Tag: inspiration

A Rosely Abode

The rose bushes were blooming all summer and every time I saw the blossoms fade, I felt a pang. How did these bouquets in stores retain their freshness for that long while my blossoms faded so quickly? There was one white rose still unfaded before the next set of blooms came in, and I stopped to admire it. I’ve always loved white roses. I leaned over to pluck the beautiful blossom, picturing the peaceful looking flower in Buddha’s hands.

Peace. 

Such a nebulous quality in our lives, I mused. Also, something that one only appreciates wholly when threatened or is lost. Maybe turbulence is a necessary component of life in small doses so we appreciate sturdy peace when we do have it. 

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I peered into the rose and saw an inner petal that looked slightly less white than the surrounding petals. Maybe it had started to brown, I said to myself and reached in gingerly to pull the petal, when I gasped and leaped back. A small albino frog leaped out at me from within the white rose petals. 

I don’t know whether any of you have had albino frogs leap up at their faces, but if you haven’t, I can tell you it is quite the shock especially when you are expecting to loosen rose petals and have amphibians leaping at you instead.  It is like finding crocodiles in your bath-tub.

I gasped and tried regaining my composure. All thoughts of peace forgotten – the heart hammered against the ribcage as if on a great adventure, I willed it to stop. So much for courage – a frog is all it takes. Maybe it wasn’t a good thing. I thought forlorn, as irrational thoughts came flooding in. 

What is it with adrenaline and irrationality?

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Regardless of that first reaction, frogs are apparently omens of good luck, prosperity and fertility. 

Later that night, as I drifted off into sleep, I couldn’t help thinking of the little frog in the white rose that I had inadvertently disturbed. What a lovely abode? Drinking nectar, snuggling into the softest petals, and resting in the fragrance of a rose. Sometimes, the gifts of nature are marvelous. I wish I had the sense to take a photograph. White frogs are rare enough. White frogs in white roses must be even rarer. As for, white frogs leaping up at writers from within white roses: well, who says that nature doesn’t have a sense of humor?

I’ve always admired bees for having their feet dusted by a thousand blossoms as Ray Bradbury says:

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‘Bees do have a smell, you know, and if they don’t they should, for their feet are dusted with spices from a million flowers.’

– Ray Bradbury

Rainbow Colored

I picked up two books on separate trips to the library and enjoyed reading them. The first was a book of fairy tales retold in the African diaspora: Crowned. A book of fairy tales is always enjoyable, and one that has a good smattering of classic fairy tales combined with some myths from the African heartlands are a joy. 

The children shown as the princesses and princes are the best. The costume designs and makeup are exemplary, as are the re-imaginings of their origins. Most books illustrate Cinderella and Snow White as fair-skinned princesses, and it is refreshing to see these pictures.

The second book was: The Dark Fantastic – By Ebony Elizabeth Thomas

Race and the Imagination from Harry Potter to the Hunger Games

The Dark Fantastic is a book of essays exploring the absence of color in fantasy. The author starts off the book with Vernon Dursley’s famous saying in Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone: “There is no magic.”.

She then goes on to explain her upbringing in working-class Detroit in the 1970s. 

“The existential concerns of our family, neighbors, and city left little room for Neverlands, Middle-Earths, or Fantasias. In order to survive, I had to face reality. “

A few sentences on, though the author states:

“In the realm of the fantastic, I found meaning, safety, catharsis - and hope, Though it eluded me, I needed magic.”

I identified with this statement of needing magic. Humanity’s need for magic is evident in our myths and epics from thousands of years ago. 

  • Was there a flying carpet? A pushpak vimana?
  • Are there heavens and hells?

Yet, for thousands of years, we have told ourselves increasingly fantastical stories to keep our spirits alive, and our imaginations intact.

“I like nonsense. It wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living.” Dr Seuss. 

