Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Year and Again


Along with my blog birthday falls the birthday of my darling hubby. In the  best of my moods, I would workout beautiful beach picnic as his birthday surprise. But the very thought of how he yanks at the other end of the blanket and rolls over it, leaves an angry me. With crossed eyebrows, I decide how we have spent enough last holiday and will not celebrate big birthdays. Soon, the times change. "You are tired dear, don't do so much of running around for chores" when he says, I melt again and the B'Day plans start ringing in my mind. All is well that ends well and yes I do surprise him each year.  


In the perseverance of your identity, you rock and roll. Entire life takes a toll. In the process we do and overdo actions, and at times not do all those things that we want to , don't want to and so on. When these rants sound really absurd, we realize that we have matured enough to gulp in a tough dose of the "life's philosophy". Year and again, we all grow, celebrating the "Happy Buddays" as a ritual. This is the age of mars and spaceships. Birthday's are celebrated of mundane pets, favourite gadgets. Allow me to announce the 3rd "appy budday" of  Sushma's Page.
A s a ritual it is, on the 1st birthday of the blog , I had come up with "The Dream" (click on the link to read it) and on the 2nd Birthday  "It's okay to be greedy" (click on the link to read it), where in I went on with a self quote-" An idea conceived is an idea half achieved". As we all grow, my thoughts are growing too in it's own space.

Surprise surprise surprise. Like the "sale sale sale" boards hovering all over on the shopping areas, the "surprises" are those killer ideas of celebrating birthdays. "Jaanu..what do you want as surprise this B'day" am sure some pappu would have asked this on this earth at least once, if not the Santha or Bantha. Spare Santha. He's very' innocent. Today pappu has taken over the crown from the famous sardar jokes to be the national entertainer. If you ask who pappu is, then I would be diplomatic to say google two words "Pappu, India congress". Now enough of it.
Coming to the birthday celebrations, I gift my blog a scrumptious post on its birthday every year. Last month it has turned 3 years old.


Someone once told that the best of thoughts enlighten us on the toilet pot! Is it?  I have to confess, yes. It does. That's when our mind exercises the dos & donts and meditates for the day. My flood of thoughts takes a form in the mind and then I await to flush them all in my blog. Each time I repeat, how my blog was born, I am reminded of those tiny school diaries where I would write tiny poems, register all my complaints against my parents or the grand-ones. If you are chuckling, let me ask you , one of you sure has tried this our of sheer anger frenzy in school days.  Graduating from small diaries to a blog now look what the "online technology" has offered me. Free unlimited space for  husband bashing
Displaying IMG-20131127-WA0008.jpgWhere else can I crib that it's not the yanking of the blanket that puts me off. Being a good driver myself, yet I hate to face the loaded AK-47 in the form of a husband in my car making every attempt to navigate me. You spend your teen years telling your parents"common am grown up" and then rest of the life you spend yelling at your hubby to leave you alone! Quiz them with few questions on the colour of nail polish, dress, bag, of their wives, or regarding any of the wife's paraphernalia , .....and they will surprise you with the best of adjectives. "No idea at all, absolutely no clue, may be orange lipstick!" Enough is enough, just one question that has every chance of passing test is "how much money does your wives purse contain". No, here too, one could hear like- " few weeks back..errr may be..may be...." . A big deal. I bet every wife material reading this would agree how the husbands would master the art of placing the "towel" after a shower, well on the cot without fail, or leave the glass after a the drink in the study. Someone once asked if husbands troll on your mobile phones. At least here I credit mine, for not doing so.
Now boo boo to all you husband material who are reading this. I know your tricks for treats too. Every time I  catch him running unusual errands for me or cleaning my kitchen I know there could be some favour in turn required. Well, such are the domestic barter gimmicks. When I say "him", it's understood it's that man whom I called "the man who completes me" 14 yrs ago, and now the same man is designated "the man who finishes me!"
With the time machine running successfully, years rolling over however, the "birthday" treats sure bring in those sweetness in life. Those yearly celebrations for those special moments as we celebrate, its justified I celebrate 3rd year of Sushma's Page.

My mind is a factory with irregular production of thoughts. The abundance isn't synchronous with life's economy. There is often surplus, simultaneously times with zero production too. This production goes out of the Pandora's Box wishing Sushma's Page "Happy 3rd Birthday". 


