Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
The Frail Figure
It was raining cats and dogs yesterday. And the rains were accompanied by gusty winds. Winds so strong that many a tree had been uprooted. It was even difficult to walk, so strong was the current in the air. It was Sunday and I was on my way to Borivali. And was enjoying the stormy weather, feeling the cold wind literally bruise my face as the auto I was in tried to maintain a decent speed against the wind. The auto guy was concentrating very hard to veer his vehicle on the slippery road. It was indeed very bad weather. But I was enjoying the meanness of the rains and the chill in the air.
And then, I saw him. A frail, thin, semi-clad figure lying by the roadside. He was lying in a foetal position, the rains lashing on him mercilessly. Not a soul was around. I reflexively asked the auto-driver to stop. The guy was very reluctant to but I coaxed him. I stepped out and checked on the figure with the driver’s help. The auto-driver told me that the guy had passed out. He was probably too drunk. There is nothing we can do, he said, so let’s get going. “Lekin aise to ye mar jayega”, I said to him. “Jaane do, madam” was his stoic reply. There was not even any shade where the guy could be sheltered under. I had no choice but to walk past the guy and go my way. The auto-driver told me that such things are not unusual. I said, I know, but the weather is brutal today. The guy then told me ke ho sakta hai koi police ko inform kar de. I said I hope so. And then I was hit by my conscious. Why should I hope for someone to do the needful? Why can’t I make that call? Having once noticed a hoarding informing citizens to be alert on coming across anything unusual and to call the Thane police, I had stored that phone number on my cell phone. I looked it up and was glad to find it in my contacts list. I dialed that number but it was busy. And it kept busy. I called up Sanjay, briefed him up, gave him the Thane police number and asked him to keep trying. I too, kept trying till I reached Nakshatra and till other things took over my attention.
It was very late by the time I reached back home. The weather was still very bad. The rains had taken a back seat but the winds were unrelenting. In fact, what I had enjoyed in the morning was now very eerie. Once again, my thoughts went to the frail figure. And as I approached that particular spot, as expected, he was gone. I wondered what had happened to the guy. Had someone finally managed to inform the police? Or had someone recognized him and had informed his kins who had come and taken him? Or had the worse happened? I hoped not.
Once home, I asked Sanjay if he had been able to get thru’ to the cops. And he replied in the negative. On the contrary, he had a whole list of questions thrown in my direction. Who the hell do u think u r? Why can’t u mind ur own business? Kya jaroorat hai tumhe ye sab karne ki? Jhansi ki rani ho kya? Join a proper social service organization and then go about doing such things, etc. etc….. Even my elder one, who many times takes over as my elder brother (and fits in perfectly, what with his mature thoughts and rigid mind-set), gave me an earful. He tells me in his very distinct style ke “Ma, it’s good to be concerned and all that, but u could land in trouble too. Aapko samjhta nahi hain kya?” No amount of reasoning got me anywhere with the guys. So I just took a back seat and let go of the issue.
But my thoughts were with what had happened to the guy? He obviously couldn’t have disappeared into thin air. Then what had happened? He too must have family. Surely they must have been concerned about him too. The sight of that frail figure lying by the roadside with the rain beating down on him kept haunting me and kept reappearing in front of my eyes. I just couldn’t shake it off. Sanjay sensed how it was bothering me and told me to leave it as such things happen so regularly that no one gives it a second thought. I know, but it is so inhuman to just walk past. “I agree”, said Sanjay “but that’s how it is. Kya kar sakti ho tum? So just let it go”.
Just let it go………
Just let it go???????
And then, I saw him. A frail, thin, semi-clad figure lying by the roadside. He was lying in a foetal position, the rains lashing on him mercilessly. Not a soul was around. I reflexively asked the auto-driver to stop. The guy was very reluctant to but I coaxed him. I stepped out and checked on the figure with the driver’s help. The auto-driver told me that the guy had passed out. He was probably too drunk. There is nothing we can do, he said, so let’s get going. “Lekin aise to ye mar jayega”, I said to him. “Jaane do, madam” was his stoic reply. There was not even any shade where the guy could be sheltered under. I had no choice but to walk past the guy and go my way. The auto-driver told me that such things are not unusual. I said, I know, but the weather is brutal today. The guy then told me ke ho sakta hai koi police ko inform kar de. I said I hope so. And then I was hit by my conscious. Why should I hope for someone to do the needful? Why can’t I make that call? Having once noticed a hoarding informing citizens to be alert on coming across anything unusual and to call the Thane police, I had stored that phone number on my cell phone. I looked it up and was glad to find it in my contacts list. I dialed that number but it was busy. And it kept busy. I called up Sanjay, briefed him up, gave him the Thane police number and asked him to keep trying. I too, kept trying till I reached Nakshatra and till other things took over my attention.
It was very late by the time I reached back home. The weather was still very bad. The rains had taken a back seat but the winds were unrelenting. In fact, what I had enjoyed in the morning was now very eerie. Once again, my thoughts went to the frail figure. And as I approached that particular spot, as expected, he was gone. I wondered what had happened to the guy. Had someone finally managed to inform the police? Or had someone recognized him and had informed his kins who had come and taken him? Or had the worse happened? I hoped not.
Once home, I asked Sanjay if he had been able to get thru’ to the cops. And he replied in the negative. On the contrary, he had a whole list of questions thrown in my direction. Who the hell do u think u r? Why can’t u mind ur own business? Kya jaroorat hai tumhe ye sab karne ki? Jhansi ki rani ho kya? Join a proper social service organization and then go about doing such things, etc. etc….. Even my elder one, who many times takes over as my elder brother (and fits in perfectly, what with his mature thoughts and rigid mind-set), gave me an earful. He tells me in his very distinct style ke “Ma, it’s good to be concerned and all that, but u could land in trouble too. Aapko samjhta nahi hain kya?” No amount of reasoning got me anywhere with the guys. So I just took a back seat and let go of the issue.
But my thoughts were with what had happened to the guy? He obviously couldn’t have disappeared into thin air. Then what had happened? He too must have family. Surely they must have been concerned about him too. The sight of that frail figure lying by the roadside with the rain beating down on him kept haunting me and kept reappearing in front of my eyes. I just couldn’t shake it off. Sanjay sensed how it was bothering me and told me to leave it as such things happen so regularly that no one gives it a second thought. I know, but it is so inhuman to just walk past. “I agree”, said Sanjay “but that’s how it is. Kya kar sakti ho tum? So just let it go”.
