Rain, rain go away, and an Award

"In case of emergency, cut rope" says the hoarding.
How many of the city's millions can the raft hold?

I haven't seen rains like this in the city in a very long time. Officially, the Monsoons last for a little over three months from mid-June to end-September, but in reality, the city gets a few days of heavy rain followed by a week or two of only mild showers.

The Monsoon hit the city early this year, and poured almost continuously for nearly two weeks. I was certain the rainfall meant for the entire season was used up in those few weeks, and that we would only have mild showers after that. But I, like every other self-appointed meteorologist in the city, was in for a surprise- this has been one long season of days of heavy rain alternating with days of mild rain- there have been practically no dry days in the last three months.

Auto-rickshaws don raincoats to protect
passengers from the rain and splashing puddles

"Why is the sky crying so much?", the kids keep asking me. They are fed up of being cooped up indoors, and no longer find much pleasure in splashing through puddles. I wish I knew- all I know is that it is one mega tantrum the sky has been throwing.

It wouldn't be too bad if the rains did not disrupt life in the city the way they actually do- waterlogged roads, slowing down of public transport, soaring vegetable prices because transportation trucks are affected, a sudden spurt in water-borne diseases. I guess we should be happy we don't have floods, the way other parts of the subcontinent do.

Rain, rain, go away. We have enough water in our reservoirs to last us till next year.
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The Awards seem to keep building up, so maybe it makes sense to pass them on as they come, rather than wait to first clear the ones I am hoarding.

Alex of Alex J. Cavanaugh passed on the SuperCommenter Award. It doesn't seem to come with any strings attached and I pass in onto Margot Kinberg of Confessions of a Mystery Novelist. She is the Professor of Mystery Writing, and for the longest time, I was so much in awe of her obvious brilliance, I never even dared leave a comment. I am glad I stopped lurking, because I now know that she is as wonderful a person as she is bright.

Bamboo shoots

"What's that?", asked the four-year old while I was looking for a container to temporarily park my bamboo shoots in.
"Bamboo shoots", I replied. He had grow up with them, and really had no reason to ask.

"Are you going to send it to China?", he asked.
"Why should I?" I was genuinely perplexed. He may not share my avarice for plants, but he's normally willing to co-exist with them.
"Because teacher says pandas eat only bamboo, and because there are not enough bamboo trees in China, the pandas will all go hungry and die."

For once, I was speechless.


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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Nearly a year back, I had blogged about how I had accepted that the vase containing my bamboo shoots would be broken one day. I am happy to say that it has not departed for its heavenly abode just yet.

Pay it forward - Jasmine Stands

[This is a work of fiction.]

My father never let me miss not having a mother. Everything a girl would want, I got. Except, perhaps, one thing. He never thought to get me flowers for my hair. Every Friday, my friend had jasmine flowers, and I did not. Her mother noticed- "Would you like some too?", she asked. "Papa wouldn't like it", I replied. She must have spoken to my father- that Friday and every Friday after that, he got me jasmine strands for my hair.

I still wear jasmine on Friday. I buy three strands- one for me, two for girls who cannot have them.

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

A Random Act of Kindness always sets off a chain, which may or may not circle back to you, but which makes the world a better place to be in. See it play out in our Pay it Forward feature, exclusively at the Burrow.

Pinwheels mean Freedom

Nothing symbolises Freedom more than Pinwheels whirling in the breeze. 

I was thrilled to find these pinwheels in the colours of the Indian flag on the eve of Independence Day.

And even more, I was happy that the vendor felt free enough to stop for a cup of tea from a roadside stall.

A helping hand from a Neighbour

[The intention of this post is neither to blame anyone, nor to offend. The intention is merely to let of steam on account of something that frustrates me time and again. If it offends you, please do not judge- I am not being insensitive, I am merely angry at the games people place even at times like this. Leave a comment, think about it, or ignore the rant and please come back tomorrow.]

Your neighbour's family is in trouble. The kids are starving, they have no place to stay. You have had a long history of antagonism with your neighbour, but you have been neighbours for a long time and now that you seem them in trouble, you offer to help. It is not an act of charity, it does not mean you have won the battle- it merely means you have declared ceasefire long enough to help your neighbour get back on his feet, before you can resume your normal disagreements.Your neighbour turns down your offer, even as he goes around the neighbourhood seeking it. The kids are starving, you have cooked extra food, but the neighbour refuses to accept it. You want to walk across and thrust the food down their throat, but you can't - that would be trespassing, and your neighbour will never let you get away with that.

