On Being Five: Giving Back to Mommy

Last week I was really overwhelmed. I have a lot of stress at work and there are some personal issues going on. I was really sad, and sat on the deck for some quiet space.

Annika noticed. She came up and asked me "Why are you sad?"
I just shook my head.

She said, "Where's that smile?" in that tone that teachers must use.

I had to smile.


~*~*~*~

Today is my birthday and I told her that. I guess birthdays are important in general, but Mommy's Birthday is the best. Earlier in the week, she was jumping and hugging me because my birthday was coming.

Today she asked me if I could take her to Starbucks for hot chocolate after school. Normally, she goes with her daddy, but today she wanted to me. This would be our special treat.

I gave her a hug this morning. And, the only way I could think to describe it is the scene in "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas." At the end, the mean old Grinch's heart starts to pump and grow. It grows and becomes overwhelming that it pushes out of his chest. That's what I felt like hugging her this morning. My heart was expanding more than I knew it could.

Verdi Cries

Verdi Cries

-10,000 Maniacs "Blind Man's Zoo"

The man in 119 takes his tea all alone.
Mornings we all rise to wireless Verdi cries.
I'm hearing opera through the door.
The souls of men and women, impassioned all.
Their voices climb and fall; battle trumpets call.
I fill the bath and climb inside, singing.

He will not touch their pastry
but every day they bring him more.
Gold from the breakfast tray, I steal them all away
and then go and eat them on the shore.

I draw a jackal-headed woman in the sand,
sing of a lover's fate sealed by jealous hate
then wash my hand in the sea.
With just three days more I'd have just about learned the entire score to Aida.

Holidays must end as you know.
All is memory taken home with me:
the opera, the stolen tea, the sand drawing, the verging sea, all years ago.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I loved the 10,000 Maniacs like anything back in the day, and this song is absolutely beautiful. I loved the simplicity of the music and the story in the lyrics. It's a short song, but it says so so much. There's a viola at the end of it, which is exquisite. I was writing earlier this morning, and this song just popped in my head. So, I wanted to share this.

Cinematic Potpourri for $200

We've seen a bunch of movies recently and I don't have enough comments to dedicate a whole post to each one.

The Producers: Great movie, lots of fun. Just wish we had seen this on Broadway. Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick are so talented and funny, that I can imagine live would have been wonderful experience. However, they pointed out in the Behind-The-Scenes interviews that they took advantage of the cinematic aspects versus the limitations on stage. Therefore, they were able to create the feel of those old Hollywood dance numbers. I liked Uma Thurman too ("Ulla dance now.")

Munich: I'm mixed about this movie. While the setting is 1970's, the theme is current. The idea of eliminating the terrorist masterminds to seek avengence for a horrible event, a task which is unending as there will always be successors. More deaths are incurred and the battle continues without an end in sight. Sadly 30 years later, the Israel and Palestinian arguments are still relevant. There's a lot of suspense, explosions and gun violence. Being the wimp that I am, I had my laptop and was doing some other things at those moments. It was actually quite long, which surprised us and then the ending is just there in its ambivalence.

By the way, I was reading other reviews about this, and most are giving this movie a positive rating; it was nominated for Best Picture. However, I found this succinct quote: You cannot make a convincing case against terrorism by showing one graphic scene after another of cold-blooded murder. (Frederic and Mary Ann Brussat)

Maybe that's the real hesitation on my part to warm up to this movie. Violence breeds more violence.

Matchpoint and Melinda, Melinda: We've always snatched up every Woody Allen movie we can find. With his new movies, I guess we think like a lot of people do - we are trying to look for the old Woody Allen in an updated overcoat. The only reason I'm putting these two movies together is because they have the same director and they both have a one-line thesis.

The thesis for "Matchpoint" is one must be lucky in life, everything else will fall into place. It's a serious movie, much like "Crimes & Misdemeanors." However, it turns eerie and unbelievable, yet very believable. The acting is excellent, and there are two pairs of the most sensual lips in the world - Scarlett Johannson & Jonathan Rhys Meyers. When Jonathon is on screen, he owns it. Not so much his character, but him. (Remember him as the coach in "Bend It Like Beckham"?)

The thesis for "Melinda, Melinda" is that one incident in life can be interpreted as a tragedy or a comedy. Allen took this concept and ran with it. A group of intellectual artists discuss this at a restaurant. They throw out a scenario of a woman appearing at the door and interrupting a dinner party. So, the story plays out simultaneously with brief introductions from the artists/chorus. (Actually - it just hit me they were like the Chorus! Remember the Chorus "Mighty Aphrodite"? Nice tool to have in films). So, there are back-to-back scenes of the stories and it is pretty consistent. I liked how certain elements would show up in each depiction (i.e., a certain dark French restaurant, a rusty genie lamp).

Anyway, who would have thought Will Farrell would be in a Woody Allen movie? We were shocked. However, his character was in the comedic interpretation of the scenario and he becomes the neurotic, quick-witted Woody Allen archetype that's always present. He follows the steps of Jason Biggs and Kenneth Branagh who had similar roles in Allen's movies. I saw Amanda Peet as more of the Diane Keaton type of his movies - sexy, charming and slightly insecure.

Apologies on Formatting

Sorry about the lopsided format of this site. I've been playing with the template provided by Blogger and wanted my content to be wider and reduce the dark margins. Got it perfect the other day! That was in Firefox.

Go to work and open IE and it's way off! So, tweak tweak the pixel counts.. looks good.

Come home to Firefox and it's messed up.

C'est la vie. You're not here to check my formatting anyway, right? (I hope!)

Poetry: Margaret Atwood

Variation on the Word Sleep

I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head

and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descent,
towards your worst fear

I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.

~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*
I liked this poem because of the playfulness of the words in the first paragraph, where the narrator moves from just being a spectator to being the participant, the Dreamer. There is an intimacy, but there's also a request for permission to dream. And the dream becomes an active process between the two (walking, leading).

The sentence is so powerful. It is as if the narrator had requested permission and now just wants to be there in any form - a necessary form.

I'm a fan of Margaret Atwood's and love her stories, novels and poetry. I don't know how she does it, but every word is carefully placed. I had listened to "Alias Grace" on audiotape and while it was so pleasant to the ear, I kept wishing I had the book in front of me because she's so poetic. (I was listening to her while driving to work, so book wasn't a logical option).

When I read "The Handmaid's Tale" years ago, I couldn't sleep at night because I felt the character's anxieties. I think fiction and dreams blended.

And, if that's not enough Atwood for you, here's more: Gertrude Talks Back giving a voice to Hamlet's mother.

Wow.

On the Job Training: Motherhood Part 14 - Neighbors

We live in an untraditional neighborhood. Our development has 8 houses. There are two long driveways from the main road that lead to our houses - 3 on one side, 5 on the other. It's great because our development is so multicultural - Black, White, Indians (2), Chinese (2), and Russian.

We don't have sidewalks so you have to cross yards or go to the main road. I'm on the side with 3 houses and my immediate neighbors' kids are in middle/high school. The girls used to come over when Annika was a baby to play with her, but then they got busier. The other side has at least 8 kids in Annika's age group.

When she was younger, I used to take her to see the other kids, dragging a tricycle across the yards. It was kinda painful because I ended up having to hang out, chat a bit with the parents. They're all nice, but you run out of things to talk about.

Two weeks ago we saw the kids playing outside and Annika wanted to go play with them. I took her over and introduced her to them (they had met at least 2 yrs ago, so they don't remember each other). The kids jumped on the swingsets and were off. I was really happy because I could walk away now. They're old enough to play with minimal supervision.

