The Midget Diaries

Becoming my parents' daughter

2009-10-23T22:36:00.005-04:00

Everyone knows motherhood is tough. That it takes as much out of you as it gives...both in time and joy. One invests so much time and energy into being that perfect mother - the kind who bakes cupcakes on Saturdays just because it is Saturday, who stays awake late into the night folding onesies and stitching fancy buttons on a costume - there are moments that one forgets to be a daughter.

Why?

Why is it engrossing to discuss cow dung with the tot than answer questions on how the day was with the parent? Why is it so hard to let go of little things when it concerns your child? Why is it harder to understand someone you've known for more than two decades while you're completely in-sync with a 21 month old who can barely string two words together? Does motherhood erase all signs of being a daughter once?

As the peer pressure of young, vibrant do-it-all moms rises, the doting daughter slowly fades into the background...with occasional glimpses once in awhile to buy a certain bag, listen to an old tale, touch a burning forehead, share a joke over phone...or simply smile every morning instead of the usual complaint about the wrong sippy cup in the toddler's hands.

Being a mother is all about loving someone unconditionally.
Being a daughter is about letting that someone love you...unconditionally.

In the Land of Butterflies

2009-10-18T14:36:00.002-04:00

It was a quiet afternoon in the Azalea kingdom...the kind of quiet that lends itself to mind-numbing chores and pointless conversations; It is also the kind of quiet that makes one restless - a strong yearning to launch oneself off this state of inertia. And if you entered the Royal nursery that's what you would find Princess Mei doing...trying to jump off The King's arms and fly into the skies on a new adventure.

The King and The Queen sang a dozen lullabies, the baby made raspberries at them. The court jesters juggled apples and colourful balls while the maidens twirled satin ribbons but Little Princess Mei just yawned at them. Then she curled her tiny fists, puffed air into her roly-poly cheeks and SCREAMED!

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

The Azalea kingdom rocked and came to a complete standstill.

No one knew how to calm the baby and put her to sleep. Lady Chance was not in town to bestow gifts and The King was not the kind who believed in Magic either. Her Highness just sighed and hugged herself to sleep in an armchair. His Royal Highness looked at the tiny bundle in his hands. He had conquered the lands, he had reined the raging seas but how can such a fragile being hold him prisoner? Are those spells swirling in those beautiful dark eyes?

As an expert storyteller he weaved many a wonderful tale of grandeur and adventure...of Princes on stallions and talking elephants and finally he no longer had any new yarn to spin but the baby in his arms giggled. Her tiny feet kicked him in his chest asking for more.

He gently caressed her curved earlobe, a trait she takes on from him. Princess Mei looked into her father's eyes and cooed. He closed his eyes and hummed softly. His gentle melody slowly grew in depth and soon found a reply as tiny colourful butterflies silently flew in from the forest. They circled above The King and Princess Mei and the only sounds in the room were the soft flapping of their wings.

Soon a mellow calm descended into the room, embracing its occupants in a velvety hug they had long desired. In that moment of sublime tranquility as the last of the butterflies came to rest on her arm, the Little Princess made her peace. Her tiny fingers firmly clasping his hand, Princess Mei was finally sound asleep, a playful smile still on her lips.

The King sighed.

The Date

2009-10-01T22:50:00.004-04:00

She felt her life was sprinting away from her as she scrubbed baby food off the kitchen floors and folded baskets of laundry. Wasn't she more than just a mother? She read books, sang songs and was more than capable of holding a conversation on any topic under the sun for over 10 minutes.

Yet here she was making sure the carrots and peas did not touch each other on the plate, arranging onesies and pajamas by colour and looking under crib and beds for fat, green worms to make soup with.

She needed a date. No, not need, wanted. Yes! that's the word. She WANTED a date. An evening with her husband; two adults enjoying a peaceful meal away from bibs and babble. A date was set, after frantic phone calls a reliable babysitter was found and the baby was informed. As long as the carrots and peas didn't touch, she didn't care two cents about dates.

The Day finally dawned. She spent hours in front of the mirror rehearsing what she would say at dinner. She felt like a teenager going on a first date. An evening to reminisce about Oscar Wilde and Balzac, of red wines and candle light...an evening as a young, intelligent woman.

"So guess what? I am sitting on the couch reading an article on Eezham and she comes and takes the mouse and says, 'Amma , whatyoudoing? elp?' Then she picks up my book from the table and goes ' This libaly book.' "

He smiles at her fondly as he refills her wine glass. She hardly notices the twinkle in his eyes as she continues,
"Oh my God! Yesterday she sang the entire ABC song. I swear, it was the sweetest thing I've ever heard. No other 20 month old I know can say ABC much less sing it. And then, did I tell you she can completely dismantle our remote and hide the batteries and act as if she doesn't know what we're talking about? and today she..."

