Mar 25, 2016 Climate Change is Real!, Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings

Climate Change is Real:  Day 7 of My Lone Vigil
©March 25th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

I awoke at an early hour, emerging sluggishly from a swamp-like sleep, in which I could not detect any dreams.  As I got ready, put the dog out, heated up old coffee, and dressed, I was feeling pretty detached.

Still, I looked forward to going out there to battle the elements with my trusty sword, or rather, Warren’s trusty sign, “Climate Change is Real.”

Today, I was better prepared.  More layers, thick gloves, the same scarlet and orange scarf as yesterday, two pairs of pants, moon-boots, hat – all that good New England preparedness which it took me years to learn. My phone and i-Pod were charged, and ready to go.  Holly took her time coming back in.  I was briefly frustrated, then shrugged it off.  Whatever.  She’s a dog, and has her business to attend to.  It must be hard being so dependent on her humans who let her in and out, and decide when she can be taken for a walk.  I felt bad for her, then shrugged, again. She has a very good life.  We each pay the price for safety and shelter.  What we do get is boundless love in the case of our dogs, though.

Holly was as good as gold when I left.  She always is.

I was there at 7:54 a.m. sharp.  Pah, again!  Well, there’s always Monday to look forward to, and two days of blessed rest on Saturday and Sunday (of course, “rest” is a relative term)!

The air was rich with March moisture.  While it cheered me to see the fog (I like fog), the fine, misty rain, which is more insidious than an outright downpour chilled me to the bone, despite it being about 40 degrees or so.  I don’t like the cold of rain – I prefer the cold of snow.  In any case, it got much warmer as the day wore on, just not in the hour that I stood there, fingers numb despite warm, thick gloves. 

It being Friday, the traffic was somewhat sparser at the beginning, but grew denser as the hour unrolled.  I sang Raga Bhatiyar moodily, my mind on other things, such as how awful old coffee tasted, and what possessed me get to bed so late all of this week, and did we have a future on this bleak planet, and why couldn’t I focus on Bhatiyar? 

It didn’t matter.  I sang, and my voice got stronger, and clearer, but the foggy air did not. 

Listening to our Guruji’s voice, I re-focused my efforts.  More taans and meandering aakars, gamaks and then, this very philosophical song (which I believe our teacher, Pandit Shreeram G. Devasthali wrote.  Correct me if I’m mistaken in this memory, Warren):

Kahe Dekhata Mukha Chandra

Asthai:  Kahe dekhata mukha chandra (why do you look at my moon-face?  Note:  It doesn’t sound so silly in our language, because chandra is not just moon; it signifies radiant, shining, effulgent beauty, and such-like concepts.)
Dekho na, dekho na mukha chandra (do not look at my moon-face)
Nahi dekho mora mukha chandra (same thing)
Prati dina yaha cheena hota  (Every day, it [the moon, and my beauty] wanes)
(“This beauty is ultimately going to perish,” said our teacher at this point)

Antara:  Athi chanchala jobana roopa (“The form/beauty of youth is fleeting, flickering, transitory”)
Ghadi pala yaha ghatata jaata (“Every moment, it gets diminished, goes away”)
Mohe nahi isape ghuman (“I don’t have any pride in this, because every moment it’s going away, it is so fleeting, I know for certain that it is not going to last …” so explained our Guruji.)

I love our teacher’s philosophical, exhortatory songs!

The cold seeped into my fingers and feet, but I didn’t mind so much anymore.  There is something lovely about March rain.  I admired the deep browns and grays behind me, where the Fells began (or ended), and stretched into the unseen distance.  I was grateful for stereo vision (as I am every day).  A few brown-yellow leaves from last fall stood out, brightly three-dimensional, against a background of dark brown tree-branches, and the pearl-gray gleam of water behind them made me glimmer in response.  I admired the reflection of the golden headlights of the cars on the tarmac, moving steadily towards me in the dim rain.  I looked up at the sky, and admired it for being the sky.  Now, as I write this, my favorite Beatles song Because sneaks, unwittingly, into my head. 

Because the world is round
It turns me on
Because the world is round
Ah Ah
Because the wind is high
It blows my mind
Because the wind is high
Ah Ah
Love is old, Love is new,
Love is all, Love is You.
Because the sky is blue
It makes me cry
Because the sky is blue oo

I know exactly how John Lennon felt.  I resonate with all of his lyrics, and all of his music.  The sky can make me cry.  The wind does blow my mind.  The convexity of the earth does turn me on.  Where the cars appear on the slope beyond my vision, and heave into view, the earth is curved and sexy (the cars aren’t). 

