tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-103837612024-03-23T23:32:35.811+05:30My world of wordsPoetry and prose,random thoughts and outpourings
I also write at http://myjourneywithanandita.blogspot.com/Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.comBlogger113125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-76022556731642667442022-07-03T12:28:00.002+05:302022-07-03T12:28:35.032+05:30<b><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">
Magic Letter Writing </span></b><div><br /></div><div> <span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">A letter from Eeyore a donkey from 100 acre woods by EE Milne to me </span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"> Dear J, </span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"> I am so happy to hear from you. It's been so long since someone has written to me so reading your letter made me smile .
And I don’t smile often. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"> And I loved the writing paper you wrote your letter on and you drew me!! Wow!No one has ever done that for me before ..well! Ok! Maybe Pooh my friend has! </span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"> This conflict that you mention in your letter of not being ok with who you are ? Is it like not feeling comfortable in your own skin ? And when do you feel this way? </span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"> Did you know J, I spend a lot of time in sad thoughts and then I look at my tail and I think, “it’s not much of a tail but I’m sort of attached to it”
And there goes. You do know I have a tail attached to my body with a nail.It’s an unique tail. But it’s my tail . I love reflecting and my tail helps me do just that.It’s ok to lose a part of ourselves temporarily and then find a way to get it back . I kept losing my tail till I got one nailed onto me.
And I feel profoundly conflicted too ?It comes knocking at the doors of my head many a time? I’m often craving for love and keep lamenting and then I see my friends Pooh piglet tigger rabbit and I struggle to receive their friendship.Perhaps it’s ok to not feel ok.. I’m thinking about it too. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"> And yes … I wanted to ask you ?
How did you figure out that spending time with animals helps you with this conflict that churns in you . Am so happy to hear about Syrah and Bono ( he’s the new one isn’t he ) in your life, one your zen lady cat and Bono the singing hero. They remind me of my 100 acre wood friends- each so unique yet connected. </span></div><div><br /></div><div> <span style="font-size: medium;">I love the way you ask in your letter, about your conflict as to ‘what stops you from shining your light ?! Is it the people around you that stop you ? Or society? Is it that you wish to be liked and accepted by all?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"> You know I go through this too. Am a blue-grey,grumbling, ‘woe is me’ donkey who brings a rain cloud to the parade. And no one gets me.I like to bemoan my life and I’ve been told that my frown never turns upside down:-( </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"> But little things do make me happy like thistles & sugar cubes .. I love eating them. Would eating your favourite food with your family and cats help you find that little spark? </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"> I am sending this letter through my ‘wild idea’s’ friend Tigger who loves an adventure and he’s going to give it to Syrah or Bono whoever is out on their stroll and they will bring it to you. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">I’ve got to go now . Pooh is here to give me a hug and I’d like one now and am sending you a hug in this letter too
Please keep writing. I'd like to hear more from you.Id love to support you in any way I can.
EEYORE
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This Magical Letter Writing Exercise was part of my Mental Health Training Module(MHTP) by Ummeed. To evoke the sense of magic and wonder and let one's imagination know no bounds. I wasn't sure how the letter would turn out but when i read it aloud in my supervision group I was emotional!
Loved writing this
Love Eeyore
</span></div>Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-84452572712088415302019-10-13T21:47:00.002+05:302019-10-13T21:47:20.434+05:30On grief and losing my father <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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At first it’s a day, then a day before, then a week, and then a month, and then a year. I am still on the ‘days’ bit with my Dad who passed on. I’m still on the ‘last week this time’ mode, recollecting each memory, each word, conversations we had, the lunch we had together and also those moments when I was irked with him...</div>
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<span class="s1">He never let on his worries to me but he knew; he knew enough to settle his affairs, pay salaries, pay maintenance for the home he cherished for many years after my mother’s death. He even wrote his book (it’s still to be edited and published )</span></div>
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<span class="s1">A 91 year old ‘white bread’ eating young dude; he also loved his kheer, rabdi jalebi, kulfi and kaju katli. He ate everything, relished what ever he ate but in moderation. His years with me were when I realised what it means to parent one’s parent. We had our spaces and boundaries but he depended on me and I depended on his larger-than-life, silent presence in my home. His specific seat in the living room, his chair at the head of our dining table, his water glass filled to a level that wasn’t heavy for him to lift. The cashew jar placed near his reach…each nook and corner of my home carries his memory.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"> When I took him to the hospital for his 2-D echo and he collapsed there, this niggling inner voice said it was time for him. When he was in the emergency ward, he was emotional yet crystal clear about no intervention and definitely no ICU. I signed the forms against intervention, knowing my father needed that for himself - the dignity to take his own decisions rather than be dismissed as a discarded object on the hospital bed with no voice of his own.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">When he was in the room he longed for home.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">And when it was time for him to depart, he knew. He told me that he would not survive this and was insistent I sit near him so that he could speak. Now as I write this it feels so unreal. As I soothed his cold hands, he told me all that needed to be done and where he had kept all the relevant details for us to access once he departed. He was also insistent I go home and rest. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Till the very end, he refused to use a bed pan or a sponge. He walked to the washroom himself. He stopped eating gradually and even if he did, his body purged it out. He looked frail and tired but was alert throughout. No fear. No sadness. All he confessed to was feeling impatient and restless with it all, knowing the inevitable but unable to hurry it up. What can one say about such a passing away? A graceful acceptance of what is to be...I’m grateful he passed on the way he had led his life - peacefully and with tremendous inner strength.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Death didn’t take him by surprise. He was ready to go.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">And now when I feel the grief of losing him in all its entirety, I know that there is a mark that grief leaves which cannot be rubbed off. I still walk down the passage to wish him goodnight as I did each night; I end up soaking almonds for him and tears flow when I see the biscuit jar which had his favourite tea cookies.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I know time is the healer, but for now I need to feel this fully for however long it takes.</span></div>
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Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-19190515704654906542019-05-12T11:31:00.002+05:302019-05-12T11:31:31.468+05:30A memory<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The trigger to this post is a crispy fried noodle dish that my mother used to make with her own unique sauce.She knew it was my all-time favourite ❤️<br />
It will be 5 years this month since her passing on ...<br />
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A memory flares up through a fragrance; of a dish being cooked, of roasted masalas wafting up at random<br />
places.<br />
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The aroma of fresh spices and garlic held so tight in the folds of her sari ‘pallu’. The pallu that I furtively wiped my hands and mouth in as and when the need arose.<br />
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She knew it but she didn’t let on.<br />
My mother.<br />
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One memory leads to another...<br />
Of a crispy fried noodle dish with a sauce that was uniquely hers.<br />
Of her cupboard with its distinctive naphthalene balls-and-Cinthol-soap scent, her clothes with their ‘Mumma’ fragrance.<br />
Of her voice, strident yet gentle,<br />
Of her words so upfront yet true.<br />
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How strange a memory can be? Like a limp in a once-injured leg, it reappears, unnoticed until I give it the attention it demands.<br />
Does it appear to gently remind me of my own ageing?<br />
And how I have started relating to my mother in terms of years?<br />
When she was 52, as I am now, how do I remember her?<br />
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She lives on through the recipes she made me write down when I married. Through her sarees all in blue and green.<br />
She lives on through fragrances, sometimes a wisp, sometimes in full bloom.<br />
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Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-67647797095528988052018-07-08T11:04:00.001+05:302018-07-08T11:04:45.263+05:30Co-existence of Caregiving and Nourishing Oneself | PatientsEngage<a href="https://www.patientsengage.com/personal-voices/co-existence-caregiving-nourishing-oneself">Co-existence of Caregiving and Nourishing Oneself | PatientsEngage</a>: Jyotsna Kumar talks about her caregiving roles - as a mother of daughter with Cerebral Palsy and as a daughter. With a timely reminder on the importance to look after oneself to avoid burnout and also to increase the quality of caregiving.Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-63723748868754169012018-06-25T12:45:00.001+05:302018-06-25T12:46:56.533+05:30Motherhood-Living with and mothering with a disabilty<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