Saturday, September 28, 2013

Wave




A silent storm,
was your invasion,
and petals of life
blossomed into flower,
in my little heart.

The mark of your presence
glows glimpses,
flickers of life.
Moments of faith,
tangled in my little heart.

A hungry soul
you tickled,
Rhythmic cadence,
you sang,
Scent of aura
you kindled,
in my little heart.


Blinded by life
Unstoppable returns
you mark, like wave.
Never to leave,
Roar & live,
Billowing,
in my little heart.

Unconditional relation
of two souls.
FRIEND.
Your eternal life ....
in my little heart.

Friendship - An unconditional relation between two souls. An magic that makes life worth.


Saturday, June 15, 2013

A Name to Honour - I Am A Gulfi.

Dear readers: This  referrers to the year 2006 as we bid adieu to India and flew to Qatar finding our bread after the oil here. From the garden city Bangalore to the desert of Qatar.

It was that red winged Gulf Airlines that I flew on from the Garden City of  India to this Desert called Doha, my home for past 7 years.  Only off late I have stopped abusing the airlines that delayed the take off by more than an hour, in  turn logged me in mess of missing my transit flight to Doha. A frenzy 24 hours in two other gulf states, courtesy airlines, with my toddler, feeding her whatsoever available in the airports, finally landed in Doha Airport in the middle of winter February night. The real part of new me in new place began in black and white.

After a hustle bustle of so called journey, the arrival in Doha International Airport even today sends in that very air in me. I can stand there blinking at the very sight that went blur to my sight that day, with same propensity even  now. People weren't running, instead appeared calm, no noise. Huge built Arabs with utmost respect to women like me with child in hand, greeted. Most attires around were either white[men] or full black [women].  Some hardly showed their eyes. My heart fainted with respect shown to ladies, in the airport. Waiver of long queues was big relief. Remember unlike in Bangalore airport not one apart from porter bothered to notice I was managing 12kg handbag with 12kg baby with me.

Once out of airport, and into the  fancy grey SUV, I smiled to myself. Welcome to Doha reverberated in my ears. As we pulled off, felt an urge to use the seat belt at the rear seat too. Nevertheless, eyes stuck to broad, good roads that seemed like neatly laid  car showroom. Only that the cars kept moving. There were hardly any signs of two wheeler, auto rickshaws, or honking over crowded buses or speeding trucks. A short ride took us to grand villa in midst of city.

Operating from Qatar officially. Life was getting normal. New routines volunteered. Mornings were beautiful, be it Bangalore or Doha. But sun was shining more here. Did not like it though. There weren't those crows too. Also, I had started missing the morning milk man who rang the shrill bell at 5 am, I had once hated.
Few days before settling with a job routine, it was uneasy not to find a cockroach, a fly or a lizard to chase. Neither was that strolling street vendor selling  fresh veggies. Hence, the bonus was a brand new car all for myself. I had to proudly show it off to my people in India. Yes.  All for myself, remember.

Shades of life had changed. From colorful India to black and white. From busy streets to calm ones.
It took us few months getting acquainted to their accent and tone. While at times I felt that two Arab men were quarreling, they were actually holding a polite discussion. At times  I occasionally found a car coming to screeching halt on a main road, just to politely make way for me to cross.  This was bliss. A constant fear on the Bangalore roads if a BMTC bus would almost run over me was overcome by the super respect walker received in this Arab country. I liked this, though not the absence of lizards in the house! Phew. I grew up watching them.
No easy signs of an easy availability of "maid", so I played the role of one initially. That meant, every night when I had to do away the trash in the exterior of the compound, there were huge pairs of eyes staring me. Never in my life had some huge built cats stared (shall stab you kind of), after all, for throwing trash. Absence of street dogs out in Arab country, made the cats apparently grow too naughty. I had to assume. Or perhaps I did not have much of non veg stuff for them may be, too. However the cats did not bother me much. Lesser greenery did. I payed heaven and hell to actually purchase even grass and soil. Good heavens. Welcome to desert, I told myself.  Closed air conditioned homes and bottled water at times choked me. Forcing me to flee to the peace of the temple environment. But alas. No luck. The monotonous Mosque prayers had started pleasing me. I liked the melody and rhythm with which people prayed punctually 5 times a day. I got used to it to the extent of omitting usage of morning alarm of 4 am. My better half had got used to taking prior telephonic appointments with the barber unlike in India. 