Okay, I’m rambling again.

Today, there were a few smiles, a few waves, one thumbs-up, no negative head-shakings, except for one woman.  I saw a couple of bicyclists, one of whom waved to me, as he does every day.   All of these, plus muted birdsong and birds, and the moody fog … all of these images, visual and sonic, just hung around me like a dream.

I thought of the head-shakers, as I picked up my effects, preparing to head on home.  I think I know why they do that.  We’ve all done that at some point in our lives, perhaps more than once.  When we don’t understand something or someone, we feel superior.  It’s easy to put down someone, much easier than trying to understand them. 

I will try not to do that in my life with things and people I don’t understand.  It’s a cheap and easy cop-out, and a loss of opportunity to learn and love the world around us, flawed though we are, and frail and foolish though we might be.  We are still beautiful and worth saving.

Have a good day or night.  Thank you for reading.  Happy weekend!

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Tags: #Because, #ClimateChangeisReal, #ClimateVigil, #John Lennon, #PanditShreeramG.Devasthali, #The Beatles, #Warren Senders

Mar 24, 2016 Climate Change is Real!, Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings

Climate Change is Real:  Day 6 of My Lone Vigil
©March 24, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
(Woman with Sign, standing in for Man with Sign)

Everything becomes a habit, that’s why we should treat any activity with the caution it deserves.  Come close to it, sniff around it, find out whether it’s good or bad, then let it become a habit, if it’s ultimately for the good.  The problem is that good habits are very willing to die a quick death.  As for the bad, those are SO hard to get rid of (as everyone knows).

My good habit from this week?  Getting up earlier and earlier in the morning before the alarm went off (of course, this “earlier” is nothing compared to the “earlier” of the time when I was a school-teacher, but it’s VERY early compared to my rather recent late-rising tendency) – today it was 6:45 a.m. 

My bad habit?  It’s still the old, old habit of getting to bed very late at night.

Okay, moving on.

With yesterday’s reheated coffee in travel mug (ugh – but I made a fresh pot upon my return!), dog let out and let back in, orange-scarlet scarf in place, black shirt, grey pants, green hat, dash of lipstick, slash of eye-black (but very muted hardly visible), moon-boots laced up, and phone in hand (but no i-pod, because I forgot to charge it), I headed out, and made it to the location at 7:40 (it’s getting better all the time). 

The wind was not pleasant, and I was ill-prepared for the elements, plus foggy from lack of sleep.  Not many layers beneath my coat, thin gloves, and hat kept off the worst of the chill – but I was cold.  Cold can make one numb, or cheerful.  I started off numb, then grew cheerful, then numb again.  I found out later that it was 37 degrees (so foggy was I this morning that I didn’t check).  I felt yanked around unceremoniously by the weather this whole week.  I feel like protesting.  Wait!  I AM protesting!

I had Guruji’s (Pandit Shreeram G. Devasthali’s) voice in my head, even if I didn’t have his voice in my ear (since I’d left the i-Pod behind, and the music thingy on my i-phone wasn’t cooperating).  Technology is fun, but it can get old.  I began to sing Raga Bhatiyar again (both Hari hari nama, and Barani na jaye, along with gamak taans, aakars and sargams, created nice rhythmic patterns, and it felt good.  Sang lustily and defiantly into the cloud-layered, windy sky above me.  The cars went by, and I didn’t care for the first few minutes. 

There were many, many smiles, waves, nods and thumbs-ups today.  Several were from women this time.  A woman driving with three children in the back, smiled at me, and all three of her children waved.  Three young women in a bright, swanky car gave me a thumbs-up.  A man drove by in a van, and his passenger stuck his head out and said, “You bet it is!” in response to the sign.  A couple of bicyclists rode by, smiled, waved.  The usual trucks advertising technology, tree-services, home-security, Verizon services, Clean Air, and so on trundled past.  Several drivers wanted me to look at them, so I did.  Our ocular spheres rolled about our orbits, each registering the other.  There was not ONE sneering face or skeptical look.  It was a good, uneventful day.

