Glistening Eyes

She looked blissfully beautiful even with those welled up eyes. Tears glazed the most magnetizing part of hers, her eyes. It must be blurring her vision, I am sure. But she’s not making efforts to wipe her eyes to see the blue waves hitting the shore and the sun taking a dip into the other end of the sea. Neither, am I making an effort to see all that. Because that would mean taking my eyes off her. I can’t afford doing that. I just can’t.

Her small nose became smaller when she sniffed to clear the air passage. Smaller, prettier. And then, I guess, it got blocked completely as she is now breathing with her mouth open. Can someone still be feast to someone’s eyes? I don’t know if I am crazy about her or she is a damsel on earth? I am fine with both.

I know I should not relish someone’s grief. More so, when the grief is equally mine too. If she has lost a decade long companion-ship, I have lost a soulmate for 3 decades. An extremely beautiful and impossibly adamant soulmate. I remember staring and relishing every bit of her sitting at a distance, just like it is today. Exactly the same place. I used to have a younger heart then. It knew the art of woo-ing. I don’t know if it still knows. Never tried on anyone other than her.

Today, the heart is beating with the same fervour. It’s no longer as young as it was last time. But it still goes bananas over that small, cute nose and those glistening eyes.

Like mother, like daughter.

I don’t know my affection to that 10 year old little lady sitting at ten hand distance from me is because she resembles the only love of my life or because she is my daughter. I don’t know. But I don’t want to know either. All I want is to grab her just the way I did her mother, to hold her pretty face just the way I did to her mother, to kiss her forehead just the way I did to her mother, and wipe off that ceaseless flow of water from her eyes just the way I did to her mother.

But alas, she seems as adamant to me as her mother.

I kept waiting for the day when she would forgive me for my only sin. I kept waiting for the moment when she would run back into my arms. Destiny’s sense of humour is sick. That day came but it was the last day of my beloved. After 10 years of patience and wait, all my arms could hold was a lifeless body.

I can’t let that damn droplet hamper my vision, now. No. I want to see my daughter to my eyes’ fill, to my heart’s fill.

If only she can run into my arms, like her mother used to.

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With higher post, comes greater responsibility

I got promoted. And I wish to boast. So take it as a given, this post is going to be part-boast, part-flaunt.

Till now I was a mom. Now I am promoted to being a mom-of-a-pre-schooler.

‘I am elated’- would be an understatement when used to describe the current-state-of-mind.

My son is 2.5 and speaks like a 5 year old, understands like a 15 year old. He started speaking quite well at the age of 1, rapidly started grasping words and by the time he turned 2 his dictionary had included words that made our brows hit the roof. We were astonished. And annoyed.

So against the advices of people who believe a kid shouldn’t be sent to school before he turns 3.5, I sent him to a small playschool in our own apartment. My point was, if he is grown enough to express himself, answer back and pick up nasty stuff from television and people around him at the age of 2, he can very well use his energies and intelligence to learn something good. And since the school was just a few floors down, we had nothing to fear.

Within months, he could count till 30, know the alphabet well, recite hindi Swar and Vyanjan till the end and recognise almost 8 colours and basic shapes. I was proud. But a little scared. Because deep inside I feared if I am putting him under any kind of pressure.

Few months later, I started thinking seriously about his grooming in the foundation years. I am strongly of the opinion that every kid has to ‘start right’. Some research and few recommendations later, I zeroed down to a pre-school and activity centre called The Circle.

The school is not within walking distance from our home and we had to take the school transport. Again something that makes me cringe. Till now.

But seeing the thrill of a new bag, new friends and new school in his eyes makes me see the brighter side. The mornings are super-hectic. Making sure he gets a healthy filling breakfast and empties his bowels well in time, and then running to the pick-up point carrying him in the lap (while he screams, Mummy bhago mat, ap gir jaoge ) makes me imagine the scene that is going to be in a few years when he starts his nursery school. I shudder.

I apprehensively hand him to the teacher in charge of taking care of the kids in the bus. But the glee I see in his face when he excitedly waves me off puts me to ease.

At the end, I congratulate myself of accomplishing yet another morning only to realise that the day has just begun.

 

 

 

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Nanu- The fussy-eating kid

What happens when Nanu- The fussy-eating kid eavesdrops into the kitchen?

