Coffee Rings Everywhere

I want to be an archaeologist

2012-01-28T19:00:00.001+05:30

“When I grow up, I want to be an archaeologist”, my six yearold declared.

“And why might that be?”, I asked, expecting him to tell me (ashis brother did two years back) that he wants to explore the pyramids anddiscover mummies.

But with him, things are not exactly as you would expectthem to be. “Because I want to play in the mud”, he declared.

“But you can play in the mud even now, if you wish.”

“Can I? Oh, thank you. You told me last week that I couldn’t.”

I know when I have been outmaneuvered!

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

It's a Peach

2012-01-27T19:18:00.000+05:30

“Look, Mamma, this tree has a peach”, my son told meexcitedly.

“That’s not a peach, Sweetheart, that’s a miniature orange”,I explained.

“But it looks just like the peach in James and the GiantPeach”, he insisted. “Are you sure it is not a peach?”

“Positive! A peach has one seed, and this one has several.”

“But this fruit is whole- how can you be sure it has many seeds?”

“I just know!”

“Okay. But I am going to call it a peach. May I?”

If you really think about it, why not? So peach the fruitshall remain!

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Happy Birthday, My Second Born

2012-01-24T16:00:00.002+05:30

When you start arguing with people, you forget your age, don’tyou? And they yours? You either convince them, or confuse them; either way, itends with them giving up in disgust, or defeat.

And must you always want whatever your brother is playingwith? You want that, and nothing else. You make life miserable for everyonetill you get it. And after you get it, it is longer something you particularlywant.

My second born. You exasperate me. You challenge me. Youmake me feel a failure. You make me feel on top of the world. Don’t everchange.

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Sankranti- traditions endure

2012-01-19T19:19:00.000+05:30

Sankranti; the Harvest Festival. One of our most important festivals.The day when you pray to the Sun God for a bountiful year. A festival which I nevercelebrate, because I did not see its relevance to a city-bred person like me.

And yet, on Sankranti day, dawn found me running on a bridgeover an inlet of the sea. I caught the Sun playing hide and seek behind the skyscrapers.I saw its preening at its reflection in the placid waters. The Sun’s rayswarmed my arms, lit up my heart.

Even if I deny my traditions, they endure.
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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Embrace what you fear

2012-01-18T17:34:00.000+05:30

“Are you crazy? Going for a swim in this cold!”, a friend exclaimed.But I was adamant- I’d told myself I would go for a swim three days after themarathon, and I wasn’t backing out.

When I reached the pool, I began to have second thoughts. Itwas chilly. Did I really want to do this?

I stuck one foot in the water; then the next. The water wasicy cold. I let my body sink into its embrace. Blood rushed to the surfacewarming me. I felt glorious.

Embrace what you fear, experiences are made of thosemoments.

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Dreams do come true

2012-01-17T19:01:00.000+05:30

When I first spoke to her six months back, she could barelywalk 5 kilometers. But she had a dream- to run the half-marathon. I knew it waspossible- four years back, hadn’t I made a similar journey in much less time? Moreimportantly, she believed it she could do it.

Life interfered. Her training went haywire. But she still pinned on her bib and turned up at the start line. Her knees almost gave way, but she didn’t give up. Five hours after she started, she crossed the finish line.

If you believe in yourself, dreams do come true.

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Listen to our heart

2012-01-16T21:42:00.000+05:30

The race was charted out in meticulous detail. There was PlanA, a Plan B; and a plan for when things went wrong as I knew they would.

But when I actually started running, my legs listened not tomy brain, but to my heart. My heart knew the pace I should hit and the pace I shouldkeep. My heart knew when to slow down, and when to keep going. My heart helpedme run a race I never knew I could- turn in a time I never thought possible.

Why can’t we learn to listen to our heart?

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

All for Tomorrow

2012-01-14T17:49:00.000+05:30

Over eight hundred training miles. Nearly two hundred hours onthe trail, or the treadmill, or pumping weights.

Nine months of rising before the sun on Saturdays to get in along run. Furiously juggling work, family and a training programme. Cold showers,early nights, stifled yawns.

Befriending muscle pain, till the quadriceps and hamstrings juststopped crying out in despair.

A whole new lexicon- long slow runs, tempo runs, speedworkouts.

Everything leading to this moment.

Bib pinned to my chest, timing-chip on my shoe.

Me, and Twenty-six point one miles. Tomorrow.

I hope I give it my best.

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

My Son, My Inspiration

2012-01-13T17:48:00.000+05:30

Not only is he the youngest in the class, my (nearly) sixyear old is also the smallest. That also makes him one of the slowest, even ifnot actually the slowest. By the time he reached the finish line of the 100meters race in school, the winners had been declared. And yet, there he is flyingover the tape- giving it his best, because he could not do otherwise.

My Son is going to be my Inspiration when I run the marathonon Sunday. I hope I can give it my all,and do so with a smile.

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Making you Smile

2012-01-12T17:45:00.000+05:30

My program manager choosing to quit on me. Assignments that thethird grader needs help with. The younger one going through one of thosedifficult phases. The marathon coming up on Sunday. Itchy throat, runny nose. Sleeplessnights. Early morning conference calls. In five words- Life Spiralling Out ofControl.

“Out with my plants”, I thought. “I need to simplify mylife.” Maybe I could stop watering them, and they would just go. But you can’t letplants die, can you? Grumbling, I reached out with a watering can. And saw this.

Nature has a way of making you smile.
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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Cats are a kind of alien...

2012-01-11T18:54:00.001+05:30

“Have you finishedyour homework yet?”, I asked the (nearly) six-year old.

“I am thinking.”

“How long does it take you to think of ten interesting factsabout a cat?”

“I can think of only three facts”, he insisted.

“Okay, tell me. And I will help you with the rest.”

“Cats are a kind of alien, because when they are angry,their nails come out”, he began.

I struggled to keep the smile off his face, but realized whyhe had been struggling.

Shouldn’t a teacher be happy with a couple of such factsthan a dozen more inane ones?
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

The best we can be

2012-01-10T17:25:00.000+05:30

Flashback 2011 - December

“How do you find the answer so fast”, asked my son in wonderwhen I mentally calculated the long division he had been struggling with for thelast several minutes.

“Practice. Nothing but practice”, I replied.

“But you still did it so fast”, he said. “Did you know theanswer from before.”

“No, I calculated it right now.”

“But how could you do it so fas?”, he asked. “Are you the bestin the world?”

“No, Sweetheart, I am not. But I do try to be the best that I can be.”

Isn’t that what we should strive for, always?

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

I would probably call this the "Best" Sunrise I witnessed during the year, but there have been other memorable sunrises too. In fact, truth be told, Every Sunrise IS the Best, in its own unique way. Taken in December during our holiday in Goa, this photograph forms a part of my Pictoral Flashback of 2011.

Shades of grey

2012-01-09T17:54:00.000+05:30

Flashback 2011- November

When we think back on the year, we remember supreme successesand frustrating failures. We remember events that made us giggle, and thingsthat made us cry. We remember the people who went out of their way to be niceto us, and the ones who were nasty.

But is that what the year was? Ups and downs? Crests and Troughs?Wasn’t most of the year, just normal? One day merging into another. Choresperformed, hugs exchanged, deadlines met. Survival from day to day.

Why do we focus always on the black and white. Isn’t life mostlyshades of grey?

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

This monochromatic photograph was taken in November when I was visiting my mother. Crappy camera phone, no editing, yet, it was my unanimous choice for the month of November, when I was working on my Pictoral Flashback of 2011.

Are Festivals worth it?

2012-01-08T17:22:00.000+05:30

Flashback 2011- October

There was a time when I used to celebrate all the majorfestivals at home. Not necessarily because I believe in the rituals, butbecause I thought it was good for the kids to have a strong cultural foundation,so they could take their own decisions later on life. I would drive myselfcrazy putting up appropriate floral decorations, making sweets, dressing the kidsin traditional wear.

Till I realized nobody really enjoyed it.

I’ve now decided not to celebrate any more festivals athome. At least I no longer wear myself out, and them scream because I am tired.
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

The photograph was taken on Diwali, the Festival of Lights- maybe the last time I celebrate any festival at home. The picture, taken in October, forms a part of my Pictoral Flashback of 2011.

A livelihood at home

2012-01-07T17:21:00.000+05:30

Over 20 million people squeezed into a tiny city. Extendedfamilies living in houses smaller than a garage- every inch of floor spacecovered with sleeping bodies at night. No running water, nor dedicated sanitaryblocks. A road network so inadequate it takes hours to commute 20 miles towork. The most overloaded public transportation system in the world- it is amiracle how so many people squeeze into so little space. And yet, people keepmigrating to Bombay.

Will a time ever come when people from rural India aren’tforced to migrate to cities to earn enough to survive?

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

The Bandra-Worli Sealink is an architectural delight. But the toll is so high, and the approach so crowded, few people even think of taking it. Couldn't the money have been used better? This picture forms a part of my Pictoral Flashback of 2011.

