Sep 11, 2015 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries
Fourteen Years Ago, and Counting …
©September 11, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram
I was in class, teaching second period English, when it happened. We’d only just moved to our new house, which we were turning into a home. I found out at the end of third period in school, where I was teaching, getting to know my new students for the new year. We 8th grade teachers on my team rushed into the math teacher’s room during our meeting time in fourth period, and watched dry-mouthed, silent and horrified as all the news outlets played that same scene over and over again, like some sort of gruesome nightmare.
Then, when I returned to my classroom for my Prep. period, my husband and I got on the phone each other. He was alone at home, crying. I wept, as well. When I got home that night, we took a long walk.
This was the most heart-breaking thing I’d seen/heard of in a long time, at that time — even though I knew horrible things went on in the world. I think it was the terrible, all-in-one-fell-swoop enormous nature of the event that captured an elemental fear, and encapsulated it for all of us.
And after that, a long, long nightmare of war was set in motion, in which hundreds of thousands of innocent Iraqis were killed, in which innocent Afghanis were killed, and several thousand of young American soldiers also died, along with soldiers from Britain and other countries.
All this because some immature, arrogant, money-loving, faux-patriotic, pea-brained, lazy son-of-a-I-don’t-know-what wanted to play at war with all his little soldier boys and girls, and maybe avenge his petty, ineloquent father’s previous war-defeat, and maybe gain some cred. with his pathetic, money-corrupted family.
Sorry if I hurt anyone’s feelings here!
I shall end my rant here.
Tags: Personal post
Mar 15, 2015 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries
What I shared a minute ago on FB today:
Nostalgia of an Ex-Pat Indian
By Vijaya Sundaram
©March 15th, 2015
We Indian Ex-Pats (yes, ex-pats!) are a strange lot, and vary wildly from sub-group to sub-group.
What I do know about myself now, is this:
I may not follow most of the customs of my birth culture (mostly because of lack of time up until now — let’s see about next year — or perhaps, it was a lack of initiative or interest, since I was too absorbed in making music, or learning to be a teacher, and now, being a mom, and being in the day-to-day, here-and-now part of existence). I may not be religious in the least. I do not subscribe to any of the unthinking superstitions that governed previous generations.
And yet, and yet … there was certainty and comfort in their ways, the ways of the older generation. There was predictability and safety in patterns of existence, and ways of communicating.
What we are now engaged in doing, we Indian transplants, (or at least ex-pats like me) is the act of creating our own culture, grafting that which we can do onto that which we *do* do (no jokes here, please!), trying on this, and shrugging off that.
But these are what I miss:
I miss the smells of Diwali morning in Madras (Chennai), and in Pune — a mix of sweets and savories freshly made, of crackers going off in the mornings, of jasmine flowers and marigolds, of champa and sandalwood agarbattis, snaking past our noses into our clothes, our memories, our bones.
I miss the oil-baths with heated sesame oil, and shikai shampoo, which we had to endure, grumblingly at 4:30 a.m. on Diwali morning.
I miss the smell of Kancheepuram silk long-skirts and blouses, which were our parents’ gifts on Diwali morning.
I miss the sweetness of my mother and father blessing us, as we bent down to the ground in respect before them.
I miss the sweet ginger paste and juice especially made for that day by my mom, to help with digestion, after all the heavy sweets we would all eat.
I miss the casual ringing of the doorbell, which is standard in India, and the raucous entry of relatives or neighbors trooping in to wish us, and of our doing the same to them.
I miss Pongal, and Kanu, and Karthikai, and Ganesh Chaturti, and Krishna Jayanthi, and Dassera, and Saraswati Puja, and everything.
I miss the cries of vegetable-vendors and clothes-to-vessels peddlers (the batli-wallahs).
I miss the carts which would trundle through neighborhoods, where the man pushing the cart had a coal-filled heavy iron, which he’d use to press your clothes into creased perfection.
I miss the dogs on the street, causing chaos at any time of day or night.
Oh, and the pigs, the goats, the cattle, the crows.
I even miss the casual burning of rubber tyres by the poor on the sidewalks, to stay warm on cold Pune nights.
