tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-303585932024-03-14T00:55:12.278-07:00Mala's MasalaSpicy (or not) tidbits from my life and its surroundings.Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.comBlogger174125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-85816112623429990352015-01-16T19:37:00.003-08:002015-01-16T19:38:48.809-08:00Mala's Masala has Moved!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Check out the new blog <a href="https://malasmasala.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">here</a>.</div>
Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-59523119242154369152015-01-06T21:27:00.001-08:002015-01-06T21:42:40.500-08:00Almost famous - the life of the Desi Divorced Diva<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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</style><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Nkf1EQJkjr6BPwWLx1eBxh0CFenk0Aeg5Z6Fmbc627PZ92VsQ6rVymrO9AGOV7nABpYDx6fWRQS-JAFYhAZEEL9gM7cjYBHSHrOjZDCgzbxjIO-gz7ltKQPiKHGhmklGlHQzjg/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Nkf1EQJkjr6BPwWLx1eBxh0CFenk0Aeg5Z6Fmbc627PZ92VsQ6rVymrO9AGOV7nABpYDx6fWRQS-JAFYhAZEEL9gM7cjYBHSHrOjZDCgzbxjIO-gz7ltKQPiKHGhmklGlHQzjg/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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Amy Poehler <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>pretty
much nails the post-divorce life for women like me, i.e. women who are smart,
intelligent, pretty, and divorced. Yes, you heard right. I just said some nice
things about myself, and you will soon realize that we say such things in abundance.
It helps with our self-esteem and prevents us from being “broken.” I know. It’s
unbelievable and freakin’ fantastic!</div>
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Truly ladies, I don’t want anything to do with your
husbands. Firstly, and I hate to be brutally honest (but you’ve really not left
me much choice here), they are just not my type.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just because I enjoy a conversation, smile, take
selfies, and have a way of hugging friends when I say hi, does not mean I’m flirting. That’s just me
being me – confident and comfortable in my own skin (see I did it again). But
you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? You could not for the life of you have an ounce of
confidence if you had to always be so insecure about the man you live your life
with. I finally get it. It’s not me. It’s you, or maybe him. (See? I said I was
smart AND intelligent)</div>
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I don’t blame you. I feel sorry and would like to let you
know I am here to help. I am divorced, and no, it’s not infectious. Husbands - you don’t really need to worry. I
will not suggest they leave you because you don’t load the dishwasher or do the
laundry. In fact, I just brought the romance back in your life. You see, you
are now so scared your wife might leave you, you actually try to put an effort
in your relationship. I told you I would help.<br />
<br />
As for the other genre of husbands who now think I'm vulnerable and feeling lost, and somehow in your weird, sickening imagination think I might be the right person to help you spruce up your life while your wife is away - get the hell away from me. I cannot be that helpful either. </div>
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Thanks to my new status (not so new anymore), I’ve made lots
of friends and am used to random calls, emails and text from friends, who I
have not been in touch with for ages, asking me if I would talk to one of their
friends. I am not complaining about this at all. I have loved to help out a few
women who had no one to turn to through the process who would understand them.
And I’m quite aware that there aren’t too many desi divorced divas in this
region. So, I just want to let you know that I’m here. I just charge $140/hour.</div>
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These days, any party I go to, I know the women are dying to
ask me the million dollar question – “are you dating someone?” Most recently,
they want to ask me, “who was the guy you visited in New York? Is he single?
Did you sleep with him?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, divorced
women can have absolutely normal platonic relationships with single men. And
not every single man in my life I have to date or sleep with or marry. Rest
assured, I will change my relationship status on Facebook as soon as I start
dating so you can sleep better. For now, the friend I just visited I’ve known
for 15 years. So there is nothing of that sort there, you can now move on to
the next guy you see me with on Facebook.</div>
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Being divorced is not easy on many levels. But being a young
(yes, I’m sticking to it) Indian divorced woman takes matters to a whole new
level of crazy eye-rolls and exasperated sighs. But most of all it made the
prediction of that astrologer come true from many years ago, at least part of it. I became famous -
the talk of the town. How many of you can add that to your resume? Now all I
can hope for is that the second prediction will come true and somehow this is all
going to lead to that enormous fortune. Till then, I'll remain single and almost famous and enjoy every bit of it.<br />
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<i>-- Your's truly DDD (no you pervs - that's not my size!) </i></div>
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Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-85857278649664431062014-07-18T20:05:00.000-07:002014-07-18T20:27:11.430-07:00Women in Rape<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Recently media has been flooded with news of rape in India. Having gone through sexual abuse at a very early age, I cannot even begin to imagine what rape victims go through, no matter what their age. When I was finally brave enough to talk about what happened to me, I realized it was not only our men who needed to be educated, and in some cases have their penises chopped off, but the women were equally part of this disastrous mindset that plague our society and culture.<br />
<br />
If you know me well enough, you will know that I always say, a country that cannot respect its women, is far from being developed. But where women don't respect other women, is a society that will breed evil far worse than we can imagine.<br />
<br />
I think the problem is far deep-rooted than what we'd like to see or believe. When I first talked about what happened to me as a child, one of the first reactions from an elderly woman, who I had previously loved and looked up to, was, "Why did you not say anything earlier? Did you enjoy it?" As an 8th grader, one thing I was sure of. I would probably never enjoy "it" and if I could bring justice down on the person who did that to me, I equally wanted justice for this woman who had asked me this horrific question.<br />
<br />
These are the women who give birth to sons and set examples of how to respect other women. And this is the reason it is not all the men's fault. As mothers, we have shown our kids it is okay for the men in our families to treat us a certain way. We have reminded our sons over and over again, they are superior over their sisters and have taught them how to mistreat their wives, because as mother-in-laws we have done exactly the same. We have prayed every night in order to conceive this superior being in our wombs and have been a part of destryoing the girl child. As mothers we taught our daughters to cover up and avoid men and be introverts. We've asked them not to wear pretty clothes or use makeup or do anything that might enhance their beauty and warned them over and over again of the evil that presides and put the fear of rape in them whenever they got ready to leave the house. Sadly we never put the fear of rape in our sons when it came time for them to venture out. Thus rape happens in our streets, schools, police stations and even in our homes.<br />
<br />
We've been this way for centuries. And no matter how modern or developed as a country we think we get, we always end up in the news as a country with the largest number of rape cases. Yes, I agree we also make the news with some brilliant achievements worldwide hidden between coverage of corruption charges, film stars and cricketers, but these are the things that keep us awake at night, make us switch the channel or close our screens when our kids walk past.<br />
<br />
I sit here in California, by the poolside of my apartment where majority of the resident population are Indians due to the proximity of my apartment to a hi-tech company. We are inevitably the smart race. But here too, I see the difference between our sons and daughters, husbands and wives. And even though we are writing code and building systems that will shape the future of the world, we are also establishing the stepping stones of how these boys and girls will perceive our gender moving forward. It is as much the responsibility of our men, as it is our women, to bring change. And by change, I mean, to revert back to our scriptures and worship our women rather than abuse them.<br />
<br />
And just as an FYI, I definitely did not enjoy "it."<br />
<br /></div>
Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-25259212618117370112014-07-08T21:29:00.000-07:002014-07-08T21:31:31.024-07:00You Know You Need a Life When...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>You go to get your nails done and realize this is the ONLY male touch you have experienced in over a year. Your heart flutters till you look up and see his face.</li>
<li>Your first week night off, you station your ass on the couch for 6 straight hours and watch TV.</li>
<li>Your second week night off, you spend drinking with your boss who is also a priest.</li>
<li>Your ex-boss keeps texting you videos of all the renditions of "let it go" he comes across. </li>
<li>You decide to start working out, but end up eating 4 dosas along with other meat related stuff and washing all that down with some wine.</li>
<li>You look forward to Monday nights when you can watch the recorded Devious Maids episode.</li>
<li>You originate from India, but get really upset when Brazil gets their asses whooped at the World Cup semi-finals, which results in all-day moronic Facebook updates.</li>
<li>Your daughter rolls her eyes and says, "Mommy, are you listening to love songs AGAIN?"</li>
<li>The rare Friday you get off work early, you decide to schedule dance practise.</li>