A common thread emerging from lack of diversity in books, is that children don’t see enough of themselves in the books. I lay the books down musing on this. I, like many in my generation, grew up surrounded by the fairy tales of snowy white princesses, and the fantasy worlds of Enid Blyton. Yet, I don’t think I ever wondered whether I would be able to climb up the Magic Faraway Tree to have adventures, or swish away on the Wishing Chair to magical places.  The protagonists were all British children, but it did not seem to make the slightest difference to a middle class brown skinned Indian child. Maybe I was just lucky that it never occurred to me. But did it occur to my friends? If it did, I am not sure we discussed it. 

That sort of limitation in thinking only came as we grew up and saw for ourselves the inequity of opportunities. I am grateful, of course, to see a book in which a child refers to their mother as ‘Amma’ as we do at home. (Why is my Hair Curly – by Lakshmi Iyer)

Or see that picnics can involve rotis and potato curry, and not just sandwiches. But I am more grateful for the reach of fairy tales. They provided a much-needed element of magic and hope. 

As children, the inhibitions of things like race, creed and color are not there. I fondly remember the picture drawn by the son in kindergarten when his teacher had told all children to have more colored people in their illustrations. He had drawn all their faces rainbow-colored 🙂 

Sword & Drumstick Warriors

As I watched the man-child and the child who yearns to be a man battle with their latest acquisition, I couldn’t help laughing. The pair of them had mysteriously disappeared at the Arts and Craft Fair and came back clutching a sword. A Sword! The son looked chuffed, and the father sheepish, but there was no denying that the sword would long play heroic roles in imaginating battles in the home. 

Some things just need to be. 

They were swishing themselves hoarse around the dinner table, when the daughter and I exchanged glances. Hers exasperated, mine indulgent.

“We should’ve bought two swords!” said the husband. He was brandishing a very seedy looking drumstick instead of a sword, while the son revelled in his sword. 

“I need shorts with belt buckles so I can stash the sword cover!”

“Scabbard.” I said.

“Huh?” he said with a nifty jump from the top of the sofa to the carpet beyond.

“That’s where you put the sword away – a scabbard.”

“What you need is a belt to hold up those pants – scrawny little fellow!” she turned towards me, “Why would you let this fellow buy a sword, as if he doesn’t jump and swish around enough!” she huffed.

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I couldn’t help thinking of the book I’d read recently,  Bertie’s Guide to Life and Mothers – By Alexander McCall Smith.

It is a gentle book about some folks who live at 44 Scotland Street. Humorous and lilting – it makes for pleasant reading. I think the writing could’ve been crisper in parts and the book could’ve tied the plot-lines up a bit better. But I cannot deny that I enjoyed his portrayal of Bertie’s mother. Poor Bertie Pollock is gearing up for his 7th birthday, though he would like to gallop straight to his 18th, just so he could have his own life. What he wants more than anything else is a Swiss Army Knife, but Bertie’s mother is appalled at the violence inducing toys that boys these days play with, and instead gifts him with a UN Peacekeeping set & a figurine (not G.I.Joe, just Jo) instead. Poor Bertie is appalled.

Quote:

 "Will I get any presents?" he asked. Irene smiled. "Of course you will, Bertie."

"I'd like a Swiss Army penknife," he half- whispered. "Or a fishing rod."

Irene said nothing.

"Other boys have these things," Bertie pleaded. Irene pursed her lips. "Other boys? Do you mean Tofu?" 

Bertie nodded miserably.

"Well the less said about him the better," said Irene. She sighed. Why did men and little boys too-have to hanker after weapons when they already had their . . . She shook her head in exasperation. What was the point of all this effort if, after years of striving to protect Bertie from gender stereotypes, he came up with a request for a knife? It was a question of the number of chromosomes, she thought: therein lay the core of the problem.

Don’t we all know someone like that? Well intentioned, spouting psychological theories, and ensuring that their children’s choices are the most scientifically determined ones, only to find that they comically clash with the innate nature of the child in question.

I looked at the daughter who was obviously waiting for an answer. While I did agree with her, I told her, “Ah! Boys will be boys and a plastic sword does not a warrior make!”

“Yes! But it does a headache give!” said the smart-quipper.

Some people don’t need swords to slash.



