lost hope

once
in a world of blue skies
and sunny days
promises were made
and dreams built high

now
all that remains
is yellow and faded
disappearing dreams
and forgotten promises

I am not in favour of Mondays

"Nature is man's teacher. She unfolds her treasures to his search, unseals his eye, illumes his mind, and purifies his heart; an influence breathes from all the sights and sounds of her existence."

~Alfred Billings Street~

Smells that transport

Turmeric.





I use the bright sunny powder regularly in my cooking, yet every single time I open the lid of the jar, it pulls me effortlessly back into my childhood. One whiff of the pungent spice that stains everything yellow is enough to transport me almost three decades into the past.





When my life could still be counted in single digits, my sister and I would often keep ourselves occupied in the yard, playing house and 'cooking' meals. Using our precious little penknives, we picked the ingredients for the day's meal from the garden. Stems, leaves, flowers, seeds and roots were all collected from the garden. The scraps of vegetables being prepared for lunch by mother in the kitchen, and a handful of grated fresh coconut with all its creamy milk squeezed out would also be brought to the mat in the yard which constituted our play kitchen.





Using a little wooden low stool as a chopping board, we took turns to slice and chop our ingredients, adding water to make the curries that would constitute our lunch. Some ingredients needed to be minced, just as mother would mince her spices in her traditional stone grinder. For this, the low wooden stool would be magically transformed from chopping board into grinder. All the ingredients that needed to be minced would be placed in the middle of the rectangular stool, in a little neat pile. A little water sprinkled on top, then, instead of the heavy oblong stone that mother used, we used an old rolling pin to crush and grind the leaves into a green paste.





When everything was prepared and 'cooked' to our heart's content, we set the table, placing our 'food' in doll sized plastic dishes. In the centre would be the biggest plate we had, with a pile of the grated coconut, mixed with some cut up roots. But the dish was not complete without a quick trip to the kitchen for a special ingredient. Mother would give us a pinch of turmeric, and that would be quickly but carefully mixed into the coconut and roots. Now complete, this dish would sit proudly in the centre of the table, surrounded by various other offerings we had prepared all morning. When father returned home for lunch, he would need to sit down first at our table set in the yard, and sample some of the food before heading to the kitchen for the lunch that mother had prepared.





I remember that ritual quite vividly. The collection of all the things from the garden everyday, the preparation and setting out of the food ... and finally that essential pinch of turmeric that completed the meal.





What is it about smells that lingers in the subconscious? Why do smells succeed so well in instantly placing you in a time travel machine that whizzes you into a time so far from where you really are? Such smells are comforting, like a feel-good pill, making you smile, letting your mind remember and experience it over and over again.





Every time I smell turmeric, I am out there in my parents' yard, sitting under the scorching sun on a mat on the sandy ground, mixing a tiny plastic pot of ingredients. Smiling. Happy. Carefree.





~This is my attempt at this week's Friday Freewrite~

Friday is for...

healing

relaxing

smiling

washing

playing

cooking

reflecting

unwinding

listening, remembering

Pause

I want to press pause on the remote control of our lives

pause at various intervals

to savour

the preciousness of each moment.

In the blink of an eye,

my babies have grown,

blossoming into

remarkable little people in their own ways.

I want to cherish their childhood,

and take more time

to enjoy them in their innocence

and carefree, play-filled days.

Black colony up in the banyan tree

Their high pitched

almost fire-alarm-like noise

could be heard even before

the large banyan tree came into sight.

High up in the branches,

they hung upside down,

their wings wrapped tightly around themselves

mummy-like

but in black.

Snowed under ... without the snow.

Some days I just feel like I have taken on more than I can handle

and wonder how long I can keep all the balls in the air before they come crashing down.

::│☼│::

"Hope is faith holding out its hand in the dark."

~George Iles~

"Hope is but the dream of those who wake."

~Matthew Prior~

Water play

What is it about water that gets (most) children so excited?

Whether it is a swimming pool or the sea or even a chance to stomp in some puddles,

or even the chance to play with water indoors

seems to shoot up the excitement quotient.

And with big sister playing swimming instructor,

I am thinking that there is no need to formal swimming lessons anymore ;)

I am here ... but not really.

Despite the delicate threads being the strongest biological substance ever discovered,

the house it weaves together is the flimsiest, both physically and spiritually.

Today I am over at Gagan's, talking about a different kind of weaving.

Please do stop by and say hello.

Right now

Right now,

I want to be lying down on the soft white sands

watching the stars twinkle in the night sky

and listening to the waves lap onto the shore.

Care to keep me company?

Working together

when little hands are ever ready to help

it makes quick work

of shelling a bowlful of these lovely nuts

~isn't the pale green just under the skin gorgeous?~

and have them ready for snacking or for adding to yummy treats later.

Same goes for these muranga leaves

which needed to be stripped off their stems.

Grateful today for little hands that love to help.

Bald but still cute

They were the cutest, fluffiest little things when we got them a few weeks ago.

But during the last week, they seem to have lost almost all of their cute fluff

and are looking a little bald.

I wonder if it is just a growing phase, or whether it is to do with not getting enough nutrients in their diet?

If I could start over

If I could start over again,

I would be me.

No pretensions.

No tinkering with the facts

that make up my being.

Just me.

The way I am.

Authentically me.

And I would want you to be you.

The real you,

without the barricades and the walls

that you've built around yourself.

The you that I know and hold on to.

The you that makes silences comfortable smiles.

The you whose sentences I can complete.

The you whose thoughts I can read from miles away.

The you who I can sing to

knowing that you hear only the meaning of the words

and not let that be marred by the fact that I cannot carry a tune.

The real you that is in there somewhere deep inside.

You fear nothing

~except maybe murky water and eight legged air breathing anthropods~

You don't need to fear me.

You let me soar

high above.

Now I lay flat on the ground.

The air gone from my wings

but happy in the knowledge

that I am me

and imperfect as I am

that is who I will remain

and who you hold in your heart.

and then there are days like this

For the past few weeks I have been trying really hard to eat healthily.

Cutting down (not completely cutting out)

on the fatty, sugary

~and oh so delicious~

yumminess

that I know are full of empty calories.

Last night I went to bed thinking

that I could actually do this;

that I was maybe finally getting stronger willed

when it came to resisting temptation

~we are talking only of the temptation of the food variety, mind you~

and this morning

I wake up

craving

completely craving

something sweet, smooth, soothing

and

positively unhealthy.

For some reason

I find that the jar of peanut butter I opened this morning

is now almost half empty

and that there is no more chocolate left in the fridge.

How did that happen?

I couldn't have eaten all that, surely?

And crazed though I was as I ate my way through everything edible in the house,

I couldn't have eaten all that chocolate, right?

I mean,

I don't even like chocolate.

Well, not much anyway.

Or is that just something I have conditioned my mind to believe,

and on days like this,

the chocoholic in me just breaks free?

Oh well,

there is always tomorrow right?