Just let it go………
Just let it go???????
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Completely drenched.... totally soaked......
I spent the weekend at Borivali. And came back with a very heavy heart. A lot of things could be at work but most of all, was this feeling of loneliness. The kind of feeling one gets of being lonely even in a crowd. Except Sanjay, who was recuperating from his malaria, we were all there, and yet, my mind wasn’t. Even at Nakshatra, where I was for most of the two days, and was pretty much occupied with the interior work, but something kept tugging at my heart. Even when Sudhirmama or Vardekaka kept constantly referring to 304 as ' Deepa che ghar.'
It is the last week of July. And that by itself always weighs me down. No matter how hard I try, I just cannot block out the events of that week in 2001. Time is supposed to be a great healer, but in this case, it is getting more n more difficult to face this time of the year, with each passing year. I wish I could just do away with this month. It is too traumatic.
And then, there are the rains. Heavy, unrelenting Bombay rains. I stepped out into the heavy downpour yesterday. It feels so good to have the cold rain all over you, drenching you in all its iciness. It really was a very heavy lashing with cold, cold winds and I really enjoyed walking in that shower. I did have people looking at me in amazement. They must have wondered. But I had my thoughts with me. Thoughts about Sunny and my conversation with him yesterday morning. And then, there is Atul. And Neha. All in my thoughts. Parag, who I haven’t met in the whole of last year. And Mustafa, who was here last week and wanted me to meet him over a cup of coffee. And I tried to but couldn’t make it. Preeti, whom I haven’t called in almost a month. And of-course, Sanjay, with whom it’s been quite sometime that I went for a leisurely walk. To his arms I love to snuggle up to and he slips his hand around my waist as we walk.
My racing thoughts and the ever-increasing downpour……
And suddenly, I couldn’t fight the tears anymore. Even as they mixed with the rain pouring down my face, overwhelming me completely. I just kept walking. I don’t know if it was the rain in my eyes or the tears, but my sight got blurred and I knew I had to stop or I might not turn back. I just stood there for sometime taking in the rain and allowed my tears to flow freely. Till I felt drained. Bare.
Then I returned home;
completely drenched by the rains……..
totally soaked in my emotions…….
It is the last week of July. And that by itself always weighs me down. No matter how hard I try, I just cannot block out the events of that week in 2001. Time is supposed to be a great healer, but in this case, it is getting more n more difficult to face this time of the year, with each passing year. I wish I could just do away with this month. It is too traumatic.
And then, there are the rains. Heavy, unrelenting Bombay rains. I stepped out into the heavy downpour yesterday. It feels so good to have the cold rain all over you, drenching you in all its iciness. It really was a very heavy lashing with cold, cold winds and I really enjoyed walking in that shower. I did have people looking at me in amazement. They must have wondered. But I had my thoughts with me. Thoughts about Sunny and my conversation with him yesterday morning. And then, there is Atul. And Neha. All in my thoughts. Parag, who I haven’t met in the whole of last year. And Mustafa, who was here last week and wanted me to meet him over a cup of coffee. And I tried to but couldn’t make it. Preeti, whom I haven’t called in almost a month. And of-course, Sanjay, with whom it’s been quite sometime that I went for a leisurely walk. To his arms I love to snuggle up to and he slips his hand around my waist as we walk.
My racing thoughts and the ever-increasing downpour……
And suddenly, I couldn’t fight the tears anymore. Even as they mixed with the rain pouring down my face, overwhelming me completely. I just kept walking. I don’t know if it was the rain in my eyes or the tears, but my sight got blurred and I knew I had to stop or I might not turn back. I just stood there for sometime taking in the rain and allowed my tears to flow freely. Till I felt drained. Bare.
Then I returned home;
completely drenched by the rains……..
totally soaked in my emotions…….
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
Mere Papa ka Ghar
Yes, the reincarnation of Gurukunj is finally complete.
It has been reborn. As Nakshatra. Old makes way for new.
The owners of gurukunj (yes, I call them owners and not tenants) are happy to have got new apartments with an extra room thrown in. A brand new structure that has tried to adhere to most of the new and contemporary norms of architecture. Everything is new. New layout, new patio, new compound, new entrance, new address, everything. Even the residents are going to be new. In addition to the previous owners, this new structure will have an equal number of new guys making it their abode. New, everything is new.
And everyone is so happy. And for obvious reasons. What have they lost? A few precious memories? In any case, it would be grossly unjust to hold that against them. Everybody wants to move on and it is the right thing too.
I understand their euphoria and I am happy for all of them. Yet, something holds me from rejoicing with them. Actually, it’s just that I cannot let go. I cannot let go of my memories. I want to hold on to the memories of the home that my Papa lived in, the walls of the house that bore testimony to my most precious moments spent with him, the floor he walked on. Everything has been replaced and nothing will ever be the same. No matter how hard I try to be practical, I just cannot let go of the memories of the place where I grew up. Where I played, fought, won, lost as a little girl, where I made my very first friends, celebrated every year of growing up, where I learnt some of the most important lessons of my life, where my overall personality was shaped, where I morphed from an awkward teenager into a gracious lady. From this place, I was married off and set forth to set up my own home but Gurukunj, mere Papa ka ghar, was above everything, as is true for any girl. After marriage, whenever I came to Gurukunj, I came home. It was always so welcoming when the uncles and aunties stopped to enquire about my wellbeing.
In the past few years, Gurukunj saw a lot of pain. When, one after the other, we lost our dear ones. Phansekar kaka, Joshi baba, Kakodkar uncle, Pendse kaki, Desai kaki, Lad kaka, and my Papa. At some point, it seemed like the heavens had conspired against us and literally snatched away all these people so suddenly that every time, a painful news came to me, I just couldn’t believe nor accept it. Especially after the sudden and premature demises of my Papa, Kakodkar uncle and Phansekar kaka, who were all great pals and whose friendship dated back to the days when they had just started their careers at the State Bank and had to get married yet, Gurukunj became more precious as all that was left behind were the memories of these guys. The houses that they had painstaking made into warm homes, who had provided so well for their children, who were complete people; Gurukunj had all those memories associated with them.
Gurukunj might have become old, and infested with termites and all that, but it had what nothing in this whole world has. It had memories of my Papa, of room no.17 that was my cocoon, of my childhood, my teenage life and a whole plethora of such events. And now, all that is gone. Destroyed forever. Now, it will only continue to live in our minds.
