tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18507038130621552202024-03-13T17:48:25.865-03:00whispering leavesI think, I write. I see, I write. I remember, I write. I read something, I hear something, I write. I am happy, sad, angry, indifferent, I write...like the babbling brook I flow on and on...like the leaden cloud I pour out my thoughts.Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.comBlogger129125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-91432966475433750552016-12-31T13:38:00.001-04:002016-12-31T13:38:39.413-04:00Good Bye, Fare well....2016!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Every year, on the eve of the New Year, I look back at my year in review to see what I've achieved, what wonderful things happened...prayers answered in both - a definite "YES" and "NO!" The things I've learned...have I moved forward? The new experiences that have added to my growth...mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual. What strongholds I've broken that were pulling me down, what strengths I've built up. My friends...old and new. My family and how beautifully it is growing.<br />
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I don't have the tendency to count the difficult times, the personal battles I've fought...with health issues or any other. I don't say they are forgotten. They aren't really forgotten...but they aren't under focus. They remain faint memories because of the lessons I've learned from them...and these are what I'm grateful for; the learning and growing experiences and the lessons.<br />
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So, this year too, I look back with immense gratefulness to God for His blessings and care throughout the year. I look forward with anticipation of many more new beginnings, new experiences {pleasant :)}, strengthening of existing relationships...family and friends...<br />
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Further growth in my personal life, more discipline in maintaining good health, though, I've done pretty well in this area so far. Developing in new and better ways - my interests in blogging, reading and writing {I'm so bad at discipline in this area!}. Doing more towards getting 'that' cookbook which has been cooking in my mind for some years now! {Discipline so required here!}<br />
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But all in all, as I walk through my life in the year that's swiftly drawing to a close, I am satisfied and content with myself. As always forever grateful to the Lord and as always hopeful, trusting and believing for His guidance and His light to be upon us in the coming year too.<br />
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I love a good joke and a good laugh and that's how I'd like to bid farewell and ring out the old and ring in the new: with prayers and praise, good humour, good cheer, mirth, and joyfulness...God willing that's how we'll transition from 2016 to 2017!<br />
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So here's a poem that was written by Khushwant Singh when he was ninety-two years old.<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HciNW4HnWzk/WGfnAGpUoGI/AAAAAAAAHrc/Fdomi8qN6AgBFyeYNyMl-2WO7FGjl_XxgCLcB/s1600/Khushwant%2527s%2BHNY.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HciNW4HnWzk/WGfnAGpUoGI/AAAAAAAAHrc/Fdomi8qN6AgBFyeYNyMl-2WO7FGjl_XxgCLcB/s320/Khushwant%2527s%2BHNY.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Khushwant Singh</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> (born </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Khushal Singh</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, 2 February 1915 – 20 March 2014)</span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khushwant_Singh#cite_note-dna-1" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.199999999999998px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: super; white-space: pre-wrap;">[1]</span></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> was an </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Indian_people" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Indian</span></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">novelist</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">lawyer</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">journalist</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">politician</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Born and raised in </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hadali</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Punjab</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> (now in </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Pakistan</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">), he studied law at </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">St. Stephen's College</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Delhi</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, and </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">King's College London</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. After working as a lawyer in Lahore Court for eight years, he joined the </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Indian_Foreign_Service" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Indian Foreign Service</span></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> upon the </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Independence of India from British Empire in 1947</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He was appointed journalist in the </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">All India Radio</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> in 1951 and then moved to the Department of Mass Communications of </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">UNESCO</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> at Paris in 1956. These last two careers encouraged him to pursue a literary career. As a writer, he was best known for his trenchant secularism,</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> humour, sarcasm and an abiding love of poetry. His comparisons of social and behavioural characteristics of Westerners and Indians are laced with acid wit. He served as the editor of several literary and news magazines, as well as two newspapers, through the 1970s and 1980s. Between 1980-1986 he served as Member of Parliament in </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rajya Sabha</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, the upper house of the </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Parliament of India</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Khushwant Singh was decorated with the </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Padma Bhushan</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> in 1974.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> But he returned the award in 1984 in protest against </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Operation Blue Star</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> in which the </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Indian Army</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> raided </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Amritsar</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. In 2007 he was awarded the </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Padma Vibhushan</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, the second-highest civilian award in India.</span></div>
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-53169492498913115702016-07-30T16:01:00.000-03:002016-08-02T20:38:07.790-03:00Siblings - friends we can't get rid of!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><i>"Sibling relationships...outlast marriages, survive the death of parents, resurface after quarrels that could sink any friendship. They flourish in a thousand incarnations of closeness and distance, of warmth, loyalty, and distrust." -Erica E. Goode</i></b></div>
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We were four siblings. Three sisters and one brother. I was the fourth and the youngest for the first ten years of my life. I expected to remain the youngest...my father's pet and my mother's unruly filly. But life had something better in store. The announcement that I was going to get a brother thrilled me no end. My elder brother was my friend and my partner in crime and I enjoyed playing with boys more than girls, who I found to be "sissy" and forever crying, throwing tantrums, more interested in who was wearing what and playing 'House.' I wanted to play 'Indians & Cowboys,' 'Robbers & Police,' 'Pittoo,' gymnastics and rougher sports and games than most girls my age cared to play. So, a brother was more than welcome. What I didn't realize was that a ten year age difference wouldn't quite work out as I had envisaged...our interests would be worlds apart by the time he grew up.<br />
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I never got to develop any really close relationship with my sisters. They went to boarding school when I was six. We met only when they came home for their annual holidays. I would be in awe of them. The eldest was seven years older than me and the other was my senior by five. And later on, when they passed out of school, they left home to pursue whatever professional training/jobs they had applied for in the city. We were living in the country. My elder brother remained my pal and companion a few more years and left home too. The younger one was too young to take his place. A three-year-old isn't much company for a thirteen-year-old. I grew up through my teenage years of schooling, practically, as an only child. Since my school was very far from home I didn't have friends to hang out with on Sundays or holidays. </div>
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Books became my friends and I became an avid reader. Thanks to my elder sisters' fondness for reading there was never a dearth of books. They kept a steady supply. And thanks to an American friend who was in the American Peace Corps, and stationed in our town, we had more than enough books of all genres. I traveled with my book friends and experienced different cultures and traditions as I lived with them. This worked against me in a way as my schoolmates couldn't relate to the books I read and so I couldn't discuss them either. It created a kind of chasm.</div>
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The distances were constant between us siblings. Rarely were we all together, and even then, it was never for very long. But, whenever we were together we would pick up from where we left off as if we had never left...never been absent from home. We'd talk one to the dozen, laugh our guts out, almost literally, because we'd be doubled up in laughter our arms folded across our bellies, tears flooding our eyes. </div>
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As the years passed on we got married and home meant another place. I and my eldest sister lived in regions far from the rest and each other as well. The youngest, who joined the Army moved around from the north, in the Himalayas, to the southern region and the western arid zone. Yes, we hardly met. Those were not the days of internet and wi-fi...no mobile phones, no face time, no emails and chats. The occasional snail mail and cards made their way to keep everyone updated. Though by the time they were updated the information was already outdated!</div>
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Yet, when we gathered at one place to attend a wedding or a funeral...or I'd make an annual trip with hubby and kids in tow to meet family it would always be like we met just some days ago. Always comfortable, always fun. We'd still be howling with laughter at the silliest things, we'd still be singing the same old songs...we'd still be gossiping about the same old people. We'd bond like only siblings can.</div>
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At the time of writing, we're in the same situation of vast distances between us...in miles. I am farthest from my siblings, yet when I think about it, it is just the oceans, seas, and continents that separate us. I value physical nearness. Nothing can replace that...no internet, or WhatsApp, no face time either. But, I am also grateful for all of these. It's a bridge that connects us virtually.</div>
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I have driven through streets in Canada with my son as I sat comfortably in my chair in South America. I've been a part of the baptism service for my grandchildren; making the vows I had to make, live...as if I were there in the Canadian church myself. Face time...is the closest to personal and physical nearness. </div>
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The bond of birth and a shared childhood; same roots, same family ties, many shared experiences...survive over and beyond the distances...literally and figuratively.</div>
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Is it because we are siblings born of the same parents? No, what keeps siblings together is a relationship. And like all relationships, it takes a lot of working at to grow strong. It takes a lot of love, forgiveness; patience and tolerance, understanding and respect for siblings to grow as sisters and brothers. This is best explained by Maya Angelou in this short quote:</div>
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<b>"I don't believe an accident of birth makes people sisters or brothers. It makes them siblings, gives them the mutuality of parentage. Sisterhood and brotherhood is a condition people have to work at." -Maya Angelou</b></div>
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Yes, siblings - sisters and brothers, as defined by Maya Angelou, are the friends we not only "can't get rid of" but those whom we never want to get rid of. </div>
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-44442405463281739132016-01-05T19:19:00.001-04:002016-01-05T19:19:50.271-04:00Choices!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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There was so much going on in the past month and a half, that's my explanation, not an excuse, for why I couldn't write something! Am I kidding myself and making a play on words to justify my apathy towards my blog? Honestly, I'm not sure whether my passion was on the ebb or the physical pain was nearing intolerable levels. I was indeed going through a painful ailment. But this feeling kept sneaking up on me that I was using it as an excuse to not write, that I was not disciplined. That made me feel pretty low.</div>
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It's not that I was not on the internet at all. I was updating my page on Facebook <a href="http://www.facebook.com/dstepladder2hope">http://www.facebook.com/dstepladder2hope</a> on a regular basis, and although I wasn't quite consistent with my blog <a href="http://www.chef-on-the-run.blogspot.com/">http://www.chef-on-the-run.blogspot.com</a> I still managed to upload a recipe or two! It all boiled down to the choices I was making on a daily basis...and if truth be told, Whispering Leaves <a href="http://www.khushi-jc.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">www.khushi-jc.blogspot.com</a> lost out. Sad but true.</div>
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While hunting for quotes about choices, I picked quite a few which resonated with me individually. Then when I read them all together they seemed to be contradictory with one and supporting of another. I reorganised them and got a paragraph on CHOICES! Here it is:</div>
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"'<b>T</b>here are no safe choices. Only other choices.' '<b>W</b>hen a man cannot choose, he ceases to be a man.' '<b>C</b>hoices may be unbelievably hard but they're never impossible. To say you have no choice is to relieve yourself of responsibility and that's not how a person with integrity acts.' '<b>Y</b>ou can't cross the sea by merely standing and staring at the water.' '<b>W</b>hat happens if your choice is misguided? You must correct it. But what if it's too late? What if you can't? Then you must find a way to live with it.' '<b>T</b>he problem, simply put, is that we cannot choose everything simultaneously. So we live in danger of becoming paralyzed by indecision, terrified that every choice might be the wrong choice.'"</div>
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"<b>'N</b>ever compromise your values. Do what you think is right. Don't let people make the decision of right or wrong for you.' '<b>I</b> believe the choice to be excellent begins with aligning your thoughts and words with the intention to require more from yourself.' '<b>Y</b>ou have to choose the best, every day, without compromise...guided by your own virtue and highest ambition.' '<b>I</b>f you choose not to decide you still have made a choice.' '<b>I</b>t's choice, not chance, that determines destiny.' '<b>A</b> man's mind may be likened to a garden, which may be intelligently cultivated or allowed to run wild; but whether cultivated or neglected, it must, and will, bring forth. If no useful seeds are put into it, then an abundance of useless weed-seeds will fall therein, and will continue to produce their kind.' '<b>H</b>appiness, like unhappiness, is a proactive choice.' '<b>I</b> guess, in the end, it doesn't matter what we wanted.' '<b>W</b>hat matters is what we chose to do with the things we had.'"</div>
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Quotes in respective order: <b><i>Libba Bray, Anthony Burgess, Patrick Ness, Rabindranath Tagore, Libba Bray, Elizabeth Gilbert, Steve Maraboli, Oprah Winfrey, Philippa Gregory, Neil Peart, Jean Nidetch, James Allen, Stephen R Covey, Mira Grant.</i></b></div>
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Gosh, I need to make the 'choice' of being more disciplined! Help!<br />
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-57360285920646496462015-12-17T09:02:00.001-04:002015-12-17T13:42:13.058-04:00A Letter To Santa Claus<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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A heartwarming letter to Santa written by Benedict Cumberbatch. I came across it on the internet. I do hope I'm not infringing on any copy write. Here are excerpts from the letter. It touched a chord in my heart.</div>
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(Benedict Cumberbatch, is a British actor best known for his role in the BBC television show Sherlock Holmes. He has also appeared in Hollywood films such as Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, War Horse, Star Trek: Into the darkness, and The Hobbit: The desolation of Smaug, and The Imitation Game.) </div>
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Dear Father Christmas,</div>
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So my friend has asked me to write to you...I must confess it's been hard to know what to say. Mainly because like most adults I feel preposterous asking anything of you because our time with you is done.</div>
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Now, we get our presents, control our own fates, take responsibilities for our own actions, and live in the world we have created....so it's not for us to turn around and plead for your help with the environment, the migrant crisis, the NHS, education food banks, human rights, fundamentalism and wars. Though God knows we need all the help we can get with all these man-made problems and more.</div>
