I have issues

7th July 2016

I have issues

I really do.

I think about the past and use it as a reflection tool, a bit too passionately than I should.

Just the other day I visited my hard-drive (repository of life stuff) and I started seeing old photographs. Old photographs of me (yes. I’m quite a narcissist).

I looked at myself and was jealous.

As I looked at the pictures, I felt myself go to the moment and I felt the past as a now with emotions, thoughts, feelings and more. It was like I knew why I was smiling in this picture, what stupid thing the person next to me said, who was the recipient of my affection, why I had my elbow out and more.

I realized, I just don’t feel all that much anymore.

I looked at myself and was jealous.

My joys, my sorrows don’t come from that pit anymore.  If it does, the pit is not deep anymore.  And just like that I started mourning the ability to feel extreme emotions.

Ironically, still, most people view me as an ‘extreme’ person.

Reflection time.

I saw myself.

A spirited person

Rain seeped into me

Pain pierced into me and bled me hollow

I laughed from my gut

Couldn’t stop my mirth

And giggled till my stomach hurt

But now? Where was the person in that picture?

Somehow, somewhere I stopped being true to myself. Bit by bit. I started conforming. I started looking for approval. And the funny thing about this ‘need for approval’ is. You can never get it. No matter what you do. No matter who you become. There will always be something more or something less. Always.

I stray again to spring 2008. I’d learnt a lesson then. I forgot.

That spring, I’d lost oodles of weight after a few months of eating nutritious diet and regular gyming. Was engaged to be married to my long time boyfriend. Was flaunting a new super stylish wardrobe. Was oozing self-confidence after 2 decades.

Finally I got the approving glances from the world. The SHREEJA who never fit in anywhere just fit right everywhere. I was walking different. Taking different. Was on the surface happy.

Just like that, I walked into a room and passed a full mirror in a corridor somewhere. I saw a passing reflection. I didn’t recognize myself. Moreover I hated the face of the girl I saw in the mirror.  I was in a state of shock. Was this me?

I sat down. I needed time to digest this information. This reality. And I cried. I cried and cried and cried for hours. That was the moment where the whole world approved of me. That was the moment when I finally ‘fit in’. But I couldn’t be with myself. I’d lost myself in the process.

I cried myself to sleep. The tears dried. And I when I woke up, it was me again. I promised myself I won’t lose myself to the world again.

I’ve forgotten that ancient promise, already.  I’ve trod on myself again.

The way my Dad fusses over me

19th June 2016

Well someone recently said a statement, which had a few words in it like “The way your dad fusses over you…” – and I interrupted them right then and there and diverted the topic to other avenues. I didn’t want to defend my dad’s behavior or want someone judging him. I didn’t expect anyone to understand it. I can’t expect anyone else to even feel 1% of the love my dad feels for me. Nor anyone can.

I just delivered 2 babies, together, 4 months ago. Before delivery and after delivery I was fortunate to live some days with dad and mom together, after marriage (8 long years) and then some few days with dad, after mom left for the long ashram stint. And you know what, it felt wonderful to be cared for (for a change).

Papa probably never realized as I continued being my old rotten self with him, as usual (I have a problem expressing love to people especially very close to me). But every time he asked me what I wanted, what I desired and went to places to get stuff, just for me – it welled me up. If he even got a hint that there was this one thing I liked, he made sure the stock was never over in the house. Eg. I had to have protein powder in milk that tasted really bad and he made sure that there were strawberries in the fridge always to help me love the milk.  Simple things like that. Who does that for anyone, nowadays? Certainly no one had done that for me in a long long time.

Sometimes and maybe nearly always as a woman in this country, especially after marriage you’re expected to be the primary caregiver. To elders and youngsters alike. You learn through a series of experiences that small little delights of life that you savoured you’ll need to provide for yourself or give up cause no one will go out of the way for you. No one will. Even if you ask for it, mostly you’ll hear it’s out of their way. So why ask for it? – Do I sound cynical?

It’ll be extremely rare if someone is even considerate enough to look at you from the perspective of a living being, who could need love, understanding and pampering too. And when a someone sees, just their empathy will be enough. As they’ll understand you from a look of ‘being there’ themselves and maybe disburse a few sentences of advice to deal with the world, very precious sentences, sometimes.

No one will put you before himself. No one will invest their life’s savings to give you security. No one will sacrifice his own joys for yours. No one will save the best for you. No one will do things outside his comfort zone to give relief to the tired you. No one will try do without important things for himself to indulge in luxuries for you. No one will be there, really be there in a way of standing there beside you and holding you when you’re going weak. Except Papa.

Thank you Papa for making tea in my house for my guests when I had too much too handle (I know you’ve never done that for anyone before). Thank you Papa for the strawberries, the protein rossogolas, the wheat crakers and other little things you got for me to eat, when I was allowed very few things.  Thank you Papa for coming to Gurgaon in my last few pregnancy days so that there’s someone to drive me to the hospital, if need be. Thank you Papa for leaving your work and running to hold my babies when they cried, every single time. Thank you Papa for thinking about me. Thank you Papa for doing everything you can to make me happy. Thank you Papa for finding happiness in my happiness. Thank you, Papa for things I never thanked you for or ever will.

I love you and thank my stars for showing me this kinda love in my lifetime.

