I left my two year old crying at her school today. On the first day, she didn’t know what was in store and plunged into the waters without a problem. On the second day I had to sit in her class with her clinging on to me fiercely! And then she missed few days due to a cold. So today we had gone back to her school. I convinced the admin to let me take her home in two hours for two weeks. The play group was for a duration of four hours. And we had missed the first two weeks of orientation. If she coped, we would continue else withdraw her.
Well, staying away from home is a dismal prospect for anyone, whether a two year old or a six. Hell, I had knots in my stomach when I went to college at 17 something, leaving home for the first time. As my dad left me at the hostel gate with a pat on my cheek, I put up a brave face but my heart was sinking few fathoms.
Why start school so early? I wouldn’t have if there were kids at home or in the neighborhood. Or perhaps a park where she could interact with other kids. In the absence of either, I thought a play school would give her a safe platform to learn her social skills. I would have preferred a toddler – mother group but we don’t have one in our town. It would have been a smooth transition from the protected (and pampered) environment at home to a more social arena.
It doesn’t matter the least whether she is picking up anything of educative value. For one she will have to repeat pre-pre-school next year before getting admitted to pre-school. Our priority was that she got a chance to be with kids her age rather than grownups at home. I will be more than happy if she learnt to share what is hers. Or that crying doesn’t get you much. And that there are nicer ways to communicate than shoving and biting in order to get your way!
Its hard on her and on me. But sometimes you have to swallow bitter pills to get better. The sooner she learns to get along the more fun she will have making friends. It’s a whole new world. I like her school and I know she will be well taken care of there.
But I wait anxiously for the two hours to be up. I look at the hands of the clock a few hundred times every minute. I wonder what she was doing at that moment. Until now I knew everything that was happening in her life and now suddenly I had no idea… I suddenly cannot wait to see her and take her in my arms. To console her and me.
Its time to learn to grow up and let go. Chances are that my daughter will learn that sooner and better than me. I might never learn.

I was watching DD National channel after a long time, thanks to the World Cup T-20 coverage. So after India beat Afghanistan the channel was still on and soon they started airing this duet song by two singers. The girl pretty and decked up, sang “oh mere sona re sona” from the movie Teesri Manzil. She sang well but was hitting many wrong notes. I pooh poohed Doordarshan. “Cant they find better singers? I think I can sing better!” The guy next to her... all smiles... swayed in rhythm. The girl made up for her average singing with her on stage enthusiasm. I would have changed the Channel 'cept the 'remote' was remote! So I lingered on waiting for the boy to sing just to know if he was any better. And as he started mouthing the Rafi lines of 'oh phir na ulajh na hamse...’, I realised he was sailing in the same boat.
Then all of a sudden... I noticed that the girl was standing on crutches. And a closer look revealed that the nice looking lad singing happily was actually blind. I swallowed a lump in my throat... This happens only DD.

My fish bowl is unoccupied. All four fishes are now dead. 'Pele'. the last one to die lay at the bottom of the bowl. Heeding my friends, I intend to buy new fishes. And hope they last longer. This time round I decided to read up a little bit on fish rearing.
Here are two links I found informative.

http://www.ratemyfishtank.com/articles/56

http://www.essortment.com/all/howtotakecare_rorw.htm

Its been some time since I wrote something on my baby. Ah the indefatigable toddler! She sleeps late but more often than not, sleeps on her own. She likes me telling stories… as long as the central character is an elephant! She has an impressive vocabulary now. Hold her in front and she says "kangakoo"! I was pleasantly surprised the first time she used it! She can make herself understood almost completely although you do have to keep in mind the context since her pronunciation is still not 100 % accurate. . She is putting three four words together now into basic sentences. Is bilingual, speaking words in English and her mother tongue. Its funny to see her launch in to a soliloquy with words learnt interspersed with words manufactured! I realize that baby girls tend to emulate their moms. That’s how they learn and play. So my daughter 'cooks' ‘makes’ tea for me... mops and sweeps... feeds her doll... its so sweet to see her do all that. I now go to work for few hours in the morning. And an occasional site visit in the afternoons. But I make it a point to be home at noon to put her to sleep. She used to cry not because I was leaving but she wanted to be taken along! But these days she waves me good bye and it’s a relief. I don’t have to sneak out. I say a proper good bye and leave. And of course we have many mommy - baby times that I cherish. I like to take her out to the garden in the evenings to water the plants. Our bougainvillea sapling bore two magenta flowers. And this small Tabaernamontana dwarf variety we got esp. for her is in blooms. She likes to play in water and it’s hard to keep her away but I let her enjoy it. We sometimes feed the crows that visit us. She takes it very seriously. Calls them... kaa kaa baa (crow come) and then tosses the bread crumbs. She is delighted when the crows oblige her by swerving gracefully to devour the tidbits. We also see other birds occasionally. Blabbers, Cuckoos, Mynahs, Drongos, even Partridges. It’s a time of the day I enjoy as much as my girl. If it weren’t for these moments I would not have known that the laburnum pods when you pry them open have seeds arranged in compartments separated by a sticky black gum coated sheath. I planted few of the seeds just to see a plant grow ... and it did. Fascinating. My daughter has been a catalyst in helping me reconnect with nature in a way. I hope she grows up into a nature lover... watching birds and plants ... tending flowers, watering plants.

