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Falling for it

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I fall for Fall every year…as cringy as it sounds…it is true. While I am aware of the period of bitter cold that follows soon after, which I am not a big fan of, I wait for autumn with all my heart. And it’s not just for the flaming oranges and goldens and crimsons which result in a riot of colors all around, it is a little more than that. It is something that tugs at the heart. It is a smell, a sight and a feeling, all wrapped in sunshine. Much like Spring’s pink surprise, that sneaks up on one, autumn too presents itself in all its glory, almost without much warning.

It starts with a little leaf here , then a couple more are noticed on the driveway one moring and then some more catch my eye as I wait at the bus stop, wrapping my sweater a little tighter around myself. I smell the autrumn air and spot that unmistakable blue sky and feel the breeze that has the quintessential nip. I see it at the stores as they stack the shleves with all things pumpkin and I also notice it during my walks around the neighborhood. Mums, bright yellow and orange along with chrysanthemums, my favorite, and even the majenta cockscombs add color to the otherwise brown and beige houses.

Everything about this time of the year is not as bright and colorful though. The struggle to get out of bed is way too real as is the mental agony that results from trying to figure out how to dress the kids for school. How many layers are too many and what should the exact thickness of the jackets be? Should I get the hats too? The constant opposition from tiny humans adds to this daily drama. Yet, the cooler weather means the house smells of cakes and cookies and we get to cuddle up under the blanket for longer. It means trying to get the most of outdoor time before the cold sets in. It means birthdays are around the corner and as is the time to meet family to gather a few moments of calm and happiness that help restore and rebuild the wearied soul.

As I trek, in my mind, along the many roads I have taken, I find the one I am on now to be the most hauntingly beautiful and ironically, filled with gut wrenching pain. Yet, we trek along this road filled with not just big ugly bumps but, thankfully, also with healthy doses of silliness and laughs that make our bellies hurt. And in the midst of the many clamourous thoughts that race through my mind a hundred times a day, meddling with the fragile state of being, I wait for something extraordinary to happen. The wish is fanciful, perhaps, yet I hold on.

Thank you for stopping by. Stay safe. Stay kind.

A Weekend Tale

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This past weekend was my son’s first soccer match and needless to say there was way too much excitement in the family. I was more nervous than excited. As my husband says, that’s apparently my go-to feeling. And I agree, sometimes. He also has his reasons ; like on Thursday evening, I suddenly thought that my son may need his inhaler at the soccer field and so I immediately panicked when I saw that we did not have one at home. Failing to reach the pediatrician’s office a couple of times added fuel to the fire and when finally they got my request, they sent his presciption to a pharmacy we hadn’t used in the last couple of years, one that was quite far from our house. And then I got mad and wasted many minutes trying to figure out the reason behind this action of theirs and also how to make time to actually pick up the inhaler. Mind it, all of this was absolutely not necessary, even remotely. My son does not have asthma. So yes, may be I do panic.

Moving on.

It was close to a hundred degrees on that Saturday, a bit unsual for September but my son’s enthusiasm was through the roof and so we forgot to pay attention to the temperature. And that resulted in us dressing inappropriately for the weather in jeans and t-shirts which were so not suitable for the heat. We had packed snacks and water and juice and sports drinks and all of those things, thankfully correctly. Two hundred teams had registered for the tournament, all of which were supposed to be playing on both days. I do not want to go into the logistical nightmare the organizers had to go through. Parking was surprisingly not a nightmare. With great anticipation, we started walking towards our assigned field and that’s when I got lost.

Lost by of the sheer massiveness of the event and the sea of people and the huge concession stands and ice cream trucks and the rows of porta potties. I panicked for a second if my children would literally get lost in that chaos that seemed to be all around, in a rather organized manner. We trudged along for twenty minutes and finally reached our field, all sweaty and already tired. The sun was as bright as it could be at 9.30 in the morning but the energy was electrifying, from cheering parents to shouting coaches and the kids running in whichever way they could. It was a sight to see for sure. As I looked around to take it all in, I realized that anyone could spot us as that ‘one clueless family’.

