Purr-A-Dise

I was collecting flowers in the community garden that morning. Just then, I saw two white paws under the Bougainvillea bush, trying to catch my hands playfully. I recalled a similar flutter in my tummy! Oh, I know this feeling!

She walked out lazily, stretching with every step, and greeted me with a “ Meow”. That’s my favourite language, I admitted with a smile. She gave me a nudge with her small furry head and her purrs so loud, coordinated with my fast paced heartbeats. She reminds me of Rumi! The same thoughtful eyes, impish whiskers, soft muddy paws. Not too young, not too big. Just the right active size for a kitten. Oh, how this familiar feeling tugs at my heart strings!

Unlike Rumi, she has a few brown spots on her white and black fur. The kids in the community have named her “ Cookie” - the brown spots are for chocolate chips in the cookie! She follows me like she already knows me and my scent. This morning, she followed me home, sniffed the doormat and stretched to sleep on it, just like Rumi did. I don't have any cat food these days. I distributed it all two years ago at the street-cat Iftar party, I planned for them.

I don't have anything but affection to offer now...my heart overflows with love, when I pet her and stroke her chin. This is the unique kind of purest love that only pets seem to bring out from us! She gives me an instant purring feedback to reciprocate the feelings. She walks through my legs, nudging me with her head again, just like Rumi...

The doors to my heart were shut tight after Rumi wandered away. I convinced myself with the karmic contract reasoning, of a cat’s purpose in our life. But why does this kitten knock ever so softly on those doors...trying to open them and peep into my heart...

The two predators, Simba and Ginger from the neighbourhood are quite old now. Ginger is too lazy to move. Simba challenges himself with chasing this new kitty on the block. She swiftly climbs the trees and he cannot reach her. He is too chubby to climb trees. In short, she knows how to take care of herself. Everyone feeds her lovingly. She can easily survive in the community garden, hiding under the bushes and sleeping on the moist earth.

One afternoon, she followed my boys home after school, giving them that familiar loving feeling. She stretched out on the doormat and we could see the silhouette of her paws under the door. Rumi used to play with the doormat and pull it from outside. We used to notice the pulled mat and open the door for her. She used to have that mischievous glint in her eyes!

It feels like a gift, finding this lovable creature in the garden, by serendipity. Whenever I see her playing on the lawn, I am tempted to pick her up and take her home. But she belongs to the community garden. She is everyone’s pet. Let me not take that fragile route again. This time, I am keeping my mind detached, without any emotional investment or longing. I love her enough to let her be free. I don’t seek ownership.

This is how my spiritual journey looks like, somewhere midway, I’d like to believe. Those few minutes of soft purrs every morning are enough for me to get a glimpse of Paradise ... 

or should I say, Purr-A-Dise!

:: New Kitty on the block! ::

A Rural Life

Untie my wind-tangled curls

in the mountain's cold shower,
when silver-lined pebbles
leave a mossy kiss on my bare feet.

Discover unknown winding ways
through gurgling giggling waters,
on the gentle rhythmic strum of
swaying coconut palm-strings.

Coucal’s songs echo musically,
from the chest of the singing valley. 
Promise me a brown-winged glimpse
reserved only for the lucky gaze!

Over the emerald green pond,
catch a blurry blue flight of a kingfisher,

as rustling bamboos stand tall, 

like raised hair on a stony skin. 

An apprehensive dive
into the flowing river,
unable to grasp the current,
toes aflutter flap like wings...

As a dry leaf drifts
upon the rippled water sheet,
let my heart tune in
to hum at the same frequency...

Along the mangrove-fringed backwaters
Steer the boat calmly forward,
as eagles and black ducks fly low
to caress the ruffled wild waves.

An idyllic lighthouse gracefully poses,
upon the blue-grey muffled horizon,
watchful of the angry roaring sea
that bursts onto fish -flavoured coasts.

From the wise ocean to the knowing river,
the still lake to the restless stream,
memories freeze within raindrops,
then overflow from many -a kohl-lined eye.

A life less urban,
wrapped in the rustic rural,
with bitter sweet festive emotions,
I get to savour one year at a time!

:: Family gatherings with monsoon escapades in the Western Ghats in India this summer ::

#vagamon #indianmonsoon #rurallife #kerala #naturescapes

Afternoon

In the perfectly cool shadows
of a late February afternoon,
neither too harsh like the midday sun,
nor too mellow like the evening,
the pergola casts a poised pattern
on the sun- washed walls.

