It feels strange to be back to my fav coffee shop,writing again. Almost like returning back home after a really longggg vacation.I dont know what I`ll be writing about.I dont really have an agenda; So let this be a bullet post.
***I met the G`s collegue and his wife at someone`s bday party. And the wife pretended she`s never met me before! The truth is that we have been to their place for dinner TWICE! Either she`s a super bitch who was trying to convey what perfect 'non-entities' The G and I were. Or she entertains so much that its difficult for her to remember all her guests! Whatever the reason, it left a bitter undertaste. And I`m in no hurry to attend another 'office' party again!
NOTE: Thanks to Sols, I now know she`s pbly sick(yes,literally so!)
*** A cousin`s wife has gone crazy uploading their family pics on social networking sites. It would have been one happy collection, but for the fact that her pose in each picture makes me sick. Who dangles sunglares over the front buttons(unfastened) and sticks each thumb inside the trouser pockets(sometimes even latches them 'casually'!) and stands like the Queen of Sheeba, fingers splayed out over the ample thighs, just to make the stark white stripes on the sides of the trousers stand out in contrast?? Who does it?? And ohh dear me, WHY??!! It makes my blood boil. The G says,"Ignore. Dont see them if it makes you so mad,". How can I not, when each day there are 100 pictures literally smothering my webpage?
Disclaimer: Normally I would never discuss looks and attires. Never ever.But then again, I have my moments!
*** We had a neighbourhood potluck party which was awesome - more so because we finally met our original home owners - the ones who made the house that we now own,from scratch. He(lets call him P.O) is an ex-fighter pilot of the US AirForce who fought during the World War 2 and she is a homemaker now. They are such warm,wonderful people and they so reminded me of my grandpa.
Along with Subhash Chandra Bose`s Indian National Army(or the Azad HInd Fauj), my Grandpa fought for the freedom of our country from the Britishers,1943 onwards. Incidentally the INA(and my Grandpa) fought against the Allied forces - the side P.O was fighting for!!. I had a fabulous time hearing P.O`s tales. Imagine talking to someone like that! He is the history we read about!!
I never missed my grandpa so bad.
Incidentally I have several books and memoirs that grandpa wrote - a beautiful legacy that he`s left behind.
***I finally started driving lessons. Yes, finally after three years of dilly-dallying and utter disregard(read lassitude) for the unwavering requests by The G! And guess what suddenly brought about the change?
The fact that my sister has started driving(licence et al)!!
The G was aghast at the rivalry I still feel towards my kid sister(who is no longer a kid but has a kid of her own,whom she has to drive to play school and hence the licence!)!
"Whatever works," he said.
And so its been uneventful so far, but for minor ripples. Like the time I drove the car over someone`s lawn at 12 in the night and had their dog literally rip me apart, but for the fact that I was inside the car! Seriously!
That and the fact that I stopped at a busy intersection while taking a right turn because I forgot to accelerate(I had practiced turning in a parking lot with the brakes on and no acceleration!)!! Other than that and a near hysterical G, its been great!
NOTE to all NON-DRIVERS: NEVER TAKE DRIVING LESSONS FROM THE HUBBY. NEVER EVER.
***It is Mahalaya today; 5 months and 8 days now since Dad left us.
I remember Oh so fondly of how we would wake up to 'Birendra Krishna Bhadra`s Mahisasura Mardini'. Mom Dad would sit around the radio, chatting up over hot cups of tea, while my sister and I would lazily snuggle inside the blankets and let the music soak our souls. Later Dad would bring fresh,hot jalebis from the market and we would have it over breakfast.
Today is yet another Mahalaya. A year back, if anyone would have asked me to think of a Mahalaya without Dad, without jalebis, without the radio, I would have dismissed it off as a crazy thought. BUt here I am,struggling to find a sense of peace, while all that I loved and cared for,slowly seems to ebb away..
I wont say it has been easy. But I have been making conscious efforts. Efforts not to cry or despair. Not to always grieve over what I have now lost. BUt rejoice over what I have gained all my life. Its not easy. But I am trying.
So today morning, over 'Mahisasura Mardini'(A tape which Dad gifted me JUST LAST YEAR!!Did he know he would be gone?), I prepared a batter for the jalebis and left them on the counter top to ferment.
Things are not what they used to be. But then again, neither am I.
Life does goes on, you know. And so must I..
