#sareespeak

#SS/14/100/2020

#aucklandnzss

#kanjivaram

#kanjivaramsilk

A physical ache, yet not quite an ache, but a tightening of the heart, a flutter in the chest, a dampness about the eyes.

As I beheld our creation for the first time.

She was born with green intelligent eyes, exquisite in every way. I speak for all mothers when I say this, our babies are bundles of wonder and perfection.

That evening, I watched the news, as she lay asleep content after a feed. I wept, not knowing why. I heard of poverty, drought, earthquakes and felt powerless, as though my heart would break.

It then struck me, here I was, a new mum, nerve endings taut, feeling fragile, and as if nothing else mattered except to fiercely protect the little one with every fibre of one’s being.

Over the years, these feelings have ebbed and flowed, now alternating between rushing to the surface and lying dormant.

When she was but a line on the test kit, I immersed myself in music, rising at 4am to practise, stopping to sip lime juice to ease the nausea.

I practised, performed, the walls of my home, resonated with krithis, instrumental and vocal, bhajans, percussion. Mridhangist hubby accompanied me when I practised.

The evening of the morning of the seemantham/valaikappu/baby shower, I had a major two and a half hour performance.

The Arts and Aesthetics have moulded her into what she is today. A Health Professional, Dancer, Musician, she turned just a year older, as she has, every year since I gingerly cradled the bundle of sugar and spice that special 4th of March.

Soon she will leave the house and become a good man’s wife, a loving family’s daughter,

yet,

she will retain her identity,

myriad facets of her being,

like the handloom saree’s wefts and warps,

and be her timeless, elegant, beautiful, intricate, unique self.

And then,

Last night , I watched Thappad with the girls. I’d taken the day off work to spend with them, post birthday celebration.

Intense, thought provoking.

And there were two uncles at the far corner of my row, laughing during the movie, an aunty beside me was tut tutting.

Discussion during car ride home.

How bad is bad?

What constitutes abuse?

When do you say no? Or enough? Or stop?

When do see the signs? Are they signs? Are you imagining the signs?

The girls mentioned they’d seen some not acceptable behaviour in the early scenes of the movie. And how he’d justified his actions with his preoccupation with work.

A mighty fine line. So easy to cross in a split second. A joke about women drivers. Bad cooks. When will it turn ugly?

I hope I have taught her well.

Or rather that she has imbibed intelligently, discerningly and yet, have clarity and not be too judgemental.

From not just me, but her father, her aunts, her sister, her cousins and grandparents.

And will continue to do so.

To love and be loved.

To give and to receive respect.

To cherish and be cherished.

For the gem that she is.

That our daughters are.

Have draped a gorgeous rich blue kanjivaram, from my wedding trousseau, 29 or so years ago. Gold lined, with deep maroon borders and pallu. Annapakshi, elephants, mangoes, the full works. Matched wth a simple embroidered red cotton blouse.

Attended a vocal Arangetram in which she was the compere/emcee. Some photos of her in comments.

#sareespeak

#forgottensareenumber

#SS/13/2020

#kanjivaram

Disclaimer – Delayed post. Rambling post, Due to – note title.

Procrastination.
Google dictionary defines this as
“noun.
the action of delaying or postponing something”.
Wikipedia says
“It is the avoidance of doing a task that needs to be accomplished by a certain deadline. It could be further stated as a habitual or intentional delay of starting or finishing a task despite knowing it might have negative consequences”.
And yes I know I should not be depending on Mr Wiki for enlightenment.
But I like the use of the term intentional.
I am a registered procrastinating offender.
A repeat offender.
I’d like to be part of a PA group, if possible.
Procrastinators Anonymous.
Just this week, sigh, let me numerate the number of times I’ve offended.

1. I’ve had to send important documents to some important place, and delayed it with excuses even I would be proud of.
2. Now that it’s sent, i have to track the documents
3. I have 2 Articles to write
4. I have to plan for some upcoming veena performances for my students
5. I must practise Veena daily
6. I have to scrub the bathroom floor, dust the bathroom lights and clean the top of the shower stall.
7. I must call a friend
8. I need to speak to the bank about some financial transactions
9. I have to plan for 2 upcoming Adaptive Technology Awareness sessions.