He leaned back in his chair.
This was going to be a beautiful evening.

Note: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to moms folding laundry or scrubbing floors is completely intentional.

Book Review

2009-09-15T21:56:00.005-04:00

I'm losing count of the books I've read, so trying to jot them down as crisp as possible...

My Father's Paradise by Ariel Sabar (Iraq)
- Brilliantly researched and wonderfully written. Loved the snippets of History he had sprinkled throughout the book. This book is totally engrossing and made me put it down each time with a really heavy heart. It did make me realize that casteism manifests itself throughout the world, in some way or the other...In the way European Jews looked down on the Middle-Eastern Jews or mocked their language. PICK IT UP!

Maya Running by Anjali Banerjee
- Young adult novel. No points for guessing why I picked it up :) It did turn out to be a really sweet book. There were a couple of stereotypes, like Maya's cousin who visits Manitoba from Calcutta or the 'cool' dude liking the 'nerd' girl part. Liked the twist and the resolution. Good book to read between some heavy clunkers :) But I guess my best moment with the book was when Mayalou picked it up and said, "Lie-berry book. Chaami!" and she would proceed to touch the picture of Ganesh on the cover and press her hands to her eyes...sigh! I kept renewing the book just to see her do that :)

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas by John Boyne (Ireland)
- Poignant, heart-wrenching story of a young German boy whose father is sent by the fuehrer to take charge of Auchswitz concentration camp. The story is told from the point of view of 9 year old Bruno, who pulls us in with his innocence and then breaks us apart as he sets out on his one big adventure before leaving camp. Somehow, the horror of Holocaust as told by a child is even more scathing and unbearable, especially when you realize those tender hearts are just incapable of recognizing Evil. Finished it in one setting and then cried more rivers watching the movie.

The Scent of Sake by Joyce Lebra (Japan)
- Well-researched book on the Japanese sake brewing families. Their traditions, how business and family are one and the same unit, the role of women in business - every single nuance including how cooking rice is an art is brought to us through the character of Rie...the head of the Omura household. Simple narrative. Somehow I feel, if 'Toss of a Lemon' by Padma Viswanathan was a few hundred pages shorter I might've given it a shot. Coz between the two, the only reason I finished this book was because it was smaller. Otherwise they deal with the same kind of non-plot : the life of the matriarch of a family, how she affects those around her directly or indirectly. Plus I guess I was courious about Japanese culture and not so much about Indian caste system.

Atonement by Ian McEwan
- I don't think I have a right to review this since I did not complete it. I couldn't go beyond half the novel. Can't really put my finger on why. Maybe because I didn't gel with the precocious 13 year old Briony Tallis, the style of writing(which I later read used metafiction and such like of which I haven't really heard of before) was making it really, really hard for me to concentrate on the story. twice I started the book, dropped it on page 23 or some such and then tried to pick it up again after a week. Finally gave up. Still can't understand why it was shortlisted for Booker?!

But yeah, found out many interesting books using the literary device metafiction from wiki. I've seen the movie 'Everything is illuminated' and I liked it. So maybe, it isn't metafiction but Atonement I dislike :)

The No:1 Ladies Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith
- Awesome Dawesome book. Hilarious, unputtdownable and Mma Rawotse is just too darn wonderful :) Light reading but it is in no means 'fluff'. Throughout the book, you get to know Africa, Bostwana in particular, and what keeps the fire alive in every African. This is the first book in the series and I can't wait to read all the ten.

Challenges covered: New Author, Orbis terrarum, WWII.
(Note to self: Check challenge blogs to find out if the challenge is still on or it's over and done with)

If Adolf Hitler

2009-09-09T22:12:00.002-04:00

...hadn't invaded Poland,
...didn't try to exterminate Jews,
...had discarded concentration camps in favor of exiling Jews from Germany

would the world have recognized Josef Stalin for the cruel dictator he really was?
Did we ignore one genocide in favour of another...because we didn't look closely behind The Curtain?

Lost and Found

2009-09-03T22:41:00.005-04:00

In moments of unbridled joy
Under waves of unseen blessings
I see you.

In screeching lights
Under voiceless blankets
I hear you.

In endless greens
Under wisps of blue
I lose you.

In the minutiae of Life
Under a mound of Oblivion
You find me.

Work + Love = A Life in Balance

2009-08-18T21:51:00.004-04:00

I love my job. I really do.

