Goodbye 2010

It is that time again. Somewhere between Christmas and New Year's eve, I start getting all edgy and restless. It's time to take stock, and I don't do that well at all. I dislike this sense of pending closure to the year. It's not a dislike that stems from a fear of all years coming to an end and death looming mercilessly. It's more like these five-odd days are a sort of efficiency gauge - you were given 365 days, what the hell did you do with them?

And that's where the sinking of the heart starts. Month by month I start marking the list - lost, lost, lost, time lost, never to be experienced again, gone. The list goes something like this:

January: prepared self (read fretted and worried ceaselessly) over resuming work = time lost

February: fell horribly ill = time lost

March: enjoyed work (who in their right mind enjoys work - what nonsense) = time lost due to insanity

You get the picture.

By the time I reach August, I'm ready for a stiff drink. By the time I reach December, with any luck, I'm giggling thanks to the booze. If I happen to be doing this exercise with family or friends, it can be a hilarious, fun-filled method of spending a couple of hours.

I was hoping to be able to do some sensible postmortem for 2010. But it ain't going to happen. If there ever was a year that completely bowled me over, and not in the nice, princess-like fashion, then it is this one. It started on the wrong note, continued giving one nasty surprise after another, and is now leaving with some more serious unpleasantness. Someone very close to me got made redundant two days before Christmas. There was no sign, not one. It came out of the blue and hit where it hurts most.

How do you then assess the 365 you got given? I did x,y,z but... Shit happens. That appears to be everyone's favorite phrase these days. It's supposed to take care of everything, from a miscarriage to nuclear weapons. I must confess, I detest that expression. It's almost as if by using that expression one blurs the line between right and wrong, and suddenly, in this world of 'shit happens' everything is permissible. I don't want my children to grow up in a world where a hug and a cup of tea and a sympathetic ear are replaced by 'shit happens'.

We are all sticking together then. Cooking, cleaning, eating, thinking, breathing together. My grandmother used to say when things go horribly wrong, it's best to huddle close and tight. That's what we are doing. Because it feels like the only natural, normal thing to do.

And we are hoping. That 2011 will be kinder. And a gentle nurse for the hurtful wounds. Because you have to hope. Because after family, hope is everything.

The children are fighting

There's blood on the streets. Once again, politics, economics, and the failure of the systemic confluence of the two is being played out in the open, in the freezing cold this time, on the roads we take every day. It is young blood again. The one that has the courage to brave the weather, and the conviction that protests can change the world.

As I see images of kids, young adults, children of parents waiting anxiously back home, get beaten by the police, my heart is sinking. I am reminded, painfully, of a time when students went protesting, furious with political decisions, determined to change the future by their actions of the day. It all went horribly wrong. It didn't take us long to forget that mothers and fathers lost their children. They probably had hopes for them. And loved them dearly.

In a different part of the world, yes, but the strength of emotions is identical.

Youngsters are being told to get out of their dreamworlds and face today's hard reality. Where is this going to go? They are now talking about trust - trust in politics, trust in politicians, trust in the political structures. They are talking about lies, about broken promises. I am surprised that people are surprised - but then I'm an old cynic. What an eye opener for all those young girls and boys, battling batons and shields, kicks and shoves. Youth refuses to listen. Some lessons are learnt the hard way.

As we sit in our warm living rooms, debating to death in the studios, pacing the length of the front courtyard waiting for the kids to get back home, how are we going to look them in the eye? While we sit and argue about feasibility of systems and entertain ourselves with indulgent blame-games, the children are still fighting. A fight that, perhaps, they should have had more support for.

But we are wiser. Older and wiser. Let us just wait for the kids to get back home, and in time they shall become wise like us.