Bougainvillea spreads her spiky arms
with pink- painted manicured fingers.
The world can stay busy,
but the leaves and buds are resting.
Like the cats in the sunbeams,
meditating on the rhythm
of their own tapping tail tips.

There's something so poetic
about Ramadan afternoons,
especially when coordinated
with the month of spring!

:: Afternoon is the fourth addition to this series of my earlier three poems - My Morning, Night and Evening :: 

https://quiethappiness-tasha.blogspot.com/2013/01/my-morning.html

https://quiethappiness-tasha.blogspot.com/2017/05/evening.html

https://quiethappiness-tasha.blogspot.com/2012/12/night.html

Ten to Two

When time stands still, she writes on and on, undisturbed. This time, she has a ‘novel’ excuse for the mind, not to feel guilty about not doing the regular 8 to 6 standard burnout job of today’s fast moving world, rather not doing what she is ‘ supposed to be doing’!

She spends the slow mornings with the garden and the birds, and with moths and lizards, who are now living in the cute wooden houses meant for the pretty birds. Ever since her cat moved on, (upon fulfilling her karmic contract, as she likes to believe), the lizard population is on the rise and birds have been far too courageous. After a breakfast, homemade with love, with her turmeric latte for the misty mid winters, she sits down by her desk to write. Not only does her desk have a large window, but also a fully glazed door, leading to the balcony, that pours in all the daylight she wants, flavoured with a minty breeze.

Ten o cock to two o clock - her full day is lived in this time frame. Its like the illusion of time, the clocks in the showrooms display - when time stands still, but still manages to reveal the correct time twice a day! Thats the reality within the illusion.

This is when she creates characters, arranges chapters, recalls the timelines. Afterall, what is fiction, but a twist in the tale of non fiction! Its non fiction with a makeover or with wings and perhaps a frilly frock and a bow... just like her mother would stitch for her in childhood, as per the dreamy little girl’s clear instructions - frill, lace, one bow and what she referred to as the ‘ flying sleeves’ (her equivalent for wings!)

When time drifts slow, it is scary and liberating simultaneously. Scary, as she faces her daily demons. They are sometimes curled up in her bed, at times sitting at her writing desk, teasing and nudging. They take turns with the bed and the desk, just to annoy her even more.

Liberating , because for once , time is on her side! Not trying to escape between the fingers of a tight fist, that wants to control everything.

Its in the ten to two bracket, that she travels to unknown lands , takes a mental vacation, with words filled into the hand luggage and the over head compartments. She becomes her characters, acts them out on that dark stage, waiting for the next act to begin for a sold-out audience. The stage knows, this is just the rehearsal in that ten to two shift. It allows her to be whoever she wants, however she wants...constructing and furnishing her secret world!

She smuggles a snack mid meal into her room, or takes a deep dream-filled cat nap, walks around sunlit spaces and talks to the leaves. Then back to her desk, which is a non standard sized door to her secret life, designed specially for those who have a wingspan longer than their height. For those who write right even from the left.

Ten to two is the gap that shows the make of the clock ...the gap of time, when every clock stands still.

When life gives you lemons, don't just make the same ol lemonade! Try a lemon margarita, a lemon meringue, lemon drizzle cake or a simple lemon rice...

#tentotwo #undisturbedwriting #againstthecurrent #whatiactuallyenjoy #exoticandquixotic

:: Morning Light :: 

:: Colourful Breakfast ::

The City within Me

Where is that large rain tree that used to cover the street with dappled sunlight? In that place stands an unfinished flyover bridge blocking all the light at ground level. Has it really solved the traffic problem? Perhaps not. But it has definitely spoilt the spatial quality of the place.

There’s a posh newly built glass building, I was invited to. It had an overflowing garbage dump right next to the high-end , not so pedestrian friendly entrance. Most well dressed office goers must be noticing this every single day as they step over. But no-one wants to do anything about it. Once you reach your air conditioned top floor office, little do you care about what happens on the street!

I was told about a “ High Street” , a so called happening location in this newly grown limb of the city. It is accessed through a slum, that seems to look bigger and bigger on the google maps each year. People have just trained themselves to turn a blind eye to everything that weakens the urban fabric.