I tried to think profound thoughts.  Nothing happened.  It was a Curly kind of day (I’m tryin’ to think, but nothin’ happens!”).  It was a Joseph-Heller-rambling kind of morning.  The wind didn’t help.  My fingers were getting resentful at being out in the cold without much protection.  I consoled myself by saying that I had a warm home to return to, and that an hour in the cold was simply like waiting for a bus that one just missed.  It would be over soon.  I didn’t castigate myself by saying, “There are SO many people out there who don’t have what you have, so shut up, and put up.”  Why?  Because I castigate myself enough already.

I looked around at the birds.  Yay, they were there!  I heard a birdsong that was familiar, but didn’t know what bird it is:  Tweee, tweee, tweee… twetwetwetwe (Tufted Titmouse?  Wren? I really must brush up on birds – it isn’t enough to just love anything these days.  One must know about it in some relatable way.  However, might I be excused for my ignorance for now?  Thanks!)  A lovely bluejay flashed by and landed on a branch.  Three birds of nondescript plumage tweeted imprecations at the sky.  There were no cardinals or geese to capture my imagination.

The cars were denser today, and the air began to feel less pleasant as time went on.  I saw a few Indians who looked at me in an amused, bemused way from their affluent cars.  I saw many professional-looking African-Americans in their polished cars who gave me a politely interested look, several people who might have been South-Americans going by, looking quizzically at me, and one weary-looking black Rastafarian passenger in a car driven by a white woman.  He directed a solemn look at me as they drove past me, giving me a barely perceptible nod. I nodded back, just as imperceptibly.  I wondered briefly about them, as one does.  I wondered whether he’d suffered from police pat-downs, whether the woman who drove him was his wife or girlfriend, whether her being the driver might protect him from being pulled over for DWB, whether he and the African-American drivers who went past me who looked expressionlessly at me as they went by thought, “Ya, well, easy for you.  You are not the one who’s going to get targeted.  We have to protect ourselves every day.  How will this help?”

I don’t have any answers to any questions.  It’s hard enough to just live our lives, and try to beat the Winter Blues.  It’s harder if you don’t have enough money to feed yourself and your family, about which, thankfully, we don’t have to worry.  It’s  very hard if you have to watch your back every day, not knowing if you will be the next victim.  It’s hardest when you know that none of this will matter if the coasts of the world as we know it are mostly underwater within half a century.

I was not sad, just cold.  But I sang well, and I was happy when the hour ended.  With the wind pushing hard against me and Warren’s sign, I wended my sleep-deprived way home.  I felt as if my legs were wading through molasses.  I still sang, though, and my voice sounded clear and bell-like.  Not bad for an hour in the cold in traffic!

Perhaps, gasoline fumes are good for singers who wish to protest Climate Change.   (That’s snark, in case you worry that I truly think this!)

Thanks for reading, everyone.  It’s been fun in its own strange way.  Three more week-days of writing these posts, then Warren will be back.  I cannot wait!

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Tags: #ClimateChangeisReal, #ClimateVigil, #GasolineFumesAreGoodForSingersSNARK!

Mar 18, 2016 Climate Change is Real!, Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings

Climate Change is Real – Day 2 of my Vigil Alone
©March 18th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

So, another late night followed by an even earlier morning (6:15) for me today – sigh!

I made coffee to take in my trusty travel mug, and a hot breakfast, and ginger tea for my daughter (who arose at 7:20 in order to get ready for our post-vigil haul all the way to Cohasset, MA, where she will be attending a once-a-week farming/harvesting/animal-care home-school class at Holly Hill Farm from now until mid-May).  The dog was philosophical when left for my vigil.  My daughter was sanguine.  I love them both.

Despite awakening so early, I was STILL fifteen minutes behind the Warren-time on the vigil!  Never mind.  I made it, at least.

It’s been a beautiful, sunshiny day all day today, and it was cool (45 degrees), but sunny in the morning at my spot. Blue-jays flashed in blue streaks between the trees, and mid-way through, a sudden rush of wings divided the air near me. I saw, with wonder, two Canada geese arise from the boggy area of the Fells, which come close to the Warren Intersection (as I now call that part of Roosevelt Circle), and end right near where he/I stand at our vigil, and rise up, honking madly. It was quite arresting.

