The day I failed…

The day I failed, I remembered the lost year! 372 days I wasted, abusing my true purpose... Ignoring the journey I set out on…

Delivering the prepared speech at this year's annual contest

A senior-most distinguished person came to me and said, “Well done.” A judge came to me and said, “It was a unique delivery. You were different.” Several co-contestants gave me a thumps-up. Many in the audience walked over to say, “I enjoyed…” “It was amazing…” “You were humourous…”  “It was excellent…” “You were the best…”

“I was the best,” I thought. I believed and had reasons to believe that I was the best speaker – or at least one of the best - of a prepared speech on that eventful day at my local club.

I had the language and a well-worded original script chiseled to score judges’ points. In fact, I was lauded for the first two attributes… and so I had a reason to…

I also had another reason… My belief in Him!

And so…I felt let down. Only so I felt let down.

But then, there was an unprepared, semi-impromptu speech segment, too, which I attempted without confidence and was declared the second runner-up.  A request I had put forth to Him, as well. Just for the heck of it!

And so…I felt let down. Only so I felt let down.

Last year, in the same annual contest, I was one of the winners in the prepared speech category. But due to an emergency, I couldn’t take the journey ahead. I eagerly waited for this year.

And so…I felt let down. Only so I felt let down.

About 36 hours later, I heard snippets of my voice from the numerous conversations I’ve had with several members of my club over the last two years… “The day I’m comfortable with myself, I’ll quit…”; “I’m not interested in posts and elections in the club…”; “I’m here for a selfish reason…”; “I am not interested in the club hierarchy nor am I interested in learning the ACB, DCB or XYZzzzz requirements of progression…”

Then that day came nudging me. The day I decided to join a Toastmaster’s club in the neighbourhood. I once again felt the same pain I did then. And soon I felt the frustration that I experienced on several occasions since then.

OMG! How did I forget my goal! And…I felt at ease.

I regret wasting one whole year, waiting for a contest. But it’s never late to learn a lesson…Or rather reminded of that one lesson that’s so easily forgotten…

If your desire is strong, HE will see you remain on track and achieve what you have set out to do. No matter what people say; no matter what their advices are; no matter how they judge you; no matter how many times you get blinded by the roadside temptations and veer off…

Thank You to the divine for this experience!

[Click here to read how I began my journey... My first speech]

A cinema date with the husband

Chilling it out after the cinema fiasco... Dubai winter lifts your spirits

  

There is no new beginning, as I had mentioned in my previous post, yet there is that much to renew or start over again or anew.  It’s just in your mind’s eye.

So to begin with, I skimmed through last year's posts and discovered that a flimsy one on husband-wife relationship did the most numbers. [Click here to read] As much as I am thankful to the readers for visiting my page, I owe an apology to each one for dishing out such a half-baked stuff over the top of my keyboard for some sadistic pleasure.

Now, taking the pleasure forward sans the sad-ticks, here I am to say it the way I see it. No malice, no prejudice, intended. It’ll be only me ticking the wry thoughts off anyone and anything that eeks…

Well, one look around my workplace in the New Year and I see…

Pretenders still whiling their time ‘n’ workaholics still sweating their arse…

Drama queens continuing to squeal their presence ‘n’ self-proclaimed kings dicing cubes…

I continue to have loads of entertainers around!

That reminds me, I started the year at the cinema with my lovely girl, my loving man and my lol-of-a-friend.

We headed to one of the oldest cinema houses in Dubai, which is two-tiered, and located on the busiest streets of the city. A place I’ve frequented a dozen times over.

The show started at 7.30pm and we landed there sharp 7.40pm. We three pretty women hopped out at the entrance and dashed to the counter as the husband went parking.

With an ear on the dialogues booming inside, another replying to the incessant jabber of my girl, one eye at the closed door and another at the ticket issuer, I folded my thumb inside my palm and lifted four fingers of my right hand against the glass window, with the left placating my tummy that was rising and falling from the inadvertent exercise of rushing in.

Did he ask for cash? I can’t exactly remember, nevertheless I forwarded Dh100… not knowing any better.

The considerate security urged me to go in saying I’ve already missed more than 10 minutes of the movie. “What’s your husband’s name? Just leave one ticket with me, madam.” And he directed me into the dark hall.

Within minutes, my man arrived. I cozied up closer but found him unusually hot.

“Why the hell are you in here?” he hissed amid the blaring sound.

“You dropped me on the street for a stroll!” I teased

“Look at the crowd…and…the seats...this…our neck will pain…” he was visibly irritated attempting to position his long legs.

“What’s wrong with you. It’s you who wanted to watch this…”

“Yes. It’s me. But when have we sat down…”

Shucks!

Was it the sudden heat of realization, his anger or the pest, I started itching my elbow… “Yes, you can take home bugs as well for free from here…can’t use brains…”

I walked out and requested a transfer to the balcony. They would not comply.

I pulled out two notes and requested for new balcony seats and they said that the ticker was closed. It can’t be opened without permission and that their manager was not around. I stood three minutes tapping my scattered brains and checking my emotions before sneaking back… and I caught a restless husband.

