40 ROCK

I'm 40 today. 40 times around the sun, 14,600 days gone, 4 decades lived, half my life spent. So I asked myself what exactly is 40 supposed to feel like? I took a good hard look in the mirror and other than a handful of grey hairs, crows feet, sun spots and a couple of dozen extra pounds, it felt exactly like 39! Woah!

Flip as I may be from time to time, I know its going to be hard making the transition. No more checking the 30-something age bracket on forms and documents. No more following my dreams, experimenting and dabbling. No more 'finding myself"  The 40's are supposed to be living my best life. Its supposed to be being comfortable in  my own skin, being who I am un-apologetically and speaking my mind without fear. Or so all the magazines tell me.

For me, the 40's spell the beginning of letting go. Its the beginning of the biggest changes in my life since my teen years. My body has changed and not in a good way. I'm still growing everyday just more horizontally than ever before. Its that much harder to get my skin to look smooth, my hands to stop drying and to get my eyeliner on smoothly every morning. My idea of a relaxing evening comprises of wearing my rattiest of pajamas and watching back to back episodes of Mad Men. Spicy food has started giving me heartburn and I am terrified of slipping and falling in snowy weather. My temples have started to turn grey. Cellulite and gravity are wrecking havoc on whatever curves I have on me and when buying lingerie I gravitate towards the Shapewear section of the store. I roll my eyes when I see heavily tattooed folks out and about and pray with all my might that my daughter will not scar her perfect skin in any way or form. I cant stay up very late anymore and loud music and cigarette smoke gives me a mondo headache. I am slow at catching up to the latest gizmos and gadgets. I like to stay on the periphery and look in rather than jump headlong with gusto into the unknown. I try not to take things too seriously but worry incessantly that I am being too light sometimes. I worry about the weather, global warming, and even about the Bill 101 of Quebec.

I worry that my most productive years are over and its all going to go downhill from here. My body will change, ovaries will shrink up, eyes will give up on me and my memories will blur. My daughter will soon accuse me of "not understanding" her and my husband and I will reach a point where words will not be necessary for communication. Just rolling the eyes will do.
It may just be a number to some but its still looming large on me. There is so much I wanted to do before reaching this number. So many places I wanted to see, so much wiser (and thinner) and patient (and thinner) I wanted to be.

Maybe my best years are behind me, maybe I lived my life and did not take time out to appreciate it really, but I have been blessed in every way possible. Its only now that I realise what an amazing set of parents I have. Everything i wished for and wanted to do was made possible with the love and support of my parents.
Being a mom who is doing everything by herself now, I have a new found respect for what my parents have been doing for the last 40 years and making it look so effortless.
My husband has been my rock and my anchor. He rescued me from the storm, and is the wind beneath my wings. He loved me in spite of it all and gave me the greatest gift of my life, our daughter Tia.
I watch her sleep sometimes and wonder how I could have got this lucky. She struggles to get up at 6.30am each morning, cracking her sleep swollen eyes just so that she can walk to school with mama. She makes me delightful pony-unicorn-princess cards and labels them Maman. She draws me as a twiggy thin figure sporting short skirts and long lustrous hair, making me realise that children see from the inside. Sigh!now, if only the inside me could be equal to the outside me.....
The other days she asked me why I put on makeup, when I told her she replied "but mama, I love you just the way you are." Now, that's been the highlight of my years as mother so far. Give me sloppy kisses, chubby-armed hugs, sleepy cuddles, bath time tickles and playground squeals any day over all else and I will show you a happy 40 year old.
Never thought, in my wildest of dreams that I would be spending my 40th birthday in cold Quebec, talking halting French, so far away from my family and loved ones  in Montreal. I miss my mom and dad and my brother like crazy. Its been 11 years since my brother made me a funny card for my birthday and I miss it so much now thinking that those days will never be back again. Ever.
This will be the first time in 40 years that I will not be having payesh or sweet rice pudding made lovingly by mom and dad for my birthday. Every year, it has been the one thing that has been a constant. Even when my mom was travelling or away for work, my dad used to make me this rich thick creamy payesh standing in the kitchen till late at night. Being away from them, that's going to be the hardest.
There are these moments when  I start to feel sorry for myself and begin to tear up but then I log right on to my favourite shopping sites online and order a dress here and a top there and I feel much much better.

