Being an asocial Mom

This post has been brewing in my mind for a while now. I have been wondering how to put it across, indeed if it was worth a blog post at all. Anyways I have decided to talk about it now, since there seems to be really not much else to talk about : unless you want to read my review of 'Kahaani' ;)

Here goes then, the dilemma of a somewhat asocial person in the juggernaut of motherhood. When I say asocial I do not mean 'anti-social' which in the true sense of the word means somebody who is against society. Let me be very clear, I am not anti-social. I am, for lack of a better word, a recluse. Left to my own devises, I would rather spend all my time at home, reading books or on the internet. Even when I go out (to exercise, for instance) I prefer times (afternoons, late evenings) when not many people are around. My husband sometimes jokingly refers to me as a homophobe (though what he means is an Anthropophobe). Thats what it is then. It does not bother me (or the spouse, thankfully). If it seems like a perfectly fine thing to you too, you are right. It actually is pretty ok. It takes all types to make the world go around, no? And I've managed to be like this for 30 odd years and no-ones really come up to me and said, 'Arre but why are you like this?'.

But obviously there are some kinks in this way of being. For starters I'm not very good at networking. Put me in a new situation, and it takes me more than what would be the average time to get warm. For example, during the course of my working life, I worked in 3 different cities -offices of the same firm. Every time I reached a new office I would be paralysed by fear. Why? I'm asocial remember. It means I lack certain obvious social skills which help most people to mingle, break ice, forge relationships , etc. etc. I say this with not a dime of self pity. I am just stating the facts.

Very few people who would have worked with me would remember me as a recluse though. They'd say I was more of the class clown. And sadly they would be right! This paradox can be simply explained.Usually people who don't have the social skills to engage with others in a more expected manner use other means to draw attention to themselves. And who ends up being the clown? Someone who goofs up a lot and leads to a few laughs, no? This role is the easiest one for an uneasy person otherwise, trust me!

Either that or I'm just awkward. Sometimes I just jest with myself saying, middle name awkward. Physically awkward, as in limbs a-skelter, eyes a-batting, all the wrong words tumbling out of my mouth at gibberish speed, sometimes inaudible. But the best is this, many a times people who have become friends have come back to me and said, 'In the beginning we thought you were so arrogant!'. Yeah - I guess you come off as stand-offish if you are out sulking in a corner shuffling your feet. And who'd know you are a plain dork if you have 'come close to me and I'll eat you' look on your face!

Anyways, so thats all about me. All huffety puffety people skills and then I go along and beget a child. Of the many things that nobody ever warned me about having a child was this - the enormous amounts of social interaction this would entail. And then we added some sludge to misery by going and having our baby in Europe of all places - in a country where they didn't even speak our darned language. Goodness I was so uptight during my labour that I would temper down my screams to (hopefully) more genteel 'aaaahhhhs' while the true-blue german down the corridor, also in labour, shrieked her lungs out with gay abandon!

After finally getting back to desh-land I realised quite protractedly how much of a village it actually takes to bring up baby. Especially if the baby in question happens to be a night-sleeping averse, screamathon by day, totally marching to her own tune type trooper! We did a fair bit of house hunting and moving around within the country in her second year. It was a lot of effort - both physically and mentally draining. I had nobody to talk to or advise me. It felt like a lone battle. When we moved to Chennai for a few months, I enrolled the kidlet in a mother-toddler programme. So that she could have some company and I could also hopefully make some friends. Given my track record, it took me a phenomenal amount of effort to go through with this thrice weekly ritual of strapping howling child on self and taking her to a class where mothers seemed to have cliques of their own and even the kids seemed far more well-behaved/trained than mine. And as was the case, by the end of six months when I had got myself slightly friendly with about one and a half other Moms it was time to move back to Mumbai again!