At the first match my son’s team got, to put it gently, brutally defeated, by these kids who looked 8 but played with the agility and fierceness of 15 year olds. My son and his teammates stood no chance. 10-4 was the final score. I took it to heart. I was devastated and panicked again, thinking would the coach give my son another chance to play. Again, the point to be noted here is that this was his first match and excellence was not expected of him. We had put him in this soccer program precisely to receive the proper training and guidance to play well. His coach knew that. Did I not know that? As the mid day sun shone with more brilliance and the stifling heat made it difficult to breathe, the kids with soaked jerseys and a little subdued enthusiasm, got on to the field for their next match after an hour’s break. This time they won 7-4. While the other parents and the coaches celebrated, and I did too, I was also filled with disappointment as my son, who, according to his coaches was really talented, had not scored a goal. Some crucial facts like his brillinat assists in two goals, a fantastic save and the time when he received the soccer ball on his chest and then made a pass-all of which drew cheers from the coach and fellow parents, seemed to have had no meaning for me.

We packed up our belongings and could barely walk back to the car. We were tired. My son’s face had turned red from the heat and I could see how completely exhausted he was. This was his very fisrt experience of this nature. We stopped at a McDonald’s for lunch and ate in the car. The kids fell asleep and as we drove back, I paused to think what had given rise to that tiny feeling of disappointment. I was ashamed of myself and also hopping mad for having thought this way. Was the South Asian style of parenting the reason I had come to internalize the fact that nothing but excellence was to be achieved at all costs? Or was it because all around the pressure to outshine is so much that I have unknowlingly succumbed to that? Everyone seemed to be great at everything and brilliance was in plenty. Or did I expect that my children would be nothing but of extremely high merit in all they did and never fail? I had a miserable evening reasoning with myself and failing miserably. There could never be any reason for my disappointment that day. My focus had shifted and it was heavily flawed.

On Sunday, I stayed home with my daughter while my son and his dad went to the game. It poured cats and dogs during the latter part of the game, which they lost. The second game was tied at 5-5. At bedtime that night, my son said, “Ma, it was a good weekend”. And I could barely hide my tears. He had worked hard last year and this year to prepare for the trials that took place in May and I clearly remember the smile on his face when the results were published. From May to September, it had been a long wait for him and I know how much it must have meant for him to play on Saturday. And yet, even if momentarily, I had let disappointment creep in.

Learning and growth are not possible without failing and happiness cannot be found only in the end results. To find joy in the moments that we are living, to not let exhaustion take away from the satisfaction and to never let disappointment creep in when there is space only for pride are my takeaways from the weekend where my son shone as bright as that midday sun.

Thank you for stopping by. Stay safe. Stay kind.

To carry on

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I have been away from this space for so long that I feel sort of lost. What could I write and why should I write? I don’t know. And yet, in January when I had renewed my subscription, I was determined to write twice, every week. And today is Aug 10th. In the time that has elapsed between then and now, I did not even log in A couple of days ago, I came down with the coronavirus, again, and so have been isolating from my family in the basement of our house and honestly it has been depressing. To not be able to hold or hug my kids has been awful. The basement has everything I could want, physically, and yet has nothing that actually matters. But it has given me time to write something.

As I look up from the couch I see our bookshelf with books and photographs and keepsakes from here and there. Stories from past and present have started jostling for space on the shelves. Books from my childhood are next to those from my husband’s childhood and I find that to be amazing. There are books at this moment in houses around the world, which will one day end up together on the same bookshelf after perhaps having traveled through countries or cities and having lived on smaller and less prettier shelves. A couple of things from our family homes back in India bring a slice of life there, here into ours. A wedding gift that we received about fifteen years ago has also found a spot on ours. A curator of memories, the bookshelf stands almost proud.

A lot has happened over the course of the year that we left behind. A year that brought pure joy but also forced a new reckoning with the world we inhabit. A year that suddenly and quietly changed us. Brene Brown says in her book, ‘Rising Strong’- “The irony is that we attempt to disown our difficult stories to appear more whole or more acceptable, but our wholeness-even our wholeheartedness-actually depends on the integration of all of our experiences, including the falls.” While I go about my daily life with a smile on my face I am always scared. I pretend everything is just fine but I am shaking underneath that pretence. I am hurt and mad but I am also grateful and happy. I try to find reason behind my four year old’s heart disease that was diagnosed out of the blue and yet I find none. I fail. I find myself mad at myself for not being able to keep her safe. And yet I go to work and I put on lipstick, becasue she says I look fancy. I work hard and try to do more than needed so that I do not think about her condition at all times and I mostly fail. Yet, I keep trying. I know that she will be fine one day and lead a long healthy life but I will still be scared. I will still be mad. That fear and the anger attached to the fear are here to stay. These flaws may make me a villain in someone’s story while someone may give me a more generous role. But, that’s not my responsibility. I cannot control how people decide to see me. I can only control myself. While I do get more agitated now than ever before, I also am thankful and I am happy and I am kind. I learned from my mother very early that kindness is the key to being your best self. Without kindness, you cannot function. So I try. I am trying to be kind to myself too, a concept very new to me. I have made a friend in a colleague who has helped me the most in the last few months, more than anyone I can think of. She had no business doing so, but she did, because she is kind. She too is helping me to take better care of myself and while I am failing miserably, she has not given up. But as a step towards trying to be kind and to be okay with the broken parts of my life, I am going to try to go back to taking pictures, something that has brought me immense peace in the past. I had stopped almost entirely after last October but I am trying once again to find magnificence in the mundane.

