Reign of Love

Lashing against the earth

Like a release of pent-up anger 

It turns into breathless kisses 

When it hits my lanai 

Like a reckless Romeo 

Its arrows wreak havoc on my plants,

From a corner I sit and watch 

This robust love of youth 

It soaks up my faux green grass 

And my delicate pinwheel trembles in fear, 

But what does the summer rain care,

For so selfish it is in its affair! 

The usual me...not

Ever so often, I disappear. I vanish, without a trace. And allow this space to collect the virtual cobwebs. And with the same brazen abruptness, I make a sudden appearance, and catch you in the middle of something. And feign a casual air about the long and awkward silence I often subject this place to. I act like all this is normal – this coming and going. But I return, because I am assured that these erratic visits have become a part of a ritual now. An unspoken bond that you and I have formed. An understanding - that doesn’t demand any explaining. An assurance - that thrives on the knowledge that, ‘life’ comes in the way, and focus, like other things, gets pushed away. So with that score settled, here is another attempt to keep the words flowing...to keep the story going.

I remember last time I left you with me gushing over a movie that I had immensely liked. That was roughly two months ago. I must have enjoyed it so much that I saw to it that the word spreads steadily around. Particularly because the movie had not made it to the tier one cities in India. And that information had killed me. And I passed on the ‘link’ (horror!) to the film like I was getting paid for it. And I remember I chuckled with satisfaction when friends left notes saying that they had watched the film based on my review, and had really liked it. And then I seem to have forgotten all about it, and drifted to other things, and abandoned this space yet another time with a callousness that comes so naturally to me. And even if I take solace in knowing that this sporadic blogging is a common trait with our brood, I do feel obliged to do some explaining.

So what kept me busy all this while you ask? I really wish I had an answer as impressive as my vanishing acts, but alas! I would have to disappoint you, and say that, my life continues to be as sedated as the last time you checked on me. Expect that, I went out quite a bit (strictly by my standards), stuffed my face with all kind of food, met with new people, got invited for dinners, made dinner plans, some guests visited, retail therapy ruled the roost, read some great books that I had picked at a dream book-sale, some of my potted plants survived the summer, some couldn’t withstand the severe spread of a powdery fungus that took the life out of my chilies and tomatoes. And my heart bled and wept while giving them a funeral when I finally let them go. I took part in festivals I had never been part of before, and then, I even wrote a little, scribbled rather, every now and then. Wrote full-fledged book reviews.  Now that was progress in my book. Because it turned out to be lot different from reviewing manuscripts as an Editor at some point in my life. And demanded lot more patience than writing a quick Goodreads review which I had done ample times. And I took to Twitter to share them because I needed closure (and validation).  But was too chicken to share it on this platform. But what I hadn’t expected was to stumble upon an amazing world of bloggers over Twitter, that gave me access to a thriving world of creative writers. Witnessing this tribe encourage each other with writing prompts and story ideas was inspiring to say the least. This seemed to have done wonders for me, it kept me focused and got me into a reading and writing cycle. Occasional frustration with writing was natural, particularly when there were huge lapses between the first and the last chapter of a book I was reading, thanks to duty-calls. But I was just grateful for my days falling into a routine where I was more productive than usual. More importantly, I could shut out nursery rhymes on loop, and keep hazardous cups of imaginary tea from my girl’s pantry at bay. It was like I was growing wings, and was about to fly!