Sun shining thru'the pane
Cool breeze on my face
Too close for comfort
A nudge here a touch there
Sweat breaks on my brow
I can't heave I can't move
Everything comes to a stand still...
No no its not what you think
I am just STUCK IN TRAFFIC!!!!!

I am enthralled by hockey. I have always liked watching the game. And with the world cup being at home you couldn’t miss the action. Many other tournaments that India participated in often got little or no media coverage and we didn't know what was happening unless of course they won the tournament.
Indian hockey has always been entertaining. In fact an India Pakistan encounter is full of passion and superb wizardry. It’s easily the best in the business. So what goes wrong? Why can’t we win consistently? Out of 12 teams participating, India is world no. 12. They sure deserve to be way up in the ranking. Unfortunately there are no points for aesthetics. It’s the goals you score and those that you defend that earn you the points. Against Australia we were simply out played. They were the better team, though we put up a good fight. Two quick goals within minutes of opening and you are on the back foot all the time. With the pace of hockey you cannot afford to take your foot off the pedal. I think we could have beaten Spain in the last match. There was a serious lack of anticipation of the opponent’s moves. We were too slow to react at many points. And again trailing after two goals you are playing catch up. It’s always better to draw the first blood and then step up the pressure. India came back strongly in today’s match with England. Trailing once again we did well in the last half an hour to reduce the deficit by 2 goals. Two inspired goals... beautifully executed. But for 2 very good chances that we couldn’t capitalize on we might have won the match. And mind you England beat world no. 2 Australia and are the group leaders! So it was never going to be easy, particularly with our backs against the wall.
We might have lost but our heads are high. We played with passion. We have to improve on many aspects and we lost to better ranked teams. We can’t expect to peak only at the world cup and hope to win it. It’s about building a team and playing consistently. Much like the Indian cricket team. The least we can do is support our team. Stand by them even if they not winning. And hopefully the new dawn of Indian Hockey is just around the corner.
Cheers India. Thank you for the entertainment.

I was watching Pakistan's match with England the other day. Two of the Pakistani players are only 17... And that got me thinking... Sports must be a ticket to good life for young boys from poorer sections of society. In a country torn with internal disturbances and violence, I am glad to see these youngsters turning to sports and doing well. For there are others youngsters who are walking a dangerous road fighting for a different cause.... a cause without an end... brain washed into fighting pseudo ‘holy’ war... killing innocent lives... snuffing out their own which could have but been groomed into great champions. If all the passion and zeal of the terror mongers could be channeled into the right path, can you imagine the force they could become? So many youngsters from poor family are lured by terror mongers in to the quagmire of terrorism from which there is no return, except by death - A senseless death without a cause.
We must support sports in Pakistan. It might mean the difference between life and death for so many of the youngsters. And the victims of terror.

The winner takes it all.......