What then do you do? Except hope better sense prevails. And.... curse your neighbour for being so stubborn.


The relationship between India and Pakistan has always been strained as best, but when the floods hit Pakistan, the Indian government offered aid as any good neighbour would. The amount offered in the first installment was so low as to make me blush- was that the best we could do- but what appalled me was the fact that the Pakistani government refused to accept it, and continued refusing to accept it, till the US government told them that they should accept it, or else....

The paltry sum has now been accepted, and is hopefully being utilized in the disaster management efforts, but nobody is happy. In India, we are flooded with images of the flood hit areas. Those images are familiar to us- we see similar images from various parts of the country every year. We know what is expected of us. We are ready to donate clothes, blankets, food supplies and medicine as we do every year when parts of India get flooded. Indians trained in disaster management are ready to hop across the border and help the flood affected people, but we can't. Nobody wants to collect relief material, when there is no certainty it would ever reach the people who need it. Security concerns make it impossible for people to be sent across to help.

Why?

When your people need help which you can't provide, and when someone else is willing to provide that help, what are you proving by turning down the help?

Will proving a point put food in starving bodies, provide a raincoat to protect people from the rain, or conjure up basic medicines to prevent water-borne communicable diseases?

Is politics more important than people? Should it be?

Images - Save the Children

A few moments of peace

The mail that should have been sent off an hour ago mocking me.
"Mamma, he is kicking me." "No, Mamma, HE is kicking ME."
A friend on the phone- it has been 43 minutes and still no sign of hanging up.
The TV blaring in the living room- a spider and two ants watching.
Beeps on the phone- is that a client or a telemarketer? You can't check, because you haven't yet figured out how to use call waiting yet.
"Mamma, potty." Will they ever lean to clean up?

What would I not do for a few moments of peace?
_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

And as a perfect counterpoint to this mad rant, I also have a Delusional Thursday post up at Burrowers, Books & Balderdash. Hop across if you are sure you want to find out whether or not Lord Voldemort was a Virgin.

Punctuality is Dead

I was to meet his lady at a coffee shop. It was a job interview- I was interviewing her to potentially offer her a job.
She'd called an hour back to take directions. "If you are running late", I had told her, "let me know. I come a bit later in that case."  "I'll be there in half an hour," she had assured me.
She kept me waiting for over half an hour. No phone call. No text message. Nothing. I expected an apology; what I got was an explanation- "Traffic was horrible."

Punctuality is dead. Must courtesy die too?


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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Rakshabandhan - the Tie that Protects, and an Award

[Come August, for a few months, Bombay comes alive to the spirit of Festivals. Hindu, Muslim and Christian. Festivals from the region, festivals imported from other parts of the country. It is one long Celebration.]

Raksha bandhan. The Tie that Protects. The thread that a sister winds around her brother's right wrist. The promise made by the brother to stand by his sister come what may.

Rakhi. A simple band of woven thread. Bracelets of silver or gold. Decorative beads strung on sacred thread. Even cartoon characters stuck on a piece of ribbon. Sometimes kept on till they fall apart. Mostly removed at the end of the day.

Rakshabandhan. Originally a Hindu festival celebrated in parts of Northern India. Thanks to Bollywood movies, today a social function to celebrate the bond between brother and sister.

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

For more photographs of 'Rakhis' being sold in the city markets, click across to my photography blog Snapshots of Bombay.

And since it is a day when girls in India honour their brothers, and because I don't have any brothers, why don't I pass on the most 'girlie' award I have to some of my favourite men?

Many moons ago, Carol Kilgore of Under the Tiki Hut passed on the Sweet Blog Award to me. While passing it on, she said, "here are others who have blogs much sweeter than mine." Thank you, Carol, that is quite the nicest thing to say.

The men I am passing the Award onto may not quite want their blogs to be 'called' sweet, but all of them are definitely 'sweet' in the nicest possible way-
Al @ Publish and Perish
Alex @ Alex J. Cavanaugh
Cold as Heaven
Galen @ Imagineering Fiction (you may be MiA, but you are not forgotten)
Lee @ Tossing it Out
Marvin @ Professor Old Silly's Free Spirit Blog (I know you will not pass it on, but that's okay)
Stephan @ Breakthrough Blogs

Thank you, all of you.

If handwriting were a mirror to the soul.....