Ofcourse love has never stopped me at earlier jobs to post while on office time.

But this time it's different.

I love it even more to get back home early.

Why?

Because, now there is a tiny (well not so tiny) wisp of an angel who runs to the kitchen as I open the back door...who stops by the fridge as soon as she gets a glimpse of me. She then proceeds to ignore me and chant, "A B C D O I P" while I walk in and sit on the sofa.

But the moment I say, "Amma-kku hug", she drops everything and runs to me to disappear in my arms...I would die a thousand deaths just to be born again in that moment.

For now I just clock my 8 hours and zip home...to be loved.

One. Two. Thee. Fie. Siteen*

2009-07-05T23:01:00.004-04:00

I know. I know. I know.
Why am I here now when I've made it clear in not-so-many words that I like it elsewhere...under mounds of new opportunities and responsibilities? But then you see, I don't exist much if I don't talk to myself and this blog is definitely an extension of me. Sometimes I love to think it is Maye but let's not kid ourselves here...she is in a league of her own!

Speaking of the devil-in-disguise, I am here solely because I need to jot down the little cutesy things she does before they start to crawl under my skin and merge with the fat cells and I remember it just as another added baggage of motherhood :) I tried to scrapbook but let's face it, the only patience I have in store I shall use it to not scream at a wisp of a baby who feels orange juice is the next best thing to perfume on Amma's work blouse!

The Fourth of July saw us trotting around outlet malls like any immigrant patriot, scrounging the sidewalks for that one lucrative deal which would be available practically all through the year if only you kept your eyes open. The Implet, tired from all the shopping, promptly fell asleep in the car and remained asleep much into the late evening. The Mr didn't want her to miss her first Fourth of July fireworks, so I walked in to wake her up. Until then I hadn't realized the best way to wake a sleeping Mayalou was to lie next to her, rub her back and whisper 'I love you'. She lifted her head up slowly, smiled at me and cuddled up to me saying 'I louyou'. Sigh. Bliss!

We somehow made it to the venue on time and watched a splendid display of fireworks, splendid by small town Nashua standards. Maye giggled, shrieked and clapped her hands as much as she could. The Mr and I kept pointing to the sky and repeated the word 'Fireworks', hoping we will hear a cutesy version of it, like 'Piewo' or 'Piewok'. [Sidenote: She can't say the 'eff' sound often. So it's Pan(fan), Pish]

So we're sitting in the car after the show and I turn back and ask her, "What did you see, Maya?"
And she says, "Bubble light!"
I just gaped at her. I am still trying to come to terms with it. Who would've thunk her little mind can marry two completely different concepts to explain whatever she had just witnessed?

Gosh darn it! That's the best someone has ever described fireworks to me.
I would have loved to brag about it to moms with kids who've outgrown their little baby-ish innocence, but then I want my invites to home-cooked meals to remain intact. So decided to blog it and keep a note of it somewhere in ether to rub Maye's siblings' noses in, should they just say the boring 'fireworks' at 18 months.
Seriously! Fireworks?
Long live BubbleLight!

* That's how we count now :)

Two Civil wars. One Book.

2009-05-18T23:10:00.004-04:00

I just finished the book 'Half of a Yellow Sun' by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. Imagine a smiling stranger walking upto you with a bouquet of flowers and a basket of fruits. As you stop to take in the heady aroma of fruits and flowers, as you slowly press every fruit trying to choose the ripest one to savour its delicious sweetness, a fierce blow hits you in the head. Before you can steady yourself, another strong punch rocks your foundation, your deep rooted faith in love and humanity... and that is Adichie's book.

The Nigerian Civil War wasn't something I was very familiar with before now. But the author makes you suffer the pain of the country through the experiences of her protagonists, as their idyllic life is shattered in one quiet afternoon. I liked this book more than her previous novel 'Purple Hibiscus'. There are no loose ends, the characters are well etched, not essentially rounded, but that makes them more believable.

More than anything else, this book bothered me because the Srilankan - Tamil Civil war came to an end yesterday. The suffering of the Srilankan Tamils is closer home, and it irked me to no end when none of the big news channels here in America carried any information for weeks on end. How come there are no activits protesting the civilian casualities the way so many people feel for Darfur or Palestine? And when I say activists I am looking for non- Srilankan Tamils. Why is it not a genocide when another minority is attacked under the veil of rooting out evil? I don't support the LTTE. They are a vile and terrible organisation and it is a good riddance. But sometimes what we fail to understand is when the righteous ones remain silent, the weak will follow whoever has the loudest voice.