Ohh and did anyone notice that my Indirank has fallen from 79 to 71 to 63? Is it even important? And if it is, just how low do you think I`ll stoop? :):)
That`s all for now. More later.. Have a fabulous weekend,People!
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Friday, September 18, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
And Trouble..Yet Again!!
Mom`s purse got stolen from the train last night. She was traveling with my sister to Kolkata for a visa interview. She was traveling without Dad for the very first time in 36 years!
The loss wasnt substantial. The purse had an ICICI ATM card, a Kolkata sim card, Dad`s photograph and about Rs 2500 or so. After an hour`s anxious efforts to block the card, we finally managed to do so. The money in the bank was intact.
The F.I.R was lodged. And a (duplicate)return train ticket was issued. All was well. Atleast for the time being.
But I was angry. Angry as hell. We didnt need this. Really we didnt. One fuckin` trouble after another! Why us? Why us, all the fuckin` time???
*Apologies for swearing on a public forum!*
As I sat seething, a happy memory from the past crept its way back into my soul.
One friday afternoon,Ma took me and my sister to a fair to buy a pullover for Dad. With the two of us(all of 8 and 10) clinging onto her two arms, a spring in her steps and a sparkle on her lips, she set out. I remember roaming the entire stretch of the fair till Ma finally converged on a pullover that she found smart enough for Dad to wear! She bargained with the owner of the stall and settled for Rs 300. As she opened her bag to remove her purse, she realized it was gone! Someone had managed to slit the bag with a knife and remove the purse! She turned white, apologized to the owner and pulled us away from the stall. We quietly hopped onto a rickshaw and headed for Grandpa`s place where Dad was to pick us up on his way back from the Office.
I remember like it was yesterday.Ma broke down and cried the moment Dad returned.She had lost Dad`s hard-earned money... a few hundred bucks, she said. Dad simply laughed in reassurance and said its only money, just a few pieces of paper. It`ll come back.
I dont know if it did. But I do remember how Ma cheered up instantly. I remember that feeling of warmth that came from seeing them together this way..
When I heard Ma sobbing quietly on the phone, I wondered if she was waiting for Dad to return back, to reassure her that all was well. That it was only paper.
The loss wasnt really much, I told her. We`re lucky her passport wasnt in the purse! See, He`s up there looking over us, I said. We`ll be fine.
But it didnt feel fine. The whole thing left all three of us pretty shaken up. We could seriously do without this kind of trouble.
We spoke for a while about Dad. My sister and I cracked a few jokes about the visa interview. My aunt(one of the very few friends I have)talked of a few things from the times we were happy. And suddenly we were all ok. Once again, at ease.
We missed Dad. We missed the quiet assurance his mere presence gave us. But we are going to be fine,I thought.
We always have..
I sat alone in the den reminiscing. I wondered what I would do or say if Dad was to come back for a minute. I know he will not. Never ever.
But still..just in case.
And then there was a small thud. Perhaps in my mind.
Was it Dad?
Was it just my imagination? Or was it simply a tear landing softly on my soul...?
Sometimes its stifling. Nauseating. Like a huge weight on my chest. Sometimes it hurts so bad that I feel this pain will never end.
But I guess it does..
I hope it does someday..
The loss wasnt substantial. The purse had an ICICI ATM card, a Kolkata sim card, Dad`s photograph and about Rs 2500 or so. After an hour`s anxious efforts to block the card, we finally managed to do so. The money in the bank was intact.
The F.I.R was lodged. And a (duplicate)return train ticket was issued. All was well. Atleast for the time being.
But I was angry. Angry as hell. We didnt need this. Really we didnt. One fuckin` trouble after another! Why us? Why us, all the fuckin` time???
*Apologies for swearing on a public forum!*
As I sat seething, a happy memory from the past crept its way back into my soul.
One friday afternoon,Ma took me and my sister to a fair to buy a pullover for Dad. With the two of us(all of 8 and 10) clinging onto her two arms, a spring in her steps and a sparkle on her lips, she set out. I remember roaming the entire stretch of the fair till Ma finally converged on a pullover that she found smart enough for Dad to wear! She bargained with the owner of the stall and settled for Rs 300. As she opened her bag to remove her purse, she realized it was gone! Someone had managed to slit the bag with a knife and remove the purse! She turned white, apologized to the owner and pulled us away from the stall. We quietly hopped onto a rickshaw and headed for Grandpa`s place where Dad was to pick us up on his way back from the Office.