I don’t mean that nobody there feels the loss, but I guess it’s not the same. I agree, one should welcome change with open arms. I do too, only if half-heartedly.
And every time that I will now go visit there; I wonder if it will ever be the same.
Will I be ever going back to mere Papa ka ghar????????
I don’t think so.
It has been reborn. As Nakshatra. Old makes way for new.
The owners of gurukunj (yes, I call them owners and not tenants) are happy to have got new apartments with an extra room thrown in. A brand new structure that has tried to adhere to most of the new and contemporary norms of architecture. Everything is new. New layout, new patio, new compound, new entrance, new address, everything. Even the residents are going to be new. In addition to the previous owners, this new structure will have an equal number of new guys making it their abode. New, everything is new.
And everyone is so happy. And for obvious reasons. What have they lost? A few precious memories? In any case, it would be grossly unjust to hold that against them. Everybody wants to move on and it is the right thing too.
I understand their euphoria and I am happy for all of them. Yet, something holds me from rejoicing with them. Actually, it’s just that I cannot let go. I cannot let go of my memories. I want to hold on to the memories of the home that my Papa lived in, the walls of the house that bore testimony to my most precious moments spent with him, the floor he walked on. Everything has been replaced and nothing will ever be the same. No matter how hard I try to be practical, I just cannot let go of the memories of the place where I grew up. Where I played, fought, won, lost as a little girl, where I made my very first friends, celebrated every year of growing up, where I learnt some of the most important lessons of my life, where my overall personality was shaped, where I morphed from an awkward teenager into a gracious lady. From this place, I was married off and set forth to set up my own home but Gurukunj, mere Papa ka ghar, was above everything, as is true for any girl. After marriage, whenever I came to Gurukunj, I came home. It was always so welcoming when the uncles and aunties stopped to enquire about my wellbeing.
In the past few years, Gurukunj saw a lot of pain. When, one after the other, we lost our dear ones. Phansekar kaka, Joshi baba, Kakodkar uncle, Pendse kaki, Desai kaki, Lad kaka, and my Papa. At some point, it seemed like the heavens had conspired against us and literally snatched away all these people so suddenly that every time, a painful news came to me, I just couldn’t believe nor accept it. Especially after the sudden and premature demises of my Papa, Kakodkar uncle and Phansekar kaka, who were all great pals and whose friendship dated back to the days when they had just started their careers at the State Bank and had to get married yet, Gurukunj became more precious as all that was left behind were the memories of these guys. The houses that they had painstaking made into warm homes, who had provided so well for their children, who were complete people; Gurukunj had all those memories associated with them.
Gurukunj might have become old, and infested with termites and all that, but it had what nothing in this whole world has. It had memories of my Papa, of room no.17 that was my cocoon, of my childhood, my teenage life and a whole plethora of such events. And now, all that is gone. Destroyed forever. Now, it will only continue to live in our minds.
I don’t mean that nobody there feels the loss, but I guess it’s not the same. I agree, one should welcome change with open arms. I do too, only if half-heartedly.
And every time that I will now go visit there; I wonder if it will ever be the same.
Will I be ever going back to mere Papa ka ghar????????
I don’t think so.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Teddy takes his very first examination......
Today marked yet another milestone in my little one’s life. Teddy, my angel, gave his very first examination of his life today. He wrote his English paper today. He had two prose lessons, 3 pages of spell-well, 3 pages of structures related to his prose, he also had grammar consisting of the use of ‘is, am, are’, naming words i.e.; nouns, and the use of ‘a and an’. He also had about 8 pages of a series called the ‘companion’ book. And then, there was the good, ol’ dictation. 20 words that too, no less.
Undoubtedly, today was indeed a very significant day for him. He definitely didn’t understand the fuss about examinations, but today marked a beginning of a lifetime of such tests. Which equals to pressure to outdo your own self each time, and the stress thereof. Ask my elder gem about this and you will surely get an earful!
But to Teddy, today was just like any other day. He woke up at his usual time, had his leisurely glass of milk and got yelled at as always, went about his daily morning rituals and was generally, not hassled. He, in fact, went and did some marketing all by himself too, today. I sent him to get me some green chilies and he, very confidently pocketed the Rs.2 coin I gave him and readily went and brought the stuff. Then, having done with all the mundane tasks, we sat down to a round of revisions. And for all his abilities, Aks just could not fathom why he was being made to go through all the books today at a single go.
At some point he said to me, “bas ma. Ab main bore ho gaya.” And there was no point in me pushing him as I had lost his attention to a pawn from his chess-board lying in a corner. And obviously, how do you explain to a 5 ½ year old the seriousness of examinations? It was so mesmerizing to see him in his carefree world sitting by the window watching the rains having no thoughts about what he was setting about to. I wished I could let him be in that cocoon of carefree bliss forever. But, that is so obviously not possible.
I readied him for his school and sent him off with a ‘best of luck’ and the usual peck on his cheek. Of-course, also not before I had given him a set of instructions about how to go about in his test. This, I m sure, he followed of very little but heard me out nonetheless.
All through the day, I kept thinking about my little one. My heart and mind was only with him. When the clock struck one, I was like, ok, now he must have entered his class. Now the paper would have been given to him. Will he be able to read, will he know where he is supposed to write his answers, will he be able to handle the questions…. So many thoughts kept racing through my mind. At around 3.30pm I knew it was over or at least supposed to be. Now the wait for him to reach home was driving me up the wall. And when he returned home in the evening, I asked him about his exams n pat came the reply,’ but ma, it was just another worksheet.” That’s it! Plain and simple. And then, he got busy with the chocolate his friend had given him.
I guess Teddy’s first exam was more of a milestone in my life than his own………….
Undoubtedly, today was indeed a very significant day for him. He definitely didn’t understand the fuss about examinations, but today marked a beginning of a lifetime of such tests. Which equals to pressure to outdo your own self each time, and the stress thereof. Ask my elder gem about this and you will surely get an earful!
But to Teddy, today was just like any other day. He woke up at his usual time, had his leisurely glass of milk and got yelled at as always, went about his daily morning rituals and was generally, not hassled. He, in fact, went and did some marketing all by himself too, today. I sent him to get me some green chilies and he, very confidently pocketed the Rs.2 coin I gave him and readily went and brought the stuff. Then, having done with all the mundane tasks, we sat down to a round of revisions. And for all his abilities, Aks just could not fathom why he was being made to go through all the books today at a single go.
