Dor - Review

We watched Nagesh Kukunoor's latest film last night and it's absolutely wonderful. It's as if you're watching a beautifully laid book on the screen - each page turns another wonderfully scripted scene.

The film starts in the lovely mountains of Himachal Pradesh, focusing on an endearing couple, Amir and Zeenat. He is a soft romantic and she is a harder than nails type of woman. She knows exactly what needs to be done, including how to win people over. The other couple is a traditional Rajput couple, Shankar and Meera. Their love and affection is so touching and charming.

Their paths cross when Zeenat embarks on a journey to seek Meera, a woman she's never met nor knows how to find. Yet she must try because she has everything to lose if she doesn't. En route, she finds Behroopiya, a struggling and comical actor, as a companion and conartist to help her.

The last character in this movie is India. The film takes you to where the clouds greet the lush mountains and you can feel the chilly morning air. You become envious of the villagers who live a simple life because what more do you need in life than those mountains? Then, the film sweeps us to the vast open deserts of Rajasthan. You could feel the dryness of the sand on your face and the heat of it beneath your feet. Again, the simple life of the Rajasthanis is also appealing.

The diversity of India is not only in her people, but in the landscapse. One country -- a fraction of the size of the US -- has Himalayas on the top, golden deserts in the middle and lush tropics and beaches in the south.

Gul Panag is absolutely riveting - you can't take your eyes off her intense ones. I've seen Ayesha Takia in bollywood films, like "Socha Na Tha," so her acting in this film shows her true potential. And, Marathi boy Shreyas Talpade is a lot of fun. I loved him in Kukunoor's "Iqbal" as a talented deaf cricket player. He's got a charming face and very open eyes.

This movie deals with sensitive topics such as treatment of women and widows in India. I think I wept through most of this movie anyway. At the same time, it's very beautiful and uplifting. I'm really grateful to the filmmakers for bringing the real women of India so up close and personal to us. The woman whose face is under a dupatta has a personality, a love and fire within her, which is more often suppressed by society.

I love Nagesh Kukunoor's films such as "Iqbal" and "Tein Deewar," which was so well written. (Here is my post about "Iqbal"). Actually, Kukunoor is a personal hero of mine as he was an engineer in the US and gave it up for his true passion in filmmaking. By the way, Kukunoor pulls a Shyamalan by playing a bit part in the movie. Eh, these guys need to just hire actors.

Bubbles (My Poems): A Mid-Autumn Night's Dream

A Mid-Autumn Night's Dream

A friend beckoned me to Cabo San Lucas. I wasn't sure.
"Come and see it. Then decide if you want to go."

There were islands there now. We could hop to each
by wading through crystalline waters.
Total wade time was six minutes.

There were warm breezes awakening the palms.
The edges of the brown sand melted into blue-green ocean.
My toes broke into the shimmer of the sand,
leaving an imprint to be washed away momentarily.
The air lifted and lightened everyone.

"I will stay!" I decided.
Yet, I only have the clothes on my back.
I'm not ready for swimsuit season.
My daughter is dressed only in an orange swimsuit.
What about food? Everyone else brought bhel-puri.
My husband and I now have to help construct
the underground passage to the islands.
A menage of friends, parents and Disney princesses
came to my side. It would be fine.
Think of the six minute wad.

So, I stayed until I awakened.

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As a side note, this dream obviously indicates how much I long for a vacation! I'm happy to announce I'm slowly stepping out of my writing funk. (Thanks for putting up with the simple poem above!)

• Reading Hillary R Clinton's autobiography is a good mental palette cleanser. Historical and political Americana is always good for encouraging creativity. I don't find myself comparing my own writing to hers.
  

• Colored my hair one rich mahogany color. It was kinda uneven with some touch ups in the middle, plus natural summer highlights. Only two people noticed and they are really good friends. :-)

• Speaking of hair, I plan to grow out my bangs. Last summer, I ran into a hair stylist I used to go to in college. He said, "Are you growing out your bangs?" I told him no and gave my standard instructions for my bangs. He made a face. I asked, "Wait, why did you make that face?" He thought I should grow them. Well, fine, but not today. I have a big party tonight. So, against his better judgement, he cut them and gave me a fabulous hair cut (got lots of compliments!). Anyway, now I'm going to take his suggestion. I've had bangs since I was in college. No wonder people say "You look the same!" to me. If it doesn't look right, then off with them. It's only hair.
  

• I'm taking Monday off. My plans are to work on 2 articles and go to Marshall's to look for a new purse. There has been something especially freeing to tell people at work, "I'm going to be out on Monday." In reality, it's 8 hours. However, with my job the impact of missing 1 day could be actually 2 days worth. But, they'll survive.

• The Democrats have taken over the House and Senate, Nancy Pelosi is the first female Speaker of the House (in line for Presidency right after Dick Cheney!), Rick Sentorum is officially not representing me, my values or my state and Rumsfeld is gone! Britney came to her senses and kicked out the dead weight. Astrologers have been predicting November to be a critical month for positive changes. I think these changes on the national level give me assurance about upcoming changes on the personal level.
  

Block and Write

How ironic my 101th post should be about writer's block.

I usually tell people there's no such thing as writer's block. It's all self-imposed. Truckers don't have truckers' block. They just keep on truckin'. Writers have to keep on writing.

Since last Spring there's been a lot of things in my life on the homefront, family and work. I feel I've had to shoulder a lot of emotional and sometimes, physical burdens. I have had to be strong for a lot of people. Some of it has gotten better and there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Others are still open and all we can do is hope for the best, knowing it will all come together in time. Nothing in life is permanent. Bad times end like good times end.

I feel that my creativity has been a victim of this unexpected stress. It's been sucked out. I've lost passion for writing and tapping into my creative Spirit. It sounds very Oprah-esque, but I really do believe in my creative Spirit.

When I write poetry, I close my eyes and type. I listen to my thoughts, not editing or correcting, just listening and writing. Oftentimes I open my eyes and am amazed by what I've written. I've found old poems and do not remember writing them, though it's definitely me. (Ok, now my faithful readers are saying "chick's gone psycho from the stress." Maybe.). I would write a few poems a week - sitting in a weekly meeting, waiting for a file to unzip or process. Whenever and wherever it struck me to write, I wrote.

Last April, I got organized about my writing and tapped into my project management skills. Organizing my poems was an overwhelming task. I have them on disks, on work laptop, home PC, work notebook, pieces of paper in the kitchen and wherever I was when the creative spirit moved me. My other problem was I would come across Calls for Submissions and would miss the deadlines.

I estimated I had 16 hours of poetry compilation into one master document. I don't have 16 hours to spare in my life. However, I do have 1-2 hours over 8 days so I could handle that. I created a Word document table to track submissions, highlighting upcoming dates, contact info and recording what work I sent (filename, date, etc.) I was quite on top of this and saw immediate successes to being organized. I started categorizing and indexing my 200 poems.

Now, it's Fall and the stress of this summer has zapped me. I was bringing working on spreadsheets rather than my creative efforts. I've had to write "Missed Deadline" on my tracking form.

I need to get back into my creative efforts, but lately my work has been book reviews, articles and blogs. I don't know if anyone has noticed by I'm posting other people's poems and not my own anymore. I preferred to redesign my blogsite rather than write when I had a quiet evening to myself. I picked up an anthology of poetry off my bookshelf and was so disinterested. I'm actually reading Hilary Clinton's book right now. (I've had my head in Rohinton Mistry, anthologies by Indian, British writers and multiracial writers for the last few months. I need to clear my palette).

