Passion...unbridled

Hygge on a snowy day

“Hard to explain and even harder to pronounce, the Danish word ‘hygge’ (pronounced ‘hooga’) translates roughly to ‘cosiness’. It may be hard to say, but that hasn’t stopped people finding out that hygge might be a recipe for a happier life. Oxford Dictionaries even shortlisted hygge as one of their Words of the Year 2016!

In essence, hygge means creating a warm atmosphere and enjoying the good things in life with good people. The warm glow of candlelight is hygge. Friends and family – that’s hygge too. There’s nothing more hygge than sitting round a table, discussing the big and small things in life. Perhaps hygge explains why the Danes are the happiest people in the world?”

Source: http://www.visitdenmark.com/hygge

I am not Danish; I do not live in a place

Where darkness extends for endless days-

Yet when winter displayed its brutal force

And snowstorms conspired to confine me indoors

Cabin fever threatened to prevail

Daily life appeared oppressive and stale

I stumbled upon this concept new to me

That the Danes practice extensively-

Hygge, a word I can barely pronounce

Spelt much differently from the way it sounds

On being introduced to this Danish quality

Of “coziness and comfortable conviviality”

“Eureka,” I cried, this was the missing piece

To conquer seasonal affective disorder with ease

So I warmed to the concept in a way

Quite bourgeois, I am slightly embarrassed to say

Lighting scented candles, spreading around me

Cozy blankets, warm mugs of gourmet coffee

(You get the picture- the trappings typical

Of enjoying cold weather in magazine articles)

But doing this, though helpful, did not eliminate

My claustrophobic and mildly depressed state

On yet another day when we were snowed in

Sitting near the fireplace with a blanket, sipping

Hot, aromatic ginger-cardamom tea

Watching together an uplifting movie

My son huddled close, hugging me with affection

I thought the scenario was close to perfection

And then I realized, this was hygge in its spirit true

My house now had hyggelig vibes too..

A warm atmosphere, sharing love and laughter

With loved ones and friends, the people who matter

They can fill the longest of cold nights

With cheerfulness, optimism and pure delight

This is hygge that keeps Denmark the winner

As the happiest nation on earth despite the dark winter!

The History of Literacy

” The written word endures, the spoken word disappears.”

Neil Postman

journal

I cannot think of a scenario somehow-

My imagination simply does not allow

Absence of unquestionable supremacy

Of the written word, of basic literacy

Yes, I know there are people illiterate

I cannot but consider them unfortunate..

But it was interesting for me to find,

As I read a book on history to entertain my mind

That less than a thousand years ago

Literacy and education were not considered so-

True, there were those learned few

Who the rest of the population looked up to

For advice on medicine, justice or law

However, there were not many who saw

Value in learning how to write and read

It was expensive, took away precious time indeed

Away from working with their hands, toiling in fields

It was a lot of effort for very little yield

Production was simple, consumption local

Few people went far from their location focal

No records were needed, as most trasactions

Were completed to mutual satisfaction

As the society more complex grew

Keeping written records became a concept new

Promoting, in transactions, accountability

The written word proved its indispensability

So here we are, many centuries later today

Where reading and writing take up most of my day

As for many of us, who take a literate society for granted

It fascinates me to know this was a skill not much wanted

A thousand years ago-how we have evolved again

From working with our hands to working with our brain!

(What else can you expect from a girl for whom life exists between the pages of a book?)

https://www.google.com/#q=your name

not_found_on_google

Let me tell you something that might sound

Quite narcissistic the first time around

How about searching for your name

On the world wide web, are you game?

I have searched for my name just for fun

To find if my unique name is more common

Than I thought, but the kind of information

That I found was an eye-opener of sorts

Whatever it was, an ego trip it was not

Besides my professional credentials (not quite accurate)

My professional licensure for my state

Professional and blog articles meant to be shared

I found personal information of which I was unaware

Just the thought of life being displayed online

Scared me, introduced unease into my mind

Some information I changed or anonymized

So it would not be visible (at least) to every eye

Though I know that once information makes its way

To the world wide web, it is there to stay

Most of it I had no hand in placing out there

But it can be tracked by future employers, I’m aware

On a lighter note, I was quite happy to know

That the percentage of exact name matches was quite low

Which means my name is still quite unique

(At least I got one ego booster that I had set out to seek)

So I urge you to type in google search your name

Your perception of the web might not stay the same!

