Little things.

“Where you from?”

I wonder why so many people in my own country make this query. They ask often enough to annoy me enough to make me stop and think. Why?

Is it because my grey hair seems odd in a country where almost everyone adorns black hair, irrespective of age? Is my accent too strange for my own people? Do I dress funny? My mother believes it’s because I say ‘Thank-you’ much too often. At the end of a meal in a restaurant, accepting the bill, Thank you. Waiter handing me the card machine, Thank you. Making the payment and handing him back the machine. Thank you. Receiving a copy of the receipt. Thank you. Leaving the restaurant through a door held by a doorman. Thank you.

Do other people do it to the same extent or is my thanking over the top?

Do I really mean it each time I say it or is it a mindless habit? An automatic impulse? Spontaneous blurting?

Well, do I need to convert my gratitude into a problem? It has to be a good thing. Right? They say more gratitude makes for less stress, better relationships, good mood, optimism and connection. It helps us celebrate goodness in the world and newness of the present moment. It blocks negative emotions like envy, resentment and regret. It improves my social ties and self-worth as I feel that someone is looking out for me. Research has proven it to be essential to happiness. It is the ‘queen of all virtues.’ They say it’s not merely a sentiment but a practice. It can be cultivated by noticing little things, sights and smells, sounds and sensations, tastes and shapes and movements. Writing them down.

Do I actually feel grateful for the little things others do for me? Do I smile and make eye contact with them? Do I meaningfully connect with the person in front of me? Do I hold the attitude of gratitude in my body? Yes.

So, I am comfortable with not taking small things for granted, even if it translates to saying thank-you too often. The next time someone asks “Where you from?” I will say, “Thank you for asking.” 😉

Resources:

Gratitude Quiz: https://greatergood.berkeley.edu/quizzes/take_quiz/gratitude

Mum’s village

Posted by kidsaregifts20

The southernmost beach on the coast of Goa is also its most pristine. Galgibaga. The other name for it is Turtle beach, home to a vulnerable species of turtle, the olive ridley. I get that the first part of their name comes from the colour of their shell, which is olive. No idea where the ‘ridley’ comes from. Well…

Approaching the date of delivery of eggs, usually in November, the female of the species returns to the spot where she herself hatched. Mum’s home, I guess. Mass-nestings are common. Mum’s village, I guess. Sisters and cousins, all coming home to have their babies. They bury their eggs one and a half feet under the sand. After about two months, the hatchlings have to risk crossing a hazardous beach before they reach the safety of the sea. As they scoot across, predators such as crabs, eagles, dogs and the like nab them. To enhance their dwindling numbers, local conservationists and NGOs now place safety nets around the area where the eggs are buried, discourage dogs from getting close and facilitate the safe transit of baby turtles from land to sea.

No bars, restaurants, casinos, or beach huts are allowed on this white sandy stretch. No loud music. No big car parks, hence humans have to make an effort to get here. So, despite its immense beauty, there is no noise.

Two kilometres along a little road curving inland from this beach is our temporary abode, surrounded by birds and a green canopy of tall trees. Everyone seems to know everyone here. There are no beggars or homeless people. I need never worry about my unlocked bicycle parked outside. It’s safe. Coconuts, big banana trees, pepper vines and baby-mangoes are within an arm’s length of our windows and balconies. A small bus, a car or a scooter may pass by noticeably at long gaps. The distinct calls of the fisher-woman and the bread-man, I can now recognise.

My return to the land where I hatched and gave birth decades ago. Overlapping cycles of life. Circles, like bubbles being blown to the sky at dusk, capturing all the colours. Merging. Dancing. Bursting.

Simple joys.

Ode to London.

Posted by kidsaregifts20

“I wouldn’t choose to live here. It’s good for a visit. A change.”

As a tourist in London, that was my opinion in 2005. Less than a year later a job offer I couldn’t turn down meant we moved to London with our bags and belongings. The move from the capital of Northern Ireland to the capital of England was a huge culture shock. The sights and sounds of Belfast, a place we had come to feel at home in, were peaceful and serene compared to the chaotic juddering of London.

We relocated, rented for a year before buying. Our home was five miles south of London Bridge and we lived there for 17 years. Saagar lived there for eight, two of which he spent at Uni. We got past our initial anxieties about the cost of living etc. and came to love the buzz, the cultural richness and the stimulating challenges of living in this crazy noisy place.

