Love, and a lot of gratitude

Pic courtesy: Ambili

There's a lot more to togetherness than just being together and touch wood, I am one of those blessed folks who enjoy togetherness, of the extra-nice kind.


Having known Abhi for close to 18 years (eeks!) now and having been in love with him for 17 of them (*smug smile, interspersed with a little awe at the number*), I'd probably be qualified to say I know Abhi like the back of my hand. But you know how people are, constantly evolving even though we so love to resist change!


Over the years, I have seen Abhi go from an angry-at-the-push-of-a-button (any button) adolescent to a man who can control his anger (in a very nuclear-weapon fashion, as in beware when it's switched on and directed at you). Jokes apart, he's a rock, and a good one at that... 'cos if he were the rock that absolutely refused to budge, impulsive me would have had serious problems. But he's the kind of rock that rolls (I couldn't resist that guys, sorry!) when necessary and that makes him a wonderful, best-friend-and-support kind of rock.


And while I don't see eye-to-eye with him on hundreds of things, it's surprising how we -- of the big egos -- often set egos aside to let the other win. Arguments, after the initial passionate-anger-filled phase, are often not allowed to fester in the 'I trumped you' stage. And that's one thing I like about our marriage.

And why am I analysing our marriage today? Cos we are close to a very special anniversary, the first birthday of DropCap Media, which started out as a thought in our living room in what seems now like ages ago. From that day on, Abhi has been a rock not just for me but for my firm as well, pitching in with money, equipment, advice and err... financial disciplining (which falls in one of those aforementioned don't-see-eye-to-eye categories). 


Not once, even during the first few days of struggle when our direction seemed lost in a fog of indecision, did he express any doubt in DropCap's ability to survive and succeed. Of course, we have had our fair share of arguments on management style, capital expenses and other blah-matters associated with running a firm, but when it comes to the big picture, Abhi has always been sure of DropCap doing well. He always treats it -- our success -- as an inevitability, and so doesn't get all excited like I do when we clinch a major deal!!


When I wrote a post on the official blog about our BIG day, I could have mentioned Abhi in a line, I suppose, but I didn't. For two reasons: one, a line just wouldn't do; and two, he's too much a part of my heart for me to pour it all out into what, I feel, is a professional space.


So this is a gratitude post just for him though he's unlikely to read this unless I send him a link. Lemme just go do that right away! :)

Momma thinks...

I know, I know, I shouldn't be here right now, blogging in the middle of a work day. But, I promise this is gonna take just 15 minutes and then, over and out!

Today is an official 'Day of Cribbing', a day--which, incidentally, comes by way too often for my liking--when I'm allowed to rant and rave, and generally put on a don't-even-think-of-striking-up-a-conversation kind-of face and be moody all day long. No, it isn't PMS; just one of those days when the maid has gone AWOL.

But I am not taking precious minutes off work to write an anti-maid rant. In my new, 'improved' avatar, I have already learnt to take such inevitabilities in my stride.

Pic courtesy: indyeahforever.wordpress.com

This is on another tangent altogether: I was running late to pick my daughter (her school bus drop-off point is about a half-km away from my apartment) and on the way, the usual thoughts popped into my head: 'Why is it that women always have to take the brunt of domestic emergencies? Shouldn't both parents have equal responsibilities?' and blah, blah, blah... a rather needy voice in my head kept going on and on. Mind you, I don't even have serious reason to complain; Abhi is more often than not ready to pitch in with Ditu-related details.

But my mind--unruly as usual--was off on its own sweet (sweet? nah!) track! And then it struck me: don't brace yourselves or anything-- nothing earth-shattering here...

Just realised that if God (or Nature, if you prefer) chose the woman to carry babies within her, there is definitely something special about her, right? Something more than special, I think, something that is both a wonderful blessing and an overwhelming responsibility. I don't need centuries-old conditioning or unwritten rules of society to tell me to always be there for my daughter, to nurture her, protect her, help her grow into a sensible and caring human being.

And by that same count, I believe God has put something extra, something mysterious by nature, in every woman: an impulse to love that bit more; that instinct to keep your child safe no matter what the circumstances; to keep giving a little bit of yourself even when you feel like you just can't, any more; the strength to love selflessly and then let the light of your life choose a path of her own, a path which in all probability leads away from you; and a kind of patience that beats definition.

And by that count, what does a little bit of extra duty matter? 

So who said shopping can't be a learning experience?

Yeah, what's with people criticising shopping, calling it 'retail therapy' and snickering when women declare 'we are going shopping'. Shopping can be a transformational, enlightening and err... strangely weird exercise... especially when you are shopping for someone you don't know at all. Even if it is a 5-year-old boy!
I mean in this day and age, even five-year-olds have a unique perspective on life. And no one who has had to convince your five-year-old to wear a particular dress will argue otherwise (oh, by the way, you cannot convince today's kindergarteners about anything!).