A guest post by me which opened up a whole new world to me:)<br />
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<a href="https://www.timesofamma.com/single-post/2018/03/02/Mom-Speak-Living-and-Mothering-With-a-Disability">https://www.timesofamma.com/single-post/2018/03/02/Mom-Speak-Living-and-Mothering-With-a-Disability</a></div>
Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-12661283206924933172018-06-25T12:34:00.003+05:302018-06-25T12:46:31.441+05:30An article of mine: Patients engage<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Allowing myself to read through these questions as they appear in this article helped me to view it from a medical perspective. The choices I made when I chose the easy option of painkillers,my simple lack of awareness perhaps;<br />
How much our environment makes a difference and our responses to it!<br />
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<a href="https://www.patientsengage.com/personal-voices/my-disability-took-back-seat-motherhood">https://www.patientsengage.com/personal-voices/my-disability-took-back-seat-motherhood</a></div>
Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-12429406710542288272018-01-19T13:10:00.000+05:302018-01-19T13:10:28.853+05:30Tears<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">In the tears,</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">deep within lies</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>a sense of quiet</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">a deathly silence.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">That eventually</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">allows for a gentle</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i>shift</i>,</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">call it a breakthrough </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">if you wish.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">However at that moment,</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">it is just my</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">sadness</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">in the tears.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Tears come from</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>a deep space</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">within,</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">least understood</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">when spoken.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">To touch the space between the tears</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">and Divine grace.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">To move into it here and now</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">is when the transition occurs</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; margin-bottom: 11px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">of holding myself in that Grace.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; margin-bottom: 11px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Not begrudging my tears </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; margin-bottom: 11px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Instead allowing them to flow</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; margin-bottom: 11px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">As raw tender grief.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">In this moment, there is nothing for me to do.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 23px; margin-bottom: 11px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">In the tears.</span></div>
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Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-88611966942390122932017-11-17T16:42:00.001+05:302017-11-17T16:43:03.690+05:30Living life with a disability<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It took me a while to get the title right because it’s a disability I am truly learning to live my life with each day. There are days when I forget my deafness, there are days when others don’t notice my deafness and there are those days when I long to regain my 100% hearing again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> To listen to music crystal clear, to follow conversations in groups, to enjoy the nuances of the language like I once used to.There are those odd moments of loss. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">How much a disability affects one’s life depends entirely on how much one allows it to. I don’t think it’s just about accepting it. It’s more about focussing on what one can do with this challenge. And there are always going to be moments of sheer frustration and helplessness. I don’t hear the alarm clock ring and oversleep, I miss the doorbells many a time and rely on my cat to look towards the door and then to me as an indicator. I am poor in balance. I miss birdsong and even thunder.There is the tinnitus and the eye fatigue due to constant lip reading. I could go on an on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I use hearing aids which do not function the way spectacles do (I need to write this here because everyone I know has this misconception). I need to take care of them every day, clean them and dehumidify them and keep them protected, change their batteries and make frequent visits to my audiologist for fine tuning. I have no problem telling people I am profoundly deaf but I have a problem with people assuming they need to shout and speak because I am deaf. Loudness impairs the clarity even further,it amplifies sound adding to the cacophony. All I need is clarity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On the optimistic side, I don’t hear a thing once I have taken my hearing aids off. I sleep through fireworks and arguments. I'm also blessed to live in the digital age so I use a digital hearing aid that connects to my phone and through Bluetooth, music streams in for clear hearing. Same applies for telephone calls.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> As I blog this,my hearing loss is at a 105 decibel loss already. Learning to live a fulfilled life with whatever hearing I have is my thought for the moment :-)</span></div>
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Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-22211709577499120102017-11-17T16:32:00.000+05:302017-11-17T16:32:13.435+05:30Just words<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like a million broken pieces put together,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">some shards, some whole.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some with a hint of a crack.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Where I am today is just that,scattered bits mended,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">some fragile,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">some resolute.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fused in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's not about the life you are handed out,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">it's what you do with it once it's yours.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Chaotic,frenzied yet calm,serene,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the balance comes when I don't look for it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">stop the struggling,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the resisting,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the pushing</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the controlling,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and what is mine comes to me magically.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like a door that's ajar waiting for me to enter</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gentle steps in</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The world awaits me!</span></div>
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Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-51503176145920230332017-07-04T18:12:00.000+05:302017-07-04T18:12:51.768+05:30Spring cleaning<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: black;"><b>Spring cleaning</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Wilted ‘rajnigandhas’</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">In murky brown.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Empty wine bottles</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Scattered around.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Overflowing closets</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">In every room.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Shoes in bags</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Waiting to be worn.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Sheaf’s of notes</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">In different files.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Zen tangles waiting</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">In their gaps and lines.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Incomplete blog posts</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Saved in drafts.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Mailboxes to be cleaned</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Where do I start?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Clear this mess </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Or wait another day?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Maybe, just maybe</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Ill simply spring-clean</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">My stress away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"> *Decluttering is always on my mind. Each time I do it,it feels like a 'letting go'!</span></div>
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Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-67192241101008735092014-12-05T12:31:00.000+05:302014-12-05T12:31:00.145+05:30Quest<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I glimpse a yearning in
her eyes. A sense of unhurried grace to her step. I notice that ever so slight
distance in her smile. Time to step back, I say to myself. She needs her space.