You can't do both

2012-01-06T17:19:00.000+05:30

Flashback 2011- August

“But it’s raining”, is the excuse we hear constantly duringthe monsoons. Everything is put on hold because you presumably can’t step outdoorsin the rain.

And yet, few things beat the pleasure of running in the rain.Raindrops falling on your head. Feet splashing through puddles. Newly washedleaves on trees. Wildflowers that bloom only for weeks. The smell of freshearth. The cool air hitting your face, caressing your bare arms. Bliss.

This year, I’ve learnt. You can either make excuses, or youcan do what you want to do. You can’t do both. The choice is yours.

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

The photograph was taken in August at a colonial bungalow where we stayed during an outstation run, and forms a part of my Pictoral Flashback of 2011.

What a child wants

2012-01-05T17:19:00.000+05:30

Flashback 2011- July

“Don’t tell anyone, but you know what happened today…”. Everynight, thus start my son’s everlasting tales.

But a year back, it wasn’t so. A year back, he waswithdrawn, defensive and unhappy. His grades were poor, he was clearly nothappy in school and I had no way of reaching out to him. All I could do waswonder what went wrong….. till that day when the dam broke, and he articulatedhis fears.

My son’s far from perfect, but he’s friendly, happy andconfident.

Sometimes, all a child needs is for his mother to be therefor him.

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

A rolling stone gathers no moss. Moss, to me, is symbolic of parents who are there for their kids. Of parents who give their all for their children. Of my parents. And of the parent I wish I could be. This photograph, taken in July, forms a part of my Pictoral Flashback of 2011.

Courage is....

2012-01-04T17:17:00.000+05:30

Flashback 2011- June

The eye-surgeon with a flourishing practice, who returned tohis village and set up an eye-hospital for the poor. The retired bureaucrat whoruns a school exclusively for boys from a community that has been shunned forgenerations. The articulate woman who’s dedicated her life to rescuing and rehabilitatingvictims of the sex trade.

They could have led comfortable lives, but chose to dosomething meaningful. They may not flaunt the material trappings of success, butthey are the richest people I know.

“Courage is not the absence of fear, but the judgment thatsomething is more important than fear”

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

When it rains, the dry bed turns into a gurgling stream. In the dry months, it could be mistaken for a trail. Water comes and goes, but the rocks stay on forever. This photograph, taken during a trek in June forms a part of my Pictoral Flashback of 2011.

Not the real India

2012-01-03T17:17:00.000+05:30

The treasured only child of her parents. Someone who was encouragedto soar as high as her wings could take her. A person who held her own even ina not entirely equitable world. All these years, I genuinely believed that Indiaallowed a woman to attain her potential.

The country I grew up in is not the real India.

In India, girls are killed before they are born; they areallowed to starve through neglect; they sold into sexual slavery; they aredenied a voice at home; they are invisible in the community.

How long can such extremes co-exist?

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

I visited rural Maharashtra in May. Saw women struggling to assert themselves, to claim their position in society. Change has to come- but how long will it take? This photograph forms a part of my Pictoral Flashback of 2011.

Giving it my best shot

2012-01-02T17:12:00.001+05:30

Flashback 2011- April

Three summers ago, I had the crazy dream of registering fora marathon. Fate took over, and I landed up at the start-line untrained and unsure.I couldn’t do it, walked the distance, and swore never to attempt it again.

But unfinished business rankles. I decided to try one moretime. I have trained many months for it. I am as ready as I’ll ever be.

Whether I achieve my dream or not, I would have given it mybest shot. I am satisfied.

“Courage is not absence of fear, but the judgment thatsomething is more important than fear.”

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

A former treadmill junkie, I had to start running on the road if I wanted to pile up the kind of mileages that I needed to attempt a marathon. Luckily, I found a place I fell in love with, and this photograph, taken during my first ever training run in April forms a part of my Pictoral Flashback of 2011.

I had savoured the beauty

2012-01-01T17:00:00.000+05:30

Flashback 2011- March

“DOOONNNN’TTttttt….”, the word was still in my mouth, when ithappened. My son’s hand swung out, knocking the stem off my plumeria plant. Amoment earlier, I had been gazing proudly at 17 buds poised to spread theirperfume and beauty outside my bedroom window. Now all there was to see was thestump of a stem, bleeding milky white discharge.

These would have been my first flowers in four years. I wouldhave seen their perfection first thing in the morning on waking up. I wept.

And then I stopped weeping. In my mind, I had savoured thebeauty.
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

These flowers bloomed on the same plant, but not as easily visible as the other ones would have been. Would I have even seen them had the other lot not been tragically lost? This photograph taken in March forms a part of my Pictoral Flashback of 2011.

Turning Forty

2011-12-31T18:23:00.000+05:30

Flashback 2011- February

If I meet my 30 year old self, what would I tell her?

Would I tell her that 2 children and 10 years later, she willbe fitter, stronger and slimmer than she dreams possible? Would I tell her thatevery difficult choice she makes will only lead her to yet another one, butthat the journey will be well worth it? Would I tell her that she’ll notrecognise who she will eventually become?

I would tell her all that. And one more thing I would tellher- to cherish who she is, because she is worth being cherished.

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

The photograph, taken on Valentine's Day never fails to remind me that while diamonds may add to a girl's charms, nothing makes a woman as beautiful as experience. This photograph forms a part of my Pictoral Flashback of 2011.

If I had the year over....

2011-12-30T19:08:00.000+05:30

Flashback 2011- January

If I had the year over, would I have done thingsdifferently? Would I have put my foot down earlier and more firmly? Suffered foolsa lot less? Would I have spent less time with that person who proved a falsefriend, and been more sympathetic to the one who genuinely needed me?

Would I haveabstained from ordering that takeaway that gave all of us an upset stomach?

With the benefit of hindsight, one can always do thingsbetter. But I wouldn’t really want to change too much; I am happy with the waythings turned out this year.

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

On a cold winter morning in one of the most inaccessible parts of rural India, I watched the sun go down behind a temple. As the colours faded into black and white, for a moment, I could see my entire life in stunning clarity. This photograph taken in January forms a part of my Pictoral Flashback of 2011.

Why do I Run????

2011-12-27T19:45:00.004+05:30

[Two days after a disastrous run, I found the answer to my question.]

Two days later, I went for a pre-dawn run on the beach. Withinmoments of my feet hitting the sand, everything fell into place. Feet, legs,hands, breath, every part of my body knew just what to do. We were indeed bornto run.

The sun rose in the sky; the beach changed from rough sand, to broken shells, to fine sand, and rough again. I could have gone on forever, but I turned back. I had found my answer. I run because running puts me in touch with my elemental self. It lets me be who I really Am.

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Going up in flames

2011-12-25T11:59:00.000+05:30

[This is a work of fiction]

“Why??????”

My scream echoed off his retreating back. He walked away, leavingbehind a hollow that was me.

I threw my memories into the fire. Photographs, and movieticket stubs. Dried-up bouquets, and birthday cards. Chocolate wrappers, and glitzywrapping paper. I wished I could throw myself in and let the flames engulf me. Icouldn’t live without him. Wanted to join my cherished memories wherever theyhad gone.

I watch the candles burn. My one true love reaches out andtouches my hand. I look up and smile. Would I have found him if the other onehadn’t left?
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Poignant or humorous. Thought provoking or plain silly. A slice of life or a dramatic tale. Countdown to the New Year with a drabble a day, everyday only at The Burrow.

Is beauty absolute?

2011-12-21T20:56:00.000+05:30

“Aren’t those flowers beautiful?”, asked the son.

I looked around, but couldn’t find anything that evenfaintly resembled a flower. “Where? I don’t see any flowers here.”

“Look, there.”

“Where, Sweetheart? There aren’t any flowers here.”

“Are you blind or what”, he said, before taking me by the handand dragging me to a clump of wild grass. “Now can you see the flowers?”

Yes, when you looked at it through my son’s eyes, the grasswas beautiful. More beautiful than most flowers.

Can there be an absolute standard for beauty? Who decideswhat qualifies as beautiful, and what doesn’t?

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Happy Birthday (one day late)

2011-12-20T18:30:00.004+05:30

[This post was scheduled for yesterday, but I was so upset all day, I just couldn't bring myself to publish it.

Whatever else I have got from her or not, letting injustice upset me is an inheritance from my mother, and she will understand why this is a day late.]

She is the perfectionist, expecting nothing less fromherself and others. I insist perfection as a concept is overrated.

She is meticulous to the point of putting everything in alist. I let things take their course, trusting they will eventually fall intoplace.

She drives herself crazy trying to bring order out of chaos.I thrive on chaos.

When two strong-willed individuals are as different as mymother and I, it is natural that sparks fly when we are together.

But the older I get, the more I realize how similar we actuallyare. Almost Sisters under the Skin.

Happy Birthday, Mamma!

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Sarita! Why did she have to die?