Initially, when I walked away, Annika came running home. She thought she had to come back because I left. I told her she could play and we were still outside so we could see her. She was hesitant to go, but we made her go back by herself. She stopped to pick weeds and found excuses, but she went slowly on her own.

Yesterday she was running back and forth on her own bringing the kids back with her.

I finally felt a bit of joy for Annika too. I grew up in Queens, NY and had a bunch of neighborhood friends, a nice mix of American & Keralite kids. We were out and about pretty much all the time. We ran around to each other's houses and had two swingsets among everyone.

By the way, if you look at our backyards, every house has a swingset. I really want one for her, but our ground is too sloped to accomodate it. So, I feel better that she can run across the yards to play and share a swingset with others, the way it's supposed to be.

One of the mother's pointed out to me that it's safer for them to run across the backyards than having to deal with main roads. I didn't realize that. So, I feel better about that too!

We're so used to scheduled playdates that it's refreshing to have the spontaneity of neighborhood kids. And, for parents, to be able to walk over and bring them back.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Side note: I had the most fabulous Saturday afternoon yesterday. Most of my day was hectic since I went into work for a few hours plus afternoon of running errands. Later on, my husband went to play golf with the guys. Annika was in the yard with the neighbor kids. I sat on my deck under the awning with a cup of coffee and my laptop. It was a beautiful afternoon and very peaceful. I loved it. I wrote a bit so I don't think it could've been more perfect. I really treasure quiet time, alone time, whatever you want to call it. I'm quite social, but I have always needed my private space as far as I can remember.

On Being Five - Part 3

There was a notice on the classroom wall that it was career week. During the week, she had asked what we did, and to be honest, I'm not sure how to explain what I do in simplistic terms to anyone. "We work with computers."

Amidst the morning rush, Annika was saying something about computers. I asked her to wait, and in the meantime she ran to her father. “Daddy, I need to bring your laptop to school.” He waved her off.

We pulled up in front of the school and she said, “Mommy, I need to bring something from your work. I need a computer.”

I wasn’t going to give up my laptop to a five-year-old. I rummaged through my bag and found a business card, a floppy disk and a key chain with my company logo on there. She was so excited!

She walked in feeling so important holding the three items. I was happy for once that I hadn’t cleaned out my bag and I didn’t give up my laptop.

Water and 15 Park Avenue

Deepa Mehta's Water and Aparna Sen's "15 Park Avenue" are two brilliant movies directed by Indian women that approach taboo topics. The topics are delicate and the directors handle them with love and sensitivity. These topics are glass. If handled roughly, they would shatter. When handled properly, they could be a prism, reflecting the colors and the lights that we don't see.

"Water" is Mehta's third movie in her trilogy with "Fire" and "Earth." This movie has been fraught with controversy and was ultimately filmed in Sri Lanka.

For many Indians, the treatment of widows is a hurtful and embarrassing scar from the past. Most of the anger in the Indian community is "Why do you need to show that to western audiences?" I personally think it is important to know and remember your history as you build your future. While widows may not live in the same harsh conditions depicted in the movie, widows are still regarded differently to a degree and the biases are more subtle.

In an interview, Deepa Mehta stated: "Water can flow or water can be stagnant. I set the film in the 1930s, but the people in the film live their lives as it was prescribed by a religious text more than 2,000 years old. Even today, people follow these texts, which is one reason why there continue to be millions of widows. To me, that is a kind of stagnant water. I think traditions shouldn't be that rigid. They should flow like the replenishing kind of water."

Cinema is a powerful medium transforming faceless widows into real and recognizable people. There was an elderly widow who craved laddoos and sweets. Don't we all? How would your needs for small pleasures in life disappear suddenly? The confidence and esteem of these women is beaten down. And, they beat down on each other, knowing they cannot rise.

John Abraham's role is wonderful in its symbolism. A flute-playing, Gandhian named Narayan (another name for Lord Vishnu) becomes an image of Krishna, a savior to the women. Lisa Ray is exquisite as the beautiful widow who is forced to prostitute by the ashram matriarch. I've seen Lisa and John in Bollywood movies, so it was refreshing to see them in such serious roles, which they fulfilled beautifully.

The character of Chuyia, the child widow, is so important. Mehta shows how her youthfulness is oppressed by the burden of widowhood. I just read that young Sarala, who plays Chuyia the child widow, does not speak Hindi and learnt her lines phonetically. Right there is one challenge as an actor.

The other movie that slipped in quietly was "15 Park Avenue." I enjoyed Aparna Sen's "Mr. & Mrs. Iyer" so I knew this would be as stimulating. I thought this was well-developed story, though it used some cliched story-telling techniques. Overall it was done well. The actors - Shabana Azmi & Konkana Sen - are absolutely talented. People were thrilled with Rani Mukherjee in "Black." However, Sen captures the true spirit and complexity required to play a schizophrenic girl. She wasn't afraid to 'get ugly' and work hard to play this role without resorting to stereotypes.

What I liked about the movie as a whole as that each character has a story and they reveal themselves in their own way. For example, Joydeep's wife is a peripheral character, but the audience sees she is just as complicated and brings in her own feelings as a main character.

The ending was interesting -- abrupt & dreamlike. It didn't flow with the rest of the movie, which seemed realistic. This could be a turn-off for some audiences.

I'm really happy we're able to see these movies now, either on DVD or in the theater.

My Own Elizabethtown

I remember there were a lot previews for this movie, but it simply disappeared. It was a good movie with a lot of soul, but no body. There was something missing and I’m still not sure what. Kirsten Dunst is always good, and there’s Orlando. Orlando, Orlando.

As usual, there are movies reviews elsewhere online, but I write about what hits me.

After his father’s sudden death, Orlando’s character, Drew, comes to his father’s Kentucky hometown. Drew is a “citified” kind of guy with a hotshot lifestyle and only his sister and mother in Oregon. When he enters Elizabethtown, he’s amazed that strangers know who he is and why he’s there. He enters a house and everyone jumps on top of him with hugs and recognition as “Mitch’s boy.” Drew is amazed at the lack of formality and openness. There’s an aunt (Paula Dean) who holds the family history with words, photographs, and food. Traditions and beliefs have long roots in their home.

I recognized myself in Drew at that moment. I’ve felt that way visiting India. My first trip was when I was eleven and we had gone to my father’s small town Rajpipla. People came out of everywhere to introduce themselves as an aunt, uncle, cousin, or a neighbor who held my father on his knee. First cousins I didn’t know I had jumped to greet us at the bus depot. I didn’t have to prove myself or earn their hugs and affection. They knew who I was and we were family.

I remember going to a community event with a friend, and we were talking to a woman. She needed to identify me and asked whose daughter I was. My parents’ names did not ring a bell for her, since we didn’t live there. I mentioned my aunt’s name and our address (“opposite the post office”). She said, “Oh, are you the America-walli?” She had heard.

One line out of the movie that echoed for me was when a random cousin says to Drew, “Everyone says we look alike. Wow. It’s like looking in a mirror.” Bit of a joke, since he does not look like Orlando (no one looks like Orlando). When I went to India a few years ago, people kept telling my cousin Sheetal and I that we looked alike now. The comparisons were a bit tiresome. When Sheetal and I were reunited, we faced each other, holding the other’s shoulders. We studied each other’s face, and I said, “Wow. We look alike.” She said, “I feel like I’m looking in a mirror.” We laughed hysterically because we didn’t.

Since our visits have been few and far between, it is more of an introduction than a reunion. We don’t have too many memories together and need to find links and common grounds. For example, it was exciting to learn first cousins on my father’s side also have creative talents. We knew we got our artistic talents from father, but we didn’t think beyond our immediate family. It was amazing to have an innate connection to others.