At some point he said to me, “bas ma. Ab main bore ho gaya.” And there was no point in me pushing him as I had lost his attention to a pawn from his chess-board lying in a corner. And obviously, how do you explain to a 5 ½ year old the seriousness of examinations? It was so mesmerizing to see him in his carefree world sitting by the window watching the rains having no thoughts about what he was setting about to. I wished I could let him be in that cocoon of carefree bliss forever. But, that is so obviously not possible.
I readied him for his school and sent him off with a ‘best of luck’ and the usual peck on his cheek. Of-course, also not before I had given him a set of instructions about how to go about in his test. This, I m sure, he followed of very little but heard me out nonetheless.
All through the day, I kept thinking about my little one. My heart and mind was only with him. When the clock struck one, I was like, ok, now he must have entered his class. Now the paper would have been given to him. Will he be able to read, will he know where he is supposed to write his answers, will he be able to handle the questions…. So many thoughts kept racing through my mind. At around 3.30pm I knew it was over or at least supposed to be. Now the wait for him to reach home was driving me up the wall. And when he returned home in the evening, I asked him about his exams n pat came the reply,’ but ma, it was just another worksheet.” That’s it! Plain and simple. And then, he got busy with the chocolate his friend had given him.
I guess Teddy’s first exam was more of a milestone in my life than his own………….
Sunday, July 13, 2008
i am carved out of stone.......
I am carved out of stone
they think….
They say what they please,
I have no heart
they think…..
They keep hurting me,
I don’t cry
they think….
They badger my soul,
I don’t bleed
they think….
They break my dreams,
I don’t yearn
they think….
They keep testing me,
I don’t break
they think….
‘Cos
I am carved out of stone
they think…..
I wrote this ode in one of those moments when yet again I was taken to be a person who is never affected by anything in life. To date I have no clue why it is thought that I can endure and sustain any hurt.
But yes, I get hurt too. And I do cry when that happens.
I have a heart too and in that heart, continues to live a little girl still waiting in the hope that someday she will be understood.
And maybe; till then I have to let them think I am carved out of stone ……...................
they think….
They say what they please,
I have no heart
they think…..
They keep hurting me,
I don’t cry
they think….
They badger my soul,
I don’t bleed
they think….
They break my dreams,
I don’t yearn
they think….
They keep testing me,
I don’t break
they think….
‘Cos
I am carved out of stone
they think…..
I wrote this ode in one of those moments when yet again I was taken to be a person who is never affected by anything in life. To date I have no clue why it is thought that I can endure and sustain any hurt.
But yes, I get hurt too. And I do cry when that happens.
I have a heart too and in that heart, continues to live a little girl still waiting in the hope that someday she will be understood.
And maybe; till then I have to let them think I am carved out of stone ……...................
Thursday, July 10, 2008
The Salt story
I read a nice, little story today. A simple boy saw a beautiful girl at a party. The girl was very attractive and also the cynosure of all eyes. The boy just couldn’t take his eyes off her charming face. He was totally besotted by the girl. So he asked her out for coffee. The girl agreed and they met the following day at a coffee-shop.
They ordered for coffee and then, waited for each one to begin a conversation. The boy didn’t know what to say, he was so nervous. The girl, though not nervous, was waiting for him to say something. Suddenly, the boy asked the waiter to get him some salt with his coffee. He then added the salt to his coffee and started sipping it. The girl found this very strange and asked the boy why he had salt in his coffee. To this, the boy replied that as a little boy, he had grown up by the sea-side. As a result, they had access to a lot of salt. Whenever, he did anything to upset his mom, he would add salt to his coffee. Likewise, when he did something to make his parents proud, he would add salt to his coffee. “So”, he said to her,” in short, I have a lot of memories, good and bad, associated with coffee and I add salt to always relive those.” This broke the ice between them and they got talking. The girl really liked the boy and his simple ways. Soon, they got married and lived happily, till the boy died after celebrating 45 years of wedded bliss.
One day, the girl came across an old journal. It belonged to the boy and in it, she found a letter addressed to her. He had written, ‘My love, in all my life, I have spoken but one lie to you. And that is, I never grew up by the sea-side. But that day, at the coffee shop, I lied to you. And then, to make up for that lie, I had salt in my coffee for the rest of my life. Thank you for coming into my life.’
There can be different interpretations to this story. The article of which this story was a part of, was actually about the age-old debate on whether a harmless lie or a painful truth.
But I read a totally different meaning into the story. To me it was about love. Pure and committed. The boy did an out of the ordinary action to get the girl’s attention and to break the ice between them. He made up a story and lived that false story for the rest of his life so that he could keep his love’s faith intact. How pure he must have been in his heart and how committed to his love! I mean, why was there the need for him to have salt in his coffee when he could have so very easily given up his coffee altogether. That way, he would not have had to have something he never had any taste for. In any case, he had got his love. And surely, the girl too, loved him equally deeply. So had he come clean with his lie, she wouldn’t have held that one against him? But, he chose to turn that lie into a commitment. For his love. For the trust of that love, he chose to live his lie.
This story really touched me. I totally lost the focus of the original article. To me, it became a depiction of love and the trust associated with it.
And to this love, I salute!!
They ordered for coffee and then, waited for each one to begin a conversation. The boy didn’t know what to say, he was so nervous. The girl, though not nervous, was waiting for him to say something. Suddenly, the boy asked the waiter to get him some salt with his coffee. He then added the salt to his coffee and started sipping it. The girl found this very strange and asked the boy why he had salt in his coffee. To this, the boy replied that as a little boy, he had grown up by the sea-side. As a result, they had access to a lot of salt. Whenever, he did anything to upset his mom, he would add salt to his coffee. Likewise, when he did something to make his parents proud, he would add salt to his coffee. “So”, he said to her,” in short, I have a lot of memories, good and bad, associated with coffee and I add salt to always relive those.” This broke the ice between them and they got talking. The girl really liked the boy and his simple ways. Soon, they got married and lived happily, till the boy died after celebrating 45 years of wedded bliss.