Why am I procrastinating, you may ask. Do it, my hubby would say. Do it, my mind nags.
And so I pick a task. Instead of writing the article, I burn the midnight oil, browsing the internet. Research I say. Ooh, Trevor Noah’s hilarious. Oops, back to work. Naah, it’s 2am, must be up by 6.

Apparently,
We have been procrastinating since Year 0. Socrates and Aristotle actually developed a word to describe this behavior: Akrasia. When we do one thing when we know we should be doing something else.

Let me analyse me.
Essentially, I don’t want to track the parcel for fear that it never arrived at its destination.
I daren’t call the bank because i know the procedure to get what i require is too tedious.
My procrastination stems from fear and probably even mood swings. If I’m in a good place, I would tackle the shower stall, and dust the lights. And pure undisguised sloth.
I have lists, and lists of lists, on my diary on the kitchen bench top, a post it note on the fridge, one in my phone case, reminders that beep at me from my office and home phones, emails entitled note to self from my work and two personal emails. And I diligently copy them again onto yet another to do list.
Now if that doesn’t motivate me, what will.
That reminds me, I started writing this two days ago while waiting to pick up my daughter at a bus stop.
I wanted, please believe me when I say I truly meant to, absolutely wanted to complete this, but
Netflix, ginger nut cookies, a slice of cheese, hanging the wash out, folding the clothes,
Got in the way.
I am now attempting to turn over a new leaf.
I shall

1. complete this article.
2. Write my next post
3. Post some food posts
4. Water the indoor plants
5. Write articke no 1 for souvenir magazine 1.
6. Brainstorm on ideas for article no 2 for souvenir magazine 2

Hold it right there! Where’s tracking on the list? And call the bank? And planning for those sessions, coming up this week?
Alright then.
Baby steps.
Realistic achievable goals.
No, Cancel that.
Tangible goals, outcomes I’m able to realise, able to ‘see’.

And so,
Here I am in a light purple lined kanjivaram with orange borders and pallu. Gifted by a friend who passed on, after a long and arduous battle with the big C. 29 years ago. Matched with a cotton brown checked orange bordered blouse. Procrastinated to search for actual saree blouse. Looks like I’ve merged with the orange background. Draped this treasure for a temple visit. Highly motivated as I drove home.

Task 1 finally ticked off, post done.
Now..Where is that tracking slip?
Hold on, I need to watch the season finale of ‘Why Women Kill’ first.

#sareespeak

#kashmirsilk

#SS/12/2020

#aucklandnzss

#womenofsareespeak

Disclaimer – long post, content may disturb. Not a suitable read for good moms.

This post is about my girls.

Or rather my kind of love.

I love my girls. I really do. But they can be the most exasperating young women.

Like all of Little Women’s women and Emma’s Emma rolled into one.

They are bossy, strong, outspoken, and they think they know everything.

They take hours to start on any chores.

They practise selective hearing and selective tearing.

They claim I overreact, am so loud, and tell me to chill All The Time, the last thing one says to a roaring bull.

I’ve probably made them who they are.

And maybe that’s a good thing.

They’re great friends, they are Extremely good hearted to all with the exception of the one who birthed them.

Let me throw a little light on their upbringing.

I was and still am the kind of mother who loves her sleep.

When they were little (not much has changed now), I used to wait for them to go to sleep at night so that I could finally sleep. And more often than not, a huge sense of regret would overwhelm me, and I’d hug them, kiss their drowsy lids, and tell them “amma loves you so much”.

And to get them to sleep, they were regaled with exotic tales.

Just to cover myself, you need to understand that when expecting my firstborn, I digested Dr Spock’s Baby and Child care, gifted to me by my mom, her copy, and no prizes for guessing how I turned out. My sister got me a Johnson’s baby care book with pictures, step by step instructions on how to have an award winning birth and be an award winning mum. My baby sister got me a book by an Australian mum, on breastfeeding. My Bible, I expressed between feeds, had labelled bottles in the freezer, and only stopped when the last door had to be removed during office renovations and my friends heard whirring sounds and found me under my desk.

Anyway, getting back to my afternoon nap and bedtime tales, I used to be so desperate to send them to La La land that I resorted to..

