Author: nourishncherish

Whimsical Writer – Articles, Novellas Voracious Reader – Fiction, Non-Fiction, Children’s Books – anything really! Childrens’ Stories – Live in a World of Pure Imagination Writing Classes – Novel Writing & Science Writing for Children

🐳 Whale Grandma or Toucan Grandma? 🦜

I showed the son a text message capturing a conversation between his cousin and his grandfather, Balu Thaatha. Balu Thaatha has the unique capacity to morph into a 5/10/20/60/80 year old depending on his audience’s mental acuities and potential for mischief making and taking.

“I found your Hero pen – therefore, I am a hero.”

“Thaatha! You are just a zero, not a hero!”

I felt for the old man.

“Serves Thaatha right!” said the son rolling his eyes. 

“Why?! Poor man is not a zero! Though without zero, civilization will be a zero.” I mused and the son laughed.

“True! True! I meant – serves him right to be at the receiving end of this. He thinks he is Dr Seuss amma. He told me the other day that if I eat jhangri, I will not be angry, as when you are hungry you get angry! What even is Jhangri?” said the fellow.

“Diabetes in squiggles!” I said and the pair of us guffawed. 

Later that day, we were going through the book, Grandude – by Paul McCartney. The Beatles star is quite obviously a fun and dedicated grand-father (grandude) and his book outlines the adventures he has with his grandchildren in their quest to find their grandmother, nan-dude.

We fell to discussing the son’s own wonderful grandfathers again: Raju Thaatha & Balu Thaatha. Both loving in their own ways, and exhibiting a pick-and-choose of characteristics between them: sincere, playful, caring, hearty, engaging, mischievous,  witty, booming, quiet, talkative, reserved, humourous, erudite, and so many more.

“You will be a wonderful grandma – like a pirate grandma or a nan-dude!”, the son assured me. 

I glowed – and said, “Really? Would I be a ninja grandma or a butterfly grandma?”

“Yes – and also a toucan grandma, and a whale grandma, and a tree grandma. You will be a fun grandma. Don’t worry – I have confidence in you. “ said the son. He was licking an ice cream with obvious relish, and no doubt the fact that he was allowed ice cream on a cold day by his indulgent mother colored his opinion of me. 

“Marvelous books, isn’t it? Really – I am glad there are books outlining the special grandparents-grandchildren bond. I wonder whether there are good songs, and dances showing that.”

“I am sure there are. Just need to look.” he said stoic as ever. 

We were discussing the books: 

Both books are such joys to thumb through. Light-hearted and joyous, they highlight the beautiful bonds between grandchildren and grandparents.

⌘ The Essence of Life ⌘

The Fabric of the Indian household

One of my half written posts from one of my earlier trips to India touches upon the heroines of the Indian upper middle-class  household – the cooks and maids. The fabric of the Indian household is maintained through a network of maids – 3 or 4 of them, who swish through the house at various points in time, professionally taking care of the household chores, and keeping a human touch to those who crave for it. I know the aged parents looked forward to a few words with them: a smile, a question, or a comment.

As much as I savored the solitude, and quiet of nature back home in the United States, I understood the tug and pull of humanity in the fast-paced life of the Indian subcontinent, as well. You were never truly alone, even for a few hours, in India. There were maids, delivery men, sweepers, cleaners, neighbors in close proximity, cooks, who were all as much part of one’s routine as the immediate family themselves. 

“Did Appa like the avial?” the cook would ask as she entered the house, to which the father-in-law would reply cheekily that it was nothing compared to his sister’s avial. We all know, there is no point talking when his sister’s avial is raised, and she does too. “Ask your sister to make it then – look at him!” she’ll say looking to the mother-in-law for support and she would jump in with glee.

Read also: The Simple Grocery List

MrKeshav- Open Page - Groceries

Picture Credit: Mr Keshav, The Hindu, Open Page, on the article, A Simple grocery list

The whole thing would last maybe a few minutes from start to finish but this sort of camaraderie punctuated the day at regular intervals, and it provided them with much needed human contact. 

A few days before he began losing consciousness, he pestered his wife to buy their maid (their maid from a few years ago)a cell-phone, as she had told him hers was broken, when she’d called to see how he was doing.  