The openness and lack of formality in India is like being wrapped up in a warm fleece blanket. Definitely feels wonderful when you’ve been in the cold. Of course, even if it’s 100-degrees outside, that blanket is still there. Indian relations believe they have the right to interrogate you about your weight, pimples, eyebrows, eyeglass prescription, etc. Not only will they ask, they will offer unsolicited advice and solutions to things you didn’t know were a problem. It’s not just immediate relations, but anyone who feels they have a connection. So, it’ll be that neighbor’s sister-in-law’s friend who will make recommendations about your complexion. That’s when the American in me needs to shake off that blanket and retreat into a world of privacy.

"Elizabethtown" invoked these memories of being an outsider who actually belongs. (Here's one more picture of Orlando for the road!)

Review: The Squid and the Whale

I had heard a lot about this movie through NPR interviews with writer/director Noah Baumbach. I thought it was going to be an intense, serious movie about a breakup of a marriage and family. It was definitely serious, but it had something else that made it so realistic and familiar.

Laura Linney is absolutely fabulous as an actress. There's one scene where she's talking to Jeff Daniels and her face runs a gamut of emotions - first cold and hard talking to her estranged husband, then her face is lit up talking about her son's achievement and suddenly she's on the brink of tears as she realizes what is happening to their family. All within a few minutes on a doorstep conversation.

By the way, seeing Jeff Daniels as a professor in a relationship with a student reminded me of his role in "Terms of Endearment."

There are plenty of reviews on line, so I wanted to pull out another interesting point in this movie. The oldest son plagiarizes in order to win his father's approval. He has no problem reiterating what his father says without having the substance to back it up. Anna Paquin's character also confesses to plagiarizing.

Now, this brings me back to our enfant terrible, Kaavya Vishwanathan. I said in my previous blog that she was an example of an overachiever for whom success was more important than substance. I think at 17 you feel like you know more than everyone else and can do anything you want. I thought it was interesting that a similar plot line developed in this movie. So, Kaavya is probably not the first and definitely not the last.

By the way, at the end of the movie, I was left a bit exhausted by the enormity of parenting. It's a phenomenal task to guide and build a human being. Every action and expression from the parents registers in the children and it affects them in many ways. If there's one takeaway from it, it was the need to create memories because who knows what the future holds.

The ending was good as we saw the older boy learning to reject his father's life, which he had adopted and start building his.

The DVD has a nice interview with Noah Baumbach and he talks about the themes of the story (e.g., the boys have different reactions to acknowledging their parents as sexual beings, parents need to know where boundaries). Also, this movie was born from his own experiences going through his parents' divorce, so the details are there. For example, how do you have joint custody of a cat?

Definitely think we will see the two boys in more movies in the future, and hope to see more from Noah Baumbach too.

Renewing with Libraries

Helen Keller's autobiography was the first book on my first library card. I was six, I believe, at the Queens Borough Public Library. The book had the Braille alphabet on the back. A few years later I was lucky enough to get a copy of it, maybe through RIF.

Anyway, I loved going to the library throughout my childhood. My friends and I would return home with stacks of books and aching arms. We would nourish ourselves with chocolate bars bought en route.

When we moved to NJ, I was 13 and did not ask the librarian where the teen books were. I saw the children's section and the adult's books. So, I coolly wandered through the adult sections and picked up classics, contemporary fiction and nonfiction. The things I read! I didn't really understand a lot of it until I was older. I think by the time I found the few shelves of teen novels, I didn't care for them by then.

In college, I lived at the library like everyone else. However, it drove me nuts to have read my assignments instead of all the great books on the shelves. I would dream for the day when I would have nothing to do, but sit and read there. Actually, I remember studying for calculus and my eyes wandered to a shelf. There was "The Hobbit." A beautifully illustrated version, and I had never read it before. Of course, let's read this instead of studying calculus!

Actually, in college, books like "The Hobbit" were like chocolate bars. I just break off one piece at a time and savor it. Put the rest away for later.

My first "real" job was in the development office of a major city library. I loved walking into the grand hall every morning, after I passed the homeless people who slept on the steps. I didn't particularly like the librarians. They were very possessive about books and knowledge in general; this assessment was later confirmed to me by someone who was trading in his MLS for an MBA in a less cutthroat environment. Our office was tight and not glamorous at all. My pay was meager and tasks were endless. But, I loved walking down the grand staircase or being in the Rare Books Department for a special events and hovering around authors. I was in an elevator with Chaim Potok and was totally starstruck and tongue-tied.

Then I feel like I lost my libraries. I got busy with my life. Found some local libraries that sufficed for the time being. My town actually does not have a library of its own. So, like others, I was lured by the mega-bookstores that offered overpriced cappucinos and biscottis. I could get the latest and greatest, as well as a clearance rack that offered treasures. I pulled out my credit card as books called to me.

Now, a neighboring town has a new library and it's just lovely. It's a new building and the shelves are still bare. However, the collection is new and diverse offering. I loved finding old friends like Seth, Divakaruni, Rushdie and Selvadurai on the shelves. The best part is that it's free. Just the idea of "here's a book for you. Just read it and give it back" is so refreshing.

I'll buy books that I want to keep. My weakness is South Asian and Asian writers. I think for so long it was rare to find any books, that I snatched them up. Now, I can't keep up.

Anyway, that's my walk through the libraries. A few more stories came to mind when I was writing, but I think I'll save those. By the way, I was such a geeky bookworm when I was little, I used to pretend my 10 books at home were my library and I'd sign books in and out. Interesting though - I never wanted to be a librarian.

On the Job Training - Motherhood 13: Secrets

Part of gaining independence is stepping away from parents and having a life outside of the parents. This is when they form secrets.

In the past, she had a little box and put one of my necklaces in there. She said it was a "Surprise! Don't look!" I knew what it was and didn't care.

Last week she went to a birthday party where they painted jewelry boxes. I admired her box and I listened with half an ear when she told me the lid was glued and didn't open. Later I checked the box and saw it did. I noticed the little things in there, but didn't care (a princess hair brush, hair accessories, shiny stones).

The other night, she wanted to brush her hair and made me close my eyes while she went into her box. She didn't say where the brush was, but I obviously knew.

Anyway, I don't think I will go into her box. As a girl I always had special boxes. There were 2-3 shoeboxes, which held movie stubs, notes, programs, pretty ribbons, and shells. I have them in my basement now. I know what it's like to want to capture special moments - either through material objects or on paper. I had my first diary when I was eleven and I kept journals on and off through the years.

I know my sister and I struggled with our mother to keep our secrets in tact. We begged her not to touch our "stuff" and we could sense when she had. I don't think she ever read a diary - I was hiding it especially from my sister's prying eyes. From my mother's point of view, she was just going in our rooms to clean up and if we did it ourselves, she wouldn't have to come. Also, she wanted to make sure we were not doing anything disagreeable (on drugs, on birth control, talking to boys, failing exams).

However, I am now on the other side. I'm the party being barricaded. I know that in order for me to build a trust with my daughter, I have to pass many tests. I'll be tested to see if I can be trusted to hold certain secrets, not go forth to others with it, and respect the boundaries.

I still remember key conversations with my mother that shut windows of communication between us. Ordinary, everyday conversations about school and friends that happened when I was thirteen to seventeen.

I also see her saying something casually and then when I ask her, she will quickly say "Nothing!" and make up something else. I try not to be judgmental when she's telling me things.

Another mom told me this a few years ago - every night before bed, she would ask her daughter to tell her a secret and she would tell her a secret in return. The secrets were nothing big, though important to the girl. However, it was part of the building the relationship. Her daughter was eight or nine at the time, and I don't know when she started. I hope that this would set her knowing there was one parent she could confide in when she needed to.

