Celebrating a blue day......

I was dropping Bhavisha off to school this morning where they were celebrating 'blue day'. This generated quite a buzz in the Jha household, on what was otherwise a very 'everyday' sort of day. We pulled out Bhavi's new blue top from the wardrobe. She rummaged for her blue watch and matched a blue hairband and blue clips to it (the joy of having a little girl :).

She was looking quite edible so I clicked a snap of her as we approached school. Bhavi's teachers were standing with wide smiles at the entrance, which was decorated with blue balloons and streamers. The teachers themselves looked fresh and sparkling in their blue dresses, as they greeted each child with a bright 'good morning- you're looking cute...lovely..wonderful...'

It struck me, how celebrations are not just about 'special' days. Each day is special- another day in the unfolding of life itself. Like a gift wrapped; a layer to be removed each day, knowing that the joy is in the unwrapping and not what we'll find inside. Celebrating is an integral part of life. Recognizing what we can celebrate is an art, a way of life, because it means we are grateful for what we have.

Earlier in the morning, before getting ready for 'blue day', Shashank and I had been reflecting on how fast this week had flown by and I thought how it felt like nothing had moved forward.

However, energy and excitement are contagious and 'blue day' made me less blue! I walked back home thankful for the sun that shone after weeks of hiding, for the cool breeze against my face, for wellbeing, for the birds singing and the greenery around me, for exciting possibilities.

Life is the celebration. What are you thankful for today? What can you celebrate in this moment?

Inside-out.....

The weather is one thing that prompts me to write. Good weather always encourages some sort of reflection. It’s not sunny. It’s cool but at lunchtime, it feels like a crisp, fresh morning. This for some reason takes me back to a journey in January.

Pd, Bhavi and I were traveling to Mumbai from Patna by train. It was a two-night journey. Our train from Patna station left past 12am. It was winter at it’s coldest and we were wrapped up in more layers than we could count. Had we been dressed in red, we could’ve given Santa a run for his money. Like us, our suitcases were also over-stuffed. Bhavi was asleep so she was another bundle (of joy:) that we were carrying.

If you’ve lived in Bihar in non-Nitish times, you will relate to a sense of threat that places like the station evoke (or anywhere else for that matter) at such odd hours in the a.m. So I think that suspicion was something we were holding onto as we got out of the car to the station. Pd was carrying his valuables (Bhavi and I- not the suitcases, please). I think he had a scowl on his face so that he looked adequately scary to someone who might think of misbehaving. I, being a typical protective mother had a scowl on my face- against the weather- should Bhavi catch a cold through what was visible of her in her woolens. We proceeded to haggle with the porters who were charging three times as was reasonable to help us with our luggage. We felt a general feeling of mistrust- they did not know which platform the train would arrive at.

Maybe it was the darkness, the chill, the stress of hoping that we would get on the train on time or knowing that we would have to wait on the bridge and then rush down with only 15mins in hand - but we seemed to be more wary of those around, than usual. I blew out a warm cloud of mist from my mouth into the cold air, and thought, ‘should we have booked flight tickets?…we had thought a train would be more reliable in the fog….’. We continued to walk with our guards up, trudging up the railway stairs, trying to keep up with the gentlemen and our suitcases. Trying to remember that we needed to pick up drinking water before we got on the train. Trying to cover Bhavi’s ears that kept wriggling out of her cap.

As we walked down the stairs, senses alert, someone kept calling out from behind. At first we didn’t hear. Then we didn’t think that someone was calling us. When we turned around, a man rushed down the stairs. He pulled out a hand from his thin shawl, held out a piece of folded paper. He asked us if it was ours. As we took it from him, we realized it was the print out of our tickets….. This gentleman had seen it fall from Pd’s pocket and had walked a considerable way, out of his way, trying to give it back to us. At that point, we could’ve hugged him!