The Essence of Life

He was not a perfect man, and yet he managed to get people to only remember his loving side, his gentle humor, and his willingness to help. I cannot find the exact quote now, but when asked how he produced such marvelous tales of Malgudi, the eminent writer, R K Narayan, said that he only needed to look out the window, or sit in his front-porch observing life, and they gave him all the material and inspiration he needed. 

As the cooks and maids cried uncontrollably at his funeral, and told us how much they would miss him I was reminded of that interview by R K Narayan on the nature of humanity, and their human foibles being the gentle essence of life itself.

After all, we are who we are, and never is that more apparent than in the small, everyday interactions.

Stimulus🧘🏼‍♀️ 🪷 Pause 🧘🏼‍♀️ 🪷Response

“Life in India is so fast and hectic, isn’t it? “ . We were discussing the fast and furious pace of India with friends. We were each reminiscing our respective trips to India – both made under difficult circumstances, and we were both glad to be back home in the United States.

I nodded fervently, and said wistfully, “Yes – at least during the time I was there, the concept of solitude was rarely acknowledged.”

“Solitude?” And we all laughed. It was true – the populace, and the ways of life make slowing down much harder than usual. It isn’t made any easier with the speed of communications and transportation in cities. The very essence of vibrance that is a huge advantage and a beauty to the civilization was also a disadvantage.

There are times when I have marveled at how the Indian way of life came up with practices such as meditation and yoga, but then I also realize that it was there that it could have developed, for it was required to build still pockets of serene moments into one’s life. in fact, the concepts are nothing short of brilliant. The pause between breaths is essential to be mindful of, when it may be all you can get in terms of mindfulness. The breath becomes the prana in very significant ways. The pause, when rarely taken, becomes harder to practice, and yet the pause becomes that tiny moment of choice in our agency of life.

There are so many aspects to the Philosophy of Being (I am amused it has such a strictly medical sounding name: Ontology)

Keeping ontological explanations aside, if The Nature of Being comes down to simple techniques of breath, fluidity and movement, it makes the simplicity behind it all brilliant.

Buddha in Lotus?
Buddha in Lotus?

For many years I had thought of this quote, attributed to Victor Frankl in Man’s Search for Meaning:

“Between stimulus and response, there is a space. In that space lies our freedom and our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our happiness.”

-Quote widely attributed to Viktor Frankl, Author of Man’s Search for Meaning, but not sure: Between Stimulus & Response

Back home, I savored the morning air, as I stepped out for a brisk walk embracing the nippy air. I felt like I could finally hear myself think, and I had a beautiful walk weighing and thinking of such topics as courage, resilience, choices, decision-making etc in the context of our work and personal lives. How one helps us evolve in another sphere, and how we are as human-beings are nothing more than the function of life’s ebbs and flows.

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The Sounds of Silence

After two weeks in India, the first walk I took by the lakeside was far more comforting than I thought. Nature has always been my solace. It has always been the thing I’ve been teased most about by the children.

But it is the one place, I can just be.

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I stood there for several minutes savoring the silence, listening to the swishing of wings as a bird took flight, or the winds rustled through the tree tops above.

The son put it best when we came back. “Shh!”

He said. “Can you hear that?”

“What?” The husband and I said cocking our heads to listen.

“Exactly! “ he said looking triumphant.

It was bliss.

“No other sound can match the healing power of the sounds of nature.”
― Michael Bassey Johnson, Song of a Nature Lover

The Whole 9 Yards

The whole 9 yards

We lost my father-in-law (henceforth referred to as Appa) earlier this month. He had a wonderful life, was loving and was loved by almost everyone who knew him.

When we reached home and awaited the body from the mortuary, bizarre things began happening. We were supposed to be sending the father-in-law’s soul to a different realm, but I found myself transported to a different realm instead.

Suddenly, one is surrounded by a society that morphs into layers of irrational. I was overpowered by a mob of conservatives who draped me in a 9 yards saree before I could breathe.

For reasons beyond me, the society of people I was born into, sets great store by a garment that is wholly undeserving of the praise bestowed on it. It is the 9 yards saree. I abhor the garment for several reasons: apart from the casteism it symbolizes, it is also an extremely uncomfortable garment.