The Humanity of Humans

It has been a month since we visited Banff in Canada. On the flight back, my mind buzzed with the possible posts to write about the place. 

The wonderful conversation we had with one of the locals in a coffee shop before we started off on our long drive to Jasper was one such. These are some of my favorite moments while traveling. Usually, we are on a tourist loop, and meet fellow tourists from different parts of the world, which is just as enjoyable. (The Elephant Keeper) But interacting with people who live and experience the very place that we go to, to make our magical memories is something else.

Living in a tourist attractive spot has its disadvantages. (We pay in terms of parking permits for instance. ) But it also has gifts galore. Knowing that what you get everyday is something people plan and take time out to enjoy is a gratitude pill hidden in plain sight. 

On those days when the routine banality of life throws us a particularly unstimulating day, it is marvelous to take an evening walk along a lake that people literally get on planes, trains and automobiles to get to. To know that within one drive over the week-end, we get to a world famous spot is mind-boggling even if we do take these things for granted a bit. 

That day, as we spoke to Jack in the coffee shop, we asked him what it was like living in Banff. He smiled, tentatively, wanting to be polite at first, but then went on to talk about how much he enjoys winter sports in the Canadian Rockies. One couldn’t help smiling listening to that thrill of adrenaline I am sure he feels as he skis down those steep mountains. You could hear the gush of the arctic winds in the rush of his voice. 

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As our chat meandered, his wry sense of humor surfaced, and he asked us where we were from, and how we met etc. We told him about our arranged marriage and his reaction was as swift a time-travel capsule as ever there was. I was whisked twenty years into the past when our colleagues gawked at us the same way. He smiled and said what many showed us in their looks all those years ago. “Hmm…yet you folks seem to be alright!” 

The husband and I threw our heads back and laughed exchanging a quick look of understanding between us, while the children rolled their eyes. 

As we sat there, swapping stories, and the days of our lives, I was reminded of how the world is always trying to show us how we are different from one another, but really, we are no different from one another (trying to find the exact quote with little luck). The humanity of our being human is never more evident than in the simplest of things like enjoying a relaxed cup of coffee before starting the week-end.



Dinosaurian Thoughts

“You look excited!” said the children eyeing me suspiciously. I identified that wary look and chuckled. Usually it means an additional hike or a walk, or something done ‘together – as a family!’.

I could feel the eye-roll coming on.

As a teenager, the daughter has a reputation to maintain, and as her loyal side-kick, her brother is torn between wanting to humor his mother and learn how to become the cool teen. 

“Relax! I am just waiting to start a new book tonight. It is about the era of the dinosaurs!” I said with a grand sweep of my hands featuring the landscape that just a few million years ago could’ve been home to tyrannosauraus rexes or brontosauruses. 

“Looking at the animals here, my bet would be on the runts of the species!” said the husband.

“We do have the great descendants of the velociraptors here in plenty!” I said eyeing the birds in the riverbed.

That led to an interesting discussion on dinosaurs, and how the dinosaur bones could probably have been the inspiration behind the legends of dragons. While paleontology as a discipline of study and research may be relatively recent, digging and unearthing relics of the past isn’t and neither is human imagination. From there, we somehow landed up discussing the best designs for helmets and body armors while fighting dragons and dinosaurs, and had a good time anyway. 

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Later that night, glad to have a night free of late night meetings, I swished away to sit by the window sill taking in the full moon rising outside and pondering on the lives of dinosaurs of long ago perceiving the moonlight, and the millions of years in which mammals have been fascinated by the same. 

It turns out the book I had in my hand was not one on dinosaurs but on the history of mammalian life from the shadows of the dinosaurs. Oh well!

Book: The Rise and Reign of the Mammals – A New History – From the Shadown of the Dinosaurs to Us

By Steve Brusatte (Author of BestSelling The Rise and Fall of the Dinosaurs)  

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Honestly, book covers these days are the most illuminating ( award-winning, best selling, top researching, nominated for best selling lists!) 

Nevertheless, I had a quiet few moments reading before a call interrupted the quiet of the night, and I had to set the book aside. 