When Jessica Bell of The Alliterative Allomorph tagged me on the writing thingie a couple of weeks back, I intended honouring it but couldn't find a pen anywhere in the house, so forgot about it. Then yesterday, Cruella Collett of The Giraffability of Digressions tagged me again, and since I could lay my hands on a pen, here it is.

Handwritten answers to nine questions -

1. Name/Blog Name

2. Right handed, left handed, or both?

3. Favorite letters to write

4. Least favorite letters to write

5. Write out "the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog"

6. Write in CAPS:
BABOON
SPLENDOR
ONOMATOPOEIA
FLIP-FLOPS
HUZZAH!

7. Favorite song lyrics

8. Tag 7 people

9. Whatever else strikes your fancy


Here you are-

Hard to make out from how rusty my handwriting has gotten, but I still do hand-write a lot of stuff (and not just shopping lists- come to think of it, when did I last make a shopping list?). This is how I love to write when I have the luxury- curled up on the rug, with a cup of tea next to me-

I have tagged seven people, but pick it up if you like even if I haven't tagged you. Barbara, I didn't tag you because I remember you saying you didn't want to be tagged.

Pay it Forward - Saree Shopping

"This saree is so beautiful", said the mother, after discretely checking the price-tag.

"But I only like that one", insisted the daughter.
"That wouldn't suit you", said the mother.
"You are only saying that because it is more expensive", argued the girl.
"That too", admitted the mother. "If I buy that, there would be no money left for accessories."

Privately, I agreed with the mother- the colour would not flatter the daughter. But I also knew the girl would only look good in a saree she loved.

"Come back tomorrow", I suggested. "Some of these sarees will be on sale."

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

A Random Act of Kindness always sets off a chain, which may or may not circle back to you, but which makes the world a better place to be in. See it play out in our Pay it Forward feature, exclusively at the Burrow.

Kids at Work

When she is living on the brink of poverty, she does not have the luxury of being a stay-at-home mother. And neither can she afford child-care facilities for her children. If she don't have a helpful relative or an older child, she is often left with little choice but to bring her child to work.

Her children learn early to amuse themselves. They are far more independent than a child leading a more sheltered life. Early in life they learn to add and subtract, and get the better of a long bargain.

But do they ever attain their full potential?

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.



I've got more photographs taken in and round the city than I can ever post on this blog, so have started a new blog, Snapshots of Bombay, where I will only be posting photographs. Do drop by when you can.

At what price Perfection?

"Look how fat I have become", cribbed a mother, pinching a love handle only she could see.

"Take it away from me", squealed another, when I offered her a piece of fudge. "If I have that, I will have to starve myself for the rest of the week to make up."

Both are mothers approaching middle age. Both look gorgeous, and not just for their age. But both are unhappy with their bodies. Which is such a pity.

After all, body perfection is not an absolute. And even if it is, is it worth the price it demands of you?

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Freedom for a Nation

Sixty-three years ago, the Union Jack was taken down from the ramparts of the historic Red Fort in Delhi, and the Indian Tricolour hoisted in its place. After a long freedom struggle, the nation attained independence. For the first time ever, the nation was in charge of its own destiny. People dared dream big dreams. Social equality, education for all, an end to poverty, basic healthcare- dreams that people took for granted.

Sixty-three years later, we have failed on all counts. Vote bank politics have ensured that the country is still divided along caste, communal and linguistic lines. Our institutions of higher education may compare with the best in the world, but more than half the population of the country is functionally illiterate. Grinding poverty still forces millions of people to migrate from villages every year, despite the squalid conditions under which they are forced to live in the cities. And basic healthcare for all is as distant a dream today as it ever was. And add to it all a new problem- corruption across levels in all walks of life.

Has India, as a nation, failed?

Easy question. Difficult answer.

As a nation, India has failed to deliver on all the promises it made to its citizens. But despite everything, the people of India have survived. There are inequities and there is poverty, but at least in the cities, there are more people fighting to stay ahead of poverty than are people waiting for the government to bale them out. If only there was a way to wish away corruption, the people may just be able to make good the promises that the nation made to them.

Lenticular images

Remember those lenticular images you played with as a child? You know, those cards with a ridged surface where you saw one image when you looked at it full on, and a completely different image when you changed the angle of view. Do you remember the hours spent in alternately looking at the two images and trying to see if you could perhaps find a third image hidden somewhere?

Many years later, I discovered that most good writing was nothing more or less than a succession of lenticular images. But they went by a different name; they were called PoV.