2011-12-19T19:49:00.000+05:30

Sarita is the daughter of illiterate migrant workers, whoused to attend the informal education centre at the construction site.

Four years back, she underwent a heart surgery. A couple ofdays back, she developed related complications. She was operated uponyesterday, but couldn't recover and passed away.

A brilliant student, Sarita could have accomplished anythingshe set out to do, instead, she ended up dead. Shouldn't clean water, basicsanitation, and health care a basic entitlement? Why should Sarita have to paywith her life for the crime of being born poor?

When will things change? Will they ever?

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Read Sarita's story here.

Last Christmas

2011-12-18T11:58:00.000+05:30

“Do you like these?”, she asked.

I nodded.

“Ask your mother to get one for you.”

I slunk away. How could I tell her that my mother wasconfined to a bed, dying of tuberculosis? That my father had abandoned us. Thatwe survived only on the charity of the church. She had been fooled by my schooluniform I wore- the school which I attended on scholarship.

For weeks I stayed away, but something drew me back.

She spotted me at once. “Pick one”, she said. “A gift fromme to you.”

My mother’s last Christmas will be memorable.

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Poignant or humorous. Thought provoking or plain silly. A slice of life or a dramatic tale. Countdown to the New Year with a drabble a day, everyday only at The Burrow.

5:05 pm

2011-12-17T12:32:00.000+05:30

[This is a work of fiction]

I sneaked a look at my watch. 4:45; still no sign of Jacob. He should have been here 15 minutes back. Normally I don't mind covering up for him, but I could not afford to be late today. I had even reminded him yesterday. Should I just leave? After all, my shift was over. Nobody can blame me for doing so. But that's not how things work in retail.
Where was Jacob? Would Mary forgive me for standing her up?

5:05. I ran through the snow. There she was-I could see her. "Papa", she squealed. "I knew you would come."
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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words. Check out this story and many more on the Advent Calendar at "the Burrow".

My son, the photographer

2011-12-16T19:53:00.000+05:30

“What does this button do?”, my eight year old asked me. I couldhave told him not to worry about the complicated settings on my camera, but I wasin a pedantic mood and told him all I knew about apertures and shutter speeds. Iwas certain he wasn’t taking any of it in- how could he, when he was too youngto grasp even the basic principles of optics?

Two hours later, he told me exactly how he wanted theshutter speed set. I was pretty sure it wouldn’t work, but the photograph that hetook is a Classic.

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Setting the right goal

2011-12-14T17:17:00.001+05:30

I gave my all in the race. Shattered a barrier I have beenstruggling to break for years. I should have been happy, and proud. Instead, I collapsedin a heap and burst into tears. The race had taken everything out of me, and I wasn’tsure if it was worth it.

Nothing had registered. Not the scenic route, not thecheerleaders, not the live bands. Nothing. All I had been aware of was my paceand the distance left to cover. Was this what I wanted?

Before you work to a goal, it’s prudent to set the rightone.

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Reflections

2011-12-11T12:00:00.000+05:30

As the days grow shorter, you take up permanent residence inmy memory. I remember you as you were that day. Leaning against the railing,your red and gold scarf almost skimming the water, throwing bread crumbs to theducks, laughing at a joke only you could catch. You slipped your hands intomine, and together we watched twilight set in. “Look at the reflection”, you whispered,“so perfect you can’t tell which is real and which the illusion.” You threw thelast of your breadcrumbs, and watched that picture perfect scene dissolve.

You went home and gassed yourself. Why???

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Poignant or humorous. Thought provoking or plain silly. A slice of life or a dramatic tale. Countdown to the New Year with a drabble a day, everyday only at The Burrow.

Game we played

2011-12-09T20:04:00.001+05:30

When we were young, there were so many games that we played. Gamesthat didn’t require batteries, or joy-sticks. Games played outdoors with stones,sticks and chalk lines. Games with complicated rules that everyone understood.

Our kids, we claim, don’t play like we used to. We say allthey want is their TV and their play-stations. But is that really so? Has theadvent of electronics changed children, or is it parents who have changed?

“Mamma, can I play in the mud.”

“No, baby. It is full of germs. Why don’t you watch TV whileI fix you a snack?”

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

How best to climb a tree

2011-12-08T19:32:00.000+05:30

I found my son trying to climb a tree; a shrub with branchesnot strong enough to support much weight. My first instinct was to scream, “whatdo you think you are doing, just get off that tree!” But then I remembered mychildhood. Of how I would spend entire afternoons sitting on the branches of aguava tree reading a book. Of climbing a really high tree, and then getting so petrifiedI stayed up there till I was carried down.

I couldn’t deny my child those pleasures, could I? I taughthim how best to climb the tree.
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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Making a good impression

2011-12-07T17:53:00.001+05:30

“What you must be thinking, I really don’t know”, she began,before launching into a long winded story about why she had been forced toleave her kids unsupervised while she ran errands. Frankly, I hadn’t evennoticed, and even if I had, who am I to stand on judgement on how she choosesto conduct her life.

But to her it seemed to matter that I not think she is a badmother.

Wonder why people spend so much time trying to make a goodimpression. Don’t they believe, others are too busy thinking about themselves toreally care?

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Childproof lids only children can open

2011-12-06T19:04:00.001+05:30

You are woken up from your slumber by a whimpering kid. You hopeit is just a nightmare, but he’s actually got fever.

You fumble with the childproof-lid. And fumble. And fumble somemore.

“Mamma, my brother is crying. Do something.”

“One moment, I’m trying to open the bottle.”

“Shall I help?”

In desperation, I hand over the bottle, and he opens it. Missionaccomplished, finally.

When all other syrups come with normal lids, forcing me tokeep them on a shelf high out of reach, why should the relatively harmless anti-pyretichave a childproof lid only children can open?
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Shadow-ghosts

2011-12-05T18:50:00.001+05:30

“… and then you know what, the shadow-ghost came up behindme, and said…”. Seeing my attention stray, my son broke off hurriedly, before accusingme, “Mamma, you are not listening to what I am saying.”

“Yes, I am listening”, I lied. “Get on with your story.”

He stamped his feet in annoyance. “It is not a story. It actuallyhappened.”

“Yes, of course it did. I am listening. Tell me whathappened next.”

“And then,……”

I wonder what kind of precedent I am setting by acceptingshadow-ghosts knocking over lunch-boxes as an acceptable excuse for an uneatenschool lunch?

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Late Blooms

2011-12-04T11:58:00.000+05:30

I recognized her the moment I saw her. Rita, the one person because of whom I used to dread going to school. She never actually did anything to me. No, Rita was too smart for that. But every time there was ink spilt on my beautifully written essays, or my lunch-box was accidentally knocked over, I knew who was responsible for instigating it. And here she was striding towards me.

“You have no idea who I am, do you?”, I wanted to ask her. Instead, I took the pen she offered and sprawled my name on my most recent bestseller.

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Poignant or humorous. Thought provoking or plain silly. A slice of life or a dramatic tale. Countdown to the New Year with a drabble a day, everyday only at The Burrow.

Reason to smile

2011-12-03T19:35:00.001+05:30

A friend and I were talking about how difficult it is tofind domestic help these days. I grew up in a household where live-in full-timehelp was taken for granted. Today, even if you are willing to pay, you cannotfind someone reliable to mind the kids for a couple of hours every day. We spokeof it like it was a bad thing- which it is, for us.

But what it actually means is that women are seeking andgetting jobs better than the unskilled ones we want to employ them in. Isn’tthat enough reason to smile?
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Space to share

2011-12-02T19:10:00.001+05:30

Remember all those times you were upset or angry, but keptsilent? Those times when you should have articulated your thoughts, but chosenot to. Either because you thought the other person should know. Or because youdidn’t want to disturb the fragile peace such as there was.

Remember all those times you yelled at each other. Clingingon to your own point of view, refusing to listen to the other. Angry because theother person just wouldn’t budge.

Wouldn’t things have been much easier if you had just spoken?And listened? Sometimes all you need is space to share.

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

How long can the inequity last?

2011-12-01T18:32:00.001+05:30

While we sit and debate whether or not to bite into thatlast piece of chocolate, there are people dying of hunger. Not people goinghungry- missing a few meals, eating barely enough to sustain themselves- butpeople actually dying because their body no longer can sustain itself.

People in the Horn of Africa, people in Somalia, people on thestreet two miles from where you live.

At the same time, there is wastage. Uneaten food dumped inthe garbage bin, food allowed to go bad in the refrigerator, meals ordered andleft unconsumed.

How long can this inequity last?
_____

In case you want to make a donation, every little bit helps- even a donation of $ 5 will help keep a child alive - FIGHT HUNGER!

The next "Next Year"

2011-11-30T19:35:00.001+05:30

It will be December tomorrow. The last month of the year. Soonit will be "Next Year". But wasn’t it "Next Year", just a couple of months back? Howdid the next "Next Year" creep up so soon?

