From the Things I never will get used to…..

A visitor from home commented how she was surprised that I would get used to all the noise on the streets. The truth is, I never did and question whether I ever will.

It took me two and a half years to be able to hear my thoughts, while I am outside. I try to shut into the depth and under my skin, only to find the loud voices, road honking and banging. For the last three and a half years I came to the point of appreciation and realized that quietness and stillness can be a luxury.

I understand that it is not easy for ten million people to live in one ‘not-so-big’ city – we get very ‘neighborly’ to each other. It gets so close that from my window I can see neighbor’s bedroom, when reversing the car we enter next door’s yard.

But it is because of the contrast and comparison that I can better appreciate things once very natural and always available.

I am a late night person, though I can enjoy greatly the morning mist and rising sun. When all go to bed, pressure cookers put their whistles off, and finally all the noise says ‘good-bye’ for the night, I like that tranquil moment, of almost ‘nothingness’, where I can hear the wall clock tick, the owl flying over the balcony and the little snore of my sweet baby. Those moments of quiet warm my heart, and I start hearing my thoughts.

Wishful

I wish I could sit under the tree dressed in autumn colors, with the rainbow falling my way and sip a cup of a hot lemon tea and chat with a friend with no hurry and run.

The Dates that Fade Away

The old list of birthdays fades away in my memory, and I mark new dates to celebrate.
People in life change: the new come, the old disappear.

There are certain marks that we all leave behind on each other hearts, some are beautiful and others - hurtful.

As the time erases faces and dates may we leave more beautiful marks and those that hurt be less.

Thinking of you

I don’t know how necessary is the time of this suspense, except that I know it all remains the same; You have made a difference in my life, have been a friend, taught me life lessons, encouraged me to look beyond my little world, to see things deeper, to forgive.

You are always in my heart and I miss you. Miss you a lot.

One autumn morning
It was an autumn early morning, wet outside with heavy clouds. I ran soon after you left, in attempt to find you, but you disappeared that day, without leaving any trace. I walked on the streets in vain, I missed my classes, I became very cold.

And even now, many years after, I still feel a little bit of that cold.
May your heart be warm these days.

Thinking For Others

One rude mistake we should try to escape: to assume for others that we know what and how they feel, without letting them feel and speak for themselves.

fairy tales

We get to hear and read the fairy tales twice in our lives - once when we are small, and later, when we have our own children. If we don't let our imagination and hope turned faith prevail, we loose the perspective to life as such, which has a spell of magic beauty to it, a secret to unfold, the glory and a sense of justice.

Letter

It is easier to forgive you because you don't know my heart.

Our Walk

We got off the crowded bus as soon after the turn and we walked toward the canal with the little water frozen in it. The wind that day was fiery and bit our faces. It was white all around and the snow was falling. My mother and I wore warm jackets and winter shoes, the day promised to be cold. We decided for a walk on a long forgotten route, a place once we were well familiar with.
Not any longer because it’s been good ten years and life changed, even as we grew older. Now instead of open fields tall buildings and houses were lining with the still beautiful scenery of the mountains. It seemed only mountains never changed. The same breath taking beauty -any time of the year.
It was my idea to take mom out and see the place where we once lived. I often took her places, especially lately, I think in anxiety of near departure. I treasure the memories and my past enriches me. I also think that I was a little bit troubled by the rapid change that was happening all over - people leaving for abroad, elderly neighbors dying, my own birthdays coming too soon, old buildings being destroyed and new, with no character, being built.
And so I asked mom to come along, to share the memories of the olden days - when the wind was free to hover over the fields, when the little creeks ran watering the fields with onions, carrots and watermelons. I heard of rose fields but we never made it close. And yes, the vineyard, those grapes we collected for home-made wine.
When we moved to our new three-room apartment, I think all of us, that is my mother, myself and my brother, moved half halfheartedly. Not for any reason, personally, but I was already attached to our old house where my mother grew and where I walked since the day I learnt my walking. Every stone was so familiar to me, every tree, every face... And so we were - torn between the two places. I was not attracted even by the warm bathtub and other apartment conveniences - but by the wilderness of the place, it was situated on the footstep of the mountains, with chill breeze, vast fields, fresh air and quietness that only the outskirts provide.
And then we walked along the road, just two of us, appearing strange to others who were peeping out of the buses to see why we had walked in a snowy day. One bus stopped for us but we waived at them, letting them know we did not need a ride.
We walked, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking. I like it that my mother is not afraid of silence. She feels comfortable; she does not ask me if everything is alright. She knows I am. In that silence we listen; listen to the wind, to our hearts; in the silence we reconcile to the change, to the pain, to the loss. And also we celebrate - celebrate the moment, the one that we are able to catch in the business of life, in the complexity of change; the moment that is there only for that precious walk and that moment which will culminate but later bring back the fountain of joy through the years down the road, like today, four years after the walk, in Bangalore, India.