By the time we were back in Mumbai (kidlet was just about to turn two) I knew that she would have a speech delay. I have always been cautious about mentioning this in public, because at the end of the day it is my daughter's life and when she grows up I do not want her to feel that I was telling the world her story without her knowing it. But now that she's grown a bit and now that I have met several people who are traumatised by such things, I know that it is better to speak out about these things. Yes, so where was I? Yes, the speech delay. I knew that the best way to help my daughter get talking was letting her meet other kids her age. We were new in town and had taken up an apartment in a fairly old housing society populated by mainly gujaratis. These people had been living there for donkeys years, and they didn't really warm to renters very easily. It was then that I felt really depressed about my asocial ways - I knew that in order to help my daughter, I had to get out of the house more, meet more people and get more friends for her in the the bargain. I had also put her in a playgroup - which she loved - touchwood! But that was for only two hours in a day. I'd spoken to a child psychologist who re-iterated the same - get yourself out more often. Lead by example! Well, the happy fact is that I did. Despite my almost physical dis-inclination to do so, I started taking the kidlet out more. It took a while to break in. I surprised myself by going and talking to strangers - many of them openly hostile - oh groups can be very clannish sometimes I tell you. I started talking to my daughter more. Since I was the only other person in the house most of the time (the husband travels much) I really had to make the effort and talk for two people. I'm telling you, the initial few days after I consciously started to make the effort to talk more, my jaw used to hurt at night. Truth.

Then came the one year of acid-testing. I'll keep it brief because it still leaves a bad taste in my mouth, talking about it. We put our daughter in a very highly recommended Montessori nursery. Honestly, we did it because we thought with the 'let the child lead the way' philosophy, our child would have room to grow at her own pace. No such luck!! The darned place had old snarky looneys for teachers. People who screamed and ranted at little children who did not conform (I am not making this up - I've heard enough of it with my own ears). This teacher would call me in almost every week to humiliate me about something or the other. I am told that this is the schools regular tactic - but at that time, I used to rue my tongue-tiedness. I wanted to be able to stand up and tell the lady to buzz off - loud and clear. Both my husband and I fought the negativity as best as we could, but the whole while I felt let down with my inability to engage. Finally in the last month of school, I did gather courage (fueled by enough pent up rage) to go and complain about the teacher's behaviour to the head of the school. Sure enough, the teacher's bad behaviour stopped. Would you believe it - I have kicked myself enough times over the last year for not having done it earlier!!

Luckily, we got out of that nursery and now have gone to a significantly better school. I still find myself tongue-tied and fumbling at parent-teacher meetings and other socials. But with time I have also noticed things about myself which have changed. I no longer rue much over prospective social outings. I've been to several play-dates at other peoples homes where I feel uncomfortable but rather than blowing up the feeling I just keep my mouth shut, sit back and enjoy seeing the happiness on my daughters face.

My mom tells me I was very sociable when I was young. I would go up to strangers and say hello to them, readily welcome visitors to our home and make plans to go to theirs. I'm not sure when all of that changed. My daughter right now, is much like me at her age - sociable and outgoing. I would wish a better outcome for her than for me. That thought is what helps me step out of my comfort zone without many qualms nowadays. That and my daughter's guiding hand, in the play area and elsewhere, where she just sits down next to a child and says, 'Can I play with you? Will you be my friend?'.

At the end of the day, isn't the child the father of man?

The three feet high knock.. :)

Bathing is a highly under-rated pleasure. Don't get your mind all wandering now. All I mean is the pleasure of peacefully cleansing yourself within a decent time-frame, undisturbed and undistracted. A few minutes of sopping out of the the accumulated grime and muscle tension is all I ask. And this could mean anywhere between 5 and 7 minutes. Anything in the double digits would just be a foolhardy extravagance! Especially if you are a mother, this pleasure is long denied and much appreciated. If you are a mother who feels otherwise, just stop reading here - because I begrudge you this indulgence ;)

My days go by in a typical whiff and a song. The kidlet has afternoon school - which means that my entire morning and mid-day is taken care of. Breakfast ,entertaining kid in the morning while supervising the help, getting her ready for school, and because by the time she leaves at 11, the day is already upon me - there are the dozen odd chores that I can just about manage to chortle into the interim 3 hours that she is away. Oh, and 45 minutes of these three hours are spent in commuting to her school to pick her up. If mornings are rushed, evenings are even more packed. There are classes to be taken to, birthday parties to attend, park -time to be supervised and last-minute groceries to be purchased. At the end of the day, most days, I feel like I've been pulled through a bramble bush backwards. Seriously. The feet are the most sullen, somedays my hair is also crackling in protest. Added to this, the child and me are usually by ourselves at this hour (husband travels much, comes home late etc.)- so I have the added responsibility of being delightfully educative and conversational when I would much rather be dipped in a huge hot tub of reviving blessed water - and some bath salts if it was not too much of an effort! Given the fact that I live in Mumbai, even if I had a bath tub in my house, there wouldn't be enough water to fill it with or even if there was - it would smell like a chlorine experiment, so I should stop dreaming now!

