blue nail paint & kohl

there was a strange metamorphosis

inside of me

that came about

with a little bit of kohl in my eyes

and a few dabs of dark blue nail paint 

on my fingertips.

the change is so amazing

and transcendental

that i cannot imagine 

how it was 

i lived before

i seem to be shedding 

the layers of padding

that i had wrapped myself in

as a caterpillar

sheds its cocoon

i keep finding myself

stating

and not asking

demanding and not

expecting

my no is so emphatic

my yes is so inviting

my niceness is nicer

my kindness is kinder

my heart is lighter

and my feet

are so much happier

so much do i owe 

to blue nail paint

and kohl.

Image Credit: Google Images

Big girl dreams

Like the color of my old jeans

all my little girl dreams

are faded, lackluster

Like my worn out running shoes

all my efforts are tired and lifeless

I guess I did not expect

my dreams to become

obsolete

I thought my old dreams

would last me my lifetime

But it is time

to get new jeans

and new shoes

To dream big girl dreams

and tread on new paths

I have learned

that I am not the same I was

yesterday

and will probably be different

tomorrow

so my dreams need to walk with me

this time I am not afraid

that they will fade

I now know

I can begin again

Image credit: Google Images

Elusive Perfection

I wish, I want,

I get.

But nothing seems perfect;

not everything,

not perfect.

I cannot always imagine it.

I imagine bits and pieces,

but somehow,

I do not see the whole image,

and so

maybe,

I get only pieces.     

Or it might have nothing

to do with my imagination.

This is all you get.

Perfection is always,

just 

beyond reach.

I can never decide.

Is it human nature,

is it the reality of life,

or is it me?

Image Credit: MADFAM

Salt in my Curry

 

spicy and mouthwatering
it's aroma spreading through my kitchen
my curry looked gorgeous
and smelt like heaven
until 
i took a bite

it was just a gob of vegetables
without flavor
and my carefully measured turmeric,
paprika and garam masala
had done nothing for it
because it lacked
salt

self respect is like salt
no matter how gorgeous and
deceptively delicious your life looks
it just doesn't feel 
whole

love, respect, and belief in self
makes everything taste better
and too much or too less of it can 
and will
spoil your curry

my only grievance
 is with all the women in my life

who taught so much about 

curries and masalas

but did not explain to me
that salt alone 
can do the trick
but without it
no other spice will matter
and my curry will feel
flavorless

Image Credit:

Google Images

Before I can be a grown up

When I was fifteen, I thought I knew a lot.
People called me mature for my age
I thought I was wise,
I thought I was grown up
But at eighteen, I definitely knew more
and I thought, now I am legally all grown up
Only to find out at twenty-three 
I knew so little
All my growing up was not helping me
tackle the curve life had thrown at me

At twenty-six I finally thought
that I had a grip
That, now, motherhood has made me wise,
I knew I was all grown.
"Ha!" laughed life in my face,
"You are such a child! Rushing to grow up!
Your arrogance shows your stupidity"

It's been a decade since then,
I have seen a lot,
I have understood a lot,
And yet,
I don't think that this is it
in fact, I am sure 
there is a lot more
for all that I know seems very little
the questions I am asked by life
leave me feeling inadequate and naive

so I don't think that this is it
there is a lot more
a lot more to tackle and withstand
a lot more to learn
many more wonders to discover
many more horrors to encounter
a lot more growing up to do
a lot more to endure 
a lot of silver to earn for my crown
yes, a lot more growing up to do
a lot more to learn
before I can be a grown up

Image Credit: MADFAM

The Texas Warmth

When we first moved to USA, things were not easy, but it was important for us to put our three-year-old in school. Being a naturally smart, curious and social kid, he loved school.

We did not own a car yet so we walked practically everywhere. On our walks, we used to pass a church about a mile away from our apartment. Outside the church, we had noticed this sign saying that they were accepting preschool registrations for the year. We thought we could try to get our son registered there. It was walkable and without a car, this school seemed like a really good option.

The next day, I called them to find out the process for enrollment. I went to the school with all the necessary paperwork and while talking to the secretary I mentioned that we had just moved from India, I was not working and my husband was a full-time student at the University of Texas. At this time, I don't know what prompted me but I asked her fi there was any way she could help me. She stepped out and came back in a few minutes and told me that the school was going to waive off registration fees and would enroll my son as a full-time preschooler for the fees of part timers! Since we had no income at that time and would be using our savings to pay for the preschool, this was a blessing and I could not thank them enough for their generosity. 

Longhorn in a Bluebonnet field

My son started school that fall. He and I walked the mile to school and back, whatever the weather. Soon it began to get colder and wetter, but we walked. Often our pants, shoes & socks would get damp, so I began to carry extra pairs of pants and socks for my son that I would make him change into once we had reached school. 

Sometime between Halloween and Thanksgiving, I got an email from someone who introduced herself as another parent with children going to the same school. In her email she said that she and some other parents carpooled their kids to school and would be happy to take my son along too. They had thought of everything – they told me that they had even managed to procure a spare car seat from some friends and all I had to do was keep my son ready every morning on time. I was so touched by their kindness and thoughtfulness. None of these women knew me, they only knew that I walked to school with my tot in the cold winter months and offered to help. Just like that!