I know she is fighting life and seeking her answers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">In her quest, I am
comfortable at most times. But there are those brief moments when I know I have
crossed a barrier and just then I lose her. To her little fortressed world, so
ferociously guarded that I am at a loss. I know by gently excluding me, all she
wishes for is to protect me from the dark space that speaks of her vulnerable
self. She dislikes feeling fragile even with me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">These days she lives in
a space far removed from the world she has always known. It is a world of white
walls and sanitized rooms, of innumerable therapies whose names perplex us, of efficient
and clinical oncologists and health care staff. A world where losing her hair has
made her see how beautiful she is even without it. A world where she knows she does not have the gift of time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Her eyes however
continue to radiate hope, her face, a glow and there is an inner spark which I
hope never dims. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She seeks guidance and
reads books that speak to her about acceptance and mindfulness. She seeks a
quickening in her spirit, to regain a sense of balance to living (it seems so
far away now). She seeks the crisp air and the beauty of changing leaves. She
seeks the familiar loop of the known where everything is just the way it was. She
seeks laughter and music. Along with solitude and answers too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I know all of this not
because she tells me. My understanding of her is so deep that I know what she seeks.
I know she is tired of being tired. I know she doesn’t want pain to be part of
her passing.</span><span style="background: white; color: #565454; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span><span style="background: white; color: #565454; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I know </span><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">she
hates to leave people but when her chapter ends she will go with the flow with
sheer grace and courage.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">And then she asks with
a childlike curiosity laced with her unique wisdom, “Am I going to actually
find what I want in this unfamiliar place with its lingering smell of fear? Is
it here that I will unlock the mysteries of birth and death and everything in
between”?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">And I,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I tell her what comes
to my mind,” Slay these demons of yours and make them your friend”. The oddest
reply to a profound question perhaps but then how else does one answer this question?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I don’t wish to lose
her and even when I do, until then I wish she treasures the life she leads and
makes the most of it. This is what I seek for her. For her to embrace </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">uncertainty
and bravely slay her inner demons. For her to find the answers she seeks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I sit by her side holding
her hand silently just being with her grace and innocence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> (A piece of fiction written for The Great Shakes writers group for a theme on Quest)</span></div>
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Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-88027279995197550312014-12-05T12:28:00.001+05:302014-12-05T12:28:06.032+05:30Home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Home is where my heart is. And where family is. I
believe it to be true. I also believe we can transform a house into a home
wherever we may be. But what happens when we leave one home for another,
leaving traces of ourselves behind? Does our energy linger on in those occupied
spaces, like fragments scattered here and there?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Every home I have lived in is etched in my memory –there
comes a sudden thought, a wisp of a remembrance, a twinge of nostalgia and then
I need to pull myself back to reality. Each of my homes has allowed me to grow
into the person I am today, allowed me a glimpse of the person I am within.
Homes that came with the pain and pangs of adolescence and homes that helped me
cope with life altering experiences through their sheer routine and rhythm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Homes like the spacious sea-breeze blown bungalow I
grew up in with its vast garden of trees, where I first learnt to cycle and was
bitten by a gypsy moth caterpillar that infested our drumstick tree. Home then meant
only one thing to me-“mom”. Her presence at home was something I took for granted,
a soothing balm, her warmth, her sari pallu with its distinctive fragrance of
the days cooking, the aroma of her hand-pound spices and chutneys lingers on.
Her special Sunday lunches where I was allowed to taste what was cooking which
mom called,”chakhna” (to taste) much before lunch time. Home to me spelt safety
and security. It meant love that encompassed what I felt for all of my 13 cats
and 1 dog. A home that allowed me the time and space to walk barefoot on the dew-soaked
grass, to simply sit under a tree, to enjoy being hosed down along with the
garden on those hot summer days. Of Friday pujas and fasts observed by my
father, of sacred hymns chanted by him while he did the evening “aarti”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now when I look back, homes do come with
associations. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Homes like our cozy tiny 750 sq. foot apartment on
the 15<sup>th</sup> storey, where I moved in soon after I married and woke up
to the sound of a mill siren each morning at 6 am. This home came with a sense
of newness that pervaded my life - a new city, a new life and job and new
beginnings. My small terrace garden housed pigeons instead of plants and the
bay windows allowed me to simply sit and soak in the vast expanse of sky. A
home where I made brand new friends, of daily evening walks, of pot lucks and
sharing during festivals, of gaining wisdom from older mothers on my new mommy
hood status. I remember being just so content with who I was and what I was
doing. These friends have remained with me till today, be it through their well
meaning advice that resounds in my inner world often or through social media. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Time doesn’t seem to alter memories.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Since then I have lived in various homes - some
serene, green and large, some overlooking the sea in its entirety (what a magnificent
sight it can be during the monsoons). Homes so abundant in nature that it filled
me with sheer joy and curiosity –the old sandalwood and jamun trees along with
the mango and guava. Perhaps this home soothed my nerves in more ways than one.
This was the home where I rescued a baby bulbul and nurtured back to life till
she flew away. It soon became a home to wounded pigeons and even an eagle. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And a home that allowed me the freedom to create my
own vegetable and fruit garden and experience the joys of growing and consuming
my own food. A home where we finally got our own pet kittens and for me after
18 years of not having had a pet it felt like a homecoming all over again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now I live in a home neither too big, nor too small-
a home I call my own. It reflects me. The good and the not- so- good of me. There
is the same hint of chaos in it as it is in me interspersed with a touch of
calm. A space, my very own where I can simply sit, not do a thing and feel
energized.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Home to me has always been the aroma of cooking, of
the whirring of the exhaust, the hum of the washing machine, of the fragrance
of the honey bush (kamini) wafting in and the sandalwood incense. The ghee
stoked wick in my prayer room lamp as it dies down; its fragrance leaves me
longing for more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> How can I
forget the innumerable dinner table conversations where everyone wants a word
in till we invented our “talking spoon” (whoever wishes to speak /interrupt
holds up their spoon)? The dining table becomes a centre point for everything-for
homework and assignments for making to-do lists and for discussions. This is
one tradition that has continued through all the years .Tables have changed
with every home but whatever be its size
or shape it has taken the brunt of arguments and cold wars, of food stains and
everything that dining tables stand testimony to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Friday puja/fast and hymn continues even today
as my father now stays with me. Every time he recites the prayer I am taken
back to my childhood home and the smell of camphor becomes a part of me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">How does one encapsulate what homes can mean? So
intensely personal, individualistic yet each home is a step in the journey of bonding,
of love and of memories. And I notice now as I grow older the bonding and love
has gently and silently deepened. Without my knowledge. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-52012572030496484312013-07-06T12:18:00.000+05:302013-07-06T12:18:03.377+05:30Loneliness...............<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
The thing about loneliness is that it catches you unawares.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am beginning to feel it, in its essence and to be with it
whenever it decides to visit.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When a child flies the nest, it is supposed to be a natural
event that’s bound to occur at some point in time in ones life. However much I may
know this to be true, I was unprepared when it actually happened.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The sheer sense of loss, of missing a quiet presence, the
feeling of being overwhelmed emotionally that tears flow at the drop of a hat…I
sum it up as an ‘Empty home-Heavy heart’ syndrome. I am told ‘give yourself
time’, ‘distract yourself’; ‘it isn’t the end of the world’. Some friends look
at me benignly; some don’t know what the fuss is all about.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But then I know, it’s not about what about others think.