The book is awesome. I feel for what the Nigerians had to go through. But I feel more for what the Srilankan Tamils are going through now. In some way, they are indeed my brethren. All the Tamil Nadu politicians who cried hoarse from rooftops about Eelam are now awfully quiet, either revelling in their election victory or contemplating whom to blame for the loss.

I sound so hypocritical blaming the politicians. I would press the 'Publish' button and then go back to the safe cocoon of my life. Holding my baby girl in my arms, smelling the coconut oil in her hair, nestling in the strong hold of my husband, drinking a glass of clean water, everything is a certainty in my life. And I feel ashamed I have all that and all I do as my part is shed a few tears while reading news and watching a mother howl for her lost loved ones.

Maybe it is people like me who let these atrocities and injustices continue.

I do nothing. I just sit and feel. Pain.

This Mother's Day

2009-05-10T00:09:00.002-04:00

I pledge to

wake up with you at 7.30 A.M to answer the kukol's call...smiling!
look at the food on the carpet and my clothes as food art and treasure them for your creativity.
make chasing squirrels as higher priorty to folding laundry.
sit with you to watch the moon rise and count the stars.
count my blessings by the number of times you smile and not the things I have. Though an iphone wouldn't hurt, you know!
read stories aloud to keep the monsters under the bed happy.
not kiss away your pain but give you the strength to accept the disappointments.
rejoice in your victories, even if it is as small as spelling your Amma's name right. We all know how difficult it can be!
give you the freedom to grow wings and fly. And I promise to wait by the window with a cup of chocolate milk!
be true to Kumari, even if most days she takes a backseat to being your mother.
be happy being your mother. There's nothing else more exciting!

But most importantly, I pledge to be not just the 'Mommy' you love to hug but also the Amma I long to be!

* kukol - Maye's name for sparrows, ants, squirrels :)

Cookie creases

2009-05-07T16:03:00.001-04:00

Note: They won't be 55 word reviews, as contrary to popular belief that takes longer to write than full length essays :)

The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro

- Awesome read. The book is more a character study than drama, through the eyes of an English butler as he takes a few days off to drive around the country side. The priorities in a butler's life, the unwritten codes of conduct, their expectations from their Masters, all brought out beautifully by the author in his simple narrative style. The climax was poetic. Added sensory bonus: Imagining Anthony Hopkins driving the car and narrating his entire life to me. Priceless!

The Swallows of Kabul by Yasmina Khadra (Algeria)

- Written under pen name by Algerian author Mohammed Moulessehoul, this is the first in a trilogy on Islamic fanaticism. The book is set in Afghanistan under Taleban and is about a prison guard and an educated couple whose lives are completely changed by a chance meeting. The precise writing punches you in the stomach with the destitution and hopelessness that it brings to light. Not that you hadn't read about what happened under Taleban but the stark picture he paints was so painful, I had trouble getting the burkha-clad women off my mind for days.

Boomtown: Chang's Famous Fireworks Factory by Nowen N Particular

- I picked this YA novel just for the intriguing name of its author. Sigh! I wish I could say the same for the novel. First of all, I couldn't gel with a 40 year old narrator for a book aimed at teens. The book started very well, with interesting characters that made Boomtown a fun place to be. There were even pictures of streets and buildings to make it all authentic. However in his zeal to conjure up quirky townspeople, the author let the plot take a backseat...for a really long time. For most of the story, we just keep meeting new characters throwing hen grenades, having a slug parade and scaring the bejesus out of the narrator. After a point, I closed the book and didn't pick it up until after 2 weeks and even then it was because I really wanted to know if there was indeed a plot. The author seemed to have had a sequel in mind as at times he talks about how things worked out for someone, or how he was surprised in the future but we never really hear it because it is like he says, 'another story altogether' :) I never thought I'll ever say it but I think if the author had trimmed his creative outbursts and settled on a few quirky people with a solid plot, this story would have been really good.

Oscar Wilde and A Game called Murder by Gyles Brandreth

- This was a really fun mystery story set in the Victorian period. The author fills the story with real and imaginary characters who lived during the period and were friends with Oscar Wilde. Made an interesting read as along with finding out the identity of the killer, one is taken on a ride through Victorian London, with insights into the life of people then. A good book. I quote Wilde time and again but never in my wildest dreams did I realise he was gay till this book. Something about the way Wilde talks about other young men in the book made me google him for the first time and boy! was i surprised. Now I want to read the Wilde's biography by the same author.

Ok I can't go any more. Will talk of the other books later.

Challenges covered: New Author, Orbis Terrarum

I was absent

2009-05-06T11:00:00.002-04:00

because Blogger wouldn't let me login due to some cookie issues. It was too much effort to clear cache, delete cookies blah blah. So instead I just munched cookies and read :)

So there, now you know.