<li>You make up for 13 years of good driving record with your first ticket which is a red light violation you got trying to make a right turn.</li>
<li>Your Facebook page gets flooded with photos of you wearing sarees and posing with the same people every weekend, weekend after weekend and getting tagged in the same photos taken by everyone at the event.</li>
<li>You get home and write stupid blog posts. </li>
</ul>
</div>
Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-18210539768320094132014-06-29T12:50:00.001-07:002014-06-29T13:01:17.711-07:00When Moms Take the Night Off!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Its almost noon. I have barely moved an inch. I desperately need a shower, my armpit smells like Kolkata's waste disposal area. For all of you who have cringed each time you passed Dhapa while driving through the Eastern Bypass, you know exactly what I mean. But I continue to lounge on my couch and look at the clock. My brain is probably waiting for a sign when the clock tells me it is now the right time for me to move my ass.<br />
<br />
This is what happens when three moms decide to go out one night and paint the town red. We forget our kids have sucked up every ounce of our energy. After one drink we forget we have no energy left. So we move on to the second one. The conversation starts to get really interesting. We are actually beginning to have fun. Time for the third drink. This makes us laugh a lot and we start talking to strangers. We begin to think we are finally living our lives. Everything feels so good. I am in reality talking to adults and not putting up animal shows with imaginary animals who live with us. What better could I want from life? I of course don't want this moment to stop. Not surprisingly, the cosmos keep coming. <br />
<br />
By the end of our fourth or fifth (who's counting?) the inevitable happens. The moms are ready to shake some mommy booty. Right at that moment it sounds like a brilliant idea. None of us can remember when we were out dancing last. So we haul our asses to a nightclub and somehow manage to take whoever was in the restaurant bar with us. It seems the cosmos have made us social butterflies and I feel I can conquer the world.<br />
<br />
What follows is a few more hours of crazy dance moves and lots of laughter. We forget kids, husbands, work and we live in the tiny moment we have allowed ourselves amidst our absolutely crazy lives and schedules. And we do the craziest thing of all - stay on till the club closes and we are actually asked to leave. Mommy Night Out mission accomplished!!!<br />
<br />
Sad thing is, I'm not really hung over this morning (wait, noon). I'm just plain tired, which tells me I'm getting too old for this. Which also makes me make the point - no matter whether I am being a mom or not - I'm ending up tired. What the hell??? As I write, I have a group text going on with a few friends trying to plan a weekend getaway which will consist a lot more of what I just talked about. Why does that make me want to crawl back into bed and do nothing substantial today?<br />
<br />
Well, there is laundry I need to take care of and groceries I need to get. Also, the clock is finally sending its signals. Wait no! My armpits are the ones sending me the final signals this time. No time to waste!<br />
<br />
Thanks dear girlfriends for the much needed night out. All of the above states what a fun time was had. Just that, I probably need a whole month (might even be a year) to recover from it - LOL!<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-43114271349574450742014-05-19T16:31:00.001-07:002014-05-19T16:34:15.163-07:00The Goddess in Me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">You have insulted me. You have unfriended me. You have held
me and said, “you are like a daughter to me”,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>just to backstab me. You have spread rumors about me. You have
scandalized me. You have spoken about me. You have not spoken to me.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“You” are some of the respected members of the Bengali
community in Sacramento. Some of you have now known me for over a decade. Some
of you barely know me. But you are all somehow united in your judgment about a
personal life decision I made two years ago.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I think it is now time I thanked you for your contribution
in my life.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Why, you ask?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Because it is “you” who unleashed the goddess in me. Each
time you tried to crush my soul and make me your scapegoat, you helped me rise.
Each time you ignored me and my daughter, you helped me become stronger. Each
time you tried to prove your own lame existence, you made me live.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I have often been questioned why I still choose to attend
certain functions and gatherings knowing you will be there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You see, I am not like you. I don’t have to
hide and crawl. I have not done anything to you that makes me feel that way. In
fact I quite enjoy you trying to do the avoiding and disappearing act. That is exactly how you should live<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> - </span>in
fear. Because its time you realized, the goddess lives in me. Not in the ones sitting in your cabinets,
that you pray to every day.</span></div>
Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-68178937387056956542014-03-27T16:58:00.004-07:002014-03-27T16:58:40.786-07:00The Sound of Music<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When dark clouds overtake the normally sunny blue skies of where I live, I’m usually transported back to my school days. This transportation also stems from several old photo albums I found, while packing last night.<br /><br />As of this morning, I’m a bit nostalgic and listening to songs that are not quite helping my situation to concentrate on the present task at hand.<br /><br />While I listen to my playlist, I realize, there are quite a few songs that are so intertwined with a specific person or memory I have. So much so, it seems like it was just the other day.<br /><br />Whenever I hear the song “Bahon ki Darmiya”, I cannot help but think of my “boyfriend” from 11th grade. All the lame excuses to run out of the house to see him, hold hands and feel like we were in “love”. I almost killed my best friend of a heart attack when she realized I was dating this guy. It all went downhill after I saw his dad in a “lungi” smoking “bidi”. <br /><br />Songs from the movie “Pukar” most definitely remind me of my dating days in Bahrain. With hopes of a romantic evening, I had trotted along with my date to the theater, to watch said movie, hand-in-hand, head resting in his shoulder. Eventually his head ended up in my shoulder, his loud snores muffling the filmy dialogues. He had made a request prior to dozing off - to wake him up when Madhuri Dixit came on the big screen, clad in her blue chiffon saree, standing on the glaciers somewhere in Alaska and for just that tiny moment, there was romance in the air. I cannot help smile to this date when I hear the song “Kismat se tum”<br /><br />The women of Bollywood should protest to this nonsense. While women are expected to be skimpily clad in the snow, the men are cuddled up in warm clothes AND gets to snuggle with the actress. In olden days they made babies this way in movies such as “Aradhana”. Another movie with great songs. But I digress.<br /><br />The song, “Jab koi baat bigar jaye”, I think has the same effect on women of my generation, no matter which state or school you come from. This song just reminds me of my group of friends and all things school.<br /><br />“Tum aye to aya mujhe yaad” takes me back to my friend’s flat in Jodhpur park. The endless adda sessions while sipping Old Monk and Coke and smoking packets of Wills, trying to forget my battles with dad at home. My induction to Bangla Band music was at this very sanctuary of the Sen residence. The red cover of Mohiner Ghoraguli’s audio cassette will never leave my memory. Amidst the endless cups of chai, some random Presidency students, and swirls of smoke, we would blast “Prithibi” and feel one with the universe.<br /><br />Going back even farther, songs from “Qyamant se Qyamat Tak” takes me back to that day that went down in the history of Gokhale hostel - we had coerced our Matron to take us on a field trip to watch this movie in a theater. Watching Aamir’s sweet face light up the big screen lit up our tiny hearts and made it the best day of our lives, in times when all we had was a lousy radio to keep us entertained.<br /><br />“Dil hai Chota Sa” transports me back to the Ambassador Taxi that held ten of us girls. We had the driver take us to Esplanade to watch that year’s biggest Bollywood blockbuster - “Roja”. Since we decided to bunk Madhyamik PT practice, we were in our school uniforms - probably the dumbest thing we ever did. The school got a call from someone of authority at the theater, notifying them ten of their schoolgirls were missing. The icecream we shared that day was the best icecream I will ever taste. I just wish I could savor it more - thanks to you - Sapto - our’s was the first one to be gone. Learned life’s biggest lesson that very day -NEVER to share my food.<br /><br />“Que Sera, Sera,” will always remind me of you - Sapto. You were the ONLY crazy person in school who wanted to hear me sing, that too this song of all songs. Sumana - every time I hear Cliff Richards or Carpenters, even WHAM, I think of you and those weekend afternoons of “Band Box” on the radio - the segment that would play English songs. I knew, if not anyone, you would be listening with me. And I would feel very “cool” the next day in class when I could join in with your English music conversations.<br /><br />Gone are those days. But the songs still remain with these special memories etched into each one of them, never to leave my heart. And in this day and age of gadgets and electronics, whenever I see clouds, my mind still wanders back to that junior dorm black box radio and its sounds. Little did I know then, that the music coming out of it would shape my life forever.<br /></div>
Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-81010506440843236362014-02-27T13:55:00.001-08:002014-02-27T13:55:31.175-08:00Being your Mother<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every single day I teach you to become more and more
independent. Mainly because I think you need these skills to do well in life.
