On some level, I’ve never quite believed that everything happens for a reason. I’ve never believed that tragedy is necessary for or a precursor to transformation. Tragedy may or may not transform you. But there is never a “reason” for tragedy.
There are a huge number of empty platitudes floating around the interwebs, supposed inspiration that actually is a pill to ignore the grief. To get up and move on, to treat grief and loss like an illness or disease that must be cured.
In the wee hours of the morning, well before the sun rises from its slumber, we gather together around the fire. Blowing on our steaming mugs of coffee, biting into a chocolate covered buiscuit, eyes wide with excitement and anticipation, we watch as air is pumped into a balloon…as it rises tall and magnificent in the pre-dawn light. And then it’s time for a fire…pumped into its immense cavity, as it stand, fluttering in the breeze, eager to sail away with the wind. And soon enough, it’s time to scramble into the basket that will take us high up above the world…soaring…floating… exclaiming in wonder at our very first hot air ballon ride.
Have you ever been up in a hot air balloon? If not, would you want to?
Windhorse is the story of Lhasang, who grew up in Kham in Eastern Tibet. The son of a trader, he grew up with stories of King Gesar of Ling, of Padmasambhava, the man who taught Buddhism to Bod (Tibet), and Lhalung Pelgyi Dorje, the man who conquered fear and killed the godless king. But after the Chinese invade Tibet, when it becomes apparent that they will take away "class enemies" to be "retrained", he makes the death-defying trek to India with his family. Uprooted from everything that he knew, all that he held dear, in a foreign country, surrounded by people whose language he doesn't understand, he comes to realize that the only way forward for him is to go back - to Tibet.
I always thought that if you’ve got the talent, creativity should provide. Well, apparently not! And this quote from Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic Monday post dovetails very neatly with the realization I’ve come to recently – you DO NOT need to quit your day job to pursue your passions! When you do that, you’re forcing your passion to provide for you, and then you run the risk of making your passion your day job – with all the associated frustrations of a day job!
I’ve never been a fan of commercial Indian food – unless its mughlai, which is a totally different ball game! When I say Indian food – I really mean North Indian food of the butter chicken, paneer pasand variety. Recently, however, I’ve been on a regional Indian food trail in Delhi. With the restaurant business booming, and people willing to experiment with flavors and food, there are a lot of excellent, often stand-alone, restaurants offering regional cuisine. Some of these are old, some are new, but most of them are excellent! This is my humble attempt at chronicling my gastronomical journey across India, without having to pack my bags and head out of Delhi! Bon Appetit!
Located adjacent to Axis Bank, behind a tiny community park in Shahpur Jat, is Big Bongg Theory – a little gem of a Bengali eatery.
I’m curled up on my favorite spot on the sofa. Legs up on the ottoman, laptop balanced on my knees. As I look through my old posts, at some saved drafts for blog post ideas, I realize I’ve let fear paralyze me. Fear of being not good enough, of my voice not being powerful enough. Fear of what people will think if I post this or that. Fear of being inadequate to the expectations I set for myself. So. Much. FEAR.
Motherhood. It’s a biggie! It’s a life-altering, soul changing decision. You bring a new life into this world, an innocent little life that you are responsible for.
Society would have you believe that as a woman, it is your “duty” to have a child. That your life will be “meaningless” without one. That you will “regret” your decision when you are “old and alone with no one to ask after you”.
When Sweetness gives birth to Lula Ann Bridewell, who calls herself Bride, she is unprepared for her darkness. Bride’s blue-black coloring repels Sweetness, who doesn’t want to hold her or touch her. It makes Sweetness unduly harsh, constantly criticizing and shouting at the young Lula Ann, who only wants her mother’s approval – at any cost.
In the years that follow, Nem settles down in South Delhi, earning a name for himself as an art critic. When he is awarded a fellowship to London, a cryptic note plunges him into a search for the art historian - a search that forces him to revisit the past and separate fact from fiction.
Melissa Dance was eight years old when her mother died. They never got to say goodbye.
Seventeen years later, Melissa is handed a journal. As she smoothes open the pages and begins to read her mother’s words, she is instantly transported back to her childhood.
As I write now, you are eight years old – asleep in the bed next door in princess pyjamas, with a fairy costume discarded on the floor.
Twenty-Five. The age I had you. The age our story began. And the age, I hope, that will see you truly ready for the things that I need to say to you…
Melissa’s boyfriend has just popped the question, but ever since she lost her mother, she’s afraid – of what, even she isn’t sure. So though she loves Sam, she tells him she isn’t ready to get married. Sam is afraid that Melissa will leave him, Melissa is afraid she will lose Sam. And in the middle of this drama, the lawyers call to hand over her mother’s diary. Her mother. Whom she hasn’t really mourned properly. Who died, suddenly, and left her alone – a bundle of nervous ticks and an over analysing mind. Scared of disappearing in the middle of her story.