“What took you so long. I was about to come out looking for you. Now relax. Enjoy the movie! ”

I did not.

Each time the unruly crowd booed and cheered louder, I sneaked a glance sideways. After a few times, he whispered, “Happens. Forget it.” Then he got closer, and taking my hands, said, “My fault. I should have reminded you…”

That moment I felt instantly better.

Taking responsibility is the key to a healthy relationship!!!

Sh…oo…sh! Dont analyse...it's just a saying!

You may want to read an earlier incident: When he lifted me off my feet...Click here 

I love myself

Here I am testing my clarity on X-Mas eve...

It's two-and-a-half-hours past midnight. Do I call it the wee hours of December 27th or late 26th? I'm not gonna nuts seeking clarity about something that a good sleep can't fix.

That's what I did a good part of the year - which is fast chuckling its way about after having successfully left a few more grays on my scalp, than I would like. So, one last time this year, I ponder wide awake...

I state, 'I have NO regrets'. Categorically. I loved 2013. Yes. I loved this year as much as I loved 2012. Actually more... I guess...there I go again. Sigh?

Clarity, my friend says, is a Gemini peeve. I'd defend with all my might and call it a virtue of the twins. But... honestly, it sucks. Because, that's exactly why I can't say for sure if the previous year was better than this but am, nevertheless, damn certain of the coming year to be better - nope the best. This positivity, but indeed, is a Gemini virtue.

Or so I would love to believe, until the determined twin peeps up to remind me of her presence, pushing me behind her shadow.

Shady she! NOT me!Like all these past years, my progress stopped with this argument.

That's when I was hustled down and explained  "intent, desire and effort is needed to overcome the manipulative twin". I howled and screamed in desperation, then tired of the drama I mellowed down and pleaded until I was finally guided to meditate to calm the misleading creep.

This night as I prepare to bid farewell to 2013, I say, "So be it!" I am ME. On my way. Here I go...  success along. She can join me, if she so desires.

At 2.30am as I sign off for the year, I am clear that my new day has begun, as much as I am clear that my previous day has not ended either.

That's life. Every new beginning stems from the seed of the past. So now having admitted thus, I must confess, I have no pans of leaving my twin behind, because it is she who makes me ME.

I love her. I love myself. I'm blessed. Thank you to the Divine for who I am.

Wishing all of you a healthy, joyful & successful 2014!

 

   

Mom’s quandary: A question I don’t have an answer to

 

Birthday girl ready for school

Okay. So this is me. As in, me, myself, because I do not have answers to [read hate to address] some questions.

I celebrated 12 years of motherhood yesterday.

It was wonderful. I woke up, got into my slippers, switched on the heater, washed my face, brushed… did all the rest like anyone else’s all other days... then plonked on the sofa and my man gave me my undoable cup of hot tea. I gave him company before waking up our excited girl.

The dad handed over the gifts and I cheered. Unbelievable excitement followed and I ran to grab the camera to capture her wide eyes popping out wider as she unwrapped the first one. By the second one, I heard a voice in me ‘you idiot don’t lose the moment’, so I handed over the camera in reliable hands.

Being a special day, I didn’t have to pack breakfast. Gave the birthday girl some cash to enjoy with her friends. Used that time to scrub my feet and posed beside my beautiful girl, who by then had helped herself into her B’day gear.

Then set about to execute The Mom’s duty.

Drove her to school… as in sat along with her in the car… and again walked along rubbing her waist. At the steps, I did the honours of taking each item from the dad and stringing it up on her. First strapped the bag on her back, then adjusted her pull-over and set her hair. Then handed over the chocolate box, and finally, precariously placed the box of cake on her other forearm and kissed her a good day.

Meanwhile, my dear friend had volunteered to bake cakes to celebrate the birthday. I being me myself, I said, “yes, please. Drop in at your convenience and I’ll have the things ready.”

She was on the dot. And the oven was in the pack. Had to be installed. Did the only thing I do in times of emergencies. Dialled my man’s number. Assured it’ll be done, I asked her to get, set, start.

That’s when my friend asked for ingredients. So very kind of her, I happily agreed when she volunteered to buy the same for me.

My lil girl’s excitement knew no bounds and she already smelled cupcakes. She recited the list of  how many she’ll give her best friend the next day and how many she’ll save for the weekend party and how unbelievable it is and…I couldn’t ask her to shut up as it was her day!

“Get the moulds ready.”

“For what”, I asked busy clearing the dishes.   

“Oh mama!. Where are you lost”! sighed my girl.

“But…aa..moulds..”

“You didn’t buy Mo..o..u..lll..dds!!!! Wwhhoaat!!! And you set out to bake!!!! Mammmaa!

I had taken a day off from work, to make the day special for my girl!

PS: At night when she kissed me goodnight, I said, “We’ll do the baking next week darling. So your birthday celebration will last that much longer, too. Isn’t that exciting!”

“Yeeaah! How cool no!” She hopped off, with a zillion springs in her steps at that wee hour. At the door, she turned to ask, “But mama, why do you hate cooking so much?”