Every night as part of that process, I encourage and most times force you to
sleep on your own bed, and tell you, you are not alone, you have your glow pets
and princess dolls to give you company. I tell you that all other kids your age
sleep this way and you should be like one of them. Deep down, I want you in my
bed, and even though I don’t sleep well with all your kicking, I sleep better
than when you are not in bed with me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You turned 7 today, and while I said my goodbyes at school,
I realized very soon you won’t need me to drop you off at school. You won’t
need those last minute hugs and kisses and most definitely will prefer to hang
out with your friends than with your mommy. I look around at the other kids who
couldn’t care less if their parents were in the room, and even though there are
moments I am jealous that those kids are so hands off, I know you are special
and cherish each of those moments you don’t want to let go of me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This past year I’ve seen you work very hard, both at home
and at school. I’ve felt your struggles to fit in socially, to try and perform
in ways that is expected out of you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
have experienced your transformation every single day and all I can say is I am
very proud of you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am also very sorry, because I wish you lived in a world
that was less judgmental, that did not require you to be a certain way. Which
is why it was absolutely phenomenal to see you at school this morning wearing
the outfit you had picked for your special day. It was a complete disaster –
but it was YOU. And even though my first reaction was that of shock and a need
to tell the world I had nothing to do with it, I couldn’t help but see how
happy you were, and laugh about whatever other people might be thinking of the
way you were dressed in school today. I did not have my camera with me, but
this image will never leave my memory. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know I am your hardest critic and push you every single
day to be a well-behaved girl. But what I don’t tell you more often that it is
okay to let go and be yourself and pursue things you love in any way or form. Today,
on your birthday, I promise to do that more - to listen to your heart and mine, to value your opinions
and personality, and to thrive in the glory of who you are and who you are meant
to be.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s what being your mother is all about and I want to cherish ALL our moments together.</div>
</div>
Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-7105415377696690652014-01-20T19:55:00.001-08:002014-01-20T20:01:30.565-08:00I Have a Dream!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I honestly don't know why people are making such a big deal about NSA surveillance and the storage of phone metadata. I mean, I really have no issues with NSA listening to my phone conversations. In fact, I pity whoever has to listen to them. I mean, imagine having to listen to the phone conversations I have with my ex. I won't be surprised if they send over a terrorist to blow us out. And boy, if they are reading our emails - that might require chemical weapons. So, if they need to really go through our personal information to stop a terrorist attack, I say - go for it! In fact, I think NSA deserves a medal for going through all that crap.<br />
<br />
I have never really talked about my divorce in my blog. Mainly because I didn't think it was anyone's business. But I was wrong and the esteemed Bengali community of Sacramento thought otherwise. And even though this deserves a whole post dedicated to the topic, I would just like to tell all of you who have shown extreme concern regarding my daughter's well-being, it would be nice for you to actually try and find out how she's doing and help out once in a while. So, take a chill pill and worry about what's happening in your home, not mine. And if you really do have that perfect family, then please try to devote your time to world peace. And remember, each time you judge me when I walk into the room, know, I'm feeling sorry for you - truly.<br />
<br />
In other news, today is day three of my Jillian Michael's Ripped in 30 workout challenge. All I can say is that, apart from discovering muscles that I did not know existed, I should have also been serious about my kegel exercises while I was pregnant. The fact that at my age I am even thinking of adult diapers makes me depressed. And that makes me eat a whole bag of chips. And that makes my workout quite meaningless. Moral of story - working out at home is depressing! I think I need a nap.<br />
<br />
It took me a while, but I discovered the secret to being a perfect parent - alcohol and TV! Today is also day three of my little one being sick and we have not left the house so far. If you're not a parent, you will probably not understand the gravity of this situation. Remember the airline safety videos where they ask you to wear your oxygen mask first and then help your child? You have to apply that same rule when your kid is sick and stuck at home. You reach for the wine first and then the cough syrup - I am serious! And TV time is the ONLY time the coughing and whining recedes. One of these days I will find that post where I proclaimed, being a parent was the best thing that happened to me and delete that remark.<br />
<br />
If you've been feeling jealous that I had MLK day off - this post should now put your mind at ease. And this quote couldn't me more appropriate in my life right now: <span class="description">"I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream." Just that my dream involves a beach and a private jet.</span><br />
<br />
Jokes apart, I pay respect today to the remarkable man who touched the lives of many ordinary citizens.<br />
<br /></div>
Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-84357416569063738962014-01-01T23:15:00.002-08:002014-01-01T23:19:36.670-08:00The New Year Post<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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When your year ends with having to dump your child’s
Christmas presents in a trash bag or having to deal with the year’s worst
temper tantrum right before heading out to the NYE bash, you can’t help but
think you’ve had the worst year of your life. And I can’t help but wonder,
whether everywhere in the world people are drinking themselves silly for
similar reasons that very special night. (I think they ARE!)<br />
<br />
But today, the very first day of 2014, was right out of a
fairytale. My daughter seemed like she could be Cinderella instead of one of
her stepsisters, which made me wait in anticipation all day for the bubble to
pop. Only after I tucked her in bed, I realized I had the perfect day with the
perfect daughter. But the day wasn’t perfect because of this one reason. The
day was perfect because we were also both very sad to have said goodbye to our
best friends, so sad, that my almost seven year old sat down to write a letter
to her friend saying how much she was missing him and wish he had never left. That
was real. That was life. And that made it such a perfect day to start the year
with.<br />
<br />
2013 was the same. It was real. It was life – complete with
shitty moments and incredible ones, but most of all, a year of endurance. Today,
I shamelessly pat myself on the back and shout out loud that I did really good.
And I did it with grace, and dignity, and for the very first time, I am proud
of myself.<br />
<br />
I am also incredibly proud of my daughter who continually struggles to be the perfect child we all want her to be and makes me revisit the word "endurance" on a daily basis.<br />
<br />
So, I start this new year with no resolutions or goals, but
with everyday life that me and my child will truly LIVE!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbJ5e4bTGQJIzEqrJvoS6C1NgkqBHY9LckAQ9YrMj7HU-ZgMKGw9lndRoD7s1yrCFrNBvqHar1mlx0I7k_WTypv0AAcDZeJbh1GWlYkh5e4KQITSwPGME911Lptd0H9VgfrY85Vw/s1600/IMG_0883.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbJ5e4bTGQJIzEqrJvoS6C1NgkqBHY9LckAQ9YrMj7HU-ZgMKGw9lndRoD7s1yrCFrNBvqHar1mlx0I7k_WTypv0AAcDZeJbh1GWlYkh5e4KQITSwPGME911Lptd0H9VgfrY85Vw/s400/IMG_0883.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wishing all of you a year full of crazy laughs!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-40301240310496991862013-09-27T09:20:00.002-07:002013-09-27T09:20:59.137-07:00You know you are a single mom when...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>You are ready to call it a day at 8:30am</li>
<li>You really feel like telling your kid that she can hunt for her own food at lunch</li>
<li>You are tired of hearing, “you look really tired today” </li>
<li>But then you smile politely and say, “this IS how I look”</li>
<li>From the moment your kid wakes up, you wait eagerly for her bedtime</li>
<li>Shower times can play with your mind. You don’t want it to end (for either kid or you) but stress out thinking of the water bill next month</li>
<li>Every morning you tell yourself you will go to bed early tonight</li>
<li>But you never go to bed till midnight because that is the ONLY time you will get to yourself<br />You use that very precious time very constructively, and instead of preparing lunch for the next day, you get caught up on Devious Maids and Mistresses (remember, kid can hunt for own food at school?)</li>
<li>You find yourself constantly making lists</li>
<li>You are incapable of taking naps (IF the moment ever arose) </li>
<li>You live in constant fear of forgetting something very important</li>
<li>Your kid is the only child in school to wear the same dress to picture day as the previous year</li>
<li>The person you want MOST in your life is a live-in maid who can also do your hair every morning </li>
<li>Wine is your biggest expense</li>
<li>You don’t read books anymore - they are too taxing for your brain</li>
<li>You do not have the space for other people’s shit</li>
<li>You stop watching the news, chemical weapons don’t seem to a big problem anymore</li>
<li>Every free moment you get, you find yourself in the grocery store or scrubbing something</li>
<li>The only time you might be able to go out on a date would be Saturday brunch</li>
<li>But you would look too tired for that</li>
<li>And your date might mistake you for a bear because you have not had time to shave (just be glad I shower every day)</li>
<li>Or he might think this is the first time you’ve been to a restaurant because you are more interested in the dining experience than him</li>
<li>And then he will dump you on that first date realizing he cannot afford your wine bill</li>
<li>Did I already mention that wine is your biggest expense?</li>
</ul>
</div>
Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-12106467216850501612013-09-15T22:42:00.002-07:002013-09-15T22:51:16.790-07:00In Love...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Lately, I received quite a few messages from my friends that they love seeing my Facebook posts, especially the photos. They want to know the secret to my glow and love my zest for life. Now, granted, everything on Facebook should be taken with a grain of salt, and I post only the "happy" moments, and I definitely do not glow without filters - I do love life. And the only reason I share it is because there is nothing like sharing a bit of happiness with friends and family. I've always shared happiness, even during the days we did not have Facebook.<br />
<br />
What makes me happy?<br />
Falling in love...<br />
<br />
I fall in love almost every day. In fact I fell in love just last night with this couple at the airport. When you're traveling for business or with kids, you are always in a rush - how fast can I get out of that plane? How fast can I walk to the baggage claim? Does my child need to go potty? I better check my emails while I wait for those damned bags. Why did I check bags in the first place? Oh, I remember, it was for the shoes! I need a pair for the outfit I wanted to wear for that dinner, only to realize none of the 5 pairs I took with me matched. <br />
<br />
So, last night, after I landed, I decided not to rush. And surprisingly, I got my bags as soon as I reached baggage claim. I strolled outside and waited for my friend to come pick me up and while I waited, I decided not to play with my phone. As I sat there inhaling fresh air and exhaling toxic airplane air, I was startled by a squeal from this lady who was so excited to see her partner. They both hugged, kissed and her partner held her tight and reminded her how much he missed her. I fell in love instantly.<br />
<br />
I'm also in love with Sam. Our six year old neighbor who is honestly the most loving child I've ever met. I'm in love with the fact my daughter loves him as much as I do and that all three of us share the same love for Tom and Jerry.<br />
<br />
When it comes to falling in love, I fall in love with my friends in San Diego over and over again. I'm a firm believer that God gives special kids to special parents and they are truly special. I'm in love with their strength, courage and most importantly their constantly smiling faces.<br />
<br />
I fall in love easily with people who smile and make others smile. The greatest feeling in this whole world is putting a smile on someone's face. I'm in love with beautiful people - both from inside and out. <br />
<br />
I am of course head over heels in love with my six year old - her morning breath, her crazy hair, her wiggling tooth, her crazy sense of fashion, our evening walks to watch the sun set, our pretend parties and dance shows.<br />
<br />
So remember, if you are one of those people who find it hard to smile, complain about how things are not going your way, afraid others might judge you, or even worse, following your heart might throw things off balance - you need to wake up and fall in love, over and over again.<br />
<br /></div>
Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-39949056350071417992013-07-12T00:02:00.002-07:002013-07-12T00:26:09.901-07:00The Sparkly Shoe Fund<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lately I have not been feeling creative at all. That is kind of stressful for me, especially since my livelihood depends on being creative every single day. I think I am finally succumbing to that pressure. The last thing I want to do when I come home, is be creative. There are walls in my apartment that I want to decorate with photos, there are even photos available to put up, but the sheer thought of coordinating and buying frames, and coming up with creative ways to not make my walls look like any other walls, makes me give up on the project each and every time. <br>
<br>
However, what I cannot get away with, is being a parent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That is THE most creative job on the planet. So if you are a parent, and
if you tell yourself you are not the creative type, you are lying to yourself.