I'm not sure what I need to do to kick start and wake up my creative Spirit. I've trying doing a Yahoo Search on "Writer's Block" and found some "ok" websites that tell you basic things. I searched "find passion" and ended up with personal classified listings (oops! wrong search words!).

I used to write about this stuff and give advice to others. I have a few books for writers. My favorites are Gail Sher, "One Continuous Mistake: Four Noble Truths for Writers" and Anne Lamott's "Bird by Bird".

However, I don't know if that's enough. I need to find that spark, a fire, ma raison d'etre for writing. I think I need to do something different in my life - take a trip, take a risk or step away from the uncomfortable rut.

On the Job Training: Motherhood - Halloween Badmash 3

Shortly after I posted my last blog, she announced to me, "Next year I want to be a rock star."

I asked her if she knew what that was and she said yes.

"I just want the make up and the colored hair. You can spray it. I think it comes out. I'll ask Ashley. So I want to be Mermaidia and a Rock Star."

On the Job Training: Motherhood - Halloween Badmash (Part 2)

I had posted the comic below because it reminded me of Halloween when I was 5 or 6. My parents were working-class Indian immigrants and didn't really understand the importance of Halloween to a child. My mom took me trick-or-treating in a chanya-choli, as an "Indian girl." I wanted the Cinderella mask and costume but that was an unnecessary expense in her eyes.

In later years, my siblings and I were creative and made our own costumes from household items - hobos, gypsies, clowns and even a Greek goddess (I was a mythology fanatic when I was 12). We've always loved dressing up for Halloween and even did it in college. My friends and I trick-or-treated in the dorm and ended up with half a bag of chips and beer.

Anyway, we're having fun with my daughter, Bubli, who loves to dress up no matter what. (It's Saturday 2:30 p.m., time to put on a poofy dress.) So, just about every Halloween, she ends up with 2-3 costumes such as a princess, a cat, or Minnie Mouse.

This year, we talked about being a fairy and a Barbie princess. When we bought her the doll last year for Christmas, they gave a free costume, which I hid it until now. The dress was identical to the doll's, so she was thrilled. Her eyes widened when I showed it to her it was reversible.

For her fairy costume, she has a lovely dress from her ballet recital. It's olive green, small flowers and embroidery on the bodice and a soft skirt. It reminded me of a wood nymph or a fairy if she wore wings, which she already has. I mentioned the idea to other ballet moms and they said, "Wow. You're right. It does look like a fairy dress!" I had bought a Dollar Store a wand, so it would be something new. This probably won't fit her again so she should wear it this year. I'm done with my costume planning. Or so I thought.

Well, she wore her Princess dress to the Halloween party/parades at her morning and afternoon KG schools.

On Monday morning before school, we talked about her Fairy costume for trick or treating. However, she refused to wear the ballet dress.

"It's green. I'm not going to be the green fairy. I'm not going to be the yellow fairy. I'm not going to be the blue fairy. I want to be pink fairy!"

I pulled out the wings she had. "Those are butterfly wings! They're not fairy wings." (Oh, I had no idea.) I suggested we decorate the wings with glitter and gems. She paused. Then continued.

I showed her the wand. "Fairies don't have wands. Only Tinkerbell does." (Oh, so they just do magic without a wand?)

So, I suggested she be Tinkerbell! She has a green dress, a wand and I can put her hair up. "She's ugly. Fairytopia has long pink hair."

She proceeded with a meltdown and I was really mad now. I told her she would have to be "Indian Girl" if she didn't stop this behavior. I'm not going to buy a whole costume, but just wings if she wears the green dress. She was really mad at me and didn't even say good bye to me when she got on the bus.

Just a disclaimer here - in spite of the tantrums, Bubli is really a good girl. She's not a whiny or overindulged child, though she has her moments. However, she is a very strong and independent girl. Since she was 2 years old, the daycare had told me that Bubli knows exactly what she wants. I thought it was average stubborn toddler behavior, but they told me she has a different personality. She definitely has to want to do something, you can't force her. This applies to eating, taking a bath or getting dressed.

Anyway, I was asking a five-year-old to make compromises. I should have managed her expectations earlier - she had told everyone she would be Fairytopia and figured it was a store-bought costume when I never intended it to be.

I went to Target at lunchtime just to check this Fairy business. I saw she was right. Fairytopia wings are different. However, I wasn't going to spend $25 (sale price, $35 orig) on a costume she would wear at night. For the record, the green ballet dress cost me $40 and was better quality.

So, I found another pair of fairy wings and some cute tights she could wear again. Fairy wings, by the way, have glitter and flowers and butterfly wings don't. My friend suggested I give her the wings by acknowledging positive behavior rather than the tantrum. For example, "You were very good this evening by listening to mommy and daddy."

That evening, we did not talk about the costumes and continued our routine as usual. I was cooking while she played her Reader Rabbit games on the computer.

As we were getting ready for bed, I asked her if she still wanted to be the fairy or just be Princess for trick-or-treating.

"Mommy, I'm not going to wear the green dress," she said quietly. "I'm going to wear an old pink dress and we can decorate it." This was one of my earlier suggestions.

I was surprised at how calmly she stated her position. She knew what she wanted and defined her stance. She would compromise on the pink dress, but was not going to bend on the green. I felt like I learned something about the art of negotiation from her.

"That's a great idea. I'll give you fairy wings and something special for your hair." I had some purple and pink hair extensions from a Dollar Store once. Again, I had tucked it away and took it out for the big reveal. She was in awe. We picked out special glittery tattoos.

So, Tuesday was Halloween. My work encouraged people to wear costumes for our Halloween party. I don't care to wear costumes to work, so I wore black turtleneck and pants. I asked Bubli if I should wear her butterfly wings. She was thrilled.

"Here let me help you. You helped me get ready. Now I can help you," she said holding the wings for me. "Oh, you look pretty!" (Really? Is the power of wings that strong to turn ordinary working mom into a magical butterfly? Does the cosmetic industry know about this?)

That night we got ready to go trick-or-treating with friends. I showed her the wings and she loved them. I suggested two pink party dresses and she chose the best one. It was white silk bodice with pink silk skirt and tulle overlay. There was a flower at the waist that matched the flower on the wings. I always thought it looked like a Princess dress. Now, it was a fairy dress.

I put the pink and purple thing in her hair, glitter on her face, gave her rosy cheeks and lips. She looked gorgeous! Running through the neighborhood, she looked like a little fairy. She is also a little charmer and chatted with the hosts at every house. She showed off her wings and glitter.

Anyway, it all ended well, but it was a day of anxiety for me, especially when she didn't say good bye to me on the bus. I suppose there will be many, many more power struggles ahead.

I was happier that she got into the spirit of creating your own look. By the way, she mentioned that next year she wants to be Mermaidia (Apparently, the fairies in Fairytopia turn into Mermaids.) I am checking the clearance tables now!

Side note: The pictures of the Fairies in this blog are by Cicely M. Barker. We have her pictures from a Flower Fairy Alphabet and listen to the CD as bedtime music. For me, I enjoy the poetry and for Bubli, it sets the perfect music for dreams.

On the Job Training: Motherhood - Halloween Badmash

This is my favorite comic from Badmash.com -- brings back very vivid childhood memories.

