Of late -

1. I made the lousiest pasta in tomato sauce, which deserves the top spot in the category of my worst cooking blunders. I tried force feeding hubby, but he was smarter. My one year old kid, puked just seeing the pasta. I decided not to poison my family and threw it away.

2. I had a big craving for cheese. Not the white creamy kinds, good old cheddar, with its strong taste and yellow colour.. So I bought myself some. Not having allowed myself the humble temptations of cheese had its aftermath. I puked in the loo, because the cheese was too calorie rich for my tummy thats better accustomed to boiled broccoli and carrots. Moral of the story- get tummy to realise there's better food out there.

3. Aravind Adiga's second book irritated me so much that I couldnt get through it. What a tragedy! He had actually restored my faith in Indian writers with his White Tiger novel. It was a shining beacon blah blah. Cut short- the book was really awesome. The second one? failed to match up.

4. I mailed the respective websites to delete my timesjobs account- they were so pesky and kept asking why I wanted to do that. Told them that I already had a job. Thankfully they did the needful.

5. I get up early ( yes 5:30 am is early for me), put on my track pants and jogging shoes to sleep walk outside my home. In the process I get to dream a bit longer and I sweat with the heat. Exercise for the day over!

6. I have this huge fetish for making desserts. I just love making them and watching others eat. Am trying to be as creative as I can and sometimes my wonderful never done before because its too insane ideas backfire like mad.

7. My kid does have a few things in common like me- irritates people to get attention, loves books, loves playing hide and seek, likes to shake it to good music and chatters away. On the flip side he firmly beleives in throwing tantrums and doling out firm punishments. The bite marks on my arms are proof enough that I have been a bad girl.

8. I am so excited about being asked to write a short story for children. Today I commence thinking up ideas for the same. I love writing for children.. there's a certain innocence to the ideas and books that cant be replicated in adult writing.

9. I decided not to work weekends again. Its too much of a strain and the days ended up being nothing different from the weekdays. I ended up falling ill because of creativity overcooking.

10. I have decided that I have to write my blog more often! even if I am the only reader

The poet in me


I was genuinely so worried. I thought I had lost it. Not my sanity which gets lost ever so often but my touch of poetry writing. Its been months since I sat down to write poetry and it hurts. Hurts because I am a poet first and foremost, before being an article writer or a short story writer or anything else. The last time I tried to write a poem the words got stuck and wouldnt come out the way I wanted them to. I had a different image in my head and on paper, something else which wasnt even a shadow came out. I blamed my muse- damn stupid muse who has nothing new to say.

I realised way too late why I couldnt write a decent poem- I couldnt find any inspiration around. Yeah terrorists are having fun creating havoc, the world is getting madder and Angelina Jolie is getting insecure about Brad Pitt; but nothing concrete that can be caught and released in a poem. Then there's the other half of me that says its purely my fault. How did the Romantics and countless other poets around the world get inspired all the time? Because they searched for it. Stopped in their tracks. Listened. Heard. Saw. Observed. Thought. Reflected. And then wrote.

I have been so busy making my pocket money writing articles for so many sites that I forgot to do all of the above. What relief when I sat down to write and this was result-

THE SONGS UNSUNG

Sitting here by myself,

On the edge of this cliff,

I can feel my thoughts wander,

And my heart adrift.

I want to flashback,

To escape into my past,

Drown in my emotions,

Let the hangover last.

I long to hunt out my muse,

Who ran away long ago,

I keep hallucinating,

That she is outside my door.

I want to remember the pain,

I felt when I wrote every line,

The tears that stung and the sorrow,

That felt divine.

The poet has wandered off,

Lost in a forest wild,

Leaving me with nothing more,

Than memories mild.

Where is the God,

Who supposedly gave me my voice,

He chooses to hide as well,

And makes not a noise.

I am not done yet,

I have my songs unsung to sing,

More tales of horror to tell,

Share the sorrows they bring.

My songs unsung may be,

Mere fragments in my head,

Bits that haunt me as I lie,

In my narrow bed.

But someday I tell you,

My songs that lie unsung,

Will take form like,

Honey from my toungue.

Halleliujah!! I still had it in me..

10 things I love of late-


1. Making myself a real cup of coffee first thing in the morning. NOT nescafe. But REAL coffee. With a rich aroma that only real coffee could possess.

2. Hearing my kid call me 'mama'. Then 'mamamamamamamamamama'.

3. Feeling the muscles in my legs and stomach stiffen whenever I work out at the gym.

4. Waking up at 1:30 am in the morning, thinking I overslept and then realising that I have so many more hours of sleep ahead till my day actually begins.

5. Seeing my articles on Temasek Review and then responding to some scathing comments about the stand I have taken.

6. Working my creative brains off on a project, and then being complimented on my work by a client. Nothing but a comment like 'you delivered exactly what I wanted' could make me smile.

7. Waking up with an itinerary chock full of writing projects.

8. Being hugged by my little prince.

9. Making a dessert every week.

10. Talking for 30 minutes on the phone with mom. It always feels like I havent spoken to her enough.

Learning to appreciate

I made a hurried trip to India a few weeks back in a desperate bid to escape the swine flu that has its arms tightly wrapped around Singapore. As of yesterday the number of cases had touched 4500, with an added 60 untimely deaths. Well. Lesson number 1 is that when you are in the midst of a pandemic, DO NOT try to run away from it. All 3 of us came down with the flu when we were in India. We paid a huge price to fall ill there, and then we spent the next two weeks trying to recuperate. By the time we got back, hubby and I were irritated out of our skins. What could have been a beautiful monsoon touched holiday turned out to be a dampener. AND my baby boy still fell ill with the swine flu. Thankfully he is making a fast recovery.