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

I was at Burrowers, Books & Balderdash yesterday, rambling on about PoVs and lenticular images. Do drop by if you have the time.

Author Interview - Rana DiOrio

I've never done author interviews in the past, and was tempted to decline when asked if I would like to be a part of the blog hop to promote Rana DiOrio's latest book, 'What Does It Mean To Be Present?' But that hesitation lasted only till I visited Little Pickle Press, and found that are "dedicated to helping parents and educators cultivate conscious, responsible little people by stimulating explorations of the meaningful topics". That could describe my deepest desire- I had to be a part of the movement.

When I received my copy of the book, I decided to read it with the kids. Though my second grader could have read the book, he chose not to, and I read it aloud to them. And I am glad I did- freed from the need to struggle over the difficult words, they could concentrate on the words and the illustrations, and came up with enough questions to keep Rana busy for the entire interview. Over to them, and Rana.

Interviewer 1 (6 1/2 year old) - Hello, Aunty Rana. My brother and I loved your book, and we are very happy that you are going to take some time off to answer our questions.

Interviewer 2 (4 1/2 year old) : None of the children in your books have names. Have you done that so those children could be any children?
Aunty Rana: Exactly. The messages did not require character development to convey. We are also leaving open the possibility that our readers will name the characters in our digital applications.

Interviewer 1 : The girl in the story looks like she is from India. Is she?
Aunty Rana : When we outlined the central characters for Global, Green, and Present, we contemplated an African boy and a Chinese girl for Global, a Latino boy and a North American girl for Green, and an Indian girl and a French boy for Present. We wanted to represent a broad range of nationalities throughout the series. We will represent others in upcoming titles.

Interviewer 2 : Is this book for kids or their mothers? Whenever I want to do something interesting, it is Mamma who drags me away because she doesn't want me to waste time.
Aunty Rana : Excellent question! The answer is both. While we are all born present, we are socialized away from being present. We plan ahead, multi-task, think about what’s next. I think that Present is a great opportunity for children and adults to be reminded of the enormous benefits of living in the moment.

Interviewer 1 : Why are there so many butterflies in the book? Is it your favourite animal?
Aunty Rana : Here’s what our illustrator, Eliza Wheeler, has to say about the butterflies . . . “Whenever a butterfly is around people seem to stop to watch them. They are fragile, gentle creatures that don't usually live long, yet they bring such beauty while they are here. I included blue butterflies on each page because kids love to search within drawings and find repetition. Searching for the butterflies slows them down as they read the book, and helps them to be "present" and fully experience each page.”

Interviewer 2 : You use very simple words in the story. I started reading only a few months back, and even I can read the entire story all by myself. Have you written the book for a new reader like me, or for older kids?
Aunty Rana : Our target age is 5 to 8. We are finding, however, that grown-ups are buying the book for their friends!

Interviewer 1 : Mamma says she has a question for you too. She wants to know where you got the name 'Little Pickle' from.
Aunty Rana : I started calling my children “little pickles” from the beginning. When it came time to name my children’s media company, it seemed like the obvious name.

Interviewer 2 : Thank you, Aunty Rana for doing this interview. Now, we are going to go back to reading the book. And we do hope Mamma lets us watch ants more often, instead of hurrying home all the time.

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'What Does It Mean To Be Present' claims to be a "refreshing, vibrant picture book engages all of the senses to demonstrate the myriad of ways a child can seize the moment. The story sparks meaningful discussions about the important gift of appreciation, giving children and adults alike the opportunity to live more fully and richly."

As a mother who is struggling to find the balance between keeping on top of her 'To Do list' and enjoying the 'Now', I can assure you that the book does live up to its promise. To read more about the book, the author and the illustrator, and to buy the book, do visit the Little Pickle Press wesbite.

'Now' is precious

"Mamma, look."

"Not now", I snapped. "I'm in a hurry. Come on fast."

"But Mamma, look, this is so interesting."

"I'm telling you, not now. Let's go home."

"But Mamma, please."

"Come on. Can't you realise I am in a hurry. I don't have time to waste."

"Mamma, but just see these ants for one minute. They are so pretty."

"Are you coming or not?", I threatened. "Okay, but only for two minutes."

We spent some precious minutes watching ants carry home a tiny piece of bread.

Most things can wait five minutes. Time spent enjoying the "now" is priceless.

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Join me in welcoming Rana DiOrio of Little Pickle Press here tomorrow, as she talks about her awesome new book "What Does It Mean To Be Present?"