On Being Five: Royal Pains

"Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown."
King Henry IV, part II: III, i


So says Shakespeare and my daughter.

She had her Halloween party at school where she was dressed up in full Barbie Princess regalia - lavender, pink and white tulle dress, silver crown, matching frou-frou in hair, Ariel plastic shoes.

In the evening, we cuddled up to watch "Annie," a favorite movie in the house (it reminds me of my grandmother actually. She didn't understand English, but enjoyed this movie immensely because of the singing and dancing kids).

Anyway, A asked me to rub her feet because the plastic shoes hurt her. (As if I forced them on her?)

Then she said her head hurt. I was concerned and asked her about it.

"Because I was wearing the crown."

Such is the pain of royals of which we plebians know not. Yet, we do our duty and rub the head and feet (given exact instructions on where the pain is, when it's being pressed effectively and if a foot is being ignored).

Il Postino, Pablo and Poetry

I was listening to my one of my favorite CD's yesterday - the soundtrack to Il Postino.
I received it as a Christmas present years ago and it's absolutely a treasure.

The first part of the CD has Pablo Neruda's poetry read aloud by actors. First of all, I love literary readings performed by actors because they know how to bring life to the words. Julia Roberts reads "Poor Fellows" and you could feel how much the words resonate with her as a celebrity. When Andy Garcia reads "Tonight I Can Write," you just want to cry along with him. Ralph Fiennes, Sting and Ethan Hawke read other poems and well, you just want to be with them.

The other half of the CD is instrumental and to me, it all sounds the same. It's pretty much the same theme song performed by different instruments and given different titles on the CD cover.
Anyway, I can't believe I haven't talked about Neruda on my blog yet. I love his poetry and if I learned Spanish, it would be only to read the his work in the purest form -- his own language. There is such an unashamed sensuality and passion to his poems.


I have always loved and identified with the poem below. To me, it not language or admiration between two lovers, but my feelings toward my daughter, especially the bolded lines (bolding is mine).

I Love You As

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,

or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms

but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;

thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,

risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.

I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;

so I love because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,

so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,

so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Now, as a poet, I find this poem always strikes a crisp chord in me.

Poetry

And it was at that age ... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names,
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire,
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating plantations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.


Here's one more that I had found and saved:

In my sky at Twilight

In my sky at twilight you are a cloud
and your form and colour are the way I love them.
You are mine, mine, woman with sweet lips
and in your life my infinite dreams live.

The lamp of my soul dyes your feet.
My sour wine is sweeter on your lips,
oh reaper of my evening song.
how solitary dreams believe you to be mine!

You are mine, mine, I go shouting it to the afternoon's
wind, and the wind hauls on my widowed voice.
Huntress of the depths of my eyes, your plunder
stills your nocturnal regard as though it were water.

You are taken in the net of my music, my love,
and my nets of music are wide as the sky.
My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning.
In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begins.

On Being Five - Discussing Politics & Religion

We were driving to ballet and the roadsides are sprouting election signs. One of the candidates in our area is Raj Bhakta of "Apprentice" fame. He actually has his mug shot on the sign.

A: Why are the signs there?

Me: Well, he wants us to vote for him. Remember we went to the voting booth at the firehouse last year?

A: Yeah. What's his name?

Me: Raj Bhakta.

A: Is he Indian?

Me: Yes. (I didn't want to get into the details of his ancestory)

A: Are we going to vote for him?

Me: Welll...(no, because he's a Republican and I'm a registered Democrat. And, even if he's Indian, I'm still not going to vote for him because PA has enough Republicans going to DC. Isn't that more important? Wait, how do I explain that to a five year old? Let's change topic!) I will vote for someone else who I think can do the job. You know, PA is going to vote for a new governor!

A: Oh! I know what a governor is!

Me: Really? (suddenly impressed with KG in the public school system)

A: Yeah, from the "Sound of Music."

Me: (pause. thinking. He was a Captain. Did anyone call him "guv'ner"? Wait, that's "My Fair Lady") Sound of Music??

A: Remember Maria?

Me: Oh, wait! That was a governess! Not a governor.

A: Oh. (pause. thinking) What do you call the others? The ones who wore the white and the hats? Are they governors?

Me: No, they're nuns.

A: What's that?

Me: (deep breath) They're Christian. They pray all the time.

A: Did they have to study hard?

Me: Yeah, nuns do have to study hard.

A: So, they studied hard to be in the movie?

Me: Yes. (pressing on the gas pedal to get to ballet faster!)

On the Job Training: Motherhood - Part 18 For What There is No Training

I wanted to remember all the mothers who in the last two weeks sent their children to school and learned they would not return home.

The Amish community is very close to home for me, so the pain of their tragedy is felt deeply. And there are mothers in other parts of the US that are also grieving.

I always remember a woman who lost her son to the Columbine tragedy saying she kept her son's laundry untouched, just so she could hold onto his smell a little bit longer.

We all want to hold our children closer to us and having our hearts brutally torn is unfathomable. The Amish community has comforted themselves with "It was God's will." Yes, you can say maybe that child's purpose was to bring 8 years of joy and happiness to those around her.

There are so many senseless acts of violence against children all over the world. I've been thinking about Gandhian philosophy a lot this week and how does one turn the other cheek when there is violence against the weakest and smallest. He always said change starts with one person and I hope that can be done. We can see how many lives would have been saved and different if one person had decided not to move forward that day. It is easier to take the violent approach than the nonviolent one, which require one the face fears head on.


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I cannot look at this butchery going on in the world with indifference. I have an unchangeable faith that it is beneath the dignity of men to resort to mutual slaughter. I have no doubt that there is a way out.
M. K. Gandhi

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To be honest, I saw this Hindi comedy movie "Munna Bahi Lage Raho" this week. I thought it'd be another slapstick comedy, but was suprised by the theme of Gandhian philosophy -- bringing in the man himself to do the preaching. It was a great movie in that they used every day examples and how basic philosophy of truth and nonviolence do have a place in our world.

I recently helped a friend deal with a situation. She was ready to walk out, avoid confrontation with another person and give up. If she did that, it would exacerbate the situation, affect many people involved and break relationships. Remembering the lessons from this week, I told her she had two choices - either walk out or confront the other person. Walking out would be the 'violent' option and open discussion would be "nonviolent."

Fortunately she chose the latter. She found her strength by finding someone to support her during the discusssion. That's ok. We don't have to do everything in life by ourselves. (Refer to my "Confessions of a Supermom" post about having real expectations). The discussion was worthwhile and they will have to compromise and work. However, that work will be a lot easier than try to live and deal with the disasters.

On the Job Training: Motherhood - Part 17: Confessions of the Super Mom

So, I got another article published on ABCDLady's Oct issue. This month it's about Time Management for Moms. I didn't tell my husband because I know he would laugh. How could I be the expert on time management? I'm always late, ill-prepared and just frantic at the last minute. Maybe that's why I feel like I need to work harder.

It's a great article with lots of ideas I gathered from my friends, but I just wanted to share all the incidents that happened since I wrote that article.

1. There was a field trip on Wednesday and I did know about it. She had a meltdown in the morning because they always wore red shirts on field trip days and she couldn't find it. I found it, got her dressed and pulled up to the school at 9 am. Also, learned in the car that we left her bookbag at home. At the school, kids were getting on the bus. We hurried inside and met another mom and girl, who was having a meltdown "my class! my class is leaving me!" We both were confused as to what time we needed to be there. But, the teacher told us it was 9 and the kids were fine. So it ended well.