Wait, before you judge me, imagine a six and one year old, on either side of me, attempting to tickle each other, giggling to bits, my mind reeling with lack of sleep and the endless chores I needed to tick off before the end of the day.

And so, I told them tales from the Ramayana, stories of Krishna.

One day I will reveal to their father that the reason they’ve become the monsters they are today, is because my tales did not figure Rama and Krishna. On the contrary, my girls fell asleep believing that if they so much as moved, Mareecha, Shubahu, Tataka, Shurpanakha, Putana, Kamsa would emerge from the built in cupboards in front of them.

I definitely had blissful dreams.

At nights, Aunty Latha, an aunt they were a little wary of, loomed outside the bedroom window, like vampires in Salem’s Lot.

That was sleep time.

I had even better strategies for Feeding time.

I had a wall of masks collected from our travels. One particular mask was orange, with white hair, a crooked smile and broken teeth. My older one stopped playing with her rice, after she was told that Mask thatha would swoop out and feed her.

When I moved here, I was forewarned by the spouse that in Western countries, parents do not shout, but generally reason with their offspring.

I behaved for the first few..

weeks, then warned my girls that I would whisper menacingly or draw the curtains, turn up the TV and scream.

My little one especially, used to chide me for calling her Silly. She had this broken gramophone record way of saying ‘You can’t use rude words, Amma, stop it, I don’t like it’. Fifteen years on, she hasn’t changed.

She’s never been one to rise early, but when she was little, she’d had some music exams to prep for, so I’d wake her up early to practise. One fine day, she lay flat on the floor, exclaiming ‘I wish I wasn’t Indian, I wish I was anything but Indian’.

My comeback then and now, has remained the same. That I was and am extremely sorry that she had me as a mother, but worse still, she had a nasty Indian/Asian tiger dragon mum, and she was stuck with me for the next few decades.

The idea probably grew on her – they are both still with me, and quite good musicians.

Just one final tale of terror. Was teaching the little one maths, she was whingeing, I threw a book at her, she ducked, it hit the wall and dented it. No no. The book wasn’t heavy, walls here are pretty soft.

Dilemma, spouse doesn’t like rude words, doesn’t like the girls being screamed at, even ‘silly’ is rude.

By that time, we girls had come to an understanding. Mum knows what’s best, and only wants what’s best for them.

So before dad got home, we set about rearranging the furniture so that the dent was hidden.

Proud mumma. Having raised such geniuses.

Coming back to the present, spent Valentine’s Day yesterday, at the movies with one girl, then family dinner at a friend’s.

Forewarned girls all day yesterday, about Valentine’s special photoshoot.

Today,

Went out for a Dance Arangetram, got home, told the girls to unleash the love while hubby clicked, but not without girls picking the angles, seating him on a stool, which he did quite willingly, as he didn’t have to be romantic or be in the shot.

And unleash the love, they did, as you can see in the sequence of clicks.

Am in a deep red Kashmir silk with dark brown and gold borders, weirdly matched with a brown and orange checked cotton blouse.

Girl 1 is in a pink cotton silk checked saree with orange kalamkari cotton silk blouse,

Girl 2 has draped, a soft green organza fancy floral printed saree.

Husband, not in shot, who got changed before his assignment, is in his comfy off to bed clothes.

#sareespeak

#womenofsareespeak

#silk

#SS/11/100/2020

#veenafirst

#saraswathiveena

#aucklandnzss

Was going to bore you with a long long post on my kind of love, was even going add a disclaimer not to read it.

Then read something this morning, quite heartwarming, quite refreshing and I thought let’s make this post about

Valentine’s Day.

Some say everyday is Valentine’s Day.

Maybe,

if one has this perfect family who make everyday Valentine’s or Mother’s or Father’s or Goldfish’s or whatnot.

Most of us, rush around work, life, doing. Just doing. Not being.

Guilty as charged.

So sometimes, days like Valentine’s are about

Be ing.

Love ing

Remember ing.

Cherish ing.

Choose ing.

Now this is where I’m going to get my reasoning and my knickers twisted in a knot,

It’s also a wake up call to realise that we should be

Be ing

Love ing

Remember ing

Cherish ing

Choose ing.