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And it's not that you aren't compassionate and full of joy. You're great. Inspite of you being changed into different colours for corporations and being bastardised to represent materialism gone mad - despite probably originating in some season based pagan druid ritual a million thought miles from requests for spontaneously combusting hoverboards.....kidadults cynically pointing this out after having their moment of belief in you are wasting everyone's precious time. Because you are not for them. You are for the children. Children who need some magic in a world where the borders between innocence and responsibilty, playful imagination and cold adult obstacles are continually shrinking.</div>
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This is what I'd like to ask you to help with. A little more time for children to be children. Stretch the moment of magic and playfulness. Distract them from the realities of a world gone mad so that they can laugh with their breath rather than sob with their tears. Especially those caring for family members, or suffering illness, hunger or poverty. Especially those hiding in buildings as bombs rain down or be handed shaking with fear or cold into a boat to escape environmental disaster or war. Please help to light up their worlds with a moment of joy and hope....</div>
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Spare a thought too for those millions who want to write to you but for illiteracy can't. Hear their words and help to give them the time and chance to learn to read and write so they can better their lives and escape their impoverished beginnings.....</div>
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I feel a little sorry for you. And I guess I've done exactly what I said I wouldn't....asked you to help with adult problems and solve some of the greatest worries we have for our children. I promise to leave some extra Port and mince pies for you.</div>
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Lots of love,</div>
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Benedict x</div>
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I find this a beautiful 'prayer' and one I would say to God. Having said that I do believe this request for our children is so urgent and more than toys and eats if one were to actually ask for anything, it must be for a safer and better world for them. Compared to what it was when we were kids, and then when my kids were young, it's scarier, more unsafe, and an unhealthy place for our present generation - in terms of the environment, safety & security, and war.</div>
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Wishing all of you Happy Holidays! To those who celebrate Christmas - have a merry and blessed Christmas.</div>
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-68986087915875360302015-08-22T19:32:00.001-03:002015-08-23T08:37:29.576-03:00Tiny Conversations & Rainy Days<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>The Two Minute Wait</b></div>
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The twins are a little over eighteen months, and one-word or two-word conversations jerk along in English, Spanish and Hindi. One day, Mia, the younger of the twins, wanted something real bad and was getting impatient and I saw a tantrum coming up. In an effort to stall it, I lifted my hand and patted the air gently and said, "Wait, wait," and then holding up two fingers I continued, "Two minutes."</div>
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"Two minutes?" she asked, holding up two fingers. </div>
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"Yes, baby, please wait for two minutes."</div>
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"Wait," she echoed, patting the air gently the same way she had seen me do. I smiled in answer.</div>
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Whatever it was that had to be done, I forget what now, took longer than two minutes, but it didn't bother me because Mia certainly didn't know how long two minutes was.</div>
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The next morning, she woke up early and I went to her cot. She looked like a sleepy, dishevelled cherub.</div>
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"Good morning, my little birdie. Morning, morning!" I said cheerily and bent to hug her.</div>
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"Wait,wait," she said patting the air with her little hand, "two minutes?"</div>
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Then laboriously hauled her herself up and lifting her arms high demanded, "Dodi." She wanted me to carry her and was using the Hindi word '<i class="">godi</i>' pronouncing it her way. I lifted her out of the cot and put her down.</div>
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She walked around the house and then came and stood in front of me.</div>
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"Morning, morning," she smiled.</div>
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I had waited for more than two minutes! Was she telling me something?!</div>
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<b>The Two Minute Argument</b></div>
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Amu, the older twin, can be quite assertive most times, especially when she thinks she's right. Not one to give up without an argument or demonstration of some kind when her vocabulary fails, she engaged me in an argument one day. They were watching one of their TV shows and 'The wheels of the bus,' rhyme came up. She looked at it and knit her brows. The nanny had put on a different channel and the presentation wasn't the same. The bus looked more like a van.</div>
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"Car," she announced, pointing to the TV.</div>
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"Oh no, that's a bus," I said, deliberately baiting her.</div>
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"Car," she insisted.</div>
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"Bus," I said keeping a straight face, which was hard as laughter was bubbling inside. She had taken the bait.</div>
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We bandied our opinions for a while until she lost her cool.</div>
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She drew her face closer to mine and in a loud voice and no-nonsense tone declared with finality,"Car."</div>
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Unflinching, I drew my face close to her chubby one and said as firmly, but in a lower voice, "Bus."</div>
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A staring match ensued. She was the first to turn away. Her little face showed confusion. She didn't know how to react. She opted for diversion.</div>
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"Papa?" she asked </div>
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"Office," I said.</div>
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"Mama?"</div>
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"At office too."<br />
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"Bus," she said and smiled.</div>
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I burst out laughing and cuddled my little teddy bear.</div>
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<b>Slip of the tongue & Gentle Correction</b></div>
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We - the twins and I, were watching Gazoon, a cartoon featuring animals. It doesn't have any dialogues or songs, so I have to do a running commentary and add tones, inflections and drama to the whole show verbally. One such evening, while the twins were having their dinner, Gazoon was on and I was going full swing with my narrative.</div>
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"Hisssss.....there comes the snake...he's scary...oooh oh!"</div>
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"Scary....ooo," and Mia brings up her clenched hands under her chin and fakes a shiver!</div>
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"Stomp...stomp...stomp....here comes the Elephant and there's a cock-a-doodle-doo sitting on his head...hahahahaha...so funny!"</div>
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"Cocadoo...doo, so funny!" they chorus and laugh.</div>
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"And what's this? Someone's colouring the clouds! Look, it's a zebra...he's painting the clouds."</div>
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"Sky," Mia quietly corrects me. She doesn't know what clouds are, she only knows "sky" and thought it was mistake.</div>
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"Okay sky," I say, there was time to show her clouds later. And continued where I left off.</div>
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"Yes, and the giraffe is colouring the sky...." I got no further.</div>
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"Zebra," Amu quips confidently and she knows she's right...her expression says it all!</div>
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"What!...oh, yes, it <i>is</i> a <i>zebra</i>!" I laugh and they join me.<br />
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I knew why I was laughing...I suspect they knew too!</div>
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<b>A Modern Sir Walter Raleigh</b></div>
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The much needed and awaited rain was welcome in all ways but one: it played villain to my daily walks. With water-logged streets, yes, we do have water logged streets even with a medium shower, it was not appealing to take a walk. So I'd spend some pleasant hours sitting by my bedroom window, intermittently burying my head in a book or gazing at the streets below.</div>
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There's always something or the other that catches my attention and that day too I witnessed what to me was a combination of everything that spelled romantic! It was cute, sweet, chivalrous, unimaginable, sort of adventurous, daring in a way...well, given the drizzle, cold winds, dark sky all these combined to make for a great Bollywood song setting...there I said it at the risk of sounding dotty!</div>
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I am almost directly over a crossroad. And the corners, at all four crossovers, aka zebra crossings get flooded during a heavy shower. As I sat gazing emptily into space, a movement in the periphery of my eye, caught my attention. </div>
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A young girl, maybe seventeen or eighteen, slender build, was contemplating crossing the 'Red Sea' in a rather comical manner. Clutching her open umbrella, she would stretch out a leg and attempt to leap across...except she never thrust herself forward but kept hopping in place. Every time she'd make up her mind to jump she'd lose confidence and abort, ending up doing a little jig. Then I realized there was another spectator to this unintended pantomime.</div>
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A young man, possibly in his twenties, was across the street on the Norte side and was so amused by what was going on he had forgotten to cross to the side the girl was on, which is where he was headed. I guess he was as intrigued as I was and also keen to know how she would finally cross. Both of us watched her; I from my perch on the second level and he right across from her...but she was oblivious to everything.</div>
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Finally, she decided that her open umbrella was hampering her long jump over the muddy water and she closed it. If it meant getting wet so be it, is what I presumed she thought. Contrary to her belief, however, it lowered her confidence even more. Now, she hesitated to even stretch out her leg and hop. That's when I saw the young man make a snap decision. He splashed his way across the street and was by her side in the blink of an eye. She reared back surprised.</div>
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There was a brief conversation. She seemed to not like something and gave a negative nod. He was convincing apparently because a minute later, she took hold of her umbrella from the middle and the next thing I knew she was riding piggy-back with her arms wrapped around the youngster's shoulders. He sploshed his way through the muddy water with his precious load, and deposited her safely, relatively dry shoes and all, on the other side. Then happily made his way back and carried on his way.</div>
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I saw a Bollywood in that...can you blame me for being silly! I belong to another generation and it was so cute and sweet and mushy sort of romantic and warmed this woman, in her seat by the window, on a cold rainy day.</div>
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-23867071946591850922015-06-20T15:48:00.000-03:002015-06-20T15:48:26.299-03:00Goodbye 'Hanky' & other little things<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Where has the ladies' handkerchief gone?</div>
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I remember what an important part of one's dress this used to be. We shopped for 'kerchiefs or 'hankies' and spent quite a lot of time and money on getting the ones that were in. Oh yes, there were ones that were in and classy and ones that were so, er...aunty types or 'bhenji' no offence to anyone, I'm just stating how it was among us youngsters back then. Hankies never faded or ran bare, they just got lost, and had to be replaced with new ones. Maintaining them meant hand wash and ironing. And I did it happily. I commiserate the decline of this little piece of finery.</div>
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Then there were the kiddies' handkerchiefs. In those days there wasn't one kid in primary school without a hanky pinned, yes, you read that right...pinned, to his/her shirt/blouse/pinafore. And you read that right too...boys included! We're talking of kids in the ages of 3-6. As a young mom, I remember keeping a budget for kiddies hankies to be bought from Chandigarh on our annual visit. Jodhpur just didn't have what I wanted so I'd make do until the annual trip! Well, after all the handkerchief was a statement of sorts. It amuses me no end when I recall those days.</div>
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Today, the only handkerchief that retains it's position and place in a person's clothing is the men's handkerchief. As for us women, a sneeze is <i><b>'a-tissue'</b></i>!</div>
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I still buy handkerchiefs, but not many. I can appreciate the convenience of carrying tissues. No maintenance and certainly a cheaper choice...no pun intended.</div>
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The other day I met someone and when she heard my name she exclaimed: "Oh, what a beautiful name! Joy and gay used to be my favourite words but now I don't like gay."<br />
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The other ladies and I laughed. But it is true. Though the word still retains its original meaning, the use of the word and what its connotation implies today limits the use of 'gay' to a specific meaning. I don't like words to be narrowed down so much. </div>
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What a shame! Why can't I be happy and gay without being "gay?" I can no longer declare, as I used to, how "happy and gay" I am. To do so could be taken to mean a declaration of more than what I wish to imply.</div>
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That's another weekend gone by! I didn't want to do much and I didn't do much...task accomplished! </div>
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Well, not really. I did post to my facebook page : D Stepladder 2 Hope, www.facebook.com/dstepladder2hope and I worked on some recipes for my blog http://www.chef-on-the-run.blogspot.com. But truth be told, I'm going through one of those hazy fazes, where ennui surfaces from time to time. I'd rather listen to music, watch a few old movies and serials, or curl up with the kindle and read...it's not as bad as it sounds though...there isn't any marathon TV watching! Anyway I'm breaking the tedium with this post and some other things-to-do that have been languishing in a state of neglect. Good for me!</div>
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Tomorrow, Sunday 21st June is Father's Day! I celebrate my dad's life and work through wonderful memories. My sons who are fathers bask in the adoration of their little daughters. I draw great peace and joy in taking all this in. I feel blessed. But now I'll call it a day and sign off!<br />
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-88306250885854881252014-11-29T09:50:00.000-04:002014-11-29T09:50:08.240-04:00In Control<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I have often heard people at the
helm; in an organisation, or leaders, even parents and spouses, declare, “I’m
in control, don’t worry,” or “We have it under control.” It makes those who
look up to them and trust them feel assured and safe. The question is: Are we
in total control of everything that transpires; everything that occurs in our
lives? Even small things like, a cancelled flight, a traffic jam, the Help going AWOL or a flat
tyre are out of our control. When we have this intense need to ‘control’
everything and come face to face with situations that fall out of our control,
we generally react in an undesirable manner resulting in: bad attitude, anger, and
frustration.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Are we ever in total control? Not
everything comes under our total control. Life consists of matters within our
total control, partially in our control, and totally out of our control and
influence. We can control our diet. We can control our choices in who to be friends with, what social obligations to honor and which relationships to maintain. We can partially control most of our expenses, but
some just come at us like a bolt from the blue. We can control our daily,
monthly, annual expenditure, but medical expenses often shoot out of nowhere. We
can even exercise control over our moods and feelings. We can control whether we
want to be happy or not. There are many areas of control, in lesser or greater
degree. However, often the things beyond our control are the ones that cause us
to be vexed, grieved, or depressed beyond a normal level. Of these emotions,
anger is the most destructive and dangerous one when we lose control of
ourselves and allow the emotion to rule us. Extreme anger can tilt us over the
edge and make us mad with rage, causing us to do things we would never even
think of doing in a calm, sane state of mind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><b><i>“Do not be quick in spirit to be
angry or vexed, for anger and vexation lodge in the bosom of fools.” ~Numbers
21:8</i></b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">How we react in situations out of our
control is what determines the quality of our life. We can get frustrated over
a sudden punctured tyre or a car breakdown or a traffic jam. Our attitude could
be - abuse, rant and rave and perhaps vent our anger by kicking the object of
our ire, namely the car or the offending tyre, or keep calm and think of what
needs to be done, under the circumstances, and take action with a good
attitude. In a traffic jam, fuming does not provide enough power to lift your
vehicle and make it a flying machine. There is a lot more you could do in the
waiting time: relaxing is just one of many other options! Many situations and
circumstances come up in life that are worse than this. How we deal with it
decides whether we get “bitter or better.” I know there are many things that
occur which can be irritating and frustrating. It’s alright to be annoyed,
irritated or frustrated. It is also okay to have an occasional meltdown.
