Pendulum

Beliefs sway back and forth
on the pendulum of uncertainty.
Within the torn tapestry of war,
we rediscover new threads of relationships.

Longing for a glint of the crescent moon,
on bruised grey-blue skies,
we catch a precious dream- filled cat nap,
between startling alerts and alarms.

Like a fulfilling sip of coffee
on a rushed stressful workday.
Or a hushed full deep breath,
amidst a fast- paced running race…

Jets no longer display
colourful trails for an airshow.
We wish for innocent paper planes,
to hold onto our faith and memories.

Smoke disguised as clouds
creates an illusion of normalcy.
But the sky quietly weeps at dawn,
washing down the trauma of last night.

Clueless kids happily call it rain
in today’s child-friendly reality.
Yet somewhere in between inhumane acts,
life continues to reveal little moments of empathy.

#tapestryofwar #betweenalarms 

Uncaged

This was a bird
who walked into a cage,
naively, on her own,
and chose to stay there.

The doors of her confines
had always been open.
Yet, she never dared to step out,
or even tried to flap her wings.

No one to stop her, but her apathy,
gripped with fear and ignorance.
She never cared to taste
what waited right at her doorstep.

Many caged birds continue to sing
desperate songs of freedom,
but the uncaged bird
knew not how to sing!

She had never stretched her wings,
nor learnt how to use her voice.
Too comfortable in her mediocre existence,
she had wasted her prospect of flight.

A never-opened mind to possibilities,
is an ignored chance of empowerment.
For the prison of fearfulness and inaction,
is far too thick a trap to break.

Which bird are you?
Have you ever questioned the pattern?
Are you brave enough to break the rules
to knock down generational karmic shackles…

:: This poem questions all those women who choose a mediocre existence over empowerment. They come from an educated family, a free country, with no restrictions. They can wear whatever they wish and step out of the house at will. They get many opportunities to become a better version of themselves. Yet, they choose to be lazy, inactive , do nothing special and just waste their time in a worthless journey of financial dependence.

After many such typical uncaged women in every family of repetitions, once in a generation, comes one different young woman from a contrasting background - the rule breaker, who questions and changes regressive family patterns forever!

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

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

In which She does those Hideous Dances

After 40, I have consciously moved to a slower pace of life, juggling profession, passion and responsibility - Landscape Architecture, Poetry - Art and playing mum, ever trying to achieve the correct work-life balance, often experimenting with new things.

As a result, in my free time, I started socializing with the neighbourhood women and those from the mothers group, who began to invite me to some religious/cultural meet ups. They say, and I agree that after 40, one can easily catch the poppycock about people. I decided to keep an open mind and dive in.

Mostly it has resulted in things completely not signed up for!!

My first reluctant performance at the Onam celebration, with 50 going on 20 women, was a mix of super slow movements of lighting lamps and noiseless clapping, in circles. They were very patient with me while teaching me the steps, as if it was Mohiniyattam though it was not that difficult to pick up. (I can come across as a no nonsense non dancer type.) My mind drifted back to our famous fusion dance at school on MJ's “Black or White’ , self choreographed by our gang of girls - a mix of Bharatnatyam on one side and what we called the “western dance "on the other side. That was a superhit!

Apparently the one being taught to me is a very famous Onam dance, which one of my relatives bragged about having showcased in a YouTube clip. Don't forget to ‘Like ' and ‘Subscribe' to our channel, her husband proudly announced with a toothy grin. This one may have been leaked onto social media, but I silently prayed, not to be tagged!

There was another vague singing while swinging scene at a supposed- to- be- picnic where one of the ‘extra-vert’ mums started singing Bollywood songs so loudly that the kids were getting worried! She then took endless selfies , some may have been videos which may have landed on social media. I don't remember if I joined in the loud singing loudly enough but the song was about never breaking this “fraandship” ;)

There was yet another of those three tiered fondant caked birthday parties where the mums and daughters had to be twinning! Luckily I have two no nonsense boys, away from the twinning and rainbow unicorn ponies! So I was only pulled into a Party mix of Bollywood Rap numbers in Sindhi with Punjabi choreography executed by another famous 50 going on 20 - reel making aunties gang. I managed to survive the limelight without stealing it!