A lot has happened during this "Next Year"; definitely eleven monthworth of stuff. And yet, it seems like the new "Next Year" has come too soon.

It is like looking at a perfect reflection- you can invertthe scene and not know the difference. Till a leaf hits the water, and startsoff a ripple.

Soon, it will be "Next Year".

____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Eight years back....

2011-11-25T17:58:00.000+05:30

Eight years back, I held you in my arms for the first time. Pressedmy lips against your soft cheeks. Stared at the perfection that was in myhands.

You took away my sleep. Cried so much, you made me feel likea failure for the first time in my life. But every time I looked at you, I marvelledat how anyone could have produced you.

I cheerfully submerged my identity into yours. Gave you my love,my time, my everything. You belong to me as much as I do to you.
Thank you, for making me a mother.

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

"I just don't have the time"

2011-11-22T18:30:00.001+05:30

“I just don’t have the time!!!” How often have I heard otherssay it, and responded with a “if you really want to do something, you can maketime for it.”

But you know, you can’t. There are only so many hours in aday, and you need many of them for sleep and other activities needed to survive.At some stage, you do run out of time. To add something new, you have to take somethingelse away. Unless you do what you do without passion.

I wish I could, but I just don’t have the time to write.

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

"Hessserghatta, I will be back again!"- my first long distance race

2011-11-18T20:57:00.001+05:30

The mellifluous voice of Ustad Rashid Khan provided theperfect background score to the welter of emotions flitting through my mindwhile driving down to Hesserghatta with a new-found runner friend. Ever since I had heard aboutthe Bangalore Ultra, I had wanted to run it “some day”, never thinking that daywould come as early as it actually had. I was excited about the first race Ihad trained specifically for, and I was apprehensive too since I had gloriouslytanked both races I had run earlier this year........I wanted most desperatelyto break that streak of bad races.

The excitement at the race venue was almost contagious.Peppy music. People exchanging high-fives and hugs. Finally coming face to facewith people you knew well through Facebook. Photo-ops and group stretches. Ishivered- though whether from cold or nervousness, I could never tell. Before Iknew it, it was time for the flag off.

“Mamma, if you don’t do it in 5 hours, I will call you aloser”, my son had told me, only half-jocularly. I pushed that conversation tothe back of mind as the mat beeped with my step across it. We were off. Downthe driveway, through the buses parked beside the trail. Our pace was dictatedby the mass of people in front. By the first kilometre mark, the throng startedthinning out as people fell back or shot forward. I settled into my target pace- the pace dictated by my race plan.

We crossed the people attempting the 100k and 75k- therewere the people I train with, the people I know only through Facebook, thepeople I do not know at all. I cheered them all, because each one of them was ahero for having the courage to start something few people even dream of.

Through twists and turns I ran. The temptation was high torun at a speed that gave you a greater sense of accomplishment; to run withpeople just that bit faster than you; to indulge in the pleasure of overtakingthe people in front of you. But my Coach's words resonated in my mind- “Run yourrace, Natasha. Don’t allow anyone else to dictate your pace.”

I held my pace, and indulged instead in enjoying the crispwinter air and the beauty of the trail. And beautiful the trail was. I grew upin a tiny mining colony where trails were far more common than asphalt.Compared to the trails of my memory, the ones at Hesserghatta were theequivalent of a six-lane expressway, and it was sheer joy running on them. Ithought of my father, and of the number of times he had taken me with him onhis survey missions. He would have enjoyed the trail as much as I did, and Icould almost hear him discoursing on the composition of the red-laterite soil.I reveled in the smell of fresh grass and damp earth. If I have to paint mypicture of heaven, it would be something similar to the beauty and emotionssurrounding me on that first loop.

As I neared the end of the first loop, I braced myself forthe onslaught of runners running the 25 k and 12.5 k races. When we started, wehad not been particularly considerate of the people running the longerdistances, and had no reason to expect these runners to be any more consideratetowards our needs. I need not have worried as much as I did. Nobody shoved me,or denied me right of way. When I saw a mass of runners coming towards me, Ichose to run on the grassy track between the twin trails. It worked for me, andI could run almost unhindered till I crossed the last of the stragglers.

“Are you gunning for a PB?”, joked a friend when I passed him atthe aid-station towards the end of the loop. “But of course”, I shot back.“This is the first time I am doing this distance. Anything I do will be a PB.”I am glad I had that exchange with him, because a few short hours later, it wasthat thought that kept me smiling.

The crowd had thinned by the time I started on the secondloop. With the red dust kicking a storm around my feet, the green kissing mefrom either side of the trail, and the bright blue sky creating a canopy overme, I had all the time to reflect. To think about the miracle that got asedentary, middle-aged woman like me to discover running. To think about howrunning has almost become a meditation for me - of how I celebrate throughrunning, of how I grieve through running, and how running helps me sort out mythoughts. I thought about some of the wonderful people who have come into mylife because of running, and who have enriched it in ways I could not haveimagined. Like one of my runner friends often says, “You normally make all thefriends you are likely to make in school and college. How many people, exceptus runners, have the opportunity to meet like-minded people at this age?”

As I neared the half-way mark, the inevitable happened. Myfoot caught on a root projecting on the trail, and I took a tumble. Luckilynothing was injured except my ego. If you thought that experience made mewiser, you are mistaken. Within minutes, I tripped over yet another root, andnearly wrenched my ankle. Either accident could have been much worse, but oneof the advantages of being congenitally accident prone is that you learn tofall in a way that minimises the damage!

Towards the end of the loop, I started overtaking people whohad started falling prey to the heat, the trail and their own initialenthusiasm. How often has that happened to me in the past! I can’t think of asingle race where I have not worn myself out in the first third, and battledstomach cramps and muscle aches to finish the race. I knew that despite all mytraining, I would have let it happen to me yet again, had it not been formy Coach repeatedly cautioning me against letting myself get carried away by theadrenaline rush that the start of a race always brings.

I was smiling so broadly when I ran over the mats at the endof the loop that a guy moved towards me holding a medal to slip over my head.“Not yet”, I smiled as I turned around and started on the last lap. “I willhave earned that only after another loop.”

Though I still had another 12.5k to go, I had every reasonto be pleased with myself. I had run a good race so far, and wasn’t showing anyapparent signs of distress. The sun was beating down, but one of the perks oftraining in Bombay is the fact that heat and humidity doesn’t affect you asmuch as it would a person who runs in more clement conditions.

But just when I was feeling pleased with myself, hubrisstruck. Surprisingly, it was neither my quadriceps nor my calves that gave way.It was my upper back and shoulders. Nothing debilitating, but a dull ache thatforced me to slow down considerably. The pain didn’t subside. “When in trouble,always do a run-walk to give your body time to recover”, my Coach often told me onour training runs. I never took his advice because for me choosing to run-walkwas tantamount to admitting defeat. But with 10k to go, I realized that if Iwanted to finish without killing myself, I would have to heed his advice. I wascovering ground, but the pain showed no sign of abating.

At the aid-station near the final turn-around point, I didsomething I hadn’t done for over three years- I reached for the Relispraybottle and sprayed it liberally over my shoulders and upper back. But even withthe pain numbed, all I could manage was the run-walk routine I had settledinto. The kilometres seemed to expand.

With 5 kilometers to go, my Ego which had been struggling tomake itself heard finally managed to do so. “Stop torturing yourself and walkto the finish”, it told me.

“Don’t listen to your Ego”, my Id warned me. “You are amother. You went through 40 hours of labour before giving birth to your child.Can’t you run for another forty minutes?”

But a few moments later, my Id corrected itself. “But youknow, killing yourself to finish the race on your terms may not be such a goodidea. Your day doesn’t end after you cross the finish mat. You need to travelback to Bombay with the kids, and send them off to school tomorrow. Maybe youshould slow down.

For the next few kilometres, I ran - walked at a ratio thatfelt just right for me. The sun was beating down, and for the first time in theday I questioned if I ever wanted to return to run a longer distance. But evenin that fatigued state, I was acutely conscious of the beauty of the red dustbeing thrown up by my feet. I knew I would be back, if only to experience thejoy of a trail again.

The last kilometre marker came into view. Four years back,when I was running my second race, I’d promised myself that the last kilometrewould always be “my kilometre”. The kilometre to which I would give my all, toredeem myself in my own eyes for any lack of effort in the rest of the race.Run straight, turn right, turn left, run straight, turn left again, then right,left, right and left. I barely noticed the people who were standing by thetrail cheering me on. I was on the home stretch. Over the mat, pause thestopwatch, slow down, bend down to finally allow the medal to be slipped aroundmy neck.

4:52:19, was the time on my stopwatch. I had done it in lessthan 5 hours. My son wouldn’t have to disown me after all!

Fifteen minutes later, I was still on a high. The high thatcomes with giving something your best, and knowing that the best was goodenough. The high of running a race the way it was intended to be run- withdignity and courage. The high of having spent nearly five hours doing somethingthat you love.