2. During dinner on Monday, I suddenly thought about Julianne's birthday. We received the invitation a week before. It was on the fridge where I keep invitations, but it was under the school calendar. Her birthday was on Sunday and I was to RSVP last Thursday! My daughter was a bit distraught about missing a party, but I told her that I would try to arrange a special playdate. I sent the mom an email apology for missing the party.

3. I went to Back to School last night. I realized there were 2 family photograph projects due last Friday and we didn't do. Like my article says, I check Annika's book bag every night and never saw papers about this. I asked the teacher whether she sent a note for this. She said it was on the reverse of the school calendar (remember the one on my fridge?). She said not to worry and she'll be sending Oct calendar too. I know we're in KG and don't have formal grades, but it seems bad to miss 2 projects.

Shall I continue? We all strive to be super moms, cover all the bases from the home front, school and work fronts and it's hard. There's no way we can be perfect. Though I know that intellectually, it's hard to absorb emotionally.

By the way, I loved Elastigirl from The Incredibles. Yes, she's an animated character, but I felt she was real. My favorite scene in the movie is when she checks out her butt in her uniform. She's a mom, she has birthing hips. Yet, she wears thigh-high, kick-ass black leather boots! Like her, we're stretching ourselves so much. Right now I have a lot of stressful situations at work, home and personally. I think most of the demands, guilt and need for perfection is self-imposed.

So, if you have read my article, please know that we're not superheroes.

Going on a Roman Holiday

Now that Audrey Hepburn is in my head (thanks, GAP) and I need a vacation so badly, I think of my favorite movie, "Roman Holiday."

I remember watching this movie in high school and falling in love with everything about it. My favorite part is where she runs away and lolls about Rome by herself, indulging her own whims, getting her hair cut (a true makeover story!), eating ice cream on the Spanish Steps and finding freedom in a few moments.

That's me. Always looking for my own quiet time. I love to explore cities and new places by myself. I have no qualms about doing that.

My father loved this movie too. He fell in love with this movie back in India. He liked the romantic idea of walking around Italy with a pretty girl. His favorite was the scene at la Bocca de la Verita where Gregory Peck pretends to lose his hand to the Mouth of Truth and tricks the Princess.

My husband is a "Roman Holiday" fan, though I don't think he has a particular scene or moment he loves more than another.

We went to Italy for our first anniversary - just 3 days in Rome, 2 days in Venice and 1 day in Florence. I think Rome is a lot like Mumbai. Upon entry, you wonder where you are and want to leave. The people, the pollution, the chaos. Then, within a few days, you're so in love with it and don't want to leave. What were we thinking with just 3 days in Rome!

When we we came home, we rented this movie. It was exciting to pick out all the spots we had seen. It became a travelogue for us.

In Rome, we had to go see the Bocca de la Verita and actually rushed to the church right before closing. We practically tripped over marble ruins trying to get there. We made it just in time and took our pictures. Of course, they had a shop within the church where I bought my father a small souvenir replica of it. (He was thrilled with it!)

I had also insisted we go to the Piazza D'Espagne to see the steps. This is romantic on the literary level for me because Keats and Elizabeth Barrett Browning had lived there; there's now a museum dedicated to the artists. I was so excited.

Lo and behold! The Steps!

There were about 1000 other tourists taking pictures, students hanging around and Italians on cell phones all over. There were Punjabi men who set up shop to sell t-shirts and souvenirs at the base. How was I supposed to sit and eat gelato with my Gregory Peck? I was so upset and just wanted to leave.

I actually fell in love with Piazza Navona. Loved the cafes, the gypsy singers, and the artists. We actually bought some artwork from a street artist on our last night there. It was about 10pm and we only had $20 (USD) bills. Every bank was closed and we couldn't find an ATM. The artist said he'd accept the American cash without converting it. We found some Americans who exchanged it with us. We finalized on the artwork and were so excited with our purchase. Unfortunately we lost the artwork when we moved to our house. All we have left is the story.

"Roman Holiday" was on TV a few months ago and I had to stop flipping. My daughter was with me and kinda bored with a black and white movie. Then I said, "See that girl? She's a princess." And immediately, she snapped to attention. She watched a few minutes, but I know one day when she's older, this movie will let her dream.

I think this movie turns us all into runaway princesses, charming Gregory Pecks and Romans.

Non Fashion Statement

I'm not a fashionista. Never been mistaken for one, never posed as one. For me, dressing well is concerted effort. When I grew up, I had my sister say, "You're wearing that?". Now, as an adult, my husband will look at me and say, "You're wearing that?". I don't intuitively know what's going to look good off the hanger.

At work, I go for the classics - black pants, button down shirts, sweater sets (not "matchy-matchy" though). On weekends, it's jeans, t-shirts, kurta tops or some kind of different shirt. I get compliments from people for being 'put together' and I embrace those compliments because I have to think about clothes. When it comes to accessories, I rock! I love earrings, necklaces, bracelets. I buy off-the-rack jewelry and then deconstruct it by taking off extra baubles. Then, it becomes more me.

Anyway, I try to find things that suit myself and my personality, rather than trends.

So, last night I caught the new GAP ad with Audrey Hepburn dancing. Wow, what an awesome ad! Really well-edited, music is fantastic and it's flawless. How else can you get Audrey Hepburn to advertise for you. So the news is skinny pants are back.

Why, oh why? I ask.

Over the last 10 years, we've been brainwashed and instructed to stay away from tapered legs and go for the boot-cut, wide legs. This creates a more balanced silhouette, per our friend Stacy and Clint (TLC's What Not to Wear). We look longer and not like a lollipop on a stick.

Oprah's magazine this month has some new skinny-pant looks, so even they are trying to sell this concept to American women. They're showing styles suitable for non-Audrey Hepburn body types.

I'm not buying it though. I think you have to dress for yourself and your own body and not follow trends blindly. Just because GAP is running out of ideas and has to go back fifty-years for a look, we have to rush out ourselves?

I want to stop seeing chubby teenaged girls with "muffin tops" coming out of their low-rise jeans. American children and teens are facing obesity and the fashion is to go tighter and lower? Teenaged girls are the most insecure about their bodies, have surging hormones storing fat in the wrong places, and they're wearing tighter clothes that accentuate their "womanly blossoms." Unfortunately, with teenagers, they will want to wear what everyone else is wearing. Again, I don't get it.

I see my daughter has a fantastic sense of style (not inherited from me obviously!). She can put things together really well, and I only interfere when she wants lime green top with magenta skirt or the orange top with the purple skirt. The tops and skirts actually look really good together in terms of style, and would look great were it not for the colors!

By the way, there's one person at work who I know who will be happy about the skinny pants. She has been wearing leggings with big shirts since the 80's. So, I guess if you're consistent and don't care to slightly update yourself, trends do come around again!

Oh, speaking of leggings. I'm shocked, shocked, shocked to see leggings under the skirts! I wore these back in college! It was my "look" back then - lots of layered clothes. Now young girls at the mall are wearing the same thing. Crazy.

What's next -- denim jean shorts with black tights?
(Raise your hand if you wore these to parties in the late 80's/90's and thought you were so cool!)

On Being Five: Dreams

"Do you know why I come into your bed?"

"Why?"

"Because I have bad dreams. Then, I come into your bed and I have good dreams."