I remember like it was yesterday.Ma broke down and cried the moment Dad returned.She had lost Dad`s hard-earned money... a few hundred bucks, she said. Dad simply laughed in reassurance and said its only money, just a few pieces of paper. It`ll come back.
I dont know if it did. But I do remember how Ma cheered up instantly. I remember that feeling of warmth that came from seeing them together this way..
When I heard Ma sobbing quietly on the phone, I wondered if she was waiting for Dad to return back, to reassure her that all was well. That it was only paper.
The loss wasnt really much, I told her. We`re lucky her passport wasnt in the purse! See, He`s up there looking over us, I said. We`ll be fine.
But it didnt feel fine. The whole thing left all three of us pretty shaken up. We could seriously do without this kind of trouble.
We spoke for a while about Dad. My sister and I cracked a few jokes about the visa interview. My aunt(one of the very few friends I have)talked of a few things from the times we were happy. And suddenly we were all ok. Once again, at ease.
We missed Dad. We missed the quiet assurance his mere presence gave us. But we are going to be fine,I thought.
We always have..
I sat alone in the den reminiscing. I wondered what I would do or say if Dad was to come back for a minute. I know he will not. Never ever.
But still..just in case.
And then there was a small thud. Perhaps in my mind.
Was it Dad?
Was it just my imagination? Or was it simply a tear landing softly on my soul...?
Sometimes its stifling. Nauseating. Like a huge weight on my chest. Sometimes it hurts so bad that I feel this pain will never end.
But I guess it does..
I hope it does someday..
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Life..or something like it
The pain slashed her soul apart.She leaned back against the wall,clinging onto the telephone and listening on. Helpless. Tormented. Numb.
"Shuncho? Kichu bolo na..Ki koshto hochche bolo? Kichu bolo na..."
(Can you hear me? Talk to me. Are you in pain? Talk to me please..)
Ma`s whimpers to Dad plunged down the telephone wires and across the oceans straight into her heart,ripping it apart into a million pieces. She stood there in a cold stupor, letting the pieces strew all over her.
She involuntarily lifted an arm to reach out.To shield Ma. To shield herself.
Unshed tears threatened to ravage unspoken words. And she shivered under their weight.
And then Ma was back on the phone.
"He`s not responding," Ma cried.
"You have to move him to a hospital IMMEDIATELY. Is someone there with you Ma?" she asked.
"Yes." (The neighbors were).
"Ok,now listen to me" She said calmly. As calmly as was needed to not throw Ma in any more panic than she was already in.
"Get all the medical documents and move to the nearest hospital.I`ll call in a while. Stay calm. We`ll figure out something Ma."
She let the telephone drop. And then she cried.
For the helplessness that was devouring her up.
For the insurmountable anguish.
For the pain that tore her soul apart.
For the vastness of the oceans separating them.
For fear of the finality of death.
For her Father.
And most of all, For her Mother.
Nope, this isnt a scene from a new movie. Nor is it a short story I am writing.
This is exactly what happened a couple of days back.
But life has given us a breather.
Dad is back home. He had an episode of severe hypoglycemia(very low blood sugar) which resulted in the unresponsive state. But he is back home and recovering.
There`s no kidding. No evasion of truth here. We know that heavy times lie ahead. Possibly just around the corner.
How do we cope with grief, I wonder..
How does anyone cope with grief?
Which brings me to the main point in this post.
Sometimes I wonder if my life would have been any less stressful had I been living closer to home. Would there be some peace of mind, knowing that I could be there by their side, when my parents most need me to be?
This particular incident left me terribly frightened for my mother.
Imagine this.
She gets up in the middle of the night to see my father in an unresponsive state. Her mind goes blank in panic. She leaves him alone, runs to call the neighbors. Then she dials my number.
Now, I consider myself plenty lucky that my parents do have lots of close friends and family around, who will help in crisis situations. They all did. But I somehow have not been able to get over the thought that I would`ve been a little less worried if I knew there was a constant support system around her. Like maybe an old-age home or something.
I do not understand why sending parents to old-age institutions has such negative connotations in India. What other options do I have?
A close friend of mine who lives in the US along with all the other siblings, literally forced their parents to uproot their lives in India and make the big move - leaving their home,family and friends behind and move back to the US to live with the kids. A seemingly perfect solution to the problem. But I now know for sure what a mistake that was! Its herculean, if not downright impossible for ageing parents to adjust to life here. I am still grappling to.