I’d done it. Done it for myself. For my kids who’ve nowlearnt to never throw in the towel. For my husband who’s not yet understood themadness that has possessed his wife, but who doesn’t complain as much as hecould. For my mother who is proud of her only child for pushing the limits ofher endurance. For my coach who’s not just the most wonderful mentor anyone couldhope to have, but also a friend who’s always there for you. For two wonderfulwomen who have been there for me when I needed them most- neither of them knowsexactly how much they mean to me. I did it too for all Runner Girls who arejust beginning their journey- may running always give you the joy it gave meduring the Bangalore Ultra.

Even in the worst moments of the race, the smile had neverleft my heart, and it was still playing on my face when I heard my name called.It took me awhile to realize that I had come in third, and that I was beingcalled on stage to receive my certificate. A lifelong non-athlete, I had nevereven in my wildest dreams thought of a podium finish. And yet, strangely, thatwas not the high-point of the day. The high-point of the day, for me, continuesto be those 4 hours, 52 minutes and 19 seconds when I slugged it out on a dustytrail with a smile in my heart and a bounce in my stride.

Hesserghatta, I will be back again.

I can fly

2011-11-02T18:32:00.001+05:30

I’ve been eyeing my son’s new bicycle for days, and finally gave in to temptation yesterday. I climbed on gingerly. I wobbled. I nearly fell even before starting. They say that once you learn to ride a bike, you never forget, but I seemed to have forgotten.

But me being me, I kept at, and soon, I found the old skill coming back. It felt like I was flying. The sense of freedom was no different from what I felt when I used to ride regularly as a kid.

It is wonderful to re-discover something that gives so much joy.
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

The debate was still raging

2011-11-01T19:20:00.001+05:30

"Why are you flogging yourself? Give up, and go home."
"You've come this far, you owe it to yourself to finish.""This is only a stupid training run. Who'd even know or care if you abandon it?"
"You’ll never be able to live with yourself if you quit. Don’t!"“Don’t make things too complicated. Just quit and go home!"
“Quitting is never an option.”
While a part of me was listening to my id and ego arguing, I kept putting one foot in front of the other, again and again. The debate was still raging, when I finished my 20-miler.
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Daring to make mistakes

2011-10-31T19:49:00.002+05:30

“And what if I make a mistake?”, my colleague asked me, when I delegated something important to her.
“We’ll take care of that”, I replied. “Unless you make a couple of mistakes, how are you going to learn?”

Two days later, she made a mistake that I knew would take me a couple of hours to rectify. My instinct was to yell at her, but I held myself back. After all, wasn’t it I that had told her she shouldn’t be crippled by the fear of making mistakes?

I was right. By making mistakes, she’s learnt faster than I expected.
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

And when I signed up for NaBloWriMo, I was sure I was making a huge mistake. For someone who had taken an unintended sabbatical for nearly three months, wasn't it ridiculous to commit to blogging everyday? And yet, I managed, because how can you finish something, unless you first have the courage to start.
Thank you for being with me.

The intrinsic goodness in us all

2011-10-30T18:07:00.000+05:30

Running on my normal route yesterday, I took a nasty tumble and bruised my hand. I continued running, but took a longish detour to the only water-tap in the area so I could wash out the wound.

I took nearly 20 minutes longer to return to the starting point. “Where had you gone? I was starting to get worried about you”, said the man at the milk-booth which I normally use as my pit-stop between loops.

I don’t know him, but he was still watching out for me. Did I fall, so my faith in intrinsic goodness could be renewed?
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

What price Celebrations?

2011-10-29T17:31:00.001+05:30

The last thing you expect at midnight is for someone to set-off a fire-cracker with an ear-shattering bang right under your window. And yet, that is exactly what happened last night. And if that wasn’t bad enough, a second cracker with an equally loud bang was set off just as we were about to drop back to sleep.

It wasn’t that the people doing it didn’t know it was illegal- they just couldn’t care. After all, which of their neighbours would do something as un-neighbourly as summon the police?

What is the purpose of celebrations, if they inconvenience others so?

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

One Bride for Three Brothers

2011-10-28T18:21:00.000+05:30

One Bride for Three Brothers.

Sounds like the name of a farcical comedy, doesn’t it? But for Munni, it is a harsh reality. Married to a man several years older than her, she is forced to have sex with his unmarried brothers too, and has no idea which of the brothers is the father of her three sons.

When there are less than 9 women to every 10 men, you would expect that women would be valued for the scarce commodity that they are. But apparently not. New ways are found to redress the balance.

How will it all end?
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Still in darkness

2011-10-27T19:23:00.002+05:30

When you look down on India from space at night, you find large areas in total darkness. If those areas represented forests or wilderness, it would be reason to celebrate, but most of them are as densely populated as the rest of the country- they just happen to be in darkness.

Sadder still, as this composite picture shows, there are parts of the country which had illumination in 1998, but had lost it by 2003- not coincidentally, those are areas with high insurgency movement.

Can a country call itself “Developed” if it struggles to provide electricity for all its citizens?
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Image from - Science Photo Gallery

Traditions that drive you mad

2011-10-26T19:33:00.003+05:30

Is it only in my house that festivals end up becoming so stressful? Whether it is strictly necessary or not, you create your own traditions, and drive yourself crazy trying to maintain them even when you have barely enough time to breathe. You expect people to co-operate, but nobody seems to want to do anything except on their terms. And just when decide you will do everything yourself, instead of staying out of the way, people end up creating new problems. “Never again”, you swear. And at that point of time you mean it.

But come next year, you capitulate.
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

I challenge you.....

2011-10-25T19:54:00.004+05:30

“I challenge you to prove to me that staying in school = job, … and that by being educated she isn't also ostracized from the social network that can help her survive if she isn't excessively exploited…….Yes, I know "stop prostitution, build schools" is more compelling, but I'm unconvinced …[education]….is a solution.”

Had it been one of my own friends who said this, I would probably have taken her down in a tackle and given her a bloody nose, but since it was a friend of a friend, I took a deep breath…… and realized she was not entirely wrong.

To read on, hop across to my post in Burrowers, Books & Balderdash.
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Another brick in the wall

2011-10-24T20:24:00.004+05:30

“We don’t need no education, We don’t need no thoughtcontrol… Teachers leave us kids alone.”

Comfortably ensconced in India’s top b-school, we took pridein treating this as our Anthem. Not just us- generations of students formingthe intellectual elite have taken perverse pleasure in shouting out the lyrics-pretending for all it is worth that they are who they are despite theireducation, not because of it.

And yet, for the multitudes, education is but a dream. They knowclassrooms without teachers; lessons need to be self-taught or unlearnt. They’dwelcome dark sarcasm in the classroom, for sure!
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Are people dishonest?

2011-10-23T22:24:00.001+05:30

It’s that time of the year again where every pavement stall in the market starts selling paper lanterns.
You expect to see paper lanterns everywhere, but not early in the morning when there is not a soul in sight. Not shoppers, not salesman, not guards. Just paper lanterns with streamers fluttering enticingly in the breeze.
The salesmen had obviously not wanted to cart the lanterns to whichever street corner they call home. But were they not afraid the lanterns would be stolen?
You and I choose to think of people as dishonest, but they who know, seem to know otherwise.
____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

A pack of cards

2011-10-22T21:53:00.002+05:30

A friend gave me a packof cards- 52 cards and a joker- but not exactly a normal set of cards. Instead of the four suits, there were four sets of “giving ideas”- to the world, to strangers, to people you know and to yourself. Each card has one giving idea- donate your favourite set of clothes, use a recyclable bag for a week, appreciate the work of someone who passes unnoticed…
You can pull out a card a day, or a card a week, or any other rule you choose to set for yourself.
And, you pass it forward.
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Reading together

2011-10-21T19:57:00.001+05:30

And yesterday, my not yet eight year old picked up the first of the Percy Jackson books, and started reading. “Mamma, what is the meaning of s-p-h-i-n-x?”, he asks. Then another word, and yet another, and another. ‘He shouldn’t be reading this’, I think to myself. ‘He is so not ready for it yet.’ And yet, I cannot put my book down, and next to me, he plods on as valiantly as Percy Jackson on one of his quests. And then he chuckles, at just the right place.

An unexpected calm settles over me- we are discovering something nice together.
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

People often ask me how long it takes me to prune a drabble down to exactly 100 words. "Not too long", I always say. But this one is special. I got it exactly 100, the first time I tried.

You have to start somewhere

2011-10-20T19:59:00.001+05:30

“Is educating girls the answer”, she asked. “Somehow it seems too simplistic to think that education alone can be the key.”

Much as I would love it to be otherwise, she is right. In a world where women are treated as second class citizens, where they are denied basic human rights, where they are killed at birth, and treated as playthings of the men; in such a world, Education alone cannot be the answer!

And yet, when you are fighting centuries of oppression, you have to start somewhere. And education is as good a place to start as any other.
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Who's book is that?

2011-10-19T20:54:00.001+05:30

“Mamma, who’s book is that?”, asked my older one.

