What are they made of ???

Living alone is so much easier. You wake up whenever you want. Cook and eat whatever you want.

Who cares if you haven't made the bed?

Or left the tea cup all day on your table, till you finished that book.

You don’t have to worry about feeding your family, cleaning the house, fixing that faulty phone, washing clothes, or watering your plants.

Functioning in a family; being at HOME….is altogether another ball game.

I made the terrible mistake of helping my mom in the kitchen yesterday. And now I drown and drench in remorse and shame, feeling like a worthless worm.

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Woke up slightly early, and gave a hand in making a few chappatis, and a curry; and let her go to get ready for work, as I washed the vessels and cleaned the kitchen.

I was feeling both happy and worried.

Happy ; for I was able to give her some time off!

Worried ; 'cause I took almost two whole hours to complete the most basic chores in the kitchen. (I gotta do some serious catching up)

Just when I was filling my chest with that pneumatic pride of being the most dutiful daughter, I see my mom coming out, her forehead smeared with chandanam.( sacred sandalwood paste)

So what was our lady doing with that extra few hours that I worked hard to give her?

She prays! “Its Makayiryam”, she says. “Its good to fast today, for the well being of your children”

I give her sometime for herself, and she spends it all off praying for her kids!

I stood there for a while, knocked out- my eyes following her but meanwhile imagining if I would have the courage or strength to be half of what she is, when I get there.

This woman, who still holds the stitches down her stomach every time she coughs, asks only one thing of me as she rushes to work, “Eat on time, darling”.

She fasts, and I have to make sure that I eat!

I sat down at the porch, till I saw her take the turn down the road and wondered......

Mothers!! What are they made of? Really?

And somehow Im reminded of a quote by one of my favourite authors: “Think what cowards men would be if they had to bear children. Women are altogether a superior species”*

* George Bernard Shaw

P.S: And today, our lady is fasting for her Husband's well being (Thiruvathira)! Mothers, I tell you!!

P.P.S: Sorry guys! Im actually in a phase where Im thinking, “Men are great! And every woman needs one” And Im in no mood for any sort of male bashing, But I just couldnt help but agree with Mr Shaw here.

All about Silent Prayers......

Absolute gratitude is what I feel now!

Complete awe and reverence for every single moment that I got to live and experience.

Have you ever had such glorious moments- the strength and the sweetness of which brings you down on your knee?

Have you gone through feelings that simply cannot be penned?

Experiences which cannot be held in words? The ones you know that wouldnt be just to reduce them down to words?

So precious that you know not if you're worthy of such a privilege.

And you are so content that you cry.

And that riveting release of tears strangely enough brings you joy............. not happiness........ JOY!!

And in that beautiful blessing, that sweet sadness, that piquant pining, that mighty madness....

All that you can do is send out a prayer.......

A silent and sincere one.

Life has been about such silent prayers lately....

It makes me wanna spin!.... Slowly spin like a sufi monk! 

P.S : Im home, and guess what I find? Chingaari is pregnant! AGAIN! :)

These days...: A Reverie!

I have a screaming nose! Really big! He pulls on it every morning and wakes me up. Yeah HE wakes me up! I would open my eyes into the most beautiful and exquisite smile on the planet .

He laughs and dashes out into the living room. I jump out from my bed, and run after him. I can see him hiding behind the curtains and peeking out...So I sneak up slowly and lift him from behind .....and his laughter fills my morning! And my home!

I carry him into the bathroom and pull out his foot-stand for him so that he can see himself in the mirror, while he brushes with me.

These days, I dont have to help him with brushing. But he still wants me to take a look at his squeaky clean teeth and wants my approving nod, before he can climb onto my back for his morning salsa.

“Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things”

I go about in the kitchen making breakfast, with this l'il giggling piggy on my back, singing with him.

“Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes
Silver white winters that melt into springs
These are a few of my favorite things”

And if I get the lines wrong , he would just sink his teeth onto my shoulder. Im extra cautious now.

These days I rehearse his class rhymes and songs before I can say 'Amen' at night . And I would get the 'stares' from his daddy.

No one believes me at work when I say ,the reddish-purple bruise at the back of my neck is a punishment for goofing up some rhymes.