Yesterday -

2009-04-24T21:45:00.003-04:00

I cooked veg Hakka noodles for lunch. The Mr and The Implet were much impressed.

Then I made veg. korma and chappathi for dinner.

Chappathi from scratch.

I felt very domesticated.

Today - Kitchen closed!

Both lunch and dinner - Eat out & Take out!

Now I feel alive. Totally!

A smack from Joe!

2009-04-09T21:42:00.008-04:00

April is apparently National Poetry month. I haven't really signed up for any of those write a poem a day marathon. Thankfully :) But when I can, I decided I shall try to post a few verses. It's been ages since I wrote a decent poem, plus the fact that all ideas seem to hit me after i've hit the bed, do nothing to improve the quality. This is my first attempt. And yeah ignore the punctuation, I'm extremely bad at it :)

For prompts go here.

Prompt: Routine

Not the alarm

or the milkmaid.

Not even the neighbour's

crazy dog

or the sparrows it chased.

It has always been

"Ammai Kaapi!" -

her very own wake up call.

"Ammai Kaapi!"

Some years on the sofa,

bleary eyed and in pigtails,

a hot tumbler of foaming love and

the lost slumber easily forgotten.

"Ammai Kaapi!"

Moments on a plastic chair

and one last gulp

trickling down the throat

like appa's advice -

a melancholy slow march.

Twenty years later

"Ammi Kaapi!"

Another day, another wake up call.

She looks at her smile,

sinfully delicious.

Her tiny hands reach out

from the crib.

Who changed the alarm?

55 WBR - The Orbis Terrarum Challenge

2009-04-08T20:46:00.008-04:00

I decided to do the Orbis Terrarum Challenge this year. I know, I can hear you complain that for a person who hates writing reviews, I seem to sign up for too many challenges. And no, the Implet isn't any well-behaved either but a girl needs to make life interesting, however miniscule the change maybe :) Please to read the rules if you want to take part.

The English Patient - Michael Ondaatje (Canada)

Totally deserves the Booker prize. A tad slow to start but keeps you engrossed once you’re in. A captivating story told in the non-linear style and filled with vivid imagery. The desert never looked as beautiful as through the English Patient’s eyes. Every character’s quirks and the way they relate to each other wonderfully captured.

Climbing the stairs - Padma Venkatraman (India)

A brilliantly written YA novel. Set in British India during the freedom struggle of the 1940s. Every habit/tradition of the Indian Brahmin household is explained in a matter-of-fact manner with no propaganda whatsoever. Loved it for bringing Chennai to my living room. Life through Vidya’s eyes is truly beautiful, even if painful at times. Awesome!

Genghis Khan - Birth of an Empire - Conn Iggulden (England)

The historical fiction that takes you on a horseback ride to

Mongolia

, makes you shiver in the bitter cold and long for airag, however atrocious it may taste. No little detail of the tribal lifestyle is missed. The book gives a whole new perspective to Genghis Khan and what it takes to be an emperor.

Challenges covered: Orbis Terrarum, New Author, War Through Generations (Climbing the stairs)

Besotted with Dark Chocolate

2009-04-06T17:06:00.006-04:00

It's been raining all afternoon. I've been sitting on my couch, munching dark chocolate and melting everytime the camera looks into Surya's eyes and Sudha Ranganathan croons 'anal melae pani thuli'. Sigh.

Romance is not just the flowery verses or the passionate kisses. It's the tingling sensation in the back of your spine as he casually tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and walks away. It's the sound of fluttering butterflies in your stomach, as you see him walk towards you, his eyes never leaving your face.

Sigh. Sigh.

Dark chocolate, rain, me and Surya :)

Repeat song : 'anal melae pani thuli'

Lost in Mail

2009-04-02T21:00:00.004-04:00

Dear You,

Today I missed you. I missed that email that you promised aeons ago but is yet to see sunlight. I miss our senseless banter about everything and nothing. I tell myself I am not the Sun in everyone's universe yet I long to be atleast like the non-existent Pluto who gets a mention once in awhile.

I am writing in a public forum as I know you will realize this is for you...you who keeps even smiles and not just tears private. I love to live my life on a stage- some parts atleast make for excellent ratings, I'm sure. It might not sound like the best idea but hey! I am not the smart one here :)

The reason I write to you is it makes me sound intellectual even when all I am blabbering is some emotional balderdash. You take all the silliness out of my ambitions; the scars from slaughterhouses may not disappear but you show me how to overlook them and move on. Smiling. It is not easy, it never is but you taught me how.