You might not be lying when you say you don’t have a sense of color or
coordination – but a creative you are. How would you be raising kids or else?
Imagine the answers you have to come up with, the solutions you need to invent,
the endless stories you have to weave and the manipulation you have to resort
to, to just get your child to brush her teeth.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Born from such creativity is “The Sparkly Shoe Fund”.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Last weekend, at a play date, my daughter saw these sparkly
sneakers that were not only super colorful, but also lit up when you walked. Of
course, she wanted them. She even promised to wear these shoes to school EVERY
day. Now the “wearing it EVERY day” part was what caught my attention. As a
parent, who is late to work every single morning due to shoe drama, this would
be a blessing (we’ll talk about the clothes drama at a later post when I’ve had
enough wine).</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Even though it was an interesting solution, I had forgotten
all about it (as usual) till it came up last night amidst a lot of whining. I
was just coming out of a play/pool/dinner date with three girls and hearing my
daughter whine was not at the top of my list. I had to make it stop. She did
not need shoes and I didn’t want to say yes. But I couldn’t let go of my
morning visions of no shoe drama. That’s when I saw the light and gave birth to
the said fund.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I explained to her that she will have to create a fund for
her shoes. I laid out the rules. The shoes cost $30 (I sure hope they are not
$100 designer shoes). I would pick out chores for her and add dollar amounts to
them based on level of difficulty. She could earn the money my completing the
chores. If she needed my help in completing any of them, her earnings would be
reduced for said task. Her first task last night was to vacuum a cobweb with a
spider in it. Since she is really fearful of spiders, this task was a big
ticket item set for $5. She could not muster up the courage to do it herself
and requested my help. That brought it down to $2. Her first earnings. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A few other things she can earn money for her shoes, is by
way of overcoming a few challenges we deal with on a daily basis. Staying awake
in the car on her way home from school every evening, eating well at three
meals and cleaning up her room will earn her $1. Sleeping in her own room will
earn her a whopping $5. As of this moment she is sleeping in her bed, at her
own wish, sans any drama – I feel like I’ve won already. In case of any kind of
bad behavior, depending on the extent, she will have to pay me back from her
fund. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">As of last night, this girl is on a mission and so am I.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And
of course, a girl has to have a sparkly shoe box for the cause!</span></span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV_4gXnCmNh_VG886JV26LrfM7m-muZ_-St7PRbG_MDy8xFHhuMC9XbowhEgRe5UXnWs_VFo11ZTLzJoznImjVzdlgAiqjQhHqwYBfCINYGGPtfDit9kzk7NPONvRzkTbv_nMwyA/s1600/IMG_0179.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV_4gXnCmNh_VG886JV26LrfM7m-muZ_-St7PRbG_MDy8xFHhuMC9XbowhEgRe5UXnWs_VFo11ZTLzJoznImjVzdlgAiqjQhHqwYBfCINYGGPtfDit9kzk7NPONvRzkTbv_nMwyA/s400/IMG_0179.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I knew these jewels would one day solve a bigger purpose :)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtQUE_fF-7oZMVJC6iaSNO-1At9URekO5LvoJ07S8QfOj10fsF3r214eMuUAvYj6a6iIuEAYc0OdXtsifwhfCP7vWW90E89Rv9y2id098EDOIX0a84shtL-PPvFxVmvN0a0oi6og/s1600/IMG_0180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtQUE_fF-7oZMVJC6iaSNO-1At9URekO5LvoJ07S8QfOj10fsF3r214eMuUAvYj6a6iIuEAYc0OdXtsifwhfCP7vWW90E89Rv9y2id098EDOIX0a84shtL-PPvFxVmvN0a0oi6og/s400/IMG_0180.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just doing it! Because that is what you sometimes have to do.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEjP5A5pQ7662SzSKeuVdMejNfkz4T2oqI5UA2BPZa8-jQZbkMD8TxvCwGHspzsXSKPIe8tsDEJEzuowGy1eSWuZRiO2ZBDAV6Uqp5nZ6ndvZpxlrbMELpSr5PqJt7deqq5yZ2Ug/s1600/IMG_0183.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEjP5A5pQ7662SzSKeuVdMejNfkz4T2oqI5UA2BPZa8-jQZbkMD8TxvCwGHspzsXSKPIe8tsDEJEzuowGy1eSWuZRiO2ZBDAV6Uqp5nZ6ndvZpxlrbMELpSr5PqJt7deqq5yZ2Ug/s400/IMG_0183.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Only $27 to go...our drawing skills have a longer road ahead though ;)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mommy is currently
receiving contributions in the name of a Sparkly Flask Fund – oh wait, I already
have that!</i></div>
</div>
Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-50826492128474281552013-06-24T23:05:00.002-07:002013-06-26T18:24:10.798-07:00Random Rants of the Aging<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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So now my eyebrows are turning gray? WTH??? I feel like I
woke up one day and turned old. I am not ready yet. But I have to face said
fact – after all its not just my hair anymore – its my freakin’ eyebrows as
well. I mean, seriously???<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So what do you do to your eyebrows when they turn gray? I’m
sure there are pins in Pinterest on eyebrow makeovers. Who can guide me to that
fountain of youth again? Anyone?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Honestly, I don’t “feel” old. Okay, maybe there was just
this one day when I threw my back off somehow and could barely walk all day.
How did that happen? Well, I’d like you all to believe I was practicing moves
from the Kama Sutra, but I think it was from tying my shoelaces. Let’s just go
back to the Kama Sutra version here – shall we?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve never had a problem acknowledging my age and realizing
I’m getting older. But the other day when I came across someone celebrating
their 26th<sup> </sup>on FB, I almost cried. I blamed it on my hormones and the
time of the month of course. Some of my 40+ friends are rolling their eyes
saying, “Gawd, you’re still young!” I would like to remind them again that my
eyebrows are graying. As you can tell, this really has me freaked out.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think it’s stress. I think it’s the damned stressful lives
we lead. I cannot imagine what my parents would have done if they had to deal
with kindergarten graduation ceremonies. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My brain doesn’t work anymore. It has been proven by my six
year old who wrote me this beautiful note saying, “ I love mommy because she
does not use her brains.” I think my brain has checked out and is eternally
vacationing in some tropical island. But somehow even there I constantly here
the words – “hungry”, “poop”, “mommy”, “dessert”, “why”, “but WHY?????”