I was in low-energy mode, so I sang what I ALWAYS sing when I don’t know what to sing – namely, Bhairav – my default setting, possibly because I grew up learning South Indian music.  Mayamalavagowla (with the same notes as Bhairav) is the first raga that all good little South Indian children learn if they learn Carnatic music. I made moaning aakars, and some paltas, and droned on, did some sargam (Indian solfege) work, and sang Jaago, Mohana Pyaare Tumha, as well as Jaago Brija Raja Kumara. My voice held up for a bit, then cracked on some of the not-so-high higher notes. (Sigh! I have a long, uphill climb to regain my skills in singing Hindustani music). In any case, I had a good time.

Cars went by, and I had several thumbs-ups – one from an older white-haired, man with a Bernie bumper-sticker, one from a grey-haired man with distinctly liberal features, several smiles and waves from younger men and women, and even one heavily bearded, long-haired young hippie-ish looking guy driving a low pick-up car-truck thing (I don’t know what to call those!) –  who, having apparently being much taken by the sight of a woman standing with a protest sign, must have driven ahead, and parked his car somewhere, because I turned to see him walking up to me.  He asked to take my picture, asked me my name, told me his name, and added that he worked for a magazine called In League Press, which published pictures and articles about people with protest signs, or something like that.  I told him that it was really my husband’s sign, and that I was covering for him, and that he would probably see my husband in a couple of weeks.  He told me I would probably see my picture on FB or Twitter in a few days (or, did he say, weeks), and then left.  I was pleased by him, and warmed by our exchange.

A woman drove by, applying lipstick.  Another drove by, elaborately applying mascara. How did she do that and not slam into the car in front of her?  I admired her, in spite of myself.  Mothers turning back to their children in the back drove by, and fathers with empty car seats in the back drove by, as well.  So much potential for distraction when we have children!  I remember having to carefully explain to my daughter when she was younger that I could not turn around and look every time she said, ” Mom, look!  See what I’m doing!”  She was put out at first, but understood when I explained some more.  How much can one tell one’s young children about potential disaster (car accidents, Climate Change) without upsetting them, or making them into bundles of anxiety?  I walk a fine line there.  I think I do okay, but only time will tell.

Several plumber-type trucks and construction vehicles were out this morning, and I thought, not for the first time, about how plumbing and construction are some of the REAL jobs that would be nice to learn.  At the same time, they signal the fact that we occupy space, and leave waste behind.  Sometimes, when I feel pessimistic and misanthropic, I think that to be human is to create waste and denude the land of its natural beauty.  Thinking this does not make me happy.  (Quick!  Think better thoughts!  Yes, yes!  We humans create beauty, yes, we create music, yes, we create art, yes, we create language … yes, we create entire dimensions of thought and being.  Yes, we’re all right.  Phew!)

Still, if I were to be reincarnated, I think I’ll opt to be a bird, or a frog.  Or, better still, a dolphin.  Birds sing, frogs sing, dolphins click – who wouldn’t want that?
More good things:  A lovely black van drove by with this legend:  Earth, Stone and Water.  That was somehow soothing, even grand, in its way.  I imagined the company to be concerned with environmental work.  No doubt, if I Google it, I’ll find out something mundane.  I do not want to know. It was followed by another van with this on its side:  Plumbing / Heating / HVAC / Boilers.  Good, but not as nice.  Humpf!  After a while, another van drove by, and its driver, a young man, gave me a thumbs-up and a big smile.  The sign on the side and back said something about bee-keeping services.  I felt an absurd upwelling of affection for him.

So, I droned in Bhairav, and felt freer by the second.

Fifty minutes passed.  Suddenly, a nasty sour-faced SUV drove by, and a scowling man leaned out from the passenger seat, and snarled, “Oh, go get a job!”

If I had not heard from my husband about his routinely hearing such remarks every week, I might have stiffened and perhaps, gotten briefly upset.  As it was, I just laughed, and said, well after the car had driven past, “Oh, go to hell!”  Not the wittiest of retorts, but it was all I could muster in the moment.

I sang some more, finished my coffee, and trundled back home, and then raced around the house to get ready to take my daughter to Holly Hill Farm far, far away in Cohasset, and Warren’s student Thomas, showed up to dog-sit our Standard Poodle, Holly.   Holly is crazy about Thomas, and I swear that if we were to vanish from the earth, Holly would live quite happily with him.  It’s sweet to see her adore him so waggily and goofily.  He must emanate the scent of goodness (He’s certainly a very kind and good person, from what I’ve seen!)

My daughter and I returned after a lovely few hours at the Farm, and now, I have written this post.

