Fifteen

This weekend we are spending in Estes Park,  Colorado. Other than being right next to the rockies,  Estes Park is a nice little town with shops full of antiques and keepsakes. I had just tuned into a country music channel on the radio on our rental car, as we turned into a parking spot at the main street. Little Haana asked if we could shop. What did she want to shop for? Oh, anything!

Ok, I'll give you a budget of $20.

$30?

20.

25?

20.

Fine! Now, can we tune into some actual music station?

I slowly turned to little miss Haana and said just this 1 word - "15".

Oh actually, no need, it's quite good music already - she back-tracked!

Just as I expected!

When I'm A Teenager

Little Miss Haana had this to say to me today:

Haana: Mumma! When i become a teenager, i want to have those things in my ears,  those pods,  those white things....
Mumma: Mm, ear buds?
H: Ya! When i become a teenager, I'll have ear buds in my ears and I'll have a very shiny phone of my own,  and i want to go for a run listening to music. Can i mumma, can i, when i am a teenager?
(Eyes shining like diamonds!!!)
M: (I looked around and i caught the absolute rapture in her eyes just thinking about it. But i had to interject some of my own twisted version of reality)
Gugu, the only phone you will ever have is Mumma's. But that's ok, i will share with you, you can take my phone.
H: But i want a shiny one.
M: Ya, we can get a shiny cover for Mumma's phone, whichever one you like. (I'm liking this even better now;-) )
H: (Sounds satisfied) And then i will put the ear things on, and i will go for a run listening to music. (Does a little dance to show how wonderful the whole picture is!)
M: (Giggling with satisfaction at the thought that she's still using mom's phone as a teenager.)

And I Miss You

This one post is not about Miss Haana. And yet it is nothing without her. 

I will be sufficiently shallow and say that on beautiful spring days like today, I think having a convertible is my way to pay respect to the Sun God and the Others up there. Miss Haana and I have ridden around in this convertible with the top down enjoying ourselves in company of some truly immortal musicians. And even with everything else being there just right, the open roads, balmy winds, tweeting birds and beautiful spring flowers sprouting unruly and wild like my soul. Yet all I am thinking of how my baby  would've loved it, and how it would be if she were right here at the back seat. 

Miss Elizabeth

My little girl loves her teacher Miss Elizabeth at her Montessori. Some days when I pick up little Miss Haana from her school, in the shape of Miss Haana, her teacher Miss Elizabeth comes home. 

She sits me down "quietly, okay?".  Then, some days, she puts on some music for me and tells me to "Listen to the music, veeerryy carefully, okay? Listen to it." If I start to get up and leave, she tells me to "No! Sssit. Sit quietly okay? Sit! Now listen to the music okay?" 

Some days if I hurt myself doing something, the little Miss Elizabeth (at my home) attends to me immediately. She checks my boo-boo, then tells me "Oww, it will be alright, okay? You'll be alright verryy soon, okay?"

The other day the little girl told me she will be a pink ballerina (they are going to have a dance recital for their ballet class). I got all excited and asked if she could teach me some and if I could be a pink ballerina too. I was told in no uncertain terms I could not be a pink ballerina. Heartbroken I lamented. She relented and declared I could be a brown one. I retorted I didn't want to be a  brown one, I wanted to be a pink one. After some negotiation we agreed on yellow!

On other days little Miss Elizabeth at my home sits me down and reads stories to me.

It's quite an experience having a Montessori teacher at home :)

Squashing Bumblebees

Heard from the back seat of the car while driving home yesterday, with actions and replete with musical effects:

Oh my Mumma help me clean

I'm squashing my baby bumblebee

Eww! It's all over me,

I'm squashing my baby bumblebee.

Repeated today by most popular demand!

A Thing Of Beauty

This morning I was listening to an old B. E. King song 'Stand By Me'. I was on a binge-repeat mode.

And the whole time I was remembering a phrase and realizing how true it is- a thing of beauty is a joy forever. I often think of this phrase when I hear some of my favorite music from the 70s or even 60s. And I wonder if the people who created it knew or could foresee that someone 50-60 years later would still be listening to what they produced and still appreciate it! It's such an amazing thought. 

I think amazing things happen when one does something from the heart- uninhibited and free of judgement (whether others' or ones's own). Beautiful things can happen when one accepts the risks but takes the courage of following where the heart is. I think that's how such beauty- that transcends time and age, got created. 

Miss Haana and I have been dabbling in paints lately. She's painted with me before- we did sponge painting first. Then we did q-tip stencil painting. But now. Now she does the very grown up paint brush painting. No stencils, no sponge, no plans, no inhibitions. I am just told which colors she wants. I take my job of the color mixer and palette preparer very seriously! And then she takes the paint soaked brush and paints. I am so proud of her. 

La Grange

It felt like a dream come true. And it was magical!

We were returning back from work and day care each- little Miss Haana and I. We were listening to some music when suddenly, like an unexpected turn of events, one of my favorite numbers came on.. La Grange (ZZ Top). I cranked up the volume, and instead of turning to go home, turned away to enjoy some great company (a sweet little girl and some of the greatest rock musicians!) while I drove on. 

But the truly fun part came when the song went into a serious guitar piece and I glanced back. The little girl was enjoying the music thoroughly. What amused me more was that she had this fictitious (air) guitar that she was playing and Oh! how thoroughly  gratifying it was! I started laughing and egged her on: "Gugu, play faster!!!" She immediately responded with gleeful giggles of her own, and even more vigorous head shaking and guitar playing.  I felt like I've died and reached heaven! 