When India beat Pakistan 4-1 the team looked good enough for the semifinal berth. I wondered what was so great about cricket when hockey was faster and much more exciting, lasting a little over an hour and a half. There is not a single dull moment. You cannot afford to look away for a second lest there is a goal. Then we lost to Australia and the euphoria died. That is where cricket has been different. Its not the game per se. We share our sportspersons’ success and regale and relish drawing vicarious pleasure. One name – Sachin tendulkar, has brought so much joy to millions of fans. When they win... we win. When they lose, we are heart broken. And I realized, winning seems to be everything. Or at least is a great deal. Triumph and disaster might be imposters but they are not the same. I think we have been fed the wrong message over the years which has dulled us Indians into accepting a defeat easily. It took a Ganguly and then Dhoni to inspire their team mates in to believing in themselves and when we had won enough matches it got harder to accept defeat. Defeat feels more bitter after having tasted sweet success. No wonder they say, success is a habit. And today Team India is the number one test team in the world. Yes. Winning is what matters. Legal, clean, played in the right spirit. But winning is the only thing.

Let the defeat burn you,
Let the bitterness creep in your veins
Till you cannot take it anymore.
Cry in anguish, and in pain
And let it provoke you
To give it everything you got.
That last ounce of strength
For then
Success cannot be far.

Fish diary 5

I am sad. Honey breathed her last. she was looking tired and listless for two three days now. I cannot fathom why exactly she died. She was eating well. Perhaps i am not doing everything right with rearing the fishes... What do you do with a dead Gold fish? I didn't have the heart to throw her out where she might end up as cat food. I buried her. Pele and Mustard have survived so far. Do these fishes have a high mortality?

FISH DIARY 4

I am a little worried about Honey. She seems a little off color. Her movements are a little slow.

Yeh hai Radio meri Jaan!

Ever since private FM radio stations exploded into our lives, the radio has become ubiquitous. You switch off the radio at home, get into the car and put on the radio and then when you get off to go to the departmental store, they are playing the same station more often than not! Life is at its musical best. 24x7 music and youth talk fills up households. Each station competing with the other for air time and delivering what is most popular. Read Film music with a smattering of local news and views. Each FM station sounds like any other. Genetically engineered clones. Non stop chatter and non stop music. Only, you get the feeling that music here is on the back seat. It’s more like a filler piece that is disconnectedly sandwiched between small talk. Only a very small percentage of the shows actually end up discussing the music they are playing. It’s like arranging a song in between a prerecorded monologue.
Memories of my childhood summon pictures of the radio playing at home long before the television gate crashed into our lives and after it. With a radio, you don’t have to sit at a place and spend your time. You can get entertained while going about your chores and work. Radio was switched on at 5:55 in the morning with the still resonating violin theme followed by the news and then the music rolled on. Vividh Bharati has retained its charm in spite of all the competition. And what I like best is the variety. Predominantly film music, these are played under different shows. You have those on old film songs, new songs, request shows, music from one film, or a particular theme, ghazls, pop music, classical music, folk music, intercviews and even plays! More importantly, As a result, I can hum more than just the opening lines of song I know, and I can recollect more information on the songs thanks to AIR RJs and their presentation that includes mentioning the name of the movie, singers, music director and lyricist. You did not just enjoy music but learnt to appreciate and admire the great artists behind the making. Listening to private FM channels, I don’t know which movie they are from or who has sung them, let alone who the music director or the lyricist is.
These days you can email you requests or SMS them. But for the rest, Vividh Bharathi has not changed and I fervently hope they don’t ever.

The other day I was driving and had a minor accident. As a result the left rear view mirror is denuded and without a cap. It must have been my fault right? After all I am a woman driver.
I was waiting at a signal at the right extreme on the road with no more space to my right. As the signal turned green and we started throttling up to move on, this huge white van rammed into my left mirror which is hinged and it snapped shut with ferocity. I stared at the van as it drove past feigning ignorance. Really, what could I do? Chase after him brake in front of his vehicle and get out flexing muscles? Besides at that point I only thought the mirror had snapped close. Only later did I see the extent of damage inflicted. By that time, the van was a distant memory. So many instances have I experienced when vehicles have brushed past scrapping denting ramming nudging and yet they never stopped. And mind you it was never a woman driver whom I confronted. And I wonder if I ever did anything like that I am sure I wouldn’t be allowed to get away with it. A major crash and everyone rushes in to help or join the heated exchange of blames. In fact the locals take over the dispute. The escape is blocked. The victim is given reassurance. But these minor brushes are almost always over looked. No one bothers. The victim pays.
So I drive with a bruised car and I swear it’s not been my fault most times. If you are in Kozhikkode and see a scratched pink Estilo, its probably yours truly.