This is about me. The same measuring bar cannot apply to all mothers and daughters.
I know that my daughter and I shared a unique relationship that words would do
no justice to.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wear something new and there is no one to ask, ‘How do I
look’? I don’t get to hear, ‘Mamma, that’s not you, don’t wear this!” or
“Mamma, I am hungry”…I miss all of that and more. I miss her gentle presence in
our home. I miss the loud music blaring through the hallway disturbing my TV
show. I miss the wet smelly towels she would leave lying around for me to pick up.
I miss her attempts at making me relax and unwind. I miss our sharing on books,
music, people and general observations that only she and I could do together. I
miss our silences as well.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her clean unoccupied bed lures me to mess it up. Her
spotless bathroom dry, devoid of her books and odd lingerie makes me sadder
than it should. Her cupboard, so neat and tidy now, the towels (blue and white)
arranged awaiting her arrival some day soon...Her room is off bounds for me
right now. I fear to step into it because I might just dissolve into tears and
feel that ‘loneliness’ visit me again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are distractions, there is work to be done, and there
is a life to live. I know that. But somehow I am lost in this ‘transition’
phase. I feel shaky yet stable. I feel the loneliness yet I feel blessed. I
don’t want to be busy and distracted in the false hope that I will be okay. I
want to allow myself to feel every bit of what I am feeling-the loss, the loneliness,
the sadness, the moments –precious ones I have spent with Ananya as she grew up
and see for myself how these 18 years have passed. And how in these 18 years I
have changed as much as she has! This new stepping out of comfort zone is as
much a challenging phase for her as it is for me and for us as a family.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is an upside to this. I get more hugs from A, more ‘I
love you Mamma’s’ from Diti. Syrah my cat never leaves my side as if sensing I
need company. I am using Skype finally and can see and hear Ananya. I am making
the effort to write and blog. I am also giving myself time to adjust to a home without
her. I am learning to detach!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What gives me a kick is seeing her quiet confidence, her
adaptability and flexibility and her courage in handling anything outside of her
comfort zone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are going to be wistful moments, tear soaked meat curries
(her favorite), silences, and moments of exasperation and imaginary
conversations….</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
And in the last 2 weeks, I have begun to glimpse what lies
ahead. It’s the norm. Letting go, however clichéd the term may sound is an
integral part of ones life. Hold back and you are stuck. Let go and you are
free. </div>
</div>
Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-57166511607329119222013-06-18T16:21:00.000+05:302013-06-18T16:21:45.787+05:30Can I ?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Can I walk through your streets again?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wet cobble stoned </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">rain drenched </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">hair windblown</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">cheeks numb….</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Can I sit in your charming cafe again?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Watching the world go by,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a warm fruit crumble</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a sip of hot chocolate</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That warms me in a way</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">nothing else can….</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Can I have a glimpse of your grace again?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of stylish booted feet, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">striding in staccato rhythm</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">to an invisible beat…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Travelling to new places, observing people, listening to conversations,
taking in the tiny details, being open to the newness of it all……..there is an
undeniable charm to change.</span></div>
</div>
Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-6765123233556073202012-01-19T13:31:00.001+05:302012-01-19T13:31:54.254+05:30Transition into our new home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The view from where I am writing now<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYv3JZ4TLRiKHDyq_06p30bo202jKhVztoqtf1yoUk1v5bN7UH4iAR5eU0Drvir6plKi2mwYyHGo3oSAOx2beMpGSn_EGZrFOMukpevHjCId0uu0fxiz8-zNQ6wOU7gEMx_7-4/s1600/supreme+pallacio.jpg-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" nfa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYv3JZ4TLRiKHDyq_06p30bo202jKhVztoqtf1yoUk1v5bN7UH4iAR5eU0Drvir6plKi2mwYyHGo3oSAOx2beMpGSn_EGZrFOMukpevHjCId0uu0fxiz8-zNQ6wOU7gEMx_7-4/s320/supreme+pallacio.jpg-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my precious hibiscus<br />
<br />
<br />
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<img border="0" height="240" nfa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgufpEGCkJc7k4t3ams1uiRC68TmKdjMHTrl8UBO-qE9Zztfsm4w7ZvJMYDQW8Rm23noHnrPBD8RcDLyTuMJ-nulqbt_ZZUAcEgyspHDvmGLV157RDO_PezeqVvjmyehCQisgZn/s320/supreme+pallacio.jpg" width="320" /> I can actually see the hills and open fields from my bedroom window </div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_2mgImOxL9k8lMm1za6A-j_2z_Fvo9KJZAsRcEVBEZAUUIjMpE0S4NiAjgRPQSuYaeVgAnKg5fcGJ2VGv9ADSPHlcoPj_TVM1w0w74wCSWkxMZbBwR3F-bUMFC5Lc8mb_Cm_t/s1600/IMG-20111228-00022.jpg-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" nfa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_2mgImOxL9k8lMm1za6A-j_2z_Fvo9KJZAsRcEVBEZAUUIjMpE0S4NiAjgRPQSuYaeVgAnKg5fcGJ2VGv9ADSPHlcoPj_TVM1w0w74wCSWkxMZbBwR3F-bUMFC5Lc8mb_Cm_t/s320/IMG-20111228-00022.jpg-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Another garden view <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPPV2f6JCj9cM2mPaiPMDSi2-TtLLqqU2Cseqq84nQHHYOQF251Igv0nLCh-dcM07M3fDFSJgYMGPrXdG-q5SCWshoMMdnzRi-GMQJVBztnyddjX5WhnsmP7JJWO7jhteihrNS/s1600/IMG-20111225-00010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" nfa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPPV2f6JCj9cM2mPaiPMDSi2-TtLLqqU2Cseqq84nQHHYOQF251Igv0nLCh-dcM07M3fDFSJgYMGPrXdG-q5SCWshoMMdnzRi-GMQJVBztnyddjX5WhnsmP7JJWO7jhteihrNS/s320/IMG-20111225-00010.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
our living room<br />
<br />
We moved into our new home on December 25th and of all the 6 shifts I have had so far this has been the most overwhelming one.Getting out of comfort zones isn't easy . Though we moved to another part of the same city,to me it feels like I am in a brand new city which is going to offer me brand new experiences.<br />
I love the peace and serenity that my new home has to offer.......<br />
and am still settling down<br />
</div>Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-60896271955034322102011-03-26T19:08:00.000+05:302011-03-26T19:08:11.564+05:30Letting go<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">The phrase ‘Letting go’ keeps cropping up in my life and in my activities almost everyday.<br />
<br />
<br />
I have used it with my swimming instructor when he has tried patiently to teach me to swim (I have tried to learn a zillion times and failed each one) and I just can’t seem to ‘let go’. I can’t let go of the sides of the pool. I can’t imagine myself free in the water even on a float. I have the overwhelming need to simply hold onto something amidst that vast expanse of water. The more I delve into the why’s and how’s the more is I realize how futile it is to explain it to him. He knows like I do that it is all in the mind and unless I tackle that block, there is going to be no swimming for me. So I gave up trying to learn. Instead of tackling this ‘letting go’ feeling!<br />