City provided limited entertainment opportunities. Within an 20km radius we would reach desert with vast stretch of the Arabian Sea, on outskirts of the city. En-route got you external view of the Oil refineries, the only existing water desalination plant. This was one unique outing. Rest of them included few parks and malls. City had started taking roots into us as our home. One museum that existed in the city displayed few antiques that were either from Iran, or India. A page of Ramayana excited us a bit. Another worth mentioning issue is the amazingly disciplined Police. They will emerge in front you at the drop of hat, on one call, for any help. Also catch and warn you for being naughty on roads or for breaking rules. I have always fallen in love with the attitude of police here. The coordination and regulation in times of serious traffic jams even in big signals, are worth admiring.  The local Arabs turned out to be very polite and sweet people. In winter they built Marquees here and there and partied with music dance and food. Occasionally as we found people from our hometown, we would be thrilled, I would rejoice with child like excitement. Over years, as we visited India for holidays, the NRI status started sinking into us. Ironically, being in Gulf state sends your residential status on a toss to find you as an NRI in India and a "Permanent resident but Not Citizen" of  Qatar. 

Life moved on,  as we descended from the colourful garden city into the black and white desert. Now, I could put on a badge myself, a name to honour, pat my back and say "I am an Gulfi". At times my heart leaped to Bangalore, but would return promptly at the very thought of the noisy streets, quarrelsome auto drivers, or the salivating street dogs outside your gate.This isn't all. Yet a glimpse of an overview.

Cheers,
Sush


Thursday, May 23, 2013

Life's True Mime

Strong like Banyan
Deep like Ocean
Beckoning two arms
Rising heart’s alarms

Surrender in there
Love in air
Head on them, did rest
Heavy, with thoughts best

Enchanting, magnetic, moment
Those arms into she went
Life’s agony on a vent
Life it meant.

Messenger of love
Imitating the feathery dove
Those arms checked her in
Breath held, raised chin

Faint smile, her ornament
Temptation to gulp the moment
Possessive embrace
….face to face

Clock ticks on
Moment to stick on
A Time
Life’s true Mime


Twelve, struck the clock
…...she fled, off her time lock
Into her world of cinders
Ella, dreams yet of wonders.

P.S. This poem sure seems romantic, nice. Sure has Cinderella as example. Who does not want to be a Cinderella, awaiting her prince charming? Yet, it's not rare to read about young brides bleeding to death these days, in news. They do not live to dream like Cinderella perhaps...........

THE POEM IS WRITTEN AS A PART OF SOCIAL CAUSE, TO SAY "STOP ASSAULTING GIRL CHILD, RESPECT HER. 

Ref: 

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Toll

Echoes reverberate,
of those love chimes, 
Throbbing loud voices in heart.......


Thirst in the eyes,
hushes a silence note,
finds solace on lips.


Life is but a sweet outcome,
of umpteen pain,
Love thy gain.

Saturday, April 20, 2013

The Other Lady

To share
Thoughts, passion
Knowledge, beliefs
Views, opinions

To learn,
Books to authors
Science to philosophy
Religion to culture

To discuss,
Fashion or cars
Hobbies or movies
Art or paints

Yapping to arguing
like best friends for life

She's the other lady
in my man's life
My daughter who is 9!

P.S.- Inspired by the dad-daughter bonding, here goes my heart in words. Call it a poem.

Monday, April 15, 2013

A Week At Ravan's Place. Exploring Sri Lanka.



With Qatar Airways flight swooping down the Sri Lanka land, my nose was stuck on the window that I wish I could open. Slide Show of loads of pictures in my mind about the Lanka and Lankans ticked on. With all enthusiasm if I could trace out one relative of Lord Ravana anywhere so I could take a autograph , and a photograph to post on Face Book. So off we go to Colombo. 


You do not need prior visa to fly there. Visa upon arrival was what perhaps even Seetha Matha was offered then. Now that the visa matter cropped up, please do not question me how Lord Hanumaan flew across the ocean with no coastal guards noticing. Whatever, let me tell you, molting off my bhramin avtaar I relished some fish cuisine on board the business class can offer you. If you allowed my better half to poke fun he cant stop repeating how I asked for second helping of Irish Coffee just before landing at Colombo that turned me into a court jester of the day on board. 

