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Memories and random ramblings

The other day I was reading this post at Pins and Ashes about memories and how she stored them in her head. She said she deleted the bad ones and stored away the good ones into neat little boxes like we store earrings.

I realised I did it the earring way too but not quite like her. I did it the way I store earrings which, by the way, I am very fond of. I have loads of them and have a box with squares to store them too. However barely any two of a pair are in the same box. They are all together in one big jumble along with bracelets, bangles and what not. If there is some vague organisation it would be in order of how much I love them and how often I wear them. So the gold-diamond-garnets  might be in the same box as one I picked up at the roadside in Goa.

That’s quite how my memories are stored – here there and all over the place – the good ones and the bad ones all mixed together so it is almost impossible to separate the two. When I pick one up another one comes dangling along and I have no idea which one it might be. A small inconsequential one, might be jumbled up with a large important one like an inane remark someone made years ago at an office party, or the clothes a friend wore a decade ago at a school social or some random interaction at the bus-stop between two people I don’t even know.

Then along comes someone and I begin to dig into this chaos to find something to say. If that someone is a mere acquaintance I’d be tiptoeing around in my head thinking ‘which is a safe memory I can share?’. The conversation will be stilted at best.

However if it’s a friend, I pull them all out pell-mell without worrying. The conversation then comes spilling forth, without a pause, one thing leading to another, stories, thoughts, feelings, emotions all together. And if you’re my kind of friend you’ll probably be doing the same till we’re struggling to get in a word, completing each others sentences, agreeing and disagreeing vehemently, laughing hard, probably annoying people around us and then wondering where the time went.

So how do you do it? All organised? Or is it a crazy place up there?
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#If we were having coffee….. 1





If we were having coffee … I’d tell you how wonderful sisters were. I’d tell you about the marvellous week I just spent with mine. Then after I realised how I’d gone on and on about what a rare treat it was to have S here and what a terrible pity it was that we did not live together, I’d probably ask you about yours. I’d enjoy listening to you because I’d find us in your sister-tales. Then you and I together would shake our heads in amazement, wondering how little sisters went from being complete pains when they were young to such soul mates when they grew up.

If we were having coffee … I’d probably complain a bit, for which coffee session is complete without some grumbling? I’d grouse about how H decided to fall ill just as S landed and kept us housebound much of the time. But then I’d also tell you about those endless chat sessions we could indulge in talking, arguing, agreeing sometimes and agreeing to disagree at others.

If we were having coffee … I’d moan about not being able to catch The Intern together as we’d planned. But then I’d also tell you about the film we did manage to watch on the tele. And I’d tell you how we sprawled on the ground laughing together as she wiped off imaginary sweat from microwaving popcorn.

If we were having coffee … I’d share with you what fun it was to team up with her to tease the twins. And I’d tell you how we almost choked on our food laughing at them as they got more and more worked up.

If we were having coffee … I’d tell you about our coffee shop adventure – how we drove away from at least four of them till we found one that was suitably empty. And then laughed at our penchant for brink-of-bankruptcy coffee shops that nobody else went to.

If we were having coffee … I’d probably seem in a bit of a rush now that she’s gone and all the tasks that seemed so inconsequential till she was here suddenly seem to rush up and inundate me with their urgency. Yet I’d sit down for that cup of coffee because I need a bit of comforting and I’d be consoled with your presence. Then I’d send up a thank-you prayer for a family full of friends and friends who have turned into family.

What would you share if we were having coffee?

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Babies still

Monday mornings are a drag. Since the husband moved out of the city for work, they’ve become worse. It’s sad when he can’t fly home for the weekend; it’s sadder when he does. He leaves early in the morning and the kids wake up to find him gone.
Today, N who seems to be extra sensitive to his departure, woke up unusually cranky and reluctant. Despite my efforts to cheer her up she seemed determined to pull us all down. With less than five hours of sleep I was
near snapping point.

 

However, when she said she was too tired to get up I simply picked her up and carried her to the washroom. It had been a long time since I had carried her and the ‘hug’ felt good. Mercifully, even at nine years, she’s yet not too heavy for me, this little one of mine. (H almost knocks me over when he clambers
on, which he does often).

She seemed to cheer up a bit and so I offered to give her a bath just like when she
was a baby. We spent a happy ten minutes in the washroom falling back into our old old pattern, splashing water on her while she tried to wet me and I pretended to be angry.

By the time I was helping her into her clothes laughing together, she had forgotten her crankiness and so had I. She finished her breakfast ‘even faster than H’. We went down to the bus-stop happier than I could have ever hoped for.

Sometimes children just need to be babies, to be pampered silly, their tiny whims catered to. We often find it difficult to come to terms with the fact that our children are growing up. However, just as often, we take their growing up for granted. Some days it helps to remember that grown up as they seem, they are babies still.

Disclaimer: A post like this in no way means I’m a sane centred zen mama. Most days I’m the regular harridan. It’s just that I blog about the good days because it is heartening to remember that once in a while I can avert the bad ones.

Linking up to Microblog Mondays. We’re talking about space travel. Do leave your thoughts there.

 

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Pen, paper and some thoughts

There’s something special about receiving letters – those handwritten ones on pretty little letterheads. I remember
writing plenty of them, back in the old old days :-). 