Breaking down does not indicate weakness nor does it indicate incapability. On
the contrary it helps us to bounce back with renewed energy and spirit. What is
corroding is dwelling in a place of frustration and giving it more expression
than it deserves. This affects our attitude in an adverse way. I have learned
that the hard way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">We have our areas of control as
people in positions of administration and authority. This is to maintain
discipline and order. The trouble starts when we begin to rely on our own
strength, knowledge, and understanding to control all things beyond the given
limits of things under our control. The best way to deal with circumstances out
of our control is to do our bit; give it our best shot and leave the rest to
God. Not every untoward incident or situation that occurs is our
responsibility. We do not have to carry that burden of guilt, regret, sorrow,
and anger to a point where it breaks us, or worse ruins us. Giving it to the
Lord is the best way to deal with it. It is good to say, “I’m not going to let
that get to me,” and turn away. This does not mean that we become indifferent
towards things. It means we make a distinction between what is in our control;
how much is in our control, and having done what we could do, submit the rest
to God with faith and trust.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><b><i>“Trust in the Lord with all your
heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge
him.....Be not wise in your own eyes; fear the Lord....it will be healing to
your flesh and refreshment to your bones.” Proverbs 3:5-8 </i></b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">When we regularly get upset over
everything that’s not going our way, we suffer more. And often we allow a
molehill to grow into a mountain and weigh us down. Instead “cast your cares”
upon the Lord. Accept what has occurred. Move on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">God is in total control. We may not
understand many things now or even later because God works in mysterious ways. I am
telling you what I have learned. He uses every difficulty, every pain, for our
benefit. He even turns a setback to our advantage. All we need to do is just
trust Him in all things and we can make it through the ups and downs of life
with a better attitude and a better quality of life, if we believe. I choose to
have greater peace, love, joy, and strength rather than anger, bitterness, and
frustrations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">What do you choose?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-87604215246044126882014-08-22T16:40:00.001-03:002014-08-25T15:01:55.763-03:00A Midnight Watch<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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She stood there, about two feet away from the curb, right on the road. I stood a few inches away from the window, partially hidden behind the curtain, and watched.</div>
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It was past midnight; half an hour past the witching hour. I had dozed through the serial I had running on my laptop, waking up in fits and starts to reconnect with my long time favourite character, DCI Tom Barnaby. He's losing his hold on me it seems! I wouldn't have dozed on a Barnaby serial a couple of years back. Anyway, the murderer was found and another murder case solved in Midsomer by Barnaby, and it was time I dropped off to sleep. As usual I switched off the lights and went to draw the curtains a wee bit apart to allow some light from the street to filter in. And as usual I peeked into the street below my window. It was a weekday and I expected it to be as deserted as it always was, only this time I saw this young girl standing almost in the middle of the road, in the middle of the night, trying to keep warm. It was a cold and windy night. Prostitute, I pronounced. Then I wondered why she was on this intersection. It wasn't a section of the city frequented by streetwalkers. Besides, I didn't think there was much traffic down these roads so late into the night, in the middle of the week. But then I guess she knew better, and soon I did too, as the cars whizzed past. Normally, I would have forgotten about her before I reached my bed. But for some reason this night, sleepy as I was, I continued to stand and keep watch. There was something about her face and general appearance that caught me.</div>
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Our home stands at the corner of an intersection, so I had a good view of the four roads that diverged from there. And the streets are so brightly lit I could also see the girl quite clearly. She stood facing me and I noticed she was not dressed the way a woman in her profession normally does, neither was her face done up with heavy make-up; in fact she wore almost no make-up: a light pinkish lipstick, no visibly dark eye shadow, and light make-up around her eyes. Her hair wasn't curled, permed, frizzled or done up in any way. It fell softly around her face, up to her shoulders. No unusual colouring; ordinary, everyday hair. Her jewellery consisted of a pair of modest danglers. Nothing about her: clothes, footwear, or hair was loud or garish. Her clothes were those of an office executive. She looked like one of the many smart, office executives who passed beneath my window everyday. Her body language and posture did not support the stereotypical street-walker. I do not know if it is politically right to say this, but then I'm not a politically right person most times, I had felt disgust at the first fleeting sight of her. However, the initial revulsion I had felt when I first noticed her, dissipated. There was something about her that was so vulnerable. She seemed out of place in this scenario. Even when she stood and watched the cars whizzing past, and called out and waved to some who slowed down, she didn't sound like the person she obviously was. She was neither brash nor bold. She didn't look like a hooker; she didn't sound like one either. I was intrigued, because she was the antithesis of what I had read, heard, and seen of women who were streetwalkers.</div>
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Fifteen minutes passed. And then another five dragged by. I told myself I was being utterly stupid. At my age one doesn't stand at a window, well past one's bedtime, to surveil an unknown woman who certainly knew what she was about. No amount of cajoling could coax my feet to walk away from my vantage point of observation, to a decent night's sleep. I had to see more, know more. I wrapped a shawl around my shoulders, leaned against the glass pane, still hidden behind the curtains with a perfectly clear view of the girl.</div>
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I could tell that the night was getting colder. She began to stamp her feet; rub her hands to keep warm. Then she took out a packet of cigarettes from her coat pocket and lit up. She just stood in one place, almost in the pathway of oncoming traffic. If it were day time, she'd not be able to stand on the road without being either run down or then hauled away by the police. Cars whizzed by. She just stood and watched, turning to see if any stopped ahead. There were the cars with youngsters who shouted derogatory remarks and guffawed as they sped past her. She didn't react. Her expression didn't change. She maintained her emotionless demeanor. The only time I saw a flicker of a smile and her face lighting up was when some cars slowed down as they approached her, some out of curiosity I suppose, most to avoid hitting her.</div>
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Then a car drove up right under my window. It stopped at the pedestrian crossing and I guess the driver gestured for her to come to him. She was like a child who'd been promised an ice-cream or chocolates or a day at the beach. She ran across and this time she had a broad smile across her face. She was pretty, and young too. I could see her better, as she was standing directly below my window, facing me, with the street light on the opposite side lighting up her face. </div>
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Ah! Finally she gets a customer, I thought, and didn't like the way I thought it. Don't ask me why. I had started to feel sad and sorry for her. There were many things going through my mind and it had all to do with how young and bright she appeared, and how sad that she was on the streets like this.</div>
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Anyway, I saw her talking to the person in the driving seat. Some words floated up through the quiet night. Negotiations, I announced to no one in particular. However, something wasn't quite right. Her expressions and the way she was talking didn't look like she was talking business. If I hadn't been observing her, I'd have thought she was talking to someone she knew and exchanging small talk. Then she made gestures and expressions that showed contriteness, helplessness, and if I'm not mistaken she appeared ashamed...no, regretful! It struck me that the man in the car was in no mood to be a customer. He seemed to be talking to her about what she was doing and why. She wrung her hands, raised her shoulders in a sign of helplessness and slumped them in resignation. And there was a lot of, "No senor. Si senor." It was a long, slow conversation of about five minutes, and she smiled a lot and nodded in agreement to whatever was being said. Then I saw her stretching out her hand to take something from the man, and I saw a small bundle of sorts. It wasn't clear, but I thought, (awful of me) that's a lot of money. "She's a great negotiator!" I whispered with something like respect. Then instead of getting into the vehicle, she slipped something which looked more like money from under the packet and put it into her pocket. As she thanked the man, she took something from the packet and popped it into her mouth. She went chomp, chomp like a squirrel with a stuffed mouth. The man drove off. He had counselled her, in my over-positive opinion, handed her some money and a tit-bit to munch on. What! Can this be happening! I was totally awestruck. What a man he was! </div>
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The girl finished what she was eating and stood quietly for a while. Then she saw headlights approaching and sprinted right into the middle of the road, in front of the approaching car, waving both her arms wildly. What now, I thought, with bated breath. This was so unlike her...since I had been observing her for some time and it surprised me. It was like a serial unfolding before my eyes.The car slowed, swerved but didn't stop. She ran alongside a few paces, saying something to the driver. Then gave up as the driver accelerated. She stood looking after it. A few yards up, the car stopped. She ran down the road. Although I could see a bit of what was going on, I couldn't make out her expressions or words. I saw the door opening and the girl getting in. And then she was gone. "She's taking a lift home, finally," I said thankfully. I wanted a good ending. I wanted a hopeful ending. Whatever my mind said to the contrary, my heart said: she went home.</div>
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I like to think the sudden, wild burst of energy and emotion had something to do with her encounter with the previous gentleman. I also like to think that she hadn't been putting on an act for the kind man. I want to believe that one act of compassion had taken a young girl off the street for one night at least. I want to believe that goodness, kindness and compassion still roam around the streets and linger around the corner, waiting to help someone.</div>
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-56608336984185907092014-07-10T14:39:00.001-03:002014-07-11T15:26:39.858-03:00I Have A Question<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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As a mother of two, I had a lot of <i>'why,' 'but why,' 'how,' 'when,' 'where,'</i> <i>'what,</i>' coming at me, and at work there was no respite; I was a teacher. I faced a barrage of questions on a daily basis and not all of them were related to academics. Add to those the ones I asked myself on a daily basis. My replies were mostly direct answers to the question, but there were the occasional evasive, vague answers that weren't outright lies but definitely skirted the truth. There were the silent answers, the ones that come from a piercing stare or a blank one and some were convoluted explanations. There were also the "I don't know now but I'll let you know," frank admissions.</div>
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Questions need answers and not every answer is satisfactory or enlightening. People might say: "give me an honest answer," but often an honest answer is not what they want to hear or it might be they are not quite mature to understand the truth. And then there are questions that we don't answer because to do so would be more painful for us than for the questioner.</div>
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This brings to mind some situations which occurred and raised many questions in my mind.</div>
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Way back in early 2000, I was a member of a well known NGO, and also a member on one of their boards. It dealt with urban development: the development of street kids and women and children in the slums of the city. One of the things the NGO undertook was rescuing women and girls from brothels and from domestic sexual abuse. They had a shelter where these rescued girls and women were brought to, but the longest period of an individual's stay was fourteen days. After that, if their families didn't accept them, or the NGO couldn't rehabilitate them into society through jobs and secure boarding-lodging, they were removed to government shelters where, sad to say, their fate was no better than their previous life.</div>
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One day one of the women who had been rescued from a brothel asked to meet us. She was one of those who could not get a job. One of the board members had assured the woman that she would find her a job as a domestic help. Unfortunately, the board member's efforts bore no fruit. When the woman came in, the member spoke to her and apologized profusely. </div>
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The woman heard her out and then said: <i>"Madam, tum mujhe kaamwali rakh lo apne ghar mein."</i> (<b>madam, you employ me as a domestic help in your house</b>)</div>
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The lady was taken aback but she had to reply. We were the benevolent group who rescued women from abuse and here was one of those unfortunate ones asking one of us to employ her. And it was obvious the woman was waiting for a reply.</div>
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<i>"Mere ghar mein already kaamwali hai, nahin toh main zaroor rakh leti."</i> (<b>I have a domestic help already, otherwise I would have definitely kept you)</b></div>
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If we thought that explained everything and closed the conversation, we were wrong. The woman wasn't in the mood to let go.</div>
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<i>"Jo aurat tumhare ghar mein hai, usko kahin aur bhi naukari mil jayegi. Kaamwali ka bahut demand hai. Usko jaane do na. Mere ko rakh lo."</i> (<b>the woman working in your house will get another job. There's a big demand for help. Let her go and keep me</b>)</div>
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The lady member was cornered. We all turned to look at her, wondering what she would say. The silence and discomfort was so heavy it was palpable. One of the ladies came to her rescue and explained to the woman that it would not be a practical thing to do.</div>
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<i>"Mere ko wahan se nikala kya woh theek tha?" </i>she said wagging a finger at the lady<i>. "Mai kamati thi, khati thi. Ab mere ko naukari nahin, paisa nahi. Yahan rehene ko nahin. Yahan mai theek hun, koi khatra nahin. Par tum log yahan se bhi nikal rahi ho. Jahan bhejti ho wahan bhi mera wahi hoga jo pehle ho raha tha. Kya achha kiya tum madam log ne. Mere ko bachaya bola. Ek se bachaya, doosre ko phenk diya." </i>(<b>You took me out of there, was that right? I was earning, eating. Now I have no job, no money. I can't stay here. I am fine here. I have nothing to fear. But you are sending out from here. Where you are sending me my fate will be the same as before. What good did you do? You claim to have saved me. You saved me from one and throw me to another</b>)</div>
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Then randomly she singled me out, and directing her question to me asked: <i>"Kyun madam, tum mere ko rakhlo." </i>(<b>Why don't you keep me madam?</b>) I shook my head and she let out a raucous laugh.</div>
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<i>"Ek last sawal puchegi tum madam log se. Mere ko kyun nahin kaamwali rakhti ho apne ghar mein? Doosre log se bolti ho isko rakho, lekin apne ghar mein nahin. Kyun madam?" </i></div>
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(<b>I'll ask one last question. Why don't you keep me as a domestic help in your homes? You ask others to employ me but you won't employ me. Why madam?)</b></div>
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And she turned on her heel and walked out.</div>
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Immediately the members began defending and justifying their stand to each other. It didn't matter to any one in the room what the other said. The person to whom it mattered had left the room.</div>
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**** </div>
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And more recently I was asked one of these don't-want-to-answer type of questions by the nanny (domestic help) I was watching an old Hindi movie and Helen was doing a cabaret. The conversation veered to this type of professional dancing in India and if it was a popular profession. I told her that these kind of dancers are not considered respectable by Indian society and so it wasn't a chosen profession by 'respectable' girls. She was appalled! </div>
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"We have so many dancers here. I know a girl who is a pole dancer. These girls are just doing a job. Our society doesn't look down on them. It is their livelihood," she informed me.</div>
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"But there are so many other jobs they could do," I countered lamely.</div>
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"But what if they don't get any other job? What if they are single mothers? It is possible they are not educated enough, or can't do any other work. Many jobs have long hours and very low pay. How will she support herself and her child?"</div>
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I couldn't argue with that and honestly didn't want to either. Instead I spoke about social taboos, and then summed it up with the 'every society has its own values and social norms' excuse. It was good, I said, that her society believed in the dignity of labor to that extent. Ours, unfortunately, didn't even believe in the dignity of labor. She didn't quite get that and I didn't elaborate. I couldn't bring myself to tell her that as a domestic help in her country she enjoyed better pay, respect, and many liberties in her employer's home than her counterparts in India. She shook her head in disapproval. Then she said: "I have a question." I told her to go ahead and ask.</div>