I like how the word ‘park’ is so loosely used in the city context. There are taller and taller glass buildings of IT parks, but lesser play parks. And almost no place where one can ‘park’ a car, a bike and definitely not a cycle! (because even though it might be the most convenient means of transport, some think riding a cycle says you are not doing very well in life!)

I see no proper footpaths on these new streets, of course no cycle paths, lesser trees and therefore lesser birds. The experts also had plans to bulldoze out a road through the hills amidst the city to solve the traffic problems. The hills are the only green lungs left in this ever spreading cancerous growth of this city...this city that used to be my only home once upon a time...

All this is called “ development”. I am an architect, but this kind of haphazard development, with little thought on urban design and holistic town planning, deeply disturbs me. Beauty in irregularity and unplanned growth can be appreciated only in nature, not in the urban context.

I live in another city but this city still lives within me. This is where I was born and raised. I spent the first 20 years of life here. This city helped me germinate from a seed to a shrub. And hence I don't have a business relation with this city, I have an emotional connection.

But now when I visit it, I miss the soul of the city. Those old heritage stone houses are all being demolished one after the other to make way for new fancy buildings. All cute lanes and coloneys with quaint bungalows and balconies are gone. Streets looks different, with newer and taller structures, lesser greenery. There used to be a lake somewhere here. Its now blocked by some unknown unfinished construction. I have to turn on google maps to figure out my orientation.

I see, most people around me are staring into their smart phones, following that blue marked path, not even knowing where it leads to. The destination was filled in by someone else a long time ago. It is perhaps totally changed now. Yet, they continue to blindly trace that line without a doubt, without a question...perhaps all through their lives, with a hope to make a better living...

Back in 2005, I am glad I continued with the prototype design for “ (Urban) Empowerment Centre for (Rural) Women” as my Thesis topic for my final year of Architecture. My professors we advising me to go with some ‘happening’ topic such as an IT Park! But I wanted to design something I would continue to believe in throughout my life. I realise now, all my research towards that empowerment centre was the beginning of everything that took me to Amaira the little woman!

Its now upon people like us, who left the city in search of greener pastures, who need to think differently and find ways to restore the lost charm of our city and bring the greenery back. We need to return with arms spread out, as grown trees, to offer a selfless shade and share lessons learnt all along the way, with a hope to make a positive difference and give something back to our city.

#punecity #giveback #emotionalconnect #citywithinme #holisticplanning #restorelostcharm #undevelopment  #mycitymyresponsibility 

Soothing Shades of Childhood

Our childhood spaces leave a deep psychological imprint on our minds. My childhood garden has shaped me as a Poet, an Artist and as a Landscape Architect. It's only now that I realise this connection that began sprouting in those early days.

Those tall trees, flowers, birds, squirrels, our cats, the swing, the balcony, the ladder short cut, the back door, the water tank with fish, the terrace, the stone pathways , the creepers, the dappled sunlight and all that magic in the soothing “shade”of our home, is a nostalgic collection of memories we shall carry in our hearts forever.

In our mind lanes, my sister , my cousins and I continue to celebrate our childhood garden and our family home, not just one last time, but over and over, before saying a final goodbye to it in the real world.

I cannot describe it in any other language but my mother tongue!

सावली 

चिक्कूच्या झाडावर चढून, 

पुन्हा एकदा खाली पडूयात!

हौदात पाय बुडवून, 

गुपचूप दुपारी मासे पकडूयात.

झुडपातल्या फटीतून 

शेजारी जाऊयात,

पुन्हा एकदा त्यांच्या झाडाचे 

चोरून पेरू खाऊयात!

चाफ्याची फुले वेचुन,

ऊंच शिडीवरून 

चोर दरवाज्याने गच्चीत लपून बसूयात!

आईच्या चाहाचा एक 

गरम घोट घेऊयात... 

मोगरा फुललेला असताना,

कोकीळ गुलमोहराच्या फांद्यांवर गात असायचा. 

संक्रांतीचा वेल आकाशाला भिड़ायचा!

चला पुन्हा एकदा ती गाणी एकूयात!

लहानपणीच्या आठवणीत 

कायमचे रमून जाऊयात!

जिन्याखाली भातुकली मांडूयात,

आवळा सुपारी खाता खाता,

पत्त्यांचे तीनशेचार डाव खेळूयात!