And I can never resist a book sale, even if they offer a mere 2% discount. Going by my experience, I have found some real treasures in the unlikeliest of places. The Penguin sale was good. Imagine my sadness when I was handed a pamphlet stating that there would be a much BIGGER Penguin sale, with books from every genre covering a whole stadium. I could have wept. Who knows how many gems I might have found there.

I couldnt resist dragging my dad, and sister to the DC book shop just down my lane. Thankfully dad wanted to carry my kid ( what are grandparents for) and I wanted to make use of the fact that it was the last day of the Penguin sale. Imagine my horror when I am told that no madam, there is no sale here in this store. The sale is happening at the MG road store. But point to be noted is that I had made it to the book store after all, and HOW could I leave without a book in hand. So, I picked up 3.
Selected works of Kamala Das, short stories by MT Vasudevan and selected works fo Basheer. Believe me when I say this, I would never have reached out for these vernacular writers a year back. So what happened?

Anita Nair happened. Of course, I had read her 'The Better Man', and 'Ladies Coupe' when I was a student at college, with free access to the neighbourhood library. She gave me my first taste of Kerala, in english. And then I lay hands on 'Where the rain is born', and 'Mistress'. The first is a collection of essays merely edited my Anita, but each has a very distinct Malayali flavour to it. Mistress is a unique novel. She has explained the emotions that are the soul of kathakali, and each chapter ( it is a love story of sorts), opens with a reference to each such emotion. How beautifully she had entwined the drama and ethos of Kathakali with fiction. I had just begun to drink at the poetry and soul of literature and I wanted more.

So it was without a moment's hesitation that I swooped upon O V Vijayan's novels and short stories. All of them celebrate what is Kerala, its many dialects, the many customs and rituals as well as traditions and superstitions of the locals. Even the names are so familiar that they could only be Malayali. I feel like I am unraveling a literary heritage that is so diverse, unique and beautiful. I am proud to say that Malayali writers stay that way, without trying to please a foreign audience. I know that the language would have been even more deep had I ventured to read the works in Malayalam, but truth be told, my hold on the language isnt so good, and what takes me a week to finish could stretch into a month's labour otherwise. I wonder if readers of my generation, go back to what their parents and grand parents grew up with. I grew up with Anita Desai, NOT Salman Rushdie ( I dont understand his works at all, his allegories and all that fly above my head), Vikram Seth I adore , Tagore and even Satyajit Ray.( am proud to say that I am now the owner of his selected short stories). I like Bengali literature. I can relate to it and the manner in which the Bengaliness is proudly show off, reminds me of Malayalam literature. Which is why I bought Choker Bali and Tagore's stories as well.

The poetry and beauty of such literature opens my eyes to the many different levels I have yet to reach. I am not yet there I know. Every time I read a line that spoke about "how the rain resounded like drumbeats' or how 'the sun had caught the dew drop on the lotus leaf', I wonder why didnt I think of that. Then it dawns on me. Because I am just a student of poetry. And they. They are the masters.

Tidbits

I dont know why ad agencies, and website development firms dont reply once you respond to their mail. Or is it a strange phenomena peculiar only to Singapore? I cant tell you how upsetting it is to wait in anxiety and believe that maybe this bleak phase will be over soon. Soon the sun will shine, I will be asked to write a short story or some content, and I will finally have something more to wake up to in the mornings ( besides kiddos soiled diapers). It hasnt happened yet. Correspondences just hang in the mid air, leaving me to wonder what went wrong, and why it happened. Slowly eating away at my confidence. I have decided that I am going to focus on penning a few stories for children once I get back to Singapore. Do what I do best. Put my heart and soul in imagination. Last time my book of poems ( that I am fiercely proud of, despite the meagre book sale), was thus born. For the record, I could have sold more books, but I refused to give Amazon the right to alter or modify my poetry to suit commercial tastes. Thats like saying Gone with the Wind should have more sex scenes, so lets rewrite the book. I am not saying my poetry book is a classic, but every poet knows when he has written from the heart.

My exercise regime has gone for a toss. I have put on much weight in my arms ( probably going to give some wrestlers a run for their money), and I am really frustrated about it. Kiddo chooses the time when I am not around to go on a rampage. He has succesfully broken a bedside alarm clock, and he is eyeing more unbreakable stuff to break so nobody really wants to take care of him. Add to the fact that little champ has discovered the power of his teeth and chooses to bite his aunt and g-parents if they try disciplining him. My sister walks around with proud mementos of four teeth marks on her arms and shoulders. Now if only I could lose some weight running after him, and burn calories with my high decibel screams. Works for others, but of course wont work for me. Murph was right- damn old man- if something can go wrong, it will.

Right now, my computer could make even an ageing tortoise look like an olympic winner. The words appear on the screen a good ten seconds after I type them out. Which makes me quite reluctant to type much more. This is actually my twenty min break thru out the day. kiddo is fast asleep. I have been planning to write a song in honour of Mother Mary for two weeks now. Have done nothing better than play with the words in my mind. Let me try putting them down on paper. till next time- adios..