The 9 yards saree makes one look like a roadroller, impedes motion, and rouses an instinct in all females who see you to ‘fix’ the saree. One thinks, the folding pleat behind the legs is too long, another thinks the tugging back is too long. So, they all attempt to fix it — all completely well-intentioned of course. Only this gives you a strange sense of being disrobed – for like one of these sailors knots, if you pull one place, the whole thing can unravel. One time, an aunt, tugged something while I was descending the stairs and I almost fell headlong down the stairs. After the initial flare of annoyance, I started to laugh trying to envision myself like a rolled up carpet at the bottom of the stairs, and all good hands trying to extricate me from a 9 yard mess.

I have never liked it – but as luck would have it, society is enamored by it.

As I moved numbly to see the mortal remains of my dear father-in-law, about 50 different women and 10 men told me that the important thing to remember is that I wear this particular 9 yards saree everyday – to be washed, dried and worn again for the next 13 days. “Remember – the same saree only.”

I stared at them too speechless to say anything. Could they not see I was grieving – why was this same-9-yard-everyday thing so important?

It made no sense – until you realized that religion loves giving dictums for everything starting from how a woman should dress to how she should grieve. This one was apparently to ensure that we did not accidentally attempt to feel good by dressing well.

I’ll let you all roll your eyes at that one.

Dear Appa

A few years ago, when we had moved into our new home, everyone was pressurizing me to wear a 9 yards saree for the house warming ceremony. I was sipping my tea looking glum one evening after another aunt insisted that it was a critical garment for the success of the ceremony. Appa asked me “Yenna ma?” (What is it, ma?) in his typical calm voice sensing my disquiet.

I told him that I didn’t like the 9 yards saree but everyone wanted me to wear it.

He looked at me and said, “Don’t wear it!”

I looked up, and saw him looking at me sincerely. He continued, “This ceremony is supposed to ensure that you are happy in your new home – wear something that you will be happy in!”

I didn’t wear a 9 yards saree that day. I wore something I was comfortable in.  When I came down the stairs, he saw me and gave me a glorious smile.

Dear Society, Can you change?

I thought of this little interaction every day that I was miserable in the 9 yards saree during his long drawn out death ceremonies that everyone insisted had to be done in 9 yards (for the departed soul you know?)

saree_potter

(Saree Potter – caption by the brother)

Actually, this seemed to be a theme through many of the ceremonies. There were a lot of things that I am sure Appa would not even have considered – but religion seemed to dictate it all necessary to his soul. There were hours of mantrams and ceremonies everyday that we little understood.

What I would have liked is for people to let us know the little and big ways in which he impacted them. For it was apparent, that he was loved by everyone who had the fortune of interacting with him. He was a dedicated brother, brother-in-law, husband, father, father-in-law, uncle, grandfather, and friend. As it was, there was precious time left for personal anecdotes and reflections after the long-drawn out ceremonies that Appa, when alive, had little patience for.

“Man is kind enough when he is not excited by religion.”

– Mark Twain

Appa, My Friend

Appa

Mine was an arranged marriage. The first people I met from the husband’s side of the family were his parents. The one who drew us all in with his quiet charm, shy smiles, simplicity and overall, just by being his authentic self was Appa. He knew how to make an uncomfortable situation comfortable. He must’ve sensed a girl with modern thinking not liking this ‘arranged marriage girl seeing thing’. So, he made it simple by removing the formality from the process: Let’s just chat like we are old friends.

Any new bride going in to a large, loud, slightly overwhelming family knows what it takes to make that first meal or that first cup of tea in an alien kitchen alone. She is intensely aware that all tongues out there are waiting to judge the taste of it, the consistency of it, the heat, and sugar, and the judgements are harsh and swift depending on the existing political climate between the folks in the room.  She also knows that her efficiency, charm, competency all hang on the hinge, even if one is an educated professional girl who should not set store by these things. Appa did the thing he does best. He followed me into the kitchen – quietly removing himself from the larger family, and giving a shy smile. He had come to help.