Rape also has a class of its own

Women’s empowerment is India’s new mantra. Or so the hoopla created by the media seems to convey. Nirbhaya set the trend as she succumbed to a brutal gang rape last year, and ever since politicians, activists, media and anyone who gets a microphone and a camera focused on them endorses their support to the uplift of the fairer lot.

But the safeguard of modesty seems to be limited to the Metros, or the capital at best. Women from the smaller towns are left to fend for themselves, while their counterparts only need to raise as much a finger to be give prime time slots to tell their tales. 

While officials were hunting down Tarun Tejpal, there was a brave teenager who was brutally attacked in Bihar only because she chose to stand up to her eve-teaser. The young athlete is hospitalized and is nursing her wounds in private, while we have national debate of the victim made the accused by the flamboyant celebrity editor. 

A youngster, a 21-year-old IT professional - was gang-raped by men who posed as taxi drivers in Vijayawada in Andhra Pradesh. How is she any different from the trainee journalist in Delhi? 

The gang-rape of the Dalit girl in Gujarat, fortunately, has been heard in the courts. The Gujarat high court upheld the life term awarded by the trial court in the case. But…what coverage did the case receive on national media? 

What’s happened to the 14-year-old who was allegedly killed by her rapist in Odisha? Buried! Sad! 

Yet another sensational case that has seen unprecedented uproar is that of the doctor couple – now sentenced to life in prison in the name of ‘honour killing’. 

Any idea of the number of such killings that take place in remote areas in India that have proof? But Talwars are in the right place at the right time to be in the wrong! 

Yes, it is not practical for every sick mind to be paraded down at prime time. But it is equally wrong to strip down a selected few from selected cities, especially when we have pressing issues to address than have suave men flaunt their attitude. 

Oh, yes, now that we have an election looming ahead… with so many contestants ready to abuse the trust of gullible voters, there’ll be no dearth of prime-time debates. 

Some reprieve to the ignored victims!

You, me and our leave

LEAVE....

Like a loaf of bread, it comes with an expiry. ‘Cos it leaves you famished even after consuming it all.

Like a meandering river, it comes with its serendipity. ‘Cos you stumble upon long-lost interests.

Like an elaborate ritual, it comes with its perils. ‘Cos you ask, ‘why the hell did I avail it’.

Like a warm massage, it comes with its pain. ‘Cos you feel guilty of whiling away time.

Like a conceived labour, it comes after much anticipation. ‘Cos mid-way you feel like returning.

Like good sex it comes with its own exhaustion. ‘Cos it leaves you tired but wanting more.

LEAVE....

Break the routine NOW.... Sands of time knows no leave!

Why is the doctor like this? Sridevi is to blame!

Ever since a bewildered Sridevi decoded ‘judgemental’ in English Vinglish, I’m wary of the word. My daughter tags all my compliments with it, prefixes all my remarks with it and even splutters them in my umms and aahs. 

So much so I scream, ‘Learn to respect another’s opinion,’ and I am reminded that I am opinionated. As Well. 

I could do with a basket to collect the rest as well!

Well, I love to be neither at all times, but since I love my individuality, I love to exercise a wee bit of both sometimes. But again because I’m conscious of my personality at all times, I love to be one of the two at times and, therefore, I love to be dumb and pretend to be numb when I cannot.

Now, the reason I’m writing this is because I can’t help being numb any more these days. How can I, when I’m lifted off my feet and laid on a slippery dhroni, chin down, my wobbly tummy squeezed like a jelly with two iron-strong palms that first pour hot concoctions [which I cannot pronounce nor know the spelling to express] over my naked back and then rub it into my skin to lubricate my spine.

[Does the spine stiffen standing upright against As Wells. Need to check with the doc!]

Anyways, here’s why I’m writing this post…“How can a doctor, a DOCTOR, of all people be so regressive!”

Okay, so getting to the point…. I still need to beat around one last bush. Ever since I gave a series of medical entrance exams two decades ago and flunked each one worse than the previous attempt, I’ve had this thing about doctors.

Years later, when I landed in Dubai and saw them in sparkling white coats and butter-like gloves gliding on shining-leather chairs inside more sparkling cubicles that smell at all times of air fresheners, my THING for the breed only awed stronger.

So, when my doc heard me speak to the husband, and asked me astonished forgetting to pull up his jaw in place, “You call yourhusband by his name!” I had to look away and fiddle with my phone to construct a modest reply and control my nerves.

“Won’t I forget who the world is referring to when they address me, if I stop calling him by his name, doc?” I cracked.

“Are you always like this only?” asked the simpleton doc unable to hide his shock now.

“Nothing absolutely like this, but something similar.” I replied leaving the doc to decipher the rest. He didn’t get too far analyzing the statement, I learnt, when he commented: “You are a happy woman.”

Well, the reason I’m sharing this here is because the THING I had about doctors was they were a progressive lot. You know, like their science and knowledge and reason and patience and status and even those chips on their shoulders…

It’s only recently, while lying on that slippery dhroni, swearing through my sticky nostrils unable to find anyone to blame for my THING about doctors that I thought of Sridevi.

What the heck! [This is not me saying. It's my girl's fav line these days] 

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