Living in a far flung area of the city, my sister and I had no friends we could visit. So once school closed for the two-month summer vacation we were cut off from the world. We had no means of communication. No mail, no chats, no phones – not even a landline. So we’d write; as would our friends. We’d wait for the postman to deliver. And woe betide anyone who dared to as much as touch them. They were ‘private’ you see, even when all they had was how much holiday homework had been done, how many times the parks had been visited and how many films had been watched.

We’d even look forward to those letters from Reader’s Digest. They seemed so personal. Yeah I know now it was just marketing. Growing up does take away the magic from so many things!

Then there was this whole idea about having pen pals. There were magazines with addresses of kids who wanted pen pals and I wrote to one of them once too but nothing ever came of it. I still loved the idea of sharing a bit about yourself with a stranger in a far away land. Perhaps, that’s where this blogging thing began – this writing to strangers and making friends.


It’s is wonderful how my blog has connected me to so many people I haven’t ever met. We decided to take it a step further and send each other letters – proper hand written ones – just like the ‘olden’ times. Nope I refuse to label it ‘snail mail’ – that sounds mean! 

I wrote to Eli, who blogs at A Global Fusionista. It was like talking to a friend – a friend I hadn’t met in a while – since Eli had been off her blog for sometime.

I received such a warm mail from her that it quite made my day. It is amazing how people from different nationalities, different backgrounds and completely different attitudes and experiences can connect in such a special way.

I got mine too from Swathi who blogs at Flightless Bird Thoughtful Wings. What’s more it arrived right on Friendship Day last month. What a coincidence! She had plenty to share having graduated recently. Her letter took me back to the time when I had just finished college. How confused I was! How unsure, yet excited! It was a privilege sharing a bit of her hopes and dreams, her dilemmas and her decisions. A letter is truly so much more than blogging. 

I am hoping we can keep the connections going. How long has it been since you wrote to someone – really actually wrote? If you have a loved one in a far off land – your mum, a brother, a sister, a friend, a teacher – do pick up that pen and write to them. Then watch their surprise and pleasure, for nothing beats a handwritten labour of love.

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The truth about lies

Dear H and N,

You remember the other day we were reading Matilda? The formidable Ms Trunchbull was yelling at her and Matilda tells a tiny white lie to save herself. You know what a white lie is, don’t you? It’s that small harmless lie that hurts no one but might actually save someone.

A question in your worksheet asked, “Did you think Matilda did right?” Both of you were in complete agreement with her, given that Ms Trunchbull was such a tyrant and she was but a child.

We talked about honesty and H, you were pretty accurate when you said, ‘If a lie doesn’t harm anyone, it is okay.’And N you had added, “When mamas tell babies to drink up their milk or their bones will break, it’s okay na, even though bones don’t ACTUALLY break if we don’t drink milk, right?’

Yes well you are right. 

Or are you??

Listen to this story before you make up your mind…

Imagine you have a friend; a special friend who is always with you. He talks to no one but you and no one can hear him but you. He’s a bit magical in that he always knows right from wrong. He has a problem, though – he cannot keep quiet when he sees any dishonesty – even the tiniest most harmless one. He’s a bit crazy like that.

Each time you are dishonest — even a tinny tiny bit, even when you’ve simply kept quiet when you might have spoken up — he bugs you and bugs you and bugs you till you feel really bad. Just when you are feeling relieved you’ve warded off a horrible yelling or a punishment he reminds you that you’ve done it dishonestly and makes you feel bad all over again.

And so you get angry and tell him to shut up. “I know it’s not the complete truth but THIS time it doesn’t matter. It’s just a tiny lie,” you say. But he doesn’t listen. “A lie is a lie,” says he, over and over again. Finally you’ve had enough and you’re so angry you tape his lips.

With each little lie another bit of tape goes onto your friend’s lips. 

Over the years it becomes a habit, this ‘shutting up’ your friend. His voice becomes more and more faint, till you can hear it no more and you’re lying without even thinking. You forget you ever had a friend. Finally there comes a time when you’re all grown up and you have a big complicated decision to make where the right and wrong is all mixed up and you cannot make out one from the other. “Aha!” you think then, “my friend can tell me, he has the magic that tells right from wrong”.

Then you remember, with a bit of regret, you’ve taped him up. “No problem,” you think as you start to painstakingly remove it all. Finally, the tape is off but what is this?? He still cannot speak. After years and years of silence he has lost his magic voice.

What do you do then? Of course, you might come to me or to papa but we might not be around by then. Besides, we haven’t been with you all along like your friend and may not have the right answers. What then? You’re quite stuck, right? It will be a hard hard task to teach your friend to talk again and by then it just might be too late.

We all have this friend inside us. It’s called the Conscience. The thing to do, dear children, is to keep your little friend up and fighting fit. Let him yell at you and bug you till he gets his way. Yes, he will make you confess you broke that plate, and get you yelled at too, but then he will also free you from endless days worrying about ‘what will happen when mama finds out?’. And that extra tight hug she gave you saying she was glad you owned up – totally worth it, wasn’t it?

Listen to your little friend with all your heart because honesty, complete honesty is, and will always be, the best policy.

Love and hugs always,

Ma.

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