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She walked over to where I was sitting and looking directly at me said, "I can understand that customs, traditions are different. But I am asking you if you too think these women are not respectable? Do you think that doing a pole dance in a bar is a bad thing?"</div>
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"Put in the situation you described, I don't think I do."</div>
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I thought it was over but I had another think coming.</div>
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"Would you be friends with a pole dancer in your country?" She waited for an answer.</div>
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I was thinking hard; trying to choose my words; frame my sentences in a way that wouldn't hurt her sensibilities. But I guess what I was really doing was trying to find a way to wiggle out of answering that. She didn't shift her gaze and waited patiently. I knew I had to say something. So I countered with another question.</div>
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"If you treated your dancer friend the way she would be treated by society in India, how would it be?"</div>
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Her answer was prompt. She said she could never do that. I prodded her. Why couldn't she do that?</div>
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"I would be treated badly by everyone if I did. Even my children would be annoyed with me. I would be ostracized"</div>
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"Well, senora, that's exactly why I would not be able to be friends with a pole dancer in my country." I was glad she didn't ask if I would befriend one in her country!</div>
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I managed to get out of that one by making society the villain.</div>
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***</div>
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But Q&As can be fun too...and some on hindsight. </div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">The most amusing Q&As were the ones that transpired between Mummy and I. As a kid, and a rather tomboyish one who got into all kinds of scraps and fights, I faced a lot of questions. I dreaded the questions my mother would ask. Not because I was scared, but because it was tedious. I found her questions wrong; she found my answers false! She'd see a bruise or a wound and along with the first aid the questions would start. Here's an example of one of our question-answer dialogues after I took on an older boy who was in a fight with my brother. I was not invited to the fight, I just jumped in!</span></div>
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"Who did you fight with?"<br />
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"No one. Someone fought with me."<br />
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"Don't lie to me, you must have hit first."<br />
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"Hmm...I did hit him first, but I didn't start the fight."<br />
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"If you struck first you started the fight."<br />
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"Why do you say that?" It was my turn to ask.<br />
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"Why else would someone fight with you? You hit a person, the person will retaliate."<br />
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It didn't make sense to me.<br />
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"Why would I hit someone just like that? There has to be a reason for me to fight."<br />
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"Why do you have to fight? You play with your brother's friends and act like a boy." I didn't get an answer to my question and the entire conversation went off-course.<br />
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"Boys also don't fight without a reason. And I didn't start the fight." I emphasized.<br />
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"Stop lying. You know what happens to children who lie?"<br />
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"Yes, they get punished by their parents and by God also."<br />
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"So say 'sorry' now."<br />
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"To whom? I am not lying."<br />
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"But you fought, yes? That is also wrong. So say 'sorry."<br />
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"Ok, sorry mummy."<br />
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"Good girl.<br />
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"Mummy, what is 'retaliate'?"<br />
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"It means to fight back. To give tit for tat."<br />
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"That's what I did," I said triumphantly.<br />
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She gave me a look and I ran off.<br />
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My conversations with mummy were always like this and even when I grew older I still couldn't get her logic. But I enjoyed sparring with her, and I'm sure she did too!<br />
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-2383631136323884042014-06-10T22:02:00.000-03:002014-06-10T22:02:41.196-03:00Grey Matters!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Grey is the dominant color of winter these days. I wake up to grey mornings and peek through the curtains, desperate to see a chink in the clouds and a stray, struggling ray of yellow pushing its way through. I like the grey of rainy days, but when it gets cold I'd rather have yellow, red, salmon, orange but grey! That being said, I must add I like winter rains: drizzles as well as downpours. I just can't stand the dip in temperature.<br />
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There's something about rain and me...perhaps it's not only me...I find it romantic. These days that translates to nostalgia. So here in my little room, I'm all by myself and I play old numbers, gaze at the changing shades of grey outside, hoping for the sunshine tomorrow! Gone are my days of walks in the rain. So I keep myself happy with cooking 'rainy day' foods! We have many such assorted foods for wet, cold and dull days that cheer up a sagging spirit. I guess there is a way that leads from the tummy to the heart after all, and it doesn't apply only to the male species!<br />
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I have a dream; an aspiration. I intend to pursue it, but right now I've barely taken half a step forward and I'm already intimidated. It involves so much of technical and internet work, which always bares its fangs at me and sends me scuttling into a corner. However I've decided not to give up. That sounds braver than I feel by the way, but I am going to go through with it, my physical limitations and condition notwithstanding, even if it takes me a year (or more!) At times like these I wish elves didn't just dwell in fairy tales and were available to help me at the drop of a sigh!<br />
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It surprises me how the yearnings and wishes pile up in direct proportion to the years I notch up on my birthdays! Right now I wish I were closer to my native land and all my friends, relations and things familiar. Two decades ago, I'd not be so bothered about distances. Not for want of love but because distance would not rise as an insurmountable obstacle. There is more I don't take for granted today than I did earlier. Times, and people have changed and things are no longer as they used to be. I have learned more in the past decade. I take more trips down memory lane than I ever have, but I don't dwell there. The present may not be all that I'd dreamed of or hoped for, but what I have realized is far more than my expectations. I'd rather live in it and learn new things and move on, and while I'm on my way I might as well kick my heels and do a song and dance, even if it's only in my mind.<br />
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Among all the new things I learn, I stumble upon some newfangled words like 'pizzled.' I learned that it describes, quite aptly, a situation which leaves you puzzled and pissed off! In other words confused and annoyed. It seems that everyone has a word mint at their disposal. If the word gains currency, it will soon find its way into a dictionary. That's language, dynamic. But I'd rather form a new word like 'confoyed' to describe my state in a similar situation! I would like to hear of some more of these new generation compound words from you if you are reading this. Let's share.<br />
Fill in the blank in the comment box: "I was ..................when/with/at what...........!<br />
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This has been an accomplishment for me! It has taken me a long time to type this small piece, (some disc probs compounded with other muscular probs have escalated) but I've finally done what I set out to do and now for the final review. Yoohoo!<br />
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"You just can't beat a person who never gives up."<br />
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-12655384384123046762014-05-10T12:15:00.003-03:002014-05-10T12:44:35.114-03:00When Mummy Sang A Song<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I heard a song by Bill Anderson: <i>Mama Sang A Song</i>, and it struck a chord with me. My mama sang hymns too, all the day. And as the song says, I think a lot about the time back when I was a girl.</div>
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Mummy was a SAHM. Of course back then the term was not in use because in my country, in those days, most mothers stayed at home. So it was no big deal. But unlike most mothers, mine had been a working girl before she married. She was a WRIN. That's what the women working for the Women's Royal Indian Navy service were called! Since Daddy didn't want her to continue working she resigned herself to being a housewife. The term 'home-maker' was not in use then. Mummy didn't seem to resent that. But life did not prove to be what she had dreamed it would be. </div>
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She grew up in a well-to-do family. Although she was an orphan, she was the child of rich parents. Her foster parents were affluent too. My father on the other hand grew up in a respectable family, but 'rich' or 'well-to-do' were not tags ascribed to it. His father was a school teacher with ten kids, though respectable and certainly not in a hand-to-mouth situation, the family was just getting by comfortably. She grew up in a different society and their cultures and traditions were poles apart. But I guess it was a case of opposites attract. That didn't matter all that much either, what did make it difficult was the absence of the luxuries she had been used to and the extravagance. She used to go for breakfast to the Taj Hotel in Mumbai before she got married and took friends with her many times! Daddy gave her the best he could. There was no lack of domestic help; people to help around the house and kitchen and at most times, two people on twenty-four hour call. But that compensated for little. Her expectations went beyond the domestic arena. So life was difficult for her. There was a lot of adjustment involved at every step. But Mummy sang; she sang to build up courage; she sang to console herself; she sang to rekindle joy; she sang to calm her soul; she sang to cheer up her sagging spirits; she sang to fill the home with melody; she sang because she loved to sing.</div>
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When she was at a crossroad and didn't know where to turn, she sang <i><b>"What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear, what a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer."</b></i></div>
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I remember her stirring and baking and cooking her way through delicious meals for the family as she filled the kitchen with tempting aromas and heavenly tunes: <i><b>"The chimes of time ring out the news another day is through, someone slipped and fell was that someone you? You may have longed for added strength your courage to renew, do not be disheartened for I have news for you: it is no secret what God can do, what He's done for others He'll do for you...."</b></i></div>
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When Daddy put in for a premature retirement from the Navy, and moved the family to his home town in Punjab, she was devastated. Did she crack? No. She took it in her stride. And as she took to rural life, pumping water from a hand pump, washing, cleaning, and cooking with no domestic help she sang: <b><i>"Tempted and tried we're oft made to wonder, why it should be thus all the day long while there are others living around us, never molested though in the wrong. Further along we'll know all about it. Further along we'll understand why, cheer up my sister live in the sunshine, we'll understand it all by and by."</i></b></div>
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When she was lonely with no one she could befriend in this Punjab town, she went through the day happily humming: <i><b>"I've found a friend in Jesus, He's everything to me, He tells me every care on Him to roll, He's the lily of the valley, the bright and morning star, He's the fairest of ten thousand to my soul."</b></i></div>
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And when she lay down tired, at the end of the day, she'd fall asleep singing: <b><i>"Safe in the arms of Jesus, safe from corroding care, there by His love o'er shaded sweetly my soul shall rest."</i></b></div>
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Mummy sang some other songs too, but her favorite and most sung songs were hymns. Although I have mentioned situations and some hymns she'd sing, it was not the only reason she sang. Mummy loved to sing. She sang alto in the church choir. Mummy actually taught us faith. Not in sermons; not in speech, but through her songs. She turned to God every time to replenish hope, love and joy not only when things became difficult for her but all the day long. And in doing so taught me a valuable lesson.</div>
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Mummy's singing brought peace and calm then, and today the legacy she left carries forward in my home and life.</div>
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I sing too. I sing a lot of songs of different genres, unlike my mother, but like her I sing a lot of hymns too. Like our home when I was a girl, my home is also filled with songs. I am so grateful for her singing. It made me happy when I was a girl and it makes for such precious memories now.</div>
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These lines from the song sum it up:</div>
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"<b>God put a song in the heart of an angel, and softly she sang it to me.....</b></div>
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<b>I get to thinking lots of times.....of the old home place where I grew up,</b></div>
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<b>of the days both good and bad....</b></div>
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<b>our home fire never flickered once, 'cause when </b><b>things went wrong.....</b></div>
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<b>mama sang a song...... </b></div>
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<b>And those were the greatest days of all, When mama sang a song....</b></div>
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<b>No voice is left to fill those halls, And no steps to grace the floor,</b></div>
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<b>For you see my mother sings in heaven now, around God's golden throne.</b></div>
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<b>But I'll always believe this world is a better place (</b><i>for me)</i><b>, </b></div>
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<b>because one time my mama sang a song.</b></div>
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I am a grandmother now but the memories of Mummy's singing, as she carried on faithfully with her chores and duties, still motivate and inspire me.<br />
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<b>Thank you for the songs Mum. Thank you for the faith.</b></div>
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-21015216892766036952014-03-10T16:57:00.000-03:002015-12-17T15:41:41.138-04:00Some Say this and some say that...Perspectives<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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We all have opinions and views about everything. What one sees and what one thinks about it, depends on how one sees something and how one feels towards the subject. Different perspectives throw different shades on the same subject and present it in a different light. Two people may look at the same thing and describe it differently. It is like seeing a glass with water mid-way to the top. Some would see it as half full and some as half empty. It's all about attitude and perspective. George Carlin says: <i><b>"Some people see the glass half full. Others see it half empty. I see a glass that's twice as big as it needs to be."</b></i></div>
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I typed perspectives into the Google bar and got a whole lot of quotes on 'perspective.' I enjoyed going through them and picked a few which I want to share with you. Some are funny, some witty and some mundane but all are debatable if you're inclined to debate! I'm not in that mood!</div>
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<b>Perspectives:</b><br />
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*It is the obvious which is so difficult to see most of the time. People say, 'It's as plain as the nose on your face.' But how much of the nose on your face can you see, unless someone holds a mirror up to you? (Isaac Asimov)<br />
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*The optimist sees the donut, the pessimist sees the hole. (Oscar wilde)<br />
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*When a man wants to murder a tiger he calls it sport; when a tiger wants to murder him he calls it ferocity. (George Bernard Shaw)<br />
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<b>*</b>We see the moon as full, half or quarter. As far as the moon is concerned, he is always full. (Terri Guillemets)</div>
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*Flowers often grow more beautifully on dung-hills than in gardens beautifully kept. (saint Francis De Salles)</div>
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*It is seldom indeed that one parts on good terms, because if one were on good terms one would not part. (Marcel Proust)</div>
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*My play was a complete success. The audience was a failure. (Ashleigh Brilliant)</div>
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*Expectant of greater things we climb higher and higher - an effort that costs us much, leaving us short of breath to find only the ground below is much prettier. (Phillip Pulfrey)</div>
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*A boil is no big deal......on someone else's neck. (Jewish saying)</div>
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*The bat hanging upside down laughs at the topsy-turvy world. (Japanese proverb)</div>