So there I was last evening, late for a birthday party and still hunting for a birthday present. This was Ditu's classmate's birthday, the first such invite, and understandably, I was a little nervous about going at all: didn't want to meet a lot of lah-di-dah women (while my daughter's school is great and offers wonderful child-oriented education, it also tends to attract the butterflies. Period.).
And now I had to find a birthday gift for one little boy whom I just knew as Abraham ('He's called Abu at home, Amma. Since we are going to his party, we can call him like that': gyaan from Ditu). At the kids' store, I did the only thing I knew: when in doubt, head to the books section. I was browsing through the books, when I felt a tug at my sleeve. And not even thinking, or rather thinking that Ditu wanted to pick something for herself, I said: "No!"
My very understanding child caught on to my mood, and said: "I don't want anything. I just think you should be looking at something like Ben10 or Chota Bheem. After all, Abraham is a boy!" Gender-based advice? From my daughter? All of nearly 5? I just stood there, all agape, and she continues: "I really don't know what he likes, but I always hear Georgie and Abraham discuss Ben10."
So Ben10 it was, but me being me, I couldn't get myself to get the action-oriented Ben10 toys; just bought a Ben10 colouring set, approved by Ditu of course. ("Yes, Abraham looooves painting class!") And me being me, I also stopped to look at a couple of little table-chair sets that I wanted to get for Ditu's room. And my little one pipes us with more gyaan: "Mumma, that's for me na... You have time till my birthday to get it. Or we can come back after Abraham's party to look at it some more." *Beatific smile*
Now if that wasn't a particularly enlightening shopping trip!

P.S. And hey, pardon me my prejudices: I had fun at the party too, with some of Ditu's classmate's moms. And I realised sometimes makeup is a mask in more ways than one, and sometimes women just hide behind it due to their insecurities. But that's a post for another day, and perhaps Ditu will have some insight into that as well.

It happened last night!

Shameless me! Am back again after my last post where I wrote about "blogging for discipline" and then took off on one of my biggest breaks from blogosphere. And I don't even have a decent excuse, so I am not even going to try!
Am back, after a sleepless night spent almost entirely on Twitter and catching up with some of the blogs and websites I love. In particular, drew inspiration from funny-fab blogger Judy Balan (do follow; she's amazing and can pep up your worst days) and the November edition of SPAM.
No, I am not going to attempt humour... you either are funny or you aren't and if you try too hard you may end up as a joke. I am just very enthused about blogging again... some of you can argue that it's probably cyclical! Come to think of it, maybe I should check out my blog posts to figure out if there's a pattern to my absence.
Again, that's besides the point. And the point is that I have no point to make but I am just glad to be part of this vast, amorphous community of bloggers and social networkers (dunno if that's the term, anyways I mean all the people on my TL and FB) who do sometimes-ordinary, sometimes-bizarre, sometimes-random stuff... and reading all that makes my day! Especially a day, rather night, like yesterday when I couldn't sleep, thanks to body ache presumably associated with a viral fever, and was up till the wee hours.
It was a bad night for TV! Every movie channel was showing wet-rag movies; I think there should be a strict code for movies shown after 11pm: they should be thrilling or edgy or experimental or at the least interesting. Spare me the blah! True that I couldn't sleep but boredom is not a sedative!
Which is when I logged on and found that Twitter was brilliantly, vibrantly alive in the dead of the night and that while I was away 'working hard' my Google Reader had patiently accumulated 1000+ feeds for me to catch up on... so I did just that! And believe me, it was just as great as curling up with a good book.
The long and short of it is, I had great fun online and while that sounds typical nerd-ish, it was so not! And before I sign off, I promise to be back again... soon!

The Post Without a Theme

This is going to be a rambling post because I am just blogging for discipline... I hardly dare look at the date of my last published post. Well, that makes it sound like I have quite a few in drafts that are ready to go with a little bit of polishing but truth to say, my drafts section is as empty as my favourite cookie jar... no, not even crumbs left!
Now to the discipline part. In my mind, I am a writer. I write journalistic, promotional and other editorial thingies for a living. In school, I used to write poetry and short stories, which were occasionally published in Young Times. And back then, I had no idea that writing required any kind of talent. I just thought it was something everybody did. But of course, my friends caught on that I had a way with words and you know what that means... I have written hundreds of love letters to random girls on behalf of my friends and cousins.

I don't know why teenage guys think that love letters have to be just perfect and written in great handwriting. My best friend, O, charming Casanova that he was, never believed in love letters but I must have delivered umpteen oral missives for him, fuming all the time 'cos I kept expecting him to wake up from his new-girl-in-school-induced-stupor and notice me!! He finally did, but that's another story. :D
I am digressing here but I guess I am allowed to since this post came with ample warning.
Back to writing. I got my first illustrated fairytale book when I was six. It was quite a tome, but frail me practically lived in the book. It was like a magical world where I could be anything I wanted and do anything I wanted, including not eat all day and still look picture-perfect. I had a constant war with food as a kid; come to think of it, I still do: just that in my childhood, I never wanted to eat and now, eating's one of my guilty pleasures and I have to keep reminding myself to stop.

Anyways, with my reading habits (torch under blanket at night included), I am surprised I actually needed glasses only once I started working. And long, long ago, as an extension of my love for reading, I decided I would be a writer. Whatever else I primarily did, I would write a novel which would, incidentally, land me the Booker. Ironically, I am now paid to write but my book is nowhere near completion. I did start on it a few years back but that's it. I can't even find my original draft! But the plot keeps spinning in my head and I keep adding scenes and killing characters and all that! Now you know why I suddenly look disoriented in the midst of a conversation: I am probably trying to find a not-too-cheesy exit route for a superfluous character.
And you know what, I may even make a movie out of my book. I mean, that's the done thing after all. But where's the book in the first place, you ask? It's in the head, and this time, I am determined to do it right.
A friend and published author, S, as well as my former editor, J, have frequently told me that a writer needs discipline: you have to write at least a page a day. It doesn't matter if doesn't read well or even if it actually isn't contributing to plot progression or even to that particular story at all. Just write! Of course, this does not include all the paid writing I do... this has to come from deep within, like putting my mind on paper. And then, they say, the story will come.
So here I am exploring the little-trodden, thorny path of self-discipline in the hope of finding my muse. More tomorrow. Or the day after.