“Erm”, I muttered looking sheepish. “I bought it for you, but I like it so I’m reading it. May I?”
He took the book from my hand. “Percy Jackson”, he read aloud. “Can I read the book now? I mean after you finish?”
“Yes, you may. But you will enjoy it more in a couple of months.”
“Okay. But if I can’t read it yet, why have you bought so many of them?”
How do I tell him that even though the book is meant for young-adults, I like it too.

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

How far is that?

2011-10-18T18:54:00.001+05:30

I’d taken the kids to a birthday party after a long run. I looked as exhausted as I felt, and was quite out of place among the other mothers who’s expensive gym clothes had nary a crease or a sweat mark.
“You look tired. ” One of them tried to make polite conversation.
“I am”, I admitted. “Just back from a run.”
“Oh?”, she raised one eyebrow. “How much did you run?”
“Twenty-five kilometres.”
The number didn’t seem to register. I could have said 5 or 50, and had the same effect. Why do people have no concept of distances?
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

You've changed

2011-10-17T19:46:00.001+05:30

“You’ve changed”, someone told me the other day; in a tone clearly accusatory. To hear her say it, I should have remained exactly as I was when we last met.

But is it possible for people to remain unchanged? Or desirable to do so? Isn’t it the purpose of life to learn from experience, to grow, to evolve, to change? Can you call it a life worth living if all you have done is to stubbornly cling onto who you were a month, a year, a lifetime ago?
“Yes, I have changed”, I said. “And I am glad I have.”
____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Breaking out of poverty, one school meal at a time

2011-10-16T19:30:00.002+05:30

Where there is not enough money for food, children are put to work as soon as they are able. Untrained for anything but manual labour, their fate is decided the day they hoist the first load of bricks on their head. Even if they do squeeze in a few hours of informal education, they are too malnourished to really learn anything.

Enter free school lunches. One well-balanced meal guaranteed everyday. An incentive for parents to send their kids to school. Food that keeps children healthy, and receptive to being taught.

A chance to break out of the cycle of poverty.
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Today is Blog Action Day, and the world is talking about Food. Join the conversation.

Her first love

2011-10-15T19:19:00.003+05:30

He is the first man every little girl falls in love with.
A man who’s place can never be taken by another.
Throughout her life, in all her relationships, he is the One
She compares everyone to… nobody quite matches up.
One day she meets someone she wants to spend her life with,
She marries, moves away, but remains ‘Daddy’s Little Girl’.
She has children of her own, loves them more than life itself,
But he remains Number One.

And then, one day, he passes on. Gone forever, never to return…
He does it so he can watch over her.

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Are you getting old?

2011-10-14T18:36:00.003+05:30

“Mamma, why do you have so many white hairs?”
“Because I am getting old.”
“But you are not old.”
“I am not yet old, but I am starting to get old. Which is I am getting so many white hairs.”

My younger one fell silent, and spent a couple of minutes digesting what I said.
“Mamma, is Patti old?”
“Yes, she is.”
“Older than you?”
“Yes, of course. Patti is my mother, so she has to be older than me.”
“If Patti is older than you, why doesn’t she have white hair like you?”

Time to teach him about hair-dye?
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

The Weaker Sex

2011-10-13T19:34:00.002+05:30

Women are frail, they say. The weaker sex. The ones who kept the fires burning while the men went hunting in search of food.

And yet, when you look at the world of endurance athletes, you find that so many of the best are women. The ultra-marathoning legend, Ann Trason, who often beat most of the men to the finish, and has broken the world record more than twenty times. Lizzy Hawker, who covered a world record distance of 153.5 miles in a single day’s running, finishing 2 miles ahead of her closest male competitor.

Who is the Weaker Sex?
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

photograph of Lizzy Hawker

Is he deserving of deification?

2011-10-12T17:43:00.002+05:30

Steve Jobs headed an organization that created products that set new benchmarks in innovative product design, and marketed it well to the target audience. He helped create shareholder value, and users of his products swear by them.

He was a good manager, designer, and marketer. A visionary, and a leader. Nobody can take that away from him. But to glorify him almost to the point of deification is to take it too far.

I admire the man for his professional achievements, and his personal philosophy. But I do not think he deserves the deification that is being thrust upon him.
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Wouldn't life be incredibly boring?

2011-10-11T19:32:00.002+05:30

How often are you disappointed, because you expect the people you love to behave exactly the way you would, and they don’t? They don’t do anything wrong- they just do not do things “your” way. And you can’t even bring yourself to tell them why you are upset, because in some irrational way, you expect them to know.

But people are not mind-readers- they cannot know what you want of them. People are not your clones- they cannot do things exactly as you would.

Nor should they.

After all, if we were all exactly alike, wouldn’t life be incredibly boring?

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

The inner princess

2011-10-10T19:50:00.000+05:30

Pink was never my colour. When I was young, I believed I was too dark to carry it off, and by the time I hit my twenties, I declared war on it, because it was a “girlie” colour. Pink was what giggly girls wore, not sophisticated women out to change the world. And so it remained.

Till I started running, and discovered the princess in me. Running makes me feel strong, in control, and yet strangely feminine. I never feel more like I woman than I do when I’m running. Is that why my running wardrobe is almost all pink?

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

The way that suits them best

2011-10-09T21:43:00.001+05:30

My younger one had been struggling with his subtraction homework for what seemed like hours, when I taught him a simple way to do it. His face lit up. “But this is so easy”, he said, “are you sure you are not fooling me?”

In the last week, he’s been taught three other ways of doing it, none of which works for him, but he doesn’t mind, because he’s able to get the correct answer.

Yes, each child is different, but shouldn’t teachers take the trouble to teach each child the way that suits him best, rather than confuse them?

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

An elegant solution?

2011-10-08T21:44:00.001+05:30

When micro-loans are your only chance of moving out of poverty, wouldn’t you do anything within your power to ensure you remain eligible for them? Even if it means doing things you would otherwise never even contemplate, like staying off drink, and ensuring that your womenfolk eat healthy.

That’s exactly what an organization in rural Maharastra is doing- offering micro-loans only to families where the haemoglobin levels of the women is at least 12. In traditional households, women and girls receive less nutrition than men, which impacts haemoglobin levels. Isn’t this a elegant way to improve the status of women?

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Details of the story here

Best friends forever

2011-10-07T19:42:00.002+05:30

A dear friend, a very dear friend, did something the other day that upset me. Upset me so much, I almost thought of ending the closeness, and pulling back being slightly more than mere acquaintances.

And then I thought about it. My friend did what she did because of who she is. She could not have done otherwise; that is just not her.

I can’t change my friend. But I value the friendship. Does it make sense to put our relationship in jeopardy for something I cannot control?

I called her up and spoke for long. We are still friends.
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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Those precious moments

2011-10-06T18:47:00.000+05:30

Yesterday, while getting the kids home from school, the younger one dawdled. “Come on, we’ve got to go home. Mamma has work to do”, I told him, but he refused to listen.

“Come on, Sweetheart, let’s go home.” I was rapidly losing my temper, but a tiny voice whispered. “Let him be. Do a couple of minutes really matter so much? What if something happens to either of you tomorrow, wouldn’t you regret not spending these moments with him?”

I joined him in looking under a car. A brown cat was feeding her kittens. I’ll always treasure that shared moment.

“Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma – which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of other’s opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.”

Steve Jobs
(February 24, 1955- October 5, 2011)
Requiescat in Pace

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

That sense of Achievement

2011-10-05T18:52:00.001+05:30

A lady I barely know engulfed me in a bear-hug today, and said- "Thankyou. Because of you I ran 2 kilometers today!"

Apparently I’d given her tips on how to start running, and had promised herthat she could be running in two months. I barely remember the conversation,but she’d managed to run continuously for 20 minutes today.

2 kilometers! 20 minutes! To me, insignificant. But to her, the equivalentof experiencing zero gravity for the first time!

I glad for her, but slightly jealous too- will I ever achieve the sense of achievementthat she did today?

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

In a nation such as ours.....

2011-10-04T18:49:00.001+05:30

In a nation where the equivalent of 600,000 girls go missing every year- killed in the womb, abandoned at birth, allowed to perish due to neglect. In a nation where girls do not get the same advantages as boys, where they have no say in their future, where they are coerced to follow the destiny dictated by the community. In a nation where women are assaulted for daring speak their mind, where the shame of a rape is on the victim.
In such a nation, isn’t it a sham when the Mother Goddess is worshipped with such pomp and splendour?

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Aren't we the ones...

2011-10-03T19:37:00.001+05:30

The other day, I took my kids to the local playground. A playground where people I know would never even dream of taking their kids. While I did my run, the kids played happily on the climbing frame. They made new friends- kids with whom they did not even have a language in common except the universal language that most kids seem to understand.

When we left, they made me promise to bring them there again. A promise I was glad to make- sure beats taking them to the mall on weekends. Aren’t we the ones who spoil our kids?
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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

What does it take to say "no"?