Pay it forward - the Flag

[As the newly free nation watched, the Union Jack was symbolically lowered, and the Indian Tricolour hoisted at the historical Red Fort. This is to celebrates sixty-three years of Freedom for India and Indians.]

I was a reedy, bespectacled boy; the kind bullies always picked on. From the edge of the crowd to which I had been shoved, I watched in wonder as the dignitary prepared to hoist the flag. What a great man he must be to be accorded such honour. Rope in hand, he paused and took in the crowd. He beckoned me to assist him. Knees trembling, I did.

Thirty-seven years later, I am at the flag-pole. My eyes scan the crowd, and alight on a boy who could have been me. "Will you help me hoist the flag?", I ask.

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words. This is a work of fiction.

A Random Act of Kindness always sets off a chain, which may or may not circle back to you, but which makes the world a better place to be in. See it play out in our Pay it Forward feature, exclusively at the Burrow.

Old Man and the Tree

What do you think of when you see this man sitting under a tree?

A holy man contemplating the mysteries of the universe? A sage waiting to dispense knowledge among his followers? A religious pacifist wishing people would understand that no religion preaches hatred.

What if I zoomed back, and showed you in his true setting?

Wouldn't you agree he makes an unlikely proprietor of a shop that sells plumbing supplies.

Looks can be deceptive, can't they?

_______

I have been really guilty about hoarding awards, and am determined to pass at least some of them along in the next week.

Sometime in April, Mason Canyon at Thoughts in Progress passed on the One Lovely Blog Award to me.

I know longer remember the rules of passing it on, so am going to use my discretion, and pass it on to five awesome bloggers who have truly lovely blogs, which I look forward to visiting (they are also four people I really like, but that's a different story) -

Margot Kinberg at Confessions of a Mystery Novelist is a genius- there is no other word to describe her. Each post of her's can be the basis of a dissertation in itself, and she comes up with one everyday.

Patricia Stoltey - friend, philosopher, guide. 'nuff said.

Karen Walker of Following the Whispers writes with so much honesty, it is impossible not to be carried along.

Clarissa Draper of Listen to the Voices has a lovely blog - book reviews, writing tips, characterisations, she has them all. She's also an awesome commentator.

Hart Johnson of Confessions of a Watery Tart- it seems almost like nepotism to give an award to my Thursday Twin, but her blog defines lovely for me.

Hoard it, flaunt it or ignore it. This Award is honoured to have been passed on to each of you.

A fine balance

A friend is going through a crisis. It could have been avoided- for years, we've tried to get her to see she's running down a dead-end, but failed. Now, there is only one course of action- the one that could have taken anytime in the past.

She needs a shoulder to cry on. But I can't resist trying to get her to see reason. It is a fine balance. You want to be there for her, but you don't want her to get over it so well, she continues on the same destructive path.

Why are things always so hard?

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

And do drop by at Burrowers, Books & Balderdash for a Motivational Friday Post.

I am bored

This one is for Michele Emrath at Southern City Mysteries- your day will come......

"I don't want to watch TV any more", said my older one strolling into the kitchen with a sulky expression. "I want to read a book."

"Not now, I'm busy", I said, irritated. "Let me finish what I am doing, then I will read to you."

"I don't want you to read", he drawled. "Just turn the light on so I can choose my book."

He actually read, and the younger one giggled with him.

I couldn't believe my luck- a year back when all they seemed to do was watch TV, did I even dream this day would come?

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Aliens battle it out

"Did you know, Mamma", the older one began while waiting for the school-bus to arrive. "Yesterday night, two aliens came here, and they were bad aliens, and they started fighting.

They hit each other with their shiny crystal swords. And because they are aliens, no blood came." His eyes were gleaming with excitement. "And then you know what happened? One alien hit the sword of the other alien very hard with his sword, and both the swords broke, and scattered small pieces of crystal everywhere. See!" He motioned with his hands.

All that to explain dew-drops glistening on the grass.


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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Professional courtesy

Of the six organisations I worked for, three came to me because a person who had worked with me recommended me to the person who was hiring. Not all of them were people with whom I got along with from the start- I even had major professional differences with one, which we managed in a mature manner, without having to resort to name-calling.

Even if you don't think being nice is the right thing to do, extending basic professional courtesy to the people you work with is a sensible thing to do.

Why do so many people not get it?