(Image source: http://www.personalbrandingblog.com)

Red Hot Poker (Kniphofia)

“Kniphofia /nɪpˈhoʊfiə/, also called red hot poker, is a genus of flowering plants in the family Asphodelaceae, first described as a genus in 1794. It is native to Africa. All plants produce spikes of upright, brightly colored flowers well above the foliage, in shades of red, orange and yellow, often bicoloured.“- Wikipedia

As I strolled through the stretches one day

Of a botanical garden, I found suddenly on my way

That unique flower with its orange and red

Spiked flowers almost towering over my head

And I was reminded of how years ago

We had seen these flowers in a horticulture show

You were in second grade, if my memory serves me right

Fascinated more by the name than the sight

“Red hot poker” was a beautiful flower, you proclaimed

We snapped a photograph, and of course you named

It your favorite flower, and wrote its name meticulously

For your homework; you spelt out “Kniphofia” carefully

You were so excited, but even then I was apprehensive

I wished you had liked a more conventional alternative

I hate to remember maternal instinct was on target

You returned from school next day, quite upset

For writing something strange you were derided

No one could understand why you had decided

To name a flower that hardly looked like one

To be your favorite, they did not know, my son

Of this plant, in ignorance, they made fun

Of you- over the years, you displayed

Non-conformity to tradition in many different ways

Despite my misgivings, I tried to encourage you

To follow your heart, knowing that was the right thing to do..

Now you live far away and meet me

To my great chagrin, only infrequently

You are wildly successful in your profession

That is unconventional- you followed your passion

Seeing the red hot poker today sent me down memory lane

To that first instance when you had suffered pain

For being different in a society that conformity values

That gives you few options from which to choose

I am proud of who you are, and of course

With the flower for a picture I pose

And send it to you instantly, subtexting “Remember?”

You promptly reply, exclaiming “Red Hot Poker!”

And then, “It’s still my favorite, and I know, yours too”

I smile to myself, yes, that is true

If not for this flower I might not have realized

My son’s true potential, I might not have advised

Him to stick to his ideas that were different

This flower made me a better parent..

Quest for the perfect gift

This is that anxiety-provoking time of the year

When people shell out money and continue to fear

Whether the cash they’ve doled out is well-spent

On gifts they have selected for each recipient

There is an element of uncertainty inherent

When you shop for that supposedly perfect present

That appeals to the recipient and to your pocket is kind

Hope their needs match what you have for them in your mind

You worry about your gift screaming of frugality

Or wonder if they would ever figure out the reality

That what you have gifted them had been, in a corner

Languishing, it was received as a gift last year-

Yet another generic gift you could find no use for somehow

You had to recycle it, your finance-savvy conscience would not allow

Any gift to go waste, repackaging is a viable option

You save some dollars, it is a win-win situation

Then there are those impulsively bought knickknacks

During travels abroad, gifting them is a neat hack

But..your friends might not share your eclectic taste

What you loved might be for them a complete waste.

Sometimes you want to give a handcrafted present

You crave some recognition for your talent

But your hopes are dashed when a lukewarm reception

Is all you get for your painstaking effort and selection

Of all the choices that I make in a year

Holiday-gifting is the one I always fear

Once the ordeal is over, I decide I would do

A better job next year, by looking out for clues

That indicate the likes and dislikes of my friends

Some things I remember, but much is forgotten

By the time the next season rolls around-

I still hope some wisdom in gifting I’ve found!

Travel theme: Shimmer

Linking to :https://wheresmybackpack.com/2016/12/17/travel-theme-shimmer/

The Shimmer of the Oslo Fjord, Oslo, Norway

The Shimmering Chinese Lanterns, Longwood Gardens, PA

The shimmer of white marble in the sun- Sheikh Zayed mosque, Abu Dhabi, UAE

Shimmering drops of a water fountain, Longwood Gardens, PA

The Shimmer of Gold- Emirates Palace Hostel, Abu Dhabi, UAE

Walking down the memory lane on a snowy day

On a cold snowy day I sat inside

Watching the world being painted white

With time on my hands and nothing else to do

I decided to take a trip down a memory lane or two

So out came the albums, the collections of memories

Made over the years, I arranged them in series

I watched my old images with a new eye

Starting with pictures of an adolescent, awkward and shy

To a newly wed with a twinkle and a dazzling smile

Brimming with hope, starting the journey of a thousand miles

To a new mother transformed by love profound-

As I looked at them all, something within me unwound

And a silent tear escaped the corner of my eye

As I reminisced over the time that had passed me by

Moments of joy captured perfectly in still frames

Reminding me of things that had changed, those that were the same..