He gave me the necessary ingredients, a hint or two or how they like the water-milk proportion by making a small joke about it, and then as quietly as he had come, he left.He did not hover giving directions. Then, a few minutes later, as I was flailing around looking for the glasses, he was back again. He took the cups that everyone liked, quietly strained the tea, and left again.  I don’t think anyone noticed the head of the family nip out to the kitchen to help his daughter-in-law.

When the tea was served and everyone smiled happily, he gave me one of his trademark encouraging smiles, and that set the tone for our relationship: Appa was always there for me. He and I were going to be best friends, and I knew it then. He had your back, he was always, firmly in your corner.

Long before corporates came up with terms like inclusivity – Appa showed us how it is done. It is done by making people comfortable.

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Raju Thaatha

When children were born, he was there for them. He was there for us. Any grandchild who has had the privilege of being held by Raju Thaatha has been blessed by the cosmos multiple times over.  He would come to meet me every evening at the railway station with my baby in his hands so I could see her as soon as I came out of the train. Decades later, many fellow commuters have asked me how the baby and her loving grandfather are doing.

Fussing children, overactive children, rambunctious children, shy children, they all felt comfortable in Raju Thaatha’s hands. He could put children to sleep, get them to eat, and he never, ever in all the years I knew him raised his voice with them. They all behaved like perfect lambs because they loved him.

“You need Power only when you want to do something harmful; otherwise
Love is enough to get everything done.”

– Charlie Chaplin

That was Appa – he was not a powerful man, he was a loving man, and that was his greatest power. He loved you, wholly, and simply. We all wanted to do things for him, we all wanted him to be happy because he was such a pure, loving soul.

raju_thaatha

He never took sides in any conflict, but always knew who was aching and soothed everyone just by being him. When anyone was ill, Appa with that keen sense of empathy, knew when a fruit would be welcome, or when a glass of water was required. But he didn’t use words like empathy. He just did things for others – without show, without expectation, and with great competence.

Days after they left, after every visit, I would miss Appa. For he was the one who helped me the most. He was the one who helped me in the kitchen. He was the one who’d cut fruits and lay them on the table because he knew I liked fruit. He was the one who would know when to take a fussy infant from my aching arms. He was the one who went for quiet walks with me.

He was my friend.

When I spoke of my father-in-law like this, many folks were surprised that an Indian man of his generation was like this. But he was – he was supportive of everyone – through and through. He did not tell any of us how to behave, or what to do, he showed us. He would light up when I said “Good Morning Appa!” in the mornings, or when I said a tired ‘Hello Appa’ in the evenings. “Hello Saumya.” “Good morning ma!” , “Yenna ma?” (What is it ma?) – his quiet, friendly voice that surely guided us through life is ringing in my ears as I make the last journey to see his mortal remains.

It hurts me beyond measure to write of him in the past, his sort of love in the lingering type: like the sun, always shining, always nourishing. We are enormously blessed to have had him in our lives.

Thank you Appa – May you always be happy!

The Most Wonderful Week of the Year!

“This is my favorite week of the year!”, I crooned to the son, and sang, “The most wonderful week of the year!” all out of tune, complete with the wrong lyrics etc, and he gave me an exasperated look. The children can never understand how I can consistently get lyrics wrong. 

We were out walking after lunch. Our gait was leisurely which is to say mine was; he was leaping and prancing like a superhero taming a reindeer on magic mushrooms, while making sounds like a steam engine swooshing and whishing. 

“Why?” he stopped to ask.

I gestured around us vaguely. The sun was shining, the white fluffy clouds were drifting, the earth was fresh after the rains the previous night, ducks were swimming, gulls were flying overhead, and the humans on the trail were pleasant and happy. We wished each other happy holidays and sniffed in the fresh air. What was not to like?

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Last week was even better!

“Yeah – but why this week – last week was even better! We went to see…” he started, and I nodded. It had been a wonderful week – we had been traveling.  The memory of lights and stars shone alongside family, friends, nephews, nieces, and aunts. We ate glorious foods prepared with love by extended family, played marvelous games, and took delicious sips of tea. 

“Yes – last week was wonderful, but I mean – I like this week every year. The week between Christmas and New Years. The week when we all seem to be off together, waiting for the year to wind down and getting ready for the new year.”

“I prefer summer!” he said, and I gave him an amused look. 

“Summer vacations and school going children. We don’t get that sort of luxury do we? “ I asked him, and he laughed.