The Dinosaurs seem to have gone millions of years without needing any of these to live their quiet lives on Earth. 

Does anyone miss snail post?



The Egg That Got Back Up!

Every now and then, a children’s book arrives that makes one sit up and relish the simple genius of it. 

“After the Fall : how Humpty Dumpty got back up again” is one such. Written by Dan Santat, it went on to win the Booklegger Award.

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We all know Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall

We all know Humpty Dumpty had a great fall

But ….

Do We all know that all the king’s horses and all the king’s men 

Did put Humpty Dumpty together again?

The book starts off with the ‘Great Fall’ that poor Humpty Dumpty is famous for.

But something happened to the Humpty Dumpty who was put together again. He developed acrophobia (a fear of heights)

The illustration accompanying this is brilliant. Notice the cereal boxes in the bottom shelf? Bo-rings, Cardboard, Grown-Up Food, Bland 

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Compared to the all-so smile inducing Choco Duck, Rainbow Bites and Pirate Crunch occupying the higher shelves.

But one day, Humpty Dumpty is inspired – if not to fly himself, at least to design a paper plane that can fly like his dreams.

But accidents happen as Humpty Dumpty knows, and how Humpty Dumpty overcomes his fear of heights to morph into The Egg Who Got Back Up and realized far more than he had ever expected is a story that will leave you inspired and smiling.

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A sublime change, and a very relatable tale of living:  living with fear, and living with hope, and living with the faint possibility of overcoming our fears is what the book is all about. And isn’t that enough?

Isn’t that all we all yearn for in our lives?

That hope that we can overcome our own selves and go on to inspire ourselves beyond our wildest dreams?

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Navigating by the Starlight

Navigating by the Starlight – Listen on Spotify

Rest, nature , books, music, such is my idea of happiness.

– Leo Tolstoy

I sat looking out at the lake, with a book on life in the Oceans by Sylvia Earle in my hand. I was not exactly reading. That in itself was worth musing about: with a book in a quiet spot, but not reading. Usually I can zone into a book within seconds. It is a source of being teased in the home. But that day, I found thoughts fleeting, the mind elsewhere: it’s this pace of life, I told myself sagely. Not much time for nourish-ing and cherish-ing. I chuckled at that (I know! )

I had been on a brisk walk at the campsite a few hours from where we lived. The drive up there was relaxing in itself.  The long, solitary drive gave me the space to make a few phone calls, listen to some music and an audiobook. It was perfect. This kind of solitude is rarely available and I was determined to enjoy it.  

Where was I? Yes – sitting and doing nothing but taking deep breaths and looking lazily out at the lake in front of me. 

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The Eye of the Earth quote playing on my mind. Looking across the lake, I saw a bush of greenery that reflected so beautifully in the lake as so resemble a human eye. Some boys were skipping stones lazily across the lake, and faint music was heard elsewhere. 

Later that night, the skies opened up. At first the faint light did not reveal the nightly glory – the cosmic dance that plays out every night. But by 11 p.m., there was no escaping the stage of the heavens. In our heavily populated urban areas we rarely see this skies like that:  The Milky Way in all its glory. There was the international space station circling the Earth, and thousands and thousands of stars, with familiar shapes of the constellations that our ancestors mapped over the ages.

At one point, I had to walk from point A to point B, and found that I had lost my way amidst a thicket of trees. I felt a strange sense of unease – How did birds migrate by the starlight? I looked up, enthralled, my breath stolen from me in a gasp of wonder, but also acutely aware navigating by the stars is tougher than it looks.

I read a while ago, that birds align with the electromagnetic patterns of Earth and then use that to orient and navigate against the stars. From the magical birds who sense the Earth’s magnetic field for their migration journeys to the fish who are able to navigate by the position of the stars from deep under the ocean, we each have our own unique way of living. Of Life.

In Dr Oliver Sack’s book, Musicophilia, he says:

“Every act of perception, is to some degree an act of creation, and every act of memory is to some degree an act of imagination.”