One day, the girl came across an old journal. It belonged to the boy and in it, she found a letter addressed to her. He had written, ‘My love, in all my life, I have spoken but one lie to you. And that is, I never grew up by the sea-side. But that day, at the coffee shop, I lied to you. And then, to make up for that lie, I had salt in my coffee for the rest of my life. Thank you for coming into my life.’
There can be different interpretations to this story. The article of which this story was a part of, was actually about the age-old debate on whether a harmless lie or a painful truth.
But I read a totally different meaning into the story. To me it was about love. Pure and committed. The boy did an out of the ordinary action to get the girl’s attention and to break the ice between them. He made up a story and lived that false story for the rest of his life so that he could keep his love’s faith intact. How pure he must have been in his heart and how committed to his love! I mean, why was there the need for him to have salt in his coffee when he could have so very easily given up his coffee altogether. That way, he would not have had to have something he never had any taste for. In any case, he had got his love. And surely, the girl too, loved him equally deeply. So had he come clean with his lie, she wouldn’t have held that one against him? But, he chose to turn that lie into a commitment. For his love. For the trust of that love, he chose to live his lie.
This story really touched me. I totally lost the focus of the original article. To me, it became a depiction of love and the trust associated with it.
And to this love, I salute!!
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Reliving my thoughts as a young girl.....
Sunny, my kid brother, never ceases to amaze me. And then what amazes me some more is the fact that irrespective of our age difference and the different times that we have grown up in, we still think alike. I mean, what he thinks at his age now is exactly what I thought about in those times when I was about that age. Actually, a couple of years younger, but then, like they say, girls mature faster. And I have always had life giving me these huge lessons way too early. Be it a heart break or a jab of backstabs by your most trusted pal or betrayal or witnessing a divorce of a loved one and the painful repercussions thereof. Anyway, that’s not what I want to talk about here though it could make an interesting blog by itself. What made me sit up and write today is when I read Sunny’s blog about these books relating to death. It reminded me that I had also expressed similar views way back in 1991 when we had lost dolly’s daddy.
I mean, Sunny is more refined in his thoughts than I am, a lot more focused as a result. And what he has written about is a thought process triggered by certain books he read. And what prompted me to pen down my thoughts was a totally different experience I had had.
Dolly’s dad, my uncle – his death was so sudden and untimely. And I was just a naïve, young girl whose mind was yet un-corrupted by the realities of life. Dolly and I being of the same age and practically growing up together, I felt her pain. We had shared almost everything in life together but this was one thing that I couldn’t share with her however much I may try or want. And I hated to see her in such a situation so early in life. So I wrote my hurt out as was and still is my practice.
Having read Sunny’s blogs on this topic, I was reminded of my own thoughts. So I hunted for my old journals and finally found what I was looking for in an old note book.
Here, I am reproducing exactly what I had written as a 21 yr old. I do not relate to most of it anymore. What changes my thoughts have gone through may be the next blog but right now I think reliving my thoughts as a young girl makes for some interesting reading. So here it is….
Dated: - November 1991.
DEATH ……… it is, after all a matter-of-fact. All who have come to life will go one day or the other. It is an accepted fact and yet, when death strikes, it leaves back tears, grief, loneliness and a deep shadow of depression. It creates a vacuum, an hollow which cannot be filled in.
Death, a reality just like birth, though a law of nature is the most difficult to face and come to terms with.
But I ask why? Isn’t it destined at the very time of conception that the life which will see light in 9 months time will ultimately be taken over by death? Isn’t it true that death is inevitable…that everyone has to face it someday?
Then why does it hurt? Why does it bring tears and gloom with it? Why can we not bring ourselves to accept and accept it gracefully, that we have lost a dear one to death? That he is no more and no amount of tears or prayers or frustration is ever going to get him back for us? Why?
I wouldn’t want anyone to cry for me. I have never liked anyone ever crying for me in all these 21 years of my life. I have always hated sympathy and pity. To date, I have never asked nor expected sympathy from anybody or out of any relation.
Whatever will be, will be and there is nothing that tears can do to help. I can understand the grief and the pain, but what will the tears do? They can’t bring back the departed soul.
I HATE TEARS and I always will, especially on death.
I would want all to bid adieu to me gracefully and calmly. That is the way I want everyone to live too. I want everyone to laugh and be cheerful. After all, we pass this way only once and the moment lost is lost forever. Then why cry? No, I definitely wouldn’t want anyone to cry after me. I have never liked crying, as it is, and I wouldn’t want anyone to bring tears to their eyes after I am gone. I want everyone who knows me to remember me as a cheerful, flamboyant person. I want them to remember that I hated tears as they depict weakness and I don’t want anyone I know to be weak.
I understand that parting is painful and that is what hurts and brings tears but you have to face it. The sooner one comes to terms with reality; the better it is for you and for those around you.
That was then…a good 17 years back. But today, I can’t say the same things. Today, I have experienced reality; the overwhelming joyous reality of giving birth and the tragic reality of death too. Today, I still cry for my Papa. I still feel that frustration on not being able to bring him home in his last moments. I still look up on some nights and hope that the brightest star shining is Papa looking at me from up there. I still cry when I think how unfair it was for Sunny and me to have to lose Papa when there was still so much he had to see. I empathized with dolly when she lost her dad but now, I totally understand the tears.
I mean, Sunny is more refined in his thoughts than I am, a lot more focused as a result. And what he has written about is a thought process triggered by certain books he read. And what prompted me to pen down my thoughts was a totally different experience I had had.
Dolly’s dad, my uncle – his death was so sudden and untimely. And I was just a naïve, young girl whose mind was yet un-corrupted by the realities of life. Dolly and I being of the same age and practically growing up together, I felt her pain. We had shared almost everything in life together but this was one thing that I couldn’t share with her however much I may try or want. And I hated to see her in such a situation so early in life. So I wrote my hurt out as was and still is my practice.
Having read Sunny’s blogs on this topic, I was reminded of my own thoughts. So I hunted for my old journals and finally found what I was looking for in an old note book.
Here, I am reproducing exactly what I had written as a 21 yr old. I do not relate to most of it anymore. What changes my thoughts have gone through may be the next blog but right now I think reliving my thoughts as a young girl makes for some interesting reading. So here it is….
Dated: - November 1991.
DEATH ……… it is, after all a matter-of-fact. All who have come to life will go one day or the other. It is an accepted fact and yet, when death strikes, it leaves back tears, grief, loneliness and a deep shadow of depression. It creates a vacuum, an hollow which cannot be filled in.