For all that you never say or do, you still make a difference. To me.

And that is why I write. Even if you don't.

Love

Nyah & The Balloon Herder

2009-04-01T13:25:00.004-04:00

The day dawned as beautiful as it can ever be for six year old Nyah. She and her Papa spent the whole day at Solberg Airport watching thousands of hot air balloons lift into the sky, like huge colourful marshmallows. It was the most breathtaking scene Nyah had ever witnessed. Also the fact she didn't have to share her darling Papa with her baby brother was an added bonus. Not that she disliked him but sometimes she wanted her Papa just for herself.

Then Papa had bought her the prettiest red balloon and the day just went from beautiful to Fantabulously Greatest Day EVER! Well, it was so until now. Nyah looked wistfully at the sky at a red speck fast disappearing into the dusk. A lone tear fell on her cheek. One moment she was holding onto her red balloon and the next, a strong gust of wind had stolen it from her small fingers. Her Red Balloon.

As she looked into the slowly darkening sky for the miraculous re-appearance of her balloon, her sad eyes saw a flickering light in the distance. For a moment Nyah forgot about her balloon and looked at the light, which much to her surprise seemed to be coming towards her. Could it be a shooting star? She opened her mouth but no words came out. The small light grew bigger and bigger and finally came in through her window, tumbling onto the floor with her.

Nyah stared in disbelief at the girl on her floor. Can girls fly? Before she could open her mouth and call for her mom, the intruder spoke.

"Water...please...water", she gasped.

Nyah finally sprang to life and got her guest the glass of water on her table. She wanted to run for help but something about the girl made her stall. She looked at her guest as she gulped down the water. She was a chubby little girl, not much older than Nyah, with a pair of pigtails tied with the flashiest pink ribbons. The girl wore a plaid skirt and white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Everything about her was plain and ordinary if only Nyah could ignore those glowing wings on her back.

"There you go. Thanks for the water," said the girl. "My name is Mayalou. I'm a herder in Loonydom."

"A what? From where? Why are you in my room?" Nyah couldn't stop the questions.

Mayalou smiled. She walked to the bed and plonked herself on it. The soft cushiony mattress moved with her and she started jumping on it.

"Hey this is fun! Whee!" shrieked Mayalou. "Can I do this again?" she asked Nyah but jumped more before there was any answer from her host.

Nyah stood flabbergasted by the door. She looked at the chubby girl jumping on her bed

"Whoopsie! Whee! Come, join me" shouted Mayalou.

Finally the little girl in Nyah gave in and soon both the girls exchanged information as they tumbled and rolled on her spring mattress.

"I am Nyah. I am six years old. I love..."

"balloons," finished Mayalou.

"How do you know that?" gasped Nyah.

"I told you. I am a herder of balloons. When The Master saw you cry as your red balloon left you, he decided to send me down to cheer you up.”

"Really? A balloon herder? Not a fairy?" Nyah tried her best to come to terms with all that she was hearing.

"Oh no! Me? A fairy?" Mayalou laughed till tears started streaming down her face.Then she continued with her story.

"Who would want to be a boring fairy? Life as a balloon herder is much funner. You see every single balloon that flies into the sky is brought home by herders like me. We nurse them, play with them and finally send them back down to another little kid."

“What games do you play with the balloons?” asked Nyah. The story was getting more interesting. Maybe she can go with this herder girl to that Loony place.

“We put them in a room with a huge fan and as they try to fly away we catch them. They love jokes so we tell them jokes and make them giggle. But these red ones are too silly. At the hint of a joke they would burst out laughing, and then we would spend hours stitching them up and filling them with air. The red ones are too much trouble, if you ask me.”

Nyah laughed aloud imagining a red balloon bursting open with laughter. She longed to see how the herders went about their jobs.

“Can I come with you? I want to see Loonydom. Papa can take me and baby in our old Chevy.”

Mayalou sighed. Sometimes she wished kids just didn’t believe in fairies and gnomes and balloon herders. But where would she be, if everyone thought a torn balloon was trash? It was kids like Nyah who kept her alive, in their hearts.

She gently took Nyah’s hands into hers.

“I’ll make you a deal. Next time you get a balloon, whisper your name into it as you set it free and I’ll come and visit you. Maybe I’ll bring some friends along and we can jump on this bed?”

It wasn't what Nyah wanted but she didn't want to lose her new friend. So she smiled and clapped her hands in glee.

“I’ll send you a balloon tomorrow.”