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*In the ideal sense nothing is uninteresting; there are only uninterested people. (Brooks Atlinson)</div>
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*Just because a man lacks the use of his eyes doesn't mean he lacks vision. (Stevie Wonder)</div>
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*Retreat! Hell! We're just advancing in another direction. (Oliver Prince Smith)</div>
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*Not everything that is more difficult is more meritorious. (Saint Thomas Aquinas)</div>
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*An abridgement may be a bridge: it may help us over the water, but it keeps us from drinking. (Augustus William Hare, Julius Charles Hare)<br />
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*No one knows what they'll do in a crisis and hypothetical questions get hypothetical answers. (Joan Baez)<br />
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*What is true by lamplight is not always true by sunlight. (Joseph Joubert)<br />
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*Thunder is good, thunder is impressive; but it is the lightning that does the work. (Mark twain)<br />
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*It isn't that they can't see the solution. It is that they can't see the problem. (G K Chesterton)<br />
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*I'm right-handed, whereas the fellow in my mirror is left-handed. I start shaving from the left; he starts from the right. Differences only in perceptions, but religious wars have been fought over such. (Robert Brault)<br />
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*People can tell you to keep your mouth shut but that doesn't stop you from having your own opinion. (Anne Frank)<br />
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*If you are going to say what you want to say, you are going to hear what you don't want to hear. (Roberto Bolano)<br />
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*At first, they'll only dislike what you say, but the more correct you start sounding the more they'll dislike you. (Criss Jami)<br />
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*Don't judge a man by his opinions, but what his opinions have made of him. (Georg Cristoph Lichtenberg)<br />
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*If you have to say or do something controversial, aim so that people will hate that they love it and not love that they hate it. (Criss Jami)<br />
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*One day you'll discover that the opinions of worthless people are worthless. (Piers Anthony)<br />
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*We don't get harmony when everyone sings the same note. Only notes that are different harmonize. The same is true of people. (Steve Goodier)<br />
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*We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses. (Abraham Lincoln)<br />
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*If it's true our species is alone in the universe, then I'd have to say the universe aimed rather low and settled for very little. (George Carlin)<br />
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*What people in the world think of you is really none of your business. (Martha Graham)<br />
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*Fairy tales always have a happy ending.That depends......on whether you are Rumpelstiltskin or the Queen. (Jane Yolan)<br />
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*Loving people live in a loving world. Hostile people live in a hostile world. Same world. (Wayne W. Dyer)<br />
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*Sleep is the best meditation. (Dalai Lama)<br />
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On that note I say ciao.<br />
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-50629407412280393762014-03-10T11:33:00.000-03:002018-05-16T13:32:51.861-03:00Your Word<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Recently, I came across a quote on commitment which reminded me of another one I had read, many, many years ago, that impacted my life. The recent one was:</div>
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<b><i>"Commitment means staying loyal to what you said you were going to do, long after the mood you said it in has left you."</i></b></blockquote>
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It sounds great, very strong, however it left me with a feeling of ambiguity. It does not convey the whole message. The stress on caution was missing. In the spur of a moment, caught up by a wave of emotion, we may commit to something without even giving it a thought. What are we committing to? The reference to "the mood" is ambiguous. The mood could have been anything: frivolous, drunken, even just a dare or vicious, or bitter, or vengeful. What message is it conveying exactly? To a narrow mind, a narrow perception this message could be misleading. Before we make a commitment; a promise, we must be careful before we give our word. The message above seems to justify any commitment, made in any "mood." While commitments must be kept, it is important to know what we are committing to. Is it violating our value system? Is it going against the law of the land? Is it the right thing? </div>
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The value of commitment was written on my heart when I was a ten year old. It was the year my father decided to put in his papers and take an early retirement from the Navy, to devote his time wholly to the Lord's service. After the formal send off by his department, daddy was invited by the Chief of Staff, Admiral B S Soman, to a private dinner at his home. My elder sister promptly gave daddy her autograph book for the Chief's autograph. The Chief obliged with these wonderful words of caution and wisdom:</div>
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<b><i>"There is nothing more valuable than your word, so be careful."</i></b></blockquote>
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I read it. I re-read it. I liked it. It sounded profound. I didn't get it. </div>
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It was too profound for my limited intelligence in this area. So, as always, I had to ask daddy. And, as always, he sat me down and explained it to me, supporting it with biblical reference too. I nodded, it made sense but I still needed to think more about it. I mulled over it and then so many other matters of change occurred in my life, I had no time to ponder over such things as my word. But, neither the words nor the lesson was lost on me. I remembered. It was embedded on my heart. This small sentence with a huge message has stayed with me ever since; has nudged me, poked me, stabbed me so many times during the years of growing. If I thought I had learned it good I had another thought coming. Some lessons have to be learned and re-learned as long as it takes to get it. Even today, it kicks me hard, especially when I find myself caught in a maddening situation of honoring a commitment foolishly made.</div>
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It is better, any day, to say an emphatic 'no' (or a mild one) but a definite NO, rather than lie outright, or make lame excuses, or give outrageous, ridiculous reasons to wiggle out of keeping your word. </div>
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Would you like to be known by the commitments you never kept? I guess not. So be careful who or what you are committing to.</div>
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-14629383815425515642014-01-24T11:47:00.000-04:002014-01-28T08:07:34.505-04:00Throw Away My Journals?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<em>"She always threw away her journals after filling up the last page. It was an act of acceptance, a way of releasing the past and finding peace."</em> ~Moments of Joy and Pain, a Journal<br />
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Eleven months back, I did just that...threw away my journals. It wasn't easy to make that decision. I was loath to part with them. It was as if by destroying them I would lose a part of myself; my memories would fade and so a part of me too. </div>
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This wasn't the first time I had thrown away journals, oh no, I had shredded a few without any remorse or regret five years back and purged myself completely of memories of bitterness, resentment, and anger. At that point in time I had just come to a place of acceptance and forgiveness and it hadn't been easy getting there. Once in a while I'd come across these journals while looking for something in drawers and cupboards and I'd casually flip through the pages, more from curiosity as I didn't remember what was recorded in which one. As I scanned the pages something horrible would show up and I'd be compelled to read the whole account of incidents which although I hadn't forgotten, were no longer the subject of focus or attention. They were simply accounts of incidents like a news report or story that I was impervious to and as such they had no affect on me. I believed that. How wrong I was! As I read, the picture would emerge bearing all the anguish, sadness, pain, hurt, rejection, anger, resentment, and injustice that I had felt at the time of each incident or situation, and what I thought I had overcome, accepted and forgiven was actually not gone, but lying dormant like a reptile in hibernation. Just waiting to be revived and spring back with renewed vigour. I would relive the moments, and feel the emotions taking over and destroying my newfound peace and calm. Truth dawned: I had not really forgiven. To forgive and forget meant to forgive and forget the bitterness, the pain, the hurt; to shake off the negative feelings and move on. To say it was tough would be an understatement. I was battling myself. Finally faith, trust and spirit won and I was able to read each word and not feel the stirring of any unwanted and unwelcome feelings.</div>
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That's when the strings were broken and I was free. The journals went the way they should have gone a long time back. But as they say, "Better late than never."</div>
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To come back to the beginning again. Why was it difficult to discard some more scribblings collected, post the detoxing, over the years? These were not the 'Unhappy Diaries' kind of journals. So now it became a question of being cut off from my happy memories. Many questions, silly, absurd, and valid, cropped up. To my mind, of course, every question was valid and reasonable and every reasonable, valid and justifiable answer was out of the question! What if those wonderful, happy memories got wiped out...erased due to any reason, possibly amnesia or Alzeihmer's? It's so funny how even the lamest question seems so important when one wants to hold on to a crutch. So, an unnecessary battle ensued once again. I wonder at my proclivity for going to war with myself so many times. Long story short, 'joy' won! After all joy was in me, deep-seated, deep-rooted. I have a propensity to find joy in little things, in down times too. Tying my happiness to a few journals could not ensure recall if the thing that worried me most - forgetting - occurred! I carried those moments with me. As long as memory served me well, I would remember. So those went too. Am I happy? Can I remember and relive the joy? To both I say a definite yes, but to be honest photographs and videos do contribute in a major way! </div>
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Have I done away with journaling? No, I haven't and I guess I never will. But things are different now. The purpose of writing is no longer what it was and that has made all the difference.</div>
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"<em>Don't use your mind for a filing cabinet. Use your mind to work out problems and find answers; file away good ideas in your journal." ~Jim Rohn</em></div>
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Excerpt from Paulo Coelho's blog: On Writing.<br />
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"<i>All creative processes, be they in literature, engineering, computing - and even love - always respect the same rules: the cycle of nature....<strong><u>Ploughing the field</u>: </strong>The moment the soil is turned, oxygen penetrates places it was unable to previously....The process of interior revolution is very important - because, just as the field's new look will see sunlight for the first time, and be dazzled by it, a new assessment of our values will allow us to see life innocently, without ingenuity. Thus we will be prepared for the miracle of inspiration. A good creator must know how to continually turn over his values, and never be content with that which he believes he understands...<strong><u>Sowing</u>: </strong>All work is the fruit of contact with life. A creative man cannot lock himself in an ivory tower; he must be in contact with his fellow men...He never knows, at the outset, which things will be important to him in the future, so the more intense his life is, the more possibilities he will create for an original language. Le Corbusier said that: as long as man tried to fly by imitating birds, he couldn't succeed. The same applies to the artist...<b><u>Growth</u>: </b>there is a time in which the work writes itself, freely, at the bottom of the writer's soul - before it dares show itself.....It is this moment which the Brazilian poet Carlos Drummond de Andrade refers to, when he states that we should never try to recover lost verses, for they never deserved to see the light of day. I know people who during a growth period, spend their whole time furiously taking notes on everything which comes into their head, without respecting that which is being written in the unconscious. The result is that the notes, which are the fruit of memory, end up disturbing the fruit of inspiration. The creator must respect the time of gestation, although he knows - just like the farmer - that he is only partially in control of his field; it is subject to drought and floods. But if he knows how to wait, the stronger plants, which can resist bad weather, will come to light with great force.<u style="font-weight: bold;">Harvest</u>: The moment when man manifests on a conscious plane that which he sowed and allowed to grow. If he harvests early, the fruit is green, if he harvests late, the fruit is rotten. Every artist recognizes the arrival of this moment; although some aspects may not have matured fully....he understands that he must work from dawn to dusk, until the work is finished.</i>"<br />
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With that I sign off.</div>
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-80068537188555276482013-12-04T17:37:00.001-04:002013-12-04T22:20:08.360-04:00Peccadillos<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-S7jEQI275ts/Up-eZkAR1aI/AAAAAAAAF54/9hWg8w_4J2U/s1600/file6741301061595.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-S7jEQI275ts/Up-eZkAR1aI/AAAAAAAAF54/9hWg8w_4J2U/s1600/file6741301061595.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Friends, I have had many over the
years. Some have drifted away, some passed away and with some I still bond. But,
when I think of friends who have been partners in crime; well that’s another
story. My friend and partner in crime was always my elder brother. Through our
schooling years we had our share of adventures and were thick as thieves, we
had each other’s back and we never tattled to our parents.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The scariest adventure, looking
back over more than five decades, was when we went fishing for a whale. If it were
make believe, it would have been quite in place, but we were not just the day
dreaming kind of children. We dreamed and we set out to make it possible. So
armed with a thin fishing line and the biggest fishing hook, which was about
two inches perhaps, we were ready for our Moby Dick.</span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was a humid summer afternoon.
No one goes out voluntarily on a hot Indian summer afternoon, which was why a
girl and boy aged six and nine respectively, slinked out to get the biggest
catch anyone could get with a thin fishing line and a two-inch hook. Of course,
I was the girl and my brother was the boy. We jumped out of our bedroom window
after making sure both mum and dad were asleep. I wasn’t sure where we were
going, but I always followed the leader. That day my brother led me to the big
bridge, that spanned a channel of the backwaters, and joined the island we lived on
with the mainland. It was a big bridge with a highway and a rail track running
on it. </span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was excited and felt like I was
finally on a real adventure. My brother scrambled up an iron ladder that led
into the underbelly of the bridge. I felt my legs begin to tremble. I knew it
was fear but wild dogs wouldn’t drag that admission out of me. I stood rooted
to the spot and looked up with a silly grin on my face.</span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Come on. Don’t stand there
gaping like an idiot,” said the leader impatiently.</span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wasn’t so sure I wanted to
follow the leader up there. But I couldn’t figure out how to wriggle out of that
situation without confessing that I was scared. My brother turned and started
walking away. I looked around at the deserted place and decided it was less scary
to be with him than alone down there, besides who wanted to miss the joy of
hooking a whale. I took hold of the rusty ladder and laboriously made my way
up. Whatever elation I felt at achieving that feat dissipated when I saw what
lay before me. I gulped. I was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea.
My brother was about fifteen or twenty feet ahead of the abutment, standing on
a narrow walkway about a foot wide. I was trembling from head to toe and I didn’t
have to say a word, my fear was written all over my face. I felt like a
condemned pirate walking the plank. I spread my arms like a bird in flight as I
took one shaky step and then another. But unlike a bird in flight my extended
arms helped to keep me, balanced, on the narrow path, as I made my extremely
slow progress towards my brother. He looked back at me and I glanced down. A
long way down, the waves with their frothy rims threatened to swallow me. I
swayed and there was a loud warning shout.</span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Don’t look down.” I jerked my
head up eyes wide with fright staring straight at my brother. “Okay, don’t
walk. Go back and sit at the top of ladder,” he said with a hint of contempt. I
was behaving like a ‘sissy’ and that was unbearable not only for him but for me
too. But I was frightened out of my wits and didn’t mind being a ‘sissy.’ I
decided to turn back. That was impossible. Manoeuvring into a turn made my head
spin. I was stuck. I couldn’t go forward and I couldn’t turn back. I looked at
my brother helplessly. He had put the bait on the hook and was rolling the line
into a ball, which he then put into his pocket, with the hook end hanging out. We
didn’t even have a makeshift rod! He was preparing to jump from the walkway
onto the girders on the side of the bridge. That was some distance for a boy
his age and not a tall one either. If he didn’t get a grip he’d plummet down.