Death, a reality just like birth, though a law of nature is the most difficult to face and come to terms with.
But I ask why? Isn’t it destined at the very time of conception that the life which will see light in 9 months time will ultimately be taken over by death? Isn’t it true that death is inevitable…that everyone has to face it someday?
Then why does it hurt? Why does it bring tears and gloom with it? Why can we not bring ourselves to accept and accept it gracefully, that we have lost a dear one to death? That he is no more and no amount of tears or prayers or frustration is ever going to get him back for us? Why?
I wouldn’t want anyone to cry for me. I have never liked anyone ever crying for me in all these 21 years of my life. I have always hated sympathy and pity. To date, I have never asked nor expected sympathy from anybody or out of any relation.
Whatever will be, will be and there is nothing that tears can do to help. I can understand the grief and the pain, but what will the tears do? They can’t bring back the departed soul.
I HATE TEARS and I always will, especially on death.
I would want all to bid adieu to me gracefully and calmly. That is the way I want everyone to live too. I want everyone to laugh and be cheerful. After all, we pass this way only once and the moment lost is lost forever. Then why cry? No, I definitely wouldn’t want anyone to cry after me. I have never liked crying, as it is, and I wouldn’t want anyone to bring tears to their eyes after I am gone. I want everyone who knows me to remember me as a cheerful, flamboyant person. I want them to remember that I hated tears as they depict weakness and I don’t want anyone I know to be weak.
I understand that parting is painful and that is what hurts and brings tears but you have to face it. The sooner one comes to terms with reality; the better it is for you and for those around you.
That was then…a good 17 years back. But today, I can’t say the same things. Today, I have experienced reality; the overwhelming joyous reality of giving birth and the tragic reality of death too. Today, I still cry for my Papa. I still feel that frustration on not being able to bring him home in his last moments. I still look up on some nights and hope that the brightest star shining is Papa looking at me from up there. I still cry when I think how unfair it was for Sunny and me to have to lose Papa when there was still so much he had to see. I empathized with dolly when she lost her dad but now, I totally understand the tears.
Monday, May 12, 2008
What is the matter with me ????
What IS the matter with me? Why can't i bring myself to write? First the PC conked off. Then,when we got that started, the net crashed. And now,with both being rectified, I guess it is my turn. Or is it? I mean,the thought process is on fulltime, but something is amiss. I feel a sense of loss. Loss of thoughts. There is a lot of random thinking but nothing that i can actually gather. I don't even feel like lending words to my thoughts.Don't feel like socialising even cos' I honestly don't want to talk to people.I have stopped reading anything beyond the morning newspaper which is more like a habitual thing.
I am,with each passing day, becoming a recluse.
I am,with each passing day, becoming a recluse.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
After a busy weekend
It has been a very busy weekend. And today as I sit in front of my PC to post my thoughts, I would have expected them to just flow. But I am surprised at my own self. There are a lot of things that are on my mind right now and I would think I should be able to write about anyone of them. But when I tried putting them to words, I just drew a blank…
One thing that is weighing me down heavily is my elder ones’ absence. The entire family attended a wedding over the weekend…kids and all in tow. And we went in absolute luxury.Yash style! By which I mean a comfortable station wagon complete with two full blowing air-conditions. The venue was also a fancy banquet hall in a plush hotel in one of Vashi’s most happening sectors. The food too, was the kind he enjoys. None of us felt any stress or the kind of tiredness one feels after having traveled a distance of about 60 kms to and fro. And that too, on two consecutive days. In short, nothing to complain about.
But all said and done, had my Yash been there, he still would have found some thing to whine about. And that is what we missed the most. Yash’s whining…Which is what this post could be about….
We all unanimously missed Yash yesterday though each one had a different reason for it. Like my mom. She said she misses meeting his daily demands of fancy food. She misses making his favorite nimbupani. She misses his company, in general. Dolly, Yash’s masi, missed his mature talks and also, that he manages her little one the best. Bua, my elderly aunt and his friend missed their gossip sessions. Anushka and Aks, his siblings, may not understand but I am sure they missed his absolute attention and his constant, “don’t go there, don’t do this, just sit in one place” nagging. Sanjay and bhaisaab are not vocal about it but it is so obvious that they do miss his presence. It is the most visible in Sanjay’s eyes. And me…. I miss a lot about Yash. His constant bickering about something or the other; his tantrums on not being allowed access to the PC when he demands; his anguish when any new purchase is made which boils down to us not getting him a Play station; his distaste for home-cooked food and his love for pizzas and burgers; his resistance to everything in the first instance and then, compliance to the same. I miss all that about Yash that irritates me.
But what I also miss about my first born is his presence in the home. That he is just there, doing his own thing, pretty much keeping to himself. I miss having him around.
And though all of us have our reasons of missing Yash, the one thing we all agreed on was that, of all that we miss about him, we miss his bickering the most. That is what Yash is known to do the best. He just complains or whines or is just not happy or satisfied under the best of situations. It’s just his second nature.
My point here is that there is certain distinctness about each individual that we miss. It is that some uniqueness about each person. In Yash’s case, his “kudkud” that we are so used to.
And we all unanimously missed that kudkud………..
One thing that is weighing me down heavily is my elder ones’ absence. The entire family attended a wedding over the weekend…kids and all in tow. And we went in absolute luxury.Yash style! By which I mean a comfortable station wagon complete with two full blowing air-conditions. The venue was also a fancy banquet hall in a plush hotel in one of Vashi’s most happening sectors. The food too, was the kind he enjoys. None of us felt any stress or the kind of tiredness one feels after having traveled a distance of about 60 kms to and fro. And that too, on two consecutive days. In short, nothing to complain about.
But all said and done, had my Yash been there, he still would have found some thing to whine about. And that is what we missed the most. Yash’s whining…Which is what this post could be about….
We all unanimously missed Yash yesterday though each one had a different reason for it. Like my mom. She said she misses meeting his daily demands of fancy food. She misses making his favorite nimbupani. She misses his company, in general. Dolly, Yash’s masi, missed his mature talks and also, that he manages her little one the best. Bua, my elderly aunt and his friend missed their gossip sessions. Anushka and Aks, his siblings, may not understand but I am sure they missed his absolute attention and his constant, “don’t go there, don’t do this, just sit in one place” nagging. Sanjay and bhaisaab are not vocal about it but it is so obvious that they do miss his presence. It is the most visible in Sanjay’s eyes. And me…. I miss a lot about Yash. His constant bickering about something or the other; his tantrums on not being allowed access to the PC when he demands; his anguish when any new purchase is made which boils down to us not getting him a Play station; his distaste for home-cooked food and his love for pizzas and burgers; his resistance to everything in the first instance and then, compliance to the same. I miss all that about Yash that irritates me.
