Emily & Emily

across two continents
two lonely women
trying to make sense
of this hostile world

through pseudonyms and anonymity
were born their classics

posthumous love
is just a consolation prize.

* Emily Dickinson & Emily Bronte


 

Little one and her #isms

I have a little curious mind
whose queries never end
and to catalogue those
I made a hashtag
#priyamvadaisms
and I often see it trend

so here are a few of her gems of wisdom:
*****************************************
I thought I knew my languages well
before I was put to this
It began with now/नाव
the latest queries are ugly/अगली ,key/की, bail/बेल, cub/कब

*****************************************************
P casually while doing homework: Mumma what do we exercise in an exercise book -mind or hand ?
************************************************************
P : mumma does God know clay moulding?
me: why do u ask that baby?
P:because there are so many shapes of leaves abd all different greens.
Me : yes so it must be a huge clay kit.
P : yes and does God need his mom's help to do all this....
Me: (wondering where did that come from)may be
*******************************************************

Scene: Neighbourhood wedding band party are dressing up the mare in the parking.
P: Mumma is this a girl horse m-a-r-e mare?
me: yes baby !
P: Why is that boy bad touching her?
me: no he is not ,he is helping her getting dressed for the wedding....
P: oh ! then its okay !

***********************************************
P: Mumma is Malala brave because she got hurt by a bullet or because she fights for sending all girls to school?
Me : I guess both baby.
P: Mumma I think Malala studied well and that made her brave, which means intelligence is brave and bullet is not brave.
***************************************************
P( after watching a flower with hybrid colors) : Mumma ,where is God's paint shop?
me: well God does not need to buy paints.
P: okay ......because he has magic hands !!

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The little one talks to me fascinated about her navel and mine being attached and asks," where is the um-b-li-cal cord now mummy? And I tell her now we have an invisible cord that binds our hearts and not our navels. She smiles, I know I am home, for now, in this moment. The journey pauses, smiles, resumes.

*********************************************

P: ( while discussing living and non-living things) mumma a baby grows out of mumma-papa, a baby cow from her parents,a baby plant from a tree or its seeds, so they are living.
Me: yes you have got it now baby.
P: but mumma poor Baabushka (that is her Matryoshka doll)has dolls in her tummy but is non-living.
...

Me:(trying to choose my words carefully)because they are not her babies some toy maker made them.
P: and also because she has no feelings she is non-living.
Me left wondering if that would be scientifically correct or not. Poet's daughter for sure in the making.

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P: Mumma what is my religion ?
Me: What do you think religion is baby?
P: praying and being a good person.
Me: so who do you pray to?
P: long list ABCD (all kinds of spiritual and religious figures) and trees and almighty....

Me: and are you a good person?
P: (thoughtfully) yes , I think so mumma.
Me: So it means your religion is humanity.
P: okay H-U-M-A-N-I-T-Y.Sounds good mumma.
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A woman of Stone

She had a heart beat

image courtesy : http://www.crystalinks.com/dreamtime.html

and a pulse
a smile and a sulk
and yet

only she knew
in every birth
they would meet
and part

he would move on
while she remained
a woman of stone
in the Blue hills *


*According to an Aboriginal dreamtime story, the three huge rocks formation were once three beautiful sisters named "Meehni", "Wimlah" and "Gunnedoo" from the Katoomba tribe. The three sisters fell in love with three brothers from the Nepean tribe but their tribal laws forbade their marriage. The three brothers did not accept this law and tried to capture the three sisters by force. This caused a major tribal battle and the lives of the three sisters were thus threatened. A witchdoctor decided to turn the sisters into rocks in order to protect them and thought to reverse the spell only after the battle. Unfortunately, he was killed in the battle and the three sisters remained as the enormous and beautiful rock formations until today.

Blessing of a Human Question Bank

My little girl is the perfect extrovert revenge by life on both her introvert parents. Apart from her apparent love for reading, story-telling   and being a quiet child happy with herself, she is a people's person to the core.

 

So we were not surprised when even at such a  young age she had an extremely warm and friendly relationship with everyone in the family and extended family that she met.

 

A particular trait that stood out was her incessant tirade of queries and questions about everything. So much so that I often call her my human question bank.

 

She shares little anecdotes about her and make the keep asking the other person to share theirs. She has dozens of supplementary questions for every query that she has, and to top it all the perseverance to be a patient listener of tales.

 

One of the people she formed a special bond with is with my father. He was 74 when she was born and by the time she had started having meaningful conversations his health had taken a dip, resulting in frequent irritability and some age-related bedimming of memory.

 

But he was the most peaceful when he was with her. She would put him at ease and they spent hours huddled in a blanket sharing anecdotes about friends and incidents. Some of his stories  going long back to a pre-partition childhood in now Pakistan.

 

Three months after she turned six he passed away. She was my pillar of strength and as I was trying to come to terms with this new life without him ,I was surprised, how she knew details about his childhood that even I didn't- like his first bicycle was red, his younger brother had bitten his ear bad enough for a couple of stitches just to snatch a few mangoes, the boy who taught him to swim in the Jhelum was a Sikh.

 

Three of my four grandparents were alive for many more years than her brief six years with her Nana and still I don't know as much about their childhood, their memories with their siblings and the like.

 

I am glad my  aaj-kal-ka-baccha had the time and the patience for all those questions to him. I am glad she was so involved in my father's last years and that she has created so many fond memories with him.

 

So while most of the world complains about #AajKalKeBacche , I call mine my personal little Buddha, who is an amazing teacher and co-learner in this master class called life.



“This blogger contest is supported by Kid Social Shell, a unique digital parenting platform with 11 gaming-learning apps. Use it play 3D nursery rhymes, counting number games, shapes games, fun math worksheets, coloring games and more!”

Monsoon

Like a dark cloud
heavy and brooding
wanting to pour out
forced to move on

life is monsoon.