These days I spent more time on sites like, howstuffworks, answer.com and wikipedia rather than youtube and my favourite blogs. How else will I find answers for questions like “ Why will I not get red , if I mix blue and green”?, “ Why is it that 'girl-cows' dont have horns?” “How is that daddys got a different smell”? “ What does daddy mean when he says 'that was orgasmic' at dinner?

These days, I look more stumped and astonished than ever. Gone are the days when he would point his finger and say 'Ga Ga' or ' Thaa Thaa' and I had to only reply with monosyllables  like, 'fan' ' ball' and 'doll'.

And this morning I rush both son and father to the door as usual to wish “Good day”. His dad picked him up so that he can reach my cheek to kiss me goodbye. He slips his hand around my neck , presses his tiny lips on my cheek and then looks at me , eyebrows creased and says “You look tired darling, may be you should take an off and just sleep the whole day”

My eyes popped , out of sheer shock.

And I told myself as I watched them walk down to the porch “ They grow up really fast these days, dont they”?

P.S : I wanted to write my version of 'Dream Children' from the day I read Charles Lamb.( except that I dont like waking up from the dream)

But HE doesnt have a name yet. Any suggestions??

The moth and the flame

When your feet drags, where it used to sprint

When your eyes smile, where it used to squint

When your hand trembles, where it wanted to grab

And you forget to breathe, but rather gasp

You look away, and your eyes wander

Not 'cos you want your mind to ponder

For, you just dont want your eyes to tell

What your heart is afraid to say

Then comes the day you learn from a moth

That “the flame has always been you”

 Then you know, those awkward silences that passed both

When you run out of things to talk; been 'cause neither could say 'I love You'

A secret desire to hear it from him and wish

He might have whispered  under his breath

“Funny, how lil we remembered of each other back then”

And what would it take now to forget.

And so is this how it really feels?
To fall that hard, with nowhere to land

That quiet shudder, when you watch him stand

'Unable to stay …....and unwilling to leave.....'

The one on Serendipity, a bulky Uterus and the constant Pregger!

“Serendipity is a fortuitous discovery, especially while looking for something entirely different”, says the dictionary. Happy accidents , basically!

But I wonder if there is a word for eerily awkward and embarrassing accidents! All you Logophiles,...... HELP me out please .'Cause, I would really like to know what this thing is , that has been happening to me over and over again.

And Dear Holy-Whoever out there, I pray and beg you, to not make the world any smaller. This is too weird for me to handle!

But may be not as weird as holding your own Mother's bulky uterus I guess.

Now how often do you actually get to see the womb you were born in?. So I couldnt get more excited when I had to play the dutiful child, helping with Amma's Hysterectomy.

No..... I chickened out when the doctor called for us to hand over the neatly chopped out uterus . Though people who saw it told me it looked as big as me when I was born :P

But the whole experience was sweet! Taking care of Amma was like taking care of an over-grown baby. Helping her walk, bathe , pee...... dress her up, feed her, put her to sleep every night with lullabies.....

To wake up alarmed in the middle of the night every time she coughed in her sleep, or when she tried turning over to the other side.....

Im really glad I could be there to just do all that for her. I miss smelling her cheek whenever she grinned at me!

I miss the smell of my home ... the smell of ploughing in the nearby field...that balanced blend of cow-dung and earth …thats one damn sweet smell that brought tears of happy memories and got me all nostalgic! I had completely let myself out in that delicious aroma, when she 'purr'ed and brushed her ear against my ankle.

'Chingaari' --my neighbour's cat. She is a constant Pregger! I cant recall the days when I saw her not carrying. She's loaded , all the time. Now , Im not very cat-friendly, but this sweetheart here has managed well to win me over.

The only sad thing about her getting pregnant is that, she fails to protect her new-borns, mostly. The kittens are killed and eaten up by a wild cat every time. I never get to see her babies. They are murdered, even before they can open their eyes. Poor Chingaari runs around the house crying and mourning; worse, lactating. And my heart goes out to that helpless mother every time!

But this time I helped her keep a watch on her babies! And touch-wood, all her three kittens are still alive. And they all look just like her, beautiful black and white fur balls!

Have you heard of this age old belief that if a cat litters in your house, it will bring you good news!?!

Last time Chingaari littered and her kittens survived, my sister got engaged!

And guess whats the good news this time?

No prizes for guessing, Im gonna be an Aunt! :D