It came up again during my yoga classes while I was doing ‘shavasana’.I have been regular with yoga and pranayams now for some years with a wonderful teacher who is simple and dedicated. Most of all he understands what I mean by “letting go’. I delight in the fact that I am able to come out of my yoga sessions with deep stillness in me and also able to carry it through the day(most days atleast).While doing “shavasana” which is very often guided by him, I find myself reaching a stage where I don’t feel my breath. I am cold with no sensation in arms and legs and no breath. I don’t know what seems most frightening at that specific moment. A big part of me is simply letting go of everything of the outside world and my body. But I resist. My mind that was deeply relaxed is now filling up with stray thoughts of ‘Where has my breath gone? My body-has it melted into nothing? And then I twitch my legs gently to reassure myself that am still with a body and breath…<br />
<br />
What I never understood until later is that if I simply allowed myself to be okay with all those sensations, I would move into a higher state of awareness of self. But then ‘Letting go’, you see prevails.<br />
<br />
That one crucial moment when I am about to let go, fear creeps in.<br />
<br />
I shared it with my yoga teacher who heard me out. He understood without me having to elaborate and told me when fear creeps in to become aware of my breath and to go back to the deep state in which I was in. It actually seems a possibility to me and a barrier that I am going to overcome.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-37406147919606253722010-12-24T17:59:00.001+05:302010-12-24T18:05:56.966+05:30FriendsIt has been a hectic December for me.<br />
I still find it hard to believe that I returned from a vacation just a month ago. It feels like its been years since I have had one...<br />
<br />
I have enjoyed the last month of this year thoroughly. For a couple like us who don’t have much of a social life (in fact we are each others best friends), the last month has been an incredibly hectic social month. I don’t think it’s because of the Xmas season and holidays because then it should have been this way last year as well.<br />
<br />
I had my mother in law visiting us after a year. I soon realized how easy it is to get used to having someone around at home. I am used to an ‘alone’ existence most of the day once the girls are at school. But now I had someone to breakfast and lunch with. I delved into different recipes of grilled fish/chicken and assorted puddings and my kitchen acquired different aromas over the last month…challenging yes but very interesting in its own way.<br />
<br />
Ruchi my friend from Green valley where I live and who now lives in Germany was here on a fleeting visit.Atleast I got to meet her and spend half an hour with her and more with her daughter Prisha. <br />
<br />
I had a sudden surprise visit from a very dear friend from overseas Vaishnav.He gifted us a Woodstock windchime that has added magic to our home...<br />
<br />
Around this time we decided to host the Connect ticket meet –the 1st ever in Pune.We have hosted prayer meets when we lived in Bombay earlier and I had no worry about planning and hosting it. Once the meet details were posted, I met 2 members of our group from Pune who came over home and spent time with me asking me about the forthcoming meet and what it involved and how they could help. The meeting finally took place on the 19th December Sunday with a whopping 58 people attending and all of us praying for one another. Meeting the old CT members evoked nostalgia in me. Each of them has seen Anandita as an infant with her C-arch and in a severely spastic state. Very few could believe that she was the same child each of them had prayed for.<br />
<br />
Meeting the new members meant new young energy and I felt like one of the old ‘been there done that’ members. Overall so much fun and energy that it’s incredibly hard to express it in words. I even blogged about the meet but fell short of words <br />
<br />
Meeting Gauri after 8 months was like meeting a family member. She blends in so smoothly with my home and family that hers is like a gentle presence that I miss desperately once she has gone. Her mother, her calmness and love for my garden made me feel like reaching out to her constantly.<br />
<br />
Judika from South Africa has been my friend since 4 years. Our children who have cerebral palsy in common brought us together through the Internet. We both tried our hardest to figure out how we had connected in the 1st place but didn’t manage to remember. I met her for the 1st time when she came down with her husband Naresh and her twin sons Shivaar and Shikaar.I am just glad I could finally meet her.<br />
<br />
And then my Neha…My 1st friend in Padma Vilas enclave, Pune the 1st person I went out for a girls evening out leaving kids and husband behind with no qualms and guilt. Now that she visits India just once a year, makes even those 1-2 days when we meet worth the while and moments to be cherished. Some connections amaze me .Nothing to do with how we gelled and how much we had in common. just the fact that easy conversations with her were so much a part of my day and life that I do wish she still lived in Pune.One of the few friends I miss a lot and one of the few who when I meet, there are no gaps at all. We just catch up from where we left off <br />
<br />
It’s now the last week of this decade and I don’t remember when I have had a single free moment to myself...this last monthNo gym no walks and suddenly I find I don’t know what to do with my free time.<br />
But I would never trade these precious interactions that I have had for anything else in the world..Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-32398182743623828622010-12-24T10:18:00.001+05:302010-12-24T10:59:08.928+05:30Connect Ticket meetI have woken up today to a ‘feel good’ day. Not that I usually don’t but today seems different. My home seems different; the space I occupy, the feel and the sense of it all simply seems different.<br />
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Yesterday we hosted the 1st <a href="http://groups.yahoo.com/group/connect_ticket/">Connect Ticket</a> meet in Pune at our home where for the 1st time we had around 58 people attending. And my home accommodated it all without much fuss. So much of goodwill and love generated that I could feel it from each one who attended-, the warm hugs, the big smiles, the appreciation and kind words Or simply put its also due to the fact that when one does something of this level, it automatically generates energy in one self.<br />
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All of us who gathered yesterday had a different purpose to being there. But one thing that we had in common was good intentions, an open mind and a prayer in our heart. And all of this collectively created an energy in my home and in me which has left me feeling content. and grateful.<br />
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Ever since I knew we would be hosting the meet for the 1st time in Pune, I knew space would not be an issue. Organizing the food I knew would be taken care of my generous large hearted Amit who would ensure the best.<br />
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I also knew instantly then 3 weeks ago when the meet date was fixed that my home would receive the blessings it needs. And we need it like anyone else does.<br />
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The afternoon began with the group of 18 members arriving by bus from Bombay to Pune...Ananya had made a lovely poster welcoming them and we had stuck it on the front door. Hugs exchanged, introductions done,lunch was served. We had catered from Shreyas-simple Maharashtrian vegetarian fare. Many new members began coming in and Pune members too as the session would begin at 2 pm.<br />
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There was the Om chanting after which the new members introduced themselves. Many of them had prayers for their close family members. The meetings are often hard to describe for me. We all meet with the intention to heal and interact and meet people who are like minded. Many share without fear of being judged. Many don’t because they fear being judged. Every one has the freedom to speak and share or not share. There is a creative visualization exercise and a meditation session as well. We also write down our prayers on intention slips and place it in the centre of the room and then all join hands and pray for everyone. Somehow the above lines don’t kind of sum up a CT meeting. The one thing I cannot include in the blog post is the ‘Energy’ one feels and senses amongst all of us, the home, and the words we speak...<br />
