Trekking, nature and much more!

Early morning waking in a bus, among a group of nature enthusiasts. Fun, singing and a short break later; I took my first step into the jungles of Brahmagiri. “It starts here,” I told myself; a promise that this is one among the many trips into nature.

And it was an important first one. The best of the trekking group, middle of the jungle with special permission, waterfall, scenery, campfire, zip lining, tents and photography.

Thinking back, life couldn't be better and life couldn't be more hopeful. I managed squeezing in my love for trekking and jungle between my kids, writing, job, husband and the haunting purpose of life. Yes, I squeezed in three days of serene jungle, pure air and water and camaraderie at the campfire. But I squeezed out a lot.  Fulfilling one wish, which was tucked away in some corner of my heart; I opened up a world of possibilities.  Yes, it was possible to break away and get three days for myself.

“But you have two children!”, was the steady query from anyone with whom I shared my jungle diaries not to mention my zooooooooooooin zip lining adventure. And I simply smiled, “Yes, I do. Two adorable children and my husband takes care of them when I go trekking.”

So what does this jungle experience give you? A lot of jungle (if you go during the right time of the year), lots of greenery, cool shadows, shrubs -twines-trees, colourful flowers, berries you've never seen before, different insects, pristine waters, beautiful good earth and different shades of the sun. If lucky, you’ll get a spider wrapping a fly in its web, snake skin left behind, some foot prints, which only the guide can recognize. But it leaves you with much more. The amazing jungle photographs, may be the materialistic souvenirs in your hands but the entire outdoor experience calms you as you experience nature is its best raw form. Moreover, life just seems simpler. Living in the wilderness, without the paraphernalia that we otherwise think we can’t live without. And not the cottage/tent kind of a luxurious outdoor holiday but a real basic one-with- mother nature kind.

As we left the next day, singing and laughing all our way back, we took turns to say our bit to the gang. Well, what could I say, “It was great? “I’ll come back for more?” Or that “nothing is better that being so close to nature”? All this and to that I added, “I want my children to trek, to see nature as it is and care about it in the future.” What a thought, Touch Wood!

About me:

“I want ear rings,” cries my little one (now 4 years old) for the nth time as I ignore her demand and lead her from my bedroom.  She wants my small collection of beautiful earrings to play with – adorn herself and her dolls J

At that precise moment, I wonder, how will my children describe me – to themselves or to their friends?  Creative? Short tempered? Great cook? Writer? Painter?

How will they (daughter and son) put it in words. “My mother came from a small town, (Belgaum actually not small!) but she was determined to work in the big city. Nothing really put her down for long but she had her phases of melancholy. I liked her best when she was relaxed and laughed her head off at the silliest jokes.   Once she asked the bai if there was electricity in the other houses, the bai answered; “It was there at my house,” my mom still can’t stop laughing at that joke.

She had a way to dislike the bai, the watchman and the newspaper boy; who landed up at the wrong time but always had a soft spot for the needy especially children. 

What I loved best and still want to own / borrow is her collection of earrings. Fake, real, small, huge, artistic and rare. Not to forget the many glass and brass bangles.  She had the choicest handicrafts, eco-friendly stuff and paper artifacts. All kept away to be displayed when we would grow a bit older and wiser (!?) so as to not break any.

My mom made cooking seem as easy as eating and she ate non-veg with relish. She had a knack to woo anyone, who came her way and kept in touch with her dear ones like a satellite – far yet just within reach!

Today, I see her losing her temper but every weekend, there comes some friend with a little one and makes my day! She can rant away names of great movies to be watched and plays classical music every morning. ‘You must develop an ear for good things…’

Good things? She found great things and weird ideas. Composting is one – she found great joy in composting kitchen waste and showcased her manure with great pride. Another was hoarding all our things small and big – my birthday cake doll (now only the head remains),  baby clothes,  our (me and my brother) first sketches & broken toys. Tissues to be used later and tit-bits from the waste to make something creative.

But can’t miss all those adorable pictures that she took pains to click and all the funny nursery rhythms singing – dancing session …. “Ek tha Sakaram, Ek tha Tukaram….” (in Kokani actually).  

Will they really remember me like this or criticize me to be over-protective, demanding and a disciplinarian? Is this good enough to be a good mother ……..  

61 movies to be watch before you die

https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B1PKoyJufOeWeG9nblVRUnlHSFE/edit

I worry

I put my favourite pair of jeans for our usual drive around town on a Sunday. Just then I hear , “Waaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” silence; “Waaaaaaaaaa”! I turn around my son is busy figuring out if he wants to play with his toy car or bang it into the wall!
I should go out, I tell myself and go into the hall. My daughter is half on the sofa and half on the floor crying and I don’t know why. I really can’t say if she herself knows the reason, why!

Just then my husband come in and looks at her. Both of us grumble, grumble about the crying then find out- she just wants to change her outfit – the fourth time.
“When will she grow up?”  I ask my husband,  and I picture her all grown up in High School and I am free to do my oil painting, go to all the art exhibitions, hold eco-friendly exhibitions and read all I can. When we are finally in the car and my daughter is playing with my son. My son grinning at her, I think back. Do I really want them to grow and take on the world? Do I want them to fight and complete – for admissions, paint a masterpiece then act polite (PR) to sell it – to make a living?
Competition?  Highs.  Rejections?  Heartbreak.  Independence?  Loneliness.
Or will I like to keep them cocooned? Away from the world. Call ‘safe’ friends (same sex?) at home to play? Keep a fixed deposit so they don’t’ have to work under pressure? So they can paint for art’s sake; write for themselves. Not be pressurized by reviews, critics or empty halls.