The G and I oftentimes worry about our aging parents. But I guess we have not seriously explored the possibilities of moving closer to home. At least back to the same country if not the same place. Are we being selfish? Is this the price we pay for choosing the path best suited for our careers?
Is it not pay-back time, though I dont like to use the word at all..?
Remember how they held our hands and taught us to walk? Pulled us up when we stumbled and fell? Remember how they taught us to ride a bicycle, running alongside the bike, holding it up by the seat with one hand on the handlebars, to show how you balance and turn around? And then when we took off on our own, remember how they still stood by,just in case we fell?
Now at the fag end of their lives, is it not our turn to take care of them and make sure they dont fall?
For all those of you who stay far way from home, what is your way of coping with this dilemma? Do you at times feel selfish to be where you are and not by the side of your parents? Can you think of any solutions to a situation like this?
I wish I could.. Oh how I wish I could.
"Shuncho? Kichu bolo na..Ki koshto hochche bolo? Kichu bolo na..."
(Can you hear me? Talk to me. Are you in pain? Talk to me please..)
Ma`s whimpers to Dad plunged down the telephone wires and across the oceans straight into her heart,ripping it apart into a million pieces. She stood there in a cold stupor, letting the pieces strew all over her.
She involuntarily lifted an arm to reach out.To shield Ma. To shield herself.
Unshed tears threatened to ravage unspoken words. And she shivered under their weight.
And then Ma was back on the phone.
"He`s not responding," Ma cried.
"You have to move him to a hospital IMMEDIATELY. Is someone there with you Ma?" she asked.
"Yes." (The neighbors were).
"Ok,now listen to me" She said calmly. As calmly as was needed to not throw Ma in any more panic than she was already in.
"Get all the medical documents and move to the nearest hospital.I`ll call in a while. Stay calm. We`ll figure out something Ma."
She let the telephone drop. And then she cried.
For the helplessness that was devouring her up.
For the insurmountable anguish.
For the pain that tore her soul apart.
For the vastness of the oceans separating them.
For fear of the finality of death.
For her Father.
And most of all, For her Mother.
Nope, this isnt a scene from a new movie. Nor is it a short story I am writing.
This is exactly what happened a couple of days back.
But life has given us a breather.
Dad is back home. He had an episode of severe hypoglycemia(very low blood sugar) which resulted in the unresponsive state. But he is back home and recovering.
There`s no kidding. No evasion of truth here. We know that heavy times lie ahead. Possibly just around the corner.
How do we cope with grief, I wonder..
How does anyone cope with grief?
Which brings me to the main point in this post.
Sometimes I wonder if my life would have been any less stressful had I been living closer to home. Would there be some peace of mind, knowing that I could be there by their side, when my parents most need me to be?
This particular incident left me terribly frightened for my mother.
Imagine this.
She gets up in the middle of the night to see my father in an unresponsive state. Her mind goes blank in panic. She leaves him alone, runs to call the neighbors. Then she dials my number.
Now, I consider myself plenty lucky that my parents do have lots of close friends and family around, who will help in crisis situations. They all did. But I somehow have not been able to get over the thought that I would`ve been a little less worried if I knew there was a constant support system around her. Like maybe an old-age home or something.
I do not understand why sending parents to old-age institutions has such negative connotations in India. What other options do I have?
A close friend of mine who lives in the US along with all the other siblings, literally forced their parents to uproot their lives in India and make the big move - leaving their home,family and friends behind and move back to the US to live with the kids. A seemingly perfect solution to the problem. But I now know for sure what a mistake that was! Its herculean, if not downright impossible for ageing parents to adjust to life here. I am still grappling to.
The G and I oftentimes worry about our aging parents. But I guess we have not seriously explored the possibilities of moving closer to home. At least back to the same country if not the same place. Are we being selfish? Is this the price we pay for choosing the path best suited for our careers?
Is it not pay-back time, though I dont like to use the word at all..?
Remember how they held our hands and taught us to walk? Pulled us up when we stumbled and fell? Remember how they taught us to ride a bicycle, running alongside the bike, holding it up by the seat with one hand on the handlebars, to show how you balance and turn around? And then when we took off on our own, remember how they still stood by,just in case we fell?
Now at the fag end of their lives, is it not our turn to take care of them and make sure they dont fall?
For all those of you who stay far way from home, what is your way of coping with this dilemma? Do you at times feel selfish to be where you are and not by the side of your parents? Can you think of any solutions to a situation like this?
