Moments of Anticipation

I finished my light dinner and got ready to leave. N had already taken the packed up bag to the car. My brother S was waiting in the car, happy and ready to act as my driver for this journey. Amma stood before our huge array of Gods, asking them all to give me strength. I joined her, heart beating fast with excitement. Five minutes later we were speeding towards our destination – the Maternity Hospital.

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Psyched Out

Have you ever had one of those days when you wake up from a dream, and can’t shake it out of your head for the rest of the day? Well, I am having such a day today. It is 10 am now. Amol and Parag have left for school and work. The house is quiet after the hustle bustle of the morning routine. I settle back with a cup of coffee and the newspaper on the couch. It is time for my daily me time, before I get into the cleaning-cooking-washing routine. But today, my eyes just can’t seem to take in any words. The dream keeps playing over and over in my mind, and the images keep flashing in front of my eyes like a movie on loop.

It is surely one of the most bizarre dreams I have ever had. I cannot make head or tail of it now, but it still seems so real.

Eloquently Yours

She looked at the jungle of words on the screen in front of her. She had been furiously nudging the keyboard for the past half hour, putting together word after word, pouring all that was ravaging her heart on to the email textbox. Now that she had exhausted the downpour, she scrolled up, surprising herself to find such a lengthy and verbose mail.

He is never going to read this. Never mind. She hovered the mouse over the ‘Discard Drafts’ button, before settling on Save and leaving it in the middle of scores of similar drafts languishing in her mailbox. All words and emotions she had wanted to express, but never could.

The Small Things That Make Life Big

The child sitting next to me has his head bent over an iPad for the better part of the past hour. I cast a sideways glance at his screen now and then, to find a Doraemon cackling wildly or cars racing furiously, or angry birds having a go at each other. Not once does he look up to see the unfolding scenery outside the windows. The rushing trees, the setting sun, the lush meadows with a couple of cows, the children waving along the track, the trains whistling past in the opposite direction – all lost on this citizen of the digital world. At first I wonder, how easy it is to hand a tablet, phone or a laptop to a child and garner some peace for oneself – maybe I should get a Tab for my little one too. I turn to look at him. There he is, with his dad, asking unending questions – Why is that engine red? Where is that river going? Why are those children black? And for no reason, I remember this song out of nowhere –

Pachai kizhigal tholodu,

Pattu kuyilum madiyodu,

Bhoologam anandathin ellai,

Intha bhoomikku kanneer sondham illai.

Chinnanjiru koottukkulle sorgam irukku,

Ada chinna chinna anbil thane jeevan endrum irukku….

(Read on here to know the meaning of the song)

What’s the connection, do you still ask? The look of delight on the kid’s face when he sees the sky turning yellow to orange to black – can any video game ever replace that? I am immediately overwhelmed with a surge of gratitude. Gratitude for the small things in life that make life big. Here are some of the things, and people, I am thankful to, for both my son’s happiness and mine. No digital extravaganza, foreign travel or glittering stones can ever replace them.

A Small Plastic Phone

It’s a Blackberry, no less, but a green one. Gifted to my son by a distant yet close to heart relative on our visit to their home. It would hardly be over Rs.50, but the grin my son had on his face when he opened the gift wrapper, was priceless (yes, it was, even if I sound like that old Citibank ad). My son now goes around all day, speaking into it, to his grandma, friends and even teachers. What the child on the train got from an expensive iPad, my son got from this small but more valuable piece of plastic.

My Husband’s Cooking

No, he is no Gordon Ramsay. Not even our own Sanjeev Kapoor. But the rasam he makes, I can die for. Especially during the days when my body refuses to leave the bed, or when my son is at his crankiest best. The feeling of relief when the cooking gets done without me having to sweat it out – what can I say? I know a lot of men that cook, but I also know an equal lot that don’t, and expect the wifey to serve them on a platter no matter how she feels. And when I think of such people, I thank God, for sending me the right man for me.

Weekly Chaat Outings

I confess, I love food. Spicy food. If you want to win me over, take me to a fast food joint. Let’s bond over a plate of panipuris. I love trying different restaurants and cuisines, but if you ask me what comes to my mind when I think of my favorite food, it is chaat. I could care no less for swanky restaurants, and just don’t get fine dining – what’s with those teeny weeny portions in the name of decorating food! Food ought to be enjoyed by the tongue, even if I admit it is nice to watch those foodie shows on Nat Geo People or Fox Life. But for me, any day, a chat wallah would score over a five star restaurant.

My First Library Membership

I still remember the small, cramped space that was filled from wall to wall, top to bottom, with books. My first love was Enid Blyton – the Famous Fives, the Secret Sevens, then the Nancy Drews, Hardy Boys, and so on. Not new gleaming covers, but hand me downs – torn here, dog-eared there. A Treasure Island whose pages were crumbling, passed over to me by my aunt, from my grandfather’s college days. Those were the first and the best books of my life.

The child beside me has moved over to his father’s smartphone, apparently tired of the iPad now, while my smartphone stays not so smart in the confines of my handbag. The sonny is still going strong with his questions, although my husband seems to be growing weary. I reach out to him and exchange places, to tackle the questions for a while while my husband gets his break, grateful for this precious time with our tender sapling, the shower of our attention on whom will help him grow into a stable individual.

 

This post was written for Project 365: We Post Daily. Today’s prompt was – The internet is full of rants. Help tip the balance: today, simply be thankful for something (or someone).

The Window Seat

I look out of the wide Shatabdi window at the trees and fields running away from me. This is the first time I have been able to take in the scenery, ever since I boarded the train a couple of hours ago. Now that the sonny is serenely asleep in the seat beside me, I am free. For a little while, till he wakes up again. I look at the adjacent row of seats, where my husband tries to sleep, sandwiched between two other men. It would have been so good if we had gotten that row, with three seats, so we could sit together as a family. In fact, two of those seats are ours, but the third one was occupied by a man who, when we requested, refused to give up his seat and exchange it with us. He clung to his window seat, as a child, my son’s age would.