However a 5 minute balti-mug/sting under the shower bath should not be that difficult you would think. Gah! How wrong you are and how right Murphy was. This is how things pan out on most days.

Me : Baby, I'm going for a wash.

Kid : Ok, Mom. (She has already been plonked in front of the ever moronic 'Oggy and the Cockroaches' - Bad mother post - for another time)

Me : You sit there ok. I'll be out in 5 minutes.

Kid : Ok, Mom.

< I leave for the bathroom. Water has already been filled in the bucket. I'm afraid of the shower because between the sounds of the traffic, band-baaja-baarats outside and Oggy I can barely hear anything without having to compound it with the lull of streaming water, however nice that feels. I close the door, step out of my clothes and let the first flush of respite run down my face. My body is barely wet when....>

Kid : Mom..< I pretend not to hear>

Kid : Mo-aw-ohm

Me : Yes, baby, what happened.

Kid : Where are you? < This, when she is obviously standing right outside the bathroom door.

Me : I am in the bathroom.

Kid : What are you doing Mom?

Me : I'm taking a bath. I told you, na?

Kid : Mom. I need to do su-su.

Me : OK. I'll be out in a minute.

(Knock, knock, knock..the three feet high knocks from the other side of the door are continuous and ever urgent. There is no way of ignoring them)

I have no idea how I end my bath most days. All I know is that what I start as a relaxation routine typically turns on its head for me and I step out all hot and breathless most days. Ah, forget moisturisers, under-eye and hand creams I step right out from the car-wash to the mud pond if you know what I mean.

You know, while I was typing this I felt it may come across as such a minor gripe! But heart of hearts I really feel it is not. On those days - rare days - that I do get a few undisturbed minutes to myself - when I'm not being barged upon with neediness - I feel so much better equipped. To handle my self, my child and the cares of a family. And is that really too much to ask?

Remembering Summers past.

And just like that, summer is here. Strangely enough the sound that slowly echoes summer to me comes from the ceiling fan! Yes, the slow moans suddenly give way to rapid whirrs and drown out not the quietude but the noise. For, me the onset of summer has always been associated with the suddenly fast fan :) And soon enough there would be the water cooler - and not that one which is associated with corporate offices nowadays. When I was growing up in a small little town in M.P. (incidentally now its become part of the truncated Naxalite Chattisgarh!!) water coolers would be stuffed with freshly dried grass called 'Khus' - I'm still not sure what sort of grass that was - but it had this beautiful soporific smell. The first blast from my water cooler could literally send me to wonderland! There is something about air-conditioning which can never quite compare.

There I am, at maybe age eight, airing myself out in maybe just a shameeze - that muslin cloth under-thing that covered me yet left me light. Those days these shameezes came with something called 'shadow-work' embroidery. There were pretty criss-cross patterns of birds and flowers peeping from under the cloth - if I close my eyes now - I can still see them! I am almost a 100% sure that my mother would not allow me out in such attire, but I have this really vague memory of being happiest when I was with my birds, dressed such.

Summers were these huge vast wastelands of time - and memory does not serve me well on the heat. I do not remember it. I just remember the whiteness. The entire landscape would turn many shades pale. The grass would dry and be prickly to naked feet. There would be unnamed fruits which would shed long stamens with pretty dried flower heads. The guava trees would be white - have you ever noticed the white limbs of a guava tree, puckered and covered with scabs of bark? I have. There used to be this particular tree (yes, there were many!) right next to my bedroom which I favoured above all. I knew all its limbs well, knew which foot to put where, the forks of the branches where I could rest. Shielded from the world. Sometimes the wind would carry across voices to me. But in summers it would be mostly still. The land behind our home would be barren, whatever crop that had been yielded, cut to earth, drying out the leftover chaff.

But there were the Gulmohars. And the few resilient bougainvillea - these collected dust, their veins dried, tired and gray - paper thin. But the Gulmohars were gorgeous - succulent petals - which tasted khatta - yes I ate them sometimes! Drops of breathless living red in an ocean of white and dusty brown.