The focus is now going to be on the next 40 years. With my imperfect body, wrinkles, paranoia et all, I will move headlong. I will live and laugh with my daughter. I will learn to skate, maybe even ski, I'll paint my heart out and color my dreams psychedelically. I'll pick up when I fall, laugh and try again. I will embrace my curves and encase them in shapewear and tummy trimmimg jeans when needed.
My 40 rocks and here is raising a glass to it.

Six is the sweetest age

Six is the sweetest age. Not yet ready to leave the lap of childhood yet independent strong and vocal. Chasing butterflies one minute and looking longingly at high heels the next. Six is what my precious is today. She is saying goodbye to her toddler years, preparing to begin her education in earnest, starting to read, write and be enraptured by the joys of discovering things for the first time. Six seems like just yesterday. Six seems like the clock is racing. Six is one last morning cuddle before wake up time, six is choosing her own outfits no matter how mismatched they are. Six is pink, soft and fluffy. Six is ponies and Barbie. Six is having imaginary conversations with her dolls. Six is the immense pride in getting dictation words right. Six is friendship one minute, tears the next and six is one last swing or one more turn on the monkey bars. Six is peer pressure and wanting to wear what her friends are wearing to school. Six is a hasty wave before she rushes off to greet her friends each morning and complaining at 5.00pm that its too early to go back home from school. Six is resisting her bath each day, but once inside, refusing to come out. Six is questions and more questions about each and everything all around.

I hope the rainbows and ponies stay for as long as they want. I hope you never outgrow your princess pink phase. I wish for you to always see the world as you see it now, clean, pure, innocent and happy. I wish for you to laugh like you do now over the silliest things and take comfort in the fact that a hug from mommy will make the boo boo better.

I love to watch you sleep you know. I love to breathe in your scent. I sometimes hold your hand and just feel how soft you are. I pull up the covers for the hundredth time just for you to kick them off again and I never tire of picking up your tutus from the floor. I love Owly-Owl, Pinkie pony and Bambi too. The giant pink unicorn sheds its fur all over the bedroom floor and after you have gone to school I pick up the threads and smile thinking of how tightly you hugged it the night before.
Your choice of pink, pink and more pink for everything drives me crazy sometimes, yet isn't that what year 6 is all about? My heart swells with pride when you explain how the earth goes round the sun and I get teary eyed when you sing Jan Gana Mana in your baby sweet voice.

I realised how much you have grown today when you cried your heart out on getting a beautiful card from your grandparents in India. The depths of your feelings completely took me by surprise. You said you missed them and wanted them close so you could hug them and say thank you. That told me you were so much wiser than your six years. I have to let you go on your own paths soon. I need to let you find your way, overcome sorrows and heatbreak, triumph over disappointments and be tenacious enough to realise your dreams.  I am not ready yet to take that leap. Not ready to miss out on each and every moment of your life and certainly not ready to let go of your hand, but at 6 my love, you are readying to do just that. The meadows are still full of flowers and butterflies abound. Find your paths but still be the happy little girl you are now. Happy 6 years to you my precious, for six is still the sweetest age.