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Amit and I (and Ananya) have seen prayers work for Anandita when we faced the toughest challenge as her parents in 2001-2002 when we had to make a decision to keep her alive or take her off the respirator.<br />
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We have seen prayers work for us in coping with raising a child with special needs through all her rehabilitation procedures.<br />
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We have also witnessed how watching and changing the way we think has created abundance in our lives. And we have also been blessed at all times being guided to the right people at the right time—be it doctors, friends, support staff...<br />
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I became a member of the group out of desperation and helplessness when Ananditas condition was diagnosed. I wrote an email to <a href="http://yourenergy.blogspot.com/">Sridhar</a> the person behind this group and its concept. Nothing to lose by asking for prayers was my thought then. Now so many years later I have truly understood the power of praying for someone I don’t know. There is objectivity and a sense of detachment in me that probably enhances the energy of the prayer I send out to the Universe.<br />
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(The meeting was held on 19th December at our home in Pune)<br />
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.Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-30018549271248140242010-10-25T17:37:00.002+05:302010-10-25T17:39:33.175+05:30On Hearing and PhonakOn Saturday I finally managed to visit my audiologist after 3 long months and many cancelled appointments. I have recently shifted to using a Phonak hearing aid (Exelia art) since April this year. It was a major shift for me as I have been using Siemens for the last 12 years. Perhaps a disillusionment in my hearing quality, perhaps faith in my <a href="http://www.asklaila.com/listing/Pune/Shivaji+Nagar/Dr.+Nilesh+Dandekar/q6HJYPc3/">Pune audiologist</a> and the fact that he was willing to give me a trial of an expensive hearing aid so that I could understand its nuances made me go in for the <a href="http://www.phonak.com/us/b2c/en/hearing.html">Phonak </a>eventually..<br />
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Saturday was a new experience for me. I began using the Click n Talk wireless transmitter which turns my hearing aid into a wireless headset when I need to use the phone. My hearing aid uses the Phonak HiBAN (Hearing Instrument Body area network) and the click talk mechanism streams in telephone calls into both my hearing instruments simultaneously. The quality is digital and crystal clear. It does shut off outside sounds while I talk, so sometimes that can be a disadvantage. (When am on the phone, I may not hear my door bell).But the joys of having clear phone conversations is something I am beginning to cherish and delight in.<br />
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The click talk transmitter is part of my hearing aid and comes in as a valuable accessory. However it is not compatible with a Nokia hand set. It has to be used with only with Sony Ericsson mobiles.<br />
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So that meant in order to use it, I had to purchase a Sony Ericsson mobile.Amit and I soon realized that there were very few Sony Ericsson mobile outlets in Pune and sourced two of them. One outlet in Viman Nagar was hell bent on selling me the upper end mobile phones of touch screen. It put me off totally. I am such a non tech person that it takes convincing to tell the man, all I need a mobile is for talking, messaging and also a good organizer. For me it’s a necessity not a designer accessory. Anyway that outlet was not an option for me. Customer service and good quality at that works for me brilliantly. Not otherwise.<br />
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So Tilak road it was. After 2 hours at the audiologist, we headed for the outlet and finally managed to find the small little store.<br />
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We spelt out our needs. While the proprietor-a well heeled, intelligent person was really clued on to the type of mobiles, he had never handled a click talk and pairing it to the new phone and the processes involved. Initially he was perplexed by me and asked me where my hearing aids were. I told him I am wearing them and that the audiologist had already paired my hearing aid with the <a href="http://www.phonak.com/us/b2c/en/hearing.html">Phonak</a> click talk. He looked at me in wonder and genuine curiosity waiting for me to speak more. He was keen to know how the devices had been paired and where. His questions were many but it delighted me when he told me that this was the first time he had handled a hearing impaired customer and figured out the click talk transmitter pairing... <br />
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I sensed his curiosity about my challenge .To many who meet me for the first time the challenge seems invisible because I am carrying on conversations like a normal person does. There are times I forget myself that am impaired. I was reminded of my challenge yet again at the audiologist where in the course of conversation the topic of television came up and he asked me how I was hearing the TV.Immedietly I blurted out that I watched the programmers with subtitles and not otherwise. He ofcourse sent me away with a warning that I did not want to make the effort to hear and how would I handle it 10 years hence when the hearing got worse. I ofcourse had to tell him, how much worse can it get when it’s already beyond 100 decibels. He is an encouraging audiologist while am the stubborn customer who tries to have an answer to anything he has to say….<br />
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The truth of his words still ring with me. I am at times just too lazy to make the effort to hear. I would rather understand the subtle humour of “Whose Line is it anyway’? through sub titles than having to struggle to hear what those brilliant actors are saying...Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-63753952758272043162010-06-07T18:20:00.000+05:302010-06-07T18:20:48.410+05:30Frangipani and the bougainvilleaWhere I live, frangipanis abound. <br />
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I am more familiar with the Indian term for them, the ‘champa’.It took me time to figure out that they were called frangipanis.<br />
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I have seen them almost everywhere in and around the area where I live, abundant in their red or white blossoms. The white blossomed ‘champa’s are beautiful. Their white not really white but of a creamy texture which makes me wish to reach out and caress their petals. Perhaps to see if some of its color will come on to my fingers. Pure, pristine, simple creamy white. And when they are in full bloom, they are a sight to behold. Simply divine.<br />
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One day in the month of May, on a tree lined avenue that abounds in jacaranda and tamarind trees, I noticed something that took my breath away.<br />
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A huge and abundant frangipani shrub or tree (if I can call it that) with its creamy white blossoms, intermingled with it, in it. the rich red flowers of a bougainvillea shrub that was growing besides it. A vivid splash of color the smattering of red and white made the shrub look heart achingly beautiful. The kind of sight that left me open mouthed in delight and happiness. The way in which their colors intermingled, so seamlessly with the champa blossom giving the bougainvillea its own space to create a riot of color amidst the green trees.<br />