<insert whining=""></insert></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have to admit – my daughter has some serious skills. Some
of the stuff she can do blows my mind. She can talk non-stop while brushing her
teeth. She can also do a balancing act while on the potty. She can do
cartwheels and hand stands right after dinner without throwing up. She can say “mommy”
in EVERY sentence.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But at the end of the day, she thinks Mommy is 18. I think
Mommy is 24. And there is always tweezers for those damned eyebrows and mascara for when you realize there will be no more eyebrows left for tweezing. </div>
</div>
Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-14793116173973037202013-04-21T22:02:00.001-07:002013-04-21T22:02:46.011-07:00The Sensory Child<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">“ You would never get way for
this kind of behavior with me. Your mother is too nice.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">I have heard my daughter
being told this too many times now and as a mother I’ve cringed inside every
single time and wanted to explain myself that I wasn’t spoiling her a bit. In
fact, I was really hard on her. But at all instances I kept silent knowing I
would never be able to explain our challenges and the other person would not
understand. I just distanced us from them as much as I could.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">There have been too many occasions,
where my friends thought I was too uptight when I wanted to return home with my
daughter at a decent time from a get-together or wanted to stick to our regular
week day meal times on weekends knowing the aftermath I would have to face for
breaking schedule. Friends and family would walk over eggshells around my
daughter not knowing what’s going to spark an outburst from her. As a result,
they all somehow ended up treating her a bit differently than the other kids in
the room.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">I’ve also always wondered if
these other parents judged me when I didn’t make too big of a deal if my
daughter wouldn’t smile, say hi, thank you or goodbye knowing the result of
putting her on the spot would be far worse than the current situation, if I
did. She, however, was constantly reminded that she does need to say those
things and be polite. But it wouldn’t happen right then and there, no matter
how hard I tried.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">By the time my daughter was
three, I knew something was out of sync. I knew that, because I am not one of those
parents who will be blind to all my child’s antics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had unfortunately been one of those
judgmental parents myself before I had my own kid. And I had promised myself
that my kid would never get away with most of the stuff I see other kids doing
or saying. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">So when after years and years
of not giving in, being consistent with discipline, and not taking any crap, we
continued to have the same problems, I realized something was off. She seemed
to have been born with a switch that toggled between an extremely happy and an
extremely unhappy/mad kid with no middle ground. Sometimes the reasons were not
clear to us as parents, let alone other people we socialized with and our
family members who just thought she was spoilt.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">A few years ago, I was
determined I was going wrong somewhere with this whole parenting gig. The world
around me sure made me feel that way. It was time I sought help. After my
counselor heard the challenges I was having, she advised I get my daughter
evaluated by an Occupational Therapist. To her, it seemed like my daughter had
some sensory issues. I had no idea what that meant at the time. So I started
reading. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">The more I read, the more I
began to understand why getting dressed, brushing teeth, taking a shower, going
to school, riding in the car, socializing – almost everything with her was such
a challenge and a constant battle. Mostly all her senses, especially that of
touch and sound, are extremely heightened and they bother her to no extent. As
her therapist later had explained to me – imagine being pricked by a 1,000
needles all at once – that’s how she feels when she wears certain clothing. And
she cannot explain that to you and you have no way of understanding why she is
throwing such a tantrum. Not because she is spoilt – she wants to be in
something that comforts her. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Comfort and security is
something she seeks at all times. Kids with sensory issues are uncomfortable
most of the time. Being unable to express their discomfort, these kids tend to
become very insecure, irritable, frustrated, afraid and rigid. They need
extreme structure and operate well within a consistent schedule. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Doctors will not recognize
sensory integration as a medical problem and will not refer you for therapy.
Once a pediatrician told me – your daughter does not need any occupational
therapy. She’s just being a kid and you just need to stay consistent with
discipline. Some have told me I am overreacting and of course there were those
who will constantly harp on the fact that I spoil her and am responsible for all
ill actions. Lately, of course, there is the divorce and most all her reactions
are believed to be because of our “situation”. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">I am done with crap people
throw at me constantly. I am done with those who are not there to help but can
only point fingers and be judgmental. I have a beautiful, extremely smart, creative
and loving daughter and all I want, is to provide her with skills and tools to
be able to grow up in to this wonderful human being in her own right. The past
six years have not been an easy ride of any sort – not for any one of us – but
this year is the year of hope and the year of building our futures – and build
we shall.</span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Why do I write about this you
ask? Knowing very well most people might start thinking my child has
a “problem” and be judgmental anyways? I write about this because I am a
changed person. I write about my experiences because I would like you to change
your thoughts as well – to have more patience, to understand, recognize, be
aware, love, and most importantly take an extra step whenever you get a chance, because, who I see here is a child who can sparkle up your life as much as she sparkles mine. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFX9Zf9FZTWG13S-O3cIRKAZMWqCDYVVyEW23shByKtIF1yvFwSWVa802mPHwaHs_97iMsXCSA57aA8HjynxcJbM9nlC3wglUW8C3drQE-BZ-Gwo2YmTbG_4HRn5cslJC2t7j8Pw/s1600/603807_10151340528235796_718510735_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFX9Zf9FZTWG13S-O3cIRKAZMWqCDYVVyEW23shByKtIF1yvFwSWVa802mPHwaHs_97iMsXCSA57aA8HjynxcJbM9nlC3wglUW8C3drQE-BZ-Gwo2YmTbG_4HRn5cslJC2t7j8Pw/s640/603807_10151340528235796_718510735_n.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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</div>
Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-83435874475380931452013-03-27T15:00:00.003-07:002013-03-27T15:02:43.543-07:00Beaches, Friendship and much more...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Growing up I was always surrounded by friends. Till date, some of my closest friends are the ones I made when I was very very young. I've known my best friend since fifth grade. We are more like sisters now. I think E shares my sentiments when it comes to friendship. She loves hanging out with her friends, having them over and visiting them. She also shares my love for the ocean and sprawling beaches. So nothing could have been more fun and meaningful to us both than visiting our friends in San Diego for Spring Break. Its been almost a year since our friends moved out here and we miss them a lot. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Here are a few moments from my "Beach Series". These photos were taken with an iphone and I am not a photographer. So even though they are not technically the best photos - each of them tell me a story and are very close to my heart.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Mo-KFOtQ-qtCUd3NB7OyxNGu4UQIrM-i9QMx0D7Kxos_v6IR8bKK_S4B2ayV1HGvDlBy_7J9m9G7Y9S7QAce9YzbxkPjGi9_vIfvF1bKBDPFLzxw8xAmc-lZ5pz-U_Kt1ZANdA/s1600/IMG_2388.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Mo-KFOtQ-qtCUd3NB7OyxNGu4UQIrM-i9QMx0D7Kxos_v6IR8bKK_S4B2ayV1HGvDlBy_7J9m9G7Y9S7QAce9YzbxkPjGi9_vIfvF1bKBDPFLzxw8xAmc-lZ5pz-U_Kt1ZANdA/s640/IMG_2388.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Along with my childhood friends, I have also made some incredible friends in the recent years. One of them I have the pleasure of working with at my current job. Being the native OC girl, imagine her excitement when we had to go on a business trip to Orange County recently. Brought up in Laguna Beach, she took me down memory lane with her to the house she grew up in, the school she went to and of course the beach she so terribly misses now. I could not resist taking a few shots of her reminiscing about her childhood. I'm honored she took me on this journey with her and I cherish our newly found friendship to no end. <br />
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Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-25789180046986845572013-02-15T13:51:00.000-08:002013-02-15T15:14:22.698-08:00Heart Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
You knew this post was coming - right? How can one help it when there is so much love all around, especially on the internet. Hopefully our economy did well and people did not delete all the red and pink promotions they received in their inbox like I did. My inbox was flooded with hearts in the subject lines offering some sort of sale. Sadly this time there was none for penis enlargements, for if there were I would totally go for it -LOL! I was VERY tempted with one offer for liposuction though. I still feel some geek should come up with an app that if you slide the phone across your problem areas it will melt all the fat in those regions. Now, if and when you do come up with that app, please make sure you give me credits and half of your earnings please. After all it was my idea.<br />
<br />
So here are a few facts I learned this Valentines day:<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>When you say “Olive Juice” your lips move exactly the way if you were to say “I Love You”. Talk about useless information to fill your brain. But now I do posses this piece of information which will never leave my brain even while I forget to pick up my daughter from school.</li>
