I Do Not Want The Hollywood Smile

It is unarguably the era of technology where creative marketing has chalked itself a good space. The Internet is flooded with fancy commercials.  My recent encounter was with one such fascinating advertisement that caught my attention. The one which read "Let that winning smile chine. Presenting Hollywood smiles".

Well, I don’t just have blue tooth but have yellow, yellowish,
cream, creamish, whitish, and blackish. My teeth, yes. They are multi-coloured, and have their own
ups and downs, but no racism. They stay
united by my gums. We say a smile is contagious, smiles spread smiles, but I don't trust this for mine! Trust issues!

 Bad teeth actually runs in
my family or, I must say teeth run away from my family. So much so that, during the pandemic, my
teeth too had participated in the “social distancing” protocol. Now, it's not only about bad teeth but I am
blessed with trust issues in seeing any doctor. I was accustomed to my ritualistic visits, only to Manipal my
native place where I would spend more time with my dentist friend than my
family.  And, soon pandemic came
striking, on everyone’s joys, and my jaws. I could not travel to my native.

Now, with no annual servicing of the teeth, each time I had to smile, I suffered from a severe shortage of esteem. A deficient smile! Would be a potential threat to any work to
be done. While an efficient smile could very well be contagious. I needed a fast
solution as very soon masks would no more be mandatory.

That's when my optical brilliance caught sight of a hoarding that read:

  LET THAT WINNING SMILE SHINE.

PRESENTING
HOLLYWOOD SMILE

Hospital  XYZ.

I had to fall for this since my teeth were
falling apart. My mouth represented the map of potholes-filled roads of my
hometown. (Mind you, Parkala is popular for bad roads).

One auspicious
morning, I visited hospital XYZ. Here, Dr. ABC greeted me, and after a quick exchange of greetings,  I laid
back on the chair, with lights on. I closed my eyes. And prayed. Dr. ABC came close, made a study of the ups and downs in the life and death of my
teeth, and mindfully was striking a conversation with me. He asked me for some dent history. I explained about the wonderful bridges
built by my dentist friend at Manipal.

 Behold. Both my doctors happened to be classmates at the Dental College. My trust issues had slowly calmed down. 

Dr ABC  and I bonded over my cavities and bridges, also
monsoons and food in Manipal. He spoke a broken kannada language he had learnt in Manipal.  And I too spoke broken Malayalam that I had learnt in Doha. Together, we discussed the
cosmetic holly wood smile treatment process.

My jaws knew no
bounds then and we then met regularly. At the clinic. 

A complete aesthetic
makeover, construction, and interior design of my “Hollywood smile” was under construction. Some
bridges were planned. Which needed some evacuations. This was nothing less than the vigorous construction Ashghal carried out for the forthcoming FIFA.  I was promised 4 crowns by Dr. ABC. And I made myself feel like a queen. Root canal
treatments and dental implants too jumped into the plans. Ashghal had got another stadium ready, but my Hollywood smile was happily underway.

Well, in a span of 5 months, my treatment concluded.  But my
teeth refused to surrender to Hollywood. The mirror showed no difference at all. I too did not desperately look for it. My daughter who is a teenager fabricated instant solutions and trained me on how to pout. The secret is, the training failed miserably as I could never cope with more technology or any updates. For the generation that I belong to, the "update" is a slower process. There is no auto-update system too that takes place at midnight.

Finally, I learnt my lesson. Beautiful or not, I still smile. And yes, I do not fall for any commercial baits hung on hoardings.

Well, let things be, is my policy. #WeAreLikeThisOnly

#Humour  

Celestial Perspective

 We have to go through a lot of ambiguity each day. We see as much amount of fakeness as much genuineness that we see. People you love, sometimes leave you alone. People you barely knew will comfort you with genuine care. Each, will put us down, lift us up, and leave us with mixed emotions and rocking and rolling. You may rock with laughter or with a bitter pill. 

But, each time you face the sun, you see the Sun, especially when it sets, leaving behind a story, a story of the day. You see vivid images in the drowning sun. At some point in time, the sun and moon fake their appearances too. You stare for a long to decide if the sun has gone to sleep and the moon came up or if they look disguised! It is a game of perspective sometimes. A game of celestial perspectives.

And you are prone to intuitions. Like a garden is often full of flowers or for once with only weeds. It is only upon the Sun or the rains to decide.

How many ever times does nature challenge your "kismet" you will challenge the challenge and take over your Kismet. It is just a game of perspective sometimes. A game of celestial perspectives.

You can deal with all this and come out stronger. Kismet aka Destiny is another game of perspectives.

What can I say? We are like this only.

#MyMuseToday    #WeAreLikeThisOnly

So today when they read, I write...