I clung tight to mom’s hand during that walk. I was so glad she came. It was our walk and I will remember it.

At the end of our "remember journey", we went to a small local bazaar to buy some oranges. I like the smell of the peeled oranges in winter- once again, a childhood memory when all was well, mom and dad were at home, the house was warm and I was on winter holidays.

Lessons

Curiosity is a way of learning; but it also can lead to smelly trashcans.

Son

He is our firstborn and he uses all of his privileges.

Голос ребенка
Авторы: О.Фельцман – М.Рябинин

1. Каким человек рождается -
Природы великое таинство,
Он смотрит глазами прозрачными
На мир удивленно и весело.
И мать с невесомою нежностью,
Качая ребенка уснувшего,
Мечтает отдать ему лучшее,
Что в сердце своем сберегла.

Так пусть звучит музыкой звонкой,
На этой земле, населенной людьми,
Голос ребенка, голос ребенка,
Вечная тема, вечная тема нашей любви.
Вечная тема, вечная тема нашей любви.

2. Каким человек рождается -
Природы великое таинство,
Шаги его первые робкие
Началом дороги окажутся.
Отец с неподдельною гордостью,
Подняв малыша к небу синему,
Мечтает отдать ему лучшее,
Что может отдать человек.

3. Каким человек рождается -
Природы великое таинство,
И все же мы в праве надеяться,
Что жизнь у него будет долгою,
Что будет он добрым и ласковым,
Что будет он честным и преданным,
Что будет он смелым и яростным,
Сражаясь за счастье людей.

Children

They are the fragrant aroma to life, the laughter of the youth days.

Motherhood

She met plenty of mothers who complained that they did not have time for their own life and all the life they had was spent on their children, who when they had grown, left the house and went on with their private lives. She met even those mothers who wished they didn't have their children, not because children brought any weight in their life - because they never wanted to be mothers.

This brave one heard a lady share that motherhood was like a spider's web and being a mother was like a spider, who was defined and constrained by its own web.

But she was all expectant, she was full of delight waiting in her anticipation for a new life, which she thought was a gift, that will be unwrapped as life will unfold, year after year. She was planning to invest everything she had, her best, without any reservation, fear and shadowed views of others.

Son

Every night I have him by my side; he hugs me and leans towards me. I can feel the heat of his body and smell his milky sweat. I want to treasure these days, the nights, our little walks, our little talks.

I love his little hands with his fast fingers that get into my plate, overturn the cup, sweep the floor dust, those hands that hug me just like that, in the middle of a small game that he has with his puzzle mat.

I love his little kisses and the little bites.

I love the excitement in his voice when he just wakes up and his beautiful heart-warming smile.

You are my son, my first born, my treasure and my joy.

His Heart

I almost could hear his heart break, but he did not show a sign, not even in his eyes. He was strong as ever, loving as ever, as if there was no limit to his kind human nature.

I often wondered if late at night, or early in the morning - when the stars are still bright and every soul deep in sleep - he cries. Ever.

I saw him picking up the cups and going to the kitchen. He moved slowly and it seemed he forgot about his scheduled meeting. He didn't say a word. No, there was no anger, not even a drop. He breathed deeply, left the cups in the sink, washed his hands, gave me a kiss and went.

Went to come back.

Turtle Shell

Often it is pretty comfortable to get into the turtle shell and let the hurricane of life sweep all around.

Forgiveness

I believe that when we each made a choice, we did not know we would hurt each other so much.
I forgive you.
Will you forgive me?