<li>If you tell your coworker a sad enough story about yourself right before you head out to lunch together, you earn a free meal. She feels so sorry for you that she buys you lunch which you end up telling her was the highlight of your day and you might just be invited to dinner now - SCORE! (I have to admit this coworker is a dear freind of mine and I know she would have bought me that lunch anyways, it was just how the events took place that made us laugh hard about the way it turned out. I love you Ms B!)</li>
<li>Less than 3 (because using the symbol jacks up my post due to some HTML crap): According to Urban Dictionary, some people use this as a heart, but those people are wrong. It is clearly a ballsack. Don’t blame me for ruining the "heart" for you - I would have never thought of that.</li>
</ul>
Jokes apart, hope everyone had a great time with people they loved, doing the things that they love and spreading some love to folks who need them. I know I did, especially since it involved Lamb Biriyani and Kababs and NO ballsacks. :) </div>
Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-65417012135703196752013-02-11T22:18:00.000-08:002013-02-11T22:22:04.577-08:00Party Planning Jitters<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I finally won over my urge to constantly be in the know of everything that was happening in everyone's lives. Its been almost three weeks that I've not been on Facebook and I must say it feels pretty good. My head is not full of useless information anymore - well, for the most part - when I'm not trying to answer questions like "mommy, how can Mary Poppins sit on a cloud?"<br />
<br />
The chatterbox is turning six and she wants a party. If she could, she would invite 100 kids and I'm not kidding. I'm sure she even mentioned something to that effect in one of her conversations while driving home back from school. So far she has almost 40 kids on her invite list. I'm just amazed she even knows 40 kids. Yes, I know I'm crazy to have said yes to it. But I'm happy she considers that many her friends and wants to include them in her celebrations. I, however, have starting laying rules for next year already - limiting her to 10-15 friends she can invite. She sighs, throws her arms in the air, rolls her eyes and says, "mommy, but that's not even a party!" Dear God, SAVE ME!!!<br />
<br />
So, I was chatting with a friend today and we were talking about how we cannot remember anything these days. Apparently her mom tells her the same thing that my dad constantly tells me - "if you forget everything at this age, what will you do when you are my age?" I tell my dad it was easy for them. They weren't as forgetful when they were younger because they were not as stressed as we are these days - they did not have Google searches and most importantly they did not have Pinterest. Yes, its official - Pinterest stresses me out beyond belief. So when I did a Google search on the upcoming birthday party theme(s), I was led on several instances to Pinterest boards and one particular blog and I realized there was a whole new world out there of moms with money, lots of it, and something even more precious - TIME. Well, yes, they are creative too and with the resources available to them, their creativity knows no bounds. This knowledge stresses me out why? Because somehow it makes me look like a loser and I don't feel creative anymore and realize my party planning ideas stink - I stink. The realization dawns that however much I try, I will not be able to make my daughter's 6th birthday party look like a wedding on the beach. Beat that dad!<br />
<br />
One idea I am taking from all my party planning research though - a bottle of Bombay Sapphire will go very well with the party theme. But a disclaimer to all parents invited - that's only for ME. :)</div>
Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-52420808611739830872013-01-17T21:26:00.001-08:002013-02-20T20:29:29.818-08:00Keeping it Simple<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Look who’s back! I know how much you’ve been missing me and my tidbits on my delightfully interesting life.<br />
<br />
It’s that darned Facebook that doesn’t make me want to write anymore. I’d rather just hit the “like” button on other people’s shit (Oops! I meant posts. No offense please. As you keep reading you'll realize I'm using the word a lot). It is almost like the freakin’ Staples “easy button” - somehow makes life that much more simpler.<br />
<br />
Talking about simple, that’s what I’m all about in 2013 - being simply simplistic. Who knew in my quest for simplicity I would eventually find true love. You heard that right! He’s slim, he’s sexy, he’s powerful and goes places I’ve never dreamed of before. Introducing to you, ladies & gentlemen, "Mr. D" aka Dyson Digital Slim. <br />
<br />
If you are jumping into conclusions that this girl has NO life - you’re just jealous I have a cleaner house than you could ever imagine - I mean SERIOUSLY! This thing is so cleverly designed that I would like to drop everything and enroll myself for a design internship at Dyson - the ultimate in user experience design. I cannot remember the last time I bought a product and was this much in love with it. I vacuum almost every day now. Trashing my ten year old Hoover (which took quite the bodily strength to do) was the most liberating experience in a while. My first step to a simpler life - check.<br />
<br />
Topping my list of new year’s resolution though is to not take shit from people, both in my personal and professional life. Just when I make the resolution, shit hits the roof from many different angles. Sometimes it’s hard to react, but I’ve been working hard. So recently when I get an email from someone of importance at work saying, “I’m disappointed in you” - I reply back saying “I’m MORE disappointed in YOU for not checking your facts and assuming I failed without asking me what happened first.” I still have my job and there is no stopping me now. So if you are one of those people who have potential of throwing shit my way - be very careful. That stuff will hit you right back. (Wow! I’ve not used the word “shit” so many times. This feels liberating too.)<br />
<br />
So for many of you who know me really well, know I don’t bake. You also know that my philosophy is if you can find something that good at a store, why bother to make it? Lately though, thanks to some over-achieving moms at my daughter’s school who bring home-baked goodies for class snacks, I thought I should give it a shot. So during the winter break when my daughter had a playdate, I decided to engage the kids in some baking activity. Off to the store I went with my list of ingredients to make brownies. As I stood at the baking aisle, I had a brilliant idea. Why not start simple? So I picked up a brownie mix and a baking pan instead. The next day, in the event of baking brownies with the kids, not only did I have the gooey chocolate mix smeared on my table and carpet and extensive clean up after, my daughter would not eat rest of those brownies the next day. That says a lot considering the sweet tooth she has. I should just stick to my smart choices. I buy healthier snacks for my daughter's class anyways - score! Keeping it simple is actually simple.<br />
<br />
Yesterday my almost six year old daughter asked me "Mommy, what does it mean when two people are dating?" Life doesn't seem simple anymore - <span class="st"><i>Oy</i> vey <i>Oy</i>!</span></div>
Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-7743157917400767422012-10-15T15:30:00.000-07:002012-10-15T15:56:52.064-07:00Pujo Shopping, Pandal Hopping & Much More...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 9pt;">Oh, how I
wish we kids had cameras back then. I tried going through all my old photos and
am bummed to find out I have absolutely no pictures of us friends in our famous
pujo attires of yesteryears. Those pictures would be priceless based on our
sense of fashion back then.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 9pt;">Pujo fashion
in Kolkata was of course dominated by the latest Bollywood styles. I think it
was 1990 - the year of Maine Pyar Kiya - pujo shopping in Gariahat, the street
vendors crying out loud, “didi, come take a look at the kabutar ja salwa
kameez” - the one Bhagyashree wore while singing that famous song. No, I DID
NOT purchase that. I cannot remember if it was my choice to not buy it or I
wasn’t allowed to. But whatever the reason was - thank God!</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 9pt;">That
definitely did not stop us from trying to pick up some of that fashion when it
came to our hair and makeup. I have specific images of those big hair bows with
nets at the bottom to hold your hair into a bun. I think that rage started with
Divya Bharti in the early 90’s as well. Anyone remember her? I also remember
sporting that hairdo at the Golf Green pujo pandal one year - got a
non-facebook “friend request” from one of the senior dada’s there - SCORE! I
wonder if it was the hair or those big button-style (for lack of better words)
earrings that did the trick - LOL!</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvmbTzycCYjD9UMmN16XacWXw77qZz6PiCmgLDKRYa5EMFhJz1jyMZCYWWiy7njitgFe_2THYTpCJiR9CAa1T7Bk2Pa141xDSjc1tWV3_11_CrrA2LmciqnqCehkALQC4J6Ys12Q/s1600/divya+bharti+hq++%28105%29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvmbTzycCYjD9UMmN16XacWXw77qZz6PiCmgLDKRYa5EMFhJz1jyMZCYWWiy7njitgFe_2THYTpCJiR9CAa1T7Bk2Pa141xDSjc1tWV3_11_CrrA2LmciqnqCehkALQC4J6Ys12Q/s200/divya+bharti+hq++%28105%29.jpg" width="128" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 9pt;">Now I cannot
remember who started the whole matte lipstick phase paired with a darker shade
of lip liners - but boy oh boy - we were all over that one, especially me. I
had every shade of brown matte lipstick there could ever be. Followed by those pastel, short-sleeved churidar kameez from Dil to Pagal Hain.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 9pt;">I was surprised to see the same trend after I moved to Sacramento
a decade ago. The year of Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gam - Jaya Bhaduri sarees selling like hot cakes at the Berkely
saree stores for aunties and the Kareena Kapoor outfit for the youngsters. Now,
now, aunties - please don’t get mad at me for calling you an auntie. If its any
consolation to you - I think I’m one now as well.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 9pt;">So, its that time of the year and I miss all the craziness. I have
no idea what’s “IN” these days anymore. I mean, based on the recent Bollywood
movies I’ve watched there is no way on earth I can sport some of those outfits
worn by Kareena Kapoor or Deepika Paudokone. I miss those days when Bollywood
actresses had some meat on their bodies and wore clothes maybe some of us could
carry off. I guess I really AM an auntie now.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 9pt;">If you haven’t already guessed, the first thing pujo is all about
