Let them be..motherhood or not..

Maybe it’s time we shattered the epitomes of motherhood that we have created… take down our mothers from pedestals that we have built over the years…erase the tales of sacrifice, of valour that have been told and retold…

Without diluting all the goodness that mothers bring to this world, without disservice to the years of unconditional love that mothers give their children as a second nature..can we paint them as human first and simple women next without the wings that burden their flight?

Let our mothers and ourselves as mothers just “be”…be the human they are, with their own dreams, characters and selfish needs, taking as much as giving, being enough in their own ways….and stop the pontification….

Media, movies and more are replete with the heart-warming images of mothers who starve to fill a child’s tummy, who burn their hands to save their offspring, who sleep last after the family’s needs have been well taken care of…can we change the narrative to the mothers who walk with the fathers and provide a child with a “home” and a family? A bond that binds, strengthens and grows the children into humans…to let them fly high, experience their own highs and lows, learn their lessons as much as they can learn from their parents and create a cocoon that they can always come back to when they doubt, fail or crumble?

The ‘completeness’ that motherhood is so tied with is sometimes an overrated literary imagery…yes motherhood introduces you into a world unknown…where you stumble, crawl and stand up and chart out a journey that is unique between each mother and child…a part of life that defines and changes you…but as you give more, you also grow more and get to know yourself more…but it doesn’t mean you chisel away in parts such that you do not recognize the person you are at the end of this journey..

Can we keep ourselves honest to the aspirations, needs and desires that we have – motherhood or not? Can we take that extra slice of chocolate cake without guilt, can we indulge in that self-pampering moment keeping aside all your ‘motherly’ duties aside, can we chase our dreams in isolation without the legends of sacrifice that we want to take part in?

When we let our mothers flow their natural course, where they are not forced into ill-fitting super mother costumes that was tailored by ‘what people think’, where they choose their own rides, where they decide their ‘stop’ , their ‘wait’ and their ‘go’ – motherhood would take a whole new meaning..

 

Festivals and nostalgia

 As the festival season knocks at my door step, I can’t help but reminiscence of the festivities past – of the familiarity of faces that surrounded us, of the nostalgic memories attached to each ritual…

Vishu of childhood memories flood through my mind tonight…the feverish excitement that achan used to bring to the Vishu-previous-night preparations..his meticulous  ‘kani’ organization would start from dusk to the late hours of night…arranging, re-arranging of the various visually soothing items for the kani…a few precious shavings of konna poo that used to be shipped to Oman from India, a bit of rice, fresh vegetables, the coconut and the white kasavu mundu..a stickler for geometry and tidiness, he would move items around till the final output was to his satisfaction…And it was time to finally sleep and await the early hours of Vishu to break into the house…

I would lay awaiting the small shrug in the wee hours from achan amma as they led me to the ‘kani’ place…trying hard not to peek through my eyes as I was directed to the ‘right’ spot where the kani is seen to its best and greatest..and then of course the whole purpose of the festival – the vishu kaineetum…rounding off all the moneys received into my saving kitty for a precious purchase…Vishu was always about the diversity and modifications that the kani would undergo every year..and of course filling up my tiny pockets for some valued thing that I would eye ahead of Vishu…

As the years progressed, as you started counting and earning your own moneys, the kaineetum faded into a ritual..and the excitement of the kani and its artistic angles slowly diminished into a routine…but achan never grew out of his childish excitement for the kani…still pottering around to find the right bowl to fit the green gram and hunting for a little bit of konna flowers…house always abuzz with his childish festive vibes..and with him we lost that magic of the Vishu night..of the energy to put together the best kani..a festival slowly dissolving into a puddle of memories past…

It is almost as if age and departure of our loved ones chips off each festival and its thousand rituals and moods….the Vishus we celebrated with that tiny packet of konna poo (withered and wilted by the time it reaches our homes) was so much a magnum opus and today when the konna flowers are in abundance in my backyard, the loss of faces and people seem to belittle the festival into a small ‘tick-in-the-box’ that one must adhere to come April 14 every year..It isn’t the konna, the kaineetum silly – it is the soothing warmth of having our loved ones around us that maketh a Vishu!!

Roar of the sea

The narrow alleys of Chootad may not really look like the touristy streets of Goa, its simple fisher folks may not be your average ‘bead-and-beard’ hippy crowd, neither will you run into an array of souvenir shops nor ‘sea-facing restaurants’ anywhere in the vicinity.  But look beyond the coquettish veil and you will discover a private piece of white sandy haven that is yet to be eroded by tourist explosions and mass recreation.

An accident find in our little drives of exploration – Chootad is now a little secret family hide-out..a place of party, play, reverie and rejuvenation..a small opening that leads us to the mighty ocean, endless white sands and coconut trees.

A morning of ‘sunning’ and ‘sanding’ at Chootad is a morning well spent..the sea roaring a baritone, the waves whirling into frothy whites and the white sands extending it arms and almost softening into the blueness of the skyline above..Devoid of all the trappings of a ‘polished’ tourist hub, the sea at  Chootad is a mix of raw energy and soft humaneness, an authentic version of a beach that simply offers you the sea, sand and sun..free elements that you can experience without splurging on expensive ‘sea-side’ experiences and yet to be devoured by tourist crowds.

We sipped our morning tea as the salty breeze caressed our sleepy faces, watching the fisherfolks deftly guiding their boats into the sands…their faces beaming with innocent smiles amidst a happy display of their morning catch – a pail of crabs and two big sting rays…!As the sun brightened above, we waded into the waves and passed on the reins to the water that was ready to take control. We were rocked and rolled as per the mood of the sea..turning impatient at times,  a tantrum another and sometimes resting into a soft lazy murmur..