Every day.

If we are just Be ing

We tend to, consciously, and unconsciously, break up life’s big moments into thousands and millions of little blessed moments,

And choosing – it’s alright for me to say

Oh Choose good over bad, love over hate, chocolate over lettuce!

No. It’s not that easy.

But, I read a long time ago, in a book that I cherish, read and re read over time, dog eared, highlighted,

a message,

So simple,

So deep,

So profound

(Forgive me ladies, am on a roll here, yes deep and profound probably mean the same thing)

That I take it to be my tip, my truth, my pointer to the right direction.

If or when I am at a crossroads,

If or when I want to or need to make a decision,

I go back to myself, my thoughts,

I choose

The first thought that arises,

If it’s a good thought, a positive thought,

I choose that, I tell myself that it’s from a Higher Source,

And follow that.

These thoughts are what Inspiration is all about,

The Universe is a dynamic repository of ideas, thoughts and what-nots,

From which Beethoven, Leonardo da Vinci, MS Subbulakshmi, Steven Spielberg, and anyone remotely artistic or famous, have derived the inspiration and the know-how for their masterpieces.

We too, can be those geniuses,

those artistes,

If we

Make every day a Valentine’s day,

By

Be ing

Love ing

Remember ing

Cherish ing

Choose ing.

In the words of golfer Walter Hagen in his 1956 book,

“Stop to smell the roses”.

In a rose pink art silk embossed saree, with brown and blue flowered borders and pallu. Draped it for my Skype class with my Guru, on an extremely hot summer’s day, got daughter number 2 who hibernates in her room, hence the yellow walls, to click a quick shot before organising dinner.

#sareespeak

#womenofsareespeak

#ss10/100/2020

#wovensilk

#silk

#veenafirst

#saraswathiveena

#aucklandnzss

Disclaimer 1- a rather belated post, due to too few hours in the day.
Disclaimer 2 – many photos. Too many.

Started typing. Stopped, restarted.
Decisions. Decisions. Decisions.
Life is so tough when one has to decide between reading that chapter, completing that movie or saree-speaking.
I have half an hour left to the witching hour, so lets get this post onto cyberspace.
Saturday was a long, arduous yet fulfilling day. Poornima puja in the evening.
As mentioned in my earlier post, girls had been sufficiently bribed and they completed the vaccumming and dusting while the spouse setup the puja room, and I cooked. With reverence, to quote Anushree’s post on Women in Joy.
Lunch first.
Talk about the Universe conspiring. Chopped beetroot, organic, presented by friend from one of the markets she’d visited. Chopped them with reverence, enjoying the firm feel of the vege, the redness of the juice. Chopped off the leaves made a thokku/paste. I cooked with a sense of calm, basically living in the moment and loving it. Prepared beetroot thoren, kathrikai gravy, beetroot leaves thokku, all onion garlic free. Made fried potatoes with chilli flakes, carrot and bok chop stir fry. With brown rice, white basmati rice, yoghurt, ghee, rice, sago and veppampoo/neem flower vadagams/fried crispies.
Calm and cool creations. Created with reverence and concentration.
After lunch, cleaned the bathrooms, had a little rest. Refreshed myself with steaming tea and started on the prasad for puja. Simple onion garlic free fare. Sevai/tempered rice vermicelli, tomato satham/rice, banana fritters.
Cleaned the kitchen, floors, put the rubbish out, loaded the dishwasher, set the dining table, then went to get ready.
Draped this Blue silk, with red and orange pallu, lighter blue, red borders, woven with gold threads. Blue, being Thaipoosam, for Lord Muruga.
Got daughter no 2 to take a shot or two in the garden before the visitors arrived.
Wanted to reenact my New Year’s Eve shot, see said photo in comments.
So the garden photos can be described as follows :

1. Getting ready to be clicked, meaning clicked mid pose.
2. Asking her to stop shot, smiling, to ensure photo turns out acceptable.
3. Gritting teeth and asking, not so politely to take the shot – quite frightening, so not posted.
4. Requesting her to make me look tall and slim, once again, in a fetching manner, then Commanding her, for goodness sake, to squat and point the camera upwards, culminating in the shot being taken with her sprawled on the ground.
   Puja over, house set back in order, dishes done..
   Managed to coax tired photographer to take a few end of the day clicks.
5. Note the photo bomber, not a person, but her foot. And she has blatantly encircled it with a blue heart.
6. Also note the amazing contrast between – I’m being sarky here – the stark yellow wall colour and my bright blue saree.