In taking a walk down the proverbial memory lane

I relived the good, the bad and the ugly once again

I was broken out of my deep reverie

By my child who came and sat next to me

We went through the albums again, together

As my husband snapped our pictures to capture forever

These precious moments of sharing old stories

Of our past, while creating new memories..

Since then we have made it a sort of family tradition

To celebrate indoors the first snow of the season

By sorting through old photographs and retelling

Our notable stories from the past, always marveling

At how far we’ve come, how many more blessings we’ve acquired

To accomplish more as a family, we feel newly inspired.

Stress buster

Stress busters we all need, and they tend to be

As varied as people themselves, probably

Some run, exercise or practice meditation

For others, painting might be the solution

I tend to find paper and pen when stressed

Usually I write, that’s something I do best

But once in a while, when writer’s block appears

And no words I can think of to calm down my fears

I start doodling, creating abstract shapes of all kinds

Filling them in meticulously, clearing my mind

Of all other worries because drawing seems to take

More effort , more concentration for me to make

Something meaningful, or aesthetically pleasing

Gradually I feel my artistic muscles unfreezing

Soon I am in the flow and all thoughts negative

Have disappeared from my mind, I silently give

Thanks to my stars for calming me down

As I proceed with my work, I lose my frown

Now I realize why the markets are inundated

With adult coloring books, it is estimated

That slowly coloring in intricate designs

Can be an excellent way of relaxing one’s mind

So, as the holiday shopping stresses me out

I shall resort to my sketching, without a doubt!

The Magic of the Holidays

“Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love.”Hamilton Wright Mabie

Holiday lights twinkled all around
Powdery snow was sprinkled all over the ground
The stores were lit brightly, music wafted through the doors
She waited for the holidays to take their course
Knowing that the gaiety pervading the air
Was not something that she could share
Somehow life had taken a turn so destructive
Leaving her homeless, unemployed, unproductive
And all alone, within a span of few days
For the broke and the lonely, difficult were holidays..

She stood in queue at the shelter awaiting her turn
For some food provided by a good samaritan
Before her was a woman who seemed paralyzed
Unable to put food on her plate, she stood, as if mesmerized
She nudged her and broke her out of her reverie
Then they sat at the table together silently
She stole glances at the other woman , who appeared
Roughly her age, but her face seemed aged by tears
Her eyes were indescribably sad, she thought
She debated whether to talk to her or not
Eventually, propelled by the holiday spirit probably
She said hello, introducing herself politely
After an initial flicker of hesitation the other woman
Replied in a timid voice, that of a woman
Who had, by life’s vagaries, been badly shaken
Soon they were talking long after dinner was done
Her horrific story she recounted without emotion
Maybe the holidays worked their charm somehow
They felt better than their circumstances would allow
And slept in the shelter soundly that night
The demons of their pasts did not give them fright

Over the next month both of them were there
For each other as they navigated their way everywhere
Looking for food, lodging and employment
They helped each other deal with the resentment
That they had towards life, healing they found
In their friendship they found comfort profound
They struggled some more, but in the end
Broken pieces of life were on the mend
Work they found, basic needs were met
To lead normal lives, both had to sweat

Twenty years later with families of their own
They still think about that night each felt alone
What happened thereafter they gladly give credit
To the magic of the holidays, that had made them sit
Next to each other for dinner that fateful night
That led to everything turning out right
And over the holidays you would hear them say
“We promise you good things are coming your way!”

The bride and her henna

(The Mehndi event is a fun celebration held the night before an Indian wedding, traditionally celebrated by the women on the bride’s side of the family. Generally, a professional mehndi artist applies henna in intricate designs to the hands and feet of the bride and other women in the family. These intricate designs symbolize joy, beauty and offering. There is music and dance as well.)