Since Annika does not have siblings, I feel I need to be that confidante for her. However, I'm still the "mom" and when she says "Nothing!" to me that shows she knows my authority, which is good. So, now I need to give her space.

My favorite quote about motherhood: "A mother is not a person to lean on but person to make leaning unnecessary." (Dorothy Fisher)

By the way, this is a Mother's Day picture Annika drew of us. She's the one with long, straight black hair and I am the one with light brown hair with pink streaks and orange tufts. In reality, she has short curly/wavy dark brown hair and I have dark brown hair with reddish brown highlights (not orange!!). I thought it was kinda cute because we're almost the same height. I don't know if she considers me as her equal or she is my equal. I love the butterflies though.

On the Job Training - Motherhood 12: Our Mothers

This month's O magazine has activities that I never do - I usually mull over them for a bit, but I never write them down. This time I will.

1. List 5 things you do instinctively that your mother did.
- When I get my daughter ready in the morning, I find myself putting the same hairstyles on my daughter that my mom did. I thought they looked boring at the time. Now I see it's cute and practical.

- After I do her hair, I put some moisturizer on her cheeks and then kiss her face.

- I wake Annika up with kisses & hugs.

- Calling her 'gandi' (crazy girl) affectionately.

- Telling her how much she means to me and how tiny she used to be. I never understood it when my mom said that to me. I usually thought, "Yeah, Ok. Get over it now."

2. List 5 things you have chosen to do differently.

- I almost invited extra friends to her birthday party because I talk to the mothers; she is not necessarily very good friends with the girls. My sister warned me this is how we ended up with the extensive wedding list of people I didn't know, but with whom my mom was friends. Birthday guest list was shortened.

- Controlling my temper and trying to choose my words wisely. I know now they will be remembered.

- Let food be central part of the house, but not spend unbelievable amount of energy cooking. That way I have more energy & time for friends and family.

- I don't sing when waking up Annika. I don't sing when her friends are around. I don't sing period.

- I go out with my girlfriends for my book clubs, writing groups, and nights out on the town. My husband pursues his social life & hobbies, which are independent of our activities as a couple and family. We have given each other space to grow. My mother, as many Indian women of her generation, believes that she should mold herself to her husband. A wife should always accompany and be accompanied by her husband. His interests would be hers. That is a difficult choice. But, it is a choice and the rules of propriety are not the same.

Now as a mother, I let my daughter see how mommies and daddies can step away from each other and come back together.

Actually - a big kudos to the men for giving women the freedom to do this. Men now are more capable and confident about child care and household duties than they were in my father's generation.

Casablanca

"Casablanca" was playing on Turner Classics tonight and I paused. That's about it. The first time I saw the movie, I was in college. My roommate Ellen & I had gone to the student center one Friday night to see it. It was ok. We both walked out of it confused, not sure what the hype was about.

In the meantime, I watch people cry, quote, misquote and praise this movie ad nauseam, and I've been declaring it was overrated.

A few years ago, it was on TV and my husband told me I had to watch this from the beginning. Fair enough. Let's do it. I pretty much forced myself to watch it after a certain point. I don't really like Bogart, but I told myself, "Just finish it." I was so into it that I got up to do the dishes at one point.

Then, came the final scene:
Ilsa: You're saying this only to make me go.
Rick: I'm saying it because it's true. Inside of us, we both know you belong with Victor. You're part of his work, the thing that keeps him going. If that plane leaves the ground and you're not with him, you'll regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life.
Ilsa: But what about us?
Rick: We'll always have Paris. We didn't have, we, we lost it until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night.
Ilsa: When I said I would never leave you.
Rick: And you never will. But I've got a job to do, too. Where I'm going, you can't follow. What I've got to do, you can't be any part of. Ilsa, I'm no good at being noble, but it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you'll understand that. Now, now... Here's looking at you kid.

All of a sudden, I got it! Tears started flowing. I've heard this speech over and over, and I finally understood the context and what it meant for Rick to say that to her. She felt caught between the past and the present, and he was letting her go. Now I get that "here's looking at you kid."

They say a classic is something that endures time by remaining fresh and real. Something that always lets you see something you missed before. So, this is what a classic is? This is how a story, script and actors blend together to create timeless event.

With that said, I've seen it once and had an emotional rapturous experience. However, I don't think I can sit through the whole movie again though. Sorry Rick & Ilsa.

By the way, I love old Hollywood. When I was young, I used to get library books about child actors, Hollywood of the 30-50's. I used to borrow the same books over and over. I loved looking at my father's Life magazine collection of 50 years of Hollywood. I feel intimate with many of the actors and stars, though I may not have seen their movies. I think I'll have to do separate blogs for some of my favorite stars like Katherine, Cary and Audrey.

Kaavya, Kaavya, Sigh..

This has been a hot topic this week all over the South Asian online circuit, NPR and even one of the ballet moms brought it up. I don't want to dwell on it too much, but many people have asked for my opinion, as an aspiring writer.

First admission - I was deeply jealous when I first heard about her success ($500,000 + Dreamworks option) for a 19-year-old Finance major. I've wanted to be a writer since I was 8 and am still struggling to get it together. I was curious why this book and not the dozen other desi chick-lit books out there. Dumb luck perhaps? I saw excerpts of the book, though I haven't read it, and I didn't think it was well-written. Hey, that's the teen genre, I guess. Figured I'd wait for the movie and see who the desi Lindsay Lohan would be.

Then the controversy of the plagiarism spurred this week and everything has come out in the open. However, I've learned a lot about the publishing and packaging industry, so I don't believe Kaavya has plagiarized herself. I recall reading that she said her original story was "dark" and they lightened it for her to make it appealing for mainstream audience.

Inside 17th Street
“A packager basically serves as both the writer and editor of a book,” Skurnick said in a phone interview. “The advantage for a publishing house is they don’t have to do anything — they don’t have to design the book, they don’t have to think about a concept…. They can just say, ‘Here’s $80,000 for twelve of these books.’ They don’t have to do any of the work.”

“In my case, I was a former editor at the [17th Street] office where books are farmed out to. But there’s a whole network of writers who mostly do this kind of book,” Skurnick said, referring to scribes who churn out new installments long after a series’ original author has dropped out of the picture. As “work-for-hire” employees with usually no royalty or copyright claims on their output, many of these writers labor with the hopes of gaining the connections that might land them a project of their own."

Other articles:

Will the Real Plagiarist Please Stand Up
Did Opal Author Plagiarize — or Was It Her Handlers?


So, Kaavya is in a precarious situation where options are 1) to admit she plagiarized and ruin her career 2) to admit, "I had ghostwriters, but I took full credit and $500K for the book."

What are aspiring writers supposed to do to protect themselves? Kaavya did have an agent who commandeered this for her.

My other issue with this is the model of the Indian overachiever. The girl could not write her college essay and her parents hired a consultant. How the heck does she get a bigger book deal than the other qualified writers.? By qualified, I'm referring to a list on SAWNET.org's BookShelf. There are dozens and dozens of South Asian women writers who have a lot more writing experience. So, it's not as if there is a drought of Indian talent out there.

Anyone who has grown up in the Asian immigrant community knows the pressure to succeed (education, career, marriage, family, etc.). Though I don't agree wholly with the author of this blog, he's got some good points about the pressure to succeed at any cost: Gawker

I'm hoping Kaavya will take a lesson from "The Martha Stewart School of Damaged Image Recovery" and kick out another book about this whole experience.

For me, this reassures me that slow and steady will win the race. By the way, for clarification purposes, I do not want a huge publishing contract or movie options (though it would be nice not to go to work). I want an interview with Terry Gross from Fresh Air. That's it. That's all I want.

