Return flight

From India to US.
Kissed him and my little one.
Going home or is it home I just left behind?

With what shall we bless this child?

I want to let you know that your daughter is safe. Beautiful smile she has, and I chose to believe that she looks like you. Past two days I just thought about you and today I let go.. If only it were that easy for you to move on. Time heals, but not your wound, I know. Yeah, you will always be on the look out for her, until your last breath. At the end of the day, when you are too tired, with not much energy left to cook the dal – you will think of her, whether she is fed stomach full – and then you drift off to sleep, if sleep ever comes.

The full moon sky does not ease your pain, like oil on burning flame, your heart longs to hold her close and never let go. They say your child is born under very lucky stars, to be adopted by them. But I curse the stars you were born with and the dark scary night in the alley, when the satanic lustful rogue forced on you. Your cries quaked the street, but none rescued.

Yes, yes, I know you had her for sixteen days and finally left her in the doorsteps of the orphanage. And you waited until dawn when the door opened and she was taken in. The wait seemed like eternity and you came a hundred times to take her back, but each time you kept asking “what will I offer my child?” When death was the final call, you abandoned her there.

Last night, I offered her a piece of bread. And your daughter took it, shredded into two with her tiny hands and offered me half. I took her in my arms and hugged her warm. We stayed liked this for sometime and I whispered to her that you love her true.

I want to tell you more and more, but my eyes wells up and my throat is dry. Why are your eyes so dry and blank? I am telling you again and again – she is fine and happy too.
---------------
With what shall we bless this child?
With a smile like light,
With eyes, large and wide,
To see every flower, animal, and bird,
And a heart to feel all that she sees.

Hairy tale

Curly hair. Not the drop dead gorgeous curly. But the oh-so coconut oiled curly. Native of mallu land. Its in the genes I guess. American colleagues showered praises on my curly locks, until they saw my wedding album where every other mallu aunty had curly hair. To the point that they would come to me and say, "Upsi, I was at the mall the other day and saw this girl from India. She had curly hair. Should be from your part of town".
Hold on, lady. We don't ride elephants to school. And no, snake charmers are not in every street. Curry powder is not from curry seed. Likewise, every mallu is not curly.

Vanity got the better of me. I wanted Chin Yung Sang's hair. How simple their life must be. Went straight to Sayuri Saloon and asked for a perm.
"Such lovely curly hair, why do you want to straighten it". Whaaaa?! At this rate you will soon go out of business, mam. Shouldn't you be saying I would look pretty with a perm?
Sayuri took into cutting my hair, with three type of scissors in her apron - the tiny one to trim strands behind my ears, squirted water on my hair every now and then, clipped and unclipped strands - focussing and attending to the minutest detail of my hairy head. Thank Heavens! I am in good hands. Amazed with her proficiency, I sat there and watched her work my hair and also my reflection in the mirror. Her and myself in the mirror. Back and forth. For fifteen minutes I did this, oblivious to the strands of black curly hair falling off into the floor.
"eh..huh....I dont want too short"
"you will look pretty with short straight her".
"ah..okay" . Ofcourse Sayuri should know. Her salon wall is embedded with so many certificates I cannot clearly read. I squinted my eyes. Ah, one is for the best hygienic salon in the street, I think.

I was ushered into the perming area before I knew it. Hot iron press and some more hair press. I was done. Give way world, for the new me is here. I watch myself in the mirror. Hair cut short above the neck. Very very straight. Very very short. Hmpf..not bad. Loved my new look. 70 bucks (holy crap - hubby's words) plus 5 for Sayuri. Rushed to pick up hubby back from work. Reached 15 mnts early and waited in the lobby. Any other day I would have made a scene for making me wait. Not this day. Not when everyone was looking and smiling at me. Ah!!
He came, little shocked (for a couple of minutes) which gave way to a smile, then a grin and a little hearty laugh -- ah! so he is pleased too!

So whats the problem, you ask. What was the post about? Whats the huge deal? Why did I make you read this? ha.
------
You see., I lack the insight - the power or act of seeing intuitively,; the act of seeing into a situation.

I had to take a shower. Shower I did and viewed I did in the mirror. Horror of horrors! Whatever hair I had was back curly (curlier than it originally was). It was short. I looked demented. An hour later when the hair dried, it puffed up too.

Very short very curly very puffy very mallu hair. And a very demented look.
And oh, Sayuri also shaped my eye brows - arched my brows a little too much that my face looked surprised all the time. Hubby took pictures plenty to sent to friends and foe. Cousin in India - he enlarged the picture and says he use it to scare crows and hush wailing babies.

There ends my story.

Paralleled

1996 Chevy Cavalier. My first car. Pre-owned by a black guy in cornrows with blue beads. He gave me the keys and said,"chicken tikkka masaaala. I lovwe it".
All I need to do now is learn to drive. Dad offered and I accepted. For four days I drove on all the streets, 5 miles radius from our home. Just a few honks from old women and teenagers every other day. But I was doing good. Fifth day I hit the Interstate and took the next exit. Back to those old streets for a couple more days. I was doing very good. Perfect, infact. Except the parallel parking. I just couldn't do it. Period.