But what I also miss about my first born is his presence in the home. That he is just there, doing his own thing, pretty much keeping to himself. I miss having him around.
And though all of us have our reasons of missing Yash, the one thing we all agreed on was that, of all that we miss about him, we miss his bickering the most. That is what Yash is known to do the best. He just complains or whines or is just not happy or satisfied under the best of situations. It’s just his second nature.
My point here is that there is certain distinctness about each individual that we miss. It is that some uniqueness about each person. In Yash’s case, his “kudkud” that we are so used to.
And we all unanimously missed that kudkud………..
Friday, April 18, 2008
You don't have to be born from the same womb to be siblings
You know, you don’t have to be born from the same womb to be siblings.
Let me elaborate……
Yesterday I spent a very fulfilling day after quite a long time. And I owe it to ATUL.
From the moment he stepped into my little one’s classroom to catch up on his yearly progress, to treating me to delicious sea food and hearing me as I poured my hurting self out ; then keeping his patience as I window-shopped needlessly right up to packing me off home safely in the evening. And I will never forget that reassuring hug he gave me just before I stepped into the auto.
I have known Atul for almost a decade now. But my very distinct memory of him is about seven years back. My dad was hospitalized and I so much wanted to be by his side but was not being able to as obviously I could not have my little boy at the hospital for a considerable amount of time. I was left with no choice but to take my boy who had accompanied me to meet his grandpa, back home. Also, there was no way I would be able to visit papa the next day or the next as there wasn’t anybody to take care of my son. All the elders present too, suggested that I should just be in touch over the phone. This was tearing me apart but there was no alternative. And just as a duty bound mother was gaining an edge over a heart broken daughter, this lanky, shy guy who was a teenager himself, walked up to me and told me not to worry about my boy and that I should spend all my time with my dad. He put his arm around me and gave me a slight but a very reassuring hug and told me he would take care of my son. Something in this guy’s eyes told me to trust him unquestionably.
That was then and to date, Atul has always come thru’ for me and for my sons who adore him beyond words. He has always been there for me. He was there rock solid when the world collapsed for me n my kid-brother when we lost our dad. At that terrible time Atul,a kid himself then, was there for my kid-bro and for that I will always be indebted to him for the way he brought Sunny around. Of-course, it would be grossly unjust not to mention Neha at this point who was and is the pillar of this threesome. But this post is about Atul, so Neha; you will have to excuse me.
He was there holding me when my kid-brother grew out of his nest and left for the States to pursue certain dreams and fulfill some promises. I remember Atul’s arm around me as I sobbed away uncontrollably after bidding Sunny a brave good-bye. If anyone that day understood that it was a piece of me that was going away from me than it was Atul.
I do miss Sunny. I miss him a lot and god knows what I’d not give to have him here with me. But then, I’d also be lying if I didn’t come forth and say that Atul makes up almost completely for his absence. His reassuring hugs are always there, but they now also have another feel to it. That of a protector. Atul is always there. When I need him; and even when I don't :) My boys too,don’t miss their mama; they have him here, in Atul.
Sunny and I are siblings. By birth. We share the same parentage.
I don’t share any of that with Atul. That's why I said….
You don’t have to be born from the same womb to be siblings.
Let me elaborate……
Yesterday I spent a very fulfilling day after quite a long time. And I owe it to ATUL.
From the moment he stepped into my little one’s classroom to catch up on his yearly progress, to treating me to delicious sea food and hearing me as I poured my hurting self out ; then keeping his patience as I window-shopped needlessly right up to packing me off home safely in the evening. And I will never forget that reassuring hug he gave me just before I stepped into the auto.
I have known Atul for almost a decade now. But my very distinct memory of him is about seven years back. My dad was hospitalized and I so much wanted to be by his side but was not being able to as obviously I could not have my little boy at the hospital for a considerable amount of time. I was left with no choice but to take my boy who had accompanied me to meet his grandpa, back home. Also, there was no way I would be able to visit papa the next day or the next as there wasn’t anybody to take care of my son. All the elders present too, suggested that I should just be in touch over the phone. This was tearing me apart but there was no alternative. And just as a duty bound mother was gaining an edge over a heart broken daughter, this lanky, shy guy who was a teenager himself, walked up to me and told me not to worry about my boy and that I should spend all my time with my dad. He put his arm around me and gave me a slight but a very reassuring hug and told me he would take care of my son. Something in this guy’s eyes told me to trust him unquestionably.
That was then and to date, Atul has always come thru’ for me and for my sons who adore him beyond words. He has always been there for me. He was there rock solid when the world collapsed for me n my kid-brother when we lost our dad. At that terrible time Atul,a kid himself then, was there for my kid-bro and for that I will always be indebted to him for the way he brought Sunny around. Of-course, it would be grossly unjust not to mention Neha at this point who was and is the pillar of this threesome. But this post is about Atul, so Neha; you will have to excuse me.
He was there holding me when my kid-brother grew out of his nest and left for the States to pursue certain dreams and fulfill some promises. I remember Atul’s arm around me as I sobbed away uncontrollably after bidding Sunny a brave good-bye. If anyone that day understood that it was a piece of me that was going away from me than it was Atul.
I do miss Sunny. I miss him a lot and god knows what I’d not give to have him here with me. But then, I’d also be lying if I didn’t come forth and say that Atul makes up almost completely for his absence. His reassuring hugs are always there, but they now also have another feel to it. That of a protector. Atul is always there. When I need him; and even when I don't :) My boys too,don’t miss their mama; they have him here, in Atul.
Sunny and I are siblings. By birth. We share the same parentage.
I don’t share any of that with Atul. That's why I said….
You don’t have to be born from the same womb to be siblings.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
And i m still waiting....
I m still awaiting precious comments , inputs , suggestions , advises....in general just about everything in the said category, from certain dear ones whom i hold in very high esteem. I guess i will dedicate a post to them one of these days and then hope to ,or should i say, force them to come around.