Everything looked bright and sunny till the month of August made its grand entry. And as you know it, August translates to Birthdays, and Birthdays mean August in my life. Hence without saying much, you understand that the pattern I had fallen into started to fizzle out even before I could fully embrace it, and got replaced with ‘chaos’ and ‘planning’ (of all kinds) for the daughter’s second birthday, that was leading up to be the friends’ reunion party too. The celebration went on for two weeks. The holiday weekend following the birthday weekend made room for a longish party. And goes without saying, there was not a single dull moment to kick my feet up on a chair, and recap the events in my head that whizzed by like snapshots. Towards the end of the second weekend, when the last guests were saying their goodbyes, entered an unexpected guest from the backyard door - Hurricane Irma. ‘Hurricane August’ was not enough apparently. And in a matter of a day, leaving everything behind as they were (scattered), we fled for our lives as evacuation warnings started to buzz in the state of Florida, and drove across three states in search of a safe haven. And when things had normalized, we got back to base, and heaved a sigh of relief to find that the house was in one piece. And the next day my brother and sis-in-law dropped by on their way back from a vacay. And we realized the holiday mood got extended by two more days. So you get that saying my hands were full last few days would be a gross understatement. And you do realize that I am bursting at my seams with stories that you wouldn’t hear the end of. But for now, this will have to do. In between the madness, I made two trips to the movie theatre too. A big bold event in my motherhood calendar. Both turned out to be mediocre movies, but that was hardly my concern. This was baby girl’s first ever theatre visit, and I was on my seat’s edge to run out lest she showed her true colors, and brought the roof down. But to her credit, she was most well-behaved, except singing ‘good-morning’ to her heart’s fill close to midnight, and glaring at the screen only when it would break into a song. I could go on and on, there’s so much to pour out, but I want you to come back for more. Till the next post then, adios amigos.

The thing about 'Making Memories'...

There was a time when I was known (dreaded) to keep a tight leash around the house to keep it looking prim and tidy. Days when I would painstakingly fluff all the cushions in the house before hitting the bed. 'Who is visiting us in the middle of the night?', husband would quip. And I would shake my head in annoyance and mutter, 'you would never understand!'

Today I yearn to revisit those days. I long to run my fingers once again through those impeccably tucked edges of my bedsheets, those thoroughly dusted window sills, obedient cushions that would never leave their spot, and crisp gauzy curtains that once used to adorn my home.  

Take 2. Tampa. Present Day. 

If you were to descend on our current home, you would take it for a place hit by a violent tornado minutes back, and its inhabitants, desperately looking for help. This version of our home is very akin to the one my husband had envisioned. He had been diligently working towards achieving this feat alone, only to be accompanied on this journey by our very own daughter! Sigh.....! And to think that I have been sharing a roof with this man all these years! And that, now there is one more to add to my misery!

This state of affairs had crept in to my life when my wee little baby had suddenly transformed into a tyrant of a toddler. Ever since that transformation happened, every single morning I find myself waking up to a carnage of stuffed toys, building blocks, books, papers, used bottles, cushions, and other odd and ends. This chaos has spread so far and wide in my house that one needs to stride over this pile in gigantic footsteps to make it to the other side of the room. The best part is that this heap of playthings multiply so rapidly that you can barely keep track of the old from the new. And despite this, it's the tea strainer or the ladle, alternately, that attracts the kid’s attention over her toys. No fancy toy can distract her enough to part with these beloved items of my kitchen that go missing mysteriously in the mayhem. And adding more misery to the already hapless situation, the darned building blocks sneak under your foot every now and then, to send you seeing stars in wide daylight! 

I totally get it that these messy days are counted, and that all this will soon be in the past. And I know enough to understand that I will only have these memories to hang on to then. But I can so use a break right now, you know, not for too long, just a brief brush with neatness, that’s all I am asking for. So what happens when guests decide to show up? What happens is, mommy dives into this heap, summoning all her super powers, and runs in the speed of lightening to hide the shame behind deceptive doors. Only to find the house creeping back to its doomed state all over again once the charade is lifted.

As far as the man of the house goes, lesser said is better. In one of our recent conversations with friends, the topic veered towards how organized each one of us are. My ears popped out naturally to hear what the husband had to say to this. Almost on an instinct, I adjusted my neck readying the venom to be spitted out his way. I found it funny how, despite his temptation to say he after all is a very organized person ( and this build up is nothing but a farce), he stole a sidelong glance at me, and changed his mind at the last minute. Pursing my lips to stop a sly smile from slipping, ‘Good call!’, I gestured at him. I mean who would want to invite the wrath of a wife who could rattle out 10 instances against his one to prove her point and prove him wrong?