"Really?"

"Yeah. And then I go back to my bed and take the good dreams with me. I turn my pillow over so I will have good dreams too."

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

I let her come to my bed if she has bad dreams. After a few minutes of warm cuddles, she becomes quite comfortable in my bed. Then, starts kicking, turning, sleeping horizontally, on top of my head, and any other twisted position she could conjure. Then, I pick her up and put her back in her bed. Then, we all fall asleep happily in separate rooms.

However, I loved how she came up with this analysis and explanation about her dreams.

It really is wonderful being five where you are balancing on two worlds. I think when kids are younger, they can't separate reality and fantasy. Five-year-olds will question fantasy, but they choose to accept it as reality. I think that's the charm we find in them - the wide-eyes and the easy laughter.

I've always thought 5 was the perfect age to be.

Edna St. Vincent Millay Poem

What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, And Where, And Why (Sonnet XLIII)
-Edna St. Vincent Millay

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.

Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I never thought too much about Edna before, but I came across this poem yesterday on PoemHunter.com and thought it was beautiful and melancholic.
Photograph is The Kiss, Paris 2003 by Gavin Martin.

The Queen and the Soldier

The Queen And The Soldier
- Suzanne Vega

The soldier came knocking upon the queen's door
He said, "I am not fighting for you any more"
The queen knew she'd seen his face someplace before
And slowly she let him inside.

He said, "I've watched your palace up here on the hill
And I've wondered who's the woman for whom we all kill
But I am leaving tomorrow and you can do what you will
Only first I am asking you why."

Down in the long narrow hall he was led
Into her rooms with her tapestries red
And she never once took the crown from her head
She asked him there to sit down.

He said, "I see you now, and you are so very young
But I've seen more battles lost than I have battles won
And I've got this intuition, says it's all for your fun
And now will you tell me why?"

The young queen, she fixed him with an arrogant eye
She said, "You won't understand, and you may as well not try"
But her face was a child's, and he thought she would cry
But she closed herself up like a fan.

And she said, "I've swallowed a secret burning thread
It cuts me inside, and often I've bled"
He laid his hand then on top of her head
And he bowed her down to the ground.

" Tell me how hungry are you? How weak you must feel
As you are living here alone, and you are never revealed
But I won't march again on your battlefield"
And he took her to the window to see.

And the sun, it was gold, though the sky, it was gray
And she wanted more than she ever could say
But she knew how it frightened her, and she turned away
And would not look at his face again.

And he said, "I want to live as an honest man
To get all I deserve and to give all I can
And to love a young woman who I don't understand
Your highness, your ways are very strange."

But the crown, it had fallen, and she thought she would break
And she stood there, ashamed of the way her heart ached
She took him to the doorstep and she asked him to wait
She would only be a moment inside.

Out in the distance her order was heard
And the soldier was killed, still waiting for her word
And while the queen went on strangling in the solitude she preferred
The battle continued on.

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

I used to listen to Vega's songs back in college. Remember "Tom's Diner" and "Solitude Standing"? I used to put on my headphones and listen to the tape as a meditative tool, lying on the dorm bed and unwinding my brain.

This song always stayed with me as a poet for its simplicity and the ability to tell a complicated story. The plot is quickly established and the characters are familiar. It has a fairy tale appeal with the surprising message. It moves very quickly.

I always loved the line, "And to love a young woman who I don't understand" because it makes it seem that men and women do not "get" each other and that is a fact of life. It's not a Mars/Venus phenomenon, but what it is and always has been. Also, the soldier's request for it makes male/female relationship become on of the pleasant struggles in life. The soldier wants that since he's seen enough of war and death that ensues.

This song came to mind earlier while listening to the news. In times of war and the unknown motivations of our leaders, it makes us realize that our story is not new. It also shows the common man being more grounded than the queen, and the queen is so vulnerable inspite of her strong facade. Those we deem as powerful are probably the weakest and use their power as a shield. And, the soldier chose to question and once he had the upper hand, she destroyed him for his actions.

(photograph of Arundel Castle, West Sussex England is from Photo-zen.com)

Five Years Ago

I shouldn't be surprised by the 9/11 coverage, but it's hard to watch the replaying of newscasts and these other films. I heard one radio doctor say that children who do not have a concept of time may find the constant replaying of the disaster disconcerting - i.e., they would think it's happening now.

I don't understand why we need to see this. 9/11 has not been forgotten. It's part of our every day reality. We wake up to news about US soldiers killed by roadside bombs in Iraq, Afghani children who can't go to school, the Iranian president's pronouncements against the west and the suffering of Lebanese families who can't recieve aid. These are all consequences of that day and the actions of this country.

Of course we all remember that day. I was in a morning grad class at that time. We left the classroom at 10 and there was a crowd in front of the TV monitors in the hallway. Someone explained to me that it was terrorist attack, hijackers at the WTC and Washington. I quickly called my husband and asked him if we knew anyone who was there, and thankfully he said no. I called my sister and father, and they were home and had not turned on the TV yet. My sister used to work at WTC and still had friends at her old company in the 2nd tower. She was trying to keep tabs all day with other friends who worked in the surrounding buildings. My cousin and uncle later had a trying day as they left NYC amidst the chaos.

I rushed home after the 2nd tower fell. I felt like planes were dropping from the sky. Everything was chaotic. I stopped to buy bread and felt incredibly guilty. How could I do something so mundane?

That day, we had my sister and my husband's brother come over. My mother-in-law was with us and I spent so many hours just holding my daughter, who was 7 months old. She represented all the goodness and promise in the world that was left. I remember we all needed to come together and wished for world peace in our way.

At that time, I was reading "Cracking India," which is about the Partition of India and Pakistan from the point of view of a young girl. After spending hours glued to the TV, I looked to the book for distraction. However, I had reached the section where Lenny's world changes overnight. Now that we just witnessed this tragedy, I understood exactly how this could happen and change your view of the world. We went from feeling light to feeling suddenly vulnerable, exposed and frightened of our neighbors. I met Bapsi Sidhwa at a writer's conference last year and I was able to tell her how her book paralleled events for me.

After my class, I had stopped at the computer lab and everyone was glued to the TV monitors. There was a Russian classmate, who leaned over to me and made a comment about this being America's problem and we could 'go back to where we came from, you know?" I just said 'ok' to her. For me to go back to where I came from would be to go to NY.

I call myself a New Yorker at heart. I grew up in Queens, migrated to NJ in my early teens and out west to PA after marriage. I worked in NYC and loved the rhythm of the city. I still do. I remember going to the WTC after work with my sister. There was a bar downstairs (it began with M?). After a drink, we'd have to catch the train back to NJ. I remember running through the towers to the Path station and it took me a long time! That's part of the whole disaster that stuns me. The size, the enormity of it. How could people even get out of the building that big?

When I would emerge from a subway downtown, I'd look for the Towers to orient myself. When I was midtown, I'd look for the Empire State building. Invariably, I'd still walk in the wrong direction. We have a photograph of me when I was 3 against the backdrop of the NY skyline. The twin towers are still under construction. I remember when I was a little older my friend Ken and I would argue about which building was taller - the WTC or Empire State. We had nothing else to do in the backseat on roadtrips anyway.

After the towers fell, the only pictures you saw were the ones of the towers in flames, lit like wild candles. I hated those posters and shirts that came out later with pictures of the towers on there. I did not want to see them at all. It seemed obscene.

