and the sky
Maybe that’s where I’ll find a little bit of ‘I’.

Linking to ABC Wednesday for the letter ‘I’ with thanks to Mrs Nesbitt who thought up ABC Wednesday.

27/02/201509/09/2017

Grandmas are special

A few days back I was telling the twins about my grandmoms. That brought on a wave of nostalgia. We had two of them, amma my dad’s mother and chachi his aunt, who was just chachi to the whole world. They were inseparable yet squabbled all the time. My dad teasingly christened them Gulabo-Sitabo.

We had the best of both worlds – a strict mom who disciplined us all the time and the two doting grandmoms who more than balanced her out. Though it’s over a decade since they left us, somedays seemingly inconsequential occurrences bring their memories flooding back.

When I’m pushing the kids to have their milk I think of amma who was hopelessly fond of it. Whether she was ill or tired or not hungry at all – offer her a bowl of milk and she wouldn’t say no. It stood her in good stead when well into her 80s, she had a fall and even the doctor couldn’t believe that she had come away without broken bones.

She was a snorer – a loud and consistent one. She would be snoring loud and clear, yet if one of us asked ‘Amma are you asleep?’ she’d wake up with a start, “Of course not,” she would say indignantly. That turned into such a family joke.

She spoke chaste Awadhi (that’s a Hindi dialect), one of the sweetest tongues to me. And whatever she said was peppered with the richest collection of age old proverbs and sayings. She had the perfect one for every situation.

While amma was the religious one doing puja twice a day, Chachi was a young girl trapped in an old woman’s body. The high point of her routine was TV time. She had a fixed corner which she’d take right from the time transmission started. Those were the pre cable days yet she’d watch everything the television dished out – from programmes on agriculture and industry to the single weekly Bollywood film. She loved Bollywood.

She was the one who mended our clothes when the seams came off. She was the one who trawled markets looking for the perfect colour of yarn then figure out the ‘latest designs’ and knit sweaters for us even while pretending to complain about ‘these new fashions’. She would much rather chat up our friends than women her own age.

She’d haggle shamelessly with the man who came around to buy off old newspapers. Whatever she made by fleecing off the poor man came to us. Back when pocketmoney was unheard of, those few rupees were quite a treasure. She had the best stories to tell. A bit of mythology and a bit of legend with enough twists and turns and drama to satisfy the most demanding listener.

And she loved my sister – beyond the rest of us. Of course she’d never ever admit it even while blatantly favouring her. My sister was a complete potatorian, she loved potatoes to the exclusion of most other vegetables. Chachi would avoid mom’s eagle eye and dish up her favourite for her while the rest of us ploughed through the greens. If mum asked my sister to cook something, there was Chachi quietly and efficiently doing it for her and handing her the tray to go out and take the credit.

Of course it was completely another matter that our mum was a regular Hercule Poirot. She just knew everything. A royal battle would ensue but it didn’t stop her from doing it again.

How I miss them. With due apologies to my kids’ grandmoms, they just don’t make them like the old ones these days.

Come now, it’s your turn. What’s your favourite grandmom story?

Linking to ABC Wednesday for the letter G. Do drop by to see other G posts.

15/02/201515/04/2017

The rendezvous

8pm.
‘They’re late’, thought she as she laid the table. Impatiently she glanced at
the clock. ‘I’ll be late… again’. She hated to be late. But then, a smile lit
her face as she thought about her nightly tryst with her … ‘friend’ well yes,
friend, love, companion. She relived that heady feeling; that touch of the
evening breeze on her skin – cool and refreshing in the summer, arctic crisp in
the winter; the intoxicating scent of summer tube roses that kept them company
or the Chrysanthemums that filled the winter nights with their fragrance. And
there was music, ah yes, the music had to be just right.

She
smiled to herself then shook her head to dispel the image – later, she told
herself firmly, it’ll have to wait. Only after dinner could she give in to her
passion. First, she was a mum, a wife.

As
if on cue, the kids rushed in.

‘Hurry
hurry’, said she. ‘Wash and change. Dinner’s at the table’. Half an hour later
as the Husband settled down to the day’s news before the telly, she tucked the
kids in and kissed them good night.

Free
at last, she walked out of her apartment, out in the open air for her nightly
rendezvous – that one hour of pure, selfish happiness – hers and hers alone –
with her love, her friend. She sniffed the fresh air with pleasured
anticipation then reached for her iPod. Her friend was before her, waiting. ‘I’ve
come,’ said she breathlessly, as the road stretched ahead – silent, inviting,
encouraging.

She
ran then, the pounding of her feet matched by the hammering of her heart,
drowning herself in the pure pleasure of the adrenalin rush of her run,
forgetting everything else – just she and the road, her love for all seasons.

So do you have a secret hobby too? Or maybe not a secret, but something special that you do ONLY for yourself? To unwind, to have fun – just fun? Do share here.

Linking to Blog-A-Rhythm’s Wordy Wednesday.

27/01/201515/04/2017

#Microblog Mondays – Morning Musings

Mornings are special times, aren’t they? Quiet, peaceful, full of energy and optimism – heralding the beginning of a brand new day.

When the twins came along all the peace and quiet was replaced by adventure and suspense. And if you ask why – well then that simply implies you don’t have kids. The dash for the school bus is something that needs to be experienced not explained. It has very little to do with how early I wake up the kids. They can get ready in half hour flat or dawdle about taking thrice that time. Some days we are really early and then we put on music and forget about the bus and then … yeah that same dash.

Then there are morning alarm issues. There are days I wake up before the alarm rings and lie waiting for it. Such bliss!! That lazy time before I hear it go. Or there are the times, the not-so-good-times, when I switch the alarm off with no recollection of doing so. Thank Goodness for the sun (and for my large east facing windows) that comes calling, jolting me awake.

Last week was bizarre. My phone set itself to Myanmar time (Don’t ask how. These android touch phones quite have a mind of their own and tend to be temperamental). I jumped up right as it rang and after I’d wrapped up all my chores and was about to wake up the kids I realised there was a full hour to go! There I sat mourning my one hour of lost sleep.

Don’t get me wrong – I like mornings. I love them. There’s just one small catch – the waking up. That kind of takes away all the fun. If only there was any other way to begin a morning than waking up!

So what’s your morning like? The ‘newspaper and tea’ variety or the ‘hurry hurry hurry’ kind?

Linking to # Microblog Mondays hosted by Mel at Stirrup Queens where we’re talking about life hacks. Do stop by and share a tip.