For a moment there I forgot my predicament as I shouted, “Don’t!” It was too
late he was already airborne, and in a split second had grabbed the girder and
was positioning himself securely with a leg in the right place, his foot
against a beam, pushing his back firmly against another flat beam. He looked at me
grinning like a chimp. It was too much for me. I lowered myself slowly onto the
walkway, clutched the sides tightly with two small hands, and sat astride.</span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As the great fisherman unwrapped
his twine and I exhaled a big sigh of relief, I realised I felt more secure
sitting astride than doing a balancing act like a circus gymnast. My brother
whirled the hook adeptly and threw it. It didn’t go far. By then I was pulling
myself along the walkway quite fearlessly and had reached where he was. I began
to offer my suggestions.... “Roll out more twine”.....”Mind your foot doesn’t
slip”....... “Do you think there are whales here?”</span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Keep quiet. You’re disturbing
me.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I shut up.</span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">If I had prepared myself for a
long wait, especially after all that drama and effort, I was soon to find
myself in the dumps. The fishing spree ended abruptly and unceremoniously with
the hook and line sinking into the sea. In an effort to draw more twine, so that
the hook would get into the water, the ball of twine fell out of my brother’s
hands. Actually that was the only way the hook was ever going to get into the
sea. We never had that length of twine. If we had, I am quite convinced, we
would have caught Moby Dick!</span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My fearless brother made a jump
back to the walkway. Another heart-in-the-throat moment and he was hanging with
his arms around the beam. Without a hitch, he pulled himself on top. My turn
around didn’t go that smoothly, but I managed to follow the step by step
instructions my brother called out and soon I was pulling-sliding,
pulling-sliding my way back to the top of the rusty ladder.</span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We managed to slip back through
the window, and get into bed without a squeak. When mummy came to wake us for
tea, she wouldn’t have imagined how close she came to losing us. A small slip
and our adventure would have ended in tragedy. But, this is what memories are
made of. As a mother, I am glad my sons aren’t such daredevils who throw
caution to the wind. As a friend and a sibling, I cherish those moments and tomboyish
peccadillos with my brother without regret.</span></div>
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-61601462644817469242013-09-27T14:41:00.001-03:002013-09-27T14:44:24.857-03:00In The Driver's Seat<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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For years, ever since I could stand on my two, little toddler's feet, I have travelled comfortably ensconced in the backseat. And I was not a backseat driver either! That doesn't mean I had no voice, or that I didn't use the voice I had. However the fact that I had a voice and voiced my opinions didn't put me in the driving seat, simply because I knew what I felt, but I didn't feel what I said. No hypocrisy there, no double standards, just plain lack of confidence in my own abilities. Always an iota of doubt that kept me from taking the reins on my own. I needed a crutch all the time. Please do note, in my favour, I did not use the plural of crutch. I walked but with a limp. If I drove I would be a leg too short for the accelerator and the brake. It wouldn't be an ideal situation; I would be on a crash course all the time, literally. So though being in the driver's seat would have been the right thing, I lacked the right leg and the related right push to drive myself. My confidence limped!</div>
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I was and still am a dreamer. I dreamed big, I worked hard, and I fought harder to release myself from my insecurities; from my crutch. I lost every battle. There were only a few who encouraged me...my father and some friends. The ratio of encouragers and discouraging factors was certainly not in my favour, and didn't give me the requisite support I needed and I required more than an awful lot. I tended to see myself through other people's eyes, which is the worst thing to do, and there were more negatives than positives. Though I did believe the positive feedback, the majority's attitude always swung me back and forth like a pendulum between doubt and belief. My confidence was in place but it was fragile; handle with care fragile. It didn't take more than a tiny pebble to send it crashing.</div>
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There comes a time for those who dream to realize their fondest desires. There comes a time for those who wish to fly to spread their wings and jump off the cliff. There comes a time when destiny calls for you to step out of the boat and walk on water. There comes a time to strengthen your faith and put it into action. There comes a time when you have to pay dearly, sometimes, to walk alone without a crutch. My time came too.</div>
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My world crashed. My crutch with it too. I had two options; become fully lame or walk on my two feet. I was on the brink of something new, something unknown. Should I be scared and cower under the covers or should I take a leap of faith? It was the worst nightmare of a fragile, china doll dreamer. I had a month to decide...a twenty eight day month...I didn't even get a thirty-one day month! I made my choice.</div>
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Within three months I was in the driver's seat. Ignorant, nervous, scared, anxious, incompetent and very insecure. I didn't know the rules, I lacked practical experience and I was totally unaware of unruly drivers on this highway called life. This is when the weaker me began to grow stronger. Through all the fears, one rose dominant and petrifying: the fear that I would not be able to protect, fend for and educate my children. This seemingly crippling emotion worked as my strongest motivator. All the hidden strengths surfaced: determination, perseverance, resilience, faith, hope and love. I was in the driving seat. My seatbelt was trust, the airbags were faith and God was my driving instructor! I had my share of bumps and dents, scrapes and near head-on collisions. I guess I had shifted gears too soon. I had moved from not confident to over-confident too fast and I became too self-assured for my own safety. But I had a teachable spirit; one that learned lessons, sometimes the hard way! But all things considered I had an enriching long drive, in the driver's seat for twenty-one years, on the highway called life. </div>
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But all things come to an end, period.</div>
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Do all things come to an end, period? As it is written, God opens doors and shuts doors. So when one door closes another opens and vice versa. Well, my licence to drive has expired. That's a closed door. Will it be renewed or is it time to relax and enjoy the luxury of travelling in a chauffeur driven automobile? I am an incorrigible dreamer. I still have some dreams to realize, and whether this is one of them or not is immaterial, what matters is: I dream and I hope. I not only live, I am alive. This time round, sitting in the backseat will be different. It will be just that, a literal thing, not an analogy of my life!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wouldn't mind being driven in one of these...I can dream, yes?<br />
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-55877463429570180542013-09-23T12:26:00.001-03:002013-09-23T12:29:48.743-03:00I Forgot The Sugar...the tea-(cher) and the taught!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by zirconicusso, FreeDigitalPhotos.net</td></tr>
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Some days back I forgot the sugar, the sweetness that enhances the flavour of my morning ginger tea. No big deal, really. I am absent-minded and do silly, even stupid things when I'm elsewhere in my mind than where I should be. What made it a point of focus is that I had put someone in the dock...yes, that early in the morning...and was judging and criticizing, not constructively but just to let off steam. Some emotions were festering within due to someone's overbearing nature, bad attitude and arrogance. I believe letting off steam is alright. One has to release the pressure, but without passing judgment and hanging tags around the offender's neck...and definitely not as soon as one's feet hit the floor at the start of day. I mean I was shocked that I was (unconsciously) carrying malignant feelings about someone, somewhere, who did not influence my life in a major way, or play even a minor role in my development and growth. And yet, here I was allowing negative emotions to give freeway to the person to steal my joy...take away the sweet enjoyment of my everyday life. In other words I was focussing on the person and not the act. Now that's a no-no where I'm concerned. To learn, I confine my thoughts to what (the act or words) rather than who (person) as focussing on the person doesn't benefit in any way. And this was highlighted by my own run-away emotions. My unbridled mind and a cup of unsweetened tea taught me a valuable lesson that day.<br />
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<strong>Life Point:</strong><br />
When you allow bitterness from resentment to poison your mind and heart, you forget the sugar. You lose your sweetness; in your nature, thoughts, actions and life in general. You lose your joy and peace. Like the ginger tea without sugar my thoughts were sharp, pungent and not me. The 'I' or 'what about me' attitude had overpowered my heart and almost succeeded in poisoning my day.<br />
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Another lesson was re-enforced too: "Take it to the Lord in prayer." By taking it to His throne, I was given insight. I saw how I could forget to add sugar when I concentrated on being offended. I had shifted to resenting a person rather than learning a positive lesson from a negative action or attitude.<br />
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On a lighter note I also learned that when life throws you lemons, add a slice or two to your <strong>sweet </strong>tea, it makes a delectable blend of flavour!<br />
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-3252999002933704542013-09-03T16:12:00.000-03:002013-09-03T20:16:47.388-03:00Come September!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Come September, I can never resist humming the tune made famous by the Ventures, it was the theme of the movie, Come September. Well, not throughout the month, just when the 1st comes up on the calendar! Then there are days in the month that remind me of daddy, David, and my former students and colleagues. September is a month for reminiscing.<br />
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September meant cooler weather, perhaps a few autumn showers; a prelude to winter, but that was before I made my journey to the other side of the globe. It's a complete turn around where I am now. We're heading into warmer weather, longer days and yes, Spring! Summer will be upon us before we can say Christmas! A summer Christmas, is going to be a first for me. I am not sure I am too pleased about that. All my life I have celebrated Christmas in Winter. There's something about winter that makes X-mas so much more beautiful. Since I have no idea what a hot Summer Christmas is like, I don't fancy it. Maybe it's because I imagine an Indian summer in Delhi, which is so terrible. But I'm open to it. I am keen to experience a Christmas sans coats, mufflers, scarves, gloves, caps, heaters, warm fires, glowing embers and icy winds. I guess I'll be keeping cool instead of warm this Christmas. And that sounds cool!<br />
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September had always been a special month of celebrations for me. The 5th of September is marked as Teacher's Day. It commemorates Dr S Radhakrishnan's birthday. He was the first vice-president of India. As a student or a teacher, it meant grand celebrations and felicitations for us at school. The celebrations carried on at home as well with a big dinner party to felicitate David, it was his birthday too and he loved to celebrate it. On the 15th Daddy's birthday came up. For me these dates were and still remain very special. The men I celebrated have long since passed on to the other side, but their impact on my life has been so great that these days hold significance even now.<br />
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These two were the only men who mattered to me. They got along famously, like father and son: one my father and the other the father of my sons. They will be my heroes always. They weren't supermen. They had their flaws and were very human, but they played pivotal roles in my life. I was seventeen when I first met David. So, I literally grew up with him. And Daddy provided the motivation and inspiration that spurred me on. So September is their month.<br />
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To my father, who was my first teacher, to my teachers in the various schools I've studied at, I say: <strong>Thank you</strong>! I cannot let any Teacher's Day pass without a special mention of Mr Mohanlal Kakkar and Mrs Jolly. I am eternally indebted to Mr Kakkar, my teacher and mentor in my senior years in school. He remained my model during the years I evolved as a mother, a teacher and a mentor. <br />
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Spring is the time for new beginnings. A symbol of hope, abundance, revival and rejuvenation. A time that signifies fruitfulness. So come September, herald of Spring!<br />
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-54385266428056061042013-08-28T17:06:00.002-03:002013-08-28T17:06:24.240-03:00In Retrospect: The Fortnight That was<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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A lot has happened in these last two weeks. Some things were beyond my wildest dreams and a few not quite as I expected. Dealing with the good and not so good proved to be a forward and backward cha-cha. There is a lot to look forward to with great expectations, and on the flipside the premature closing down of a project well begun has pushed me back where I was.</div>
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Let's start with the good. I prefer that. Well for starters, we're expecting two new additions to the family early next year. The news was kept under wraps but the 'cat' got out of the bag earlier than it was intended to! Since it was out, I informed my friends and family back home. I felt so elated sharing the happiness. <strong>It is true, happiness shared is happiness doubled.</strong> So why did we keep the news secret? Generally, down our side, people don't disclose such things till the fifth or sixth month of pregnancy. Call it superstition, plain prudence or wise discretion, that's the norm. Our efforts at secrecy failed because my daughter-in-law, M, was advised rest by her doctor, which meant an application for leave. Once the office knew, everybody knew! The few who were in the dark didn't have to wait long.</div>
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Last Sunday was M's birthday. Papa-to-be designed a cake which left nothing to be guessed. So everyone knew about the good news before they were supposed to! So much for zipping our lips. Here's the tell-all cake:l</div>
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Isn't it so adorable!</div>
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Getting her a gift proved to be more difficult for me. Because I don't understand or speak Spanish of any useful worth, going out shopping on my own would have been more frustrating than fruitful. So I decided it would benefit me, in more ways than one, to suggest a 'practical' class in the Mall to my Spanish tutor. She thought it was a brilliant idea. I thought so too! I got a free ride, a translator and I did get to practice my Spanish (which is awful) and buy the gifts.</div>
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My first grandchild was also born abroad. However I couldn't be there. In fact I have missed so much of her growing up. She's three and a half and I know her only through Skype and Face Time! I felt bad about it then and carried that disappointment with me. However, in retrospect, I find God puts me where I need to be rather than where I want to be. I would have been of no earthly use to anyone three and a half years ago. I was barely of any use to myself physically. So I am grateful for this double joy; a bonus.<br />
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I have lost a few kilos, hallelujah, and I feel lighter in this area too! I hope I can keep the lost pounds just where they are: LOST! But if truth be told, it's been a sad story of lost & found for some years...sigh! This time round I took a positively decisive step toward the loss program. I discarded all the extra large clothes and kept only the size I fit into now. Then I looked into the mirror and said, "You will have nothing to wear if those pounds and inches find you again. Take that as you may, but that's how it stands." Do you think it will work...the threat and all? Right now There's this huge temptation staring me in the eye:<br />
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I went on a long road trip to the south. We had a night stopover in Chillan at a serene and tranquil place, I've forgotten the name of the resort, and drove sixty-five kms to Las Termas de Chillan the next day. At the start of the journey from Vina, I was happy and excited. This was the first long road trip after many years. My bane, travel sickness, was not far behind. Midway to Las Trancas it hit. As a result, I had to be off loaded at base further ahead, from where the others drove up into the snow-clad mountains. Though I tried my best to convince my son that I would be fine and no one had to stay with me, M stayed back too. I did not like that at all. She was missing all the fun because of me. I was the only one in this group of nine who was on the wrong side of fifty. The rest were youngsters her age. She was annoyed, which was to be expected, I was hurt to find myself the villain of the piece. I detested that role completely. I was downcast for the rest of the day and night. I retired early when we got back to Chillan. A sound sleep and an early morning quiet hour of communing with the Lord saw me bouncing back to being true to my name! I forgave myself. Thereafter, nothing could offend me as I refused to take offence. I regained a sense of peace and calm. I put aside the incident. But it is one thing to regain your peace and quite another to maintain it. The feeling of being the wrong person at the right place at the wrong time for someone, led to sadness and loneliness. Forgiveness only released me from unpleasant emotions.</div>
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<em>"What do you do with your love for someone when they die? Or the memories they've left? Do you pack them up in moving boxes and write strange names for them across the top? Then where do you put them and the rest of a life you were supposed to share with a person who left without warning?" ~Jonathan Caroll</em></div>
