Spotlight on Summer

 It is summer time here in Maple Ridge  and although I am not a big fan of heat, I am learning to appreciate a break from incessant rain and rationed sunlight, in  short the bleak winters. Spring is pretty but Summers are special here - longer daylight means you get to enjoy the outdoors even after coming from work. It means that you open your eyes at daybreak with light streaming through the blinds. It means that morning does equal to daylight and  you are ready to welcome a new day.

Summer can be defined as  no coats, no boots, no layering of clothes, wear your flipflops and shorts and you are ready to go, season. Your hats and sunglasses take on a new meaning and so does sunblocks. Ice creams and water melons, beer and barbeque all fight to shine in the spotlight. Lakes are packed with revellers wanting to soak in the warmth of the sun, and beachsides are potentially packed. It is the time to tie up your hiking boots, and inhale the fresh cut grass and pine cones. I am going to omit the odours of marijuana that creeps in through the windows - a mild irritant and focus on the aromas of meat cooking on barbeque. 

Summers as I mentioned earlier are special - kids are off school, and that translates to dropping or picking them up from school, no lunches and potentially half an hour extra to sleep in, It also means planning family trips, or weekend getaways. We still do get rain - and that is okay since it keeps  the land green and fresh. You are introduced to your neighbours who were hibernating in the past 7 months, and with the now open windows, the sounds of birds and laughter of kids, along with some hammering noise or drilling noise is usual. This is the time to clean up your yard, fix up your backyard, your roof and all the things that you have postponed till the weather got friendlier . 

Considering, how short the warm weather lasts, it does seem very futile to complain about it, especially on days when it gets really hot. I have to admit that cranked up heat, cranks me up but with age I am learning to appreciate the change in seasons. The best part of summer is the freedom to step out anytime of the day . Here I am writing this blog late at night, sitting out on the patio, drifting my eyes time and again from the bright screen to admire the starry starry night. The limitless sky has always amazed me. The wonderous joy of standing under a clear dark sky, with stars staring down at you has always been one of my favorite ways to unwind. Every summer, we try and go to some place and just lie on the grass  counting the shooting stars. You are paradoxically reminded both of the insignficance of your presense as well as your stupendous luck in being a spectator in the display of nature's miracle. 

Of course we also have the mosquitoes, the flies and all the insects that come alive with the touch of heat. But then, there are also butterflies, and chirping of birds, and the cool beautiful nights.  You can sit on the deck for ages, breathe in the cool air, and listen to the rustling of leaves and far away traffic. Although ideally, my summer night would be spent on the oceanside falling asleep listening to the crashing waves and waking up to the same beat. My memories of Indian nights - especially summer nights when you got to sleep on the terrace and filled with beautiful One day - maybe. For now I am enjoying my freedom of keeping the doors and windows open, and letting the sounds filter through - some natural and some man-made, both equally loved. 

Made to order

On a Friday evening, after a tiring week, when I am greeted by flyers on the doorstep, I know for sure that my kids have managed to skip,  I dread to open the door, knowing fully well that kicked off shoes, peeled away socks and jackets that just happened to nap on the couch would be waiting to welcome me. Yes the kids are home. Soon the regular pattern of me yelling and whinning about how I do all the work in the house and  the boys retaliating " mom  you need to chill" will echo the house. In short, it was going to be just a regular ordinary day.

 After a lot of soul-searching and intense internal debate and to end the arguments, I finally caved in and admitted that I needed some hired help to manage the upkeep of my house. I had steadfastly been  resisting the temptation of someone else doing my chores. Firstly because it is not cheap, secondly I am pertrified of becoming habitual to  that what is supposed to be an ocassional treat. We are designed for comfort and what starts as an occassional  luxury, soon becomes a necessity.

I grew up  in an upper middle class family in India. Anyone who lives in the subcontinent will vouch for the fact that maids and servants are not considered luxury. I grew up with never having to do any chores, although my mom ensured that we made our own bed and had basic survival skills like cooking. Our clothes were hand-washed by someone, our dishes cleaned, floors swept and mopped, and so were the washrooms.   Basically, all the chores that you dread to do after coming from work, is done for you. Life is different over there and like my friends over there will attest it is an evil necessity. I concur - systems over there are not built for self-sufficiency . 21 years later, I still at times miss that luxury of just kicking back my shoes and doing nothing and yet there was this fear lurking that like an alcoholic falling off the wagon after a first sip, I would become accustomed to this luxury- and would not be able to go back to doing my own chores.