I know these are a very busy lot. And i appreciate anyone who is busy. But then ,appreciation is not limited to just those who are busy . A whole lot of other things are also appreciable. Correct me if i m wrong, my dear ones!
Hmmmmm.... but it is a good idea... a post dedicated to the most happening people in my life.... that should make some interesting material. To write and to read........
I know these are a very busy lot. And i appreciate anyone who is busy. But then ,appreciation is not limited to just those who are busy . A whole lot of other things are also appreciable. Correct me if i m wrong, my dear ones!
Hmmmmm.... but it is a good idea... a post dedicated to the most happening people in my life.... that should make some interesting material. To write and to read........
Autos and Problems....Problems and Autos
My joy knew no bounds today when the very first auto that I happened to flag down agreed to oblige me by taking me to my destination. I say oblige as that is what these beings who ply our taxis n autos do when they agree to take us to where we would want to go. Very often it is I who has asked them where they are headed for, and if they r passing the same way as mine, then would they please be so generous enough so as to accept me as a passenger and drop me to my destination. For which I have at times even offered to pay them a few extra bucks. And u know what? I do get lucky sometimes and the guy does oblige!
Ok. Enough of being cynical, and coming back to today’s episode, at a gas station I noticed a huge queue of autos. Being of the curious kind, I asked the auto-driver what the line was about. You know, one never knows when these guys may take it upon themselves to go on a rampage that in their lingo is known as a “strike”. But my friend here enlightened me that it was a queue to get the CNG tanks refueled. Generally I wouldn’t have given it a thought. U own a vehicle, u need to fuel it up. Simple. More so if that is your bread n butter. But, I being in good spirits today, I chatted up this guy and came back a little more enlightened.
This guy, my friend the auto-driver told me that this was the case not just at this one gas station but almost at all the major ones too. I agreed. I had seen these serpentine queues myself that at times stretched beyond a kilometer or two. He said that it took as much as 4-5 hours to reach your turn. And no one was doing a thing to change the situation. They made us shift our units into CNG ones and now refueling is a big headache. ”Shaam main dhande ke time pe paisa kamaneka ke line main khada rehne ka?” he asked me. Or should we spend the night here after a tiring day, awaiting our turns? He pointed out that since most of the autos were in queues everywhere, there were just a few plying the roads. And to top it, we have to face the abuses of the passengers we refuse to ply to far-off places or to areas we know r choc-a-bloc with traffic. “bolo, hum insaan nahi? Kya humko problems nahi? Kya sirf office main kaam karke aanewala hi thak jata hai? Ye auto chalake dekhneka kabhi. Peeth ka waat lag jata hai. Lekin aadmi pet ke liye karta hai sab.”
My destination arrived. I paid the guy his dues and came back thinking about these guys whom we so often take for granted. Whom without so much as a thought to their refusal, we chide them and curse them even. We, who quite often take their 'no' , personally, why do we forget that they have limitations too! And problems also.
Yeah, I know most of them r an unscrupulous lot but a few still have their hearts in the right place.Atleast that is what I’d like to believe. And the next time some auto-driver refuses to take me to where I want him to, I’d try and understand.
The Sands Of Dee
The Sands of Dee
by
Charles Kingsley
"O Mary, go and call the cattle home,
And call the cattle home,
And call the cattle home
Across the sands of Dee";
The western wind was wild and dank with foam,
And all alone went she.
The western tide crept up along the sand,
And o'er and o'er the sand,
And round and round the sand,
As far as eye could see.
The rolling mist came down and hid the land:
And never home came she.
"Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair--
A tress of golden hair,
A drowned maiden's hair
Above the nets at sea?
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair
Among the stakes on Dee."
They rowed her in across the rolling foam,
The cruel crawling foam,
The cruel hungry foam,
To her grave beside the sea:
But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home
Across the sands of Dee.
I remember the first time i read this poem. I was in the 8th std. and was to represent my school for a poetry recital competition.My english teacher,knowing well my capabilities,asked me to look up a poem myself. I rushed to the school library and being the library teacher's pet,she enthusiastically gave up her errand at hand and looked up the best books of poems we had.She selected the choicest few and handed them to me. I poured myself into the books and set upon finding myself a poem that would make me stand out among the rest. I must have read about a 50 poems including a lot of William Wordsworth,John Keating, and the likes.And then i happened to read "Sands of Dee" by Charles Kingsley. I liked the poem for its uniqueness but mostly because it was by a poet not many 13 year olds would chose.and in that it suited my criteria of looking for something different.i showed the poem to my teacher who asked me to settle for something i could do justice to. she said this was a piece of work that had to be understood , the pain had to be felt, the melancholy ,the sadness would have to be delivered perfectly thru' the poem. But i was relentless. And she was a good teacher.Together we set upon perfecting the deliverence of this masterpiece. And deliver, i did. Right down to just that one tear that flowed from the corner of my eye at the right time! And the inter-school poetry recital trophy was ours! What jubiliations,what adulations and what praises were bestowed on me. It was unanimously declared that to give a rendition such that i had at the age that i was ,was indeed a masterpiece by itself. i felt like a queen that day as i held that trophy.Nothing else mattered.
But coming across this very poem now after about 24 years, i saw a whole new meaning into it.It touched me in a very different way. Now i understood what my teacher had meant when she told me to take up something else back then. The pain,the sadness,the soul-steering story .....it was obviously not understood by me then. At that time, it was just a good performance by a girl who wanted to portray something different and make a mark. And today,the same poetry was read by a woman who had walked the walk of life,who had felt pain,who had been hurt,who had been sent out to call her cattle home. Or should i say who had been sent to meet the call of her destiny.......
.....and never home came she !
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Things don't change....
Things don't change; you change your way of looking at them.
It isn't too long ago when i was a teenager myself and still remember how irritating parental rules could be. Even vacations were not spared to spend as my heart desired. Never could really understand back then why mom would just not let me be! I didn't want to ride the cycle when i could just loll in the bed during those sweet early summer mornings. I didn't want to be a part of any learning activity group when i could spend sultry evenings gossiping away with my girlfriends. It was so much fun to idle away the afternoons with a book in hand and plain day-dream and not have to write those mandatory pages of cursive writing! But it was never that way.
And today,as i packed off my 13 year old to an activity camp,i m reminded of my days as a teen. The same resistance,the same set of why's ,the same ,"why can't you just let me be?" It's the same me but i m now on the other side. I don't break rules anymore,i make them.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)