And I respect you all the more, cause despite all you’ve done for me you’ve never told me, “See, this is what I’ve done for you”. You’ve never expected a ‘Thank You’. You’ve never expected anything in fact.

Nor have I ever done anything.

I will probably never even show you this post. I'm that bad. 

In a moment of peace

12th June 2016

One is sleeping

            oblivious to the world

            hands spread out, palms open

            receiving the knowledge of the ancient masters

            understanding the world

            in deep meditation

            in sleep meditation

            digesting the day, today.

Two looked here

            smiled at me

and then looked away

she’s listen to music

Indian classical ragas

having a conversation with the ustads

aa aa aa aaa aaaa…

was that an alap?

Three put her paw on the pad

            she’s asking me,  “what are you doing?

            what could be more important than looking into my pretty pretty eyes?”

            the vain one

she knows

            she’s the prettiest beagle in town

            the lively one with the wagging tail

            she knows

            Mumma loves Best!

Rumi, the greatest love of my life

30^th May 2016

It was exactly a year ago, when I’d gone to Kirtika’s place and held you in my arms. You were the size of my palm and just like that, then and there you belonged in my heart.

A year later, I can’t even imagine life without you. In fact I survived the year coz of you, and just you.

I remember I held you close to my heart on the drive back home and you whined for your mom, all the way. And then, just like that I become your mom.

People think, I’m a mom to Naina-Kanishk. Giving birth gave me mommyhood. But I know and you know that you’re my first and will always be.  It was you I held nights in my arms as I slept on the floor, thinking you’d fall from the bed. It was you I’d swaddle in my chunnis and put to sleep on a bean bag turned cradle with soft  toys and chewies.  It was you who I first rocked to sleep in my lap with lullabyes. It was for you I’d stayed up all night crying when you got hurt for the first time. All this much much before my twins. In fact I think you brought me the luck as I only tested positive 2 weeks after you came into my home.

So remember, I’m your Mumma first and foremost.

To all those who think that having a dog could be dangerous around my children:

I just wanna tell you that besides the point that Rumi is my child herself, I don’t think Naina-Kanishk would have been there, if not for her.

Firstly, she got me the luck and the mother hormones, which preceded the coming of the twins.

Secondly, she was the sole person in charge of keeping me happy throughout a very difficult pregnancy. I owed my mental health and stability to her. Not to mention that she curled up protectively near my tummy to warm my babies.

Thirdly, and the most FINAL point: I’d any day trust Rumi over any person around my babies – coz dogs are more predictable animals than human beings. Plus Rumi’s life is all about unconditional love and my babies are a part of her pack. She’ll do anything to protect them, in fact.

A silly little in-promptu song for my silly little Rumi. It goes like ‘Bingo’  coz we’ve been clapping a lot to that lately.

There was a mumma

Who had a dog and Rumi was her name-o

R-U-M-I

R-U-M-I

R-U-M-I

And Rumi was her name-o

With a curious nose

And an antennae tail

A skip was in her walk-o

Velvety ears

So soft to touch

Alma was her food-o

L-O-V-E

L-O-V-E

L-O-V-E

You so much I love-o

Papaya, pototo, paneer and eggs

Choostix, biscuits, bones-o

Carrots, cucumber, peanut, gram

All eaten still she’s hungry – o

Always – Hungry – Rumi – Dear

Always – Hungry – Rumi – Dear

Always – Hungry – Rumi – Dear

Why so hungry Rumi – o?

With beagle friends and human friends

You’re so friendly Rumi-o

With a shiny coat and a pretty face

You’re the prettiest pretty we-know

Amber – Socks – Zappa and Fifi

Zoey – Bubli – Zairo and Churan

Zazu – Flash – Dylan and Pebble

Are some of your friends – o

There was a mumma

Who had a dog and Rumi was her name-o

R-U-M-I

R-U-M-I

R-U-M-I

And Rumi was her name-o

Love you my li'l rums, gujariya, pan-chaaali, rumbu-sumbu, poopy, dobby, chhotu, zumbaroo, hingospa and everything else and more we've called you out of 'machmacheee'.

Mom’s the word

20th May '2016

Yes that’s all I’m gonna write about, coz that’s all that I am today.

I’m seriously deliberating between writing this or maybe catching a wink for 15 minutes or as long as all is quiet.  Latter’s not playing it fair: pushing my eyelids down already.

Learnings:

1. I realized I could pass out too (that too without alchohol). My body too has limits.

2. I nap best with my dog. I used to nap best with my husband, but not anymore.

3. I actually like silence. There are times I prefer that there be no talking. (really me? I’m the most talkative person I know)

4. It’s only my mom that I love and hate with equal high intensity. She’s also the only person left in my life I have expectations from (barring, Kev)

5. There is a thing such as too much multitasking. Three is the max. If you go for four, there's a serious high chance of tipping the balance unfavourably. Eg. (i) Pumping, (ii) Singing to the baby and (iii) using the phone (whatsapp, grofers, firstcry) is already a lot. If you go for (iv) slight stretch to put the pacifier back into the baby's mouth - my advice, don't but if you do you're bound to spill milk (literally) 

6. It's the small things in life that moves you. always. small things. always. 

:P Gotta go. I just heard someone stir.