Mayalou smiled and slowly climbed onto the window. With one final wave, she flew into the dark sky and soon all that Nyah could see was a dull, flickering light.

Just like that, the day turned beautiful once again.

Post-Script: Maya loves balloons. Any given day, you can find atleast one balloon in our house. This story sounded a lot better when I told it to her. But when you write it down weeks after it was originally thought, all those lovely ideas don't sound as good. I guess she wouldn't mind :)

Whisper in the woods

2009-03-19T13:22:00.004-04:00

Everyone has a story to tell. Some tell it quick while others grapple with the plots. Some stories are easy to tell and easier to forget, and others linger in your hearts long after the spoken words have dissolved into ether.

Then there are the untold ones- the ones that slip between the pauses and the sighs and get lost in the crevices of life. Stories that never see the light of the day for fear of rebuke, of finding love in a bowl of soup and losing it for chopsticks. Tales of desires, ravenous as werewolves on a full moon night, starved on a diet of empty beds.

These are stories that go unnoticed...stories that remain hidden till someone softly whispers their names. Like now.

what it is being twirled around the littlest pinky...

2009-03-02T17:54:00.005-05:00

It's not easy going to bed at 12.30 A.M, waking up at 3 A.M to feed someone who just doesn't get it that she really does NOT need milk, trying to somehow get few more hours of shut-eye but still hearing the mumbled chatter from the other room and finally giving up the fight and just waking up...I don't know how I do it but most days I wonder why I do it...

Every morning as soon as you wake up, you stand in your crib and call "Amma" loudly. And when I act deaf and don't get up, you switch to your soft voice and coo "Ammi, Ammi" wth your arm outstretched to reach me... could this be it?
Nowadays when I come to pick you up, you smile ever so sweetly and say, "Amma Kaapi" and I see myself in you...maybe this?
After months of feigning nonchalance to everything I try to teach you, you looked at your favourite Pluto, pulled his ears and said "Bluto". Oh! how I trilled for hours on the phone to everyone I knew...how about that?
The way you close my mouth when I sing you a lullaby and then continue humming 'Hot cross buns' or just coo 'lalalala' in your own tune...this should be it!
How you run to the door every morning and stick your face to the glass pane as you watch your Appakins leave for work and then tell your grandparents on the phone, "Appa aapeas"...

I can go all day and still not have the best reason. And when I lie exhausted next to you after one of those middle-of-the-night meltdowns and you try to push me off the bed in your efforts to cuddle closer, all I can think of is the long sleepless night and your really stinky milky breath. But then you do something that completely takes me by surprise - you wrap one arm around my neck and smile. A smile I could die for...all while still asleep.

That I guess is why I want to do all of this. Again. Forever.

Save my heart! Save your sanity!

2009-02-24T20:47:00.004-05:00

February is Heart Health month. Mr.Monk just told me. So I shall have a cathartic rant session with my blog and hope my heart gets back to feeling all rosy and robust soon.

Being a good mother, not a great one, just a simple good mother is an extremely tortuous task. More so because you happen to be your worst critic.
I hate the fact my friends/neighbours don't drop in for a cup of tea. It's always me who has to go and meet them unless I call them all for dinner/lunch. Not that I don't want to do it but I'm still trying to manage a toddler who thinks she is on wheels and running a smooth family. I guess I am looking for re-assurance that I can be a mother and entertain friends albeit in a small way.
I hate it even more that when no one has heard from me in weeks/months it is still upto me to call and update everyone on my life or lack thereof. [Everyone who calls me might feel that way but unless they all start a blog and post so, this shall be the universal truth.]
Why is it so hard for people to understand that I do not want parenting advice? I carried her for 10 months and 5 days and went through a 55 hour labour to bring her out safe. I think I can manage now. Suggestions are a lot subtler.
The next person I meet for the first time at a social gathering whose opening line is, "So was yours Cesarean or 'normal' delivery?" will be answered with the equally important query, "So was the sex last night reverse cow-girl or just 'normal' missionary style?" Seriously! Unless we are random strangers sharing a compartment in Southern Railways trying to get through the journey with the secret knowledge we will never meet come morning, I shall not talk about birth stories or my innermost fears at our first meeting. And Cesarean is also frigging NORMAL! I didn't deliver her through my mouth.
Just because I am a stay-at-home mom doesn't mean I am not stressed. I feel it is too much to expect me to be understanding ALL the time of a working woman/man's stress. Try to differentiate one 'Amma'( I want biscuit) from the next 'Amma' (I need new diaper) to the very next 'Amma'( I just called chumma) and still wake up smiling for the 12 midnight 'Amma'.
I love you all - my family, my friends, my support group - but at times you all get on my nerves...just like I rub you all on the wrong side any given Sunday!