Beginning Proust, and other recent reads

I have decided to finally take the plunge. I am now reading Marcel Proust's epic work, 'In search of lost time'. What possessed me to embark on this journey that many have avoided, and too many have abandoned mid-way, I cannot explain (may have had something to do with chance encounters with this and this). All I know is, so far (I am half way through volume 1) I have got goosebumps several times as something that he has written has struck a firm cord, or something he's said has thrown a fresher, clearer light on an issue that lay murky and unclear in my head. Several people with interest in literature say they wish they had written 'In search of lost time'. I think I am only just beginning to see why.

Apart from Proust's absorbing tale, there is little time for anything else. I did manage, however, to finish some stuff that was being recommended at work. It started off being interesting, but the idea of allowing employees greater autonomy over their work is not entirely revolutionary. It has been around for a while, only now some handful of organisations are actually doing something about it. Till such time as there is greater trust that every employee can and will take care of her work without having to be 'managed', lip service is all we will ever have regarding greater work autonomy.

But then, management was never my cup of tea. So, pursuing things more amenable, here is a book that just makes you fall in love with winter. Because it gives you a reason for wanting to create these beautiful patterns and cosy knits. It is the idea of gloomy, wet, cold winter evenings magically transformed into those of endless possibilities and creative pursuits. Just the thought of having a gorgeous yarn to keep you company makes the prospect of winter, dare I say, enjoyable. So much can be done, not just to satisfy one's innate need for creativity, but also to engage the mind in the process of making something beautiful, yet functional, with one's hands. The only time I find my mind relaxing into a cheerful hum is when I am knitting a familiar pattern - of course, after I have resisted the urge to compete with myself and make even the most calming act of yarn over needle into a race against time.

In other stories, N and I are reading lots of lovely picture books. Some super favorites are:

• Babies love books
• Stones
• I took the moon for a walk
• Say goodnight
• Ten little fingers and ten little toes

He is going through this phase where on a given page in a book, he will point to every little thing (cat, tree, sock, ball, whatever) and then ask "Eeya?" which is his word for "What's that?" And then I have to say "That's a duck!" and he goes 'Ya! Ya!". Like he knew all along and was just testing me! It is so much fun!

Happy reading to you!

Just being

*

I have lost track of the time that I have been away from this space. The trouble is, when there isn't much activity on the blog, there is usually a lot happening in the background. So much that there isn't the time or the energy to make time to blog.

So the last couple of months have been about a pressure cooker situation at work, parents over from India, a holiday in the Peak District, N coming down with yet another gastro bug, and A and I losing sight of what's important, and losing it over and over again. And before I knew it, it was Diwali, yet again catching me totally unprepared.

Two aborted desserts and one banging-head-against-wall-in-tears-session later it was time to pull oneself together. There were four hours to go before the guests arrived and I had a lot to get through. I will not lie, thirty minutes before their arrival I was once again in tears, frantically trying to get the besan to mix with the spinach and the onions.

I remember being told that the pakoras came out well. It was already half way through the evening before I decided to forgive myself. I don't do forgiving myself well. It was a call that had to be taken at that moment - forgive self for not being the ultimate-well-planned-party hostess or lose the night forever in blame and remorse.

I chose the former. I think it has to do with age. And with trying to learn from previous mistakes.

It was a great party, I'm told. I wouldn't know, I was too busy just being, not judging myself, just having fun.

* Two beauties at The Heights of Abraham in the Peak District

Must remember...

It has been a very different weekend from the ones that I usually have. I mean, from the ones that I have gotten used to having. I mean, the ones where being a mum just spills over from weekdays into weekends and back into weekdays. From nights into days and back on into the nights. You get it right?

So it's been a bit different. Got a few hours out to do some no-running-after-toddler adult conversation. It felt super amazing to just be able to talk about something without a thousand interruptions. Or without the fear that the boy is going to walk into traffic. Or fall into the river. Or try to eat a brick or something. You get the picture.

So having had some time out, one came to the conclusion that one makes decisions and then one forgets to stick to them. Like the decision to not get too worked up by the slightest of provocations. Therefore, a 'must-remember' list is in order I'd say.

Having had some time to reflect upon what this list should comprise of, I think I can, pretty much, distill it down to one little thing.