Getting Out of Bollywood: Being Cyrus & Iqbal Reviews

Indian cinema is truly taking off with force now. When you let the filmmakers loose, it’s amazing what they can do.

Iqbal
I know nothing about cricket. When the movie was three-quarters completed, I asked my husband "When the little thing falls off the sticks, is it a strike?" (Yes).

We really enjoyed this movie for all the other elements it offers. Iqbal is a boy with a talent for cricket, who faces many challenges to achieve his dream – his deafness, his father’s intolerance toward the sport, social prejudices, and unethical dealings in the sport.

Having worked with the deaf community years ago, I am drawn toward such stories. I was impressed with the sign language skills of the actors; it’s often easily faked in movies. On the DVD interviews, Director Nagesh Kukunoor mentions that this was important to him. His challenge was to find an actor who could act, play cricket and sign, which he did.

By the way, I’m a fan of Kukunoor’s “Teen Dewaar” (Three Walls). The story was tight, the film moved quickly and we didn’t expect the outcome. No one seemed to have seen “Bollywood Calling,” a movie that I enjoyed a lot for it's peek into the "filmy" world.

His stories are real and very well-written.

Being Cyrus

Was this movie made in India? Did Saif Ali Khan go through an entire movie without a song? This was a well-written and directed movie, but definitely not a movie for everyone.

The first point where it stands out is that the film is in English, focusing on Parsi characters. The film follows a narrative led by Cyrus, recapping recent events. The audience believes what he says, but there are many things that he doesn’t say. There are continuous flashbacks and hallucinations. These can be disturbing and confusing, to say the least.

There is a twist at the end – actually, it’s more than a twist, it’s a braid. So at the end, I wanted to watch it again and look for all the clues that I missed. Cyrus has a lot of angst and it is at the end it all makes sense. It’s a dark movie, and there is violence – though thankfully not as graphic as it could be.

I though Saif did a great job, but I think the director Homi Adajania was outstanding.

Naseerudin Shah gives a wonderful performance as a stoned sculptor. He was in “Iqbal” as well, as an ex-cricketer turned coach and supporter for Iqbal. And, Dimple is so exciting to watch these days, playing real people.

The one line repeated three times was at the end of a chess game, “the king and pawn go back into the same box.” Yes, that’s a nice line. There was another line that was powerful. Dinshaw (Shah) points to white flowers that are growing inside a well. He said “God is in the details.” Katy (Dimple) responds, “If God is in the details, who is looking at the big picture.” (Not exact quote, apologies to Adajania)

That’s what this movie is about – the details. Follow the details and only at the end can you see the big picture.

Another thought about this movie is the name. “Being Cyrus”has an obvious echo to "Being John Malkovitch,” which I loved. "Being John Malkovitch" was about puppetry, controlling another person’s thoughts and actions. At the highest level, "Being Cyrus" has the same theme.

On Being Five (Part 2)

Last Monday, April 10th, we arrived home from school. She's in the back seat and I'm pulling into the garage.

Five Year Old: Mom, there's a spider in your hair.

Me: No there isn't. Time to get out now.

Five Year Old: For real. There's a spider in your hair.

At this point, I've parked and am getting out the car, she's carrying on about a spider.

Me: Ok, let's get out. (I unbuckle her)

Five Year Old: April Fool's, Mom!!

Oh, if I had known that April Fool's Day was extended this year, I surely would've gotten into the spirit.

However, it must be very liberating not to have a sense of time or propriety.

On Being Five (Part 1)

Driving home this evening from the store through a neighborhood. A small bunny rabbit darted across the street. I slowed down and was amazed at how quickly he saved himself.

Me: Oh! I just saw a bunny!

5-Year-Old: Where? I didn't see the bunny?

Me: Well, he went so fast, I didn't have time to tell you.

5-Year-Old: Did you see him?

Me: Yes.

5-Year-Old: Did he have a basket?

Me: Umm.. Umm.. I think he was going to get the basket.

5-Year-Old: OK.


Happy Easter!

Bubbles (My Poems): Greater Expectations

Greater Expectations
I would be led by a trail of dead flowers
through the woods
to where I needed to be.

Red leaves dripped from the trees.
The decay crunched underfoot,
setting a pulse
as I dashed
to freedom.
Mud and grass thickened my soles
and the bark grazed my arms,
releasing my blood.
The mossy air grated my skin until it pricked,
but sweat trickled down my face.
Like the Ferryman, the forest asked for a toll
and I gave until I was bare.

I looked to the sky for guidance,
but the trees extended formidable arms
to shield the moon from me.
It did not matter. The scent of independence
was leading me.

I kicked rocks from my path.
I felt empty and clean.
There was a wail in my ear,
the past will always be.
And so let it be.
I bore no Orpheum desire to look back.
A fire burned in my chest, igniting the way to
greater expectations
that I deserved.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wrote this a few years ago for a writing exercise - Use the words "trail of dead flowers" in a poem. I actually saw a trail of dead flowers in my office that someone had accidentally dropped. So, I took it up a few notches. Any deeper meanings to this poem? I had the image of a slave running away in my mind. However, it could apply to anyone running towards freedom (e.g., a victim of abuse). I've actually used this poem to preface a short story that I'm working on. It's inspired a totally different interpretation in a story about a mother/daughter relationship. (The characters are great, the language is real, plot builds up, and then there's no climax. Just a fizzle. Need to revisit that story and revive it though.)

Movie Review: Brokeback Mountain

So, I wanted to get these guys' pictures up on my blog sooner or later.

I liked this movie, though I wish I had seen it a year ago, before the Oscar hoopla. It's a quiet story that makes you think.

People always raised it as a "love story," the focus on the love that couldn't be. However, I found myself zeroing in on the Michelle Williams' character. She was in a one-sided marriage. Her partner was not fully committed to this relationship and also to his family. From his point of view, he has been putting his family first and doing what he could do. However, she expected more. It was a bit sad when she said he never bought home fish when he knew how much she and the girls loved fish.
Anne Hathaway is good too - we know her very intimately as Princess Mia from "Princess Diaries" so it's good to see her grow as an actress. The last scene when she talks to Ennis on the phone is perfect.

As far as the lead actors, I had just seen "The Brothers Grimm" with Heath Ledger & Matt Damon, which was a fun movie. To see Heath Ledger pulling this character is amazing. The accent, the attitude, the mannerisms are flawless. I love actors who exercise diversity. Another favorite of mine is Johnny Depp, who can be proper JM Barrie to a foul-stinky pirate to a freaky Willy Wonka.

Dollars and Dreams

It's that time again. Big jackpot for Powerball or whatever in NJ. Sometimes it's in DE. Sometimes in PA.

People are work start soliciting for contributions to the lottery pot. Someone will go buy the tickets, photocopies will be made of all the tickets for the contributors. Presumably, the contributors will huddle around the TV that night with their copied tickets.

I think I played it once at work. We didn't win. After that, I did not see the point and people knew not to ask me for lottery.

However, everyone's enthusiasm is what is striking. People are optimistic and excited. "Oh, you'll be the only here on Monday!" implying that everyone will win over the weekend, take their winnings and sail off to the Bahamas. And, I shall be the lone person in the office come Monday. Fine, I'll take that risk.

In one way it's admirable. In another way, it's very disheartening to think that this is the only way people feel their life can be changed. They are in their current situation because of external limitations - there would be too many to name. The lottery rage is not just in the ranks of the temp and hourly employees, but some managers also participate. What are they looking to change?

I enjoy going to casinos and playing roulette or blackjack (it's been years though!). I don't like slot machines though. I'm used to throwing in quarters and at least getting a can of soda in return. With the games, there's some sense of control over what you risk and how you choose. The lottery, when you allow the machine to choose for you, is like the slot machines. You take what you get. You'll win a small amount just to make sure you come back and bet more.