Talk about the Universe conspiring. Chopped beetroot, organic, presented by friend from one of the markets she’d visited. Chopped them with reverence, enjoying the firm feel of the vege, the redness of the juice. Chopped of the leaves made a thokku/paste.
Then read Anushree Pandey Setzer’s post on reverence. Basically living in the moment and loving it.
Cooked beetroot thoren, kathrikai gravy, beetroot leaves thokku, all onion garlic free. Made fried potatoes with chilli flakes, carrot and bok chop stir fry. With brown rice, white basmati rice, yoghurt, ghee, rice, sago and veppampoo/neem flower vadagams/fried crispies.
Calm and cool creations. Created with reverence and concentration.

#sareespeak

$SS9/100/2020

#kasavu

#cotton

#aucklandnzss

#womenofsareespeak

Almost completed self analysis. Who needs counselling when one has the inner voices of moi.
Realised that my pick me ups are my music, my needing to feel useful, a good book, thanks Latha, my not binge eating, my going to the temple, and my praying. Note that the latter two are not necessarily mutually inclusive.
So yesterday, rose early, completed the standard motherly, wifely chores, off to work only to find that my first client had cancelled as she was unwell. Texted her to let her know that i would reschedule when she felt better.
Spent the free hour or so completing ACC assessment reports, and attempting to do some professional development with a screenreader that spoke so much I ended with a headache.
Got myself a steaming cup of ginger, turmeric and mint tea. Debated whether to break open a decadent bar of dark chocolate but decided against it, as i needed to share that with my colleague.
Spent the rest of the day with clients, meetings, completing time sheets and notes.
Home.
Second one had hung, folded, put away clothes, and had gracefully agreed to collect my groceries but had only put away the milk and yoghurt. Hold on, not because she was vying for Daughter of the Month award. I’d agreed to let her ‘trim’ her hair and we know what trim means, don’t we? Trim, as opposed to chop. I’d also subsidised the haircut and treatment in full. So got her to clear all bins in all rooms as next day was Rubbish Day. Anyway, must say she looks good with a shoulder length healthy head of hair.
The older one was not back yet, she’d gone to a friend’s home after work, to discuss an upcoming programme in which she was to be the MC.
Had a cup of tea, went off to meet some friends, got home,
Watered my plants, watered my neighbour’s plants as they were away.
Took the balance brown rice, soy protein, orange capsicum,green chillies, spinach leaves and some semblance of veges from the fridge, made a quick hotch potch of a fried rice, and a simple tomato and lebanese cucumber salad.
Quick shower, draped this gorgeous kasavu cotton.
Creamy white, gold borders with huge gold buttis of annapakshis, an edge of green on borders and stripes on pallu. Matched with, (if my mum were to see this she’d exclaim, in not exactly an approving manner,) grandma’s blouse, no, not my grandma’s blouse, but the kind my grandma may wear- a cotton cream with flowers embroidered in gold.
Chose creamy white to wear to the temple for the temple festival Thiruvizha. My friend’s advice was that white was the dress code for the day.
Rejuvenating atmosphere at the temple with the sounds of Nadhaswarams, thavils, temple bells, chants.
Oh and by the way, every lady was in pink.
Saw my friend in a beautiful white and red kanchi cotton. She apologised sheepishly, she’d got it wrong.
Didn’t matter by then.
Felt so good, blessed, refreshed just being there, absorbing the beautiful vibes.
Text received from the girls. Replied with a list of chores to be completed the next day. Stopped at Mr MCD to collect an Oreo Mc Flurry and Apple Pie as per text.
Home again, got the girls to click a shot or two. Accomplished quickly, willingly and well with Mc Flurry and Apple Pie in hand.