The next song? Whole Lotta Love (Led Zep). This just keeps getting better!

. 

Stevie Ray Vaughn

I've become immune to everybody telling me my little girl looks exactly like her father.  "She looks like a carbon copy of her Dad"! Heard all of that before.

But yesterday I was talking to a friend of mine and I was telling him something that happened this last week. And  I feel completely vindicated! 

Last week I had Stevie Ray Vaughn 'All your Love I Miss Loving' playing on the speakers at home, little Miss Haana was all over the place! There was moving, turning, twirling, jumping, hopping and just pure this-is-too-much-fun giggling!

She may look like her Dad and not me, but as long as she inherited love for music and appreciation for such great musicians of all times; I am good :)

Old Guitarist

I saw Picasso's old guitarist painting the other day. This one: 

http://www.theartistpablopicasso.com/pablo-picasso-painting-old-guitarist.htm

The painting is both stunning and dark; beautiful and painful; inspiring and depressing - all rolled into one.

If art is something that forces the viewer to feel, to think; then this was right on the money. The painting itself is beautiful- the figure of the old man, his guitar extremely life-like with impeccable detail. But even more remarkable is the feeling of despair, desolation and destitution the painting evokes. 

I still find the painting inspiring. In spite of the blue old man representing old age and death, in the center is his guitar- golden guitar. And with the guitar, it seems like the old man is not in this world at all. I felt like the guitar and his music freed him from all the worldly despair. And at that moment when he's playing, it didn't matter that he didn't have strength in his muscles or food in his stomach; didn't matter if he's dying in a desolate corner; it didn't matter that he was so close to death that it was hard to tell them apart- none of that mattered. At that moment he had something that freed his soul. It's a powerful sentiment - freeing one's soul. It makes me think of the blue blue sky with a lone eagle flying somewhere far far away. Of cotton puff white clouds floating around. 

What I thought was - right now we are tied up in things, life is busy and full of stuff. But there may be a day in our lives when we are old, unable or disable, old and alone and not a hope in the heart. We will be the old man at that point. And I hope- I wish- we figure out what our "guitar" is- that can lift us up, and free us, free our soul from the entrapments of this life, so even for a brief interlude nothing else would matter..

Half Year Checkup

Last week was Suhaana's half year check up. And after the question-and-answer session with her doctor, that meant it was time for vaccinations. One oral vaccine and two shots at either leg. And while she did cry, it wasn't too bad. Here's how it happened:

(Vaccine-nurse enter. I sign digital form that okays them to stick a needle into the little one.)
Suhaana lying on the table.
Nurse starts with oral vaccine: sticks the oral syringe (not a syringe at all, more like a travel size toothpaste tube) into her mouth.
Little girl doesn't appreciate this but is still curious about this new thing in her mouth.
Second or two elapse.
She's made up her mind about it, she doesn't like it one bit. Grimaces.
Time for the real syringes now. Nurse trying to clamp down her leg.
Little girl realizes somethings' up. Revolts albeit weakly at first.
Syringe 1 poke.
Ouch-moment crying.
Quick clamp down leg 2.
How-dare-you crying.
Syringe 2 poke.
Mix of ouch-and-get-me-outta-here crying.
Done, nurse is out of the room.
Angry crying.
I pick up my poor little baby! I feel for her..
The doll, sensing that the worst is probably over, calms down, relaxes a little. Crying is over.
I get her into a sling and wear her right next to me.
On my way out, I stop to make the next appointment for her 9th month checkup.
Little girl is fidgety. Her legs are probably paining.
I get her into the car soon.
My doll is visibly fidgety and uneasy.
I quickly get behind the wheel, switch radio to FM 101.1 Classical Music; I'm thinking it may calm her by listening to some soothing music.
Little doll growing more and more uneasy. A little whiny now. Things are heading south.
Damage control.. I switch radio channels, turn to Classic Rock.
Something strikes a chord with her. Suddenly, all's well in Suhaana-land.
I realize there's something she did inherit from me after all!

What will you be when you grow up?

The other day we had company and Suhaana was asked 'What do you want to be once you grow up?'. It made me wonder..

When I was in middle and high school, parental pressure was rampant among my friends. I remember a distinct period when I used to feel the incredible weight of expectations and hope of parents riding on my report cards. Luckily for them, for the most part I was pretty serious about studies myself (I made up for it when I started bachelors, and realized I have to catch up for all the fun I'd been missing studying through high school!). So, their expectations became my own as well.

There was a brief stint in middle school when I thought I wanted to become a professional singer. My parents didn't really take my interest in music that seriously- it was just a hobby. My teacher at school was quick to point out (subtly I guess) that I don't really have that kind of talent to pull it off). Anyhow, that phase ended and I realized I need a real career.

Thinking back, I was wondering whether my expectations might ever be too much to bear for my little one. Even though I've always maintained I don't have any set expectations for her (we're talking about a new generation here, it's not like what I want will be relevant for our new generation kids!), do expectations have a way of creeping up without realizing?

Before Suhaana was born, Raj and I used to wonder what she'll be like. He hoped she be interested in sports so he can play with her. He dreams of being able to run around and play ball with her soon. Since he's good at sports, it's something he looks forward to: to share an interest with his child.

I want to enroll her in a music class when she's young; which she may or may not choose to continue depending on whether she cares for it or not.

I wondered, do these seemingly innocuous hopes and dreams transform into full blown heavy-weight expectations in time?
I hope not. I hope that we can continue hoping and dreaming for things, but still be open to alternative versions of what ultimately might become reality.