Another year gone by

Another year gone by, a few aches and groans added along with a few greys and some more laugh lines. I realize that with the passing years, I have found this ability to laugh more. Nothing is that important or embarassing anymore. Everyone is like me or perhaps I am like all the others. I sleep, eat, think, goof up, cry, laugh and just about do everything else that most people do. Whether it is my spouse, my kids, my parents,my boss,it's the same. Everyone is just another human being playing this game of self importance. In our little insignificant lives, we go about as though every thought, every decision, every spoken word is a critical link. And in the bargain, just add to some misery when things don't go our way.
I figure it is easier to keep things simple.
Complete 31 years of my life and I still feel like me, the thoughts that zip around in my head are not too very different form those that zipped aorund 10 years ago. The only change is that I don't waste too much time thinking about how others will perceive me if they found out all I was thinking.
I know of four other people who share the sane birth day and we couldn't be more different.
And to think we all come from the same source...
I used to hate my birthdays when I was younger, those days I didn't like myself too much. In fact I loathed myself, was ridden with self doubts, had a huge gaping hole in place of self esteem and generally hated pretty much everything about me.It's bee a far cry from those days to today when I am quite happy with who I am. I know there are tons of thing in me that are not perfect but that's fine. hakuna Matata. been watching Lion King lately (courtesy a young kid who loves animal movies, songs and rhymes) and I think it is a fabulous story for practically everybody. It's a movie that never fails to get my peppy.
Wonder what my thoughts would be when I turn 40.
If this blog exists till then, it would be interesting to see how life would have panned out.
I would have never imagined that I would be who I am, where I am.
I never in my wildest thoughts had any picture of a domestic life and funnily enough, I quite enjoy it today. I like doing the laundry, the cleaning and sorting out bills. I hate cooking though. Perhaps it's too late to even begin considering trying it out as a new challenge. I just don't like the pressure of having to churn out something delicious everytime I cook. And personally, I don't think I fancy eating that much. The problem is I have a husband and kid who love food, in fact they live to eat.

Driving Miss Daisy

Bombay is a dreary grey city that moves constantly. Not for her, the lazy swirling mists or gurgling waters. She is in constant churn, with piping horns, toxic fumes and non stop dealing.
Within all this din, there still exists poetry in some isolated pockets within earshot of the local train. This morning, on my way to work, I saw a little patch like that, hidden behind parked tempos close to the Dadar flower market. There was this walled compound over which I could see trees with their leaves swaying to some unheard music. I imagined a little girl running between them in gay abandon, humming along with the unheard melody. She was wearing a pretty frock with little printed flowers and moving lithely as is possible only in a dream. She half embraced the trees as she frolicked like a little lamb. Her loosely tied hair followed her like a trail of mist. I am sure she would have smelled fresh as a daisy with a twinkle in her eye and a smile on her lips. She was completely sure of herself and knew each stone on the ground and would make her usual halt at the little stream that flowed on the outer boundary of the compound. She would stop and peer at her reflection and adjust a few wisps of hair that would have come undone. Then she will dip her feet in the cool waters and give a little gasp of glee after which she would gather the folds of her frock and fade back to her house.
The honking jarred into my day dream and I zoomed right back into the cab waiting for the traffic to move.