For me the memories of summers spent in this particular home will always be about the smells and sounds and how things felt. It was a vast home - a British era bungalow, flanked on all sides with vast tracts of land. Things were bent and crooked, as things of a certain vintage are. Maybe I gloss over how the canvas false ceiling would threaten to upend under the pull of the giant swirling fan; how there were mosquitoes and macchar-daanis had turned yellow with overuse. Maybe I forget how stifling the slow movement of time was, how inane getting the water boiled in a copper boiler could be. What I do remember is the red-concrete floor with its unevenness, the mosaic floors which had pictures hidden inside which only a child could find -scratches that I had by-hearted. I remember the curtains that had to be pulled up from the floor to be put down only after poncha was done, the wooden columns of the showcase, the cane chairs - long bleached, and painted over green and then white with only their frayed feet letting on their truth. I remember Holi. Oh! Very much. A slow gaggle would start at our gate and then slowly wind down the lane collecting people and songs as it went. I remember the gulal streaked pathway - pink on red earth.

And there I leave it for now, my reminiscences of a much loved past :)

Me love for the short month :)

Well, the pretty month is here. I really don't know why february doesn't get as much attention as it deserves. It is such a beautiful month really - of all months it is the shortest - just flits by without becoming too much of a bore. And even though it is silly season for some (Valentine's day, ahem!) it is a lovely time of weather too - for us in India. Winter is more or less abating, its neither too hot or too cold. Mornings still have that nip and the sunshine is promising and not yet bearing down on you.

February also happens to be the time of all things festival - and I do not mean the religious variety. Not withstanding the shenanigans of the JLF, there are other smaller and throbbing with enthusiasm city festivals like the Kala Ghoda Arts festival - which has something for everybody in it!! And I really miss going to the Surajkund arts and crafts mela at this time of the year...

Anyhow, this year, like the last few years I took the kidlet along with me for the Kala Ghoda festival on one of the first days..infact it was the day after they had commenced and things were still being set up, there were not too many people around (compared to the last day when it looked like Victoria Terminus at peak hour!). And, we were able to make a pleasant afternoon out of it, we spent time investigating the art installations - and I was amazed at how much a four year old can understand - my lil one totally impressed me with her understanding of the installations about noise pollution. Though she totally missed the point of a very clever installation called 'Under the Table' - and just as well! We ended the afternoon with a some 'chaat'...so very pleasant it was :) Yes, now you understand why the love for this small little baby month. I am totally inspired to take the kid to more such nice places (art galleries , museums and such ) - keeping it short and uncomplicated is the key - and the fact that now she is able to understand and articulate so much - I am really enjoying these little trips with her!

The other two cool things (cool in my book!) I did last month were taking out some much needed alone time to do some things that really invigorated me mind and heart. Went to watch 'Vagina Monologues' with a friend - and it was all that it is made out to be and more! What a lovely lovely show - and what a fantastic time I had - especially since I was with a friend and there was not a baby in sight! The other little me time I got was when I went off on quite a whim and the husband's blessings to attend a talk by authors at Kala Ghoda. Its been almost 10 years since I had been to something like this - and I really enjoyed the almost collegial atmosphere of the event. Baby steps, I say - time for Mama to come out of her, cocoon, eh?

Yes, bring it on february, I write my ode to you. I am ready to savour every promise you make, even if it just has to melt in my mouth :)

Poetic aren't we? Hope you have a lovely lovely time too!

Oh Happy Days!

This post is going to be a random rant. As usual :)

So, 2012 is now well and truly on its way. Most people seem to be quite happy with it, thus far. I am not complaining either. No major upheavals (as yet!). The kidlet has moved up to the next class in school. We have more or less settled into our new house. My weight is, errr..not going up atleast?... It is actually this type of typical hum-drum that this year has brought with it, that is keeping me awake nights nowadays - sigh!

I really need to be do something with my life now - and the feeling of 'being on the threshold' of something new, bright and mind-numbingly exciting is hanging around my neck - not like an albatross- but like a - a nudging presence if you please. Not trying to be too poetic or anything - but it really is how I've been feeling this past month or so.Hopefully the subsequent posts should be the bearer of news about my 'bright new future'.

Until then, I have one thing to rant about -Toys-r-upon-us : I am so damn furious with these totally age-inappropriate toys that have flooded the market from wherever it is that they are mass produced. More disturbing is that fact that parents are actually buying these things for their children. Please tell me why 3 yr. olds need mani-pedi sets, hair curling irons and make-up however non-toxic!! I am telling you, everytime I go to the toy-shop I am filled with a very bad feeling at the pit of my stomach. How long am I going to be able to shield this little kid from these temptations? She already goes to playdates where dress up is played - and not with mommies old togs - but with kiddie versions of ornate ball-gowns and high heels. And like I said, there are people who find it perfectly fine to buy make-up sets for kids. How long before the kidlet starts asking for her own ?