पावसाळ्यात छत्री घेऊन, 

टाकीत पाणी भरले का ते बघूयात,

उन्हाळ्यात पापड मिरच्यांचा सोबत 

गार गादीवर चांदण्या मोजूयात. 

लाडके मांजर आणि झोका,

खिडकीतून खोलीत येणारा दुष्ट पिवळा बोका!

मागच्या दाराने त्याला बागेत हाकलूयात.

हे सारे परत एकदा उपभोगूयात.

आज जगात कुठेही असलो, 

तरी मनात आपण सगळे लहानपणीच्या सावलीतच फिरतो...

पुन्हा एकदा एकत्र राहून बघूयात.

ते दिवस शेवटचे जगून घेऊयात!

 - नताशा बेडेकर

Kite and the Eagle

The charismatic Eagle,
is engrossed in high flight,
with his new winged companions…

While the nurturing Kite,
with one wing still tied,
stays back to guard the nest,
stocked with grain for the winter.

She looks forward to the day
when the baby birds will fly out too,
in the vast open sky,
to be ambitious and strong
like their forefathers.

With a hope that they shall remember
the tough love and quiet coziness
of their childhood cocoon,
so beautifully arranged,
kept warm and welcoming
by their mother,
she patiently waits for her turn
to untangle all cords
and bask in the unbound light
of her true potential!

:: As mothers and daughters, we are tied between two generations! We need to "be available" , at times emotionally, at times physically, for all those who depend on us...and that's by far the most difficult job, which we can never quit until its done! :: 

:: Inspiration from Dubai Design District :: 

One Quiet Day

Keep one quiet day
just for yourself,
to stare at the blank blue sky
through the windward window.
Bring back the effervescent hope
into a hardened heart.

I am able to love
and open to receiving,
when all my pieces
fit in the right place.
Keep that one fulfilling day,
to become wholesome again.

Heal yourself first,
to be a care-giving mother,
and a creative partner;
all roles that go amiss.
when the one precious day
gets mixed with the mundane.

I want to listen to what spaces speak.
Curtains whisper sweet nothings
to the sleepy leaves.
Her playful eyes come alive
as she walks a lazy gait.
I long to find my cat at home again …

Bedsheets echo patterns of the vines,
bamboo lamps jive with the breeze.
I want to be in this frame!
Take me home, O shaded lanes…

to that one secret day
I have kept aside just to be myself!

The Concept of HOME

In childhood days, when my sister and I would walk back from the sports ground in the evenings, our mother would show us birds in the orange sunset sky. She would say, "Look at the birds going home in the evenings.” It was a comforting statement , which in an unknown way was sowing the seeds of a strong belief in my head.

Even now, whenever I am walking home or driving home or cycling home in the evening, out of habit I look at the sky and I see the birds going home as well. That makes me happy.

My mind is conditioned to think that when the day is done, when it's evening, I must go home. I cannot stay out of home after evening. I feel a strong current that pulls me homewards. And that's why, for me, it's almost impossible to work late. Going home on time is my emotional NEED.

This feeling has something to do with one’s childhood home. I am someone who has had immense attachment to my childhood home, with my cozy bedroom that I shared with my sister, the garden with amazingly full grown trees, the balcony with jasmine climbers, our cats, the water tank with guppy fish, in which we would dip our feet, the chickoo tree with branches leading to the balcony, the cold stone floors, sun rays filtering through the staircase windows, secret hiding places in my grandparents room …everything about that stone bungalow, has a special connection.

It's such memorable elements related to the house from our childhood that create the concept of “home” in our brains, I guess.

However, this is something my partner does not really comprehend. During our dating times in college days, when it was slightly late in the evening, I would say, “I need to go home now”. But I never sensed any strong feeling in his mind that would ever pull him to his own house. Of course it has to do with how his own home from childhood was… did he have enough space that he could call his own? Did he have a connection with a bedroom that took him to dreamland?

Everyone carries the baggage of diverse childhoods, upbringings, dissimilar cultural backgrounds that instill a strong ( or insecure) feeling of home in our minds. Some people, in fact, are taught to leave home to chase dreams that aren't necessarily their own, to earn more and more money and never look back to get tied down…

In reality, wherever we go, in our minds all of us continue to live in our childhood homes. It hurts me to realize the confined idea of space in his mind.  He can sleep on any bed of any size, any couch and snore as loudly as he does on our bed! The concept of home and space in his head is just the opposite of what is in mine!