2009-02-21T23:18:00.002-05:00

I wanted to write a long letter to Maye...one of those beautifully crafted emotional types letter thingy...full of sagely wisdom, witticisms and such. That's when I realised, writing a letter to your daughter on a public forum, makes it just that, 'a crafted piece'. As much as you try to justify its sincerity, it is still a performance on stage done mainly for applause and so I gave up. Someday, I'll emerge from under the dirty diapers and mounds of laundry and pen it down the old-fashined way. Till then, I shall write and re-write it in my head as I slowly drift off to sleep.

Now I'm tired.

Let me sleep.

55 WBR - Three many books to list

2009-02-18T11:36:00.004-05:00

The Secret Life of Bees - Sue Monk Kidd

Bee-autiful. The no-frills writing brings enough tenderness to this strong emotional tale of a teenager’s search of her mother’s past in the backdrop of racial tension. Like the scent of the earth hours after the rain has stopped, Lucy lingers on your mind long after her story has been told. That is an extraordinary feat!

The Book of Lost things - John Connolly

An incredibly engrossing find. With its insane twists to every known fairy tale, the story hooks you from the moment David hears voices till his adventures end. There are moments of morbidity but which coming-of-age story isn’t? Author could’ve toned down portions on adult David’s life. It made one miss the high of the adventure.

The Hours - Michael Cunningham

Why Pulitzer? For a very thin book, it took me ages to finish. The style of writing was too convoluted for me to grasp the crux of the novel, if any. Too much importance on kisses between girls/women for some arbit reason. Liked the way the three characters come together. An ordinary read for me.

55 Words Book Review - Purple Hibiscus

2009-02-13T11:54:00.003-05:00

Okay since I had been postponing writing reviews for a long time, I tried to make it interesting by doing it in 55 words. That way it serves as a writing exercise for me too.

Purple Hibiscus - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

The coming-of-age tale of fourteen year old Kambili. Powerful, lyrical prose that brings

Nigeria

into your living room – the scents, sounds and tastes. But apart from Kambili and her tyrant father no other character is strongly etched. Jaja’s and her mother’s actions sudden and unexplained. The climax leaves an insipid taste. Yet I loved the book.

Read for New Author Challenge

To read a review that starkly differs from mine go to Ramya's page.

Karma Sutra - A modern day fable

2009-01-29T00:08:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time in WinterWonderland, there lived a littleGirl who refused to grow up, which was just as well because grown-ups never did anything fun. The littleGirl lived with a littleBoy she played games with. Ofcourse, being just the two of them and lots of snowy emptiness, they just played indoors. Soon a littleBaby joined their tiny household and made it one giant funhouse!

With each passing day the littleGirl found herself swamped by feeding schedules, waste management, and The Holy War against the common cold epidemic. The littleBoy spent his time minting money to sponsor the littleGirl's activities. So when did that leave them with time to play? Never.

The littleGirl wondered if this maternal gig was really for her. She missed every bargain sale which let me tell you is really bad for any girl. And then there were those lost drives around an empty town for a midnight icecream and snoozing under the covers until the Sun was high in the sky. Plus all work and no play would make even theCreator grouchy.

Sometime the littleGirl wished she was surrounded by a bevy of servants and nannies...people to take care of her every whim and the littleBaby. Then she would have ample time to sprawl on a couch and watch the littleBaby play while someone else attended her. Oh! how she longed for an extra hour of sleep. She cribbed, sighed and cried for a miracle.

Then one day the littleFamily went to a party. After hours of nonstop music, some mundane conversations and lots of great food they came home tired but giggly that they still had a social life. Unbeknownst to them another guest had tagged along - a very stinky virus from a very bad cough.

First the littleBaby decided to befriend the guest inspite of her mother's Cold War. The littleGirl followed her with the A Big Flu. And just like that her dream came true.

As she sat quarantined in another room, the littleBoy did everything for his littleBaby and his littleGirl. And he did it great. The littleGirl couldn't kiss the littleBaby, or hug or touch. If she did have to carry her she had to wash her hands twice and wear The Ugly Mask. The littleGirl now did have all day to sleep and laze but the chills and aches did little to help her along that way.

As she watched the littleBaby babble to the littleBoy, she realized what she had once thought as overwhelming was all she ever wanted...to hug the littleBaby, smell her milky sweetness, change her diapers, listen to her laughter, have a mock fight when she bites...she wanted it all.

She wanted it ALL!

Moral of the story:

Be wary of your deep desires. They just might come true and bite you in the ass!