Introspection

I introspected and the results are scary!

I took stock of people who have been extremely good to me and people who have hurt me in some little way.

I have not bothered to think about or thank the people that were good to me but dwell so much on the latter. And with the latter, more than 95% of the time, it wasn't even intentional.

The former outnumbers the latter by a huge difference.

That's probably why. It's so much easier to focus thoughts on a small number of people rather than too many.

I think I need to widen the scope of my thoughts!

Maand

The dawn of a bright new day; the approach of a dark night,
The twittering of the birds; the silence of the night,
The blue sky; the grey clouds
The smell of earth after rain; the dry crackling of the earth,
The colors of the rainbow; the streaks of lightning,
The soft patter of the drizzle; the rumble of thunder,
The flowering of a bud; the wilting of a flower,
The birth of a baby; the death of a loved one,
The caress of a lover; the glare of one who was loved,
Stepping into the marital home; leaving the maternal home,
The joy; and the sorrow

Is what I feel, as my mind, body and soul is engulfed in Maand.

It is intriguing how the mind perceives the nuances of ragam; it is intriguing how the nuances of the ragam affects the emotions! And it is intriguing how the same ragam evokes a myriad of feelings in the same person!

Land of opportunities....?

Darn it! I ran out of tomatoes this morning. I was making rasam, the tur dal was all cooked and ready in the cooker. The puli thanni was boiling with salt. The rasam powder dabba lay open, ready to go into the brownish liquid bubbling away merrily, and that's when I realized I had run out of tomatoes! The search in all compartments of the fridge, including the freezer section was of no use. I just didn't have tomatoes. So what, you may ask. But being raised in a family that was probably the origin of the adage "brahmanah bhojana priya" it was difficult for me to fathom rasam without tomatoes. The molagu jeera rasam, that doesn't require tomatoes was an option, but today was not just the molagu-jeera rasam kind of day. Besides, the thuvaram paruppu was already done, and waiting in the cooker. Should I just run to the nearest HEB, well drive actually, and get some tomatoes. But that's five miles away and there's no gas in the car! And our grocery shopping was not due for another week. I was in dilemma.

The mind reels back, and the location is the kitchen in my home in India. The situation is similar. The pulli thanni is boiling away merrily, and the tur dal is all cooked and ready. And my mom realizes there are no tomatoes. She is in a fix too, but the kind that arises when there are one too many options to choose from. She could either ask me to quickly run to the Chitrakulam market, well ride my scooty actually, and get a 1/2 kilo (not lbs) of tomatoes. And the friendly anna might even thrown in a bit of kothamalli and karuveppilai, at no extra charge. Or she could ask me to run to Nalini aunty's flat opposite ours and "borrow" a tomato. And if Nalini aunty was short of tomatoes too, I could just run downstairs to Kachu aunty's flat and she would solve both Nalini aunty's and my tomato problems!

And they call the US a land of opportunities!

Home Sweet Home

It’s 6.30 in the evening, and I am walking home from my bus stop. The sun is just about fading, as if thinking whether to give way to the inky darkness that is night and finally surrendering. The orange sodium vapor lights are on, and the busy South Mada street is full of maamis, fresh faced, beautifully adorned with bright red kungumam on their foreheads and fresh malli poo braided in their hair. The cackle of the shoppers and the shopkeepers, as they bargain for a few more pieces of inji and kothamalli is music to the ears. The aroma of arachu vitta vengaya sambar and masala dosai wafts in the evening air, as I pass by Vasantha Bhavan. “Namah Shivaya Namah Shivaya, Om Namah Shivaya”, SPB’s voice floats faintly, growing louder and louder as I approach Valleeshwaran Kovil. By reflex, my hand touches both cheeks, my eyes close for a second, a quick prayer to Lord Shiva for, well, nothing. Just a little prayer. The music grows faint again as I am walking away from the kovil towards home. The noise of the market grows distant, and is replaced by Chitra’s voice. “andhandham idhu anandham, anbe anbe anandham” she sings. The music falls into my ears, sometimes loud, sometimes faint, depending upon the volume level in the homes that the “mega-serial” is being watched. I can visualize Sukanya and some women prancing around a poo-kolam. I can’t wait to get home. I can visualize amma has just settled down with her tumbler (not cup) of filter coffee (not Folgers) on the divan in the “hall” (not living room/ family room) after lighting the velakku and praying for, well, everyone. Appa is just back from office and is trying to get amma’s attention to tell her about the loan he didn’t sanction to someone I know my coffee will be waiting too, in a steel tumbler, covered with a davara on top. I am almost home…..

….. when I am shaken out of my reverie by the shrill noise of the microwave indicating that the one minute I wanted to heat the 1% milk in the 50 cent ceramic cup I bought from IKEA is over. A spoon of Folgers Instant Coffee and a packet of Splenda, my coffee is ready. The honey dew melon fragrance of the Yankee Candle that I bought at JC Penney on clearance is wafting in the kitchen. I walk out the door to my porch, and all I see is an expanse of empty road and deafening silence. The stillness is occasionally broken by a car every now and then, or a lady in sweat pants running with her dog. It is 6.30 in the evening, half-a-globe away. There’s plenty of sun and light, and no indication that the night is merely a few hours away….

…. And I still can’t wait to go home!