But I must say, this current version of me is a far cry from the person I once used to be. That girl could faint twice over at the current state of my house, even judge me perhaps, for such apathy. But not this one. This person has come too far in life to be fussing over cleaning and tidying and losing her sleep over it. Besides, what is the point of clearing up mess when the harmony lasts for barely few peaceful hours when the kid is sleeping? So instead, I choose to positively remain unfazed by any of this. And every single time that anxious girl insists to come out, I shoosh her down, and say, ‘Let it be. My daughter is making.....mess.....eeeerrrmmm....I mean....memories, you see."

So to making memories then, to breaking all rules, to turning a blind-eye to mess, and to re-inventing yourself, in this case, it would be me, turning my back on tidiness. 

The World of Coca-Cola

It is wonderful to get away from the monotony of life every now and then. If I had a choice I would do it every second month. But it's the getting back to the grind that gets the better of me. The chores that look at you banefully, and the realization that there is no getting away is a painful reality. My head is a knot of such thoughts today. And in between perfunctorily gliding over chores, I pull out a can of chilled coke to soothe my weary bones.

As I fling the can open with a twist of my fingers, along with the flow of the fizz, images of our recent trip to the 'World of Coca Cola' in Atlanta come gushing back. I hold the can up and scan the details on it like I was holding it for the first time. This visit to the beacon of world’s most popular beverage had me looking at it in new light. Coca-Cola has successfully become a part of our lives, there is no doubt about that. It lies alongside our Biriyanis, our pizzas, and our sandwiches like a matter of fact, selflessly going on doing its job – of satiating our thirst. But other drinks do that too, 'then why just Coca-Cola?', asks a girl in an advertisement flashing across the monitors to keep us occupied in the queues. To which a lanky young man responds as, 'I don't know, it's Coke. That's it. There’s nothing like it. There's no way I can describe it.' I concur. I don't know what it is about this drink that binds us across cultures and cuisines.

That's precisely the message that was splashed across the big screen on their state-of-the-art theatre. We were ushered to the theatre by a rather uninspired attendee who was supposed to have raised our curiosity about the brand with his fun questions. But what he did was the exact opposite - the hum of his words had the crowd pleading in whimper to let go. Once he did, we settled in the seats for a 6 minutes’ film which was going to set the mood for rest of the day. I must admit doubts around what could possibly be so interesting about a film on a soft drink had crossed my mind several times. To keep the toddler in agreeable temperament inside a packed theatre was another reason that wasn't letting me enjoy the anticipation.

Before it was too late, the big screen exploded into beautiful vignettes of some of life’s best moments. We found ourselves globe-trotting, sharing people’s magic moments around the world. One was on skydiving for the first time, another about breaking the news of a grandchild, grandma's surprise birthday party, crackers bursting in the faraway Diwali sky, colors of Holi rioting Indian streets, a man proposing in air inside a hot air balloon in Cappadocia, an US military man announcing his home-coming from warfront, and the list went on. A beautiful soundtrack in the background aptly reverberated the essence of these stories. The film successfully brought home the message that coke is happiness, coke is family and that, coke is universal. All this is great. But my heart had by now melted into a puddle of tears. And the lump in the throat had hardened. And I had lined my eyes with liner that day - making most of some extra time in hand. I found my eyes welling up to break into a river of tears to my horror. ‘Why are you doing this to me Coca-Cola?’, I wanted to ask. This 6-minute film left me gasping for air. It was unforgiving in the way it tossed up my heart and let it fall flat on the ground. It ended saying - 'Thank you for letting us be a part of your lives. Thank you for choosing Coca-Cola.' And that was it. Stupid unrelenting tears rolled down my cheeks and left me looking like a raccoon. 'Such an emotional idiot', I hissed at this poor show of self-control. Blowing my nose in full force and wiping my tears to save the last vestige of dignity, I awkwardly waded out of the theatre. But wait a minute, I noticed that it wasn't just me who had loved this movie as much hated it. I saw a glint of tear in almost every person in the room who were now pulling themselves together for the exit. Such is the power of films! And Coca-Cola has been making some of the bests.

