Long Hair, Oil and English

The other day, Hubby came home with a little plant in a plastic container. One of his patients had given it to him as a gift. He crushed a leaf and held it under my nose and said, "See this thing. It has such tiny green leaves, but such a strong spicy smell. " The spicy scent hit me like a shot. I exclaimed "Arre, it's marwaah."

In a nanosecond I was transported back to my childhood in Belgaum. I saw us girls sitting in the courtyard on warm summer evenings and weaving long colourful garlands with yellow, pink, white koranti flowers interspersed with tiny marwaah twigs. Fingers worked nimbly weaving the stalks of flowers together without the aid of threads or needles. And then those fragrant garlands adorned long hair plaited after a generous application of coconut oil.

Today, when I look at myself in the mirror, I see a smart short haircut. Heaven forbid that even a strand should look oily! A slight 'chipku' look will mean a major gaffe. How much appearances have changed and how much we judge and are judged on the basis of how we look!

Don't get me wrong, I like myself the way I am now. But, sometimes, I wish a smart haircut had less to do with what's in and more with personal likes. That people didn't look surprised to hear a woman in salwar kameez and sporting a long plait speak in fluent english. That wearing a sari didn't automatically invite a label of 'Aunty'. That being typically 'Indian' was not perceived as being less progressive or hip.

Hearts Grow by Vegetative Propagation

A close friend of mine moved away a few years ago. Initially, we spoke often over the phone and stayed in touch with emails, etc. Slowly, the replies became shorter and phone calls rarer. Now almost an year has gone by without a word. It hurts to not receive a birthday wish, to hear about achievements from common friends, to be forgotten completely. It's not simply a continent that divides us now.

Then one day, I was reading up on the methods of propagation of house plants (I am a budding gardener). If you take a cutting from a plant and stick it into soil, very often it will take root. But you need to take care of it. It has to be covered with a clear plastic bag to retain moisture. It has to be shielded from direct sunlight else it will wither in the heat. If you care for it, you are rewarded by a beautiful new plant to cheer your garden. If you are careless, it will die.

Suddenly I was struck by a thought. For every friend I make, I break off a piece of my heart and give it away. It is they who nurture it. It is a pleasure to walk into their garden and see it grow. If it dies, I am saddened by the loss of its promise. But I can do nothing. After all, it is their garden.

At the end of the day, I walk back to my own garden. My tree may have lost a few leaves, but it keeps growing. In one corner is the plant my friend gave me long ago. I water it regularly with memories of happy days. And I prune the dead leaves of bitterness. In my garden it thrives and blossoms. And then there are all those beautiful tall trees that are gifts from other friends. I feel blessed. I am at peace.

A Little, or A Lot?

Recently, two wonderful things happened to me. One, I saw Aamir Khan's movie Taare Zameen Par and two; I read the book The Secret by Rhonda Byrne. Both affected me deeply.
The title track of the film is beautifully written, composed and rendered. It touched my soul, not just my heart. It filled my heart with love. It made me cry and paradoxically it lifted my spirits. It also made me grateful for all the things I’ve been blessed with. For parents who care and for a happy childhood.
It seemed almost eerie to then read The Secret. Because Rhonda Byrne says in the book that to attract good things, first be grateful for what you already have. And feel good about yourself and your life. She suggests that we keep a few ‘mood shifters’ up our sleeves to get us out of the blues. A song, a favourite memory, a picture of happy times.
The song does it for me. It reminds me of all the good things in my life… the little things that really count but never get counted.
a hot cup of coffee on a chill evening, cold lemonade on a hot afternoon, a book to curl up with, a pat on the head as Dad walks by, a little tweak on the nose by the husband, the little baby next door twirling a strand of my hair on her chubby finger, a home made sweet offered by the elderly neighbour, the first ray of the sun after a rainy night, a cold sip of water after a long dusty trek, grandma’s hand-woven quilt, the sticky sweet taste of candy-floss, a golgappa filled with cold spicy pani, a favourite movie watched over and over, and cuddling under a cool blanket to watch the bright summer stars.
I think I have all I need. Thank you, Rhonda Byrne and thank you, Aamir Khan.