Time vs. Love

I don't believe that time heals, but love. Time erases the memory, wiping it clean, leaving very little to hang on to. It does seem to aid though, especially when hurt, but only because it gives space for some hope. That spam of erased memory that must not stay void but should be filled with love, when left untouched starts hurting, turning into a rotten apple, that shrinks as the days go pass.

And love, like the living fountain, splashes on a soul so thirsty, revives it and gives it one more chance, that life is good and worth living it.

I Think that Must Be Family

Every time you leave after a short visit I know that you love me. I know that love motivates you to come this long way and you do, because you are a family.
Thank you!
Have a safe return home!

My Soul

Weighted down with many of sins my soul searched for deliverance. No good deeds could liberate it from the weight. Searched in different places, under hard circumstances, crashed into a thousand of pieces; Put hope in many people, approached the faces, jumped over the fences - with no senses left alone in despair...My soul cried. My soul cried for the mercy, not deserved, to the Maker...

Through the Story

My story telling ends very quickly with my 14 month old son. After "Once upon a time..." we jump right to the end, "So the chicken laid a simple egg, not a golden one."

Every day of this stage development passes by momentarily; from learning how to dance with the music to turning the pages in a book and putting his own shoes on.

I don"t want to miss any of these!
And you, my baby, are doing a good job!

Name Change

My first name changed to "baby" and "princess" since I got married.

Reminder

I often have to remind myself that somewhere up the hill or down the road people tend to hurt each other and often we carry this "hurt luggage" a long way in our years and we become prone to explode, most often in circumstances and times less desirable for us.

Grace is the only virtue that is able to save both, us and those who are around.

From Our Heart

Not how much we have, but how we give, that's what counts.

Under the Clouds

Friendship

When we think we are friends we cannot just cut the relationship off because of the pain. We should try to walk it through until we find a place where we rest in trust, love, acceptance and forgiveness.

Friendship

Friendship might be a universal notion but it definitely has cultural flavor to it.

Friendship

I always have believed that friendship takes depth, it is able to get through the misunderstandings and certainly, always looks for the interest of the other. Friendship never condemns but always ready to stand up for the truth and protect. Friends are very few, and these days even fewer...

Things About You I like

I like how you pay attention to the details.

I like to see you wake up in the morning and thrilled about life.

One

We are celebrating you! It has been one wonderful year with you. You brought a lot of joy into our lives.
Love you, son.

To be or Not to be?

I might have distorted my anthropological inheritance, blown away all academic expectations and simply hurt a lady while trying to protect my baby.

It has been awhile now but I still cannot get used to and cannot appreciate one "cultural feature" of people touching baby's cheeks. I guess I would not protest so much but I have a baby! And similar to this I have conversations:

Before the lady ready to stretch her hand to my precious baby I say, with a smile,
"Would you please, not touch baby's face?"

A little taken aback, "We also wash our hands!".

"Yes, I know, - pushing my way, "but coming from the outside and touching baby's face is not good." - I am trying to smile while my baby frowns at the lady.

"What, you don't touch anything?" - persists the stranger.

"I do, but I don't touch baby's face or I wash my hands before I do it." ("After all he is my baby", I think to myself) "Please, don't feel bad," I ask, in a hope that the stranger wont become our enemy.

"Okay." And she turns away with no smile, no bye.

And we walk back home. A little bit sad because we did not want to fight and we like when people smile.

But it becomes tiring to explain to a waitress that she cannot put her finger into my baby's mouth, tell the auto driver to mind his business driving, and not wipe his hands on baby's cheeks and give explanations to tens of other intrinsically good strangers that cheeks also get irritated and baby gets scared of their touch.

We don't bite but we will appreciate your smile and simple inquiry about the name and how we are doing.

Mom

As you left this city you also left the warmth in my heart.
Thank you for being a good mother. Thank you for being a wonderful and loving grandmother. Thank you for taking care of my son as of your own.
Thank you!

Analysis

My husband asked me not to anthropologize him. It was after I asked him what were the reasons that he watched some kinds of movies, like "boy" type movies where they shoot and smash each other faces and sometimes use rough words.

We all see this world through the only eyes we got.