The exit led us to a grand hall with serval features to get our eyes busy with. Right at this point the husband announced that he must respond to a particularly urgent call of nature and to my fear left me stranded with a pesky toddler to tend to. I heaved a helpless sigh and started scanning the place.  I saw some people queuing up to take pictures with a giant moving-walking polar bear.  I couldn't summon the courage to take upon this task of getting the kid to pose all by myself. So, I waited patiently, feeling the curious eyes of the security lady over my shoulder. Once the wait was over, we headed to the famous 'vault' - the keeper of the phenomenon called Coca-Cola. Once our identification was checked and we hoarded ourselves enough on the security screens, we were let in. The vault was displayed in all its glory - glowing under a purple light that gave it its much-deserved character of mystique and grandeur.

Next, we stopped at a hall that showcased Coca-Cola memorabilia and shared the legendary story of how this product has reached its current fame. The presentation was as impressive as the trivia. Then the most expected and obvious industrial side of the product was revealed to us. The journey of the beverage from its starting point to the final packaged product that we gulp down in minutes was a fascinating story. Then we entered another room which had inviting red foam benches and a big screen to which people were glued. This was a presentation on Coke advertisements over the years – emphasizing its presence and growth over decades. The one from the 1970s in hipster pants and oversized glares was a delight to watch. In another, people from all nations had gathered in a meadow in Italy to send across the message of being united over Coca-Cola. The toddler luckily got hooked to these too, letting us cool off our heels for a while.

Then we wandered into a room with various Coke merchandises that were to be used to strike a pose sitting on a red (again!) couch. I couldn’t have wasted time and was raring to go, but at this point I couldn't find my phone to take the much-desired picture. I looked some more and still there was no sign of it. The tingly feeling in my tummy had started building up when I ransacked my bag and finally declared it's lost. I broke the news to the husband and we ran in the speed of light hour looking for it. I had slipped it in the back pocket of the stroller after taking a video minutes back. But the fact that probably it slipped down to the floor instead of the pocket sent a twitch to my stomach. In my defense, right when this had happened, the toddler had thrown a fit, and I was dealing with a mini meltdown moment. But now this realization wasn’t doing any help. I was left with only one option – of fervently calling the Gods. 'God, please don't let this day end this way. I want to have good memories of this place. For the sake of Coca-Cola God, have mercy!' It was as though the Coca-Cola line had worked! We called on my phone and it rang to our relief. A raspy voice answered it and from a distance a man waved at us. Thank the heavens. Thank the lord. Bless this man who had found it lying on the floor and was looking for the security to hand it over to. We caught him at the right moment saving a lot of unnecessary trouble and thanked him profusely. I grabbed the phone and sunk it deep inside the folds of my bag and promised to not use it for the rest of the tour, only to go back on my words in minutes!

We arrived at the last leg of the tour where they handed us disposable glasses to taste the beverage from every single country they are available in. “Japan is kind of nice, I think Australia is better, O God, Germany tastes horrid!” These are the kind of things one can expect to hear in this area, giving the visitors an air of self-importance. After having tasted enough Coca-Cola for the day, and posing for one last time with the redness of the background that stretched on, we made our way out of the building. The toddler by now was done grimacing over things. We had managed her unpredictable temperament in this trip by stuffing her face with chips – a tried and tested method that has been saving us many embarrassing scenarios lately. At the end, despite starting the day late, and with a fluid itinerary, I think we came back quite satisfied. My face by now had no trace of the vanity I had attempted with my eye liner at the start of the day. But my heart was full. And that’s all that mattered. The day was decidedly becoming warmer with every passing hour. A shower after reaching the hotel had refreshed us for the next round of things to do. But not until now. Not until we opened the can of happiness. Not until, we opened our bottle of Coca-Cola.