― Oliver Sacks, Musicophilia: La musique, le cerveau et nous

https://www.nytimes.com/1958/10/17/archives/study-finds-birds-guided-by-stars-migrating-flocks-are-led-by.html 

All this may be fine. But how was I to get back? My electromagnetism wasn’t helping, and the stars seemed to be twinkling and having their little joke up high in the skies. It is then I caught glimmer of the starlight reflected in the lake down below, and like a thirsty wildebeest pushes towards the water, did the same, urging the body to orient itself with the lake and the paths around it like I had done earlier during the day.

One day, I shall have to take lessons from the birds and learn to navigate by the stars instead. “Stop using the GPS while driving first!” said a little voice of truth, and I chuckled. Yes – baby steps. Driving first, and then flying. 

Oh Canada!

Any time we see a license plate for an out-of-state car in California, the son gets excited. I assumed it is part of his being this boy who spent his early years watching the Disney movie Cars. I must say though, if I had tried to envision life a decade on, and saw ourselves still being excited by license plates, I might have  been a little worried. Yet, here we are, and still excited by license plates. Oh well!

This time, we weren’t even going to see out of state license plates. We were going to see Canadian license plates. 

All we knew about Canada is that it is a beautiful country – vast, and the people a gentle populace. Well, that, and they have a sense of humor, probably good at winter sports – ice hockey, curling, skiing, that sort of thing. May not even count as trivia. In fact, most of this ‘knowledge’ seems to have come from talk shows, sitcoms, particularly one that is very popular in the nourish-n-cherish household: Corner Gas which is set in Saskatchewan, Canada. Or Anne of Green Gables by L M Montgomery set in Prince Edward Islands.

Every country is like a particular type of person: Canada is like an intelligent, 35-year-old woman.

Douglas Adams

Anyway, there we were hopping on our left and right feet excited to go to Calgary – the airport closest to arguably the most beautiful national parks in Banff. We expected to be wowed by the natural beauty of the mountains, the lakes, and the rivers fed by glacial melt.

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But we had not planned on being this excited by license plates.

The first time we saw the license plates of a car from Saskatchewan, the son and I pointed excitedly to each other. Hey! Look! Land of the Living Skies, Saskatchewan. We stopped admiring the license plates. Sub consciously, we glanced up at the blue skies and the large white-and-black magpies that flew past looked amused. We could imagine the beautiful skies of Saskatchewan, could we not?

“Ha! Maybe he stopped by the Corner Gas station to fuel up!” We found this hilarious after a long flight, and filed it under sleep deprived delirium.

There really was no excuse though when we were just as excited by the license plates of British Columbia, Alberta, Manitoba, Ontario. License plates of states in the United States do not have a catchy slogan for each state. 

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🥀 Wild Rose Country Alberta

🚸Friendly Manitoba

🌌 Land of Living Skies Saskatchewan

🏔Yours to discover Ontario 

🪷 Beautiful British Columbia

I wonder what each state in the United States would have as license plate slogans. That’d be an interesting exercise wouldn’t it?

Earth’s Eyes

Canadian summers are generous. 

The week we were there, we were blessed with ample sunshine, full rivers gushing waterfalls, millions of evergreen trees, tiny pinecones, open skies, harsh rock faces, long days and every hue of blue in the waters of the land. 

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When we told anyone that we were planning to visit Banff, Canada, we heard about the Blues. In gushing tones, awed expressions, faraway looks as if transplanting themselves momentarily to a place with blue waters, and peace. I liked that. It must have been something if everyone had the same things to say, shouldn’t it? I have been to several lakes, and am always in awe of them. I remember somebody saying something to the effect of a lake being a planet’s eye, or something like that. Awfully poetic I thought then. Must find the quote.

Ah – here it is. It is our reliable ol’ Henry David Thoreau on Walden Pond. 

“A lake is a landscape’s most beautiful and expressive feature. It is Earth’s eye; looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature.” 

― Henry David Thoreau, Walden

Anyway, so off we went expecting to see blue lakes. Emerald green waters, turquoise waters, and all the hues in between. Pictures do not prepare you for the surreality of it all, we knew that. We were hiking around the famous Lake Louise when the daughter piped up with her usual candor. “It looks pretty and all, but I don’t want to swim in it. It doesn’t feel right. Do you think it has some kind of algae, in it?”