Fish Diary 3

Ash died. :(
We found him at the bottom of the bowl, lifeless. He probably died hungry. I had never seen him eat. But with every passing day when he still swam about, I hoped he was eating something when we didn't look. Perhaps he didn't.
The three fishes are now in one bowl.

Schoolbag in hand, she leaves home in the early morning
Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile
I watch her go with a surge of that well-known sadness
And I have to sit down for a while
The feeling that I'm losing her forever
And without really entering her world
I'm glad whenever I can share her laughter
That funny little girl

Slipping through my fingers all the time
I try to capture every minute
The feeling in it
Slipping through my fingers all the time
Do I really see what's in her mind
Each time I think I'm close to knowing
She keeps on growing
Slipping through my fingers all the time

Sleep in our eyes, her and me at the breakfast table
Barely awake, I let precious time go by
Then when she's gone there's that odd melancholy feeling
And a sense of guilt I can't deny
What happened to the wonderful adventures
The places I had planned for us to go
(Slipping through my fingers all the time)
Well, some of that we did but most we didn't
And why I just don't know

Slipping through my fingers all the time
I try to capture every minute
The feeling in it
Slipping through my fingers all the time
Do I really see what's in her mind
Each time I think I'm close to knowing
She keeps on growing
Slipping through my fingers all the time

Sometimes I wish that I could freeze the picture
And save it from the funny tricks of time
Slipping through my fingers

Slipping through my fingers all the time

Schoolbag in hand she leaves home in the early morning
Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile

ABBA

FISH DIARY 2

Ash is now black. I can barely tell him from Pele just that he is still a little smaller. These black sharks have silver stripes on their body and are quite magnificent. But dud wits they remain. The goldfish go for the food almost as soon as I put the food in. The sharks take a long time. Will I be able to put the two couples together in the same fish bowl? I so long to. But then again, the sharks are the more intelligent. They get in a frenzy trying to escape capture swimming round and round at a maddening pace as I found out trying to relocate them. I had a tough time changing the water in the bowl. But on the other hand its so easy to catch the goldfish. I wonder why they don’t struggle.
Have they been conditioned to docility after years of fishbowl culture? Perhaps they no longer remember the times when they were free and not imprisoned in a fish bowl. They have genetically evolved into these fish bowl creatures. Beautiful. Destined for Captivity.
Looking at these fishes in their bowl always remind me of these lines by Pink floyd from their cult classic ‘wish you were here’.
We are like two lost souls
Swimming in a fish Bowl
Year after year
Its poignant. I feel the helplessness. It would have been better to see them struggle and fight, show some spirit. But this acceptance of whatever comes.. this fatalism...

So many people I see around
Stuck in their lives like these fishes.
Dulled into acceptance.
With no fight left or a memory of it
Pecking what comes their way
Knowing not passions and failures
Success and disappointment.
Love and hatred
Pain and relief
A life devoid of desires
Just breathing
Waiting for the morningless sleep
Or are these enlightened beings?
Above the dualism of life
Peaceful without desires
Perhaps they swim
In contemplation
Of spiritual things
Laughing at me
As I peer down on them
With my eyes dripping pity
Running from one unfulfilled desire to the next
Stuck in the wheel of life?
An ignorant low being?

Time is a two faced monster
Bolts when you want it to trudge
And The Creep crawls when
You have nothing to do but
Wait for a blip
On the faraway horizon
Looking ahead into the hazy future
A day feels like an age
Look behind and half a century
Seemed to have passed in a blink

Some days
living life like I am
Aimless at times...
lethargic at other
Running sometimes like the hare
Wincing at the clock in his paws
On pensive evenings
I get the feeling
That time is running out
I can almost hear
the grains of sand falling
There is some unfinished work
Something more I had to share
Before the knell resounds

