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Sunday, 5 January 2014

100 Happy Days: Day 3




The magic was in those slender neck glasses; I did not taste the cocktail, but those who tasted it wanted more.

S was happy mixing drinks. She took care to dress the rim with lime and salt. She looked into her recipe folder to check the quantity of each drink. There was glow on her face as she mixed hard and soft drinks to make a perfect cocktail. As she placed the thinly sliced lime on the rim, she coyly looked at me to see the smile on my face.

So here I am, with the project of 100 Happy DaysI will be posting pictures each day here on my blog then share the link on my page on FB too. You can enjoy my work either here or on my page at FB at Pushee’s World

Saturday, 4 January 2014

100 Happy Days: Day 2




The birthday cake arrived, triangular chocolate chips inserted on its sides to make a geometrical design and a thick layer of chocolate cream on its side. 

It was not H's birthday; the name clearly spelled the name of his aunt. But what did H care? It was the cake that fascinated him, the rich chocolate color, he didn't care to read the name, he couldn't. He is only three years old. He could recognize the alphabets, not the words, but his happiness was profound. 

He couldn't wait for his aunt to blow off the candles or cut the cake. He simply lifted the chocolate chips off from the sides of the cake and licked from one side, again and again, till it melted and disappeared into his mouth. The dark chocolate cream stained his cheeks. 

Lifting his hands in the air, standing on toes, he began to dance, shaking his whole body and singing loudly, 

"Cake is tasty, its birthday time, Cake is tasty, its birthday time " 

He swung round and round, dancing and singing, came back after every turn to swipe off the cream from the side of the cake and licking his fingers. I just stood there watching the joy on his face. Little things please little minds. 

You don’t need a grand party to be happy. You just need to be in the company of small kids, as small as three years old and watch the world through his lens. It is so easy to be happy.....

So here I am, with the project of 100 Happy DaysI will be posting pictures each day here on my blog then share the link on my page on FB too. You can enjoy my work either here or on my page at FB at Pushee’s World

100 Happy Days: Day 1


Being happy is not difficult. Simple things can bring happiness, a favorite dish, a surprise visit of someone special or even spending quiet moments with a favorite friend; all these and many more. I have formally decided to be happy for next hundred days through my passion for photography. It’s a pleasure to see others happy too, and now I get an opportunity to understand what makes others happy. 

So here I am, with the project of 100 Happy DaysI will be posting pictures each day here on my blog then share the link on my page on FB too. You can enjoy my work either here or on my page at FB at Pushee’s World



On the day 1, the picture I start with is the needlework that I completed today. I had bought a stole that attracted my attention because of its vibrant colors. But the edges were very raw and needed my attention. With gold rustic beads at the edges, it now looks formal and I am happy that I will soon be wearing it for outings and lunches.

Monday, 30 December 2013

My Neighbor

One month ago, she stood at the threshold, out side my door, calling out my name. I was busy with my guests who were about to leave. I asked her to wait but she started to cry, softly at first but then a loud shrill noise. I was distracted, so were my guests. They waved quick goodbyes and asked me to attend to her. I turned to her and asked her what the matter was. She continued to cry in louder decibels, clinging to me, wetting my neck. I took her hand and led her to the room. She sat next to me, closer, and whispered, "I am dying" Her head shiny, exposing her fair skin, was covered with stained towel, she covered her mouth with flap. 

"Look," she said, "I have lost all my hair, I got operated but my head pains too much"

I wished I could help her but pain is the cross that we must carry alone. 


"Don't worry, you will be fine" I consoled. 

I fumbled for words. How do you converse with people who only need moral support? I sat there silently listening to her. she spoke softly, her lips concealed behind the flap. I strained to hear. I wish I understood what she was sharing. I followed the movement of her gestures but could not decode its meaning.

I have known her as a very vibrant lady. she had strong opinions on every issue. Many times she would stand outside my door and rant for hours. I have burnt my food on stove, spilled the milk cause I waited for her to pause. Many of her stories were repeat, told for umpteen times.

Bad health can change you. 