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That road became a favorite of mine ever since-just to have a glimpse of the two in communion with each other.<br />
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Few months later when I passed by, I saw just the bougainvillea in bloom while the champa was without her blossoms. The red was vibrant enough for me to turn back and look again but I felt it was incomplete. I couldn’t bring myself to feel that sense of ‘sheer joy’ one feels when they glimpse something beautiful.<br />
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Was their friendship so brief? Was their union just an interlude where each complemented the other and brought out the best in each other for that short period? And life took its course from there?<br />
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Why does something transient upset my balance? Is permanence the crux of being happy?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2176/1567903863_e433e4dd7a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" qu="true" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2176/1567903863_e433e4dd7a.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="http://www.total-gardening.com/images%20total-gardening/Coastrider/22-04-2008/Bougainvillea.jpg-for-web-LARGE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" qu="true" src="http://www.total-gardening.com/images%20total-gardening/Coastrider/22-04-2008/Bougainvillea.jpg-for-web-LARGE.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>If the frangipani and bougainvillea had always blossomed together, would I have cherished that sight as much as I did now? Now as I passed by the red bougainvillea shrub swaying in the breeze, I was filled with an indescribable longing. A sense of impatience for time to fly, for seasons to change so that I could glimpse the beauty that they could create together all over again.-their brief interlude.<br />
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(Now that i look back,i never cared to click a photograph of them.Next year I shall) Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-68944887290625030182010-06-06T15:43:00.000+05:302010-06-06T15:43:13.202+05:30TraditionEvery birthday eve, I tell my daughters the story of their birth. Or more specifically, what happened on the day prior to their birth, what I ate to how I felt, to what happened at the hospital, to who was with me……there is so much to tell. Somewhere the memories that have been stored away just seem to flow into words naturally on those 2 days of every year-June 6th and Oct 29th. .<br />
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Somehow, without my knowledge it seems to have become a tradition. This stepping back into the past, the narration of those eventful days of my life when my children hadn’t been born yet and I was awaiting their coming into this world eagerly…this tradition seems to continue with each passing year .I tend to forget that so much time has lapsed since their birth and it all seems new. Even if I forget or think they are saturated with the story of their respective birthdate stories am taken by surprise by the fact that they never tire of hearing it again and again.<br />
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May those memories never fade for me and for them, ever...Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-16242952806319163702010-05-22T15:18:00.000+05:302010-05-22T15:18:30.909+05:30Raising youRaising you in your infancy-early childhood was a cakewalk. I must admit that.As a first time mother I never really felt at a loss or helpless at any point of time.You listened, you rebelled, you threw tantrums, you screamed and yelled when things didn’t work your way and you were a stubborn baby. But yet it was a cakewalk. As a first time mother, I had to rely on only one strength of mine in raising you-- my intuition. No Dr Spock could teach me that. It was innate and I relied on it as a natural process...<br />
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I won’t get into the clichéd phrase of ‘how time flies’. It does and we know it especially when one has children.<br />
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Now you are 15,.I do get nostalgic about the way you have blossomed in to a beautiful (within and without) young lady with a mind of her own. You have strengths that I lack, that of making friends, of confidence, of being immensely mentally organized and yes a beautiful blend of logic and emotion.<br />
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Why is it that with time I have stopped using my intuition in understanding you? Is it because I know and sense you have grown up and are less dependant on me in many ways. Why do I forget that like babies, even teens are vulnerable and emotionally ultra sensitive?<br />
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Why has my confidence as a mother been replaced with helplessness now? I feel at a loss at handling your emotions. In the peak of the moment, I fail to be objective. I react rather than observe. And I forget to listen. <br />
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I forget to listen when you ask me how am I to discover my passion in life...<br />
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I react when you speak to me about your friends, some of whom I have distaste for…<br />
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And then the damn maternal guilt springs up unknowingly.Its rather strange how it always lurks under the surface.<br />
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Your growing up didn’t happen overnight did it? My realization was late. Realization of the fact that hugs just don’t work for a 15 year old like it did when you were younger.Listening, just listening quietly, giving you my undivided non judgmental attention works. No sermons, no patronizing, no exclaiming-“when I was your age”!<br />
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I think the beautiful part of parenting you is understanding my own self in a way I have never understood before. I have always wondered, is it that I resent your growing up and your desire to find your wings? Is it the regret of all the mistakes I have made while raising you—the dos and the don’ts, the perfectionist streak that overwhelmed my early parenting days…<br />
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Or is it that I am just setting such high standards for myself as a parent? As your mother? Some part of me craves for you to understand what I experience as well and at the peak of the moment; I actually forget you are 15 and not older.<br />
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There has been a letting go on my part that was not there earlier. The struggle within me was about letting go of you and a refusal to accept that you have an independent mind of your own. Now that you are away at camp, there is emptiness, yet a sense of appreciation of what you bring into my life each moment that you are with me. There is also a strange sense of relief in knowing that I have grown up as a parent and no longer wish to play a control-game with you.<br />
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Love you my teen.Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-50454433587018896502010-04-07T09:45:00.000+05:302010-04-07T09:45:45.114+05:30'Having to'I have been thinking of this phrase <strong>'have to'</strong> and I keep seeing it in a new light. When I think to myself, I <strong>have to</strong> lose 3 kilos to get back to my earlier shape; does it really really work for me?<br />
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If I think Diti <strong>has to</strong> learn to write neatly and legibly, does it work that way? Or that she has to learn Hindi/Marathi languages in the way that is set? Or that Ananya <strong>has to</strong> study everyday no matter what? <br />
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<strong>“Having to’</strong> sounds punishing to my ears. I know that there are certain things that just have to be done like getting out of bed, seeing the kids off to school. preparing the various tiffins,cooking lunch. sorting out clothes, my writing. But when I tell myself I ‘have to’ do them, it creates a stress in me that doesn’t go away until the job is done. And the job I end up doing may be done half heartedly.<br />