2011-10-02T21:59:00.001+05:30

No!!!!! That’s the first word kids learn to use in the proper context. They are emphatic in making their point- a “no”, means No.

When do we lose the strength of character to say “no” when we do not want to do something? How often do we end up saying “yes”, when actually we mean “no”. Why do we cringe from uttering the word we mean, and then hate ourselves for being coerced into doing something we do not wish to?

If we were honest enough to say “no”, when we mean “no”, wouldn’t we all be much better off?

"A 'No' uttered from the deepest conviction is better than a 'Yes' merely uttered to please, or worse, to avoid trouble. "

Mohandas Karamchand "Mahatma" Gandhi

2 October 1869 – 30 January 1948

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

What is news?

2011-10-01T19:30:00.000+05:30

When Amy Winehouse dies, it makes front page headlines in India. Her “career” is recounted; and the cause of her death much speculated upon. She is news, after all- alive or dead.

But when Wangari Maathai passes away, we only hear of it through the electronic media- facebook and twitter. Mention her name, and all you get are blank stares- the first African woman to receive the Nobel Peace Prize, a winner of the Right Livelihood Award, someone who worked tirelessly to make the world a better place for everyone. And she is virtually unknown.

Except to those who care!

"When we plant trees, we plant the seeds of peace and seeds of hope."

Wangari Maathai
(April 1, 1940- September 25, 2011)
Requiescat in Pace

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Ready to Commit?

2011-09-28T19:39:00.002+05:30

NaBloWriMo?
National Blog Writer’s Month, that’s what!
NaBloWriMo was the first real blog event I participated in. Blogging every-day in the month of October wasn’t a big thing for me in 2009- had been doing precisely that for the previous fifteen months.
But after an unscheduled blogation, which almost became a goodbye from blogdom, committing to blog every-day for an entire month is a big deal. I am so not ready, but I wasn’t ready in April either, and yet I managed to get through the A to Z challenge.
Traditions die hard. For the third year running, I’m in!
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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Are you ready to join in the maddness? Drop a word, and let them know.

Happy Birthday, Google

2011-09-27T19:52:00.000+05:30

“Mamma, just google it, will you”, said my older one in exasperation, when I insisted I didn’t know how many volcanoes there were in the world.

Google!!! Till a few years back, the word didn’t even exist in my lexicon, and now Google’s become so much a part of my life, I sometimes feel I should set a place for Google at the dinner table.

When I was a kid, I depended on often out-dated encyclopaedias for information; my kids need only to “google it” out using my phone.

But now that’s Google’s a teen, will he continue to behave?

Happy 13th Birthday, Google

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

When is a record not a record?

2011-09-26T21:25:00.000+05:30

If you are a female and you have run a marathon faster than any other woman in recorded history, you’ve set a world record. Right?

Wrong! For the time to be a world record, it needs to have been set in an all-woman competition, of which there are practically none. So Paula Radcliffe’s time of 2:15:25 hours is only a World Best, even though she set it fairly.

Which leads me to wonder. If sometime in the future, women marathon runners become faster than men, would the male world records be declared void, because they were set in “mixed events"?

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

2011-09-25T23:03:00.000+05:30

It was one of those classic cases of people bitching about you behind your back, and the stories coming back to you with seasoning added. I could have responded, but chose not to sink to the same level as the people perpetuating it.

Met with stony silence, the stories died down, as they eventually will. Except, they thought it was a victory, and decided to don the cloak of martyrdom, and injudiciously fan the flames again. This time, they got what they deserved- strong, unequivocal, but dignified.

When will people learn that silence is not always a sign of weakness?
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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

I'm not a Writer

2011-09-21T17:07:00.002+05:30

Over the last few days, I have got more than half a dozen invites on Facebook, asking me to confirm that I am indeed a "Writer". Much as it pains me to do so, I rejected all of them. Because, whether I want to admit it to myself or not, I am currently not a writer.

Yes, I love writing. Yes, the stories are there in my head. Yes, someday I hope to write something people would want to read.

But today, I am not writing, so I cannot call myself a writer. A friend of writers, I'll call myself.

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Not being a writer doesn't mean I can't write about writing. After an insanely long break, I am blogging at Burrowers, Books and Balderdash, on Local Flavour: how much is too much?

Get it????

2011-09-13T18:32:00.000+05:30

The older one was reading a book where the villain dislikes his “silly name” and retaliates by forcing everyone to change their names to silly ones. On the cover, the author’s name had been scratched out and replaced by the ‘silly name’ arrived at by the villain’s formula.
“You know what the author should have done”, my son asked. “He should have said, “Hey you, don’t forget you are just a character I made from my imagination. If you try to change my name, I will write you out of my book. Get it?””

At eight, he’s already got it!
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Yes, I am back

2011-09-08T19:52:00.000+05:30

No matter how hard you petition it to, the Earth refuses to slow down and give you more hours in a day. And by the time you are done with life, and kids, and job, and passions, there is no time left for anything else. And at some stage, you realise that if you are to retain your sanity, you have to cut back.
It wasn’t a conscious choice, but after nearly three years of blogging daily, I JUST STOPPED. Unplanned, therefore unannounced.
But life remained hectic. So now, I am back.

And thank you, all, for staying with me.

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

"You are looking absolutely gorgeous"

2011-09-07T19:39:00.000+05:30

“Wonderful meeting you”, I told Shirin through a hug. “You are looking absolutely gorgeous.” And despite her facial scars, she was.
It was the bounce in her walk, the confidence in her smile, and…. the whimsical red hair-ornament perched on her unruly tresses. The same feathered concoction that I’d picked on an impulse and never dared wear. To successfully carry that off, you need either youth or personality. Shirin has it, I don’t!

As we spoke, I noticed something new. My eyes were wandering over her scars, and she was letting me. To me, she no longer even looked different.

_____
[Shirin and I worked together briefly, and remained friends long that.
Thirteen years after the incident, on her face, she carries the burn scars left by the acid her husband threw on her face. A husband who, incidentally, escaped unpunished.
Initially, I never knew how to act around her, but she taught me to "see" her scars because they were an essential part of who she was. If anyone is a HERO, she is. Because everytime she steps out of the house, she has to battle insensitivity at so many levels.
Her story deserves to be known.]

And, for those who wondered, yes, I am back. And yes, this is a drabble :-)
Once was enough. I will not disappear without warning again.

"We simply continue to fly"

2011-08-22T21:31:00.000+05:30

[This was written on August 22, 2011]

Twenty-four hours after completing the run, my stopwatch is still paused on the time when I crossed the finish line and had the medal slipped around my neck. Everytime I reach for the re-set button, the heart rebels. I want the numbers to stay on my wrist for just awhile longer. It might have made sense if I had knocked a whole bunch of minutes off my previous time, and set a new Personal Best. But the numbers on the dial of my watch mark the second worst timing I had ever turned in at a half marathon. But in a race where things go as horribly wrong as they did in the BNP half marathon, just finishing is an achievement.

The Borivali National Park is beautiful at any time of the year- rolling hills, lush forests, gurgling streams, tribal hamlets, exotic flowers, chirping monkeys and the occasional roar of the big cats - but it is in the monsoon that the place really comes alive. Bare rock faces get adorned with waterfalls, the streams swell up and threaten to overflow, clouds dart across the rock faces teasing you to catch them.
There could have been no better setting for the Half-marathon organized “by the Runners, for the Runners” than Borivali National Park, and no better time for the race than in the monsoons. The course would be challenging, we had been told- we were prepared for the steep climb at the midway point of both the loops. What we had counted without was the fact that there would be one brief shower early in the morning, after which the sun would make a rare appearance and bless the proceedings for the rest of the morning.
We started out strong, gradually finding our groove. Running with friends you were meeting after long, or after the last weekend. Admiring the lush green canopy, delighting in the patterns formed by sunlight filtering through the leaves, smiling at the antics of groups of monkeys. “Is this the steep incline?”, first timers asked on the gentle inclines, and I smiled silently thinking of the surprise in store for them. Yes, the first lap was delightful- relief cars and bikes going past shouting encouragement, smiling volunteers handing out drinks, exchanging high-fives with returning runners.
But somewhere after the first turn around, things changed. The course had been tougher than we had assumed it would be. I hadn’t hit anywhere close to my target time. The sun, which till then had been so benevolent, suddenly turned stronger and nastier. The streams and hamlets no longer looked as pretty, because I couldn’t ignore the fact that I would have to pass them two more times in steadily worsening conditions. The eyes started searching for the kilometre markers, and I looked not at the distance run, but at the distance still ahead.