amongst many other things is
fashion. The crazy shopping and planning of new outfits to be worn all 5 days
of Durga Pujo - that includes
separate morning and evening wears. As kids, we used to keep a tally amongst
friends as to who had the most number of new outfits that year. Ronita almost
always won. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 9pt;">As much as pujo was a time to spend with family, our friends
always got precedence. Our group of friends had a schedule down for those few
days. Mornings were to be spent with family and anything remotely religious
that was expected out of any of us. Evenings were reserved for friends and
pandal hopping with them. As we grew older, we convinced our parents to have
sleepovers and were out all night in the city going from one pandal to the
other with expectations to out number last year’s count as well as to determine
which locality had the most number of good looking males. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 9pt;">Pujo was also about relationships. Extended families came together
and it was a time to reunite with cousins you would normally not meet the whole
year. It was about friendships – both old and new. It was also a time for
romance. I think the last one took precedence over the rest. It was a time for
folks to fall in love – time for the guys to muster up the courage to finally
tell a girl they liked them. It was a time to feel giddy with excitement
knowing someone had the hots for you, a time to openly check out and be checked
out without being judged. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik-MulDjeCaCXqwipF7jsCetyNybvPkzbp020tCXo0ndnqq-iXtr0FutPjLFtMzZ-QifuNwsoZYZbM_iJEKYp5EytCjX8kawygyRwXvCAyZWCx8a07xNR28ockbKcjEUJMGbPOmQ/s1600/Picture+8.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik-MulDjeCaCXqwipF7jsCetyNybvPkzbp020tCXo0ndnqq-iXtr0FutPjLFtMzZ-QifuNwsoZYZbM_iJEKYp5EytCjX8kawygyRwXvCAyZWCx8a07xNR28ockbKcjEUJMGbPOmQ/s320/Picture+8.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 9pt;">Bengali’s are foodies. So it comes as no surprise pujo was also
all about food. I still wonder how the “bhog” always tasted as heavenly as it
did, without fail, each and every time, year after year. But what was most
delectable were the rolls and fuchkas being sold on the streets. You can never
go hungry those five days of pujo since street food is available all night
long. </span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdiAmazxv_cLUTa4aDI4KBG-qyIMGsSa_KpBz_iLJAaJ1ZFPeiFZVvKQ-VIJJeqZbELRyEtW5NZGlzviGuSXExU1NgRf_Ag-mYRiqYAYP4Q-RNU-UvH9t5ewFFoqWtWn9tVbPU0Q/s1600/Picture+6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdiAmazxv_cLUTa4aDI4KBG-qyIMGsSa_KpBz_iLJAaJ1ZFPeiFZVvKQ-VIJJeqZbELRyEtW5NZGlzviGuSXExU1NgRf_Ag-mYRiqYAYP4Q-RNU-UvH9t5ewFFoqWtWn9tVbPU0Q/s320/Picture+6.png" width="192" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 9pt;">Apart from these pujo to me was waiting for baba to arrive along
with waiting for Durga’s face to be unveiled, Thamma's crisp white sarees with red borders, going to see
the new protima at mamoni’s house in Tallygunge, Dadubhai’s ear plugs, those
blaring loudspeakers, narkeler naaru, maangsehr jhol on nabami, the beating of
dhaaks and dhunuchi naach, the friendships, the lights and sounds, Jodhpur
park, Babubagan, Golpark, Ekdalia, Mudiali, Maddox square - the heartbeat of my
most favorite city – Kolkata. </span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmjh_NnIGttTi0EXHsnFy8h1WvwSJMwQCd3egMRsVrE9tG7luJ4NW-TFfCx_t9uJxGnrwOaBKSe62kjgkl9d_LKhMLk5yWu6kphZFfyhrpzqmju-3vCPWQLkPg-rDZgYHQjwle8g/s1600/Picture+7.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmjh_NnIGttTi0EXHsnFy8h1WvwSJMwQCd3egMRsVrE9tG7luJ4NW-TFfCx_t9uJxGnrwOaBKSe62kjgkl9d_LKhMLk5yWu6kphZFfyhrpzqmju-3vCPWQLkPg-rDZgYHQjwle8g/s320/Picture+7.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 9pt;">I wonder if I could ever explain to my daughter what these few
days meant to us. Starting this year, mainly because she is beginning to
understand things better and has opinions (how did that happen? She’s still
5!), I plan to introduce some of my pujo experiences from back home. It will of
course not be the same, pandal hopping will have to be substituted by pujo
parikrama on the internet – but we can start our own new traditions and it will
be as much fun for her as it was for me growing up. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 9pt;">I guess its time to start with shopping…</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>Disclaimer: Photos have been randomly picked from the web </i></span></span></div>
</div>
Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-22494999383567682892012-09-27T15:38:00.001-07:002012-09-27T15:41:13.781-07:00Inception<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Organizing a show requires more than an idea and will power.
It requires a team of dedicated individuals who believe in your vision and
dedicate themselves to making it happen. Apart from all the hard work that goes
into it, there is also a lot of love and faith.
<br />
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The idea for organizing a dance show that portrays the
strength, character and beauty of the Indian woman had been brewing in my head
for quite some time. Coupled with that, telling a story that partly related to
my life in some ways meant a lot to me. I’ve fought social stigma on several
occasions in my life, so when I came across Breakthrough’s work in India and
the music videos they had created to raise awareness on AIDS and violence
against women – I knew my dance would have a purpose. </div>
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Social stigma within the Indian community exists even in
this country. I know that from personal experience and that of my friends. I
know of women who go through abuse, domestic violence, life threatening
diseases, and instead of talking about such matters, seeking help and/or
putting a stop to it and gaining self respect, we continue on in our lives
afraid of what our society might think or say about us.</div>
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Well, I say: If you can’t speak about such things then just
dance! A few raging emotions gave birth to Raging Rhythms and only because our
team was passionate, dedicated and such wonderful human beings, that this show
became the success it was and we witnessed over 300 people make the drive to
Davis to rise above social stigma and help us raise close to $11,000 for
Breakthrough.</div>
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Good persists in almost all of us. We need to recognize it,
streamline it and put it to work. And no matter what life throws at us, we are
all equally entitled to a life filled with love and respect no matter what
other people think. Respect will come to you only if you respect yourself. And
one by one if we all share our stories and work towards educating people, we
WILL get rid of the various stigmas that still plague our culture. We have the
power to make this a better place to live in. All we need to do is believe.</div>
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<br /></div>
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My sincere thanks to the entire team of dancers, volunteers,
and supporters for taking that first step. I surely hope Raging Rhythms is the beginning of many good things to follow.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvSXJxhYcB1f6Abo3uWTvhLoxOJbK2FDoayEFTAPRjn3FSJyllCXAKo4SblBMifV8Un4eOFS7gojEPZnHA3sw_g-lrXD9P2CuhL9TsAk_fVfB6lvIP8gB9Ov3H3G8fCqC-G37OhA/s1600/Picture+5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvSXJxhYcB1f6Abo3uWTvhLoxOJbK2FDoayEFTAPRjn3FSJyllCXAKo4SblBMifV8Un4eOFS7gojEPZnHA3sw_g-lrXD9P2CuhL9TsAk_fVfB6lvIP8gB9Ov3H3G8fCqC-G37OhA/s400/Picture+5.png" width="373" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rising above all odds - a personal journey</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</div>
Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-91298335784284702602012-04-09T14:54:00.000-07:002012-04-09T15:10:19.371-07:00Love, Sex & Dhoka<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"Sex is a three letter word, not an abused four letter word" –
Ekta Kapoor
<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
So this past Sunday, for lack of better things to do, I
indulged myself to a few old episodes of the Indian talk show “Koffee with
Karan” and heard the soap queen Ekta Kapoor give her take on sex in Bollywood
movies prior to the launch of her movie “The Dirty Picture”. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The time I grew up India, women did not talk so casually
about sex on national television. In fact we refrained from using the word
‘sex’ even in Biology class. Now that I think of it, I don’t think our teachers
ever mentioned the word. I remember having only one lesson on the reproductive
system and all we could do was look at each other and suppress giggles. And
this was in a class of all girls too. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The sexiest thing in Bollywood movies at the time was Shah
Rukh Khan gently moving his heroine’s long locks and blowing mildly at the nape
of her neck and that’s all it took for us girls to melt in our seats. </div>
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Well, the reason I bring all this up is because the said interview
took me back to those times and the impact of love, sex and dhoka in our lives
back then. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Love</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was more in love with the concept of falling in love than
the real thing. Having lived in a girls hostel for the most part I did not come
across boys that often (no getting ideas here). Also, I was very choosy (here
some would describe me as snobby and bitchy) and most of the guys I met after I
quit boarding school did not quite make the cut. It was getting very
depressing. By that time most of my friends were “falling in love” and trying
to sneak out of their homes and make trips to Victoria Memorial or movie
theaters and writing love letters. And when my best friend at the time found a
boyfriend too, I was almost determined to fall in love and did so (or thought I
did) with the next guy I met. BAD IDEA!</div>
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<b>Sex</b></div>
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Falling in love did not mean having sex. Well, I take that
back. That information was not shared openly and not everyone indulged in it,
or at least I’d like to think based on my situation. If the couple were bold
enough they would hold hands in public places. That was the most physically
intimate gesture couples used in public to demonstrate their love. I remember
once I was walking back home from the bus-stop on my way back from college.