Contradictions exist – we all know that.  I stood with a “Climate Change is Real” sign for an hour this morning, then got in my car, and drove several miles to have my daughter be in the midst of growing vegetables and animals in a beautiful area.  I wish things could be less complicated, but nothing is.

What we can do is try to reduce our carbon footprint, grow more things, buy less stuff.  We do what we can, and raise consciousness as we do it.  Every conscious action leads others to conscious action.  I hope this is true.
Thanks for reading!

Signing off,
Dreamer of Dreams
(Standing in for Man with Sign)

Tags: #ClimateChangeisReal, #Contradictions, #Man with Sign, #Nature, #Waste, #Woman with Sign

Mar 17, 2016 Climate Change is Real!, Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings

Tags: #ClimateChangeisReal, #For the Planet, #Hindustani classical vocal music, #Keeping Vigil, #Man with Sign, #Singing, #Sitar, #Warren Senders, #Woman with Sign

Mar 17, 2016 Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings

Travels Without the Dog
©March 16th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

Holly is sad.  She doesn’t know why my daughter, husband and I drove with her to pick up my husband after he’d finished teaching his class.  She doesn’t understand why we drove together to a fancy street in the city, and left her in the car, to clearly partake of a delicious dinner, because she detected it in our breath when we returned.  She doesn’t understand why we all drove together after that to a mysterious place with many cars on many levels, and left her for a little while in our car.  She doesn’t get why my husband gave her an extra-special hug and loving words, telling her he would miss her.  Even more painful and puzzling to her is the fact that after we left her in the car, only my daughter and I returned, having apparently mislaid my husband.

She squeak-whined a little, and looked dismally at us, but cheered up when we left the car-ridden place, and got on the tunnel that led to another road – a highway, really, that she recognized, and which led us magically home.  We got home, and she ran up the stairs, and into the house after I unlocked it, and looked around for my husband, then at me.  I spoke kindly to her, letting her know he would be back in thirteen days.  Of course, she didn’t understand the exact meaning of what I said, but like a very young child does, she picked up the soothing tone that told her that it was going to be all right.  Trotting up with  her small, fluffy toy lammie in her mouth, she asked me to toss it around around the living room, which I did.  After I gave her a good dinner, plus yogurt, which she loves, she appeared to be satisfied that it was all going to be fine, after all.

To be a dog means having to deal with the mysterious comings and goings of her human pets; sometimes, we’re all together; sometimes we’re in clumps of twos and threes.  She’s a family dog.  She needs us all there.  When one of us is missing, she’s sad at first, but always philosophical, I think, because in her doggie mind, it’s clear that we’ll all eventually be there for her. 

I always it a point of saying goodbye to her, and so do my husband and daughter.  And I always tell her, “We’ll be back,” or, “I’ll be back,” (just like I would tell my daughter when she was a baby, and I left the house, leaving her in my husband’s care – which worked for her, because my daughter has turned out to be reasonably sanguine about such things, thank goodness).   Back to our dog, however.  I think what comforts her the most  is that our home smells like all three of us and her – she has everything she needs right here.   

It must be very upsetting to be a dog and note the many arrivals and departures of her pet-humans.  Fortunately, the immediacy of life grabs a dog’s attention, and any sadness that dogs feel dissipates in the face of a well-placed squirrel with a taunting tail.  Of course, it’s night-time right now, and there are no squirrels about, worse luck! 

Right now, she’s lying on the couch, with her chin on my husband’s sweater, which he handed over to me before he went into the Emirates security check-in for his flight to India – he won’t need it for the thirteen days he’ll be there (apparently, it’s 81° F in Mumbai right now).

I had placed his sweater near my dog’s favorite pillow on purpose, and she is happy to be near the scent of her beloved master.

There’s no such thing as fear of disaster, or fear of loss in a dog’s mind – everything is the eternal Now.  Every experience and every memory, every thought, every image, every sense of being loved – all of these are in her nose, her adorable, sensitive, eternal Nose.  So, this sweater’s Daddy-smell, here, now, soothes, protects, consoles, and wraps its arms around her.

Soon, she’ll trundle up to bed, for I’m turning in for the night at an hour that’s unusually early for me – it’s midnight now – the night’s absurdly young, but I’m feeling absurdly old from too many late nights.  In ten minutes, I hope to be wrapped in dream-clouds.

I hope my husband’s flight and India-trip are safe and wonderful.  I shall be happy when he returns.  So will our daughter.  So will the dog.

Home is where we’re all happiest.