She stood up, walked across the room, stared at me listlessly, came back and sat down again, closer to me. 

"I am afraid, please help me." she whispered

Next day, she stood outside my door again. 


"I am going to the hospital but only for a day. I will be back soon," she said.

Today I learnt that she is never coming back.

Friday, 13 December 2013

The Signature of All things – Elizabeth Gilbert






Just finished reading 500 pages narrative story spanning over more than 100 years during 18th and 19th century of an intelligent, single, plain-faced woman who spends her lifetime understanding the creation of mankind through study of botany, mainly Mosses.

The book is divided into five parts.

The first part of the book takes us through the adventures of Henry Whittaker, a plant thief whose boyhood punishment is to send him off to far off place in a madcap voyage of Captain Cook. He returns to make a successful career importing exotic plants to America.

The interest is aroused from first few pages itself. Alma Whittaker is born in rich family to an intelligent mother whose first prayer on seeing her child is that “she grow up to be healthy and sensible and intelligent, and would never form associations with overly powdered girls, or laugh at vulgar stories, or sit at gambling tables with careless men, or read French novels, or behave in a manner suited only to savage Indian, or in any way, whatsoever become the worst sort of discredit to a good family.”

The prayers are answered.

Alma is the person; we begin to love as the story unfolds. During her childhood, she is tireless, uncomplaining and curious to understand the ways of the world.  she made a habit of chasing down information to its last hiding place, as though the fate of nations were at stake in every instance” Not only did she have clever parents but she also had the entire estate of White acres and the proper resources to explore at her will that helps sharpen her vision towards mysteries of life. Her father advises her to always be self-sufficient and to always have one final bribe. “You must always carry enough gold on you to buy back your life in case of kidnapping. Sew it into your hems, if you must, but never be without money.”

At 16, she chances upon a book ‘With A Grain Of Salt’ that makes her mild jolt wildly. She makes frequent visits to the binding closet to fulfill her sexual longings. The repeated details of her visits to blinding closet and her acts of  masturbation are unnecessary and just lengthen the story.

She is over-shadowed by the beauty of her adopted sister Prudence, who marries their tutor, Arthur Dixon and her best friend Retta Snow marries George Hawke, the person whom she secretly loved. What I fail to understand is why she cannot find a husband to love her? What has physical looks to do with love? Disappointed, she says Let us be honest with ourselves. Who will ever put a ring on these fishwife’s hands of mine? Who will ever kiss this encyclopedia of a head?”

Though this novel veers into far-fetched, even stranger territory in its second half, we continue to root for our heroine. Alma marries Ambrose Pike, a younger man, an eccentric orchid illustrator. He tells her of the work of Jacob Boehme, "a sixteenth century cobbler from Germany who had mystical visions about plants...who believed in 'the signature of all things'...namely that God had hidden clues for humanity's betterment inside the design of every flower, leaf, fruit, and tree on earth."

Sadly, the sex-less marriage fails and she send him off to Tahiti to her father’s Vanilla plantation to save her from embarrassment. When he dies under mysterious circumstance, she follows his footsteps to uncover the truth about Ambroise rejection of her. In Tahila, she lives a simple life with just one goal to finding the truth.

Eventually Alma finds her way to Amsterdam, where she rekindles her relationship with her mother’s Dutch family and becomes the master of mosses at the Botanical Gardens.

Elizabeth Gilbert has done a lot of research, her facts on voyages of Captain Cook, on biology of Mosses and the demography of 19th century is visually elaborated.

The narration is interesting although most of the other characters are weird with strange habits and even stranger names. We have Arthur Dixon, who gave every inclination of being a man, who had been born sitting up, wearing tight-fitting waistcoat and wool breeches, holding a dense book, and sighing unhappily. If he had urges, where and where did he release them?”  We have Prudence, who lives in utter penury, we have fluttering Retta snow, Reverend Welles of unplumbed depths, Tomorrow Morning, the hero of the natives of Tahiti, etc

Nevertheless, the tale is riveting making the book unputdownable and when you reach to the last page of the book, you want to read some more…

Just one reading is not enough, I am going to read it again




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