Am I really impractical?

Keep them away from relationships – find them the perfect match myself. Save them the heartbreak and keep them from the mysterious of human mind, heart and behaviour? Keep them also from the goosebumps of the first romance; tears after an applause and the anxiety before trying something new?

So do I really want them off my hands? Well, no. Face the world; see friends / neighbours on their worst days? No. But I still want them to go out and experience the world. Explore life’s secrets and mysteries and grow stronger and wiser.
Will I tell my children to excel? No. Instead will tell them – ‘Get a job to pay the bills while I am right behind you but enjoy art for art’s sake and let no comment deter you or elate you off your roots’.

I will teach them to be sensitive to others at the same time strong to withstand a storm. Will I tell them, “Make me Proud?” No. I will them “I am proud of you.”

I am a Woman

Another day ends, the engine’s put off and I climb into my sanctuary. To myself and only to myself. I look at my reflection. Tired, dusty, tanned but firm and resolute. Hair ruffled in between deadlines, parlour and day care, make-up’s gone in the rush of the day. I undress – to me and only to me. To see a full-bodied woman, specks of growth in my arm pits; I loosen up to touch the elastic mark on my waist. My fitted bra comes off and I am glad to be a woman and a good one at that!
I remember the journey it took me to be a woman. The long haul of timid adolescence, nervousness of body and mistaken sensuality. But here I am through all the angst and the grind at home, with boys as cousins, work and relationships. And it gives me a spark. A spark I am proud of. A spark of mischief in my eyes, a spark of knowing how to bend the rule, how to make heads turn. A spark that brightens in the male competitive world and shimmers in cozy, comfort corners.

A spark that says, I am comfortable, being a woman.

I put my weary toes in the tub, I close my eyes. Remember my gym, I loved the feeling of that. The sweat that made me happy. Remember the Lo real ad for hair colour, the Aspiration liposuction banner; oh the obsession with body. Body in its true sense? Beauty in its true sense? Sensuality in its true sense? Ability to withstand the glare and toss ones’ head confidently. Confidence?
Knowledge, girl power!

The night passes by.

Welcome mornings! The gym rush. Baby porridge, potty and powder routine. Shower, blush, perfume, power watch and strappy dress. I pack my lunch, boiled water, tampon; my education, my first show down at work, the recent professional snub I gave my colleague, first byline – another day of head turnings, balancing egos and polite assertions.

I am a woman and a good one at that!

Where does feminism go from here?

I wanted to be a teacher all my school days, wanted to fall in love, during my college days and go to office during my PG days. In the process I became a self sufficent, practical, independent adult.
'Confidence' over took the akward timidness, reserved shy nature took to aggressive and pushy; sometime loud self assertiveness and the wonder in my eyes was replaced by mundane everyday practicality.
"I know," "I can do it myself", "I don't need a drop,"; my feministic brain never knew helplesness or submissive behaviour. "How am I going home?"; "You are so sweet" - alein words.
My prince in shinning armour did come and did sweep me off my feet but I lost on some of those mushy moments, chasing the stars; my prince didn't really have to rescue me. Much so I made the first move to capture my lover's attention.
And whatever fairy tale moments I did have, I felt, 'Oh, so guilty, why didn't I take care of it myself.'
So here I am, lighting a lone candle once in a while, buying a flower for myself, taking all my doctor's appointments, fixing the leaky tap, booking our vacations, handling hubby's work stress - without a day off! Phew!!!
Did Germaine Greer think of these while defining feminism? Does this make me a feminist, woman taking care of herself. Assertive, strong, presentable and independent?
And devoid of emotion sometimes? Don't feel guilty giving my husband the slient treatment. Though take his casual flirting in my stride, no tears lost there! Don't enjoy being the dependable agony aunt, who can take care of herself. Understand office pressures and lack of quality time only because have worked in an office before? Would rather be illiterate with an oily knot and fancy ribbon, cajoled by her lover to smile through her tears.
Where do we feminists go after this? While trying not to be a doormat, we become the rooster on the roof, pretty withstanding the seasons but unreachable.
I would anyday, go back to the days, where life was still a cramped book of secrets; waiting for the college hottie to make a move, awaiting a cousin's gift, expecting a pick up, looking for a 'guy' shoulder, asking silly questions for reassurance and giving teary explanations. Still like a guy to pay my bill, open the door for me and actually put his cigarete off.

30 plus

I get ready in my simple white trouser and sleeveless white top with hand embriodery, hair clean and wavy. My husband, already hassesled with work, drops me, baby and nanny to Levis store. Ooooooooh!
"I want my measurement," I say to the cute, young salesboy. "30," he answered, "What fit are you looking for?"
'30', it echoed in my mind; are you sure?
After half an hour, I walked out of the store with the latest black Levis piece and more importantly feeling good, confident and joyous as I wasn't left behind in the 'beauty-personality' businees; while dealing with my daily routine with naniies and household. I could still make heads turn!
On my way home, I pick up 'Chicken for the all moms soul', magazine for Aamir Khan's interview and a colourful teracota bell; ready to challenge myself like always.