For the past couple of years, we have wanted to live simply. Last year we returned to India for a few months to winter here in response to the extra attention our respective bones and bodies were demanding from us. We made a home in rural Goa, albeit temporary. Yes. This is serene and peaceful. Yes. Time is plentiful here and the tropical languor is endearing. Yes. The Arabian sea is warm and its breeze soothing. I am utterly grateful for all of that but we find it’s not simple to create simplicity. This place is lovely but it is entirely non-London and I dearly miss that home five miles south of the centre. I miss our cat, our plants, our neighbours (some). I miss my girl-friends and work-colleagues, posh cafés and French restaurants, a quiet walk through West Norwood Cemetery and a stopover at the Tate while along the Thames, a routine, a purpose. I never thought I’d say this but sometimes I even miss people watching on my morning commute to work. I miss being around folks who knew Saagar and spoke of him, people who loved him.

A friend, Dr Michael Duncan who is a Consultant colleague and a poet, shares the same love of this city in his recent poem.

A Masterpiece of a City

You don’t need an Acropolis
To be the foremost Metropolis
I would need a paragraph
To just describe the Cenotaph
It’s prominent and sleek
And take a look in
To the Arches of Marble
Or the Marbles of Elgin
Pleasing, unless you are Greek
And while that is a pity
It’s still a masterpiece of a City

A mystery of a city
The extremes of iniquity
But the best of the humanities
All Side by side
Diversity is most alive
Within the M25
From Harrow to Bexley
In this Masterpiece of a City

London imperturbe,
Caressing the Thames
And the bends that it lends
I searched the world
And found the world here
My Sentiments for Ealing
Are Morden a feeling
The Thames is greater than the Liffey
A masterpiece of a city

Parakeets, they were transplanted
And brilliantly adapted
And The foxes of Camden
Though residents might damn them
And The foxes of Tooting
Raiding and looting
It’s mammalian diversity
In this masterpiece of a City

And if you should seek something greater
Then enter the chambers
Of the Western Minster
Ministering and dithering
Perfecting their duplicity
Are the master debaters

A masterpiece of a city
It has no Ulysses written about it
But if you take a Peyp
There is potential for one
Thy will be done
The masterpiece, is London.

The wrath of the years.

Posted by kidsaregifts20

Do I really care?

What do people think of me? Of us?

Which landmass do I live on?

What is the weather like?

What colour is the bloody sky?

Whose child left for University?

How much money I have left?

Who is coming from where? Who is going somewhere on a holiday?

What’s for dinner tonight? Or any night.

Will I ever have a job to go to?

When will the Amazon-man deliver the stuff I ordered?

Is there any milk in the fridge?

What happens next?

The sun came up from the North-west this morning?

Do I care?

One whole decade in the world ‘after’ Saagar will be completed in the tenth month of this sort-of-new-year. Since the 1st of Jan, every time I read or write 2024, that is the singular thought that comes to mind like an unwelcome guest. How can the world tolerate this? Who authorised for all those days and months to pass? How can this even be allowed to happen? How can I still be here? Who granted permission for this kind of treachery? Is this gorge of yearning bound by any boundaries? Or is it bottomless, without any limits?

Does anybody care?

The beetle and the shield.

Posted by kidsaregifts20

Who needs flowers? A few months in the tropics and I am mesmerised by the stunning leaves in these parts, huge and spectacular. Every colour and shape is present amongst them. If I stop and look closely, they hypnotise me. If I stand back and take in the view of the canopy, I have a sense of abundance! Such lushness and vibrancy. No two leaves are exactly the same. Each one a miracle. Monstera, Rattlesnake plant, Purple blush, ferns, Beauty star, Zebra plant, Prayer plants, palms, Coconut fronds, Banana leaves and the list goes to over 7500 species.

Walking on the edge of the Arabian sea, along the west coast of India, I see shapely leaves in orange, yellow, red and auburn strewn on the golden beach. I pick one up and it feels thick and waxy, seasoned well by its prolonged contact with salt water. Their shape is that of jack-fruit leaves. I can’t help but pick a few, hold them in the shallow waves as they get the sand off them, pat them dry against my cotton top and carefully bring them home. Press them under a sofa cushion and a few days later, they emerge flat and textured as a fabric, ready to receive some more colour.

These plain fascinating leaves invite the five-years-old in me to play. I jump at the invitation and spend some timeless moments with them. Together we build little bugs and African shields. In our world, it doesn’t matter that the bug and the shield are the same size. It also doesn’t matter that these things have no practical use at all. The fact that they may not last for more than a few days as a possible bookmark or a decoration, also does not matter.

All that matters is that these gorgeous creations came into being through us and briefly delighted.