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Tags: #Dog and Family, #Holly Tales, #Travels Without the Dog

Mar 16, 2016 Ramblings and Musings, The Daily Post

In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:Envy

What I Envy
©March 16th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

I envy plants and flowers for being the most beautiful things in the world.

I envy rocks and stones and pebbles for not caring about being buffeted by the winds and the tides and Climate Change.

I envy birds because they fly (although bugs and worms would put me off).

I envy my dog for falling asleep effortlessly whenever or wherever she needs to, and waking up cheerful, refreshed and uncomplaining.

I envy those who can fly through the air on a trapeze, something I’d like to do.

I envy those who have given up worldly things, and have truly dedicated themselves to humanity — people like Paul Farmer of PiH in Haiti.  He’s a hero of mine.  I would like to do something like that, but am afraid that I have too many attachments and duties to individuals who are already in my life (so, instead,  I give frequently to various good causes).

I envy uncomplicated people, and love them for being so.

I envy those creatures which are not human for being non-polluters.

I envy humans who live completely off the grid, and wish to be like them.

I envy those who want nothing, and want that!  (Ah, irony!)

I envy those who practise their instruments diligently every day (like I used to, and am trying to get started on practising again).

I envy those who have finished Moby Dick by Herman Melville (I never did, although I read much of it).

I envy those who can multitask, and still be able to concentrate fully on ALL their tasks.

I envy those who are effortlessly neat (I like neatness, but it’s an effort!).

I envy those who are young enough that the possibilities in their futures seem limitless.

I envy those who manage to stay in shape and are disciplined about it.

I envy those who don’t doubt themselves, and at the same time, I would NEVER want to be like them.

I envy my former self. 

I envy those who have died, because they are free from angst and pain.

And at the same time, I envy no one.  It’s only when I think about it, I would say, Hmmm … yup, I think I envy them for these things, BUT I am SO happy to be who I am.

So, I guess envy is a fleeting thing with me — doesn’t stay long (except for the birds and flowers part – I do wish I could fly, or just bloom for a season and then die gracefully!)
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Tags: #Daily Prompt, #Envy

Mar 15, 2016 Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings

Today in Five Senses
©March 15th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

Today, there’s rain and damp earth, and my bulbs have begun to bloom – bright yellow flowers pushing out from the ground on rich, green stems, and shy, purple flowers just beginning to make their appearance.  And my new-growing bulbs drink long, cool draughts of air and water, and soak in sunlight, while the moisture makes all the red-brown-breasted robins come out in droves, and thirstily sip the rain drops on the leaves and on tree-bark.  They look fat and happy, ready to populate the world with more robins.  And the rich, fat, wriggly worms poke their heads out, diving into earth and making more rich, brown earth, themselves, and the robins love them for it, so much that they snack busily on them, and it’s all part of the sun-bright, rain-dimmed days that make the Spring both joyous and gray.

And I look out and am glad.

The day wears on, as days have done since I left teaching, with things to do at home, and also time to write in between.

A friend visits – he’s teaching my daughter the drums.  (She got a four-piece drum-set, to which our friend added a proper bass-drum and a tom-tom) .  It thrills me to hear her play – this is just her fourth lesson, but her six years of dancing kathak (a North-Indian classical dance form), and her innate musicality and rhythmic intelligence are a great asset, so she’s learning fast.

Last week, I sneaked into her room and played, and found to my delight, that I was able to sing and play simple drum beats, with high-hat, tom, and the bass drum, while singing my favorite Beatles songs.  Yes, I, am fortunate to have been a musician for as long as I’ve been aware that I was one, which was when I began to sing in tune at age two and a half.  I cannot wait until we can play songs together – she, and my husband and  I taking turns on guitar, bass and drums.

I listen, and hear the familiar patterns of a twelve-eight feel, ta-ki-ta, ta-ki-ta, ta-ki-ta,  ta-ki-ta.  I later learn they were practising a song that she and I know and love, the Smokey Robinson song, “You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me,” which was later sung by The Beatles.  There’s a comforting, nostalgic feeling that sweeps over me when I hear it.  Reminds me of when I was young and full of happiness, because life was opening up for me in my twenties, and I remember listening to a cassette-tape that my future husband had sent me of The Bobs singing their brilliant a cappella version of it.  I remember, looking back, that my eyes felt like they held the sun, and my skin felt like silk, and fit me well, my blood felt right, and flowed laughingly in my veins, and my heart beat faster because I was in love, and was loved back.