the wonder years

The more I grow up (or age gracefully), the more I seem to be reflecting on the days gone by. The best days were the ones I spent in school. I have such vivid memories of the sights, the sounds, the experiences and even the smells. I was in an all-girls school for the first 10 years and it was as memorable as it can ever be. I was in LOVE with our cute white and red uniform. The crisp white shirt, the white box pleated divided skirt, the red belt, the red socks and the cute red hair accessories were the best. I was always the tall one in my class. I got to stand at the end of the line, sit at the back of the class and play the male part in all the school plays. While the rest of the girls got to play the pretty princess or Mary in the Christmas pageant, i was always the prince, the father, the scraggly old man, Joseph or even one of the 3 Kings! My best friend was also in my school(obviously!) she even lived in the neighbourhood and we had so much fun together. Studying or doing homework was the last thing on our minds as we spent so many carefree days playing hop-scotch, badminton, and eventually moved on to talking about boys and clothes. My mother would always find me at her house at mealtimes. I used to time my visits to coincide with the appam stew, beef curry or kari meen that her mother used to make. At other times, i used to make do with the pickles they had specially sent in from Kerela. I was heartbroken when they moved away. Eventually we did too and like all children, i made new friends, went to a new school, found interests like rock and roll and Madonna to amuse me and got more than my fair share of attention from the boys.
My school days were full of fun and learning. I remember coming home after Elocution class to teach my mom how to pronounce and enunciate correctly. Or loving Shakespeare's Tempest with all my heart. I fondly remember the SUPW(Socially useful Productive Work) classes and the needle point tea-cosy i had so proudly made. I remember being the flag bearer at the march past on our Sports days, but never winning anything at the race. I remember my basketball days and how my mother used to take me for practice even on a Sunday, riding a hot-tin bus when we did not have the luxury of a car. I remember so proudly wearing our basketball uniform of a teeny-tiny red miniskirt(I still had legs then!) and making heads turn as we went to other schools to participate. I really don't remember how many we won or lost, but the feeling of being out there, with peers was beyond extraordinary. I loved being on stage too be it singing Leaving on a Jet plane, or participating in the Christmas Pageant, singing Alto in the Choir or playing the part of the angry father in the dramatisation of Mill on the Floss.
I was a good student too. I had a good head and when needed i could apply myself on the academic level. I was in the top 10 of my class and other than in Hindi, i was a high scorer on most subjects. The time spent in the school library was one of wonder for me. It was there that I discovered Enid Blyton and her magical use of words. I would read each and every book she ever wrote and as i grew older i moved on to Nancy Drews, Hardy Boys, Hitchcock and then...Mills and Boon!
My mother till this day believes that I would be a better person(a doctor perhaps??), had Mills and Boons not filled my young, impressionable head with wild, passionate, romantic imagery! The more she tried to keep me away from "trash" the more i read them. Thus began the rebellion of my teenage years, with loud Rock music, shorter than short skirts, crazy psychedelic plastic ear-rings, studded boots and BOYS!
There was no looking back, as i found suitors in every nook and cranny and I loved the attention they gave me. From compliments to books to music...the secret stash kept growing every week as did my battle with my parents, who thought that i was well on my way to the path of ruin and disrepute. When i wrote in my secret diary my mom would be itching to know who it was about and when i began to get terrible headaches, my mom even thought that i was doing drugs. Many days of sulking, crying, raging battles and treats ensued. Many nights spent crying, and lamenting about how they did not "understand" me. Many Rod Stewart, Peter Gabriel, Madonna, Wham records later, i calmed down. I started a new school( a co-educational one at that) and I found the school boys could be so un-interesting. I made some amazing friends and managed to cram the best days of my life in the two years of Senior school that I spent there. I learnt to love studying again. My love affair with the English language flourished and I made a new best friend. My new friends made me love "Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy" and "PG Wodehouse". I wholeheartedly particiated in the childish school pranks or hard study lessons and emerged a winner. I remember the infectious gang of girls in my class. There was one who would study too much or the one who used to laugh the loudest, the one with serious style and the one with the nose pin....Two years flew by at the blink of an eye and we grew up, laughed and made many memories together. Our school farewell was the most poignant moment for me. Dressed in my mothers purple Kanjivaram Saree I lit the lamp that would light my paths in the years to come, The atmosphere was heavy, it was time to grow up, to take on responsibilities, to find the path of your dreams. Many roads would take us on many new paths, the comfort and security of school would be left behind. We made many promises to our Friends, wrote on each others year books and posed for an unending stream of photographs to freeze the moment for our lifetime. As i walked back home that night with my parents, looking over my shoulder I saw my lamp flickering in the distance. Maybe many new memories await me, many new experiences yet to unfold, many even-better times yet to come....but with tears welling in my eyes I bid a silent goodbye to the best years of my life...my wonder years