You are a warrior. Warriors don’t give up. Don’t back out. So pick up your shield and sword and fight.

“If you have survived an abuser and you tried to make things right. If you forgave and you struggled, and even if the expression of your grief and your anger tumbled out at times in too much rage and too many words and actions—- If you spent years hanging on to the concepts of faith, hope and love, even after you knew in your heart that those intangibles, upon which life is formed and sustained, would fail in the end—And especially, if you stood between your children— or anyone— and that abuser, and took the physical, emotional and spiritual pummelling in your stead, then, darling, You are a hero.”

Jenna Brooks

Advertisements

know thyself

You do not get to choose the events that come into your life or the sorrows that take you by surprise. Sometimes they interrupt your life, shake it up, bring on pauses. They catch you off guard, topple you off your mantle, make you hold your head in sorrow wondering what you did wrong, what you ought to do now…

To suffer, that is common. To suffer with a smile, an infectious spirit, a big generous heart and warmth for all around you is remarkable!
Pain and suffering change you In a way nothing else will. It shapes you, moulds you, forces you to find clarity, direction and choose your priorities. It adds character. Brings in depth. Changes your perceptions. Sets your dreams. Pain is where beauty begins.

Yes! How you handle your pain becomes your beauty tonic. And that is breathtaking in the most absurd way.

Why does one go about looking for ‘Endings’?

Happy endings, sad endings, knobbly endings, barely there endings. Any ending. As if what lies between a start and an end isn’t real and what IS real is that one full stop. A closure. Why is this search such a big part of human nature as if we can barely remember that midway is good enough as well. Why is the fate of a movie almost always determined by the way it ends, sweeping away all the wonderful, human moments it might have contained.

‘The End’ is just a small part of the complete story. Its about time we noticed how little space those two words occupy in the entire book.

….good enough for me.

Beautiful words by one of my most favourite woman Alex Elle. This is for all beautiful women out there who continue inspiring me, loving me, and from whom rubs off the seed of self-empowerment.

good enough for me

I am 33 today! Every crow line around my eyes, and every grey hair I am beginning to earn are moments I have gathered. And there are times when I have to remind myself to let them go. Cos no matter what they are, good or bad, all moments pass.

I am 33 today and I have no qualms in announcing it! I have let go of gooey pastes to conceal my flaws or mascaras to accentuate the fire in my eyes. Or borrowed wings to help me soar. I have let go of the sheath of predetermined conceptions, of tailor made roles, the hallmark of a stereotype.

I am 33 today and today and everyday I pledge that I will always strive to break the stereotypical mentality. Strive towards bringing about change. In thinking, understanding, feeling, seeing. Towards my own self and towards others around me. However miniscule it may be. It will be My change.

You are H20

Beautiful observations from a beautiful fellow blogger.

Stories of Light

Water does stuff that we don’t do. Like evaporate. Be a place for shrimp to die. Lie on my bathroom floor until I slip on it. Scare the shit out of my cat. Be a toilet for whales.

But it has some similarities with us too.

1. Stagnant water stinks…

…like rotting eggy mushrooms. It’s vile. Sometimes one of those fat bubbles will rise to the surface and belch more mustard-colored ooze into the atmosphere.

And a stagnant person gives off the same vibrational fumes of boredom, underachievement, frustration, anger, low self-esteem… But if you could sieve all that algae and fungus and whatever else out of the water, the pure water is still there. The best way to do that is to get the water flowing again. If you have stagnated, recognize that and take action. (How? Start by remembering your goal.)

2. Water flows over obstacles.

When…

View original post 531 more words

The bubble debacle

colorful bubbles

Recently on a shopping trip to one of the popular malls in the UAE, we came across a toy store which had put up a battery operated bubble machine close to its façade. There were beautiful bubbles blowing in all directions and a group of kids eagerly chasing them while their bemused parents looked on.

Before I knew it, Sachi had left my grip and joined the assemblage. Happiness writ large on her beautiful innocent face, I observed her while she jumped around, bursting, blowing, laughing with the bubbles. It was pure unadulterated joy. (Isn’t it endearing how kids find smiles in the tiniest of things. Surely, everything I know about the state of ‘being happy’, I learnt from a child. My child.)

While I looked on at the scene before me, I was overcome with a strong impulse to just buy the bubble machine off. “I can surely afford it, thought I. I can put it up in the house for Sachi and play it on whenever I want to see this delight on her face. Or I could play it when she is ticked off with me. When my forced discipline has had the better of me. It will make her SO happy. It’s like finding joy with just a button. A mood enhancer!”I was excited.

“Maybe I could even set it up when I have one of my brunches. Everyone loves soap bubbles. We are all connected to them remotely through our childhoods… Imagine, being surrounded by people you love, sipping chilled Sangrias and munching Parma ham and melon with beautiful bubbles blowing into your hair and face… It would be magical!” I was getting carried away now.

So I entered the store and asked the girl to pack me one. While she got busy, I brooded…., When we were kids, we valued the little somethings our parents got us on occasions. A pencil with an eraser attached to it, a pastry, a bag of jujubes, glass marbles, cheap kitschy plastic toys…. The rest of our kiddie dreamplans we achieved through imaginations and sharing toys with other kids. Though it would be wrong to compare generations, I just couldn’t help but wonder how children nowadays are just not how we used to be. But then, I am sure my parents and their parents said the same things too. I wondered if my daughter would value this new toy after the first wave of ecstasy had passed. I analysed my own role in this situation. Would I value it ? Would I even care enough for that ‘Delight’ I was hankering after, if I got it so easy? I thought of all the forgotten things in our store room. The surf board, the bicycle, the easel…..

What was wrong with me? I was just giving in to a weak moment , giving in to impulsive materialism. It was fine for me to want to provide everything for my child, but while I did that, was I spending equal amount time instilling the art of understanding value?!

I stood there with my head reeling.”I buy it”… “I buy it not”…”Its just one small thing”… “Its big enough to give out wrong ideas”… “I want to buy her all I can”…”I am just spoiling her”… ” I am a great parent. I am firm with her but just not today”…”I am a terrible parent. A jellywog. I cant even convince myself to put my foot down”… “Ok, this one time I’ll get it…” Sachi stood close to me looking eagerly at my face. She could gather she was about to have a new play thing. I looked into her eyes, melted for one more lousy moment, then gripped her by her arm and marched the stunned lil’ girl away.

On the drive home, I felt terrible while sachi bawled .Yet, happy about being a conscious mother. I had won. Despite of myself.:)

Yes, kids deserve to have all they need but lets be sure they don’t define themselves with what they have and what we provide.

I’ll wait for our next visit to the toy store to find that ‘delight’ again:)

bubble machine