The most recent hideous adulthood dance attack was at a religious event, our entire family was tricked into. It started out with naïve story telling, then warmed up to chanting and suddenly burst into some farmer’s dance about being overjoyed after all the ploughing and seed planting, ready to enjoy the harvest of the season! Ok. I can enjoy some action but this one would have gone better with some wine! The group dance went on and on in circles that expanded and contracted between chants with raised hands.

All this action made up for everything that was missing in our lives ;)

After a polite wrap up and exchange of sweet smiles, that Halloween night when everyone went to bed, “SHE” arrived… out of my wicked mind corner! The envy- green, grape-eating sarcastic evil twin of mine , from a parallel universe! She always wears a shiny green bikini top and a matching frilly micro mini skirt , with a hat full of grapes and wine-smeared purple lips. “Is this the new you?! “She mocks.

What exactly have you BECOME, Nair Aunty!? Oh is this that profound “becoming” of yours… she laughs away…

#justforfun #nooffense #fortyplusgoingontwenty #midlifecrisis #randomness #oopsembarassed #selfintrospection 

:: My evil twin often surfaces in my mind, helping me look at myself from the outside. We all need this reality check from time to time! ::

:: Picture used for illustrative purposes only ::

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 ::

AMAIRA Inspiration

My Amaira-Style of illustrations find their roots in the festivals of India and some childhood stories! Why does the leading lady, Amaira, in my poetry book, wear a red hibiscus? There was a girl in my class who used to wear a red hibiscus on her "fountain hairstyle" around the Ganesha Festival Season because it's HIS favourite flower ! When I drew my first sketch of Amaira, I remembered this. Thus, the deep red hibiscus worn on wild wavy hair became Amaira’s signature style! The minimalist abstract forms are used to convey maximum meaning in fewer lines, minimum colours and in the limited me-time that I used to have when my boys were younger! 

Each illustration starts as a rough pencil drawing in my sketchbook. Then, becomes a final ink sketch on a tracing paper. The thick lines and colour are filled in with gouache paint. Finally, the illustration gets scanned and then fine tuned for lineworks in a digital medium. 

#amairathelittlewoman #amairainspirations #abstractart #ganeshaart #minimaliststyle #Amairasignaturestyle #naturelove #landscapedesign #flowerswelove #hibiscusrosasinensis

Birthday in Baku!

Abhiir’s Birthday Interview at 8:

1. Me: Current best friends.

Abhiir: Younes,Sai,Isla and Vansh.

2. Me: Favourite band/musician. Mention your favourite song by that person or band.

Abhiir: One Direction, Wolves

3. Me: Favourite teacher and why.

Abhiir: Ms Shanon from year 2 because she never shouted at anyone.

4. Me: Favorite activity with your mother.

Abhiir: Playing Table Tennis, Swimming.

5. Me: Favourite activity with your father.

Abhiir: Playing Football. Watching Football. Everything about Football!.

6. Me: Favourite sport and why.

Abhiir: Of course Football because it's my favourite!

7. Me:Favourite sportsman and why.

Abhiir: Messi is the GOAT of football.

8. Me: Favourite food.

Abhiir: Chicken and Mango.

9. Me: Favourite movie and why.

Abhiir: Spider-man: No way home. It was very interesting because Spiderman meets all the other Spidermen.

10. Me: Favourite book and why.

Abhiir: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's stone. It's my first Harry Potter book and I really like all the characters.

11. Me: Do you like school? If yes why, if not, why not.

Abhiir: Some days are bad and some days are good. I like Tuesdays because we have two PE lessons in the morning. I don't like Wednesdays because we have back to back Science, Math and English.

12. Me: What is your birthday wish?

Abhiir: I wish Manchester City wins 48 Premier Leagues and 30 Champion Leagues.

13. Me: What do you want as a birthday gift?

Abhiir: New football boots.