The Principal of this school, Mrs. C was a seventy year old vibrant woman who had such intelligent, kind and smiling eyes that even the most timid child was able to connect with her. Every morning she was at the door welcoming all the children to school. I was amazed at how many of them she knew by name! One day, after I dropped off my son, she struck up a conversation with me and asked me what I thought would my son like to dress up as for their musical event in the coming month. I told her that I had not thought about it yet. “Don’t worry, I have some ideas”, she said. The next day she had a basket with a big buckled belt, cowboy hat, and a red scarf. She told me how to put on the scarf and to make my son wear jeans and a checkered shirt. Needless to say, my three-year-old made the cutest cowboy ever!

After that, Mrs. C and I would often talk. She would tell me about little things, the knowledge of which would make my life easier and adjust to life in America, faster. In one such conversation, she asked me if I had been to the public library yet. I had not. The very next day she drove me to the nearby branch of the library, helped me become a member and drove me home! The library was only a few bus stops away from where we lived and it became one of my favorite places to spend time, especially when it got too wet, cold or hot outside. 

One day, Mrs C called me and said she was calling to me from below my apartment! She had loaded the back of her car with books, toys, DVDs, drawing paper and a big box of crayons. She brought all that for my son because she figured that we must not have a lot of kid stuff. So she just brought her grandchildren’s old things for us. I was left quite speechless at this sweet gesture! This kind lady was suffering the pain of her own first born dying of cancer at this time and she worried if my three-year-old gets to dress up just like the other kids or has toys to play with at home!

Kindness does not see nationality, color, religion, language or any other difference. Our very first experience of America was the warmth, welcome and the many kindnesses shown by the people at this school. 

Image Credit: Google Images

Patang

This spring we went out to the park to fly kites, here in Dallas. I taught my eight year old to fly one. It made me so proud that he picked it up quickly and I couldn’t help but think that “It’s in the blood”! This bright, cheerful day with the clear sunny sky and lovely breeze brought back so many memories of my kite flying days as a kid. 

Each January, for twenty-three years of my life, I have flown kites with family and friends. I don’t think it ever occurred to me that I could chose to not do this. It was tradition! The passion for kite flying and the celebration of Uttarayan in Ahmedabad is not just about honoring a religious and cultural event, it is almost a mania! If you grew up in this city, there isn’t much chance of you not graduating with Kite flying skills!

On the day or Uttarayan and Vasi Uttarayan, there would be free flow of hot snacks, tea & coffee, chilled water and sodas and the traditional chikkis. The competition was not just about the kite flying and who would keep the Patang in the air the most, or how many would you demolish from the competition for the small patch of sky that is your arena, by cutting them mid-flight (pech), but also about who played the latest and loudest music. The hoots and shouts and screams of victory or frustration were constant and exciting. The atmosphere was as crowded with all kinds emotions of everyone as the skies were crowded with the gorgeous and colorful kites.

As a really young kid, I started off at the very bottom of the kite flying hierarchy – passing around chikkis to the Kite fliers and the phirki holders but mostly just eating them myself! My mother who did not grow up in Gujarat and had not been into this sport so much until she got married, was soon well trained by my father to be a great ‘untangler of manja’ and of course a phirki holder! I am not sure if mom was never too keen on the actual kite flying or dad just didn’t teach her well enough so that he would always have a phirki holder ready! 

Soon us kids grew up enough to be trained in the art of detangling manja and holding the phirki the right way – anticipating the needs of the kite flyer and staying alert, avoiding crashing into other flyers and phirki holders, avoiding manja tangles, or if necessary detangling immediately, keeping a sharp eye on whether to reel in the manja or let loose? Oh it was not an easy task. Papa used to fly the kite high enough and when steady in the sky with no immediate threat (other kites) visible in the area, he would call us to fly the kite for a bit. He began to teach us how to keep the kite steady, how to tug at it only when it’s tip was facing upwards so that it stays up, how to let the string loose and let it go higher up in the sky when the wind was in your favor. As we did better with these basic skills, he began to teach us how to put the kite in air from the ground. That is a great skill too – to be actually able to fly the kite from the ground. The coolest skill in my mind though, was the sky high kite wars – pech – as it is called in Gujarati.

I think I was about 11 or 12 when I finally learnt to put a kite up in the air without any help. Oh what an achievement that was! I felt one with the winners, the big shots, the guys. The kite flyers club is one that everyone on the terraces wanted to belong to. And you needed the skills, to get that promotion from phirki holding! The first Uttarayan that I was flying kites on my own was one of the best for me! It was exhilarating to see my kite fly so high up that one could barely see it. The feeling of pride and satisfaction is so high, it made me feel like it was me soaring high up in the sky with the birds and not my kite. 

While flying that kite in a park in Dallas with my son, what struck me was the wonder in my son’s eyes when he saw his kite flying high in the sky. The beautiful smile on his face, the pride in his brow and the squeals of delight and laughter when he managed to fly his kite higher! It reminded me so much of how I felt when I was in his place. Oh isn’t it the best thing in the world? To be able to fly a tiny kite in the vast blue sky – feels like touching the sky with the tip of your finger! 

This experience is so different from what it was for me in my childhood. There are no pech and no chikki, the kites are made of plastic with cartoons on them and the manja is actually a much softer and shorter string and we are often the only people in the park flying kites, none of that matters. Because when I go kite flying with my family, in my mind, I am transported to the good times of my childhood and the pleasure that it gives my child is more than anything I can ask for. For all that, I am grateful. 

Photo Credits:

MAD Family