I miss the smell of mint rice, and methi parathas, of potatoes and peas curry and of aloo parathas, of thengai rice and lemon rice, of rasam chatham, of rotis and curries being made in neighbors’ flats or houses, and wafting past my senses, making hunger come on suddenly and fiercely, despite the fact that I might have just had a delicious lunch.
I miss the kindness of passersby, if you were in distress, and yes, people have been kind to me (don’t think that all of India is like how it is depicted in all this recent news about Delhi).
I miss it all.
And my heart aches with nostalgia.
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Tags: #Nostalgia, Ex-pat Indian, festivals, India, Missing home, Reminiscences
Mar 15, 2015 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries
I saw this article about crows (which is beautiful — please read it) today:
http://thewildlife.wbur.org/2015/03/12/the-secrets-of-gift-giving-crows/
And the article put me in mind of my own crow-related experiences in India, as a young girl, a young teenager, and young woman, growing up there. So, I wrote a few thoughts about that on Facebook, then said to myself, why not put it in my blog?
So, here’s what I wrote on FB this morning:
I have loved crows since I was a young girl. As a teenager, I used to pump drinking water for our family. (We had a well with a hand-pump next to it, which we used, apart from municipal water in the taps.) There were hundreds of crows in the nearby mango trees and coconut trees around me, both in our backyard, and in all the surrounding yards, and they’d be cawing loudly. I was always singing to myself, and would raise my voice joyously in song, while pumping water. The minute I did so, the crows would stop, all of them. When I finished singing, they would begin again. I’d sing again. They’d immediately stop. We did this every evening. I loved them for listening.
In my family, we put out food for crows every morning (at least in India). My mom still does so. The crows love it, but where my mom lives now, there are, unfortunately, tons of bully pigeons, and the poor crows never quite get their share, because of the piggy pigeons, who scare them away. I do not love pigeons.
In Tamil culture, the harvest festival, Pongal, occurs in January, after which comes Kanu. On that day, my mother puts out different types of rice, of different colors on banana leaves on the terrace or balcony for the crows (supposedly our ancestors) to eat. I used to love this festival, and used to help with it as a young gir l- it always seemed magical. i remember us having freshly cut sugarcane stalks to chew on as well. Such delight. Plus, all those different colored rice (yellow lemon rice, coconut rice, gud rice, milky rice, more .Haven’t done it for decades, though. Next year, I shall.
Here’s a description of Kanu (thanks, Wikipedia!):
“”Kanu Pidi is a tradition for women and young girls. During Kanu Pidi women feed birds and pray for their brothers’ well being. As part of the “Kaka pidi, Kanu pidi” feast women and girls place a feast of colored rice, cooked vegetables, banana and sweet pongal on ginger or turmeric leaves for crows to share and enjoy. During this time women offer prayers in the hope that brother-sister ties remain forever strong as they do in a crow family.[”
I do so love crows!
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~Dreamer of Dreams
Tags: and in Pune, Crows, Music and crows, Recollections from my girlhood in South India, WBUR's piece on crows
Mar 12, 2015 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries
So, I turned 51 today.
And everyone was nice.
And I cried when I was alone.
I’m not sure why.
I am overwhelmed by life.
It feels like a long dream.
~Dreamer of Dreams
Tags: Turning Fifty-One
Feb 16, 2015 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries
What I wrote yesterday:
Snowed In. Contented
By Vijaya Sundaram
The wind howls down the street, blowing drifts of snow back on the steps, no doubt, and the dog barks in response. She suspects the wind as being an entity that’s up to no good. She’s a mysterious dog, and has deep thoughts of her own, none of which she’ll share with us, although her almond eyes gaze unwinkingly at me when I stare into them. Then, she looks away, somewhat embarrassed at such intimacy, no doubt. Her love, however, is absolute.
My daughter is making a “family tree” of various important cats in the Warriors series. She is into family trees, it appears. I love what it implies about her need to know the history of things, and also her need to create sequences. She’s always been a list-maker, and a lover of lists since she was very little.