“No! I like this week, and am going to enjoy it. Maybe go and eat a snack, write a post, read a book, and do anything at all the mind fancies!” I said, and skipped a bit as we turned homewards.

The Feeling

There’s nostalgia, relief, expectation, hope, optimism, a sense of wrapping up, mingled with the feeling of opening in to the new year. There must be a word for that feeling. Do caterpillars feel that way in their cocoon? No – that is too powerful, after all our metamorphoses are not half as dramatic.

“So, what’s your post about?” he asked pulling me away from my thoughts, and we discussed caterpillars, wars, words, and other inconsequential things. The birds chirped outside, and the teapot gurgled inside. 

All was well. Happy New Year to all of you!

Sun Rise Sun Rise!

We stood there waiting for the sunrise over the Grand Canyon. 

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We had driven up there the previous evening in what felt like 20 degree weather. The moon lit scapes around us were beautiful from inside the car, but outside, it looked unforgiving. It was cold, and the desert around us was different enough. Even so, the same landscapes at night take on a different feel and dimension altogether. The shelves of stone around us in the early morning light of dawn was breathtaking. As if a different hue was revealed with every tilt in angle of the sun’s rays. 

How drawn to light we are as a species? Somewhere, the sharp smells of pine wafted through, and I wondered briefly whether we stopped to let our other senses weigh in as much when we have sight and light. 

I suppose we do let sounds and smells in, and do allow our sense of touch  to help us along. But do we really develop our other senses? A preliminary search says we gather about 80% of our sensory perceptions using sight. 

Dogs, on the other hand, seem to distribute their perceptions between sight, smell and sound. 

The early morning calm of the sun-rise and my meandering thoughts were interrupted by the loud calls of a mother looking for her children. I turned around irritated, and was somewhat surprised that I was surrounded by this many people on a cold Christmas Day morning, standing on a cliff overlooking the Grand Canyon and waiting for the sun to rise. 

But I suppose, it was my fault for not expecting this. It promised to be a beautiful day, after all, and like me, many had decided to brave the cold, and take in the marvelous sunrise over the horizon at a point helpfully named Sunrise Point. 

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I let out an amused grin, and exchanged a look with the children – they seem to have caught on to my look of surprise at finding other people there. It was a beautiful moment: the mother pulled her child towards her, and the sun burst forth in glory over the horizon. 

All was well with the world at this moment. 

Let’s go for some breakfast and then take a long, quiet walk along time, I said shuffling away from Sunrise Point, and the children chuckled at the thought. We are not an early rising family, and we scurried inside towards warmth, food and coffee before attempting to take on people and canyons. 

2023 – I am stuck in a book, be back soon!

One of the favorite parts of the year are here. The Christmas lights are twinkling. There is magic in the air. I get to go back and revel in the books that have made it so. Some books evoke a feeling, and trying to capture that is a joy in itself.

Hindsight is our finest instrument for discerning the patterns of our lives. To look back on a year of reading, a year of writing, is to discover a secret map of the mind, revealing the landscape of living — after all, how we spend our thoughts is how we spend our lives.

– Maria Popova – TheMarginalian

This year, I get the strange sense of being in a floating Universe. I seem to have whizzed past centuries reading things in the past, zoomed and ducked out of alternate worlds with all the science fiction and fantasy adventures, while being thoroughly grounded in making sense of today’s world with its AI, and its technological advances.

I get the familiar sense of time slipping through the sieve with extra large holes once again, but then, will it always be like this? I hope so, for in its speed lies its charm.

Here are some of the notable ones – I find the neat classifications all being thrown out – every year, I seem to have a different classification system and therein lies the charm. Nothing is immutable and all that.

the_world_playground

I also see that I have dozens of unfinished posts for some of these books that have never made it to the blog. Oh well! I need to take inspiration from Robert Louis Stevenson I suppose.