Then after some time, I sought out pictures of the towers. In the opening credits of "Friends" or in a movie that showed the NY skyline. It suddenly seemed comforting, reminscent of simpler times.

Fall-ing

The Apple Tree
- Dorothy Parker
When first we saw the apple tree
The boughs were dark and straight,
But never grief to give had we,
Though Spring delayed so late.

When last I came away from there
The boughs were heavy hung,
But little grief had I to spare
For Summer, perished young.


*******************************************
I feel strongly about the last line this year. Summer slipped away so quickly. Living in the northeast, we feel the seasons. I always wondered what it'd be like to live in a place without drastic seasonal changes, like FL or AZ. I don't think I would miss the seasons. I thrive in the sunshine and warmth.

Fall, albeit beautiful in its colors, is very grim to me. We're finding beauty in its decay. The smells of autumn we cherish are only the fallen leaves mixing back to the earth. It's almost as if it's a last exciting show before the curtain falls. Then the theatrical crew cleans up and leaves the stage bare, revealing its harsh structures.

The weather today is in the 80's and there is still much green on the trees. Because we live in the northeast, we treasure our time with summer as long as she'll stay for us. While I love warm weather, I also love the vibrant greenery and lushness my state has to offer.

On the Job Training: Motherhood - Part 16b - Who is going back to school?

Well we survived this week. She and I waited at the corner for the school bus. She danced and twirled around while I feared she'd twirl right into traffic. I would hug and kiss her good bye, and help her to climb the big steps on the bus. She would sit in the first seat and wave to me with an excited smile. From behind the tinted glass, she looked so small. (What am I doing? Where is she going without me!? Where's her booster seat? What kind of society is this?) I would brush away a tear and walk to my car. For the first time in years, I am driving directly to work, not stopping at the daycare.

There's been a lot of excitement this week about the first day of school. The saying is that you get to relive your childhood through your children. That's definitely true. However, childhood was not always popcorn and butterflies. Now, all those anxious memories of school are surfacing!

The Bus
My sister and I used to walk to elementary school, but took the bus in middle and high school. It was at the corner and we could just about hear the bus come down the street. I think of all those days we had to wait in the heat, cold, and rain with kids. We had to drag our instruments, tennis rackets, gym bags and book bags to the bus stop. There was always commotion in the morning; we couldn't miss the bus because my father had already left for work and we'd have no ride. We would finish eating our toasts at the bus stop. There's a foggy memory of Mom bringing a mug of milk to the stop for myself, my sister or my brother.

Now, I'll be waiting at the stop again. Fortunately, the two of us could wait in my car at the corner so we won't have to withstand the elements. However, we do have the morning rush in the house. My daughter is a slow eater and we've got a routine of begging her to stop talking and keep eating. I'm working on getting organized in the morning to eliminate any last-minute rushes. Again, I'm feeling anxious about missing the bus. I could easily drop her, but that's not the point. You're committed to taking a bus.

Homework
Yes, I know she's in kindergarten, but she has homework. We have a blank calendar for September, which needs to be completed with the dates and color.

I'm getting panicky about homework because I was not disciplined about it as a child. I think all three of us had this problem. We did not have a set schedule for doing homework. We'd come home, watch TV, play outside and it wasn't until after dinner we settled down to do it. Then we would be yawning while my father explained math and chemistry to us. In high school, we'd come home around 7 or 8 from tennis games or music rehearsals. We would settle down to do it then. I remember doing homework first thing in the morning or during other classes.

My husband also confesses to hating school and homework. He was in the Indian school system, which is much tougher and has a lower tolerance than the US system. He said he consistently was in trouble for not doing it, and maybe more so because his mother was a professor. He just makes a face about how much he hated school.

My first question to parents with school-aged children is, "When do you do homework?" Most of them say they do it as soon as the kids come home. They know there are too many distractions to delay it. I'm going to start now so both she and I will become disciplined about this.

Other Stuff
I've gotten a bunch of papers about fundraisers and activities. I don't particularly like doing the fundraisers, such as the entertainment books. Really, who can you sell it to if every school is doing it and your friends are in the same boat as you? I'll gladly make a donation to the school in lieu of peddling wrapping paper at work.

Circle of Life
If this is all part of the circle of life, let me tell you, it's quite a dizzy ride!

On the Job Training: Motherhood - Part 16: First Day of Kindergarten

Woke her up this a.m. and told her she's no longer my "baby doll," just my "doll." (held back tears).

Looked for the camera, turned it on and read "Change Batteries." Looked for video camera and thankfully that was charged for a change. Asked her questions during breakfast and learned she really has no clue what the first day of school means. I told her she'll be doing this now until she's 22 at least.

Warning (Bragging Mom Ahead): She looked absolutely cute! She wore a pink collared dress with a white sweater, new pink & brown shoes that we bought last night. I did two little half-French braids and let her curls come down. It was a bit freaky how much she looked like me on my first day of schools -- but aren't you supposed to be like this? (Just because my mom did this to me, I feel I have to do this to her.) I was surprised no one else wore a dress, but my girl is really a girly-girl so any excuse to wear a dress is perfect for her. If she could've worn a tiara, she would've.

We went with her for the orientation day where she played with just about everything -- puzzles, piano, books, coloring, blocks. We asked her what she planned to do the rest of the year. Met the teacher who was nice.

I was reading an article on getting kids ready for KG and it pointed out that KG teachers are probably the nicest people on the planet. That makes sense. Every teacher or office personnel we met this morning looks like they had consumed bowls of Frosted Flakes and Froot Loops for breakfast. (I was pining for the rest of my coffee!)

After the 2 hours there, we returned her to private daycare/school where she will continue the rest of the day. They have a full day KG so she will do public school in the a.m., private KG in the afternoon + aftercare.

She was having fun and this all seemed normal. Then I met the other KG teacher, Ms. H., a bubbly, sugar-cereally young woman. She handed me a "gift," a ziploc bag with a cotton and tea bag with a note attached:

Dear parents:
Here is a little gift for you as you leave your precious one with me on the first day of school. As you hold this cotton ball in your hand, the softness will help you to remember the gentle spirit of your child. After you've gone home and dried your tears, make yourself a hot cup of tea. Put up your feet and relax. Remember that together you and I will work for your child to be the best they can be.

Thank you for entrusting your child to me for the coming school year. I will do my very best every day to be your child's guide in learning and exploring this bright, new world they've stepped into.


She should've added the tissues!
(*sniff*)

Tomorrow - she rides the bus alone to school.
(*sniff* *stifled sob* *sniff*)

More on Writing

Writing is like prostitution. First you do it for the love of it, then you do it for a few friends, and finally you do it for the money.
- Moliere

So, I was happily surprised yesterday to receive a $10 check in the mail as payment for a poem. It was accepted into Thema Literary Society's issue "A Perfect Cup of Coffee" for 2007. This is my first literary journal acceptance. I'm also excited because this brings my total literary earnings LTD (Life to Date) to $30.00.

It's even more ironic because two blogs ago I was wishing for a poetry acceptance (remember the ego boost I needed?). Now, I am wondering if making public wishes mean they will be granted. Were we all misled by believing wishes must be secrets?

Anyway, what I wish for now is help at work. An assistant. A smart person to help me with my workload. I have too much going on and not enough help and it's affecting my work-life balance. If only I could get my literary earnings up so I could quit my day job!