Now, here I am, years later, having gone through ups and downs, but what I remember are mostly the ups, which feel so fragrant and linger so long in my mind that they feel as if they happened only yesterday.  I remember the downs, but only as if they had happened to someone else in a dream who resembled me, and whose chaotic heart I could not harness during times of turbulence.

So, it’s time to make Indian masala chai for the four of us.

I chop fresh strips of ginger and dice them, and pop them in two cups of boiling water, adding cloves and cardamom pods, and crushed black pepper.  The air is fragrant and thrills my senses.  What I need now is a stick of cinnamon, or better still, crushed cinnamon.  And lo!  Here it is, right under my nose.  Inhale that, but do it gently, and from afar – you can damage your nose and lungs seriously if you do anything more than just take a whiff of its happy-making smell.  Toss that in the ebullient water, and add some black tea leaves — enough for four people (four teaspoons will do).  Let that come to a boil.  Now add six teaspoons of brown sugar, and then two cups of milk, stirring the whole time, turning down the blue-white flame.

Oops!  I turned it off by mistake.  I try turning it on again, and I get that horrid smell, stinky as hell, that tells me the gas hasn’t been lit, though it’s on.  Quick, fix that!  Good!

Open the door to the backyard, and let the stinky smell, and our dog, out.  Holly’s both happy that the air smells good, and irked that it’s rainy.  Ah well.  All that lovely, curly, Standard-Poodle hair will get messed up.  Got to brush her tonight into a nice cloud of soft poodley fur.

Back to the tea.  Yup.  it’s done!  Let me waft the scent your way.  Can you smell it?  Now, strain the tea into four cups with a tea-strainer.  Serve it steaming hot to your family and visiting drum-teacher friend.  Set out plantain chips, and sweet-peanut crunchies.  Heat up a spinach triangle for your husband, who needs something more sustaining after a long day.

Inhale the tea, then sip.  Ahhh!

Feel that steaming liquid heal something within you – dismissing the malaise that might have crept up unawares, and looked over your shoulder.

Get back to other work, now!

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Tags: #Being in love, #Brewing spiced chai on a rainy day, #Bulbs in Spring, #Drumming in twelve-eight time, #Family and Friends, #GardeninginSpringtime, #HowtomakeMasalaChaiIndianStyle, #Journal Entry, #Life in Springtime, #Nostalgia, #RobinsLoveWorms, #Snack-time!, #Writing for the Five Senses

Mar 12, 2016 Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings, The Daily Post Photo Challenge

In response to The Daily Post’s Weekly Photo Challenge:  One Love

(Note: All photographs©Vijaya Sundaram (with the exception of the one of me with sitar, which is © Warren Senders, and the one of both of us, taken by a friend).

All You Need*
©March 12th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

I’ve always loved the word, “Love.”

It has a magical, radiant feeling, a feeling of bottomless abundance.  It fills me up when I’m hungry, and I chase after it in dreams.

I used to whisper it to myself when I was a pre-teen, and a teenager, and a young woman,

… and now, as a not-as-young woman.

I say it to my husband and eleven-year old daughter every day. 

 [The above picture of her is from this past Christmas.  The picture below of my husband and me is from many years ago.]

I say it to our Standard Poodle, who is full of love.

I love love-songs, although I wrote, composed and sang only a couple of my own love-songs.  Here is one which I’d uploaded to YouTube a few years ago:

I Can’t Bring Myself to Call it Love – Original song by Vijaya Sundaram

Thank you for reading and listening!

Love,

Dreamer of Dreams

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*All You Need is Love — The Beatles

Tags: #The Daily Post, #Weekly Photo Challenge, All You Need is Love, One Love

Feb 19, 2016 Ramblings and Musings, The Daily Post

Karma Chameleon (Daily Post prompt)

Sow Well
©February 19th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

As you sow, so shall you reap.

Your good thoughts, good words, good deeds are the only choice that you, a moral person, should make.

Not just good thoughts, because the road to Hell or Perdition, as they say, can be paved with good intentions, all the way.  “Oh, I didn’t think that!” you would protest, as your cells break down, and you collapse in a puddle of sulphur and brimstone, because your actions led to disaster, no matter what you thought you were doing.

Not just good words, because your words might be sweet, but you might apply poison from the other side.”I said good things — I didn’t mean to do that!” you’d cry, as they bind your soul to a vast rock, and let the vultures have at you, before they release you back into life.