In theory, all you need to do is to drive parallel to the spot you want your car to be parked. Brake. Turn the steering clockwise. Rear view mirror and reverse into the spot. Half way through, steer anti-clockwise and drive. Adjust - reverse and drive, drive and reverse. Car should be parallel parked by now.

Ah! If only I could do it. I couldn't reverse into the spot however much I tried. Dad got out and waved his hand in time for me to steer the wheel into the spot. Then I did it perfectly. But Dad's not allowed to wave during my license test. Anyways after about 20 parallel parks, with dad standing out and waving his hand in time for the reverse, I managed on the 21st time.

The day arrived. I went to the licensing office and waited for my turn. Shook hands with Mr. Martinez and we went for the ride. Tested the indicators, wiper and I drove. Stopped at Stops. Indicated my turns. Now the last straw - parallel park. Need to parallel park between two cones without hitting them. Hit them both and came home.

Booked for the second test. Mr. Martinez and I. Fast forward to the parallel parking. Hit one cone and came home.

Dad and I devised a plan. The driving and parallel parking test areas are open to the public. We went in the night and marked a red stripe on the lamp post (near the curb where the cones are placed) wiith a sharpie.The moment I see the red stripe on my rear view mirror, I have to reverse steer the wheel. And I paralled parked beautifully. HA!!!!!Thank my Dad profusely for the million dollar idea.

Third testing day and it snowed that morning. The red stripe was nowhere to be seen. Hit both the cones and came home. Threated to leave home if mom and sis continued their suppressed grin. Movies with car driving heroines were banned. Applaused the Philadelphia transit authority for the new bus route to my college.
That night I tied a small red ribbon on the lamp post. Rain or shine, that ribbon should be in place.

Fourth round of my drivers test. Marty and I are friends by now. The testing route is stamp marked in my brain by now. Reached the dreaded spot. The ribbon fluttered in the wind and I reversed on its first sight on my rear view mirror. Paralled parked perfectly. Marty and I hugged. He was sincerely happy. A week later my license arrived. The family celebrated.

Fast forward some years :-
The other day Mr.V complained about Mrs.V's failed attempt for the license. He was wondering if I could teach her to drive.

Holy Cow! or is it Horny Cow!

An after lunch seista. Sis and I were exhausted after the fight for Balarama (mallu kids zine).Grandma falling asleep in the bed while reading the newspaper. Radio blaring old mallu movie songs. Neighbour dog barking as usual for no reason. Beevi, a mid aged Muslim woman who comes home for sweeping and laundry, was finishing up her work. She has a loud, very loud commanding voice. She loves to sing and sings out loud while sweeping, cleaning and washing. Cyclists in the streets ring their bells in appreciation.

Our house is one among the four within a huge compound. On the streets outside you will find stray dogs and homeless cows. One of the doors from our dining room opens to the back porch. A few yards from the back porch, Beevi had hung the cloths on the line to dry.
It was like any other Sunday 2pm. Beevi changed her clothes to leave for the day and came out of the kitchen. Blaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!!

There was a cow - front legs plus half of its body in our dining room. Holy Cow! Beevi was speechless, for 2 seconds. Then she yellled; we came running, neigbour dog stopped barking and the neighbour kids plus their moms came out of their houses.

The compound gate was left open by the milkman, and this cow found her way from the streets to our dining room. Now this cow had never been inside a house in her entire life. The cow didnt know what to do. We didnt know what to do. Every body else was having fun, including the dog, which apparenly broke the chain and was staring tongue-out.

The cow somehow got out of our back porch and was running into the graden, but got stuck between the clothes hanging in the line to dry. Twenty seconds went by; clothes fell on the ground and the cow came out with a bra hanging on its horn. By this time, two kids were rolling on the sand laughing their guts out. Dog started barking again and the cow ran towards the compound gate with a bra in her horn, out into the streets.

Quarter mile north of our house is the town junction -a busy one with an auto stand, bus stop, medical shop, bakery, a mechanic workshop, plus an umbrella and shop repair shop .

Beevi confirmed that the cow was headed north. She confirmed next day that the junction-waalas found out where the bra belonged. We didnt care to figure out who took the bra out.

Tear drop or a long stare?

if you cross the street
and saw me passing by,
would you know me friend?

and when the sun rise and sets
and the days pass by
when our guiding stars
differ in miles
would our path ever cross?

when I am by my self
with sense that years put in
I know not if I'll still be same
but if I smile still the same
would you know me then, my friend?

untold stories, that will never reach me
glorious heights, that I'll never be part of
wait. maybe it will - when the gentle breeze
caress my hair;
I will stop,
and breathe in the moment.
I'll think of you then.

and when I lay, with a life accomplished;
would you come then?
a tear drop or a long stare..
would you know me then?