14. Me: Is there anything your friends have that you don't and you want it so bad?

Abhiir:  DJ and Hassan get to play in the Under 9s and I don't.

15. Me: What do you want to be when you grow up?

Abhiir: I want to be a Chef.

16. Me: What do you miss about Ajji (maternal grandma)?

Abhiir: I miss Ajji because she used to make awesome food and she supported Amma and she was always fun to do everything with. She made everyone happy.

17. Me: What's your favorite memory of COVID times?

Abhiir: The time when I used to write a lot of stories in homeschool.

18. Me: Which family trip was your favourite and why?

Abhiir: My favourite trip was Spain and I liked it because we visited Camp Nou.

19. Me: Which place do you want to visit next and why?

Abhiir: I want to go to Manchester and I want to go because ManCity won the TREBLE.

20. Me: Which animal do you think you resemble the most and why?

Abhiir: I think I resemble a bear because most of my teachers call me ABEAR and not Abhiir ;)

:: Alpaca Farm ::

:: Worst Birthday ;) :: 

:: 8 on the 8th ::

Morning Raga

A lone train coos past the station

and a crumpled newspaper crashes into my balcony.

The bucket gets filled rhythmically, drop by drop,

as pigeons coordinate their evenly spaced hums.

Silver anklets tinkle when She walks

to her baby crying for warm cuddles.

The milkman smiles under his moustache,

and ‘bullets’ away on sun-dusted streets.

Restless tea boils under a cloud of gingery steam;

then She pours it tunefully into steel cups.

Curry leaves sizzle in the oiled pan,

and prayer bells intercept into chants.

Somewhere, a screaming alarm clock is silenced,

as I hear Him sprinkle water on the holy Basil.

The vegetable seller’s loud pleas

set against angry barks of the neighbour’s dog.

As parrots chirrup atop the flame of the forest

and silk curtains quiver on sunlit breeze,

I listen to this morning raga, now wide awake.

~ describing ‘the sound of morning’ in India.

Not my cup of tea

The right cup of tea can make a morning and a wrong one can spoil it. My morning tea was all messed up by the new tea boy in our office. The concoction was not to my taste though it was served in my cup. So as not to sound harsh, I said “It’s not my cup of tea!” He smiled and brought me the same tea in another cup!!!

In a modern workplace full of mixed tastes and cultures, it is not easy to get your perfect tea at the desired time in the right cup with the accurate mix of milk and sugar, especially with the options of green tea, black tea, Moroccan tea and sulaimani chai.The usual office tea boy in my current place of work is hearing impaired and cannot speak. But frankly he was always able to deliver an acceptable cup of tea only with instructions in sign language!!

When I worked in India, tea times were indeed fun times! The office could not accommodate a pantry, so the easiest and most exciting option was to “order” tea whenever required (or not required), from a road side tea stall. This was an interesting exercise of waving out from the window and showing with your fingers the number of tea cups that were to be delivered! And then after half an hour a small boy with greased clothes would bring an aluminium kettle and a few 'washed' extra small tea cups (with saucers). My cup of tea would be ‘half filled’ with a honey coloured liquid of saturated sugar syrup with minimum tea leaves and too much milk. In spite of a common set of instructions, he could never get it right!

Making the perfect cup of tea is an art indeed. It’s a subtle balance of the right amount of tea leaves, accurate boiling time, precise proportion of milk and sugar and finally the ideal cup. The lesser known secret to a great cup of tea lies in getting the exact temperature for the first sip. And that can only be achieved by the famous south Indian mixing technique of pouring the tea from one cup to the other for about four times, in rhythmic flow,not spilling a single drop!

Even after getting trained for almost seven years from a die-hard Indian foodie husband towards this unique tea making skill, I have never been able to get it right! Well, let’s say, it’s just not my cup of tea!!!

Unusual (Un)invitation!

Most times grocery shopping is treated as an ‘escape route’ by men. The other day, my husband met a long lost colleague at the grocery store where they apparently shared their post fatherhood blues and spoke about wives and kids. The friend extended an invitation to come over that Friday evening for some drinks. Well, considering they had just finished discussing about families, it was assumed that the invitation was for the whole family. We decided to go.