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Back in Chillan the next day, sitting in the lap of nature soaking in the beauty and awesomeness of God's creation, my mood was contemplative. Would it have been better if...what if David were here...would I even be here...my mind was spinning. I suppose a teeny-weeny bit of hurt remained from the previous day. There was no turmoil, on the contrary there was peace, there was joy, there was serenity, but there was pain too. Not the kind of bruising, harsh, bitter pain of anger or injured pride but the kind only one who has known deep love and loss can feel. The heaviness of regret, the longing for what wasn't and couldn't be. It was like a tiny soap bubble, its surface reflecting all the colours of the rainbow as it floated in the sunshine among the overflowing cups of joy. It was a contradiction with its emptiness in a world dominated by happy memories. Was it symbolic of my state of mind? Is that how I actually was...light, bouncing on the wind, showing off sparkling colours; a joyous exterior that belied the vacuousness within? But I was not empty within.</div>
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An empty pitcher can give nothing. I gave love, forgiveness, understanding, acceptance. I had peace, I had patience, I had joy. I believed, I trusted, I laughed, I cried. It was then I realized I was full. There was no empty space. I was floating around in search of an answer. An answer I already knew but didn't recognise. An answer that was so clear to the question: "Then where do you put them (memories) and the rest of a life that you were supposed to spend with a person who left without warning?"</div>
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I was living the answer. I knew where to put "them" and the "rest of my life." I was already anchored. That was the truth. The bubble was just that....ephemeral, a moment of illusion.</div>
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The realization was uplifting.</div>
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I had been in the doldrums with my packed lunches packing up on me, though I didn't admit it. The dual purpose of taking up the cooking project had been to keep myself occupied and earn something too. The need to be occupied was to fill the long hours of being alone. The need to earn was to satisfy my wants and little indulgences. But when I looked back I saw I never ever had to worry about my needs. They were always met. My prayers had never gone unanswered and finances had always miraculously been enough at the right time. I knew why the food project had died out and perhaps that is why I felt worse than I should. It made no sense to fret about it. The business of packing lunches was not all that lucrative but it provided a steady flow of cash which kept me independent in terms of supplying my wants. What ever the reasons were for that stream drying up, I was not going to dwell on it. The earning opportunity came without my asking and it went the same way. If I imagined there was nothing to occupy me, could I have been wrong? Perhaps there was something else I needed to explore. Or something I was already into that needed more time and dedication. Worry never brought me anything but sleepless nights and disease. When my hope is anchored in God, I simply need to continue my walk in faith. Why not? He's walked with me all these years, He's not going to give up on me ever.</div>
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Thus went the fortnight that was. When I shut my eyes I see mostly pretty pictures of that time. I am at a place of acceptance.</div>
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-65111940806307426472013-08-09T15:52:00.002-03:002013-08-09T15:52:49.807-03:00The Joy of Simple Things <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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"<strong>Okay</strong>, let me tell you a story," she says. We were on Face Time and I was thrilled that she wanted to talk to me for more than a minute this time!</div>
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"I'm all ears," I replied tentatively, still not too sure that I'd have the pleasure of her 'royal' presence for a great length of time.</div>
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"One day Little Blue, Red Riding Hood was walking in the big black forest..." she began.</div>
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"That's me. I have a blue riding hood today. I have a yellow one too but it's dirty." It was obvious she didn't think much of my question as it was quite obvious why she was 'Blue Red Riding Hood'!</div>
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" Now who is going to be the woodcutter and who is going to be the saviour?"</div>
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"Yes, saviour.....oh you can be the saviour papa! And you can be the woodcutter," she says pointing to her mom, "and who will be the Gramma?" she continues.</div>
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"I am the Gramma," I say happily stressing the "am".</div>
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"No, you're not," she says, stressing the 'not,' "she is the Gramma," and she points to a picture of her Nani, "you are the Big...Bad...Wolf!"</div>
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I was in splits. Could both of us be in the same frame without something interesting happening?!</div>
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I love being her Gramma even when it means that I'm the "Big, Bad Wolf" in Gramma's clothing!!</div>
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<strong>It's</strong> monsoon time in India and although I am not there I do have the pleasure of winter rains in Chile.We aren't experiencing heavy showers very often, but dark skies and cold moisture laden breeze in winter do a lot for the mind, body and soul. Walks on such days are so enjoyable and invigorating. Whatever time of the year, winter or summer, rain brings so many simple enjoyments of life. I do crib sometimes if it gets in the way of work, but how much can I crib when the aroma of pakoras and gulgullas frying makes me drool! Then of course there's the hot cup of tea...ginger or cardamom or just plain tea....I make myself comfortable in the sit-out and stuff myself with pakoras and sweet gugullas, sip my tea and watch the rain...lovely.</div>
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<strong>I</strong> have a tutor, 'K.' She's thirty-four, old enough to be my daughter and very sweet. She's patient with my stuttering, faltering speech which is ridden with abominable grammatical errors. She's encouraging no matter how often I display my total inability to recall what we did fifteen minutes ago. And God only knows how she tolerates my articulation which is a mixture of English, Spanish and French pronunciations gone wrong. </div>
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She doesn't mind my tea breaks and is equally pleased to drink Indian tea with me. It is quite a nice experience to be on the other side of the table in a class after being on the teacher side so long. I make lame excuses when I haven't done my tarea (homework) and fib when I want to bunk class! She sees through it all as any experienced teacher would and chooses to ignore it as long as I am enthusiastic about being in the class and learning...how much I learn is all about getting the 'horse' to the water. Whether it drinks, doesn't drink and how much it imbibes depends on the horse...and she has an aging mare to deal with! I sure admire her for sticking it out so pleasantly. But on a genuine note, I do enjoy my study session with 'K.' It certainly is one of my simple joys on this sojourn.</div>
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<strong>In</strong> India it is the norm to address a known elderly person as uncle or aunty, as the gender demands, and often even strangers are addressed by these terms out of a sign of respect. In bigger cities, these days, the norm has changed with shopkeepers, cab drivers and hospital, and office staff using 'sir' and 'ma'am' instead. However in the social context as with neighbours or general public, you become an uncle or aunt of all and sundry. Abroad one doesn't expect to hear it unless one is with a desi crowd,and then too only with non-immigrants. So, I was surprised when a young girl from this place asked if she could call me 'aunty' too, like the other Indian girls did. Why did it please me? I didn't give a second thought even when my domestic help, back home, called me aunty...it was expected and accepted. I suppose it was this very reason why her request made me happy...it was not expected, it was not the norm. It was a decision she made, for whatever reason, I didn't need to probe. It was enough that she wanted to call me aunty. Just another simple joy in my life here.</div>
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-57403224511461355802013-06-23T15:41:00.001-03:002013-06-23T15:41:04.389-03:00Step #58<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It has been some time since I wrote this. The first draft has been lying on my desktop, waiting...waiting...since May to see the light of day! In fact right after my birthday in May.</div>
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It was my birthday!</div>
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I woke up tired, still sleepy (we'd had a very late night) but so happy! I was with my family after a very long time. As I sat and sipped my tea, I reflected over the past years. I was up on the stairway to heaven: fifty eight stairs up.</div>
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It had been a long, arduous journey at times and I saw myself heaving up those stairs. It had been lonely; sad and painful. I sat down often and I spoke to my friend up there. I asked him things. Things I wanted to understand. But most of all I asked for strength to go on. He answered all my questions, but not always right then. Nevertheless, they were answered when I could best benefit from the answer. </div>
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There were days I had stomped up those steps seething with anger as the angry tears rolled down my face, because words failed to express my wrath. And in direct contrast there were those times I skipped and danced up the stairway, bouncy and bubbly, singing or humming or whistling a tune. I also recalled simply gliding over the steps as if on wings...my heart was so light my feet barely touched the ground. That was the upward climb. But can a climb always be without its slips and falls?</div>
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I had stumbled on more than one occasion; I had even tumbled. Did that slow me, or make me want to stop and stagnate? No. The journey was never a problem. It was one I was eager to travel on; to move on. It wasn't one I would have chosen given a choice, with the benefit of hindsight. I doubt if anyone would, if they could peep into the future. So did I regret it? Did I regret the choices that took me on a sojourn of sorrow, pain, fear, abandonment and rejection? I can say with complete honesty, never. Perhaps in a moment of brokenness I might have wondered if I had made a mistake in choosing the path I had, but that was never the final conclusion. With every step I advanced or rather crawled, that does sound dramatic but it was the speed at which I travelled, I realised I was on the right road. It was just that often times fear, insecurity or plain bad judgment, made me take a wrong turn or make stupid choices. I am human and I don't have 'super' prefixed to my natural state of womanhood, so I am entitled to blunder my way through! What matters is that though I might have strayed from the chosen path at times, I returned and carried on regardless of the world and its opinions.<br />
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I would love to say, "I did it alone," but that wouldn't be true. I would never have accomplished getting this far through major ailments, distress and grief, limited funds and less to rely on materially if it wasn't for God and my sons. But most of all it is because of my best friend Jesus, who watches out for me all the time, every time. I could not have done it then and I can do nothing now without Him. Though there was turmoil outside and I would grumble or get annoyed, inside of me there was a calm; a peacefulness, not the kind this world can give but the kind that only the Lord can give. I put every word in the Bible to the test. I put my God to the test and He never failed. I cast all my burdens on Him and He gave me rest. I carried my yoke and the burden was light. I was grateful and thankful at all times because there was always something to be thankful for. There were amazing moments, miracles, wonderful people, and unbelievable goodness from quarters unexpected...there were streams in the desert! From this gratefulness stemmed my joy. A joy that welled from my soul. A deep sense of contentment in any circumstance and love for my children; my family.<br />
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So on the fifty-eighth step, as I view the distance I have traversed and turn to move on to higher ground, I count the years and I praise God for His tender, loving mercies and grace. I am satisfied that as I have grown older and gained in years I have also grown up and gained in wisdom...and that process of growing up and learning has not ceased. I am still growing! Now isn't that something to be happy about!<br />
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-22726911176046628762013-04-11T11:24:00.001-03:002013-04-12T09:12:19.620-03:00A Better Morning, A Proverb And A Mare's Snort!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Well, it's usually a good morning everyday for me, so I thought I should qualify that by a degree and add 'better' instead to the morning. Chilean mornings are different. The house is quiet, in fact the whole world around our block and a couple of blocks away too, are blissfully silent. Not even a squawk from the gulls...probably because there are no gulls anyway! <br />
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What a difference from the mornings in India. The world there woke up before daybreak. At least the moms or women in general did, I presume, as I didn't see many men hitting the kitchen to rustle up breakfast for the kids at that hour. I mean no offence, nor barb intended for the husbands. It's just how it usually is in India. And with the waking came the sound of a grand welcome, ushering in the new day...the kitchen band struck a few discordant sounds; clangs, bangs, whirs and whistles! <br />
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But here in my little room, where I'm all by myself, it is certainly a quiet morning. I am as quiet as a mouse. The only sound that you can hear is me shuffling about, the wooden floor squeaking under my weight, the click of the bathroom door shutting, running water and the occasional thud/clang of me or a pan falling! Otherwise as I said I'm as quiet as a mouse...Is my tongue actually in my cheek? In truth the former did not happen...I never fell with a thud...I never even fell. I hope I'm not speaking too soon! But in my haste to get my hot cup of ginger tea...well accidents do happen. You can't hold me for that, can you? I don't expect an answer, it's plain rhetoric!!<br />
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I got a verse from Proverbs this morning, for meditation. I was listening to the lesson: A Teachable Spirit. The verse says: "Rebuke is more effective for a wise man than a hundred blows on a fool." ~Proverbs 17:10~ (NKJV) Think about it. I had a lot on my plate as I mulled over the verse and attempted to plumb the depths of its meaning and the application in life. Do I have a teachable spirit? Do I walk in humility? In all honesty I'm not there yet, but I'm on the way, which tells me I'm not a lost case. For today that gives me hope and as I said, it's a better day...but my tea got cold!<br />
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I went down to buy some vegetables yesterday. I walked down to the store, not very far from our place. I was half-way there when I saw a group of women coming down the opposite side. One, in particular, caught my attention as she stared at me and tried to conceal a snicker. I'm not very observant but since I was getting a snicker, I gave her a look-over too and passed by. Nothing about her drew any thought; good, bad, funny or ugly, in my mind. Then we passed each other and I heard a loud snort of laughter...you know the kind that goes haw-haw snort...haw-haw snort! And my mind went, "What a mare!" She reminded me of Sandra Bullock in one of her movies where she plays this character who snorted when she actually was laughing. I smiled and that lead to a silent tummy shaking laugh. I'm glad she gave me a funny moment rather than a nasty one. A spoonful of humour makes the medicine go down, if I may misquote a line from Julie Andrew's song in The Sound Of Music.<br />
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The sun has put his hat on, hip-hip-hip-hooray, the sun has put his hat on and is coming out today! On that kiddish note I sign out!<br />
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-43630012757181255212013-04-05T14:14:00.000-03:002013-04-05T14:14:21.668-03:00Where's The Zing?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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An article, some questions, a discussion; all centering around one aspect in life: Zing! Everyone in the room had their say. Some were honest some were not about the status of their lives. Granted, they had the right to share or not to disclose. However all admitted it was often a case of found-lost-found-lost, with only some enlightened ones springing with sustained zing. Some of us have it and have sustained it, while some never got around to a toe-hold and others just let it fizzle out and die. So much has been written about it, so much spoken about it. So many well thumbed self-help books stand in the book shelves worn out and wearier than the hands that turned its pages. Where is the zing?</div>
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I speak from my own experience when I say that to have the zing and sustain it in life, one must first learn to 'be happy'; appreciate life and be grateful in the valley and on the mountain top. It's something that grows from the inside to the outside. Having said that zing can be acquired through organization and practical applications. These are some of the things I've followed, though at times I admit I did fall through, but that's how I learned that to have that inner joy, peace and zest for life some 'must haves' and 'musn't haves' have to be there or discarded as the case may be.</div>