So, what is there to the lottery? Is it just a dollar and dream? Or is it just one dream and lots and lots of dollars spent to achieve it. My parents used to own a store which sold lottery tickets. They were surprised at the number of daily customers they had, usually retired individuals. They are on fixed incomes, but they have allocated enough to play daily.

I think of 'Cinderella' in all this. We all regard the story as a symbol of wishes granted magically. The fairy godmother will give you your designer gown, pimp your ride and find you a rich hunk. Yet, people forget that Cinderella did not win because she bought into the dream. She worked hard and stayed true to herself in the face of adversity. In the end, she was rewarded. Maybe I buy into that dream that you do what you must and hope that someone will recognize you for it eventually. It won't happen magically.

Movie Review: Rang De Basanti

Wow.

What an amazing movie.

I heard a lot of positive things about this movie, and actually tried to see it in the theater. (I haven’t seen a Hindi film in a theater since 1997 "DDLJ"; I’m quite fine with DVD and the power to fast forward).

Here's a link to the story (please come back and finish my review though!)

I thought the filmmaking by Rakesh Omprakash Mehra was impressive. I liked the juxtaposition of the present day characters with their freedom fighter counterparts. The editing was crisp and flawless. I don’t think I’ve seen any Hollywood movies with that kind of hip and sharp music and video editing.

You have to look at it in two parts and I think he went over the top at times. However, I think you may have to for an audience, which may not be accustomed to cinematic subtleties. So, sometimes it felt a bit forced, but I think the director needed that. The biggest complaint against this movie is the last part not being realistic. Agree, perhaps it would happen in China or in a repressive society, and not in India. However, it's the idea of it happening in India being more shocking. You have to think of 1970 shootings at Kent State Univ in OH, where student protestors were shot and killed by the National Guard. That shocked the country, and the film shows a similiar shake-up.

The AR Rahman music is good as always - slamming down on the perfect balance of hip western and classical Indian styles. Unlike other Bollywood movies, the music is tied to the movie, so it must be seen *with* the movie to be appreciated more.

The first part of the movie was fun, though I had to wonder how long the care-free depiction would go on. I was wondering, “Why are you guys sleeping in the sun? You haven’t been doing anything, but lounging around anyway.”

They really showed the beauty of India through historic sites and landscape. It would have created a richer depiction if they had presented the more common people of India as well. In a way, that’s the life the characters led – isolation from India and life.

However, the beauty of the friendship was the blending of religions and cultures, especially the way Sue was enveloped into their group. Maybe it was Aamir Khan, but it reminded me of the comradery portrayed in "1947 Earth" before the Partition, where they were friends and Indians before they were Hindu, Muslim, Sikh.

Watching the scenes of the freedom fighters was powerful and you cannot watch without being moved by it. I couldn’t help but think about the war in Iraq. Is it a matter of semantics - what do we call those that want to shake the occupation - freedom fighters, rebels, insurgents? Watching the torture scenes and prisoners who are not afraid to die reminded me of what is happening now. I don’t want this movie review to become politically entwined, but if the purpose is to show the story of freedom fighters lives on, then it would live on in different forms and countries. People always fighting for what they believe.

Anyway, I found it a bit disheartening that Blondie spoke better Hindi than I can with her two weeks of night classes. The Indian directors now are really talented. Once they are given permission to step away from the Bollywood formula, it's really exciting to see what they can do.

Images of Reality

I heard a reference to mirror breaking and bad luck associated with it. And, it got me thinking. The reason behind the bad luck and broken mirrors is related to the sacredness of the reflection or the self-image. Breaking the mirror meant the self-image was destroyed. It brought to mind how some cultures forbade photography because the self-image was sacred and the duplication of it was sinful.

So where are we now as an American society? We’ve released the sanctity of the self-image and allowed it to be controlled.

Flipping channels this Sunday afternoon, I had a selection of reality shows to choose: chefs, models, slackers, owners of condos that can’t sell, owners of 1980’s clothes. Not only have we unveiled the sacred image, once it’s manipulated by editors, it is ready for public consumption.

In a way, the mirror is shattered. People look at their image and think it is flattering.

Another important symbol is a person's name. By revealing one's name, we bestow a sense of power, a familiarity to the another person. Names represent us, our families, our cultures, who we are. When we introduce ourselves, we break the first wall of anonymity and allow another person into our lives.

Now, we have the internet. We hide behind handles, not revealing our names. Yet, we freely post our lives, our families, our bodies. We let our handles and nicknames speak for us - do they reveal who we really are or how we truly see ourselves?

So, the name is still powerful, even if the image is not.

"And it’s true we are immune
When fact is fiction and tv reality"
- U2 "Sunday Bloody Sunday"

Defining Oneself ..with food

I was on another site where someone posed the query - if you were a type of food/drink, what would you be?

Yes, we can certainly make this naughty. :-)

However, I started thinking about definitions and expressions. Since I recently wrote the chai poem, my mind wandered back to it.

So, I think I would be a warm cup of chai - sweet, but not too sweet, surprisingly spicy though not overwhelming. The caffeine can be invigorating and it can be soothing too. I feel like quite the cheerleader and pacifier to those around me.

I'd love to get feedback on what type of food/drink you think you are.

Movie Review: Just Like Heaven

Did I need to put a "Chick Flick" warning label on this blog?

I watched it last night and it was a sweet movie. Has a nice mix of true love goes beyond our bodies and is a meeting of the souls, fate, destiny, whatever. In case you don't know the story, as I did not until it started, it's about two souls bringing each other back from the dead. I'll leave it at that.

Reese Witherspoon's character Elizabeth is very well developed in comparison to Mark Ruffalo's David. He's got that average guy cuteness about it, which makes him fetching - "Thirteen Going on Thirty" and "View From the Top". However, you need to have more than that.

It got a little annoying in the last scene in the hospital, but I thought it was fun. Reminiscent of "Ghost" though a lot lighter, and less confusing than "Chances Are" (remember Cybil Shepard's husband comes back in Robert Downey's body?).

I would've given David a career in the first scene. At least make him a writer who has a nagging agent or something. Then you would be able to see his "avoidance" issues.

Anyway, I'm sure this movie will make the TNT/TBS circuit. I think Reese Witherspoon is stepping into the heels of Julia Roberts and Meg Ryan for the romantic comedy genre. I did think she did a fabulous job in "Vanity Fair" though.

In case my friend Dr. Manisha is reading this, I thought of you a lot since Elizabeth is a doctor running around a hospital on no sleep! It looked very realistic to me, but I've never worked in a hospital so I buy whatever portrayals the pop culture/media feeds me. I mean, don't your colleagues look like George Clooney and Goran Visnjic?

On the Job Training: Motherhood 11 - Play Dates

So this is the new dating game.

I've been seeing articles about this in parenting magazines so I'm reassured I'm not alone in this. There's a lot of anxiety involved. The kids like each other and are "new best friends," but does that mean I have to click with the mom too? I have enough friends, do I need more?

History
With Annika's first friend T, it was good. Her mom, D., is very outgoing and social, and we found ourselves chatting up a storm. In fact, we went out to wine tasting dinner (sans kids) with D and her husband. We had a great time, and even the guys had a good connection. Think we've found a nice match. Girls are in the same dance class, so we chat every Saturday morning. Things are good.

Now, Annika's in the new preschool (and doing pretty well) and has a friend Allison. So, Annika & I went to Allison's house one afternoon, spent two hours there and Allison's mom and I had fun chatting. It was great because we shared training/discipline tricks, kindergarten information and other things. I felt more informed when I came out of there; she later told me she started doing some things I had suggested. I guess our daughters' personalities are similar so they would work.