I must remember... to forgive. Not just verbally, but mentally.

And cut the people who are doing a fair job of allowing me this much needed 'me-time' some well-earned slack.

Must remember to do that.

Of trust, and the like

What is trust? Do we really know at all? When we were younger, in the comforting days of life in school, we played a game.It was called the trust-game. You had to close your eyes and face your friend. Then, with your eyes closed, you had to fall into her arms. Easy.

Not quite it seems. The trouble is the mind. It won't let you let yourself fall. It takes a lot of trust in the other person to be able to fall into her arms, with the confidence that she will hold you and not let you fall.

Now let us imagine, you have worked hard with a friend on this game. And you have brought yourself to let yourself go. Slowly and gently you have built your trust in her, to the extent that you know that you can safely leave yourself in her hands.

And then, one regular day, in a fairly normal session of the trust-game, she backs off. You fall flat on your face. Both body and pride are bruised extensively, pride more than anything else. What do you do? How will you react? What's the status of your trust?

Once the shock of the event and the bodily pain have gone, how do you deal with the injured sense of self? You ask your friend why she did what she did. She had her reasons - you had wronged her, in her opinion, the day before and so she decided to hurt you. When you explain to her your point, she apologizes and promises never to break your trust again. All is well in paradise and she is keen to resume the trust-game.

What do you do? No, seriously, what do you do?

I have been away, mostly battling medical issues and thwarting life's cruel plans to make things more and more difficult. Can't say I've had much success, but hey, I'm alive still. And N gives me a few reasons to smile everyday. He is now saying 'Mamma' and melting my heart constantly. The one silver lining to what seems like a thunderous jet black cloud ready to explode without warning.

Actually, make that one of two. Couldn't have survived the last few weeks without this brilliant man.

The only way to do it

Get away, that is. The only way to do it is suddenly. Drop everything on your plate, except the baby, who in any case will be in your arms and not on the plate, and make a run for it. That is exactly what we did last Friday.

Not that we intended to, and that is the precise point. N had been grumpy lately, thanks to the not-so-nice after effects of the MMR jab. A quick trip to and chat with the doc revealed nothing to worry about. So when he got up Friday morning, whining and generally grumpy, A and I knew what the rest of the Easter break was going to be like - not very pleasant, to say the least.

A few phone calls, and we were off. Record breaking time taken in packing self, luggage and baby. All aboard A's much-loved automobile, and we were on our way to the Midlands, on a genuine, spur of the moment, fully impulsive getaway.

And what a wonderful time we had!

To more impulsive decisions - the ones that turn out alright!

Ladies in lavender

Few slow films have the capacity to move you so much. Ladies in lavender is a beautiful story about two sisters who rescue a young foreigner washed ashore. Their feelings for and around this young man make the movie. The direction is subtle yet crisp, the story flows slowly, gently but decidedly. Judi Dench and Maggi Smith are stars in their simplicity. The variety of emotions they are able to convey without speaking a word - acting at its best, at least from the little cinema that I have seen.

On another note, the picturisation of Cornwall, the sea, the pebbly sand, the rocky shores - oh what absolute beauty! The quaint village life, the tiny lavender wreaths on old china, the fireplaces and the cut-work on the cotton night gowns, what loveliness! I want to go to Cornwall and stay in exactly that cottage by the sea!

T asked me today if I had seen any new movies lately, and I told her, quite honestly, that I had seen one in the last twelve months. This makes it two, the other one being this.

The first birthday party

It came too soon. We celebrated with some close friends, lots of baby food for the little ones, and a very fruity cake.

I guess this is what they mean when they say, "they grow up so fast!". There is so much to catch, and such little time.