I wish I could.. Oh how I wish I could.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Here`s toMom & Dad..
I never really write about my family – my folks back home, my inlaws or the cute little devils in the family. It’s a conscious decision not to write about family. Because most of them aren’t happy about being discussed on a public forum. I don’t necessarily see the logic in this statement, as I don’t in most others that they make. But like always(or mostly) I have reconciled to not writing about family.
Today,however, happens to be a special day. So I shall break the unwritten rule for once.
Sometime back, I read this letter written by a six year old.
“Dear God,” she wrote..
I bet it is very hard for you to love all of everybody in the whole world at all times. There are only five people in my family and I can never do it.
-Nan
I was astounded by the truth in this simple statement.
I wish I could say that I`m very happy with where I am, in the relationship with my folks back home. But I cant.
Because I`m not.
But I can say this much.
I`m very happy with where they are, in their relationship with each other.
My Mom and Dad, by chronology, have completed 35 years of togetherness today. By all other standards, it’s an eternity lived over and over again.
For a change, Dad sounded animated on the phone today.
“Happy Anniversary Baba! 35 years huh?!!”
“Thank you, thank you!” he beamed, “ Yes,35 years with Mom!”
“Yeah..Hats Off!! A Standing Ovation to you”
“Yeah yeah, join the kids and make fun of me,” Ma shouted somewhere in the background, amidst a thunderous roar of laughter from Dad,that is still resounding in my ears.
The happiness was palpable through the phone line.
My relationship with them has never been a breezy walk by the lake on a warm summer afternoon. Infact it has been more like an urgent sprint across slushy, sliperry terrains in a raging snowstorm. But it has vastly improved over the years, although I guess I`ll forever have my differences.
Oh they have been around to help me pick up the pieces when my world was falling apart. They taught me time and again,to recognize the slow,calculated circling of an eagle before it swooped down on me with extended talons.
They religiously repeated those lessons through the years and yet I never learnt.
They were disappointed. Disgusted. Even angry.
But They were there all the same. They never gave up on me.
I`ve shouted abuses(yes!Unbelievable as it sounds), thrown sickeningly horrific tantrums and locked myself up in the room. I`ve spent hours planning an escape.
I`ve nursed grudges forever. I`ve blamed them for who I have become.I`ve spent my life finding faults with them. I`ve hated them for the negativity I see in them.
Never an open arm and or a warm hug. Never a word of love or appreciation. And yet, I find comfort in their constant presence. I feel reassured, knowing they are the only people in the world who shall accept me unconditionally. Whether I`m good or very very bad, I shall not be abandoned. I shall always be theirs. To love or to hate. But I shall be theirs. Which is more than what I can say for any other relationship that I share.
I see them after all these years. Time having left unmistakable prints on their physique, while their minds and hearts continue to be startlingly fresh.
And I feel like talking to them. You know, I never really had an adult conversation with them ever.
“You guys could have done better. A lot better,” I`d say.
“ But thank you for trying atleast.
I know you gave up the comforts of your own lives, so we(my sister and me) could live out our dreams. Thank you for all of that.
(But really, did it matter so much if I lost three water-bottles in a row, in school? Or that I got 15 instead of 18 in a Maths test? Could it not have been overlooked?)
Do I wish you were better/stronger/ warmer/friendlier people? I guess.
But I wouldn’t ever want to trade places with anyone else.
I wouldn’t ever give up on you. Really I wouldnt.
Because you never gave up on me.”
Today,however, happens to be a special day. So I shall break the unwritten rule for once.
Sometime back, I read this letter written by a six year old.
“Dear God,” she wrote..
I bet it is very hard for you to love all of everybody in the whole world at all times. There are only five people in my family and I can never do it.
-Nan
I was astounded by the truth in this simple statement.
I wish I could say that I`m very happy with where I am, in the relationship with my folks back home. But I cant.
Because I`m not.
But I can say this much.
I`m very happy with where they are, in their relationship with each other.
My Mom and Dad, by chronology, have completed 35 years of togetherness today. By all other standards, it’s an eternity lived over and over again.
For a change, Dad sounded animated on the phone today.
“Happy Anniversary Baba! 35 years huh?!!”
“Thank you, thank you!” he beamed, “ Yes,35 years with Mom!”
“Yeah..Hats Off!! A Standing Ovation to you”
“Yeah yeah, join the kids and make fun of me,” Ma shouted somewhere in the background, amidst a thunderous roar of laughter from Dad,that is still resounding in my ears.