Now we have a play date with Hannah. So, I coordinated with her mom and took her there one Sat afternoon. We stood in the foyer, and I kinda waited wondering if I was going to be invited inside or not. Then Hannah's mom, H. said, "Annika are you ok if mommy leaves for a little while." So, H. was comfortable with having the girls play without entertaining me. I was thrilled! I figured she'd be ok since Hannah has an older sister and both parents are teachers. I rushed off to Target and other stores to do errands. I was quite sad at how quickly 2 hours flew by.

At Our House
Out of courtesy, it was my turn to host Hannah and let them have 2 hours of peace. She dropped off Hannah last Sunday and let me know that she had been sick last week. She lived on juice and water for 4 days and is now ravenous. That's fine.

I told the girls, "Let me know when you want a snack." as they were playing. Fifteen minutes later, Hannah said "Annika's mom, I'd like to eat a snack." So I gave her some mini-muffins and Annika had some cookies - the two of them dressed up in princess garb.

An hour later, she returned hungry. I gave her more muffins. Annika did not want to eat at all.

About an hour later, she told me she was hungry and opened the fridge. It was almost lunch time and I didn't know what her mother had planned. I told her "No, your mom is coming soon and you'll have lunch at home."

I turned around to get Annika to start putting away her toys and I looked for Hannah. She was gone. I started yelling her name, running up and down, opening and closing closet doors, basement, garage. My heart was pounding -- I lost the child 10 minutes before her mom is coming! What kind of play date parent am I?! Annika was running around looking for her, too. I was getting a little furious at this hiding game.

Finally, I found her in the dining room. Under the farthest chair, her pink tutu revealed itself. She was crying and I pried her up. I asked her what was wrong and why did she hide?

"I'm hungry." she said sadly.

I quickly jumped up to make grilled cheese sandwiches. Her mom came a short time after I finished. She didn't take off her coat and made some small talk. By the way, I told her about the hiding and she said Hannah doesn't hide often (maybe new environment?) She said I should've called. Anyway, she was nice, but no chemistry between us.

So, is this what I should expect going forward? More to my nature, I'll just play it by ear and see how all this goes.

Social Calendars
So, every now and then Annika wants one of her friends to come over. However, by the time I coordinate with the moms and given everyone's hectic schedules, it could be tomorrow or it could be two weeks from tomorrow.

We have such a busy life - we've got friends and family commitments, home renovations (another topic for another blog!), work and the need to just chill out every now and then. I really didn't think a 5 year old could bring obligations to the calendar.

She's got back-to-back birthday parties this Saturday; actually will be cutting out of the Nature Center early to make it to the Dance party in time.

I, on the other hand, have no plans for Saturday night.

Bubbles (My Poems): Stepping Over the Mist

A lovely lady had whispered to me

tiny secrets she held
in her bosom. She pulled the slip of white
from her white chest, soft billowing
flesh. I must let you know.

This is so important and I hope you will remember.
I assured her I would.
She whispered with the freshness of summer
and sweet scents of roses in her hair pummeled through my senses.

How can it be? I asked.
Is it so simple?
Yes, she said. You must not worry.

For now you know.

There was something that
told me
you would come my way
walk down my path

and perhaps ring my doorbell
Should I answer it. I do not think I should.
Could you leave the flowers on
the steps and the kisses through the keyhole?

Things that Worry Me

In no particular order:
o Third anniversary of the invasion of Iraq

o South Dakota

o My senator Rick Santorum

o Intelligent Design becoming a scientific topic. If we roll back Darwin, should we roll back Galileo too?

o Tom Delay winning Texas primary

o Dakota Fanning movies

o Having had 20" of snow dumped on a Sunday in February and having it melt by Thursday's 57 degree weather. Feels great, but can we enjoy it without conjuring hurricanes and droughts and wildfires due to global climate change?

o Bird flu - when do we stop serving chicken nuggets to our kids?

Bubbles (My poems) For the Third Anniversary of the US Invasion of Iraq

I wrote these poems on March 19, 2003 11:30 pm, as the invasion would begin March 20, 2003 . The first poem is what I imagined it would be like to be an Iraqi in Baghdad, just waiting for the war to start.

We have fear
to pull over our heads at night
to shut out the prying eyes,
the fingers that crawl through the blinds.

We have fear
to protect us from the
Invisible Evil that
may fall from the sky

or hurt as we breathe.

let the fear harden our lungs
so it may not let out the
cries of anguish,
the turmoil we feel inside
should be hidden.

Tell me how one strikes
upon a city
that sleeps.

A city in a stupor
of silence

Do you feel stronger and braver
knowing you have concrete targets?
Had someone thrown the first punch
and you fought back with that awesome
left hook,

I would understand.

I would know where it came from -
a fire inside sparked.

Yet how do you light a fire
when there is only ice in the air?
Sand in your eyes?

We cloak ourselves in answers
knowing what we do not know
but say we do.

Is it all Right?

We will find out tomorrow
if...

Bubbles (My poems) This Afternoon

Come to my house for a warm cup of masala chai.
Not a powdered Starbucks mix,
but a tawny brew of foamy milk, water and
teas, harvested on the green hills of Ooty,
picked by women swathed in cotton saris.

I’ll lace it with a blend of spices
made from my mother’s recipes.
A gingery grind of
cloves
cinnamon
cardamom
pepper
and other spices you didn’t
know could even be added to tea.

I’ll serve you in pastel Ikea mugs
on a Pflatzgraff tray.
It goes well with ginger snaps and
khari bisquits.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Editorial: I don't understand how Chai Latte got coined. It's so mismatched - Asian and Italian words to describe an American concoction.

Bubbles (My poems): Art Begets Art

Yesterday, I was fortunate enough to attend a women's writing workshop at the Pen and Brush in New York City. For me, it was a day to feed my soul - I had a chance to write and interact with exceptional people, all who share a passion for writing. I definitely came away feeling elated and optimistic, and found wonderful support.

The Pen and Brush is an amazing place to be and full of inspiration. It's a historic brownstone and they have an exhibit of women's artwork around the room. Since we were there from 9 to 5, the sun cast light and shadows. I saw the paintings actually breathe with the changing light.

We did two writing exercises that tasked us to view a piece of artwork in the room and let it reveal itself - actually "reveal you to you." So, for a change from the motherhood posts/poems that I have been recently posting, I found myself writing about me. (Yes, I remember her!)

The third exercise was to draw conclusions from the first two poems.
I was thrilled to find images of these two beautiful pieces online.


Exercise one: She, Me.

(Inspired by Nikki Moore's "She" a collage of torn magazine paper)

Pieces of you and others

make me.
Dress me up, tell me who
I should be,
wearing hats, wearing boots
draping myself in all that
is around me.

But really, my soft curves,
curvier, linear
interior lines
are my true self. And
if you care to step closer to
me, you'll see the hues of me.
I am not
just one shade, but
colors that glow
and fade
and sparkle
and change.


Exercise 2:

(Inspired by Min Sin Kim's "Room 502")

If you sit long enough,
You will become one of them:
Helpless, hapless statues.
Embraced by a stale air,
unable to reciprocate,
only hesitate.
You will be paralyzed by your anger,
holding for an eternity what
you need
to throw now.
Your soul will become
a cool polished stone.

There is a light, you see.
A window. Jump
through it.
Take me with you.


Exercise 3: Gather the pearls, the necklace will come

A grain of sand
found itself into an
Oyster. It irritated.
It burned. It let her know
it was there.
The Oyster wanted to
rip it out. Let it free.
But, she liked it.
In time, her shell hardened and
she grew into it.
she felt the irritating sand was
gone, and a smoothness bubbled
Inside. It lolled about the folds of
her belly and her heart,
but it stopped short her mouth.
When would she be able to release it?