I carried my special home feeling with me when I moved to Abu Dhabi after getting married. It's mostly the mother who instills that warm comforting feeling of “home” in her children’s minds. Given our different mindsets, it became all the more important for me to set up a feeling of permanence for my children in our house, especially in this transit country where most people settle only for a few temporary years.

I worked hard to recreate memorable home elements for my boys…something that I deeply cherish while my husband does not even identify with that need!

Just a few days ago, during this summer break I asked my grown up boys, if they have this unseen alarm embedded in their minds, like I do, that starts ticking, telling them to rush home in the evening if they are out of the house for a long time? Is there something that pulls them homewards? Do they miss their bed and their bedroom if on a longer vacation, especially to India? They admitted, they do! I am so relieved to hear that! So in a way, I have probably passed on that feeling to my boys. And I think I have been successful in explaining the importance of this concept to my husband as well...

When the parents come from totally different cultural backgrounds and upbringings, it's difficult to find what is really important to be passed on to the next generation… This feeling of “home” and being drawn homewards is very important for me to feel secure and confident. My childhood home has shaped my personality. I don't think I would be into art and poetry if it weren't for that setting that I grew up in and that reassuring feeling of home.

I just hope the emotion is similar for my boys where they draw inspiration, comfort, security and love from the beautiful space called HOME, created and decorated together by their architect parents!

The scene from the title track for the comedy series 'Simpsons' has stayed in my mind, where all the family members rush home in the evening, from different places and finally crash on that one big sofa in front of the TV. That's my ideal beginning of the weekend that spells HOME AT LAST!

#conceptofhome #quiethappinesstasha #homeiswheretheheartis #lovehome 

:: A bit of Bali at HOME ::

Quietude

Four white-eared Bulbuls were having an important discussion in the garden this morning. Two of them, perched upon the edge of the birdbath and the other two hovering in mid air, circling around occasionally, trying to make dramatic performances!

They continued to debate endlessly, while the pair of laughing doves on the parapet wall heaved a hooting sigh and finally gave up on their turn at sipping the cool waters.

I was waiting in stillness next to the slender armed graceful olive tree that was creating dancing shadows on the sun-washed white walls. The garden needs to be watered, I pondered, before the already harsh sun rises higher up in the dust-lined summer noon sky, casting a blinding spell.

When I am in the garden, I wonder, am I not supposed to be working at this time… When I am at work, I miss being home at odd hours to witness the dialogue that happens between the flora and the fauna.

Not everyone will understand why one chooses to take a healing break for themselves from time to time. The bulbuls, I felt, were actually cheering for me and supporting my life decisions!

The birds kept gossiping . I watched them silently… just grateful for such ironical quietude Life gives us, by serendipity.

Solitary events, crafted coincidentally, completely ours to be savoured deliberately. It's in such still moments, collaged together, that Life compiles the mixed tape of unsung melodies.

#summerbreak #healyourself #creativehibernation #findyourzen #quietude 

:: My Zen garden and the Birdbaths:: 

Unsung Melodies

I am someone who loves to document every bit of my travel stories and life incidents. But sometimes, many events remain undocumented, only because of being so engrossed in that moment or having much fun, that there was no reminder for grabbing the camera to capture them. Such times become memories that we actually never forget. They are the unsung melodies of our life!

This rainy season, we took a road trip to Sakleshpur from Bengaluru. Kris and he boys were with the cousins in their uncle’s big car, because they wanted to play road trip games and listen to their favorite tracks. In my sister’s car, it was just me, my sister and my father… Well, in hindsight, actually there was another unseen member traveling with us…my mother’s memories!

It was so natural for us to start listening to old Hindi film songs and some old Marathi “mood songs” from the 70s and 80s . One by one, they kept playing in a rhythm, unfolding one memory after the other… My mother used to listen to these songs while doing her chores. We used to do our annual Diwali cleaning and the same songs would play on an audio tape — side A for one film and side B for another! My father always has many interesting stories to tell about each film song , its music director, lyricist and the singers. His knowledge about movies is outstanding. As my sister drove, I was juggling between being a navigator and playing the songs. Baba was actually the RJ, giving us some trivia with every musical note! Honestly, the journey of about five hours through a hide-n-seek of rain and sun just went by in no time! It was almost like our mother was right there with us, letting us know which song she wanted to hear next..