She sat with arms stretched out before her

Helpless in the moment, expected to savor

The festivities, music and dance around

The carefree laughter drifting in the background

Surrounded by family she was, ostensibly

She felt all alone, staring insensibly

At her hennaed hands, her feet still being treated

Like a canvas by her mehndi artists, art being created

On her limbs by the very best in town, because

The most spectacular wedding in town this was

Expected to be, no expense had been spared-

Despite all this, at her hands she stared

Her movement restricted by the henna that needed

Drying, therefore with outstretched arms she was seated

She smiled, realizing all of a sudden

Her physical helplessness was a reflection

Of her mental state- caught in the rigmarole

Of an elaborate wedding, with hardly a soul

Realizing how unhappy she was, how she

Wanted to run away, to scream hysterically

“This is my life, this is not what I wish”

She wanted to say, but her desires she had squished

The day she had agreed to the marriage arranged

Like a business partnership, things could not be changed

Now, her assent inexorably bound her to comply-

As she contemplated, a tear dropped from her eye

She could not wipe it, but no one asked why

She was crying, her tears were also misunderstood

To be tears of joy, no one around her could

Guess how miserable she felt, she was afraid to voice

Her concerns, her fear had led her to make this choice

She looked down, inspecting her hands with a sigh

Waiting for her unshed tears and henna to dry..

(Image: This is not henna, but a henna design doodled on paper by yours truly)

Linguistic laments

I am writing furiously, yet words fail me

Repeatedly, my thoughts tend to derail me

As I search in vain for the right English expression

And my mind in a spirit of transgression

Jumps from my adopted language to the one

That pervades my soul in subliminal recognition…

It is true that proficiency I have acquired

In a language not my own to quench the desire

To be active on a wider platform, expand my horizons

Yet, when faced with the need to express emotions

Rich idioms and proverbs from my brain’s recesses appear

In Hindi, my mother-tongue, loud and clear..

I am faced with a dilemma, a strange predicament

Where I know how to express perfectly my sentiment

Except it happens to be in the wrong language

Literal translation does not provide the same leverage

To what I wish to say, it gets frustrating

As I navigate between the two languages, waiting

For the writer’s block to disappear somehow

To get my chain of thoughts back, to allow

Me to go back to thinking in the language that’s now mine

English is a sensational cocktail, Hindi is old wine

To be enjoyed at leisure, occasionally

While it rests in the closet of my heart subconsciously

English forms my metaphorical wings to help me fly

Hindi represents my roots, deeply grounded under the sky

My wings have taken flight in realms scientific and literary

My roots have soothed my soul troubled and weary

To describe my life completely I would need

To express myself in both languages indeed!

The Writer

In a world that often did not make sense

In a society plagued by pomp and pretense

She felt like an outsider, never could blend in

Always blurting the blunt truth, she could not win

Friends around her, so she became a recluse

The more she withdrew, the stronger was her excuse

To keep away from company unless required

A distant, cold aura she gradually acquired

Away from the chatter of human interaction

Thoughts in her mind began to take action

Shaping themselves into words she penned down

Furiously, her forehead wrinkled in a frown

She created a protagonist no different from her

In being direct and truthful, they were similar

Her character walked through her life unconcerned

About others’ opinions, living life on her terms

She made the phrase “calling a spade a spade”

Seem almost glamorous, as her escapades made

For a very interesting reading, I would say

This lead character was quirky in an endearing way.

I’m not alone in my opinion, let me make that clear

When her book was published, it became that year

The book to lead all major lists- critics raved

About the quirky way in which the heroine behaved

The author became a celebrity overnight

This time she was able to say what she thought right

And no one objected, dazzled as they were

By her brilliant book and her character singular

People jostled for her attention, tried to befriend

Her now that she was famous, tried to extend

Their hospitality, which she graciously accepted

Marveling at the irony- she had not suspected

The quality that had alienated her from others

Would be desirable in her fictitious character!

Publishers and readers were clamoring for more

Stories featuring the protagonist they now adored..

She continued to write, but would say this often

She still did not understand most women and men

Who, in their preferences, appeared quite capricious

Inexplicable to her, they liked a character fictitious

So she made her character the instrument

To voice her thoughts and her sentiments

Her heroine her alter-ego became

She lived life vicariously under her character’s name!

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