Instead of the regular 10 mins it took me 20 mins that day to get back home. I
had probably wandered. On reaching home dad asked me if I was seeing someone.
The seemingly shocked expression on my face led him to spill the beans. One of
my relatives had called him to disclose that I was spotted at the Jodhpur Park
bus-stop holding hands with a guy. So this is what really happened. While
growing up, us girlfriends held hands a lot. One of my girlfriends did dress
like a boy most of the time and had super short hair too. I think whoever saw
me that day holding hands with my friend mistook her for a guy. It is funny to
me till this date. But it was more amazing to witness how such news traveled faster
than BBC.<br />
</div>
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Getting back on topic here, since sex wasn’t part of my life, all I can think of is my first kiss. Now we all know how memorable that
can be. It was to me too. Just in a slightly different way. The guy I was dating at the time
(believe me when I say I don’t know what I was thinking) decided to land a kiss
on me one day when I went over to visit him at his place as he was sick. Gross
alert! Why would anyone kiss another person when they’re sick to begin with?
But the ultimate grossness lay in the fact his breath reeked of onions –
I mean real bad! And that did it for me. I was afraid I would NEVER kiss
another man again. But then again, I will NEVER forget my first kiss. So, any
idea of sex after that did not for once cross my mind. </div>
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<b>Dhoka</b> (betrayal)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Petty betrayal was a big part of teenager dating as well. If
not, there would be no drama or gossip. You could tell by the way folks dressed
or the kind of music they started listening too, that they had been dumped for
someone else. And if someone was being overly poetic and/or a realist – then
you could be pretty sure that said betrayal was taking its toll. However silly
the causes were, it did bring in a lot of pain and at one point each of us friends
have mourned or heaved a sense of relief having ended a certain relationship
over some banana split sundaes at Outram Ghat. <br />
<br />
The simplicities!</div>
</div>Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-16977306536331260002012-03-30T14:48:00.002-07:002012-03-30T15:21:04.821-07:00Q&A<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Okay, I admit, I have more pressing problems than my purse.
Q&A sessions with my five year old whenever we drive somewhere, is topping the list right now. More often than not they extend
beyond just “car time”. If for any reason I thought I wasn’t crazy enough
to see a shrink before, I do so now.
<br />
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Q. Mommy, how old was I when I was in your tummy?</div>
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A. Zero</div>
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Q. Mommy, how did I come out of your tummy?</div>
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A. The doctor cut my tummy open (NO, I am NOT ready to
discuss natural birth right now) and took you out.</div>
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Q. Isn’t that dangerous? While cutting did the doctor not
cut me?</div>
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A. No. The Doctors are very skilled and they do not cut the
babies while cutting their mommy’s tummy.</div>
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Q. Mommy, how did you know I wanted to come out? </div>
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A. You knocked on my tummy and I knew you were ready to come
out. Just like I can tell when you need to go to the bathroom when you do your little dance.</div>
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Q. Mommy, how did I get into your tummy? </div>
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A. {The question I
was dreading} Ummm…well, when mommy and daddy get married, a baby
comes to mommy’s tummy because mommy and daddy want you so much. (Let me know if any of you have a better one for this)</div>
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Q. Mommy where was I before I came to your tummy?</div>
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A. {I’m stumped} Hmmm…let’s see…<insert barbie="" favorite="" from="" her="" here="" movie="" scenes=""><inserting barbie="" favorite="" from="" her="" here="" movies="" of="" one="" scenes=""> (inserting favorite scenes from one of her Barbie movies) I think you were in a
different world with <inserting barbie="" favorite="" from="" her="" here="" movie="" scenes=""> with the cloud princess and her flying unicorns and you had long hair
that touched the ice when you ice skated. {Very proud of myself here for coming
up with something so creative}</inserting></inserting></insert></div>
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Daughter{Tears start streaming down her eyes}</div>
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Mommy {totally flustered}: What happened baby?</div>
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Daughter: I want to go to the cloud princess right now! I
want to ice skate with Barbie</div>
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Mommy {SHIT!!! Did not see this coming}: But ‘shona that was a dream.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Daughter: But you just said I was there before coming to
your tummy. Why can’t I go back?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mommy: What I meant to say was you were dreaming about the cloud
princess before you came to my tummy. Hey! who wants brownie with ice cream???</div>
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And you think why my brain is turning to mush?</div>
</div>Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-61802795360050677662012-03-11T22:21:00.000-07:002012-03-11T22:46:52.791-07:00My "Little" Purse<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Lately I've been too nostalgic and living a bit too much in the past. Its time to change that and talk about real problems that I face in my life right now. For example: my purse.<br />
<br />
So for those of you who don't know me well, the purse to me is what a shopping cart is to a homeless person. I mean if I were to be stranded somewhere, I could probably survive from the stuff I have in it minus a change of clothes. Which, if I used a tote bag, I'm sure I'd have that too.<br />
<br />
It can also be used for self defense. If I were to swing that thing on someone, its sheer weight could crush that person's skull.<br />
<br />
So what is it that I have in my purse? Quite honestly I am no longer sure. The one thing I am sure about is that it does not have any money. So having lost the sole purpose of the purse - I am now at a loss. I am actually scared to empty its contents - it just gets too stressful (I speak from past experience). However, the situation is getting out of control since I am no longer able to find things I need when I need them. <br />
<br />
As you might have guessed by now - I am not the "matching purse with every outfit" kind of a gal. That stresses me beyond belief. Which means I would have to shuffle contents on a daily basis. That could cause me a mild heart attack. I am not the expensive purse lady either. My purses know no brands, unlike some of my friends purses I might steal and sell one of these days to buy myself airfare to India. Yes, they can fund an entire roundtrip ticket to any continent of my choice actually. I once had a "Lolo" purse (that's what I call a Polo from China) which I literally used for well over a year on a continuous basis till my friends started threatening me to trash it. It was perfectly fine. They just over reacted to the leather that was starting to peel off of it.<br />
<br />
I miss my Lolo. And there you go - I'm back to nostalgia again!</div>Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30358593.post-36172273639279913152012-03-09T13:47:00.001-08:002012-03-09T13:52:23.659-08:00Mosaic<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I am prepped in really old clothes and have oiled my hair and tied it tightly into a bun. I knock on my neighbors doors and gather everyone on the ground floor of our building. We bring buckets and fill them with water. We are excited and unusually loud. Well, actually we can hear ourselves talk because there seems to be barely any traffic on the streets. All you can hear is the sound of hurried flip flops and squeals of delight. The day is undoubtedly <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holi" target="_blank">Holi</a> - the festival of colors.<br />
<br />
My dad will not leave the house that day and I for one will not stay indoor for a moment. All us kids in our building are downstairs mixing color, preparing the water balloons and talking strategy. Whoever crosses our path is going to be smeared in a concoction of color that will render him/her unrecognizable. In the mean time we are pretty much unrecognizable ourselves. You see, we haven't wasted much time playing between ourselves. Kids from neighboring buildings have joined us and its a big party on the streets.<br />
<br />
The day has progressed, we've smeared color on people we've never met and will never see in our lives again. The sun is out in full force and we are almost baked in a way it seems like the color will never leave our skin. Our eyes are look so bright compared to our black painted bodies. We see our parents walk out to the balconies trying to keep an eye on us. I'm however waiting for the best part of it all.<br />
<br />
No sooner than I'm thinking of it I hear Babun da's motorcycle. Without losing a second I hop on it and off we go whizzing past Dhakuria bridge, Golpark and Gariahat to Ballygunge where we get the best "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bhang" target="_blank">Bhang</a>". Going for a bike ride the day of holi is a pleasure in itself. The roads being empty, you can actually feel the wind. We load up bottles and bhang infused "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shondesh" target="_blank">shondesh</a>" and bring the loot back to the happening place in Jodhpur park - the sidewalk of the Sen residence where we end being merry and entertain the pedestrians with our beautiful vocals.<br />
<br />
We've been out for hours now and it is time I head home. I promise the rickshaw puller I will pay him a few extra rupees to take me there. Instead of going to my flat in Jodhpur Park, I find myself in a place far far away. I want him to turn back and start pedaling faster to take me back home, but he can't hear me anymore. He has disappeared into this colorful mosaic and all I'm surrounded with is memories.</div>Malahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08104026597150722305noreply@blogger.com3