The friend stays in a villa right opposite to the neighbourhood park. My son wanted to play on the slide so I volunteered to be with him .But soon Arhaant followed his Baba to the villa and when we were at the doorstep we found out that the invitation was actually only for my husband as the friend’s wife’s mother had passed away a few days before and her sisters had come over in mourning. Before I could assimilate anything, Arhaant ran indoors, grabbed a toy car and zoomed off! …My husband and I exchanged some 'angry bird' frowns, but it was too late. I was dragged in and the door was closed. It was indeed a huge miscommunication between the men, who meanwhile sat in the verandah, peacefully enjoying their drinks. The kids, who hadn’t learnt about ‘being embarrassed’ yet, enjoyed new company. It was me, who was left midway knowing not what to do!

The only interesting fact was that the friend was from New Caledonia and his wife, from Ethiopia. It was a rare combination. Here in the Middle East, one can find the most unexpected alliances and some beautiful complexioned mix culture kids. A part of me was excited about getting a peek into an Ethiopian –New Caledonian household and the other part of me was self-conscious beyond description.

Theirs was a warmly lit space with very high ceilings,typical of old Arabic villas. The light bulbs evenly spaced into the mouldings dramatically enhanced facial features and drew me into my day dreamland. Finally the hostess asked me if I would join her and her three sisters for a meal. I wasn’t sure which option was disrespectful for the ritual, so I agreed to join the three ladies at the table. There was a massive salad bowl with large pieces of tomato,some cabbage, boiled potatoes and carrots, soaked in vinegar and a very huge something that looked like a home baked cake.She gave me enormous portions of everything and I couldn’t say no as I was busy looking at the lovely peach embroidery on the older sister’s clothes. The Ethiopian traditional dress is an ankle length variation of an Indian sari, but wrapped without any pleats. I had seen women from Sudan wearing the same so most of us Indians had begun calling it the Sudani sari. Hers was a crinkled printed peach fabric with a fashionable sleeveless blouse that had a mini frill on the edges. The youngest sister was wearing a full length pale blue and white dress with a laced head scarf. She had delicate brown eyes and a shy gaze. The hostess wore plain black pants and shirt. She had a six month old baby boy and a two year old girl, who played with Arhaant. I introduced myself, but I did not get their names. Luckily Arhaant's name fits into the Arabic culture and no one asks it twice.

The younger sister seemed more approachable.We exchanged glances and smiled occasionally. I quickly realized I shouldn’t smile too much considering the occasion. They finished eating very soon and I was left trying to strike a balance between friendly and not so friendly head nods.

Soon they lighted some candles by a coffee pot and offered the cake(which was actually bread) to the spirits. Well, this could be my interpretation of the occasion. There was a bucket of popcorn as well in the offerings. The three women started praying. I just stood up and watched. They took turns with prayers and then the bread was cut and distributed to all. The popcorn was given to the kids. I wondered if the purpose was similar to how in my religion crows are allowed to eat the rice cakes on post death formalities. I remembered my Serbian friend telling me about a funeral she attended that seemed quite like a party. I was barely three when my great grandmother passed away. I remember being slightly amused by the eerie silence on that day as I did not know what ‘death’ really meant…

My daze was resurfacing just when I realized that Arhaant had not asked for me since a long time. To save all of us of another embarrassment I hurriedly took him to the toilet…just in time and avoided an 'accident' by a millisecond! (it was just yesterday that I had proudly bragged about my successfully toilet trained boy even by night!)

But that good old excuse gave me the much needed idea for an exit plan. Life never gives second chances, but I hope we get another one to make a better second impression! We hurriedly rushed out with some awkward goodbyes, a very heavy tummy , a brief cultural exchange, of course and a new topic to write on!