And what is it with this personalised 'return gift' culture. Sure, this 'Have money will throw ' attitude sits well with those who can afford it - and what goes of my father etc. Yet, I find it really annoying when people send texts asking for correct spelling of child's name, so that the name on the child's return gift is correct. And then? Then they proceed to gift your child something which not only is ghastly (usually a bag, runs colour, made of itchy material) but also has the wrong spelling! And then what do you do with these things that you do not want, yet cannot give away/throw because it has your kid's name on it (albeit spelt wrong!)?

I am telling you - I've hardly seen a kid - any kid - more excited by personalised bath towels than they are with really sasta dinky cars/funky erasers/hairbands etc! Till date my daughter's most favoured return gift is a flip-flop she painted herself. And a whistle.

Am wondering why we are hell bent on complicating things for ourselves and our kids already. It can only get worse with time, no? Simplifying and un-complicating would be much easier - and rewarding. Sigh! That indeed is the wish I have - for my child and my family. Hopefully we will soldier on - without relenting - to the temptations that seemingly abound all around!

Reading in the New Year :)

Okies - since my NYR - new year resolution (yes, its still January na!!) included - errr..reading more (by far the easiest resolution to keep, esp. since it does not involve rigorous movement of any muscle group other than perhaps jaws?), heres an update on all that I've managed to trudge through so far :

1. The Marriage Plot - Jeffery Eugenides

I had read Eugenides' first novel, 'Middlesex' just after having my kid - I can possibly blame post-partum depression on the not very pleasant feelings that I had about the book. But one thing was for certain, depressing or not - I did not put the book down before finishing it. The writing was as arresting as the controversial subject matter it covered! But that did not mean that I picked up my copy of 'The Marriage Plot' without a sense of unease - Eugenides is not for the laid back reader. But the the blurb was interesting and I took the bait. TMP, on the surface of it is the story of three individuals caught in a love triangle sort of situation wherein nobody is loved back by the one, one loves - you get the drift. The story spans a time of but a few years - between the time they graduate (or don't) and the next few years of self discovery before reaching a sort of resolution for each of the three main characters - it is a coming of age story cloaked within interesting philosophical takes on the meaning of love, religion and as always the past that haunts us all! Though a bit tedious in parts, what I loved about the novel, really, was the description of life in a college town and all the characters therein - very very nostalgia invoking ! Indeed, there is something for most of us to relate to in this book (Including an almost de-riguer element in bestsellers nowadays -a discover India trip!) , which is why it will be a recommended read by me for sure. Do read it if you have a few large lazy chunks of time in your life!

2. Oprah - Un-authorised biography - Kitty Kelly

This is quite a tome - be warned! Kitty Kelly has been biographer brutal to many celebrities - including Liz Taylor and The Royals. So you more or less know you will be subjected to some unkind controversial stuff even before you start. Much of it you already know - thanks to the deluge that is 'Oprah' yet there are things that are new - and they are mostly unpleasant :( Indeed it is the greatest pitfall of the book - it may be un authorised but need it be so judgemental. I came away from the book feeling Kelly was single minded in her pursuit of portraying Oprah as somebody none of us actually knows (which is saying a lot considering the image Oprah has!). Which is also fine with me, since that is the reason one typically reads a biography - to get to know unseen facets of a public personality. Yet, yet , yet....lets just say it is difficult to believe that there are parts of Oprah - still not public - yet not unpleasant - which Kelley did not find to put in this biography! Read it if you love the Queen of the talk show like I do - else give it a skip.

3. Beautiful Thing - Sonia Faleiro

To be honest - I did not want to read this book. I did not want to buy it. Why? Last year I had read a book called 'The Mafia Queens of Mumbai' and that left me with a deep sense of dread and desperation about the city that I live in. I started looking around my surroundings with a new sense of wonder knowing that I know nothing about the people who live within breathing distance of me. Yes, call me a prude and weak stomached - but thats who I am. It took me time to get over that book - even with all its grit gilted glamour - it hit me hard. I found it hard to read! And hence I decided not to read any book about the so called underbelly of Bombay. So it came to happen that even though I read a lot about 'Beautiful Thing' in the papers, I did not feel like reading it. But then guess what : Twitter happened!! And I 'followed' Ms.Faleiro and she came across as being a forthright and non-sensationalist person and I just had to read her book now, hadn't I? And boy, am I glad I did. Beautiful thing is essentially the story of Leela a bar dancer in Mumbai - yes one of those tribe, that ahem - dance at bars. Yeah - those places which types like you and me don't haunt - hmmmmm. The thing about beautiful thing is that Sonia writes it with absolute truthfulness and it comes across - I could imagine Leela in my eyes as I read the book - I felt like I had known her intimately by the time I finished. That in itself is what makes the book reading - especially given the fact that, the life that Leela lives is so grim it accounts for so less, that it can be wiped out without leaving a trace. Dont be squeamish - and read this book!