     International Book Day was celebrated in April, and I had lazily sent out a
picture of my novel "Kismet" on social media urging people why they
should read it. However, what fascinated me that entire week, was endeavours by
my two. Both my kids are avid readers and recently they left me stunned with
the new books they picked up and finished reading.

My older one barely 17,
reads political science and "Durbar" by Tavleen Singh. She did not
leave any moment to strike a conversation with me or her dad, to discuss the
contents of the book. Until last week, we discussed "The Emergency”, the
political leaders, and a lot of why's and what's. 

And the younger one,
barely 7 graduated into picking up the "Blue Umbrella" by Ruskin
Bond, a book that fascinates me all time. While the older one is a very
observant reader, the younger one turns into a quiz book to me after his read.
"Amma why, Amma how, but why" and so on, we go on.

    Today, struck in the
lockdown, that is with restrictions on travel, my kids reminisce about their
last vacation in India 2 years ago. When they would head to the local library
(Nehru Library Manipal) on a
rainy afternoon, seated in the auto-rickshaw with their grandfather, and their
grinning faces sticking out of the window. While both jump like bunnies
rejoicing Amar Chitra Katha books and admiring the shelving style, my father
would walk hands tied at his back, around in the library, talk to the staff and
then wait at a table resting his chin with elbow support. 

 Now, my kids discuss
the geography, history of India with their grandfather on video calls. Also, my
pesky little one screams how his granny has not heard of Percy Jackson or harry
potter or even Diary of a Wimpy Kid. There is a special chord in the bonding
with grandparents and children when they discuss books. This took me back to a
time, and I remember discussing books with my grandfather. He had held my hand
and taken me to the government-run library in the town. The town that resembled
a village more in my formative years. I had myself gone to a school that barely
qualified as an English medium school. Most spoke in their mother tongue.
English was in the process of being explored. I distinctly remember running my
index over the medium-sized letters of the "Nancy Drews" at one point
in time and read word by word. Today, when I discuss this with my childhood
friend Meera, we recollect, being the town brought up, we missed upon many of
the opportunities that our friends were exposed to as "city brought
ups". Nevertheless, we were secluded and content in our world then and are
now still happy with our progress.

Today when I read my
children write their schoolwork, the language they use leaves me super
emotionally elated. I still run fingers on them and tell myself “Mission
accomplished". Because, unlike the old custom, I am not going to live my
unfulfilled dreams through them and trash it on them. But, having utilized
every minute to provide them with the opportunities to learn and grow, that I
probably missed upon, I feel accomplished.

    There is no app to
replace the lap. I feel proud, of the hours I have spent reading for them and tricking them into reading books. My pride just multiplies when they use good
vocabulary in their conversations. It is a pleasure to always find a couple of
books by their bedside which is sometimes the Kindle too. 

Paulo Coelho in his book "By The River Piedra I Sat Down And Wept" tells us why we should let the child inside us live actively. And, I see the child in me when I read with my children.

So, today when my
children read I write...

------

 Cheers

Sush

Badalthe Rishthey

The past year left us sulking in the lockdown. And as for we NRI's, it has been a double nightmare, not being able to travel to India, especially for us from the Middle East who take frequent trips to India. We sing in chorus now  ___ "Pal pal dil ke paas, tum rehte ho". I had bloated philosophically while my friends reminded me to write my satire or humour as I did some time back, before COVID-19.

The lockdown has although stopped me from traveling to India and wail but given me brighter opportunities to claw upon and crib. We have bid goodbye to the "bayi" and (cleaner) boy, and have conferred upon ourselves awards, running "Swach ghar abhiyaan". Men are only grumbling as they run dishwashers. But my grievances in the pandemic are severe. I have lost all my property rights now. My 7-year-old has seized my coveted study. The table is decorated with flying worksheets. "My" laptop is loaded with zoom links that say "Ms. Aofie English class", "Ms. Reynolds Music class". The lovely mornings that I romanced with my thoughts and scribbled random in my blog or my archives, are now "Woh bhooli daasthan". Now, I print and upload his homework.  Looking at the brighter side, I have learned basic Arabic from his classes and also enjoyed Ms. Reynold's music lessons. All I share with this room now is the -- "Kabhi khushi kabhi gham" relationship.  

I can not travel often to these two rooms from where the voices of different teachers resonate. Another room has turned into a branch of Birla Public Indian School, Class 12. My older one's. Well-dressed teachers in suits and sarees teach Psychology and Economics. I dare not enter the room. I fear a Zoom bomb dropped on me "Yes, you, answer this question". My school time and exam time dreams still haunt me. Sometimes, when the head of the family turns my only bedroom into his workplace, is when I feel doomed. The living room couch is ouch, in denial upon my entry.  The kitchen hates me after my new arguable relationship status with the men in red Tee who come on their bikes delivering food at any time of the day or night. 

