How it all began...

It's hard to count the number of times I have written something down here only to delete it letter by letter. Bloody backspace key. I wonder if I would do so much striking out if I were to write by pen on paper.
But darling daughter, it is always tough to write about you...to you...for you.
Somehow i feel tongue-tied and I want to run upstairs and sit by your bedside and listen to your loud breathing...just to make sure that I am not dreaming.
 That my Maya is not an illusion but mine to hold, to rock, to giggle with and at times to argue with too.


I have been wanting to write down your cute antics, the way you still say 'Siglan' and not 'signal'...the way you believe volcanoes spit smiley faces and how when you go to Africa to see one both you and the volcano will exchange spit and you'll come back with smiley faces. Seriously if I didn't hear it with my own ears, I would assume somebody was making all this up.

I love that you can always sense that I am frustrated and angry...at times I am too pig-headed to notice your charming way of making me come out of that rut. I am sorry. This year I hope to change that...mind you, i say hope, there are no guarantees. Well when 'a girl who refuses to grow up' has a daughter who is just like her, it does seems like two 4-yr olds are squabbling over a pink unicorn :)


As a young woman I carried this image of myself as this perfect mom...i have no clue what the characteristics of that 'ideal mom' is but everyday I beat myself up for not being worthy enough to wear that badge...but this past weekend changed all that.


Mayalou, I maybe a grouch at times; I might scream at you over a glass of spilt milk and send you off to your room when you grumble about my parenting skills; I might very easily get frustrated when you say 'One last question' for the millionth time and refuse to answer it;  I might make you cry by not buying those $40 sparkly shoes at the mall; I might not read you that 5th story at bed time but I know I've done good when I see you build fairy gardens and believe in magic.


Because Maya dearest, you are Magic!

New Year Resolution that never left paper

This New Year I was watching Monk and when Randy Disher talked about his epiphany, I had mine too -
Happiness is a choice.
Two and half months later I am yet to make that choice.

Life intervened.

I am not saying I never tried. There was this one week in mid-Jan when I was really relaxed and smiled my way through everything. Even when I didn't want to smile I atleast did not growl and grunt.
But it stopped with that week.

Maybe I'll have better luck rest of this month.

And to help me with this, everyday I am going to post something I am happy about, thankful for in my life.
Yes yes, one of those zillion boring snippets of my life but then I don't want to be this 'angry young woman' self for the rest of my life.

I fail to enjoy The Implet counting cracks on the pavement and instead concentrate on the fact that she's wasted 10 minutes of my time when I could be elsewhere... doing what you ask? chores, what else!
I fail to pick up Paco who's trying his best to climb up my leg and instead stare into the laptop and whine about how I am always running to catch up.
I fail to appreciate The Implet's new found tastes in food and instead gripe that she refuses to eat what I cook and hence making my life difficult.

In short, there are just too many moments I fail to appreciate and treasure for what they really are - Life's gifts to me.

So here's to seeing the glass half full - always!

Trying to shout...silently

It's not that I don't visit this page. I login every single day, write a paragraph and then diligently delete it letter by letter. Everything sounds so contrived and forced, of late. Am I writing for my pleasure or for an audience?

I guess that's the problem with blogs. It all starts with you and then slowly the lines blur and it morphs into a being kept alive solely for an audience. Or maybe not. I don't know.


Did I tell you I am caught in intricate web spun by an illusion I so lovingly created?
Well, now you know.
Most days all I want to talk about is how funny and beautiful the world looks when seen through the eyes of an exuberant toddler. She is more witty than I imagined she would be, making us laugh even when all we ever want to do is tear our hair out and run far away from the mess.

I would love to talk about the way my heart flutters everytime The Blob kicks, be it for Dora's voice or Mayalou's laugh. Or simply because Amma decided to sit instead of walk around 24/7.

By the time I try to choose between the stories I have running in my head, the moment passes me by and they cease to be pertinent...to the rest of the world atleast. So I remain silent.
One day, I might decide to wake up from this dream and tell it all.

For the moment, I plan to sit on the couch, watch Maye do her Robot dance while shouting "Amma padathe. Chidamakumayee padathe" and feel The Blob join the big sister in a new fangled version of the tap dance.

The Date

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.