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<strong>Quality Sleep:</strong> Lack of sleep, a good night's sleep, is the No:1 enemy of zest and zing in life. Don't short change yourselves with short naps at odd hours, to make up for a good night's rest. It never really does. This practice is a short term benefit but a long term disaster. I learned it the hard way! With circumstances the way they were, getting the ideal eight hours of night sleep was difficult, or so I thought. But the hard way knocks some sense into you if you're looking for improvement and are willing to change for what's beneficial in the long run. I found going to sleep before the clock struck twelve (the magic hour) gave me a restful, rejuvenating sleep even if it was for only five and a half or six hours! I'm not recommending less hours of sleep only sharing what I found helpful in difficult situations.</div>
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<strong>Keep the Kid Alive</strong>: Observe little children. Have you noticed the zing in their lives? They wake up raring to go, full of energy and thoroughly excited about the day! Be a child as often as you can...play. Take up some games and if you aren't the sporty kind, there are indoor games. Play to enjoy not to compete. Do something simple or even silly perhaps. Anything that makes you laugh, share some joy. Let your hair down and just be you. Laugh at slapstick jokes, crack some corny ones if you may. Romp with the kids, go on picnics, have pillow fights even with your spouse!! Go ice-cream hopping to as many ice-cream places as you can. Just be a kid.</div>
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<strong>Set Goals: </strong>Dream your dreams; even the wildest ones, then separate the goals from the fantasies. If you haven't set some SMART goals, do so. If you have your goals drawn out, check them out to see how many are still relevant. How many can be replaced with goals that are more meaningful and achievable. Draw up a path with small steps to reach them. Keep it practical, and let your ideal be the North Star in your journey. Sometimes we confuse our dreams with our goals.</div>
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<strong>De-clutter:</strong> This is so, so important. Like our homes our lives get cluttered too, with unnecessary and unimportant things we store, refusing to throw it out even though we know we should. So clean out the drawers, cupboards, basement, attic in the house and in the mind, from time to time. Trust me, it will contribute to a lot more organisation and storing space for better things. Most importantly clear out the people who pose as friends or well wishers but add negativity to your life. They are unwanted baggage and drain you of energy and positive life force, thus weakening you in your will and resolve.</div>
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<strong>Prioritise: </strong>You have to get your priorities right. Each of us has multiple roles in life; at home, at work and socially too. We have to work out a balance between our responsibilities and duties on all fronts. Prioritising sets things in the proper order. Quality time in the right proportions between home and work helps a great deal to tide over the unexpected situations when one encroaches on the other.</div>
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<strong>Mind set & Focus: </strong>Maintaining a positive attitude means being in control of your emotions and feelings. This is important for focus. Getting carried away by emotions shifts focus. A positive mind set keeps you in the right frame of mind to make better decisions; be more responsive; less aggressive; better able to handle conflicts and focus on the task in the now.</div>
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<strong>Humour</strong>: Humour they say is the best medicine. A panacea for all ills. Well, it does not literally cure all ills in society or in our bodies, but it does keep us in a lighter frame of mind, it acts as a valve to release all our pent-up pain and miseries, and emotions that do not contribute to our well-being. When we laugh we take our focus off the offense; off bitterness and resentment and so it contributes to a healthier mind and body. Joyce Meyer says, "Where the mind goes, the man follows." This is applicable to habits good or bad. So if one habitually moans, groans and harbours grouses the person is bound to go down the wrong path. I have found that being able to find something funny in a situation, even when the chips are down, eases things a lot. It applies even to the workplace. I found something humorous almost everyday at my place of work. So how did it help? I enjoyed what I was doing, I didn't endure it...and that goes for the times when the boss was a meanie and a grouch. You know what, humour keeps you young!</div>
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<strong>Trust In God</strong>: Hard for many, I suppose. But a wise thing to do. Your worst day with God is better than your best day without Him! That's my experience. At the most hopeless of times He gives you hope; when you are weak, He gives you strength; when you feel alone, He is your friend. People will fail you but He never fails; your family and friends might be fickle but He is loyal and true; He responds to all your needs and wants...sometimes the answer is 'NO' because He has other plans for you. If you don't get in the way you get what's best for you. </div>
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If you have lost the true ZING in your life, reclaim it now. It could be easier said than done, but it's not an unconquerable mountain either!</div>
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Life is God's gift to you. It comes with an expiry date. Enjoy it while it lasts. Have a surprising, challenging, fulfilling day!</div>
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-53258760319887589812013-04-01T12:58:00.000-03:002013-04-01T14:22:04.233-03:00A prophecy & Butternut Squash Soup!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I discovered two things in the past few days: The truth of a prophecy, that's such a biblical word, but then I guess it fits in this case, and the deliciousness of a butternut squash soup (a species of the 'Kaddu' family) I like kaddu as a vegetable, Indian style. I also liked the kaddu halwa my mother used to make. A laborious task which she used to undertake after I'd begged her almost on my knees! But when my daughter-in-law said she was going to make a butternut squash soup for dinner, I baulked. I could imagine a kaddu mashed up in a soup, what I just couldn't imagine was me drinking it. She assured me it was yummmmmm...and she did stretch the yumminess though I thought it was simply to psych me into drooling. Only the night would tell.<br />
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But to come back to the 'prophecy.' Once upon a time, as stories go, or rather went when I was a kid, my mother-in-law told me about a lady who would visit the family home in Barmer, quite often out of the blue. She was a very religious woman, old but healthy and mobile, and she was gifted with the ability to predict things. These things she foretold were referred to as prophecies because she was strongly anchored in the faith. On one such unexpected visits, she told my MIL that she would die when one member of her family would go into the Lord's service.<br />
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Both mama and I contemplated the meaning of this. Not because it was hard to understand the prophecy, but simply because we couldn't find more than one promising candidate who qualified as a servant for the Lord's work. This person happened to be a teenager then, but quite keen on listening to my MIL's religious talks and definitely a regular church goer. In short totally religious unlike all the other youngsters around his age. But as time went by our hope in him diminished. I told my mom-in-law that the old lady must have been a wee bit off the mark this time. She refused to accept that. I shut up. Just my mouth, not the thoughts!<br />
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Then came the day when one of the grand-daughters, her daughter's child, decided to marry a boy who was all set to become a priest. Ah! The prophetic words resurfaced in our conversations with renewed strength. Mama told me, rather triumphantly, that the old girl was not off the mark. We were off the mark. We didn't think of the girls. Now, one was going into the Lord's service and the time for the prophecy to come true was drawing near.<br />
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It made me uncomfortable to discuss the demise of my mother-in-law, in the near future (she tended to make it nearer) with her in such an objective manner. So I tried to drill holes in her theory. For quite obvious reasons it was clear her enthusiasm to prove the old lady was right, had blinded her to the fact that her grandchild was not going into the Lord's service, she was only going to marry one who was going to serve in the church.<br />
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But Queen Victoria, as I and my hubby would refer to his mother in private, could not be influenced or side-tracked so easily. <br />
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"It's the same thing," she said with a finality that discouraged all arguments. Again I zipped my lip and only my lip!<br />
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<br />
My mother-in-law passed away some years later. The said grandchild's husband had changed direction. The priest moved out of pastoring a flock and became the head of a bible college instead, while she continued in her teaching job. My MIL had gone, but the prophecy and its veracity remained a point of thought. It didn't fit in, to my mind at least. The pieces just didn't fall into place so the picture wasn't complete. At least not in the way she had thought it was.<br />
<br />
<br />
Many years later, I learned that the only other grand-daughter, her son's child, had become a pastor, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. I will have to tell the story further to complete the picture.<br />
<br />
<br />
This young grandchild, 'R,' was a simple girl, with no college education. She stayed at home and did all the domestic chores. She was lively, witty and childish. So to hear she was heading a church in a big city, came as a huge surprise. Anyway, this news soon got buried with so many other things piling up and it no longer held my attention. But not for long. For some unknown reason my thoughts meandered to the prophecy again, to my MIL and to all our many conversations we had had over the years. And I had a eureka moment! Stay with me a wee bit longer, even now I have to catch my breath by the revelation!<br />
<br />
<br />
On the last night, before she died, Mama was talking to R. It was getting late so R told her to rest; go to sleep. Mama told her to put her hand in hers. She held R's hand and closed her eyes. After some time R too went off to sleep with her hand in her grandmother's hand. When R awoke, mama had passed away; and also passed on the prophecy to the most unlikely person in her family.<br />
<br />
<br />
I had been off the mark, she had believed. Now I understand. It was a prophecy...it holds that aura...it holds that strength and firmness...it holds that belief!<br />
<br />
<br />
Phew! Talk about soup for the soul! <br />
<br />
<br />
And here comes the kaddu soup. I peeked into the pan as M stirred the creamy, lovely, sunshine yellow broth around. I have to admit it was inviting! Not a reaction I had expected. Soon I was impatient to taste it. She took her time cooking it just right, pouring it into the cups, dropping in the croutons...and I took the first spoonful. Yummmmmmm....I went. Had I actually been psyched?!!!! here's a picture:<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C2K0kc0lIiY/UVmm80jzz0I/AAAAAAAAFd4/E115MJ_HqQg/s1600/P4010065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C2K0kc0lIiY/UVmm80jzz0I/AAAAAAAAFd4/E115MJ_HqQg/s320/P4010065.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I am a new butternut squash soup nut! For my Indian friends: it's another kind of kaddu in a soup:)<br />
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850703813062155220.post-72249557570919166322013-03-08T20:08:00.000-04:002013-03-09T06:21:52.632-04:00Comedy Of Errors and A Red Towel<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It was Sao Paulo. Fifteen hours straight flight from Dubai. I was tired. My knees were swollen. I could walk like a duck...no not walk, more of a waddle! And after a while I needed to visit the washroom. So I waddled my way in the direction that was given to me. Before long there in front of me I saw the door with a wheelchair borne person painted on it. That's it, and I quickened my pace.<br />
<br />
When I was a few steps away a tall strapping fellow, strode ahead and got in. This just wasn't done. He didn't need a 'physically challenged' people's washroom.<br />
<br />
"Excuse me," I said loud and clear for everyone to hear me fifty paces away. "I need to use this facility right now." And I pointed to my lumbar support and then to my osteoathritic knees. Not that he would have seen them inside my trousers.<br />
<br />
The poor guy was startled, which pleased me a great deal. How dare he rush past me. <br />
<br />
"Oh, well! If you have to go here it's alright," he said and stepped out.<br />
<br />
I got in and as I was about to shut the door, I felt something was wrong. I opened the door wider and looked for the signage. And there it was. The facilities here were for 'hombres.'<br />
<br />
I couldn't control my laughter. I called to the fellow and told him I got the wrong place and I was sorry to push him out that way.<br />
<br />
"Yeah, your place is the other side. Over there."<br />
<br />
I kept giggling all the way to the 'other side' and along with me a row of people sitting on the chairs across the corridor, and who had witnessed my bossiness, had their share of laughs too!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And then we were in Vina; at home and comfy. I decided to cook. Tahiri it was. That's a rice made with potatoes, tomatoes and various spices. A sort of pulao.<br />
<br />
I love to cook rice and generally everything in kadhais. The kadhai is my favourite vessel. So everything was done and it was time to cover the rice and allow it to cook. I couldn't find a cover of adequate size. I looked high and low, though not low enough, as I can't stoop too low, and that's an awful pun!<br />
<br />
However I found a vessel which was shaped like a bowl which tapered into an elongated bottom. It fitted perfectly over the rice and I thought it was rather cute and it would give a lot of space for dum, or steam. Eight minutes later I had to check on the rice, and using two pan holders I lifted the toupee, it looked like some sort of Arabic hat.<br />
<br />
It slipped. I tried to get a firmer hold on it and grabbed the rim. Ow...ow...ow. The steam gushed out onto my fingers. Two fingers were burnt with hot steam and I was in agony. I rushed to the sink closest to me. There are two. I turned it on and ow...ow...ow! Hot water poured out onto my already steaming fingers. I had forgotten to check the lever. It was turned to hot.<br />
<br />
Well, with some ointment and many aching minutes later I was able to settle down and slap my head, while I enjoyed a plateful of hot tahiri with an onion-tomato raita.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And then the weirdest thing happened. Goons entered the house. I was with K and two of her friends who were visiting. My room in Vina doesn't have an ensuite bathroom, so I generally have to wrap a towel around myself and walk to the bathroom, owing to problems mentioned earlier, I can't chnage clothes below the belt without being seated.<br />
<br />
As I was saying, I was in the house with three young women, and I was busy cooking mutton biryani, and chicken curry, mince koftas and the works. There were three things simmering on the fire, and I dashed to have a bath. I had just wrapped my red towel around my waist, when I heard screaming. I came out to find a scruffy brute of a man tying up K, hands and feet. She was screaming; I was screaming and the goon went beserk. Before he lost his cool and did something vicious I shut up and told K to stop, so we could think properly and find our way out somehow. This seemed to calm him down.<br />
<br />
I was wondering where the other two girls were, but didn't venture to find out. If they were hiding or had managed to get out, it was good for them and perhaps for us. I turned to the food on the hub. My mind was working furiously. I was scared. But there had to be some way out of this situation. What was the man after and why on earth had he barged into our house.<br />
<br />
He was talking on the phone and from what I could decipher he was calling some other guys. I froze. And stayed frozen. The man was standing next to me.<br />
<br />
I looked at him and he was looking at my red towel, which barely covered my knees, I clutched it at the waist. On the spur of the moment I took off the lids on two of the dishes. His attention shifted as I wanted it to. He became interested in the food and wanted to know what I was cooking that had such a delicious aroma.<br />
<br />
I didn't waste a moment and took him down the Indian culinary lane. His senses were taken by the aromas and description of what was cooking. That's when a thought struck me; The way to a man's heart must be through his stomach, but the way to befuddle his mind is through his nose! His mind and eyes were no longer interested in the red towel, or K who was tied up and lying helpless on the ground.<br />
<br />
On a hunch I asked if his friends were coming and to my dismay he said yes. How many I asked and he confirmed two. Oh then I would need a helping hand I told him and asked for K to be untied. He acquiesced without a murmur. I was getting bolder by the second. I got K to stand with me and pretend to help. She was trembling like a leaf in a storm. The goon stared at the red towel again as he walked away and I whispered to K to see where the other two were without raising the goon's suspicion.<br />
<br />
The food was cooked. The goons were seated and served. While they ate like animals, K and the other two girls went to the back balcony and shouted for help. But strangely, everyone on the street vanished into their homes. The men heard the screaming and wanted to check what was happening. I assured them it was the neighbours squabbling as usual.<br />
<br />
K returned and told me that we could escape if these men were kept at the table and stuffed with food. So while I kept them supplied with food and cajoled them to have more, K and the two girls slipped out the back door. On the pretense of calling K, I walked out too and bolted...the door before I tottered on my shaky legs, clutching on to my red towel for dear life!<br />
<br />
It wasn't long before they were hounding us. We came to a crossroad and there on the opposite side were K's parents in their car, at a red light. We waved, we yelled, we pointed to the goons in the distance. They remained frozen.<br />
<br />
"We have to do something aunty," K announced. I agreed.<br />
<br />
We must have done something brilliant because I woke up in my bed with a raging fever. It was viral. The red towel was where I had hung it to dry in the morning. <br />
<br />
I smiled wanly as I turned on my side; who knew that a red towel would go viral!<br />
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Glossary:<br />
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Kadhai: It's an Indian wok. It is deeper that a Chinese wok and doesn't flare out too much at the top.<br />
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09341706502020011897noreply@blogger.com10