After an endless foray into the waters, we lay spent and sand-strewn in the waters - the sea brute yet calm ..teaching us a lesson or two on how little our ego and our being is – amidst its gargantuan strength..it’s mighty roar turning us timid but yet so playful that we were but forced to join the celebration by the sands…Little we could do as we surrendered to its might, mood, swings and more…literally ‘going with the wave’ as we bid adieu to the roar…a silent promise that we would be back for more..

 

Spare me the flower

Spare me the flower

Instead hand me the power

 

I don’t need no favour

It’s the freedom I savour

 

I don’t want to worry about my body and face

I want to dance, walk and rocket into free space

 

I hate to be split, spliced and rolled

To fit some rustic superwoman mould

 

I want my choice and my selfishness

Not to dissolve into tales of sacrifice and selflessness

 

I want to earn that crown and carrot but on a same yardstick

Not to simply meet a number and a statistic

 

I shall flaunt my wrinkles and my sag

Coz I define my own beauty and swag

 

I want to be my own legend

My own start and my own end

 

I may be a woman but still a girl

Loving a giggle, a skirt swirl and a pretty curl

 

 

 

A love of a kind

If you can love and give space

If you can love and yet respect

If you can love and let live

There is magic

If you can love as a child

If you can love the same forever

If you can love no matter the change

There is perpetuity

If you can love no pretence no tags

If you can love not heeding the creed

If you can love just the person

There is authenticity

If you can love without show

If you can love without tell

If you can love yourself as others

There is beauty

 

River, banks and the healing

 I am guilty of the blindness, deafness and ‘numbness’ that city dwelling systematically induces in the human in you…In the living where moments are dissolved into mundaneness, where time flits flippantly between tasks and needs..the ‘Bharatha Puzha (river)’ – the jewel that surrounds my home and nearby, stays forgotten and ignored.

A few misty morning walks and a few crimson sunsets later, I am now alive to the river, to its emotions, its inhabitants and the perfect symmetry that a bridge brings to a river..

My morning walks to the river started from a habit of health, steadily moved to a need and now dangerously reaching a borderline obsession with the magic of the river ..Love-struck and seduced – I keep going back for more – to witness the surrealness - when the sun rays start from the mountains, seep through the river and breaks over the bridge and the skies above. Each sunrise a different shade and each stirring something within me that I never knew I possessed..

And as the day and its responsibilities flood me, the river stays silent - sparkling a thousand sun pearls and laying quiet in anticipation of its visitors at dusk…Come evening, and there is a feverish activity in the house as we prepare our expedition to the river. There is nothing more rewarding than dipping into the river after a hard day at work and labour..to let go and experience the indulgence that follows …the murmurs of the river cleansing you of the stress that duties bring, the breeze cuddling you with its strength and the birds chattering, gliding and revealing a whole new life beyond your human existence..You are spoilt rotten by the time sunset comes calling – the sun and its brushstrokes of colours and patterns..the river equally skilled as it dazzles in a revelry that transforms shades every moment…you stay wonderstruck and humbled by the tableau and almost guilty of the pleasures that the evening brings..

There is more to the river than you imagined, more to the habitat of birds, swaying weeds and picturesque sunsets – a bit of pampering and a bit of healing….little by little it erodes your insensitivities and finds a place of comfort and yearning within you…The river also unsettles you – a haunting guilt – of the constant abuse, insults – be it garbage or mindless constructions..telling you of what we have lost and what more we will lose if we cannot stop the abuse…I sigh..…Mea Culpa…! Mea Culpa!

The year that was

A year that taught me more, gave me more and took away more than I had ever imagined! Unabashedly, I must confess the year belonged to the novel and all mighty Corona Virus - like a scripted play, a news item from a faraway land turned into a domestic threat and finally evolved into a game changer epidemic of the year!

And the epidemic brought about a change – a stunning change that kept me gaping and guessing in equal proportions…it changed the human in me, the employee in me, and alas the wonderstruck traveller in me as well! It broke into my notions of the “now”, of the “permanent” and of things that would never change..it toyed with my swinging emotions, my heart oscillating between hope and despair through the year….it exposed the fragility and brittleness of what I thought was “within our control” – all age-old concepts of domesticity, business, home and society thrown into the wind just like that!

But it also brought me closer to places, things et al that I ignored in the mechanics of daily living..a little pause that helped me observe..the buttony eyes of the tiny squirrel in the garden, the aroma of cashews melting into a sheet of ghee, the palette of the twilight sky, the silence of the village life..and countless phenomenon that just ground into powder as I zipped through from one routine to the other..

It also brought me closer to myself, my loves and my hates – the warmth of mother’s coffee and conversations, the good fortune of hot family meals, the endless chatter of a little woman that fills all the spaces in between..the falling in love over and over again with the numerous characters in my books..the ecstasy of thrillers that I devoured in my pyjamas and sprawling on the home couch – art, literature and movies all streaming into your home at your will and time..

It also brought me face-to-face with some sad truths- that I can never bake that ‘insta-worthy’ cake or a pizza that can earn a culinary star…some talents are best kept away from the precincts of your resume..the pointlessness of safekeeping your shoes – one for each ‘occasion’ when all you need is a pair of home slippers to float from home to office and back…the natural unruliness of your hair and that you could survive through a year without a single visit to the salon and yet look beautiful in your own way..

Yes the year turned me upside down but it also turned me inside out – shedding a few layers of skin that I had mistaken for a part of me – what is left for the new year is the pink and pure version – ready to glow, ready to add more and ready to face off the new year..