Something Was Special

That particular Sunday morning had always been sunny and later closer to the noon it would rain. Those were happy spring days when the snow melted and the trees became green. Neighborhood was alive and children ran on the street, popping to each other homes and breaking painted eggs and eating baked sweet breads.

As I look back at it, I find it interesting that we had Easter during the Soviet time. Well, it is a different story if I or any of my friends for that matter knew the reason of the celebration.

I remember I felt shy to respond to "Jesus has risen!" with "Risen indeed!" because I did not understand who or what they were talking about. The word Jesus in Russian was so alien to me. I had no clue of the "risen" part of it either.

Nevertheless, there was something special about that day every year. I was not interested too much in eggs though I liked the sweet bread my mother and later my sister baked.

Couple years later I heard something about Son of God dying and then becoming alive again for the humanity. I did not grasp it too much but something was divine about it, something sacred. And I loved to look in the rainy sky and think of God who, like somebody said, was crying for us.

And now, many years later I say a prayer of thanks to God who brings peace into my life. I do miss the rain and even if God does not cry now, I know He loves us, the humanity.

Jesus has risen indeed!

Fame

It was a lovely enjoyable evening with my family. At Fame.

My Own

Through the dusting off and cleaning I make it my own. I guess that's how the house becomes my home.

Until You Get Used To It

Moving out from one place to another can be like eating rats.
For some - it is a very normal process in life; for others - quite disorienting, to the point of wanting to throw up.

Now after these many 'movements' here and there I started feeling like I am doing it pretty well. It's only that I still have a hard time saying good-bye.

Never Sedentary

One more time we clean the shelves, empty the cupboards, sweep the floors... pluck out the roots ... and pack our bags to move to our 'new' home.
We had a good time here and we will miss the walks in 'our' park.
Good-bye Ananda Bairavi

Not For Sale

Friends are not for sale, for if they were, I would use all of my savings to acquire one.

Few Words in My Opinion

I heard conflicting reviews and judgments about Slumdog Millionaire but I was interested to see it, regardless. I wanted to see the movie not because it was nominated for the Oscar, because I know nothing about the measuring bar of the Oscar, nor really am interested in the movie business, competitions and politics.
I like movies, for the stories they tell, for the lessons they teach, for the moments they catch where otherwise I miss. I like movies for the beauty, for the truth, for the options they offer, for the imagination, for the inspiration.

I don't spend much time on movies, but I like good movies.

I wanted to see Slumdog Millionaire because it is about India, about love and really, about sorrows and matters of life.

What I liked in the movie? I liked the children. I liked how in the movie they showed these kids from the slum community who are smart (street smart? who cares!), fast, strong. They don’t have to be liars how some may expect them to be. They are also talented.

I guess, the word slum does not sound that bad when heard, but once seen can haunt one in her dreams. But, these slums have its soul, its heart beat, its love stories, its devotion and passion and victory. Some of slums' battles are won and some are lost.

Once seeing it one almost draws a line of "another" world, different from "own".

Considering that the movie is not a documentary, in my opinion, it depicts very closely the scenarios of life of the slum dwellers. They are not consumed or horrified by the poverty - they live life as it comes - they go to school and get scolded by the teacher (little rascals!), fall in love (yes, that very first love), loose mother in the religious and ethnic riots (face death), get hurt by a betrayal, are being blessed and rewarded, they also get tired and burdened but they also have their joys… and how different are these worlds after all?

I also liked the love line in the movie. Jamal loves Latika! It is beautiful how he "fights" for her; how they find each other and the last dance they dance!

I am amazed and keep pondering at the complexity of Indian character or nature, if I may simplify it that way. I noticed that Indian people are very patient, long suffering, sacrificial... but impatience can be expressed in a very unexpected way...in a horrible bike or car honking, the absence of lines.....

I also thought that the music composition gives a taste of what one hears on the streets or in the rickshaw or a taxi in modern India.

I was touched when the lady on the street who spotted Jamal blessed him, she did not beg for money.

And it brings a knot to my throat and also I smile when I see "all" India keeping their breath, praying, crossing fingers...when one of them wins, or has an accident, or runs a cricket game!

In general, I liked the movie.
But I like the movie Guru the best and it is one of my favorites along with Kannathil Muthamital (A peck on a cheek), Salaam Bombay and Umrao Jaan.