Monday, September 26, 2011

The Ideal Idle

I have this signature quote on my mails, which I am so aptly fully feeling today than ever before: It is impossible to enjoy idling thoroughly unless one has plenty of work to do. There is no fun in doing nothing when you have nothing to do. Wasting time is merely an occupation then, and a most exhausting one. Idleness, like kisses, to be sweet must be stolen. -Jerome K. Jerome, humorist and playwright (1859-1927)

Today for the first time my toddler starts to be in school for a full 3 hours....which leaves me with enough time for my infant and for myself. When the tiny buddy is asleep (like right now), that leaves me with just me----that cherished 'my time' is finally here, and it's not even dark broad daylight. Oh how I have missed this time forever. And look at me now---for the last one hour, ever since the debut my-time, all I have done is.......since we are confessing.....Facebooking! I have peeped into tons of people's holiday, birthday and just life pictures, I have learnt that one 'facebook friend' (now isn't that a different species of friend than the friend that we actually connect with in the good old 'friend' definition?) is leaving for Cancun in precisely four hours from now, and that another one's cat drank the milk that she had kept for herself. I have even searched and found and sent friend requests to two 'names' that I recalled from some twenty five years back. Is this what I am going to be doing in these pristine hours of solitude..and facebook isn't even paying me for this!

To make my 'idle time' ideal, I would like to make it 'sweet' by doing what I truly cannot do when either or both of the kids are around and buzzing---writing. But look, how I failed the first test of being seduced by facebook. Time to close the windows (on the computer), and open the mind. Wish me luck.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Beatles and The Dad

I have lived with him all my living life----perhaps not always in physical proximity, but surely always, and always, he is part of who I am, and what makes me. He is a septuagenarian now, so you assume that loosely speaking he has been a senior for way more than a decade who has had all these years of retirement to repeatedly go over his life and narrate the remarkables and the highlights to everyone who has cared to listen. You have spent countless hours conversing at dinner tables or over phone, to start to feel that your old dad has by now pulled all the tricks from his hat, and told you all his life's stories, over and over and over and over again. But just then, as a matter of fact, he comes up with this anecdote, that casts a sliver of a spunky new light on what you knew or thought of your dad.

So, here we are on a Saturday morning of the East coast Fall, sitting on the couch and the carpet--dad, hubby and I, soaking in some much needed sun, as some music is presented to us by Pandora music (from its music genome project), supposedly selected on the basis of my husband's prior choices of music. I flaunt a supposedly educated guess--are they the Beatles? And before my husband can reply, my dad comes up with the answer---no this doesn't sound like them. And he is right! How does, he know the Beatles music so well....I begin to think, and then I notice this wistful look in his eyes, and savoring a memory, with a smile in the corner of his lips, he tells us about how he actually witnessed the craziness around/about the music group, back in the days when they were alive and kicking. I had never known that my dad was part of those teeming thousands who had flocked to Rishikesh, in India in 1968, when the legendary quartet had visited to attend Maharishi Mahesh Yogi's ashram. I have as it is always been amazed that so many people had known about Beatles in the India of then (when phones, TV and even radio, were few and far between). But who had known that well, news has always had a way of traveling, and that whenever there are stars, there is paparazzi and fan-following. So, my dad--the young, handsome, non-dad of then, dressed in his bachelorhood and youthful excitement, was one of the so many who had tried to catch a glimpse of the musical genius of that time. He admits that there were a huge number of Hippies, and the zombies who knew who Beatles were but probably didn't know who they themselves were, and then there were the shoeless beggars and the clothes less sadhus and yogis, who were just a regular part of the landscape of the Indian pilgrimage place then, and who surely did not know Beatles, and cared less for them, but who were interested in being in the crowd, just like that. Amongst all these, there he was, just moving as the volume of crowd moved in Rishikesh, everyone being told that the Big four were somewhere there. He stood there, fidgeted, moved, and even when the sun beat on him for a couple of hours, he eventually..... never saw the Beatles. That was it. Just like me today, he never saw the Beatles. But unlike me, he was a part of the making of the mega machine that Beatles were.

It still surprises me sweetly that the sombre dad of mine of today, has untold stories of light triumphs and defeats to share with us still. As they say, the aged are full of wisdom and wit---they may display them sparingly, but they have it all the same.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

And you still care to read me here--Thanks

Gosh, I had not realised that despite my shameless infrequency of writing, there is one dear friend who still has my site on her 'following' list. What a show-down I am for her----not that she is crazy about my writing, but, and a big but, I have this lone 'follower', and she must occasionally browse here, and what do I have for her? A big, not right. Life is happening with me full throttle----yes, that's a lovely excuse, but then dear 'follower', let me not lose you---let me keep something coming for you---perhaps you will be my 'dedication' when that masterpiece comes along-----for you I will write here, and perhaps there too!

When in the Beyond

I lost a train of thought to the screeching halt by a memory.  This happens to me often, Memories, you would brand random, Simply appea...