That weekend, at Mugilu, a homestay in Sakleshpur, the rain never stopped! We had three cottages, separated by a narrow pathway full of wet leaves, ferns, leeches, tall trees swaying in the wind and constant rain! Reaching from one cottage to the other was an adventure in itself! There were four Indie dogs that selflessly kept showing us the way!

On one such drenched evening, the weather called for staying indoors with music, scotch on the rocks and playing cards! This homestay is designed for a screen -free holiday. There were no TVs. The kids were sitting in the balcony, looking at the dance of the tall spice plantations with peppercorns and bay leaves, playing some quizzes and eating onion fritters, noodles and nuts. The grown-ups, on the other hand, got engrossed in many-a- game of poker! Turns out that Baba is actually very good at it! He taught my newly-turned-fourteen son how to play poker. We used UNO cards as fake money and went on with our games as the frivolous windy evening melted into a night spiked with insect buzz! This has been my best unphotographed memory of the trip so far! We just lost the count of time. The dogs came to call us for an extraordinary country style dinner, served at the rain-deck, a five minute walk through the twisty rainy plantations! Of course, the hill treks with cows, muddy streams, leech attacks and strange insect bites also contributed to the ambience. Just that continuous hum of the rain, flavored with old Hindi film songs playing in the background, the humble meals and the most memorable family time was what made this weekend getaway so special!

In the earlier week in Pune, when I met my girls gang from school, the “Gol Gappa Gals”, we spent almost the entire night playing endless laughter-filled games of Pictionary with our unique combination of rosado wine and spicy banana chips! After a laid-back evening swim followed by a giggles-n-gossip stroll by the rolling greens, we spotted a dancing peacock surrounded by four peahens! Again, very special memories undocumented in pictures!

Each time, moistening my lashes, these unsung melodies still continue to play in my mind long after returning to the desert…

Also - Ran

With little chubby legs
when you toddled your way around
exploring exciting new routes,
I ‘also-ran’ behind you…
only to keep you safe.

When you waited, confused
on unknown turns,
I held your tiny hands,
‘also-ran’ with you,
helped you choose...

My role has been to guide you,
show you the right direction.
Not to pave the way for you,
but to see you take the lead,
while I also-run…

Now both of you
are running ahead of me,
fast and independent.
I also-run, then wait and watch, proudly,
your silhouettes against the sun…

You need to find your inner calling
and build your own road when needed.
Just once in a while, turn back and look out for me…
perhaps a bit slower now, your mum,
‘also-running’, with one eye on your finish-line!

#tomyteenageson #growingupboys  #rolereversal #mumgetsolder 

:: This poem is especially to my teenage son, who is turning 14 in a few days...::

Where do old birds go to die...

A few months ago, one old laughing dove came to my garden in the morning. He seemed very thirsty. We generally get a lot of laughing doves to sip on the cool waters of the bird bath. This one looked particularly pensive. I watched him from my window. He drank water and then crawled quietly under the raised decking of the zen garden. I thought he wanted to rest in the shade, so I postponed watering the garden to leave him undisturbed. 

After a few hours, my cat woke up and lazily walked into the garden, stretching out and yawning at every step. She began sniffing suspiciously under the decking. I ran outdoors to save the bird from our “serial killer hunter tigress”. But the bird seemed to be still asleep. He wasn't moving at all !!! 

I remembered him drinking a lot of water earlier that morning …And at that moment, I realised he had been sipping his last water. He had breathed his last…He came to my garden to go into deep slumber forever…

I secretly buried him later that day  in one of the flower beds of the community garden. I did not tell anyone. Somewhere I thought, a bird dying in my garden could be a bad omen. 

Where do old birds go to die? This line from the book “The Ministry of Utmost Happiness” by Arundhati Roy, had made me go into quiet contemplation for many days.

And then I realised, the old bird came to my garden to die… He felt comfortable, breathing his last, closing his eyes for the last time , in the soothing shades of my garden! I watched him lay unmoving on the moist bed of soil and leaves. 

I  have had many great memories with laughing doves in this place. A pair had their nest on the terrace of my earlier penthouse. They have even made an appearance in my book, Amaira, the little woman, posing for one of the pictures that compliment a poem! 