Fragrance of Night Jasmine

Fragrance of night jasmine
fills the temple street.
A sacred silence resonates
around swaying bells.
Mesmerized, I walk
a hundred footsteps,
wishes wrapped
with each blessed tread.
Dimly lit pathways
seem dusted in holy glimmer,
as the half-moon of dawn
reflects under jaded eyes.
A prayer securely folded
within pale pink petals,
now crumpled in my hands...
Like buds of a vulnerable youth,
intimately woven
into strings of memory.

~ Describing the hypnotizing ambience by a temple atop a hill in India on a festive day at dawn ...

Moving On

Life is an ever transforming journey. That is what gives life its thrill and excitement to keep going, I suppose. After coming to the UAE I got a chance to meet many interesting people across the globe. This land offered me a big opportunity to be exposed to diverse cultures that I have not read much about and countries I would probably never visit. It has given me a possibility to weigh my ethnic beliefs against others.

And now, after more than five years, I have begun to understand the large dissimilarities in people and their behaviours governed by culture codes, which in turn are guided by the climatic conditions of that region. Most times it is not in the person but in the culture to do things a certain way. So its best to leave things the way they are than questioning them.

When I get along with a new person easily, I think it was some last life connection that brought us together.

I started with my new job six months after my son was born. I was in a disturbed postpartum mind frame and expected little less than friendship from my new colleagues. But very soon I became friends with this girl from a far off country in Eastern Europe. Different religion, different language, but what brought us close was a common liking for art, architecture, travel and landscape.

When it’s not common surroundings or growing up patterns but shared interests that start a dialogue, it becomes a good platform for exchange of ideologies on a deeper note. Days kept moving ahead with our daily dose of discussions. We enjoyed working together on several projects contributing to creative ideas, at times agreeing to disagree.

Nonetheless it is difficult to combat the ‘temporariness’ of the desert. The other day, I found out that she was leaving the country and moving on to greener pastures…(well, greener in the real sense of the term!) It was then that it dawned upon me, how much I had learnt from her in these two years and how much I was going to miss…

I just cannot deal with farewells. My heart clots with memories as I realize the fact that she will no longer be a part of the routine professional life, spiced up with brainstorming debates amid tight schedules that somewhere unknowingly ended up merging with personal lives as well.

I will miss our Indian lunches that she loved more than I did! There are some peculiar things about India that I actually learnt to appreciate because of her! I learnt organizational skills and a polite but powerful way to stand up for what you believe in without shedding a tear!

Last few days a slight melancholy lingers but we continue to celebrate breakfast times with indianised ‘manaqeeshs’ from the Arabic bakery, with custom made fillings of coriander and green chilly to suit a mixed culture palate.

Maybe on these roads of life, our paths were destined to intersect just for a brief interval. But a close cultural exchange like this will only help me get a broader and deeper outlook into the less known places of the world, that interest me even more. I will carry a bit of her in my mind until memories fade away onto yesteryear diaries and I hope she carries a bit of me wherever she lands next.

Time unveils
subtle transformations,
as I set out on
unfamiliar expeditions.
Experiences locked
in a heavy heart,
like messages
in a bottle.
A bit of you
with me, I carry.
As an inspiration,
as a memory…

Indianness in Exile

I think of my people,
when an aching taste still cares about
home cooked leftovers in buttery yellow...
Yet compelled to forget that regional tongue
I let go of traditional patterned brights
hoping to be noticed as an individual
in this grey sea of commonness.

I think of my culture,
that teaches of warmth from
shared morsels of love and light,
when I am frozen by cold insensitive words.
Yet a sizzling tangy curry of expression
flows freely like many rivers of thought
under an awkward mind frost.

I think of my land,
as its vast diversity pledges of togetherness.
But a patched and stitched life in memories,
struggles to defend a fading poise.
Myriad prayers with faith laden lamps,
a needless but honest smiling head nod
and a generous joy to impart ancient folklores...

I think of my Indianness --- now in exile!

Common Faith

I stood at the terrace that evening, tea cup in my palms, elbows resting on the railing.

On one side of the dusty Abu Dhabi sky, was the sun, slowly beginning to fade out behind new tall glass towers, while on the other, the full moon brightening up, soon to steal the show from the sun.