Also at that point it struck me how easy it is for us, like in warm clothing, to get wrapped up in our own selves. While defenses often protect us, they also stop us from seeing the whole picture. I’ve been hearing a lot lately that our external world is a mirror of our internal world; of what’s going on inside us. Sometimes everything looks threatening and non- welcoming. But on a cold night, when we see through the cloud of mist that we’ve blown, we see things more clearly.

We sat safely and snugly on the train after that…trusting that all was well in the world and that wonderful people surrounded us. And guess what? We kept on bumping into the most helpful people all the way to Mumbai!

Of magic and miracles

This is after a gap of many years...... but, as always, straight from the heart.....

I had a nice feeling at Madurai airport, at the end of an exciting, refreshing little holiday with Bhavi and my parents. The airport comfortably merged into beautiful, blue mountains. We reached early and after what felt like many years, I had time to browse through a bookstore. Sometimes we find what we want when we haven’t even been searching for it. I found Tao Te Ching. I remember hearing of the book and noting that maybe I’d read it. The little red-black book of ancient wisdom rested on the display shelves outside the bookshop in sleepy, idyllic Madurai. I think sometimes books choose their readers.

The journey back to Mumbai was not without the inconveniences of wrongly issued boarding tickets and baggage traveling without us but I felt a sense of well-being just holding Tao Te Ching! As darkness now enveloped us, we waited for the aircraft to take off. I feel take-offs and landings are moments of reflection for travelers. My mind was full of questions about the direction I’ve chosen for my life; about choices and not knowing whether they are the right ones. It was a moment of self-doubt. I peeked out of the oval window and my thoughts were interrupted by a picture floating into my mind- actually a satellite picture doing the rounds on the Internet, of India on Diwali night. India sparkling with fireworks.

To my disbelief, as we took off and I watched Madurai shrinking below us, fireworks shot up like tiny fountains and bouquets. Maybe India had won a match! I saw more fireworks as we landed and then took off in transit at Chennai. More fireworks exploded as we landed in Mumbai. From above, there was no noise, no smoke, just a dazzling celebration, fizzing in and out of existence. I didn’t bother to find out whether there had been a match. For me, the co-incidence was the universe speaking to me; assuring me of my well-being. All was well and as it was meant to be.

As I sat in the flight, I clutched onto the ancient master, Lao Tzu’s book and checked on Bhavi who was holding a crossword for children. (She can’t do crosswords yet, but loves recognizing letters). There was only one word filled in her crossword. It said ‘master’. I smiled at the book in my lap. The moment was magical and perfect.

The wonder years.....

PD and I are two very different personalities (He's the rock star of the house and I love being invisible sometimes), but we have some things in common; we're both the sentimental sorts... generally the type who love films about kids, can cry through entire movies and whose favourite de-stressors are the series of Friends and when in a more retrospective mood, the Wonder Years.  

One particular episode of the Wonder Years comes to mind as I watch my daughter run around in circles, waiting to get dizzy. It's the one where seven or eight year old Kevin learns to play the piano, is encouraged by parents and the teacher but gradually becomes demotivated as he feels others are better at it than him; he ends up leaving the piano (though he enjoys it and has the potential to play beautiful music) and sticking with football. Adult Kevin looks back and says that when we were kids, we had a bit of everything in us.. musician, mathematician, astronaut, scientist, sportsperson, artist, poet...it's only as we  'grew up', that we started  letting go of them one by one, when self- limiting thoughts got the better of us. 

That's a powerful thought that rings true for most of us..... think of the many possibilities that we might have convinced ourselves, were not meant for us. (This carries on into adult life aswell, and deserves another blog post, doesn't it?)

I feel privileged and mighty nervous sometimes, as a parent, that after my own wonder years (and the missed piano lessons that go with it),  I have the wonder years to navigate with my daughter. She's 18 months old  now, my little musician (she sings to herself when she plays); mathematician (she knows her ek, do, paanch, teen, aath); astronaut ( flies around weightless while I try and cushion her); scientist (explores anything and everything, while I fly around - not weightless- behind her); sportsperson (she packs a mean punch and plays ball); artist ( you get washable crayons thank god); poet (am sure she's working on that one too).