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

To the Down

"Mamma, can I go to down to play", asked my four-year old.
"You cannot go to down to play, but you may go down to play", I replied. In his hurry to rush off I am sure he didn't hear me, but hopefully some internal component will process it and commit it to memory.

It is complicated when an adjective gets pressed into usage as a noun. If I go to the gym, why shouldn't my son go to the down, since that is what we call the place where he plays?

How do non-native speakers manage to speak English?

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Pay it forward - Bunch of Flowers

[This is a work of fiction.]

"Gerbera, sir? Only forty rupees." The boy thrust a bunch of flowers against my car-window at a traffic light.

I dismissed him with a shake of my head.

"Please, sir. Very nice gerberas." The kid persisted.

I looked at him. He couldn't be more than ten. At his age, I didn't know what money was. And he was earning his living. I reached for my wallet.

I didn't want the flowers. Perhaps I could give them to my octogenarian neighbour?

Her face lit up. "I can't believe you remembered my birthday."

The cake was delicious, the evening even more so.

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

A Random Act of Kindness always sets off a chain, which may or may not circle back to you, but which makes the world a better place to be in. See it play out in our Pay it Forward feature, exclusively at the Burrow.

Seven Colours in the Rainbow

Seven Colours in the Rainbow, which is your favourite one?

Red? The hot Red of fire, the juicy Red of Apples.

Orange? The tangy Orange of oranges, the blazing Orange of sunset.

Yellow? The soothing Yellow of buttercups, the challenging Yellow of sunshine.

Green? The peaceful Green of forests, the flashing Green of parrots.

Blue? The all-encompassing Blue of the sky, the comfortable Blue of my favourite pair of jeans.

Indigo? The proud Indigo of peacocks, the exquisite Indigo of twilight.

Violet? The sweet Violet of jamun fruits, the fragrant Violet of lavendar.

Seven Colours! Can I take them all?

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Running and Writing

Running and Writing. Two ends of the spectrum. One a physical activity, the other a mental exercise. One stretches the legs and lungs, the other uses the fingers and the eyes.

On the face of it, you would think there is little in common between Running and Writing. But if that is the case, why is it that so many of my writer friends are also runners?

Maybe there is more in common between Running and Writing than is apparent? Maybe running better prepares you for writing, and vice versa.

To find out more, hop across to Burrowers, Books & Balderdash.

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Motivational Friday, at Burrowers, Books & Balderdash

Weed, not plant

I grew up in a house set in a huge garden maintained by an army of gardeners. Among the formal lawns, rose gardens and rock gardens, the solitary shrub of lantana was a weed. Quite definitely a weed.

The flowers were pretty, the berries were cute. I loved crushing the leaves, and catching the dragonflies that flocked to it. But I was taught not to appreciate it, because it was a weed, not a plant.

A couple of months back, nostalgia drove me to bring home three lantana plants. Who cares if it is a weed- even weeds are beautiful!

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Don't grow up too soon

"Don't miss me too much", I told my son as I dropped him off at school.

"I don't miss anyone", he informed me, and ran in without even turning back to wave goodbye.

Seven years back, he was floating in amniotic fluid. Now, he was off on an overnight camp with his classmates.

He didn't sleep that night, because he was too busy having fun. I didn't sleep because I knew my baby was away.

I do want him to grow up, but a small part of me wishes I could hold him closer to me just a little longer.

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Nasty or Nice?

Yesterday, I had to deal with a lot of nastiness at work. Petty, un-called for nastiness. The nastiness of a bully. Nastiness that should have been nipped in the bud by my boss, but wasn't. I'll be lying if I said it did not affect me- nastiness always does.

Yesterday, I was also the recipient of niceness. The friend who flew into a rage on my behalf. The acquaintance who's smile told me how he felt.

I wish it hadn't happened, but it did. The good thing is that the nastiness will soon be forgotten, but the nice will remain.

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

I don't need to read

“I don’t read”, he said. And he said it with pride. “Reading is a waste of time. I get all I want from the electronic media.”

“Information maybe”, I conceded. “But what about fiction? Surely you read books.”.

“Who has the time for books?”, he replied. “Movies get over in two hours, and they are much more entertaining than books.”

I was speechless. Was there anything left to say? A large part of the joy of reading is in filling up the blanks. In imagining things. If that is lost to a person, I can only feel sorry for them.

_____

A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

The full post was first posted two weeks back on a Reading Monday at Burrowers, Books & Balderdash. For a new Reading Monday post, and other great posts, do visit us at Burrowers, Books & Balderdash