There is one thing common with people taking up cleaning jobs. They are comparatively easy money and many take up this secondary means of employment to supplement income to support their family or extended families back home. In Bahrain, we had male helpers  from India. I had to ask one of the helpers if his wife or family knew that he cleaned houses. The answer, not surprisingly, was an emphatetic no.They would be horrified -men in India are treated generally like kings and housework has traditionally been women's domain over there. Same with Anita, who already has a primary full time job, but cleans houses to support her mom back in Phillipines.  Her journey from Phillipines to Canada is a story for another time.

After a lot of dilly dallying on my part, we scheduled for Anita, to come in, Of course, I couldn't let her just come to a dirty house. So before she could start cleaning, I made sure that my house at least looked half decent, partly out of homeowners pride, and partly because she was still someone scoming ot my house for the first time. The moment I had committed to having her come over, I realized that maybe it wasn't the smartest of ideas. Maybe I wasn't ready for it yet and knew that for all my claims and fantasies about kicking back my shoes and relaxing while someone else did  the cleaning,I just wouldn't be able to see through it. So there I was, working as hard as her on my day off, dusting and scrubbing alongside with her and by the end of 4 hours, deadbeat. Together we did get lot of cleaning - deep cleaning done. The bliss of a clean house lasted for a few hours, and horrifyingly soon became replaced by shoes and socks strewn over, jackets on the couch... you get the picture. Basically a well lived house .

She is supposed to come in another 2 weeks   and although I am still debating over whether to give this another try, I know for sure, if I do cave in, I don't want to be home when she is here. I am going to play smart and leave the keys for her.  Ignorance is bliss - and I would rather just come home to a sparkling clean house than watch and participate in the process. 

Thoughts overload

“I swear to you that to think too much is a disease, a real, actual disease.” 
― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes from Underground 

Decision making has never been easy for me. Inately I am a cautious person who likes to analyze, rationalize, fret, torment and go over all the possible scenarios that could go wrong with the options that  I have. I am a  thinker, actually  an overthinker. The word "over" does have a negative implication of doing things in excess and I am quite aware of it. There is a fine line between thinking and overthinking.If all the imaginary scenarios could play out in real life, we would have a twenty four  hour soap opera drama. Your thoughts, the silent chatter constantly nagging you, and at times entertaining, are your constant companions. There is the real life and then there is this life that you live in your head. I am not as crazy as I sound, but what is life without a tinge of craziness?

My head has got 100 channels playing at once, or more like some quick fingered person shuffling constantly with the channels. I could be discussing politics, and there will be a flash news in the head or more like alert warning with a message like : what to cook for dinner? In all the things thats fluid, this one question among many others are the only constants in my life.  Thoughts, talks, scenarios - oh all the active life that I live in my head. And like with everything else in life, this constant thought process, analysis of imaginary scenarios when spirals out of control can be inebirating.

Overthinking can paralyze you - the unlimited possibilities, the supposedly disastrous outcomes, the constant analyzing, leaves you drained and empty - actually not empty - but more like bloated with inconsequential   thoughts. Common sense and life experience has taught me that nothing is achieved by thinking, and there is no such thing as being prepared for life events.  Life strikes when you least expect it.

Recently I took a decision to change my jobs. It was a decison that I had been pandering on for more than two years. Yet when the time came to actually decide, it took me 3 days of intense introspection, consultation with friends and a couple of sleepless nights to realize that it was what I wanted. The scenarios ranged from what if I fall sick after I quit my job?  I won't be covered by disability insurance, to what if I suck at my job, to all sorts of scenarios that would make even the best thriller writers to shame.

I am a chronic worrier yet lately I have been feeling at peace with myself. The monologues in my head have been kinder and although  still harsh, the  rambling is more subdued and muffled . There are some perks of growing older, you know that time is of essence.There comes in your life, when you just learn to give in - not give up, but just accept what and who you are.I have accepted that there is no escape from my internal talks and to be fair, most of the time they do keep me good company, except when they sometimes feel they need to go for a run - and then it does get tiring just to keep up with them. 

Memories

“He was still too young to know that the heart's memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burden of the past.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera.