As an 18 month old parent, I love making space for her, for possibilities to be everything.  But there is a little tug in my heart as I watch her play and  realise that as she grows up and 'socialises' in a world that's not always as kind as mamma and PD- papa, she too will have her fair share of missed piano lessons. It's then I realise that we will only be able to create possibilities for some time, in the room we've made for her, where her world is full of bumble bees, rabbits and 'goddies' (the barking sort). In the Wonder Years, mamma and PD-papa will always be there, while she figures herself out and hopefully becomes everything she wants and more.....

The waiting game.....

It's a Monday afternoon. My baby is sleeping and the house is quiet. I've got a cup of coffee on my table. It's drizzly and beautiful outside of my window and the birds seem to be celebrating. It's perfect. There's so much to listen to even when it's silent. So much to see, even if I'm sitting in the same place everyday. How come I don't see it that way all the time?

Of late I've been pondering: what do we spend most of our lives doing? At the risk of generalising, it occurred to me that despite always being busy, we spend a lot of our time, if not most of it, 'waiting'. It starts off with waiting (and working towards) good exam results. Then admission into a prestigious college. A grand entrance into a profession of choice. We then wait for Mr./ Ms. Right to strut right along. Wait for marriage. Wait for the promotion that was promised. Wait for an enviable bank balance. Wait to plan a family. Holidays and travel. Wait for a better job, a better house, better home help...a better life...

And sooner than we know it, we 've accomplished something- a career, a family and if we're lucky, maybe both. But we don't feel accomplished enough. For some reason, life has become extremely complex. We have more than our fair share with respect to most around, yet there is this niggling restlessness....

Maybe it is the incessant waiting for 'something big' to happen that creates the 'unhappiness' - the reason why we never really like our jobs, don't like having to decide what to cook for dinner or being stuck with the washing or running around after the family. Maybe it's because we've lost track of what we're waiting for that we lose patience with loved ones.

It occurs to me that in our preoccupation with what we could be doing instead of what we are doing, we ride roughshod on our own lives and the things that matter the most. When there is no time, we wish we could travel, paint, sleep for hours in the afternoon, nod off over a good book, do pottery or play with pets and laugh with kids. But when there is time, we feel we should be doing something more worthwhile. But whose idea of worthwhile is it?

Somewhere there is a need to stop. Pause. Be silent. Realise that this is life. The everyday, maybe sometimes mundane is what life is all about. The sun is shining. The rain is still beautiful. The trees are a lovely shade of green. The breeze still feels nice. Something as simple as going to the gym and listening to good music on the treadmill can be a high point. It's alright to stop worrying and waiting.

Maybe life is not about 'arriving' and I may be forgiven for the cliche; maybe it is about the journey. Life could possibly be about 'being in the moment' (another cliche?); sharing a joke with a friend/ husband or wife; about paying complete attention when a child smiles at us; about stopping to say hi to a neighbour or even taking our dog for a walk. Maybe it's about singing along terribly to a favourite song or taking time out to talk to one person who we otherwise would not notice. Maybe it's about meeting each new day knowing that we can see life through the eyes of one more person.

In fact it's quite liberating to think that life is not always about that 'big something' or the extraordinary but it is the sum total of all the ordinary, small things put together-the brush strokes that create the whole picture in it's full magnificence.

I could take a leaf out of my daughter's book. She plays all day- that's her work. When she sees someone she loves, she laughs out loud as if she's seen them after years, even though it's been just ten minutes. She looks at everything around her, as if for the first time, marvelling at each sight, sound and smell. My almost 14 month old daughter- knows what life is all about.

A bout of forgetfulness.....

