TGIF #3: Breaking Dawn

First, a disclaimer to all Twilight fans. No I will NOT be thanking God for the Twilight series.

Second, a disclaimer to my parents, brother, husband and in-laws who might be reading this post. I know that you all would probably roll your eyes heavenwards and burst out laughing if I say that I am going to write about dawn. But please bear with me.

As I have said before I love my beauty sleep and am no early-riser. The warm bed, the cozy blankets, the soft pillow - all hold me in their loving trance and I have to try mighty hard to untangle myself from their comforting embraces. In fact, many times, I have felt relieved that I didn't have a Hindu wedding. As many Tamil Hindu weddings take place really early in the morning, surely I would have fallen asleep while the mangalsutra is being tied ;-) Usually my mood is pretty sour if I am woken up early-which is hardly ever and then too only upon force under dire circumstances. But maybe, it is precisely because of the fact that I experience the breaking of dawn so rarely, that I also appreciate the inherent beauty of it.

I believe that living in glass enclosed spaces in high-rises cuts one off from the changes that happen ever so subtly during the break of a new day. After all sitting in an air-conditioned room with the curtains closed – who can say what time of day it is without looking at the clock? One can perhaps, hope to catch a glimpse of a new day if you are blessed with a balcony or private terrace or simply lean out of the windows. But if I close my eyes and think about breaking dawn, here are some of the associated things that pop into my mind’s eye.

A sense of the whole earth being slowly nudged awake by a cool, refreshing breeze, not yet warmed up by the Sun and not yet sullied by grimy exhaust fumes. The Sun itself, creeping stealthily above the horizon, sending out testy feeler-rays in advance, to check if indeed all is well. The skies transforming from an inky blue-black to deep oranges and golden yellows, couching the promise of a colourful day in dreamy, wispy clouds. Wise crows, cawing raucously and going about their business intently, bent on proving to everyone that early birds do indeed catch the worms. The mystical and melodious “ko-kooo!” of the koel hidden in the gently rustling leaves of the neighbourhood trees. Squirrels squeaking loudly, friskily jumping about and bounding off helter-skelter with their bushy tails held up disdainfully. The “krrr krrr!” of stick-brooms sweeping away debris at every doorstep, followed by quick, short “chalap chalap!” of water being splashed about accompanied by the intoxicating smell of damp earth.

A pressure cooker whistling merrily in the distance, signaling to a busy mom getting her child frantically ready for school, that the idlis are done for breakfast. The “triiingg triiingg!” of the newspaper delivery boy’s cycle bell as he goes around hurtling newspapers like deadly hand grenades. The gruff “kaaaiii mmmmaaa kaaaiiiii!” of the vegetable vendor who comes visiting with her basket of fresh vegetables balanced precariously on her head and a voice grown coarse over years of such shouting. The "tink tink tinkling" of prayer bells shaking vigorously by a devotee, as if he is trying to awaken God himself, afraid that his prayers might fall on sleeping ears. The aroma of fresh brewed filter coffee. Straining your ears involuntarily to listen to that faint sound of a song playing in someone’s house or in the nearby tea shop, which then proceeds to lodge adamantly in your brain, repeating itself over and over in a never-ending loop.

And then suddenly, in the blink of an eye, everything vanishes. School buses come rudely blowing their horns and stepping on the accelerators, people rush off hurriedly to their respective jobs, the Sun blazes down from a clear blue sky so angrily that even the few gentle clouds have been scared away, the air grows increasingly humid, heavy and hot, squeezing out tiny drops of perspiration on your forehead, the newspapers whose folds where not disturbed even by grenade-throwing actions, now lie sadly in a crumpled and soiled heap, the idlis and coffee are long gone with only dirty tumblers and plates with remnants of tiny, white idli crumbs and chutney smears remaining to prove that they ever existed in the first place.

As if by magic. As if it was all only an illusion created by an evil temptress to trick you into believing that for a moment there you were in Paradise, when in reality you were just another mere mortal, placed on this earth for purposes yet unknown.

But fret not. Because no matter how improbable it may seem, somehow, somewhere, there will always be a fresh start, a new beginning. There will always be a new dawn that reaches out and touches you and simply speaks to your soul, in a language that has no words; filling you with hope, reinforcing your beliefs and reassuring you of the goodness and greatness of God. In Scarlett O'Hara's words, "Tomorrow is another day".

Thank God for every new dawn!

Okay, now let me go and brush my teeth.

Image Courtesy: Dreamstime.

Yip, Yap & Yippity Yap!

I was reading an old blog post of an old friend of mine here. And I couldn't stop myself nodding to her words (Although the main subject of her post is something else - which I intend to blog about in a separate post.) She mentioned that she is bad in the art of small talk. Same here. I simply suck at small talk. Don’t get me wrong - by no means am I a silent person; although I may seem so at first, once I get to know someone really well, nothing can keep me from yapping away. Ask my husband or my close friends-they probably have a part of their ear missing by now ;-) I have spoken for hours together over the phone, much to the irritation of my parents. My friends and I have chatted away into the wee hours of the night not even realizing the time. When I was small, my only worry when my parents came to school was that my teachers would complain that I was too talkative. In fact, that was indeed the only complaint against me for a long time.(Oh that and my math skills-but that’s a story for another day.) Many a time my poor mother, at her wits end has snapped “Can you just keep quiet for some time?” My husband on the other hand, just gives me an exasperated look and listens. Well, mostly.