As we sped past the longish walkway towards exit of Colombo airport I had begun to notice statues of Lord. Buddha all around. The exteriors seemed nothing different than any Indian airport except for a strange language with beautiful melody. Nicely laid trees alongside roads, as we drove away one could bet it was just a replica of the Bangalore Tata Institue roads. I do bet. The constant aroma, err this time it wasn't aroma but faint anesthetic smell of fish was all in the air. I had free knowledge donated by my better half that Sri Lankan ladies were beautiful. As for me, I was not interested in how the men looked but had begun to feel every other face was a "Chaminda Vaas" or a "Jayawardhane or a Tilakaratne. Every half a kilometer distance finds a Buddha statue with promptly lit candle. The smaller roads did have shops, including those of "King Coconuts". The bigger version of Indian ones. The sizes of coconuts to humans sure was bigger (pinching my ears) than in India.




Crows seated on that open balcony of  room in the beautiful Hotel Mount Lavinia greeted us. The room provided vantage view of the roaring ocean with waves hitting the building. If you slipped off the balcony you dive into the water straight. Oldest Hotel of the British times, popular for that secret tunnel through ocean waters where Lavinia the pretty maiden sneaked in to meet her lover the British colonel. Romantic ambiance was all around, plus the private beach was a luxury when you are with family. Among those crawling creatures in sand, almost first time in life I spent hours on the shore rolling in the water. Had turned a kid with my daughter. Just after dusk an giant turtle had greeted us on the shore. After few flashy lights of many of our cameras it fled back into the water. 

Adventures with pythons and elephants were major enthusiasm. Beautiful hill station, Tea Estates, tremendous greenery, were major peace finding stations. A unique place to adore was the "Elephant- POO "product shops that displayed and sold out paper, books and related products that were made out of paper from elephant dung. 





Government sure takes care of the thousands of elephants in "orphanages", and also makes tourist spots commercial. The elephants can splash water on you, or gulp down milk from feeding bottles that you can feed them with. All you need to throw is some crispy colourful currency from your wallet. Wait, the elephant orphanages have a clean biased entry fee - lowest to highest ranging in order Lankans, Indians, Arabs, to other whites. The poor beasts will carry you, take you long rides, do up all the shows for few bucks it's owner makes. At times I was reminded of that relative living in remote village in India who asked the grand child "OK- show me where is your nose, ears, eyes, sing a song now, show me how you dance" in front of any new visitor they have. The baby elephants face similar scene though.


Most nights I spent lying in the balcony feasting on the roaring ocean waves hitting the building, feeling the melancholy the waves made. I was missing my friend, that crow in the night. But had discovered a new friend for life. Am I the only species of this type or anybody has ever felt like you have met someone whom you have known all your earlier lives too ("janamonka rishtha!") ? Chatting with this friend while on Lanka land formed a new me. Yes, felt this was a person I knew forever but talked now.


Next morning even as we checked out neither did the crow return to bid a adieu to us, nor did Ayesha. Yes, Ayesha the beautiful room service lady in her blue sari that was her uniform who had turned friendly with my daughter was off duty. My daughter left back a gift of blue bangles signing her email hoping to receive an email from her as we reached Doha. 


Returning was a denial by heart and a week's stay ended with collection of sweet memories, small load of shopping mostly the tea powder and sambols

Sunday, March 17, 2013

Calm Chaos

Dancing in the sky, singing aloud,
Two little fellas, they were a cloud.
Hands clasped, a knot,
every breath kissed, missed not.
Till a monster beckoned,
thunder of thoughts feared.
Heart whispered, in vain
 in the ears of the brain,
Stop.
Hold tight,
Storm awaited, caught sight.

Yet, happy clouds strayed, in turmoil,
they showered down beneath, on thirsty soil,
their bones broken, by stormy wrestler,
they withered, like a tiny frisky flower.

Lover clouds no more,
Killed by welcome rain, human adore,
Alas, clouds that forgot to whisper a good bye
to one another,
Bid good bye to their existence, sigh!
--------------
CHEERS,
SUSH