My husband told me that most people stop blogging after 4 posts ; he quickly posted a couple more to reach the magic number of 6, just in case he stops blogging in the near future...he hates conforming you see. I realise that i am on my 5th post and have been positioned so, for quite some time. I also realise that i have been competely reflection-less of late...but this is something i wanted to share- it's scribblings from my pregnancy (December 2006), somewhere around the 5th month, one morning, when i was struggling to get to work. For those who don't know, pregnancy can cause forgetfulness and muddling up of the mind (those close to me believe that this is the permanent state of my mind and in no way related to pregnancy!)

Hope you enjoy this. I certainly wish i had written more when i was expecting. Next time maybe!

"I finally did get out of the house this morning---at 10am...I'd been trying to lock the door since 9.45.
I got out, locked the door, got in the lift and waited to go downstairs- i waited....and waited some more....meanwhile I remembered that I'd forgotten to take my medicines.....so i decided that I'd go back to the 6th floor to get them. That's when I realized that we'd never left the 6th floor.
No sweat- it happens.People do forget to press the keys in the lift.
I then got out of the lift and opened the door, rummaged around for the keys- after trying all the keys I managed to get in the house again.
Thought I'd save time so just packed my medicines in my bag....noting to myself that I should not forget the keys on my way out.
Great. I got out of the house and carefully remembered to lock the lock. And awesome- the lift was still in the 6th floor.
Oops.But what's this? My wallet was not in my bag. Ok... so i go through half the keys again to open the door. The girl next door (yes PD they're still there) asked if she should still hold on to the lift. I asked her to go ahead- why delay her, haina.
So now I'm inside the house to check if I've left the wallet on the shoe rack. No it's not there. What's this under my arm then?......Now slightly flustered, i grab my wallet from my armpit and get the hell out of the house
Lock the door. Get in the lift. Press "G", make sure i have my wallet and keys in the wallet and the wallet in the bag.
As you can imagine, I took the cab to office today..a pregnant girl has to make up for lost time right?
Quizzically your's.
p.s. By the way, Amrita from my department saw me for the first time in weeks, today. she says.."you're looking adorably cute.....you were really thin before weren't you?" What does that mean? Am i cute or fat or both?!? "

A class apart?

I changed my blog ID from my name to me-and-erring, a clever twist on meandering, thought out by my husband. But when I think about it, of late the name often portrays how I feel. As I take a break from the daily humdrum of regular work life, leaving an existence on the highway and move into irregular work life from home (and the lessening of my social web- often its just my baby and I climbing around in the web), to an existence in the service or even by-lane, I see life and hear conversations from an observer's perspective.

I don't remember what we used to talk about when we were in college or growing up, but from conversations, I distinctly get the feeling that we have grown up. From now on when I use the term 'we', I use it very loosely. I am a part of the 'we' in some contexts and a mere spectator in others (where I am totally left behind and actually "me-and-erring").

I notice that of late, as a peer group we finally seem to be getting a hold on finances or at least giving it importance. The budget interests us; we see ourselves as tax-payers. We see the value in buying a house or investing in property; we don't want to pay rent anymore. We are concerned when the stock market crashes. We figure that instead of buying this or that we could invest the same amount. All in all what seemed very boring at one time, is well....what we now talk about.

That's alright, but often have you noticed that a little devil called snobbery, whether we realise it nor not, ever so subtly pops it's head in, . "Where did you buy that house? In the suburbs? Hmm..we were thinking we'll take the plunge for one in South Mumbai/ Delhi. You haven't bought a plasma TV yet? I guess our 'double income' helps....Haven't you planned that foreign holiday yet....check out my pics on orkut..the one in the Swiss Alps...you should do it sometime... ...I mostly fly business class...I cashed in on my accumulated miles....Its so difficult breaking off from work; my blackberry doesn't help."

I wonder whether it is this innocent banter and sharing of the latest in our lives that later on creates barriers in allowing a broader set of people into our little coterie. Does this lead to a 'class - consciousness' that we didn't recognise earlier when we were in school, college and in the earlier years of work life? Is this how stereotypes are formed?........Is this growing up?