A Tale of a Bedtime Story

For D

Our last day in Kochi today. Tomorrow will see us at Bangalore. And on the 25th, it's Ni Hao Shanghai.

So G-ma's telling D a bedtime story, this time it's Kaliya Mardanam. ( you should know this story if you are reading this blog yourself. If you don't, then come ask me now. Don't escape, I'll know. ) she reaches the part of lil Krishna dancing on Kaliya's head, and an innocent 3-year old asks, which song is he dancing to?

Pat comes the answer from her Appapa, Chin ta ta chika chika chin ta ta ta.

God save bedtime stories. and the freaking tune is stuck in my head now.



Chin ta ta chika chika Ma

Midnight Sojourns

For D and S


Shall I let you in on a secret? I experience moments of pure soulful bliss every night. When I wake up in the middle of the night. And I kiss those tiny lil foreheads and inhale in your intoxicating scents. Pure. Soulful. Bliss.

Sleep my lovely babies. Sleep. For when you wake up, you'll move mountains.

PS - I love Seuss. Ain't he the bestest?


Kisses
Ma

Shedding Inhibitions

I've always wondered about fashion, make up and the glammed up dolls. They weren't exactly up my alley, and has permanently been one of the things I've never identified with. I had long left that arena to my lil sis. And secretly admired her glam factor.

And. I've had long hair. All my life.

Chopping it off never crossed my mind. Even when styling got to be the norm, I was remotely interested in shortening my locks.

So when the dad said he wanted me to cut my hair, I was at a crossroads. Literally. Indian women, and men, have a thing with hair. The men need their women to be with long flowing black manes and the idea has been so driven into the womens mind that they can think nothing but. Especially the mallu clan. Coconut oil jokes, anyone?

And that's how I found myself in the stylists chair. Trust me, I had to hunt this guy down. He's good. Real good. And the only one I would trust. The dad had already specified the length specification. Alongside was D. Hers was a major challenge, sitting still while some stranger snips the scissors around your face and ears can be traumatic for a three-year onl. And so came the bribe, good ol' chocolate. And statue she went.

Scissors around your head where once you had lots of hair can be equally traumatic for a thirty year old too. The past year had a lot of soul searching and rediscovering the person I am. But this strange facet .. well it was unforeseen. And it shook me to the core. I couldn't fathom how deep this went. Me, a person who is always enthused by change, went jelly legged sitting in that chair. 

I went about unabashed and without batting an eyelash during my career days unmindful of who was with or against me. And trust me, thats saying a lot. 

Why the jitters for this, of all things. And why are we so fixated by beautifying dead cells anyways?

Lost in thought

Me