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Good morning

Early mornings are so not my thing..
We’re in Goa and The husband got the strange idea of watching the sun rise from the sea… Yeah I know, it would be a wonderful sight, but the catch is one has to wake up before the sun.. On a holiday… Why that’s blasphemy!
But so contagious was The Husband’s enthusiasm that we did wake up – at five. And then it started to pour!!!!!! The ever accommodating Husband promptly collected the kids, snuggled together and three of them went back to sleep.
There I was on my own with no desire to get back to bed. Silently berating The Husband for his weird plans I wondered what to do with myself. I reached out for the I-pad to find it needed charging. I sighed. The ticking of the clock seemed unusually loud. Listlessly I wandered around our resort suite. How come it’s so small? I wondered. It had seemed so roomy when we arrived.
I walked out onto the tiny balcony and instantly felt better.. The warm, balmy, rainy breeze felt much more friendly than the artificial cool of the AC. It was quiet but for the rain. Even the birds were asleep.
I watched in the hazy light as the rain left fleeting imprints on the surface of the pool.
I watched as the water splashed off shiny leaves that glinted even in the semidarkness of dawn. It slid silently off deck chairs, off the concrete tortoises at the pool and the red tiled roofs.
I watched as a conscientious worker came out in a raincoat and began to clean the pool.
I watched as the sun, dulled gently by the clouds, showed up far in the East and spread silently all around.
I watched…….. Enjoying.. Yeah enjoying, as the peace of the moment stole over me.
I might have missed the sunrise but I did catch the morning. Maybe I should do this again – this early morning thing!
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If only you were here

The signs
are everywhere. Red, white, yellow, green… They pop up on streets, at roadsides.
They stare at me out of magazines and newspapers and even from the television.
They inundate malls, flood stores. I switch on the Internet and there they are tempting,
beckoning, begging me.
Take a look,
they say, come on in. What are you waiting for? They ask.
I turn away.
I cannot answer their call.
You dear
sister sit far away in another city. All these signboards shouting out SALE are
no fun without you, the best shopping partner ever.

If only you
were here!
Linking to “100 words on Saturday” at Write Tribe for the prompt “If only you were here…”
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The Ganapati story

Ganapati is gone but I need to do this post as a final goodbye till next year. After many many years in Maharashtra this year finally I caught up with Ganapati in as Maharshtrian a way as I could.
If you want to experience the true flavour of a festival, any festival, you should head for the old city area. And so it was to the city we headed when Chaturthi came around. Since the SIL brings home Ganapati we had tons of shopping on the agenda. Yes it’s dreadfully crowded, yes it’s noisy, yes you have to walk and walk, yes it’s hot and sunny and sweaty and utterly chaotic. But amidst the chaos you’ll find some of the best bargains ever. The streets are crammed with merchandise as colourful as the wares of Sarojini Naidu’s bangle sellers. A true treat for the eyes. And you have the added pleasure of haggling shamelessly till you’re blue in the face. Can it get any better?
Take a look…

All things glittery… 

 This is what we started working with.

And this is what Ganapati’s seat finally turned out. We were pretty proud of our handiwork. Check out that toran – done entirely by the SIL out of handmade paper even while nursing a mother of all colds.

And now for the modaks. We saw so many kinds ….

Check out this mega-modak..

Pick your size here!
…and your colour

The hottest favourites ‘ukadiche modaks’ The ones I tried to make a failed pretty convincingly at.
Look at those wads of notes. I do hope they’re put to good use.
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Rainbow in a box

A few years back during the monsoons, Naisha discovered the magic of rainbows on the ground. Even as I struggled withe the science of oil and water and sunlight she was barely listening dancing excitedly around the miraculous sight. Now, two years later, the thrill hasn’t faded. As the kids make their way to the bus stop, jumping over puddles, they just have to linger around those rainbows, oblivious to the arrival (or departure) of the bus.

Then one day I found Naisha in the washroom pouring hair oil in a box full of water. Even as annoyance bubbled up her teary face stopped me. “Mama I’m trying to put a rainbow in this box for you but it just won’t come,” said she.

And then it was time for a hug.

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A hoarder

I was dismantling the Janamashtami jhanki a few days back, yeah.. I know it’s been ages since Janamashtami came and went but I’m slow at dismantling/putting away things.

I was wondering what to do with the decorations. How tough it is to throw away stuff! I’m sure I’ll never use those chart papers, paper leaf trees or the play dough figures and even those gorgeous peacock feathers, yet I just HATE to throw them away. Seems kind of heartless doesn’t it?


In fact throwing away anything is hard, even the seemingly worthless stuff… Used birthday decorations, diwali diyas, sea shells that raise a stink each time I open the packet, pine cones I picked up on a trip to Nainital, gift boxes, pretty bottles, colourful cartons…and tons of books – I can’t bear to part with even one. Sigh! (Yeah I know where Naisha gets her predilection for junk. That is another post  that needs to be done).

Then there are clothes. And I’m not even going to mention the jeans in three different sizes, at least there’s a possibility I might fit into them, however hypothetical. There’s loads more. Then there’s the kids’ stuff.. a ladybug costume I’d made for Naisha when she was three, a tiger’s tail for Hrit, annual day costumes I know they’ll never wear again, the hand knitted hoodies my cousin got for them all the way from Dehradun, Hrit’s first pair of glasses, broken of course, Naisha’s favourite doll, which she has now outgrown but apparently I haven’t….

Each time we move and all my stashed up stuff comes out and is put embarrassingly on display The Husband throws a fit. “Throw it all out,” says he.


But how can I?

How can I throw away the salwar suit my dad carried all the way from Bhuj despite being stuck in that huge earthquake? Or that pullover my grandma squinted over for ages stopping to confer with my friends to make sure it was in keeping with the latest fashion? Or that saffron-maroon sari that got me the sole “best dressed lady” award of my life ever? And there are others, stacks and stacks of saris… gorgeous, colourful silky silks, diaphanous Chanderis, crisp cottons… How do I throw away the first one The Husband ever got me? Or the ones mum lovingly packed, complete with matching accessories, as part of my trousseau with elaborate instructions (“This one is for the reception” and “This one for when you go visiting” “this for evenings at home” Oh my mum is thorough!). Never mind that I never took to wearing them.

How do I throw away all of it? It’s in this ‘junk’ that I store my memories.. memories of happy times, memories of loving and being loved.

And so I’m keeping all of them… we just need a bigger home. Any more hoarders out there looking for bigger homes?

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