Wednesday, November 23, 2016
Sunday, November 20, 2016
What do you do when you do not hear from your inner voices anymore? It's like a state of threshold that holds your body away from your inner voice and only submerged in your frenzy routines. Routines today are much faster than those years of our childhood. We have turned smart. But our soul needs the re-sorting that the smart world cannot provide.
When we are almost going crazy with out rat race routines and want to feed our body some solitude and rest, feed our soul some spiritual intimacy, we look out for that weekend gateway for the much required break.
Sea Line Beach Resort in Doha is that popular hide away, the heaven on earth, for we Qatar residents to hog on some freshness and get away from the smart world.
The vast sea is the best place to reward your soul and wash your sins off those perplexing routines. There is always something in a sea that I see. Most do. Do you see too?It's the stretch that sharpens our positivity. It's the charm that gets the romantic galore in us. And you end up devouring the entire sea with your naked eyes.
Each step you take in life decides who you are.
Step off the negativity.
A well organised hotel room just does the job of arranging your spirits that fled from the homes beckoning more routines. A perfect view of sea from the room, frequent chirps of the sparrow and the fresh winter bloom. Such an aura works effortlessly as cleansing of the soul and mind.When you are all alone, on that beach reclining chair admiring the myriad colours of the sea, playfully lapping at the shore. The waves seem to mischievously run towards you for a moment and pull away. The excitement just chills down your spine. You are at the mercy of the sea, the sands and the fresh air. Make the most of it and get on the do nothing mode. Your body is not made for such abuses called 'no rest routines". Nor is your mind.
My mind refused to leave the room. But my wallet wanted to.
The resort visit was my genuine birthday gift. No big plans. And it was a gift after a gift. The birthday that was celebrated a day before. We had celebrated with no friends. Only us, a cake and a lovely gift. Only the murmurs of the family inside the house.There was peace in silence. What a celebration it was. Wow is much less a word.
Simple things teach you real life
Small pleasures fill up voids
Little laughter, silly and all
Friday, November 18, 2016
Yet unfamiliar air, colourless.
Fog sang a cold poem,
She dropped a tear after another.
I was humming soft lyrics,
Empathy denied, her war on.
She dropped another tear,
My soul screamed aloud.
Leave her alone,
Unable to, I gently touched her.
Sheer adamant as she seemed,
Dropped her tear.
Was my love eluding?
Query of my soul it was.
She zealously brightened,
Stood tall, tears vanished.
But, the magic was him,
The sun who kissed her.
Lovely green, her highness.
The drama was no more her.
Wednesday, November 16, 2016
My decision to discontinue my 8-hours daily job, after my second child seemed to show up big differences in me. 2 years on and no signs of getting out of the house and rush to the office. What a relief. But wait. Something was terribly wrong, somewhere. I was turning into a big bully at home.
In the pretext of tuning into an comfortable housewife I was turning obsessive. Tiding up the entire house meant a must do ritual to wash my cursed sin of having some disorder. I did not mind doing the bed a hundred times a day. Disorder eh? Apparently I was going through an higher version disorder of OCD called Obsessive Housewife Disorder.
In my school days I always believed in cleanliness. It sprints in genes for me who is born in family of priests. Cleanliness was holy. I could dust away the study table each time I passed by. Watering the garden meant washing every leaf of my granny's greens. I could not tolerate a speck of dust on a leaf. One fly on a chair, and I would bull doze the person sitting on it. House flies should be banned from entering my house. Else vampire inside me would spring out pestering me to turn into a treacherous murderer. Often I would turn into spider man evacuating the cobwebs on the walls, jumping over high windows fighting with every dust particle settled on it.
Clearing up cupboards, shelves and nook and corner stuff was my favourite task. Stacking up stuff to be thrown away, waiting for no body to watch me and then quietly tip toe out to do away with the dump. This was an art. And then turn my mute on and turn deaf when other members found stuff missing from their cupboards.
From then messy places and dust filed in as my sworn enemies. I could not stand their presence with mine. But it never happened that I was cursed having a disorder. I was often applauded and cheered by older members of family. What a girl my mom had raised. Cleanliness is holiness.
Much before the honorable Prime Minister of India declared Swach Bharath abhiyan, I myself practiced it. Surroundings of my house would be cleaned by me promptly. We then dint have trash bins on every road, yet I would showcase my leadership capabilities and do away with trash in local bins.
I continued racking up my plaudits even when I got married. My in laws were at once impressed with my love for mops and brooms. One speck of dust and I would sprint to reach it, pause with screeching halt and whack it venting out all my vengeance. Doing up my house was my mission 24 X 7. Even an egg shell would not be wasted but used to decorate my money plant. Each morning my plants would have holy bath, shine clean and bright to dance like Raveena Tandon of Tip Tip Barsa Pani! Why, I had always decorated my office space with plants.
Sigh! The windows, the walls, the furniture they all feared my whacks.
There was a method to my madness.
Steadily, the realization came upon me. Yet, I continued on my mission with all my enthusiasm. I had all the support required.
The year we moved to this giant sand pit called Qatar, life dint ease much for me. Similar bull dozing and cleaning continued. The occasional sand storm added to my pitiable state. Dust storm meant war for me. I would zoom around my house with mop excavating heaps of dust bullying every family member to stay grounded on the couch till I concluded in accomplishment, my surgical strike on my enemy.
Life is going on so. Normalcy is not too different as every day I am seen in different avatar. Some times behind curtains, under the cot, over the windows, picking up ants in the backyard or so. And the kitchen fears my scrubbing and spraying. The refrigerator is hot with anger. I ridicule it's shine each morning by over doing my scrubbing. Each time the door of dish washer or washing machine opens, I see demon's mouth wide open yelling at me "lady we know our job well'. My neighbour however is overjoyed by my zealous cleaning. Ask why? Not convinced by just watering my door step, I clean theirs too. Poor water bills are now embarrassed at my obsession.
But my family has accepted my disorder as it is. What a pity.
Unfortunately, it cant go on like this. I had to come out of it. Immediately I sprang to the fridge, picked up my cola and logged into blogger abandoning all my chores. What a relief. I almost want to take a oath not the whack my furniture again or hate the dust for no fault of it.
May be I should leave the house alone and get out to office. Whenever my husband lovingly says, Sushma start visiting office often and assigns me some work, my criminal mind calculates what he may think...."God knows what cleanliness awaits today and one day my wife will excavate all my life's secrets off my ward robe, fabricate a nice tale into what stuff we wanted and what we dint. And throw my treasures right in trash".
Ouch. Apparently he has declared me an PhD in OHD.