There were two seas! One of numerous sandy villas with dishes catching rays from the sky and the other was the calm shining line all around at the horizon.

On the broader part of the pavement that leads to the parking lot,Adam and Ayam were practicing football. The parking was full of silver and white cars, the only exception being a red with white topped Fabia. On one sharp honk by the Arabab from his big car, the tea boys at Fahd al Nuaman tea shop scrambled out with trays of sulaimani chai and falafel sandwiches.

The delivery boy from Hamza grocery cycled away with a carriage full of Oman chips,mint flavoured labaan and some popular Kerala snacks. He greeted a usual “namaskaram” to little Arhaant and his Baba walking on the sidewalk towards the ADNOC station to see the exciting car wash --- a part of their daily routine!

Mubhashir from Aldar tailor shop looked up occasionally as he embroidered the borders of an abaya with deep turquoise blue silk. I wondered if it reminded him of his wife back in Lahore...

I have a bird’s eye view to this common scene around Al Daffah building.

There is a small prayer room at the junction of the parking lot and the broader pavement, where an ugly substation stands, overlooking the bus stop. Bus number 54 to Al Marina just passed by.

Prayer mats of varied designs are arranged neatly to follow al Qibla. Mainas chirp noisily at the opposite newly painted terrace as the smoke from Zahrat al Emirates bakery spreads aroma of fresh zaatar manaqeesh to compete with that of sheesh tawook from Al Nasr shawarma house.

Suddenly the hustle bustle is broken by the ”Allah o Akbar” of the Maghrib Azaan. All the characters scattered around in this picture are attracted to the pray area. The Arabab that once honked to be served , now kneels beside the same tea boy that served him. They all bow down linked by one common thread. The picture is in order.

I realise the uniting power of faith.

Spiritual Calling

...soul search

There is something mesmerizing about India…even amidst the heat and dust, that lies grounded in the soul of each city.I have lived in Pune for more than twenty years. But now, after living for a while in one of those clean countries, I find it difficult to adjust.

A trip to India is like a mud bath – messy while you are there but the after effects are magical.The bonds of relationships keep you tied. It takes you to another level of spirituality where worldly comforts don’t count. It’s our own people and how they live with the necessary and the sufficient with an endearing satisfaction towards life’s basics that touches me deep inside.

After being a mother, I started detaching myself from a lot of things I found extremely important earlier.In a way, a spiritual approach – to be able to live without material attachment.And this is exactly what we become when in India --- Just Eat. Love.Pray!

Each Indian adventure can be summarized as any typical Bollywood movie – There is family drama, action, suspense and most importantly, a happy ending after the emotional farewells and a final fight!

First Look

I came to Abu Dhabi, back in 2006 as a fresh new architect just out of college, with dreamy eyes in search of a changed life. I still remember looking out of the airplane window that October noon, to see the domical Abu Dhabi airport like a neatly crafted architectural model kept on a uniform sandy background. This was my first introduction to the desert – a land always heard of as a mystic place full of oases, date palms and gold! But it was much more than that...

Abu Dhabi’s skyline looked dramatic that evening as we walked by the Corniche at sunset - my instant favorite curved glass building reflecting the sky, the golf ball silhouettes of the Etisalat towers, the colorfully lit Emirates Palace and the flag pole standing tall by the theatre dome. It was an overwhelming mix culture and technology alongside a calm sea.

Till today, as I complete six years, the city has never looked the same to me.In a strange way, that first look told me that I would live my dream life right here.It was here that my husband and I started out setting up our house picking and choosing each small little item from the IKEA store at Marina Mall. Here that I got the freedom to do all that I possibly could, to be what I always wanted to be.

And finally, it was here that I stepped into this beautiful phase of motherhood. Today I show my little boy different places in the city. I recall how I arrested everything in my camera like a tourist back then…My ways of looking at the city have changed. But what hasn’t changed is that magical first impression of Abu Dhabi – as my new home. It will remain with me…forever.