#SS8/2020

#artsilk

#veenafirst

#aucklandnzss

#saraswathiveena

#womenofsareespeak

Disclaimer. Not my usual upbeat cheery post.
Feeling down, restless.
I put it down to withdrawal symptoms.
Spent december, january chilling with the girls, visiting beaches, watching movies at theatres, at home, eating out and in, having midnight snacks and DMCs (deep and meaningful conversations).
Now, it’s a sharp heavy drop to reality.
Work is on, since early January.
Work’s good, my 20, 85, 93 year olds are positive and feeling empowered, am looking forward to awareness sessions with years 10 and 11, transitioning students and a university’s optometry school students, amongst others.
Yet, there’s been something unsettling, a sadness I can’t shake off, let alone brush off – a tightness in the chest, an ache around my shoulders.
Classes with my Guru are ongoing. Thankfully, once I held the veena, I felt a little less uneasy, a little more at peace, relaxed and grounded.
Classes with my students have commenced. Listening to their old lessons, mock scolding them, setting homework, fresh goals, got the mood thermometer to swing a little higher.
And this morning, being a public holiday, I practised with my daughter, taught her part of a new krithi, explored a raga or two, and felt a whole lot better.
So maybe, I need my music, my teaching, to keep me mentally healthy, spiritually sane.
Draped a simple bright magenta art silk saree with gold buttis, green and gold borders and pallu, for my class the day before. Reflecting my simple state of mind. Highlighted by a red, purple, orange checked silk blouse, with red piping to up the spirits.
On a side note, the evening before my niece left, the girls produced a brief cover of All I Want. Please have a listen. Yes, I know this is not Carnatic music, but it’s music anyway. The link to the youtube video is in the comments. Please ignore the fact that they are jamming in their jammies in the guest room and the other one will crack you up – she’s on her phone, unperturbed by the video being recorded.

The girls’ cover.

Gong Xi Fa Cai. Happy Chinese New Year everyone. Coming from a multicultural land, I have been celebrating all festivals as far back as I can remember. I close my eyes and see me and sisters dressed in cheongsams, opening the door to my neighbours on the right of my home, The distinguished Mr and Mrs Lim, from whom my mother learnt the art of making the Malaysian Achar, pickled vegetables. We are bestowed with goodies and red Ang Pau packets. We take their blessings and promise to come visit with family in the afternoon.
Here’s to a Blessed Joyous Great health-filled, Prosperous-material- spiritual-filled Year.
I am in a hastily draped cotton print Saree, after coming home from work, and rushing like a dog chasing its tail – practised some music, made Pau Bhaji for dinner, had class with my teacher, then visited a friend whose dad had passed away a few weeks ago. Absolutely stoked because my teacher was pleased with me today. Little pleasures..
AND SO my Saree is the colour of happiness – dark orange body, mustard lotuses, bordered with pinks, magentas, purples. Gifted by a friend during a Navarathri season.

#sareespeak

#kanjivaram

#SS/7/2020

#vasanthpanchami

#veenafirst

#aucklandnzss

Vasanth panchami. Saraswathi puja. Had a lovely time with the Saraswathis in my life, culminating in one leaving for her home today. Going to miss her heaps.
A wise elder once said to me “Anyone who does any form of art, is a veritable Saraswathi”.
Posting this recently taken photo by my youngest Saraswathi. A grey lined silk with green gold borders and maroon gold pallu. Borders and pallu have stripes of gold leaves.
Feeling a little down as I always do when loved ones part. Wishing we had a few days left. Most of you will empathise with me. When studying overseas, when visiting in laws, when having moved here – we land, they land, we relish every moment, then time comes for us or them to leave all too soon. With heavy hearts, we bid our goodbyes, get on the plane, and force ourselves to switch modes, drop off the current avatar and return to our previous one, some of us block out the memories to ease the pain, some of us play every moment back in our mind’s eye. Whatever we choose to do, it is our way of coping with partings.
My sister wrote me “It’s moments like these that I wish we could all stay close to one another. Though the kids and we also will nicely fight , nothing can beat the closeness among siblings/cousins. All growing up and soon will be having their own families”.
So tough when we live in different continents.
My coping strategy is to dive headfirst into daily living – home, work, music, food, books, video calls, individual and group chats.
And Hope that it will help.
Photo credit Sowbhagya Nagendran