By the way, I also got a rejection today from a South Asian anthology, which is a downer. However, now that I've been keeping track of my submissions, I see there might be problems with the specific piece that I'm peddling. I need to work on that.

However, I'm taking work home these days so it's cutting into my writing time. I need to write so I don't have to work, but I can't write because I have to work.

The quote that drives me the most in my writing endeavors is this one:

There's nobody out there waiting for it, and nobody's going to scold you if you don't do it. - Lynne Sharon Schwartz

I know I am the only one waiting for it and I am the only one to scold myself.

Love and Marriage in Movies & Life

So, I divert from my usual banter about motherhood, and talk about the other M word that occupies our lives – Marriage.

I finally watched the rest of “Mr. & Mrs. Smith” last week, though I had watched the first part a few months ago. It was an interesting movie and I liked the irony of their relationship.

There’s a shootout scene at end. (Disclaimer: I’m a Gandhian and believe in nonviolence, so please don’t think I’m endorsing gun or violence here! I looked away during 40% of this movie) With their guns and ammunition, the shootout is well-choreographed. At one point, Angelina and Brad face each other and slide their arms through each other and fire away. They’re protecting each other’s backs. It is a visual that illustrates what marriage is. There are times you may want to kill your partner with your own hands, but in the end, you’ll take a bullet for them. Brad and Angelina's physical stance shows the integrated team work involved in order to survive. It should be the two against the outside world.

Unfortunately, I know a few marriages disintegrating right now. I have seen others vanish, leaving just the chalk outline, a drawing, a semblance of a “marriage” that was there and stopped existing at some point. The complexities and dynamics between two people are hidden to the outsiders. We can all speculate, but it needs to come from within them. I'll badly paraphrase a quote I once heard - one would never expect success in career to come immediately or without hard work. How come we expect a instant success in a marriage?

Two unique individuals come together with all their separate experiences and attitudes. Now they have to figure out how to make everything work. It won't be champagne and strawberries all the time, but the good moments should outweight the bad ones.

One of my favorite movies is “The Notebook.” I haven’t read the book, and I’m fine with it (yes, really I am). I adore this movie so much. First, it’s a total Hindi movie! Rich girl loves poor boy, but rich girl must marry rich boy out of familial duty and security. Yet, in the end, love conquers all. To further validate the Bollywoodesque qualities, the Hindi movie “Black” used the vehicle of a notebook to tell a story to someone who was incapacitated. Interesting.

Anyway, this movie makes me cry. Yes, I’m admitting to my readers sitting in Sri Lanka, Chile, Singapore and New York that this movie makes me bawl hysterically. To further demonstrate my sentimentality about this movie, I do not even need to be watching this movie to start crying. (Reminder: I am a moody Cancerian, so maybe this is not such a great feat).

What moves me is not the young romantic story, but the relationship between James Garner and Gena Rowland. In case you haven’t seen it, James reads “the notebook” story to his wife (Gena) who has Alzheimer’s. As he reads the story to her, she comes back to him. What I find touching is his dedication to her and how close their lives are tied. Because of the young Noah and Allie characters, you can recognize the older characters. When James Garner cries, he's crying for the young Allison he keeps in his heart, not the fragile old woman. Above all, it shows what the security of a good marriage means - having someone to hold you at your weakest moments.

A song that has always moved me is Natalie Merchant’s “My Beloved Wife.” Read the words, listen to her sing. When she sings, she chokes up at one point, feeling the pain of the husband. Between this song and the "Notebook" it seems so profound when two souls are so tied together they can step into death at the same time.

A few years ago, a colleague's elderly mother-in-law had cancer for a long time and was in a hospice. Her husband was always there to take care of her, although he was elderly himself. It was a struggle since she was a bit of a cranky old broad, and would only eat if he fed her. Obviously, it was taxing on everyone. Then the father-in-law had kidney problems and was admitted to the hospital on Friday. Meanwhile, at the hospice, the doctors were waiting for the wife to die, giving her a week to live. On Tuesday morning, the father-in-law suddenly passed away. Everyone was surprised and afraid to tell the mother. They did not have to tell her. Within 7 hours, the wife died. In a way, it seemed like a beautiful end to their marriage and their life. He left first, as if to welcome her and take care of her again.

Stories like this one or even Christopher and Dana Reeves story, it seems like marriages are conducted by powers beyond us. We can't understand why some are so harmonious while others are cacophonous and are destructive. So, we look to the movies, books and art to help us understand and maybe dwell upon the intricacies of relationships.

DesiLit,Writers, Writing

So now that I've organized my writing efforts and put my project management skills to work, I'm getting my work published online. I've gotten rejections, but the acceptances outweight the effects of the rejections. Though I could use an acceptance of my poetry somewhere (just for an ego boost!)

Anyway, check out DesiLit's first online magazine for my review of Shashi Tharoor's Bookless in Baghdad. The DesiLit editors did an impressive job in selecting quality work for their magazine and I enjoyed reading the bios of the contributors, since each seem as fascinating as their work.

As for Tharoor, I had the opportunity to meet him last year and saw him speak on two different occasions, just months apart. I wanted to see him at another event, but feared he'd call me a stalker. Here's a picture from the SAJA writers conference last year. I had asked him to sign my "Mirrorwork" book while my cousin and friends took the pictures. (We turned from smart, confident women into giggling author groupies at this event, dribbling phrases like "I loved your book.") He had read a chapter from "Bookless in Baghdad" and it would not be released in the US for a few months. Fortunately, someone brought this book for us from India.

That was a great event with speakers like Anita Desai, Suketu Mehta and Jhumpa Lahiri. For me it was most powerful to see Jhumpa on stage. I admit - as an aspiring and passionate writer - I've been jealous of Jhumpa's success. Usually I think, what does she have that I don't? From what I know, our lives and upbringing are quite similar, except that she continued with her MFA and has a Pulitzer, while I took detours and ended up with an MS in Information Science. (Damn proud of that I am!)

That day, she had come to the event with her husband and children. Her husband was taking care of the little ones and while on stage, she would nervously glance at them. Her husband was taking the crying kids out of the auditorium. As soon as she was able to get off the stage, she raced out of the auditorium and they all left. That made me realize that at the end of the day, when you're done with your Pulitzer and author presentations, you are a mom with a crying baby. This is what is always on the forefront of who you are. In that light, everything looked so different about being a literary success.

I also got over my feelings of frustration, too. I always felt, she's taking my stories. That day she read an excerpt of an upcoming novel. I listened and realized these are her stories and mine are totally different. There's not just one queue for literary success. There are many and we're in parallel queues (and mine just happens to wrap around the block!)

By the way, I blogged about this event for DesiLit.

Step into Wonderland

ALICE
She drank from a bottle called "DRINK ME"
and up she grew so tall.
She ate from a plate called "TASTE ME"
and down she shrank so small.
And, so she changed while other folks
never tried nothin' at all.

- Shel Silverstein, "Where the Sidewalk Ends"

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Today was a great day where I took a vacation day and called it Family Fun Day. We took off from work and preschool camp. First, we stopped at a park that we've passed hundreds of times and always said, "We should go there." We walked along a beautiful walking trail, past the Wissahickon River and collected sparkly stones. The sunshine through the trees and walking in the woods reminded us that we've been so out of touch with nature. This summer has been busy with social events and home renovations; we haven't gone to the beach or the mountains or even local parks.