But, the solo traveler inside me stubbornly doesn't give up. And, I take additional trips to the garbage chute rooms in our apartment to dispose of trash and claim good hygiene maintained in my house. Who knew, the trash chute room is now the new kitty (which I dread). Ladies from neighbouring flats join me in discussing woes. We care to leave the place when men walk in to do away with trash and throw astonished looks at us. With this fear, I then take a long journey to the Lulu Supermarket. Romancing with the vegetables, pulses, soaps, and shampoos on offers. Walking past the cold dairy section, I fantasize about my Georgia visit which just got cancelled during the first lockdown. 

New life. New routines. But in 2021, today, for the first time I am upfront here-- "looks like I am fine here in Doha. Not traveling to India sooner". Many more are connecting to it too. NO! Not because of the mutating virus but because of the mutating hatred in India. Let those waves calm down and perish. The same me, that cribbed every year, for not staying a little more in India in spite of generously contributing to the Air India Express 3-4 tickets a year, for the first time in 15 years, is not the same this year. 

So much hatred in people. The media is misbehaving like a spoilt brat. Why is the attitude towards the true COVID warriors so insensitive in India? We have memes portraying the doctors and police as heroes, "true warriors, we love you". But the same social media floods with videos with hate and abuse to police. A friend who is a doctor writes about people being negligent with their health, people taking beds in panic and not in an emergency, people scaring others unnecessarily. He pleads in public to support the doctors. Another friend says his old father who is a doctor is tired of educating people to get the PCR test done, but when things deteriorate these are the folks that blame the doctors, blame the government. And then forward cartoons with flying peacocks and disrespectful and insensitive images of authoritative Government officials.  If we chuckle at them, we are at fault. Yes, we are. One day the virus will leave. The one in the air. But our minds that are conditioned with poison have no vaccine made by health care! When Albert Einstein said "The difference between stupidity and genius is that the latter has limits"; he was hell right. 

I am another ordinary person. Not the "Aam Admi" though! If you know what I mean. I contribute to the economy. I exercise a vote. I care for the "real people in need". I do my bit. So I have the right to crib. Crib about why! 

The Virus has turned the lover boy Dev from the movie Dhadkan, "Mein tumhe bhool javu yeh ho nahi saktha, aur tum mujhe bhool javo, yeh mein hone nahi doonga".

That is because we have conceptualized the "Hum saath saath hain" far too seriously. We are ordered by our government and health care officials to follow "isolation" but we have only glorified - "Pass woh aane lage zara zara". Little by little, we have loosened our fears. And ventured out enough in public. We do not wear masks and blame 2020 and 2021 that give us bad times. 

Yes, no doubts, we will not remain masked forever. But for now, we must! There is no escape from the COVID unless we heap up sanitizers and glue our worthy selves indoors. 

When priorities have dwindled and flawed, we are responsible. Change is certain. And I am simply praying for the change. Sooner the better.

This Badalthey Rishtey is so surreal!

And what can I say?. We are like this only.💓

Food for thought from the Heron Act

This is what happened in the deeper seaside of Doha. A
flock of Herons about 50 of them in different shades of white and grey that
swooped down the deep seaside and settled in a cozy “area”. There was no doubt
they found their food there and soon most picked fishes with their long beaks
that represented something like those of spoonbills. One of them picked a
fish, came down to a smaller Heron, and fed it, beak to beak.

It was difficult to understand this act until this Heron
repeatedly fed the smaller birds around. The bigger Heron looked strong enough.
It swooped up and down around, stretched, and even retracted its neck. These birds possess
the ability to retract their already long necks, in the sunlight of mid-morning
after stretching it to fish out more food from the waters.  

After a 15 minutes exercise, they
soared up gradually in the sky. The ascent of a few of them simply triggered
the rest to follow or assumably most had their fill of the fishes. This is no doubt a habitual behavior, but, what is important is the lesson from the "Heron Act" of feeding other herons.

Do we see a striking resemblance to humans and them?
Mildly yes.  All we do in life is for food and shelter. There is a popular Carnatic composition (in kannada - Ellaru maduvudu hottegagi, genu battegagi) by “Kanakadasa” who lived in 1500-1600 that translates to, “whatever we do is for our survival/food/shelter”.

Agree and disagree. We have the ability to stretch our reach further
from necessities to luxury, from content to a little more and a little
more. Now, talking specifically about food,  in the process do we waste food? Pretty much. Do we reach out best
possible to someone needy around us? Sometimes? We are like this only!