Death of a poet
An obituary to Girish Puthenjeri

I have grown up listening to music since my parents were music lovers. I heard malayalam music on tapes they bought or on AIR. When I started living in Kerala since my marriage five years back, I for the first time got in close contact with the language, the culture, the music particulary the fabulous flim music. My love affair with malayalam music has grown steadily over the years. And that is how I came to hear of his name - GIRISH PUTHENJERI. Every other song on radio seemed to be written by him which indicated the popularity of the songs he wrote . His was the only name among songwriters that I was familiar with other than the geat Vayallar.The name had such a nice resonance befitting a poet.
Though unfamiilar with the language I grew to appreciate whatever little I understood of his lyrics.
Amma mazhakaaril kannu nirenju Aa kaneeril nyan nanenju
The clouds of motherhood swelled with tears drenching me in the deluge
I was shocked to hear of his demise particularly since I had no inkling of his recent illness. As I watched the news coverage of his death I got to know the genius that he was. The whole Film Industry seemed to be grieving. I felt a sadness, inexplicable, since I did not know too much about him or his work. It saddened me to learn he died too soon at 48. He probably had so many more years of great work ahead of him. Or may be he did all that he could have achieved in his life time in a prolific career spanning 25 odd years. As Queen sang, "Only the good die young"...Freddie Mercury, Curt Cobain, JIm morrison. Outstandign muscicians or poets. They left too soon. Making us yearn for more. They chose to burn out rather than fade away.
The sky darkened as if in gloom. uncharachteristically at this time of the year. Perhaps nature mourned the demise of its favorite spokesperson.
A little after his cremation which the media covered like hawks, they moved on to other fresher subjects with an ease I found hard to duplicate. The chirpy songs on the radio seemed incongruant. Like we hadn't mourned enough. Like the world should stop for some time and grieve an irreplaceable loss a little while longer.
Ghalib knew what he was saying when he wrote
Ghalinb e khastha ke bagair kaun se kaam bandh hai
Roiye zaar zaar kya keejiya hai hai kyon
So thats it. Death, the most significant moment in our lives is just another event in the lives of others. Few tears are shed. Few lives of near ones will be altered irrevocably. A few sighs and then everything is back to where it was.
But a poet never dies. For he lives on in his verses delighting us, moving worlds, shatterring dogma, stirring up emotions... shining like a beacon showing us the way ahead.

As your heart bled
And you stripped your soul naked
The dripping red droplets
Became verses on the page
Clothed in music
They adorned a lover's lip
An aeon away
Burnt to ashes now
Find the peace
Your heart yearned for.
Sleep now
On Earth's bosom
Heavy with tears shed for you

Being married to a sailor, one question i am always asked is... How do you survive living separately? I think its the emotional dependence that they are talking about. These are from couples or friends who have probably never lived apart even for a single day. Before i met my future spouse i couldn't imagine it myself. I knew of friends who got married and continued to live in separate cities (sometimes countries!)because they worked there. (Eventually one of them got a transfer and they got together). I had wondered how or why they would want to do it. I guess I had no clue I was walking down the same road.
So how do I survive? Like I tell my friends.. Do I have a choice? So you live. You find reasons to keep your mind occupied. The first week is the hardest. The fact is you miss a person even when you are in the same house! When you are busy with your respective chores, you wonder what the other is up to...
I have learnt to switch my emotional buttons off.
But see the upside. When my spouse is back he is home. These days couples both working long hours, sometimes different shifts hardly get to see each other except during weekends which is spent buying groceries! You don't really get to see your children grow up unless you take a vacation. And also when we are away, we get our space. We bloom as individuals and yet the ties keep us together. I am not sure if that is so bad!
Besides, Distance stokes passion like winds that stoke a fire!

Bottle your scent

I would if I could,
Bottle your scent.
Preserved for posterity.
In small crystal vials
Labeled, stored on the kitchen shelf
High above behind pickle jars
Safe from prying, careless hands

So, when you are grown up
When you no longer need me
Trudging ahead to your independence
Calling me across spaces
From a faraway distance

I, old and wrinkled.
With fading memories
Of the delight you brought to me
I, alone in the empty silent house,
Pull out your old rag dolls
The busted car with three wheels
The shoes that I hid with squeaky heels

Racks of albums and yellowed
Pictures in which you grew up
My favorite here… wrapped in pink
Eyes closed, contented
Head resting on tiny hands
Scratched Cds I will play
To watch you cruise again
Or watch you mop the floor
With baby hands
Peering through the horn framed glasses
I will watch you
Mouthing the first syllables
Feeding the doll with the lotion bottle

I will bring down the vials
And sniff-in your innocence
The smell of your unwashed hair
Your pastry breath after a feed
Clean soft pink feet after a bath
Clothes dirty with food and mud.

And for a moment when I close my eyes
I can still touch and feel you
Like you were born yesterday