Some memories are like a whiff of fragrance - they just float out of nowhere.  The trigger could be a song that is played randomly on radio, a sunset, or just a phrase, but it brings alive vivid poems buried in the years of monotony.Not all memories are pleasant, there are some that you resist to acknowledge.For me, my memories are what keep me rooted. There are times when I call my mom and hear the koyal signing in the background, or just the door bell ringing of the sound of some familiar laughter, and my heart skips a beat.

Yet, we choose our memories, and at times keep them alive. What is our life - if not a composite of glimpses of our lives, some collected consciously and some caught in the snares of our life. Some of laughter, some tears, some just snapshots of faces, and some of  views, some touches of breeze blowing your hair. Some glorious sunsets, some exasperating moments dealing with tantrums of kids, lots of hugs, nervous jitters , sleepless nights and some electrifying conversations  with friends.

For someone who is not in the least nostalgic, I do have my share of "Remember when this happened.." moments. While some memories come alive in company of friends, narrating a shared experience, some just sneak on you when you are alone, keeping you company. For some odd reason, the collage of events stored are not the most eventful one. I am not even sure how I can relive the warmth of sun on my skin on a particular day, years ago, or even the aroma of fresh baked bread feel more real than the birth of my kids. It is incomprehensible but true.  Actually when I think back, memories of my childhood and youth are more tangible than the later years. Maybe because it is the bygone era of innocence and simple joy or maybe because that it was something that reminds me of where and who I am. I don't have much recolletion of the supposedly big events in life. It is as if only the  trivia of my life has been stored by my malfunctioning brain. Or is it my coping mechanism?Maybe the simplicity of childhood and part of youth bring to the table something that is lost.

In the end we are only what we remember and how we remember it. And when we are no more, maybe we will live a little longer in the memories of others, hopefully bringing a smile on their lips when they think about us.

Pause

Pause. Everything in life from music to sentences, to nature has this blank space, this small period of nothingness that we call pause. Without pauses, there would be no music, no rhythm, no meaningful sentences, no paintings. We miss out the importance of this small space of "nothingness", unproductive time gap that makes our life meaningful. Blank spaces, pauses are as important if not more than the words that we fill it with.

Silences give meaning to our words, There is this crazy notion that if we are not busy enough, stressed enough, we are not living our life to the full potential. We wear our busyness as medals of productivity, our stress as our symbol of commitment.  Businesses are open longer, our work and home life have been blended by technology.  Easy credit, literally 24 hours access to  shopping, constant exposure to consumer advertising which catch us unawares, has created a generation who wants instant gratification. The concept of work life balance is slowly but steadily disappearing especially if you want to climb up the ladder. The incessant interaction with the world at digital level, the overload of information, real or fake, is making us lose touch with our real self.

There is need to be quiet.To just be . No headphones, no music...just silence. No social media,no electronics, just contemplation and meditation in the moment. Life is not just you breathing, it is being present in the moment to feel the breath. Sit under the sky, wait to see the shooting star, watch the moon glide gracefully through the night, watch the flowers falling off the trees. stop and listen to the stream, breathe and let the breeze carress your skin, in short, detoxify your being. We are part of something bigger than self and time and again we need to recognize that to keep our problems, our egos in the right prespective.
 Life is fleeting, moments are elusive. There is nothing to capture, just soak in the process of living.

Unshare your moments

Funeral worthy picture - a term that I discovered watching a comedy sitcom on TV. If you read the words carefully, basically what it means is the top rated picture, the one that you want people to remember you by. While there have been times when I have wondered about what photo would finally make it when I don't make it, updating pictures that are social media worthy predominates my mind. The photos are now rated as whether they are worth sharing on social media or just for being lost in the abyss of unwanted pictures

We live a world where our every action is recorded. All of us live in many ways like the stars of  reality shows. Our celebrations are recorded and shared, our disappointments and even our day to day trails and tribulations. But more than anything our victories, our so called achievements, be it in work, charity or our successful relationships, are what we flaunt the most. It is human nature and I am guilty of doing the same. Whether we like it or not, social media has just extrapolated our desire to be liked and admired.

In today's world of fake candid pictures, of pictures of travels and all things bragworthy, there is an urgent need to do things hidden in shadows. To consciously look at a picturesque view and not reach out for your camera, to celebrate an occasion without taking pictures, and also to declare your love for your dear ones in a more private setting, like in person or by calling. The need to demarcate private from public and also to understand that all we see on social media is as true as reading a book of fiction or watching a movie.