Not just good thoughts and good words, but good deeds constitute karma.  “I didn’t mean to do that!” you’d scream, as you repeated the cycle of birth over and over again, till you learned your lesson.

But if only ’twere so easy to choose the right thought, the right word, and the right deed!

Every thought is a moral decision.  Every word is a moral decision.  Every deed is a moral decision.

I’d like to choose right, even if it’s painful and difficult.  I haven’t always been successful — I have hurt people’s feelings along the way, and I never let myself forget it. That is my self-inflicted cross to bear.

We have to choose carefully and quickly, but not too quickly, because action delayed is result denied.

Most of us are in the category of minor deviants from the path of truth and righteousness.  Perhaps, our karma will consist of wallowing in guilt, because we are saddled with a conscience.

But what about the truly evil ones?  What about their karma?  If one were, say, a Genghis Khan, or Attila the Hun, would one be reborn as a Hitler, only to die an ignominious death, doused in gasoline, and a gun to the head?  Or, would one be given the only other option, which would be to be reborn as a worm, to be crushed underfoot?

In the end, I’d like to think I’ll not be reborn.  That this is my last cycle.  Then again, my rational side insists that there’s no such thing as rebirth.  If we are reborn, it’s simply matter re-consituting itself, and in that sense, we could be reborn as many things all at the same time:  A worm, a fish, a flower, a rabbit, a dog, a bird, a tree, a part of a star, a part of a black hole, a gateway into another universe — anything!

I like this rational way of thinking better, but I still like the idea of good karma.

So, sow well.  And reap well.  And sleep well at night.

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Tags: #Rebirth, Good actions, Good choices, Good thoughts, Good words, Karma

Jan 7, 2016 Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings

  A Bit of Abrupt Reality (Dog-Tail #3
©December 6th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

I went to the woods today — TWICE!

The first time, I went with the Hod.  It was a beautiful day, and she was excellent for the first part of our walk.  Then, on the way back, she was VERY bad — ran off and didn’t come when I called (and this is the first time she’s done that — must be adolescent rebellion), darted amongst trees in a tantalizing manner, then vanished.  I yelled out her name several times with increasing panic in my voice, then said, “I’m going!” and set off briskly back down the main path, close to tears.  My husband told me not to worry when I called him on the phone, semi-hysterical.  I told him I wasn’t worried that she would run away — I was worried that she’d find her way home (which she can) without me, and I was terrified of the traffic near our home.

Well, I needn’t have worried.  I heard the familiar jingling of her tags, and turned around, to see her running towards me, nose to the path.  This dog tracks perfectly.

Alas, I WASN’T pleased, however.  I behaved like those parents whose children disappear in a public place, then yell at them in relief when they reappear.  So, I scolded her, and she let me put the leash back on her.  She may have been abashed, but it’s hard to tell.  Her tail was wagging, and she seemed cheerful.  And her legs were very wet.

We went home (in icy silence on my part) and I gave her a half-bath from the chest down.  I could now see how utterly filthy she had gotten — the water ran brown for a long time.  She must’ve have found a cold mud-puddle.

Anyway, she was very good after that — for a while, at any rate — until she stole some food that my husband had left out.  She was a bad dog today!

After a while doing various errands, I realized I’d lost a lovely earring that a friend had given me, so I determinedly set off to the woods to find it.  I retraced all my paths, knowing in the way that I know when an object I’ve “lost” is near me somehow.  Didn’t find it.  On the way, though, I found what I think was the source of Holly’s distraction:  A family of three deer, two adults and a fawn, leaping gracefully across icy slopes.  It was arresting and beautiful.  Then, I continued my search, which was fruitless.

On my way home, I thought that I would definitely find my earring, if not today, then tomorrow (I really don’t like losing things, more so than most people, I think, because I go crazy looking for them, and in most cases, find them).

Reached home, thinking that perhaps it would be on the floor, if I got lucky.

And my daughter opened the living room door and said, “I FOUND it!”  (It had been on the floor — near the radiator!)

I am never wrong about things that I’ve lost that I know will be found.

AND I clocked in at 5 1/2 miles of walking today.

Perhaps, I should just pretend I’ve lost an earring and go to the woods twice every day, instead of once.

And take Holly with me.

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Tags: #Dog-Tail#3, #lostandfound, #walkinthewoodswithdog