It was after turning back for the second loop that I realised how utterly foolish had been the decision to leave my water bottle behind at an aid station. My electrolyte balance was going haywire. I wanted to swallow an energy bar, but didn’t have water to wash it down with. I slowed down to a run-walk, which soon became a walk-run. It was still sheer torture. For the first time ever in all these years of running, I seriously contemplated dropping out. “Forget it”, I told myself. “This is just a race. It is not worth killing yourself over this. There are people who need you alive. Drop out now, and come back again next year, if you must.” But the mind had lost the capacity to implement decisions. I put one foot in front of the other, and plodded on.
In that delirious state, I passed many of my friends on their way to completing the first loop. Kripa, Neeta, Anjali, Chitra. All showing various degrees of exhaustion. All with a look of intense determination on their face. Unbidden came Washington Irvin's words- “There is in every true woman's heart, a spark of heavenly fire, which lies dormant in the broad daylight of prosperity, but which kindles up and beams and blazes in the dark hour of adversity.”
I took strength from my friends, and a sip of water from Kripa, and plodded on till I reached the aid station, where I gulped down three glasses of water and a sachet of electrolyte. “Only eight kilometres to go”, someone said. “You can do it.”
“Of course I will”, I shot back, sounding braver than I felt. But when I tested my running feet, I found I had regained my rhythm. My old problem of water retention has re-surfaced- I could no longer flex my fingers, and I knew my face had puffed up, but my stride didn’t faulter. I crossed my old friend, Tushar, just before the steep incline that marked the approach of the last turn-off point. “Do you want me to wait for you?”, he asked, concern registering on his face. “No, carry on. I’m fine”, I said. Regardless of how I looked, I was okay.

Nothing mattered any more- not pace, not distance, not time. I stopped looking at my watch. I could see the kilometre markers, but they barely registered. People overtook me in a sprint, I overtook them when they slowed down to a walk. It went back and forth, till I saw the last kilometre marker. “Come on guys”, I told them. “You can’t walk now. You owe it to yourself to run the last kilometre.” None of them really wanted to, but they rose to the challenge.
Five hundred meters from the end, I saw Roshni running up to meet me as she always does. My pace quickened to match hers. She speeded up, and helped me finish on a sprint. The Finishers’ medal was slipped around my neck. I had completed. I had won.

Never before had I come as close to quitting as I had during those three kilometres where everything had gone horribly wrong for me. Never before had I recovered as well, to finish as strong.
“When you think about it, what other choice is there……give up, or Fight Like Hell." ~ Lance Armstrong

For the next hour, the finish line was crackling with emotion as one after another of the runner girls finished their runs. They ran, they walked, they would have crawled if they had to, but they crossed the finish line. Tears mixed freely with sweat, sealing moments and memories that can never be taken away.
It had been a gruelling race. But I had done it. We had done it. "Women are angels, and when someone breaks our wings. We simply continue to fly. On a broomstick if need be. We are flexible like that."

You get back home. Life takes over. Memories blur. You forget how your core values were tested and of how you rose to the challenge. Maybe that is why I refuse to re-set my stopwatch. To remind myself that some things are bigger even than ourselves.

Moss

2011-07-24T19:40:00.002+05:30

His were the first arms to hold me with love; his the eyes that gazed at me with affection enough to fill the Universe. His were the lips that kissed my face a million times. His were the shoulders I wept on, his the fingers that wiped away my tears. His was the hand that helped me climb mountains, his the heart that taught me I could do anything I set myself to do.
A rolling stone gathers no moss- my bedrock, he was always there for me. Whenever I see Moss, I can feel the presence of My Father.

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

More photographs, here.

Will the system be forced to change?

2011-07-21T19:35:00.000+05:30

Most people seem to believe that the fact that life went on as normal the day after the bomb blasts speaks of the 'resilience' of the city.
I do not agree. People get on with life, because they do not have the choice not to. Who has the time to mourn for the dead when you need to keep running just to survive. Fear and anger are accessories you don only when you feel there is a point to be served by wearing either of them.

But if enough people are angry, would not the system be forced to change?
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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

The Power of Social Media

2011-07-14T19:39:00.001+05:30

Yesterday three bombs exploded in three of the most crowded areas of Bombay during the most crowded hour of the day. The phone network came crashing down- whether jammed with calls, or blocked, nobody knows. But unlike previous times, there was twitter and there was Facebook. Co-ordinating volunteer effort, seeking and sending information, preventing rumours from taking over, connecting people wanting and offering help. The flurry of SMSes soon died down- people used the social media to exchange information, keeping the phone lines free for urgent calls.

Always underestimated the power of the social media. Not any more. It rocks!
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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Two years ago, today

2011-07-10T18:00:00.001+05:30

Life was beautiful. I had just started working full-time. The kids were settled in school. I was healthy, and happy. Things could not have been better.
And suddenly, I hemorrhaged. One moment fine, standing in a pool of blood the next. Doctor's visits, path scans. Having to hear the dreaded C-word. Being forced to stay cheerful for the sake of the hubby and kids. The dread of surgery, the uncertainty of waiting for the biopsy results.
But worse of all, learning that I was mortal. That anything could happen to me anytime.
Two years later, the date still haunts me.
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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Being a Mother

2011-07-07T18:00:00.001+05:30

The kids were both in a good mood.
"You are a Princess", said my younger one giving me a hug.
"No, you are a Queen", said the older one pushing his brother away so he could hug me.
"I'm not a Princess, or a Queen", I laughed. "I am just your Mamma."
"But you are as pretty as a princess", said one, "and as kind as a queen", asserted the other.
Why I couldn't just be Mamma, I don't know. Because flattering though it is to being called a Princess and a Queen, being a mother is so much harder.
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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Who remembers the names?

2011-07-05T17:26:00.000+05:30

Tropospehere, stratosphere, mesosphere, ionosphere, thermosphere, exosphere. Do you even remember these terms from all those years ago when you crammed them up before your geography examination? Things come a full cycle. This time I am the one helping my child cram the terms.
Why? To what purpose? It is nice that kids know and understand things? But do the terms really matter? And if there are terms to learn, can anyone remember the details?

I wish seven year olds could just colour the layers of the atmosphere different colours, and not learn the names till much later. If at all!
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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

The courage it takes

2011-07-04T17:10:00.000+05:30

The doorbell rang. I could hear someone sobbing outside. I opened the door. "Help me. My husband is....." sobbed the lady who had just moved in next door. I couldn't hear her, but wordlessly followed her into her apartment. Her husband wasn't lying in a pool of blood, or having a heart attack. "My husband is hitting me", she had said.

All I could do was hold her tight, and let her cry her sorrow away. I marvel at the courage it must have taken to approach a stranger for help. And hope they can sort it out. Or not.
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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

It takes all kinds....

2011-07-03T22:35:00.000+05:30

It was 4:45 in the morning. The guy and I reached the cab-stand at almost the same time. For nearly ten minutes, there were no cabs, and when one finally arrived, we decided to both get on.
He was reeking of alcohol and cigarette smoke. Had clearly spent the night at a party that had just broken up.
I was in my running clothes, rested after a good night's sleep.
His previous night was ending. My new day was beginning.
Each thought the other insane- from their point of view, each was right. Takes all kinds to make a world.
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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

A Male Child!

2011-07-02T18:47:00.000+05:30

There was a time when female infanticide was the norm. In certain communities today, there are still rituals around infanticide.
Then technology advanced. It became easy to determine the sex of an unborn child. Female foeticide took over. There are laws to curb it, but when did anyone ever care for what the legal system demands?

But for those who mistakenly believe they are carrying a male child, and would rather not get rid of the female child, there is now a new solution. Sex change operations. So what if they will never produce spermatozoids, the children are now male!
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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

The Pieta

2011-07-01T19:38:00.000+05:30

As a piece of sculpture, Michelangelo's Pieta is all wrong. Of the two people it depicts, the face of one is not visible, the other looks a couple of decades younger than she actually is. The proportions do not quite make sense- a real man could not have fitted onto a woman's lap in quite the way he does. But, the Pieta is also the single most beautiful piece of religious sculpture I have seen.

Most of the time, you have to follow the rules. But sometimes, you have to just follow your heart.... after making peace with the rules.
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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

A Scarce Commodity

2011-06-30T22:31:00.000+05:30

When a commodity is scarce, but demand remains high, the value of the commodity rises. Right?

Wrong!
If the commodity is girls, and the country is India, a declining supply actually manages to push down the value placed on the commodity. 8 girls to every 10 boys means men who can afford wives but can't find them, are forced to look for younger ones. To keep girls virginal for their wedding night, parents get them married as soon as they can. Keep them too long, and they might get abducted.

Will my country ever realise the true worth of its girls?
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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Words, and more than just words

2011-06-29T21:57:00.000+05:30

In love with words as we all are, we presume that it is words that are at the heart of effective communication. Thoughts articulated with words. Images painted with word-strokes. Words breathing life into characters and situations. Words that take your hand and gently guide you through the plot. Words that convey what it is that the wordsmith wanted to convey. Even words that mislead.

But important though words are, they are at best the bricks that make up the edifice. At the heart of communication is something else- the ability to listen. Why do we choose to forget that?

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

For more of the same, do visit my post on Burrowers, Books and Balderdash.