Humans are vain, we always were. I would be lying if I said that I am unaffected by how I am perceived by "my friends" on social media. So if it can affect someone like me, with a very high self-esteem, I wonder how it affects teens and pre-teens just trying to find their bearings. The pressure to fit in with your peers, to have a life as exciting as the pictures posted by your friend, to look as pretty and get as many likes as them, can be unnerving. I speak for I have a teenager and although there is nothing wrong with being on social media and following the trends, the fact that everything needs to be recordable is worrisome.. Kids need, adults need, to consciously resist the urge to share. To do good, to volunteer, to shower love and praise, without it being used as a tool for self-promotion. The need of the time is to bringing ourselves to be our authentic selves. The need of the times is for kids to learn that the world doesn't revolve around them and the likes or lack of it on social media can't define them,

Mid-Life Enlightment

Stubborn greys, weakening eyesight and an intolerance for idiots is how I know that I am reaching the mid point of my life or what others call middle age.  Not to mention  teeth that are self-destructive, memory that is fading and did I mention an attitude that seems more and more indifferent  about other people's opinions?

I hate the term middle-age. Youth is fine, even old is a bearable term, but middle-age is like you are someone who is old, but clinging to the lost glory of youth.It is youth on accelerated decay .  It is pathos personified. You can be graceful in your old age, accept that you are past your prime, but letting go of  your prime age, and shifting gears to being called a senior is not easy. And rightly so. We are geared to admire youth. The period between mid-forties to sixties is the treachorous zone. The in-betweens similar to teens or tweens . I would rather that we call ourselves mature adults or seasoned adults, seems more like we are in terms of our reality and somehow seems less deragatory than middle-age.

It starts with a few gray, it starts when you look into the mirror and notice fine lines where there were none. And the realization sets in when you meet people you haven't met in ages, people you knew in college, looking all "middle-aged". You go home, look at your pictures from 10 years ago and viola the enlightment sets in that it is that phase of the life again. The awkward phase. To dye or not to dye phase. To change your beauty routine to more "matured skin" cream phase. Don't even get me started on the effects on the body .

The changes are subtle. Even conversations shift from movies and books to more of what medication are you taking for hypertension to eating healthy. The first sign that you are past prime is when you are obsessed with health and regimes that make you younger. I find myself being more attracted towards articles titled  5 steps to younger skin articles,Foods that lower your blood pressure and what to do when you have a stroke. I resist to succumb to the attraction of just letting go. I resist not being relevant or being a"has been" . I resist talking about the good old days -and nothing personifies  the epic struggle to pull away from the magnetic attraction of youth more than  my attempts to still keep myself relevant in terms of pop-culture. I try but lately I have found that the effort is catching up with me. I am moving to the other side of the spectrum soon. Old age is winning this tug of war.

Then you have the mid-life crisis. The rebellious phase or maybe a  self-realization phase where you actually understand that when they said life was short, they really meant it. One fine morning it clicks that the life you had been leading so far,was more for others. You look back, some regrets, some satisfying proud moments, some sad and heart wrenching moments, you have been through it all. You are a survivor. You also start getting news of people you know or friends of people you know dropping dead. And it hits you. You are half-way there and you had better enjoy life on your terms, because you are not getting out alive. You are on this roller coaster going downhill, full speed. You have the choice, you can scream your lungs out and enjoy the ride or just wait in trepidition for the ride to be over. Mid-life crisis should be termed Mid-life enlightment. I find this to be the age of lost realization. I realize that my prime was spent in raising kids and taking care of the family, Not that I regret it, but it does seem like I have now woken up from a long slumber of building a family, and now that I am awake, I have in many ways no idea how to live life for myself. My body is not only past its prime, my mind is sort of lost too. The desire to discover who I am without the taglines of relationships, without labels is intense. And that is the gist of "crisis"

Now when I look in the mirror, I realize that this is probably the best I will look ever, at least the youngest I will ever be. I am learning to accept that even if middle age is messy and hormonal, even if it is ambigious in its scope, I am a mature adult,on the threshold to be  I actually admitted loudly what I knew long ago, that I couldn't compete with the youngsters. There I have admitted it.