“I kept always two books in my pocket, one to read, one to write in.” ― Robert Louis Stevenson

Peek back into time:

The World Around Us:

“The reading of all good books is like conversation with the finest (people) of the past centuries.” ― René Descartes

    Non-Fiction:

    Beautiful & Informative:

    • Nanoscale – visualising an invisible world – Kenneth  S Deffeyes, Stephen E Deffeyes
    • Atlas of the Invisible – James Cheshire & Oliver Uberti
    • A celebration of Beatrix Potter : art and letters by more than 30 of today’s favorite children’s book illustrators
    • In the woods / David Elliott ; illustrated by Rob Dunlavey

    Alternate Worlds/ Science Fiction/Magic:

    Tech Tech:

    Inspirations:

    Books that ought to be classified as warm cups of tea 🙂

    • News from Thrush Green – Miss Read
    • The White Lady – by Jacqueline Winspear
    • Much Obliged Jeeves – P G Wodehouse
    • A Song of Comfortable Chairs – Alexander McCall Smith
    • What would Maisie Do? – Jacqueline Winspear

    “Some books are so familiar that reading them is like being home again.” ― Louisa May Alcott

      Children’s Books – my favorite category (just mentioning a few since I don’t keep note of all the titles)

      I hope 2024 continues to be as varied and inspirational in its moments of magic and learning for all of us! I shall put in a comment the complete list of books. I only put in a few in the post here.

      “The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you’ll go.”

      Dr. Seuss 

      Happy Reading!

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      The Tides of the Year

      It is already that time of the year when people are making lists, and reminiscing the past year. I don’t feel like it has been 12 months since we last did this exercise, if we are being honest. I just wrote out all the books I read in 2022, is it already time for me to do the 2023 list? I feel strangely like a student in the headlights before the final examinations. Wait a minute – I was supposed to have read this and that. My bedside table is sagging, with half-read books, to-be-read books.

       I planned to write about this topic and that book, and well, that possibility too, if it comes to that. My document with burgeoning ideas and drafts looks worse than ever with half completed phrases and paragraphs. In short, it feels like a construction site : a promise of feverish hectic activity, but a dull ache between the eyes while thinking of shaping it all up. 

      Looking back over the past few years, it seems to be the same song sung : pace of life, the months whizzing by, and all that. 

      However, this year seems to be tinged with the dawning realization of the opposite and inevitable too. Maybe it is our phase in life. What I mean by that is, in increased conversations with elderly people, it is obvious that the elderly amidst us face the opposite problem : one of filling their time while holding onto their anxieties of their health, and the inevitable frailty it involves. Acceptance of our mortality has always been one philosophers have addressed. But will we remember all these concepts when it is our time? I wonder. 

      rain

      In the exuberance of youth, and the arrogance of our health, we often parry the times when we do have to set ourselves down to a slower pace, and imagine a life when we are not in control of our circumstances. The pace of technology, while helpful in general, seems to be a source of anxiety for many, and I don’t blame them. I feel the same way – on my recent visit to India, I was confronted with both sides of the coin. On the one hand it was fun to watch everyone from the roadside vendor selling chaats to the large department store going with options such as PayTM and Google Pay. But on the other hand, it was unnerving for older people or NRIs like us who needed to have all that set up within the country in order for smooth functioning. 

      I remember reading somewhere that it is not just us and our bodies that are changing, but the situations and the world around us changing too. At times, it feels like the combination can feel like we are being pushed and pulled by the tides back and forth relentlessly. We need to weather the tides, ride through the storms, and look out for the light on gloomy days. 

      weather_storm

      2023 had its share of hikes, bikes, runs, and walks. It had a fair share of travel managing multiple responsibilities across work and our personal lives. Not to mention the frenzied feel of to-do lists and the sinking feeling that nothing was never quite enough. But in spite of all this, it felt rewarding: it gave us the feeling of spotting the rainbow in the storm. 

      I liked this quote and wanted to share this here:

      “Half of me is filled with bursting words and half of me is painfully shy. I crave solitude yet also crave people. I want to pour life and love into everything yet also nurture my self-care and go gently. I want to live within the rush of primal, intuitive decision, yet also wish to sit and contemplate. This is the messiness of life – that we all carry multitudes, so must sit with the shifts. We are complicated creatures, and ultimately, the balance comes from this understanding. Be water. Flowing, flexible and soft. Subtly powerful and open. Wild and serene. Able to accept all changes, yet still led by the pull of steady tides. It is enough.”

      ― Victoria Erickson