These are a few of my favorite things (Appended)

Let's be self-indulgent shall we?
(bit of a rhetorical query since the blog is a self-indulgent medium!)

- Fresh sheets from the dryer are wonderful.. you lay them on the bed so nice and clean. (Fresh jeans from the dryer are not a good thing. You lay on the bed as you pull them on.)

- Waiters who kneel next to you when answering a question on the menu. Even better are waiters who pull up a chair and sit with you at the end of a shift.

- A kiss on your cheek. It comes with the purest intentions.

- Deep dark chocolate. If it weren't for the bitter, you wouldn't appreciate the sweetness

- The Carpenters

- Pulling a book off the library shelf and inhaling into the pages.

- Standing in sand on the beach. The water crashes at your feet. The ocean pulls back her waters, and with it takes the sand under your feet. You feel like you're being pulled also, but you're really not. You're still stationary with your feet firmly planted in wet sand.

- Indulging in the most sinful, tallest, gooest, chocolate dessert with girlfriends.

- Listening to "Sleepy Hollow" on the WXPN radio on Sunday mornings, and going through the Travel and Entertainment sections of the paper with hot cups of coffee.

- Stepping on snow - making fat crunchy sounds.

- Singers with voices that bring up images:
* Lata Mangeshkar has a timeless voice. When she sings, it reminds me of a red satin sheet fluttering in the wind.

* Sarah McLachlin voice reminds me of bubbles floating and then just popping, releasing a note (The song "Angel" especially).

* Jewel sings and it sounds like she's skiing - going up and down over the snow mounds, and then just gliding along.

* Natalie Merchant is like a hot cup of peppermint cocoa - rich and smooth.

Poet Laureate Ted Kooser

I heard the Poet Laureate Ted Kooser on NPR the other day. I wish I could find that interview though, I found these clips of his interviews.

What stayed with me was his comment about the rewards of poetry. He said he had a poem in Atlantic Monthly magazine recently. It was a 5-line poem and he got $5 per line. A whopping $25.

So, he said because the financial gains aren't there, "poetry is more pure." It's written from true feelings with real intentions.

Actually, this makes much sense to me as I'm struggling with 2 poems. I'm writing them for anthology, which has requirements for theme. I can certainly write a poem on this theme, but I'm not feeling it. So, it's become very dry. Not at all fluid. I feel like the words are bricks that I'm laying on top of each other to form a tall structure. Conforms to the themes, but doesn't serve any purpose to me. A building that doesn't even shelter me.

Anyway, I like Ted Kooser and was fascinated by him during a tv interview. First of all, something about him reminded me of my grandfather, who always encouraged me to read and write. Maybe it was Kooser's round and kind face with prominent ears?

The other thing I liked about him was that he worked for an insurance company for years. He would rise at 5 am and write poetry. Then, proceed with his day.

I don't have any set time for my poetry writing. I tend to squeeze it in during the day. Our weekly production meeting is an excellent time for me to write. Else, if I'm waiting for an an application process to be finish, I'll pull out my notebook or open a Word doc.

It's encouraging to hear this from Kooser; he's an academic now, but that's what I keep worrying about. Must you be in academia to get published?

Enough of my fretting. Enjoy Kooser!

Tattoo

What once was meant to be a statement—
a dripping dagger held in the fist
of a shuddering heart—is now just a bruise
on a bony old shoulder, the spot
where vanity once punched him hard
and the ache lingered on. He looks like
someone you had to reckon with,
strong as a stallion, fast and ornery,
but on this chilly morning, as he walks
between the tables at a yard sale
with the sleeves of his tight black T-shirt
rolled up to show us who he was,
he is only another old man, picking up
broken tools and putting them back,
his heart gone soft and blue with stories.

from Delights & Shadows, Copper Canyon Press, Port Townsend, WA 2004

Flying at Night

Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations.
Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies
like a snowflake falling on water. Below us,
some farmer, feeling the chill of that distant death,
snaps on his yard light, drawing his sheds and barn
back into the little system of his care.
All night, the cities, like shimmering novas,
tug with bright streets at lonely lights like his.

Published in "Flying at Night

Bubbles (My poems): A Child Is Not a Poem. A Poem Is Not a Child.

This is a metaphor.

How do you learn to spell?
Blood, sky & the sun,
your own name first,your first naming,
your first name,your first word.
- Spelling by Margaret Atwood

Your first Naming.
Naming your First.
Feeling the power and
privilege of raising a human
Child
to grow into a human
Adult.

One who would make decisions
based on answers
you provided and birthed in
hidden memories.
The burden of parenting
is not in the nightly
Awakenings.
The physical demands of motherhood
can be handled
She was created by an invisible hand.
yet she will be raised under my
Words.

Do I know the words?
Aren’t I still seeking to form
the vowels in my mind that build the world
into words I can consume?
Yet those consonants are like thorns in my throat.
I cough up words and hope
they will spring themselves into an umbrella
for my child to use in downpours.

Quote on Love

Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within. - James Baldwin, author

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

This was on our corporate webboard today. It really drives home that love is about being honest, being the authentic self, and the acceptance of another person wholly.

I always believed that when people are dating, they're eagar to keep a certain face, say the right things, be a bit careful with the other person. Once the couple decides to commit into marriage, then it becomes real. All the skeletons spill out of the closet: the credit card bills tumble first, the family members that were hid in the corner are now taking center stage. It's as they say on the "Real World", "people stop being polite, and start getting real."

So, you could be dating for 2 years or 2 months, it's only when you commit do you become real.

By the way, speaking of love, here's another cliche for you. Unconditional Love of a Child. Wait - don't click "Next Blog" so soon. I can't believe it is true.

Annika is horrible eater and tends to dawdle and chat incessantly through dinner. It's very frustrating that it takes an hour to eat. Then, while goofing around, the dinner spills over on the floor. Now, I lose it. I get mad and send her upstairs and she starts crying. I feel bad about all this. When I come upstairs and tell her it's time to read a book, she finds her book and climbs into my lap. I apologize and ask her if she understands what happened. She does and reiterates it to me. Then, we read our book and it's a wonderful bed time.

So, that is unconditional. No matter what you do or say, she loves me so much. Un-condition-al-ly. Without condition. Without a reason.

Mind you - lest you walk away thinking we're all happy and kissing all the time, she has slammed the door on me, yelled at me for being a bad mom, etc. So, she can get mad at me. But, then we come back together.

Bubbles (My poems): Step by Step

Why didn't they tell you how
complicated it would be
when they handed you a little girl,
aflush with life and your blood,
a swaddling of soft white cotton with
black marble eyes that never leave you
though they dart about you,
looking to see more.

Why didn't they tell you that
you are her mother
and she will turn to you for everything -
how to be a girl,
to be a woman,
to be a person of her own,
even though you are still learning the steps yourself.

She will look to you to show her,
but then she’s also going to shut

you out when she thinks she knows everything
and then you have to watch her
walk alone...

She may make the choices you taught her she wanted,
or will you watch her go astray
or will she shut the door
and keep you from seeing

her repeat your mistakes,
because she thinks she knows the answers

just like you knew everything
when your mother tried to tell you.

****************************************************************

Speaking of motherhood, I read recently an observation. When father is converted to a verb, "fathering," it means providing a sperm (e.g., he fathered 2 children and adopted 1). When mother is converted to a verb, "mothering," it means so much more (e.g., she questioned her mothering ability) The word itself conveys feelings of warm laps and convenient shoulders for tears, nurturing of the body and mind. So, again, the mother bears the bigger burden.

However, "mothering" is one letter away from "smothering." - So, please keep that in mind!