The happiness was palpable through the phone line.
My relationship with them has never been a breezy walk by the lake on a warm summer afternoon. Infact it has been more like an urgent sprint across slushy, sliperry terrains in a raging snowstorm. But it has vastly improved over the years, although I guess I`ll forever have my differences.
Oh they have been around to help me pick up the pieces when my world was falling apart. They taught me time and again,to recognize the slow,calculated circling of an eagle before it swooped down on me with extended talons.
They religiously repeated those lessons through the years and yet I never learnt.
They were disappointed. Disgusted. Even angry.
But They were there all the same. They never gave up on me.
I`ve shouted abuses(yes!Unbelievable as it sounds), thrown sickeningly horrific tantrums and locked myself up in the room. I`ve spent hours planning an escape.
I`ve nursed grudges forever. I`ve blamed them for who I have become.I`ve spent my life finding faults with them. I`ve hated them for the negativity I see in them.
Never an open arm and or a warm hug. Never a word of love or appreciation. And yet, I find comfort in their constant presence. I feel reassured, knowing they are the only people in the world who shall accept me unconditionally. Whether I`m good or very very bad, I shall not be abandoned. I shall always be theirs. To love or to hate. But I shall be theirs. Which is more than what I can say for any other relationship that I share.
I see them after all these years. Time having left unmistakable prints on their physique, while their minds and hearts continue to be startlingly fresh.
And I feel like talking to them. You know, I never really had an adult conversation with them ever.
“You guys could have done better. A lot better,” I`d say.
“ But thank you for trying atleast.
I know you gave up the comforts of your own lives, so we(my sister and me) could live out our dreams. Thank you for all of that.
(But really, did it matter so much if I lost three water-bottles in a row, in school? Or that I got 15 instead of 18 in a Maths test? Could it not have been overlooked?)
Do I wish you were better/stronger/ warmer/friendlier people? I guess.
But I wouldn’t ever want to trade places with anyone else.
I wouldn’t ever give up on you. Really I wouldnt.
Because you never gave up on me.”
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Small Wonder
Lil Ishaan turns one...The G and I have forever been interested in the develpoment of the human brain. As in, the way all the circuits fit in just right over time, as we traverse the path of life. And how sometimes it doesnt. The G has an enormous collection of books on the subject. I sometimes flip through the pages to get a general idea. And I wonder. At what point do we cease to be children, roaming around the world in wide-eyed wonder, without fear of the unknown, fascinated by the world in all its splendour, smiling at ourselves in the mirror,crying and yet not knowing just how bad the strength of the tears can sometimes hurt? At what point does the mind register fear? At what point do broken bones suddenly become easier to fix than a broken heart? Where inside all the grey matter,do the circuits click in place, so that little things (like empty bottles ,cardboard boxes, pieces of plastic or simply our own reflection in the mirror) suddenly cease to amaze us?
Pic of The Day - Lil Ishaan with his Dad
Am posting One of my all-time fav pics! Shall post more pics of Lil Ishaan`s 1st bday bash soon :-)
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Tales from New Jersey..
And there he came towards me, ruffled hair,stained tee,bloodshot eyes (from not sleeping,I guessed),empty bottle in hand and staggering. I sat on the couch,watching him totter towards me and I wondered if I should get up to help. But I sat stil,watching. He looked around, trying to make some sense of it all. Then suddenly he lunged foward. And in the attempt, fell flat on his face. I stood up, unsure of what to do and what he would do. And then, in the coolest way possible, he steadied his head,looked up and smiled at me. The warmest smile I`ve seen in years. The kinds that made his eyes shine long after the smile had left his face. Then he steadied himself on his feet and walked towards me, arms open wide, rickety steps and that smile intact. And I thought to myself, " This is why people have babies.."
Hello People,
Those of you who`ve read my earlier posts, know that right now I`m at my sister`s place in New Jersey. Its a family reunion, with my folks down from India. And I`m having the time of my life! :-))
Shall try and give some interesting updates on Lil Ishaan, as soon as I find some time. Till then, God Bless!
Hello People,
Those of you who`ve read my earlier posts, know that right now I`m at my sister`s place in New Jersey. Its a family reunion, with my folks down from India. And I`m having the time of my life! :-))
Shall try and give some interesting updates on Lil Ishaan, as soon as I find some time. Till then, God Bless!
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