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?

In all our glory...

I was channel hopping the other day when I saw a streaker run across the cricket grounds while India and Australia pitted against each other. It must have been a good laugh for the players and the spectators watching him and all his glory being dragged away from the public eye.

That's when it struck me..the public eye. What really separates us from the streaker? Is it not just our means of gaining the public eye....our way of getting noticed. How different is that from show-casing ourselves at work or climbing on the stage to act, sing or speak or for that matter writing a blog. At the end of the day, aren't we all seeking our own unique space under the sun, our one moment in time?

From one generation to another...

With the backdrop of the Pakistani elections, Karan Thapar in his 'Sunday Sentiments' last week, spoke about how India and Paksitan are separated by a shared history. To quote him, "India and Pakistan are different countries with rivalries, animosities and a thousand misunderstandings. Yet we have a lot more in common than most people realise....I mean (India and Pakistan have in common) the qualities that define the sort of people we are and will become...There is a new generation of Pakistanis who want to break with the past and create a new country. They are proud to be Pakistani, confident of their talents, eager for the good life and free of any burden of history. Doesn't that sound like young India?".

This post is not about India or Pakistan but it is about the last few lines, and how we, as a generation are proud, confident, don't carry any burdens from the past and most of all are eager for a bright future. Most of us have been fortunate enough to have had 'peace-time' lives by virtue of being born in the right country, at the right place, at the right time. Any wars and unrest we have witnessed have been at the safe distance of the TV, in books and in stories that have been passed on through generations.

In fact war, peace, unrest, violence and all things dark and macabre have just been fleeting thoughts in my mind. I've briefly seen the negative face of mankind on TV and in magazines, shuddered and switched channels or turned the page. If a second thought has ever crossed my mind, I've shut it out or dislodged it and gotten back into my own bubble gum existence.

I have a 9 month old baby and at this stage, children are extremely aware of their surroundings and wonder at the tiniest of things. As my child points out in amazement at simple things like the trees, birds, grass, insects, the fan, cars, people and shops, a thought crosses my mind; every time she points and I tell her what it is, I am fortunate that I can show her beautiful things. There is a soft, vulnerable feeling that rises in my throat, one of being responsible for bringing a life into this world....and as a parent, I want my child's world to always be a beautiful wonderland. For the first time, for a brief moment, I relate to the phrase and ponder over, "what kind of world are we leaving for our children".

It is in this brief moment that will pass before I realise, I say a silent thanks to God for peace-times where I am and a thanks to earlier generations for having secured peace for us.... and I wish it for many a generation to come.

Sold! The IPL bazaar.

This is my first post so I'm not really sure how you are meant to start off. Do I write a "Hi", "Hello" or do I welcome you? Not sure so hello, hi and welcome and here goes.

I've been reading, watching and hearing a lot about the crores of rupees that our cricketers have been 'auctioned for'. I'm generally the sort of person who does not have much of an apetite for numbers and often wonder how many zeros a crore has (though I definitely know that a million has six, beyond which the confusion starts). I came across this interesting article on the IBN Live site about "Cricket's Big Bazaar" and it ocurred to me that it's true that Indians are no longer shy talking about money and money does not seem to be a dirty word anymore. But what surprised me was when I saw "Dhoni sold for 6 crore", splashed over my tv screen and newspaper. I am sure that 6 crore in anyone's bank account would feel great, but what I do want to question is, was Dhoni himself sold for 6 crore or was his cricket or the brand that Dhoni has become.....or is India heading towards a culture where such a distinction between selling yourself and your services really does not matter?
http://www.ibnlive.com/blogs/rajdeepsardesai/1/50320/crickets-big-bazaar.html