Here is a lesson to
learn from the Heron act. That is to remember to feed the weaker. When you are
content, when you know you are stronger, shoulder responsibility to feed the weaker
around you. Talking specifically about food, we are desperately helpless about
how not to waste food. One of the conscious acts we could indulge in is to share it with someone
around us who would appreciate that extra morsel.

It takes a little extra effort to curb any inhibitions, pack that extra food, and reach out to someone who will appreciate and
accept it. The trash bins are not for leftover food. We are superior humans. We
definitely indulge in charitable acts. But, to take care of that morsel which
might be appreciated by someone else, takes a little thought, probably triggered by the Heron act. 

Cheers

Sush

Relation that needs no filtrations

 And this is about the incident in the fuel station. The driver lowered the car window and ordered a full tank. The old man in coveralls licked his finger, pulled out a slip of paper, reached the fuel tank, and also fixed his meter while stealing glances at the driver and the car. 

Jogging back to the car's open window, he murmured "glass clean ?" with appropriate gestures. The driver nodded with a smile that was not evident behind the mask. Now the driver switched quick glances between the smartphone and the short stout old man cleaning the windshield with a bright yellow sponge.  "Why was the old man stealing looks at me?". So thought the driver.

Now! The old man walked up to the window again and saluted.

"How are you?" he asked in full confidence. After a few seconds, rescuing the driver off the bolt from the blue, he said " you often came to this place a few years ago!" Another surprise. It was eight long years ago. The driver has changed their looks. The car had changed. How did the old man conclude this revelation? Fluke? No.  It was from the song the driver was playing in the car. It had never ever changed in those years, nor now! And also the act of pulling out some currency from that brown wallet as he cleaned the windshield.

The duo laughed and talked. About each other's well-being, the cityscape that changed, and the weather. Finally, the driver pulled off after tipping the old man as usual. And with the old man showing both his palm and nodding in complete soulful wishes to the driver.

While we most often meet different people, only a few stay in our lives. Some stay in our memories, some in our feelings, and some on social media. For the same reason as being the intelligent species, humans showcase expertise in rushing relations into complexity. We can't live simple. We can't think simple. because we are over-ambitious and begin to expect from relations, people or from our life! Most relations never get simpler. They only complicate and turn into the beautiful maze called life that we live in. And at one time, we turn to declutter our lives and minds off the negativity, from the hazards of our complex relation in life. Positivity becomes a quest.

Here, the duo has not known anything about each other. Yet displayed so much affection upon meeting. Wished each other and laughed together that left them contented and smiling profusely for the rest of the day. A relation that needed no filtration.

Most often such unlabelled relations bring about so much unknown joy in life. Of attaining some deep innate happiness. They are free of all commitments, expectations, or even any obligations. Most of us will connect to this. And will know why we humans can say "we are like this only".

-----------

Cheers

Sush

#MyMuseToday  #WeAreLikeThisOnly

What is right and what is wrong?

It is about a grubby bearded man. He entered the supermarket
with dark shades hanging loosely on his already loosely hung curly hair which
half-covered his ears. The grey Tee fitted him badly and the jogger pants
screamed out declaring a bad fit. But appearances can deceive.

He then picked only a small packet of bananas and rushed to
the billing counter. He had to fall in a queue there. He yelled at the security in-charge. His argument on why he should fall behind someone in the queue while he
had only one vegetable bag and someone had a basket full. Well, the security man
calmly explained some rules to this man in vain. While most around scoffed and
squinted and beat foreheads he smiled profusely and continued with his neatly
designed argument.

 And soon enough
walked a lady with another packet of fruits. The man now turned his attention
to her and argued with the security, she was pregnant, and she must not stand
in the queue. So, be it. He got his way for the pregnant woman but waited for
his turn in the queue. Few people around were petrified with his decibels and
gestures.

He was loud, not rude. He was challenging, not quarreling. He
had a point. Very much valid. Diplomatic relations in a supermarket.  Was he wrong? Was he right? Either he was both
or he was right.

We are like this only!! 
Rules stay as long as we are benefitted, else we debate. Should someone not
have made way for him, breaking the stereotypes? What if he was not a “woman”
crying out empathy? Why did not the pregnant woman help him in turn? Life is made
up of such circumstances. Every day we encounter some situation where we seem
right and wrong both! It is difficult to please everyone. It is also impossible
to sometimes not break rules but also nice to break rules. This is life.

The grey shirt man challenged a rule. He was not selfish.
And most times, we are not wrong yet not right or vice-versa and we remain
inconclusive.  While rules are made for
life, life is not a rule. We rule our lives. But what can we do about this
diplomacy! We are like this only!

Cheers

Sush

#MyMuseToday #WeAreLikeThisOnly