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I looked at her and then nodded. I understood that feeling. I had not been able to express quite that way yet, but there it was. It didn’t help that I was reading The Three Body Problem by Cixin Liu, Translated by Ken Liu, and somewhat agitated by the other worlds mentioned in the book. 

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But when we stopped to take breath a few meters on, I sucked in a deep breath. It was beautiful especially from our current vantage point. We were at least a thousand feet above and hiking around it in an elaborate trail that allowed us glimpses of the turquoise blue waters in between. So, what did make these waters this unnatural shade of blue? Why didn’t lakes in Iceland, Switzerland, Philippines, New Zealand, or the United States have the same color? 

Professor Google says it is because of the particular kinds of glacial silt that is deposited in the waters with glacial melt, and not algae. Up close, the waters looks transparent near the shores, and the canoes seem to enjoy the peace and quiet of it all. 

We canoed in ‘a lake that looks like more like an earthly lake’ as we delicately put it. But this lake too had spots of emerald green waters turquoise spots and the transparent blues. I took photos that I thought would wow the world. Of course, they looked like I shook my hands and poured tea into the lens instead.

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I was nervous about the canoeing. I was nervous about the hues of the waters. But as the daughter and I shared a canoe, I was somewhat heartened. She is calm, reliable and more capable than Yours Truly at steering canoes towards shores as she demonstrated to me that day. We stopped mid lake, peering into the depths below. The calm beautiful waters holding the promise of the winter snow in its depths.

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Earth’s eye that day assured me that to imagine yourself in a different world, if only a moment, is fascinating and necessary. We couldn’t really see the Loch Ness monster, or the myriad fishes in the beautiful waters even as sunlight pierced through to the bottom maybe a hundred feet deep. But I am sure these lakes were home to plenty of lifeforms – how could they not be?

Sometimes, humans are so caught up in our own trivialities in this universe, I wonder whether our fellow habitants are the same. Maybe. Maybe not. We would never know. 

Yes, Aunt Alberta

Alberta sounds like a fussy old aunt who sews quilts, and asks you if you’d like some warm milk before turning in for the night. Yet, Wild Rose County, Alberta, is anything but. There is nothing domestic or warm about its mountain peaks, or its glacial rivers, or its expansive valleys, plains and lakes. 

Every peak has a distinct…

Actually, it feels droll to use words like ‘distinct’ to describe the peaks of the Canadian Rockies. Majestic, unconventional, foreboding maybe? But it still does not capture the raw power these mountains exude. The peaks truly do appeal to the fanciful too. As we drove towards Banff in Canada, the car was filled with tales of the kind that must’ve inspired the folklore of American Indians for centuries. I resolved to go and look for some of these legends later. 

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“See those mountains? Don’t they all look like old men?”

“Yes! They are all wizards who went against nature, and then the rivers and lakes learnt of their treachery, cursed them to watch over them as penitence.”

“Ooh! Nice one!”

“Those must be the mountains where the goats learnt their footing.”

And so it went. Through the traffic and amidst the trees with the towering cliffs of mountains on all sides.

“Look at these little bridges? With trees and plants growing on them. Like little bridges for wildlife to cross the highway.”

“Yes! That is exactly what it is!”

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“Like the stuff mentioned in the West Wing episode?” asked the son wide-eyed. His interest in all things constitutional seems to be on the rise these past few months, and so we have started watching West Wing again. It makes for wonderful entertainment. If Aaron Sorkin was able to make a series like that based on a Presidency like Bill Clinton’s, I wonder what he would be able to do with a Donald Trump one. (But that saga wrote itself.) 

Anyway, this is the clip in which the wildlife crossing is mentioned: Wolf’s only highway featuring Pluie the Wolf

Driving along the Canadian highways with nothing (miles of no human habitation) and everything (bounteous, gorgeous, fabulous nature) on all sides is surreal, and a change that we were grateful for. 

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