We had lunch in Chinatown, followed by a visit to the Please Touch Museum. I had never been there, but always though "we should go there. " She went to the Franklin Institute two weeks ago on a field trip and has been talking incessently about it. She wasn't keen on any other museum until I told her that this was the Alice in Wonderland museum. Then she was unbelievably excited, jumping around as soon as she entered the museum. she raced up to an employee and asked, "Where's Alice in Wonderland?" She raced up the ramp. She was shouting, "My wish has come true! I've always wanted to go there!" Everyone laughed.

In our eyes, it looked more like a playground than a museum; Ikea has a lot of these little tunnels and play areas in their store that is just as cool. The Alice section was nice -- beautifully painted, but not much there. The gaps obviously needed to be filled by imagination. To a 5-year-old, this was Wonderland. She had the chance to open tiny doors, run through tunnel (a.k.a. the Rabbit Hole) and sit at a table with the Mad Hatter and pour tea. We went through the Alice circuit 3x. I cracked up because she wanted to do it in order of the story -- we can't play croquet with flamingos until we have the tea party. I think there was more to the story that should've been there, though.

We followed up with coffee at Starbucks in Chestnut Hill. We were excited to check out some of the small shops, especially the cheese shop. We've always said, "we should go there," but it closed. So, we headed home, taking the long route for a change. Earlier, we were at a stoplight and looking at one of the older homes. Philadelphia has the most amazing stone homes. These are 100+ years old, so the architecture is beautiful. Maintenance and upkeep vary from house to house. There was one house and the landscaping caught both of our attention. We were awakened from our reverie by a horn from two cars behind (apparently the car directly behind us was also looking).

To continue our fun day, Annika took the rocks that we collected today and painted them. She wanted to do a project, and after a couple of other attempts (including snipping Barbie's hair), she came upon this idea. So, it's kinda cool that she has a rock collection - sparkly rocks with mica and "one of a kind" purple and light blue rocks.

Today was a day in Wonderland for me. I know tomorrow I will wake up to a day of meetings and a testy client (already checked email and see how much "fun" lies ahead). I've been so swamped and backlogged at work that I've been taking work home for the last 3 months (the first time in 5 years that I'm doing this). Aside from my birthday in June, I haven't taken days off this whole year. I realized the top managers are taking days off (when they should be on site!) and my clients are skipping out for weeks at a time. I can certainly take one day for myself and my family. This was totally worth it!!!

On Being Five - Belief in the World

In the morning, I usually watch "Good Morning America" or "Today" while rushing through breakfast and getting ready for work. Annika was looking at some books and magazines and wandering around for her things.

Annika: Mommy, do you want a beautiful home?

Me: Yes.

Annika: Then come to Oscar Huber for a beautiful home.

*Pause. Didn't I just hear a commercial for Oscar Huber furniture. I laughed and hugged her.

Me: It's a commercial. You can't believe everything they say.

Annika: Why?

Me: Because they want you to come to their store. That's all. You don't have to do everything you hear.

Annika: Oh.

This actually reminded me of an incident when she was 3 years old. She was watching "Caillou" or something on PBS. It was interrupted by a fundraising break, which usually begins "We have a message for the parents and grandparents."

She called me to the room, "Mommy! they have a message for you!"

It was incredibly cute, but it's an innocent example of the impact of television messages and the trust they have in the adults.

By the way, my article on children and the media was published online this week for ABCDLady.com.

You Gotta Have Friends!

Oprah's magazine this month deals with friendship, and since she forgot to ask me to write something, I decided I'd go ahead now.

"The language of friendship is not words but meanings."
Henry David Thoreau
I've been thinking about friends because there have been changes in our friend circles in the last 5 years. We had a fairly large group of close friends. We met regularly to hang out, we all climbed on a bus to midwest for someone's wedding, another had a premature baby and we rushed to the hospital. Since everyone had left home behind, friends now become family. Unfortunately, due to pettiness, immaturity and pretentious behavior, the friendship dissolved. It was hard and hurtful. We always felt it was their loss for having misappropriated priorities.

We bumped around with some other friends in the area, but we missed the momentum. Fortunately, we've found a new group of energetic friends. This group has more promise for longevity as we are at similar stages in our lives with careers, homes, children and have common interests. Since we're all over 35, we are comfortable with ourselves and relationships with others. There's no room for jealousy or pretentious behavior.

I've seen my parents weave in and out of friend circles throughout their lives. However, there are some faces that are always there. I'm hoping the same for us.

"Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival. "
C. S. Lewis
Work has been very stressful for me lately. It's not supposed to be like this and is physically and emotionally absorbing (it is a blog unto itself!) I've found keeping in touch with my friends throughout the day is keeping me motivated and grounded.

Last week my friend called to catch up and after I hung up, I ran into my colleague. He asked me why I was smiling. I said I didn't know I was smiling. He said, "Yeah you've got such a big smile going on." (as opposed to my new found perpetual frown!) I told him I was just talking to a friend. He knows me so he had to ask, "Oh, so you're meeting for drinks?" I told him, "No, but it was a good idea!"

And, it's wonderful because the connection came at a time when I felt disconnected and submerged under pressure. It reminded me of my life outside of work and I felt energized.

I have some other girlfriends and we email regularly -- just to vent, talk about new purchases, etc. It's crazy type of relationship because we're in 3 different states and the other girls have never met each other! I'm the only connection they have; I introduced them all because I was getting tired of telling each of them that she reminded me of the other.

Again, it's connection that reminds me of my place in the world. I'm not confined to my desk or the physical building.

Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I'm thrilled that communication between myself and some old friends has jump-started, either through phone calls or emails. It's so amazing that we may not have spoken in months or years, but we definitely can pick up the conversation where we left it. That is the beauty of old friendships. Trying to coordinate a meeting is another story!!

"True friends stab you in the front. "
- Oscar Wilde
This is a topic my friend and I discussed the other day. I suppose as like-minded women, we have to analyze things until it's raw. Yes, couldn't we just enjoy the mango without digging for the pit? Of course, but if we didn't do this we wouldn't know the pit was there and get hurt later when we bit into it. Therefore we analyse and dissect.

Annika and T have been best friends since the baby room at daycare. They were practically joined at the hips since they could toddle. When they were 3, the teacher told me they were mad at each other one day, yet they refused to be apart from one another. So, still mad, they had to sit together. Around that time, Annika started doing her own hair. She put a pin or something in her hair and T said, "Annika, that looks dumb." T's mom was there and apologized for the comments she's picking up from her big brother.

However, that's actually what friends do. She should tell you, "Girl, you should not wear your hair like that." And if she's older than 3, she could show you how you can look your best.

When I was in college, I remember I confided everything in Jim and Luis. When I talked to Jim, he would tell me what I wanted to hear, which was comforting - "I can't believe that! That's unbelievable. You don't deserve that." Luis, on the other hand, would be straight with me and tell me what I needed to hear -- "Look, you gotta do it. It's not easy, but you just have to. "

The challenge to this level of honesty in friendships is knowing if the person is ready to handle this. I know someone else who ended one relationship and has settled into another for the wrong reasons. It's hard for her friends to see her with the new partner.

So, being the honest, upfront, let-me-tell-ya-the-truth kinda friend is only effective when the other person is ready. You can throw the ball into her court, but she's gotta be ready to accept the ball. It's all about timing.

There was another quote that I can't find.. the friends we have are reflections of ourselves.