As I was scrolling through my phone camera, I found these that reminded me of our stories. They are hazy and grainy, sunny and foggy and also beautiful. But whatever they are, they are our to embrace and own. The process may be more challenging than we are ready to accept but the sooner we reconcile with reality, we may be able to hope with greater conviction and fight with more courage. I realize my writing is bumpy as I have not written in a long time but that’s also part of who I am. I am flawed, but I am going to carry on and keep trying.

Thank you for stopping by. Stay safe. Stay kind.

Of Cowardice And Courage

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We recently finished the basement of our home, a process that we had started in September of 2021. What once used to be a cold and dark place- wires jutting out from here and there, strange pink insulation padding peeking out from corners along with a wonderful display of cobwebs- has now been transformed into a warm and inviting place, that is part play area and part music area. The kids have found a slice of heaven it would appear, the good man enjoys his guitar and we all groove to music that plays over a new speaker. In addition to having a functional space that we all get to enjoy as a family, chances of us stepping on tiny pieces of toys, while walking around in the main living spaces of the house and shrieking out in pain, are also a lot less now.

But while I enjoy a good book on the couch in our new basement, all cozy under a bright yellow blanket, I know that across the ocean, basements are being used as bunkers, as shelters, as make shift care centers, as temporary nursing homes. Videos and images of atrocities and also unfaltering courage, in the face of all the senselessness, have caused for a sudden silence in our house after the kids fall asleep. They sleep in peace on their beds with their favorite stuffies, as their lullaby plays on and the twinkling star lights on the ceiling of the room create a space that comforts them, keeps them safe. My babies are safe.

But at this exact moment in time, thousands of kids, like mine, are traumatized, to put it mildly. They are homeless, they are refugees, they are separated from their parent/s, many will lose a parent or both, and many will also pay for this senseless act with their precious lives. What was once their warm site of endless recollections, their comfort, their source of happiness has all but vanished or is in the process of vanishing. We all watch in horror and disbelief. We express solidarity, we donate and march in town squares, where possible people are opening up their homes and hearts to provide for a safe space for those fleeing and seeking shelter, while politicians and law makers and others with important job titles scramble to find ways to stop a madman in his path. History sighs. What the world is witnessing today- this unforgivable act- She has always had such pages. Always. The sun that rises each morning is hopeful, and yet it, sadly, continues to set on an unjust, unequal and vicious world.

While I tuck my kids safely under their blankets and kiss them every night, a mother somewhere watches over her sick kid and prays for more time with them; while someone raises a glass to congratulate a newly married couple, another buries their loved one. Painful and precious moments have coexisted in this strange world since time immemorial. A wishful thought maybe, but since man has reached the moon and beyond, has tamed grave illnesses and attained heights of glory through music and art, wouldn’t he have also figured out a way to prevent humanity from ever reaching a juncture- something similar to the one we are at now- where history would repeat itself? But as we all know, truth is stranger than fiction and so, some men continue on in their path of destruction, led by greed and all that seek to strip them of their humanity. The world descends into chaos. Yet, when sanity takes a backseat and there is not much to hold on to, when tears no longer fall as every drop has been shed, it is man again, a different kind, who rises to inspire and to believe and to show what courage can look like, what humanity should look like. The cycle continues. This omnipresent dance of cruelty and beauty, of cowardice and courage is oppressive and still strangely uplifting, don’t you think? The display of gallantry shows the power of togetherness, the power of humility and of honor and while it comes at a cost that is too much to bear, it paves the way for future generations to learn from, to write more hopeful chapters in the story of our shared world.

The winter carries within it the heart of spring.

Thank you for stopping by. Stay safe. Stay kind.