4. Confessions of a serial dieter - Kallie Purie

Bought at the airport - finished in flight on the Chennai - Mumbai sector. Absolutely enjoyable if you are a serial dieter like me :) Read it if you are in the perpetual diet trap or not - you could even learn a trick or tw0 ( which would be the champagne diet and NOT the Bulimia!).

5. The Gospel according to Coco Chanel -Karen Karbo

This is not a biography, but a rather tongue in cheek look at Chanel's philosophies in 'how to get ahead in life'. Cheekily titled with 'gospel' like Chanelesque , this book is surprisingly interesting and a must read if you are overwhelmed with the pressures of living a 'branded' life. Think Chanel like is my new mantra now :) You have got to read this book to know more about what that is!!

6. The Reluctant Detective - Kiran Manral

Finally, the last book I read yesterday was blog and twitter personality - Kiran Manral's debut novel - The Reluctant detective. Like the lady herself (as she comes across on her online platforms) her book is witty and engaging. Even though it has a stiletto on the cover - the book steers clear from predictable bustledom of romance/no-mans and ensuing hormonality. The book is about a lady who lunches (apparently a lot ;)) is stuck in house-wife-land and all its predictability until there arrives a corpse..and then another. How Kay Mehra bumbles into almost solving the case is just part of the fun; There are 'Star' studded parties and buffet lunches attended, dietitians and friend circles dissected, and husband/kid/maid quagmires..not to mention 'society' going ons. This book is for us so called Urban moms who know that there is mystery and intrigue even in the most mundane! A good fun read - especially if you know what it feels like to have a friend whose waist is the width of your thighs!!

Well, there is still a bagful of books from the strand book sale to dip into now - hopefully I should have a post about them in a month from now! Till, then - happy reading :)

What? Its a New Year altogether? Already ??

Oh how ungrateful of me. I totally forgot to thank 2011 full and proper! It was by far the most fulfilling year of my married life :) As yet!! This was the year the kid started going to a proper school, we moved into the much craved for 'nice apartment in nice building complex', husband was by and large traveling less than usual and I finally succumbed to getting more helping hands to navigate the madness of bringing up baby. 2012 - really - you must, you really have to, I insist do better :)

As they say very rightly too, happy times flash by faster than those not. I also will remember 2011 as being the year of the - protestor - what else? If TIME magazine has deemed it so who am I to protest ;) Jokes apart, it was liberating (even if tempered with fair bits of outrage) to see the common woman find her voice again. Full respect to all the women in the world who fought back for their rights - all across the world - especially in the arab world - some of the accounts which filtered in from there were freaking bone chilling!

And of course how can one not thank Anna Hazare. One might agree or disagree with the man on many points but he deserves FULL credit for getting the civil nation back on its feet. How the protest plays out is anybody's guess - but the fact that it was started at all is a winner for me. Oh, and not to forget Anna Hazare made the nation realise that we have a houseful of learned and mesmerizing orators and thinkers in Parliament. Even if it begs the question that even with such stellar elected reps and such an impeccable leader how do we still manage to flounder!

In the final reckoning, the year gone by was most notable by its headline making presence both in my personal life and that happening outside my doors but affecting me no less. Ofcourse there were some days/months/weeks that I filled like the pits of the earth, but the silver lining was within visibilty. And I am really grateful for that. That indeed is my new year resolution (just thought it up actually ;)) - BE GRATEFUL!!

There are just so many things to be grateful for. Even if the argument of the 'less fortunate to remind us' is getting old - it does beg the question - what the f*%#$ am I getting worked up about. Nothing (mostly) is invincible. And even if it is then it most likely is not meant to be. No?

On that philosophical note - I send my love to all - a very happy New Year to you - may it be filled with lots of hugs, happiness, laughter and love!!