Of surprises, good and bad

• A valentine's gift when we had clearly agreed there weren't going to be any. And to top it, it was the one that I have been wanting forever, just never getting it, because I would never get it for myself. When I asked A why he did it, his reply was, 'because.' This husband of mine never ceases to surprise me.
• A nasty throat infection that took me by serious surprise. And then started getting complicated so I am on a surprisingly old antibiotic because of other issues. How bizarre.
• Is it a surprise that A has finished his course of antibiotics (yes we are a bit ill as a family) but is still as unwell as he was when he started out?
• N had his 12th month vaccination today and surprised us all by not uttering even the tiniest of squeals when the needle went in. Instead he looked surprisingly at the nurse, she too surprised for words at the boy who didn't cry when poked. A and I were beyond surprise - we had mentally prepared ourselves for a non-stop howling session. What a pleasant surprise!

Back to the grind

As a certain fast food company would say, 'I'm loving it'! Being back at work that is. So far, the balance suits be just fine - three days of getting dressed for work, the train, the underground, the commuters rushing about, the buzz of the city, the research, the policy debates, the happy colleagues, the cheerful office banter, the leaving on the dot to get to the nursery in time, the smile from the little fella as he rushes into my arms, the brisk walk back home and the big cuddles. All very nice indeed.

And then, four days of jeans and sneakers and t-shirts stained with baby food, the rushing to the library to be in time for Rhyme Time, the singing as we play, the peekaboos and the clap,clap,claps, the super fast crawling, the wanting to grab everything that attract's his growing fancy, the new tricks every day, the attempts at yoga that end up in giggly laughter, the cup cakes and the teas, the waiting for daddy to get back home so we can pounce on him. So much fun.

So a bit of a pause in this happy balance, caused by an irritable upper respiratory tract infection, is seriously bringing me down. Can't wait to be back to the routine again.

Connections

While I have been away on baby duty, some very interesting things have happened. And some exciting connections have been made, with people and ideas. It all started, quite benignly, here. And before I knew it, I was a convert.

Many many years ago, a then friend had insightfully suggested that yoga would suit me well. But you know how caught-up with our own mind-blocks we are as we strive to 'discover' ourselves, I never thought twice about it. What a waste of a good many years.

Not to worry. Three decades, two continents and one baby later, I think I am finally beginning to make sense of it all. I have managed a good deal of reading lately (honestly, no clue how) and my 'now reading' list is ancient - serious updates are in order.

Following on from my absolute addiction to the mindfulness cds by Jon Kabat-Zinn, it was only a matter of time before I started devouring his books. And this is how I discovered 'Everyday blessings - the inner work of mindful parenting' by the Kabat-Zinns. If there is one book that I have connected with with all my being, it is this one. The title does it little justice I'm afraid - it is one of the most amazingly warm, kindly written books I have ever read.

Sarah Napthali, here, tries to say the same thing without making much of a point or interesting read. Can be easily avoided if one wants to keep repetition and boredom at bay.

No, I don't meditate regularly though I would love to be able to at some point. However, this book by Pema Chodron makes you want to give up everything to free the clutter in your mind, to open your heart in kindness and to fill your lungs with happiness. Totally life-affirming, gently and brilliantly written.

As you might guess, I have had a million plus questions since mindfulness has woven its charms over me. Many a lazy afternoons have been spent with the babies climbing all over us, us attempting to balance tea and cake with super-inquisitive little ones eager to grab everything, and heart-warming chats about knowing ourselves for who we really our.

New beginnings

Day one of N going full time to nursery. I am struggling to find words to describe how it feels, as I have struggled to say anything for the last few weeks. Children between the age 6-18 months go through varying degrees of separation anxiety. N appears to suffer from a severe form of it. And so do I.

The new year has come and gone a little old already. When did this happen? I was busy battling snow, ice on the roads, a distressed 11 month old and my own feelings of despair at separation from him. The snow has gone, leaving behind a grey, dull fog. The weather seems to mirror my mind for the moment.

Yet, in the spirit of all things new, hope abounds all around, only waiting to be picked up and celebrated. I start work in a few days, A is expanding his team at work and life engulfs us in all its many shapes and forms.

Happy not-so-new year.

P.S. This photograph of the Big Ben was taken on a beautiful summer evening at Westminster in 2009.