I have also watched many laughing doves stop laughing when they were caught by my extremely agile cat. I have seen them being dragged around , hanging out of her blood stained mouth. , with their feathers falling one by one. While I cannot blame the cat for her natural instincts, I was relieved that this dove at least wasn't murdered.  

So when death seems near, just like us humans, old birds try to fly to a calm place, where they feel comfortable to let it all go. He passed away silently, peacefully in his favourite spot. I'd like to believe that. 

Rest in peace, you laughing dove.

Keep laughing.

:: As featured in my book , Amaira, the little woman ::
 

:: Illustrated by my son Abhiir when he was 6 ::

Frangipani Fest

As landscape architects, we generally know how to design around plants and with plants. But to really understand the behaviour of plants and trees, we must know what a gardener knows. A good gardener feels the pulse of each plant. He knows how much to prune a plant and when. He intuitively waters the plants according to their needs through changing seasons. Basically, he can read the minds of plants! And that's exactly why, these days I am doing an internship with the gardener of my compound. And funnily, he doesn't even know that I am trying to be his student ;) But he's one happy chappy, ready to share a few gardening tips every now and then.

This morning, I saw him chopping off some branches of my favourite Frangipani tree. I ran outside a tad annoyed. But he told me that the increasing bunches of flowers this season have been weighing the tree down to one side. He needed to prune the branches on that side to keep the balance of the tree and stop it from bending down. I agreed, the tree needed pruning.

Immediately I began collecting the fallen branches that still carried loads of white and yellow flowers. He was saving them for me. These are the flowers I collect every morning.

He also warned me about the white sticky ‘milk’ that leaks from the chopped branches of a frangipani tree. I was actually aware of it. I have grown up around these trees in my childhood garden in India. We didn't exactly have this particular frangipani (plumeria obtusa) but we had the one with pink flowers(plumeria rubra) . My sisters and I used to have our hands smeared with that white sticky milk while playing “flower sellers”!

Soon I had several large bunches of long stemmed frangipani flowers, enough to decorate one tropical beach wedding party! Oh what a treat! I arranged the flowers in baskets on my terrace and made a few bridal bouquets as well. Oh I felt like a flower queen! It was indeed a frangipani festival marking the beginning of pleasant weather.

Creative Collaboration

Khalil Gibran has said - - - “Let there be spaces in your togetherness.  Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup…”  

As we celebrate 17 years of married life and 22 years of togetherness, I can say, it's the ‘SPACES in our togetherness’ that have kept us together all these years. Like being in the same room, but dancing to your own heart’s tune…

My idea of love was never the goody-goody type. Definitely NOT about the guy going down on his knees, offering diamonds to the girl. It was more about having a creative life partner, you want to grow old with. Someone who could give me constructive criticism about my work, with whom I could discuss design, art, photography and everything creative; who could push me into doing more than I thought I could. It was about making beautiful handcrafted things for each other, cooking for each other…And with Krishna, it's been exactly this! 

Once during our dating times, I had asked Krishna to make a portrait of me, just like he used to for our professors and friends. When I saw my completed sketch portrait, it highlighted my thin eyebrows, crooked nose, pimples, not the most flattering hairstyle and dark circles under my eyes!!! A part of me was angry, but the other half was actually happy. I had received my mirror of reality! This was one solid guy, who I knew , would never try to impress me with fake compliments. He would keep me grounded. He would be my best critic. And that day I asked him to be my architect partner for our future dream home!!!

Since then, we have had a healthy, creative competition going on.  The latest is about who makes better chicken? Or who is better at sketching! 

I am winning at the chicken one these days. Our boys are the judges, also bitten by the creative bug that architecture has sown in our minds back in college days. 

I cannot imagine my mornings without the best steamy cup of tea that Krishna has been making for the past 17 years!! There is no competition at tea making…I am willing to lose each time!

With increasing wrinkles,

smiles seem wider.

Hair salt-n-pepper,

but conversations, spicier.

Celebrations, simpler;

Experiences, richer.

Drinks become milder,

but Life’s half full cup, 

bigger and better!

Looking forward to a continued creative collaboration. 

Cheers to the spaces in our togetherness.

#happyanniversary #17years #spacesinourtogetherness #creativecollaboration

:: Creative Collaboration ::