Reblogged from thestorytellingmom

creativwins

Finally, I had to admit, something was definitely there. The more I denied, the harder it pressed. I had always laughed off the word ‘Ghost’ and laughed at those who believed in it. But staring at the complete article on my computer screen saved by the weirdest filename, I heard life laughing at my overconfidence. You_still_don’t_believe, I’m_there?.docx I would have said someone sneaked into my locked home, switched on my computer, somehow guessed my password, opened the article I left incomplete last night and completed it, had I not seen the bizarre course of events that took place in my room in the past 1 hour, while I was away. It was all recorded in the CCTV camera of my room.
How would you react when you watch the recorded video of your vacant house, showing paranormal activities? The door of my locked room opened as if the lock never…

View original post 969 more words

creativwins

A usual evening after work-
“Tired? What work you do all day that makes you feel tired? You should have seen me working when I was your age? Could cook for a family of a dozen members, used to go 8 miles to fetch water, stitched my clothes myself, ground spices, used to go on our paddy fields, fetched fish from the family pond……embroidery…origami…… knitting…. papad-making….. achar-making…. …. ….. …..

I wonder what would I be left with to boast to my daughter-in-law, considering I don’t have any of the above mentioned skills (read: super-powers) my mom-in-law possesses.
Days like these make me fetch for an excuse to save myself and my generation from further assault by the uber-workaholic mom-in-law generation.
“Ma, you people didn’t have water connections at your home, and we have it now, so is it our fault? Should we hold a pitcher on our heads and…

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Mind-block and Moral of the Story

Isn’t it strange that I never experienced a writer’s block, till the time the word got added to my vocabulary? When writing was a passion that complemented an un-related profession, it came effortlessly. Alas, I got carried away and accepted my passion as a full-time vocation. The moment I started making money out of it, I started getting the seizures of a creatively blocked mind more frequently than the accepted limits.
Reading made me even more restless as there were times when I failed to produce on paper what a well-written book/blog would evoke in me. It was when I became a mother, my KRA got updated with a new pointer i.e. to imbibe my child with something that makes me what I am – the love of the written word.
Surprisingly, my son seems to have born with a love for stories- the creative, the better. So every morning came with a new challenge- to get my son an enthralling bed-time story. I would shamelessly assign the job to Google and I must say it tried hard. It would get back to me with scores of websites and blogs that narrated stories out of Hitopdesh, Panchatantra, Aesop’s fables and the like. But before long I realized, that I never wanted my son to learn what you are darned to become in Kalyug. The tales of a Brahman being robbed of his goat by 4 cunning thieves, a blind vulture who was tricked into getting killed for trusting a scheming cat and a camel who was ditched into becoming a lion’s meal by unscrupulous friends are just among a wide list of fables that one can find as moral stories for kids.
Sure, I would never want my child to be meek and foolish, but being cunning is not among the first lessons I would want my son to learn. Rather than teaching him to be aware of shrewd friends, I would want him to be trustworthy. Before imbibing the moral of ‘survival of the fittest’ in him, I want him to be amiable and compassionate towards the so-called unfit.
Now this problem came with a solution that not only gave my son a morally, entertaining story every night, but also came as a cure to my writer’s block seizures. I started making up stories that effectively taught my child what I wanted him to learn about the world. The lessons of being human sans the skills of scheming. Hence, born a blog that serves as a repository of my tales. And a web-name that tells the world my current role on the stage of life – TheStoryTellingMom.
However, since my son loves the hard-bound colourfully illustrated books, I plan to get printed a copy of self-made stories and gift him one on each of his birthdays. Every book would be according to his interest and comprehension levels. With each passing year, I plan to make my stories grow with my son.
Although I say, I am helping my child learn the lessons of life with this endeavour; it is actually the other way round.

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My love for you doubles, each time you prove one of those post-marriage jokes false.

Dedicated to the Spouse

My love for you doubles, …

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Of course life’s a suspense novel. But i’m gonna kill the suspense for you. In the end, everything’s going to be ….. just fine.

The optimistic self

Of course life’s a suspe…

Not being able to do something has less to do with the difficulty of the task, and more to do with the swarming array of thoughts that pose a distraction

~ Creativwins

Not being able to do some…

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Every city does its best to be searched for in the map.
The smaller the city, the desperate it is.

~ Creativwins

Every city does its best…

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