The smell of Biryani masala wafts up the stairs – rice and mixed veggies and tofu are on the stove.
I love my husband.
He’s lovely.
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Tags: #Contentment, #Dog, #Family, snowed in
Feb 2, 2015 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries
Snow-Day, Feb. 3rd, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram
What is it about Snow Days? I love them. I love the snow, too (used to hate it before daughter was born, but she changed my attitude).
If only we could SLLLLLOOOWWW Time down to a crawl (along with our metabolisms and our age), and extend such days forever, then the real world would never be able to encroach upon this unreal whirl of grayish white.
Of course, I speak as one who is comfortably ensconced at home.
I shudder to think of anyone out there who is not warm, not cared for.
Prayers (to my non-God gravitational force which governs all things) for all today who need them.
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Feb 2, 2015 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries
Snow-Dog Wolf
©February 2nd, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram
Snow brings out the atavistic wolf in my dog. She was nuts today, leaping like a wild thing in piles of pillowy snow in the backyard.
After such forays into weather-related delights, we return to the warmth of the house, where she submits to a minute examination of her footpads, between which large and small ice-marbles form. How quickly they form, and how they must hurt! I use a very warm cloth to wipe her frozen feet, and then, we play like two children, with her leaping from cushioned bench to chair opposite and back again, and me tempting her with annoying squeaky toys. Confession: I LOVE annoying squeaky toys — much in the same way I used to love swinging on a rusty gate when I was growing up. Sound is God. Sound is Dog.
I guess I’m compensating for never having had a dog in my life until almost a year ago. (Holly will have been with us for a year on February 17th.)
She has transformed all of us.
~Dreamer of Dreams
Tags: Chronicles of Holly, Dog Dreams, Snow-Dog
Jan 28, 2015 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries, Parenting/ Home-schooling / Family Music and other Notes, Teaching and Learning
The First Big Snow Day — 2015
(What I posted on Facebook, and didn’t want to forget about)
©Jan. 27th, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram
January 27th, 2015:
A lovely morning. Slow wake up. Black coffee, and fantastic pancakes made by my husband, who used candied lemon peel, apple, granola, blueberry pancake mix from Stonewall Kitchen, and maple syrup. Took Holly out to the backyard, where she went crazy. There is nothing more satisfying and joyful than a standard poodle in the snow. She leaped around, rushed up and down, dug joyously, ate snow (not yellow!), and reminded me yet again that life is simply to be lived and enjoyed as long and as well as possible. Sat with S and did, of all things, geography. Capitals, states, facts, including Motor City and Motown music, which led us to listen to Al Green, Ann Peebles and Stevie Wonder. Diana Ross is next, plus a whole bunch of others. She now knows many capitals and all the states, and other related facts — all of which she soaks up at an astonishing rate. I LOVE being with my kid!
Now, it’s gnocchi time with delish sauce.
Bye, all! Stay safe and out of the snow, unless you’re enjoying it!
Later, that day:
After we studied geography together, S said to me, “I love it,” (referring to my teaching her), and added, “You’re a natural-born teacher.”
Feeling grateful that my child doesn’t mind her mother being her teacher.
Still later:
Inspired by a Facebook friend of mine, who said she made chai inspired by me, I am now going to make some chai too, before I go out and join my family on the snow-covered hill opposite our house.
If you’d like some chai, just sniff the aroma I’ll waft to all of you via FB. You can have some virtual chai, OR make your own: For four people, brew a thumb’s length of fresh ginger, six cardamom pods (crushed), cloves (three or four), black pepper (four whole peppers), a dash of cinnamon powder, or a stick of cinnamon together with two cups of water. When it comes to a boil, add black tea leaves or four black tea bags (take care to remove the tags), add two cups of milk and brown sugar or honey (two sugars for one cup, yes, that sweet), and boil the lot together for a minute. Strain it into four mugs. Voilà!
Still later:
Sledding, warm bath for frozen dog (who didn’t want to come in from being outside, but I forced her), hot chocolate with chillies and cinnamon made by hero husband (I idn’t make chai, after all — too late for that — will make it tomorrow), followed by cleanup of living room and kitchen, followed by guitar and singing in front of fire, followed by pizza with veggies, then ice cream, then several games of Set and Quirkle.