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Is it that all of these jobs need to be done or am I allowing myself to make a choice. A choice on how I see these tasks and chores. Maybe I don’t need to do all of them together in one mad frenzy. Maybe I can look at them differently. Maybe I don’t need to do them at all within the time I set for myself. Maybe I change the order of the tasks!<br />
Maybe Diti need not learn to write legibly because she has an option of using a computer as well. Maybe she doesn’t need to learn anything in a certain way or a specified time. I don’t wish for her to look at learning anything where it becomes a punishment or a subtle order. I don’t want resentment to creep in somewhere along the way in my children or me, a resentment that removes the joy of the task and makes me complain and grumble a lot.<br />
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Doesn’t life find its own rhythm eventually when we look at it differently? When we look at it as making choices and having options rather than simply ‘<strong>having to’</strong>?Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-59883209657511323872010-03-20T12:29:00.001+05:302010-03-20T12:30:15.980+05:30Sharing a Photo Blog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Great Pyramid of Giza-Egypt<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuDQPy_egV-Qoyux9Qqu-DUNW5Isdx5TFZ3HKQQnByYoWPlhyphenhyphenJsnY0VkRhI6zx04SwvWQbNIGeh4YeA5n8eGzO9zqdxWUWc-DUrHsN_ZgvqX1UugFzYf7Qy1dsLF4PPCblvZNu/s1600-h/egypt+giza+pyramid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuDQPy_egV-Qoyux9Qqu-DUNW5Isdx5TFZ3HKQQnByYoWPlhyphenhyphenJsnY0VkRhI6zx04SwvWQbNIGeh4YeA5n8eGzO9zqdxWUWc-DUrHsN_ZgvqX1UugFzYf7Qy1dsLF4PPCblvZNu/s640/egypt+giza+pyramid.jpg" vt="true" width="640" /></a></div><br />
This photograph was not taken by me but my friend-photographer-traveller enthusiast who spends more time clicking photographs (than enjoying the moment) :) It took my breath away.<br />
More of the photographs he clicks are on his <a href="http://through3rdeye.blogspot.com/">blog</a>Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10383761.post-39243737807345083052010-02-16T14:36:00.001+05:302010-02-16T14:36:57.763+05:30Understanding hearing impairment.Of late I have begun to understand hearing impairments better. I am more intrigued about it. It’s not the reason why it occurs that intrigues me. It is the way it differs from person to person, from someone who is born with it to someone who has acquired it say once they have completed their education and crossed language/speaking barriers. After the discovery of my hearing impairment in 1998 when I was 31, there followed a brief period of denial, counseling and ultimately acceptance and now I am at a stage when I can even laugh over it. Especially when I mishear things and it comes out all funny.<br />
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I seem to dislike using the word ‘deaf’. I don’t know why. Maybe ‘deaf’ , ‘blind’, ‘mute’ sound harsh and blunt ,like a label that refuses to peel off.( I know that is a reality).I seem to prefer using the words hearing impairment maybe because impairment sounds more gentle, less judgmental and less labeled.<br />
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I need to give credit for this sudden revival of interest to my new found friend<a href="http://impemp.blogspot.com/"> Ruchi</a> who has a 6 year old daughter, Prisha who has been hearing impaired since birth. As a mother it has been an amazing and challenging journey for Ruchi.When one meets Prisha and hears her speak it would be very difficult to determine that she is totally hearing impaired and has successfully crossed her language barriers. She speaks fluently and does not lip read. She can hear even in the dark with the help of her hearing aids. When I see her and since I am hearing impaired, I begin to see a bit of me in her and a bit of her in me. Maybe a bond that links us though we are ages apart. Although there is very little to give away her impairment, there are subtle nuances that make me aware of it. I also realized that here the challenge is for her mother-caregiver as Prisha has never known a world of sound. Instead she has been guided in to that world of sound with the help of her parents, speech therapist along with the indispensable hearing aid.<br />
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My hearing loss is so vastly different from hers yet am also hearing impaired. I rely on lip reading which is more or less guess work. I also tend to gesture more. I cannot hear in the dark even with my hearing aids on. I always need to face the person I am speaking with. My hearing loss was however discovered when I was 30 although the process of degeneration must have begun much earlier when I was unaware of it. It’s a progressive hearing loss that is to do with nerves or medically put- a Sensorineural hearing loss...Understanding that this condition came from ‘deafness’ genes took me a long time. A journey of blame and regrets followed which fortunately I have passed through now. I recollect my childhood of sign language and raised voices to communicate to my mother but then I never really understood the ‘difficulty’ in that situation. As a child it came naturally to me and naturally enough to accept my mom the way she was.<br />
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From a world of language, music and being able to carry on normal conversations even from a distance, I progressed into a new world where I adapted myself to my dis-ability.I miss, missing out on witty comments, wry humour, jokes and even gossip. There are times I laugh when everyone is laughing. I have to tune in to the group around me and this I notice is becoming more frequent. The struggle to cope with group conversations where sometimes I just tune myself out is really becoming a struggle.<br />
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Does it matter? Yes, it does.<br />
Is my communication lesser than before? It is.<br />
Does it leave me feeling sad? It does at times especially when am in a conversational mood and I know phone conversations don’t come easily to me.<br />
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I struggle in a movie theatre or while watching a play. Its tough to lip read then and I settle down to tune into body language and doing my usual guess work.I cannot hear an alarm clock or my mobile buzz in case I need to wake up early morning. I have stopped using them and rely on my body clock that doesn’t seem to go wrong as long as I believe in her. I long to hear the words of songs as they play on my CD or on the car FM and have to keep asking my family, ‘Which song is this?’, that’s one part I miss the most because music was always an integral part of my early life.<br />
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Are these regrets? Now after 12 years of hearing aids and slowly losing out on sounds, I also value this world of silence. It has honed my other senses remarkably. I am far more intuitive than most. I am also better at reading facial cues and eyes. And I love it because I have a partner who refused to let me become dependant on him to hear and carry on with normal life. Instead he encouraged me to hear, make mistakes and move on. My daughters who in turn empathize with me as well as roll with laughter over it. They can say something perfectly ordinary and I hear it as something so different that it results in peals of laughter all around. It has its merits. At night, I don’t hear the sounds of traffic and I don’t hear the watchman sing aloud to keep himself awake. The watchman by the way sits right below our 1st floor apartment. And I can conveniently miss out what I don’t wish to hear. ‘Selective hearing’ as A puts it.<br />
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I love to watch movies with subtitles because it makes my world a lot easier. I am so glad for sms’s and the internet (when I use it) although they by no means replace actual direct conversations. Thank god for technology. <br />
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I just wish I do not reach a day when I am unable hear my own voice, the voice of my girls and of A.Jyotsnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14992551736666239762noreply@blogger.com8