Anyway the point is I have a lot to say. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here blogging would I? But small talk? Uh-huh. I honestly envy people who seemingly, can carry on conversations with others whom they met barely a few minutes back – about everything and anything. Many people have told me, that they often see me smiling. The simple reason behind that is – I have no idea what else to do. I answer whatever I am asked and I might even throw back the same question with “and u?” and nod my head at the answer. Beyond that I am clueless. On countless occasions I have racked my brains to say something interesting. Or just plain something. But no - my mind stubbornly resists and turns up it's nose at me. In fact, I think I have hardly ever initiated a conversation with anyone; it is generally the other person who starts first. I am usually comfortably lost in my own thoughts.

In earlier days young women used to be instructed in the art of small talk as it was considered to be a beneficial social grace to possess. Hostesses who could entertain their guests with their small talk were greatly admired. Hmm... Looks like I need to find out some such course and get myself enrolled in one ASAP.

P.S: I shall hold a seat for you too Neeru ;-)

Image Courtesy: www.dreamstime.com

A Letter….. From a Mother to a Daughter

My dearest chickoo,

Today, our neighbor Swetha delivered a baby girl. Mother and child are doing fine. I had gone to visit them. Seeing that cute little miracle reminded me of the very first day I held you in my hands. Oh you smelt so sweet! The fragrance of pure, unadulterated Innocence.
You clasped my hand with your tiny fingers. Even the most expensive silk, the lightest feather or softest fur could not be compared. Something stirred in the very depths of my heart. Was this what they call ‘Love at first sight?’ I wondered.

With every small step you took, with every teensy inch you grew, with every fussy mouthful you ate, with every wink you slept, with every new word you spoke I fell more and more in Love with you. Your divine face was what I saw every time I was tired or weary. I plodded through my average job in a average day, in the hope of seeing your sunny smile in the evening when I returned home. It helped me bear my superiors’ egos, the crowded buses, the hot afternoon sun, the mornings when my body begged for a few more minutes of blessed sleep, the times when my Vanity wanted to throw away some money on that beautiful sari instead of buying you some sweets or trinkets or dolls and so much more. A lifetime of mediocrity was made brilliant only by your presence.

As days went by, you grew and blossomed into such a beautiful person-both inside and outside. I could see the envy in everyone’s eyes, but you always treated them kindly.

Is that what you found finally unbearable my dear one? To be kind and gentle in such an unkind and harsh world? Could you not bear to see the Beauty inside you rusted and corroded by this unfair Life? Could you not tolerate the destruction of the dreamy, ideal world that you built, by the uncaring people you met?
Could you not find one soul who could help you?
When you were young, you fell down often. You always used to come crying and running to me with a bruised knee. You trusted that I could wipe away your tears and heal your wounds- Could you not have trusted me to at least soothe, if not heal, your broken spirit? Could you not see the one person who would have forgiven you of anything, absolved you of everything and loved you with all her existence no matter what?
Why did you not confide in me my angel? Why did you not pause, one moment, on that beautiful November evening to spare a single thought for your mother?
What were you so afraid of that you had to leave me in eternal agony?
I lived for you-is that why I deserve this cruel punishment?
When your tender leg kicked my womb, I delighted in it; When your rosebud lips spat out food at me I wiped it away without complaining; When you were angry with me childishly, I bore it; When you were ashamed of my hugs in front of your teenaged friends, I just smiled to myself. I only wanted the best for you. Were these my mistakes? Was I a failure as a Mother? Is that why you decided to push me away and desert me forever?

So many questions.
But the only answer I get, no matter how persistently I ask them, is Silence.

When I hear of Mother’s Day and Daughter’s Day and even Valentine’s Day I think of you, my lost Love. When my colleagues’ daughters get married, I am haunted by the dreams I once had dreamt for you. When I see a mother and daughter shopping together or enjoying a movie or sharing a joke over some coffee I miss you. The womb that housed you has shriveled up, the heart that beat for you is aching, the shoulders that you slept on are heavy, the hands that cradled you are limp and the Life that you lit up is now dark and empty.
I never knew why you quit that fateful day and will never know either.

Sweetheart I can no longer cry; all I can do is wonder.

With Love,
Mommy.

BLACK!

Had just taken the day off and was sitting at home doing nothing and so deceided to blog about Black- not about the movie Black but rather about about my favourite colour!
Black is popularly associated with the Devil and Dark Deeds. Afterall how many demonic witches and mean villains have we seen flaunting black! There are a lot of superstitions surrounding black- if a black cat crosses your path its bad luck, if you happen to see a totally black raven its supposed to signal sorrow, a black dot is supposed to ward off dhrishti etc! It seems there is even a ritual practiced in Palakkad for pregnant women, which involves the lady all dressed in black! In fact it usually symbolizes mystery and the unknown but for me it epitomizes simple elegance and confident style. Every time I go shopping I invariably choose some black dress or other at once - much to my mom’s consternation! She doesnt allow me to wear black on any auspicious occasion :-(
But seriously I believe that very few things could be more calming than gazing onto a black velvet night sky, studded with a thousand stars winking back at you and a shy moon playing peek-a-boo!
Black looks black coz it absorbs all the light without reflecting anything back.
And also it’s the best heat emitter. Now try wearing black on a hot summer’s day! Whewwww!
Black has a lot of significance in the world. Everyone must have heard about Black Boxes and Black Holes.
But have you ever wondered why one of the highest belts awarded in Karate is the Black Belt?
Because in Japan Black is considered as a sign of experience and wisdom!
In Hinduism, the much loved God Krishna was supposed to be black though he is depicted a shade of dark blue in pictures. And it is said that he was always surrounded by Gopikas! Afterall though India is obsessed with fair skin, the saying goes Tall, Dark & Handsome right?! I guess I should close this blog with the famous Tamizh song 'Karuputhan enaku pudicha colouruuuuu!!!"