Feeling terribly fortunate and rather lazy now.
Tomorrow, I’ll go back to feeling guilty about the state of the world.
End of the day:
Can I say now (since I’m being so very public today about my happy day) that I love my family? And I love my husband, who has been loyal, supportive and loving to me all through our ups and downs in life together (even when I really didn’t deserve it), who has made us a lovely home, who is a beautiful father to our beloved daughter and also to our dog-ter, and who is a great musician, teacher and creative spirit, all at the same time. I remind myself of these things whenever I feel a passing grumpitude about silly things that pass me by like “an idle wind which I respect not.” Thank you, W!
Tags: Family time, Jan. 2015, Making Indian chai my way, music-making with family, Pancakes and gnocchi, Quirkle and Set, Sledding, Snow Day, Standard poodles and hot chocolate, Teaching and learning geography with my ten-year old
Jan 15, 2015 Awake in Dream Time - Journal Entries about the almost real, Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries
Nap-Time
©January 15th, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram
So sleepy.
Washing over me is pure lethargy.
I lie in bed and type these words.
I cannot believe I’m going to … gasp … take a nap!
A nap?
Really?
Try going on a few hours of sleep every night for three nights in a row.
So, okay, it’s my own fault, I admit.
However, I insist that I was possessed by an evil spirit, which made me stay up till 2:00 a.m. last night, doing laundry and sweeping the floor. Why? Ask that evil spirit. In any case, going to sleep at 2:00 a.m. was fine fine, except that I had to get up at 6:20 a.m. this morning.
So, now, I am wafting on a petal-pink magic carpet that lifts me ever so gently, ever so tenderly into a land that beckons.
And here I am, still resisting it!
I look around me, and I’m purely a creature made of a body. My extremities tell me where I end, and the sheets begin, or the computer keyboard.
I feel my blood circulating sluggishly and contentedly through my veins.
Pure body. Who cares about the bloody spirit?
Here are bones encased in flesh typing these words.
There are eyelids half-narrowed to take in blue computer light.
My skin feels happy, with coolness and warmth both.
I shall NOT think about those who are suffering right now. I do it all the time, every day. I shall enjoy these sybaritic moments.
My body is the only reality that IS.
This computer is ephemeral, though.
It’s going to go out of my reach now.
That’s actually nice.
See you later.
Tags: Being in the moment, body, in my flesh, napping, Sleep, spirit, sybarite
Jan 12, 2015 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries, Parenting/ Home-schooling / Family Music and other Notes
Daughter
©January 12th, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram
So, my daughter turned ten last Friday.
TEN years!
How did this happen?
First, a bump, then a baby, then, this person — this deep, deep soul who reads day in and day out, sings day in and day out, thinks profound thoughts about life and death, truth and falsehood, good and evil, and also plays with toys, plays on the playground, gives her unconditional love to her parents and friends, holds no grudges, forgives easily, thinks the best of others, and loves freely. She, who was moved to tears by music at three months, moved to tears by poetry at 11 months, whose first sentence to me was “Pwe wea book!” (Please read book), who loved the taste of spicy South Indian Sambhar at 10 months, who began toddling about at 9 and 3/4 months, who stood patiently in line at airports from eighteen months (when we went on our mostly annual trips to India), who trusted and trusts me implicitly, looks to me for the truth, and I am honor-bound to give it always.
There’s more, dearest daughter, and I’ll write more, but for now, Happy Birthday, love, and may the world treat you well, and give you peace and love. May you give back to the world. May you know no hatred, hurt, or fanaticism. May you keep that shining light of yours always lit, through loss and gain, laughter and pain, through learning, being and doing. May music sustain you through times of tribulation, and may laughter bring you out of sorrow, if there be sorrow. May your delight in the world, its beauty, its animals, its mystery and its people sustain you through everything until the end of time.
Love,
Mom
(Dreamer of Dreams)
Tags: #Birthday, #Daughter, the big Double Digit, turning ten