Politeness or servitude? Rethinking 'thank you' and 'sorry' in everyday life

The other day, I found myself reflexively saying “thank you” to a friend for something incredibly small—something that hardly required acknowledgment. Her response made me pause and think: why do we feel the need to express gratitude or apology for every minor gesture? Are these phrases really about respect, or do they sometimes reinforce a subtle imbalance, a quiet servitude in everyday interactions? This realization led me to question the deeper dynamics behind words like “thank you” and “sorry”—and whether, in certain situations, they may serve to elevate others at our own expense.

In everyday conversations, expressions like "thank you" and "sorry" are deeply ingrained. We say "thank you" when someone holds the door, and "sorry" when we brush past someone in a crowded hallway. But have these phrases, meant to signify kindness and politeness, become symbols of something more complex—perhaps even a subtle form of servitude?

To understand this, consider how often you say "thank you" or "sorry" in situations where they aren’t strictly necessary. For instance, you apologize for taking a moment longer in line at the grocery store or thank a colleague profusely for something minor. In these moments, the words are not only polite but also reinforce a certain dynamic. The other person is subtly elevated; their minor act of convenience or forgiveness is acknowledged as if it’s an extraordinary favor. The act of expressing gratitude or apology becomes less about authentic respect and more about reinforcing their social position, leaving you in a state of perceived indebtedness.

Historically, phrases like "thank you" and "sorry" served as essential forms of etiquette to smooth social interactions and minimize conflict. In societies built on rigid hierarchies, such phrases functioned as a way for people in lower social ranks to show respect to those above them. A servant would express gratitude toward their master not merely to be polite but to reaffirm the master’s elevated status. Though society has largely shifted away from strict hierarchies, these words still carry a trace of this dynamic. When used in excess or in situations that don’t warrant it, they might suggest an unintentional servitude, reinforcing an imbalance of power between individuals.

Interestingly, studies have shown that people who frequently use self-deprecating language, including "thank you" and "sorry," may subconsciously feel that they need to earn their place or prove their worth in social interactions. This isn’t to say that politeness is inherently negative; rather, it’s about the context in which these words are used. When we apologize for trivial matters, we may inadvertently reinforce the notion that our actions are intrusive or inconvenient to others. Similarly, over-thanking can suggest that we see ourselves as the undeserving beneficiaries of someone else’s time or attention, reinforcing a subordinate role.

In relationships where one person frequently expects apologies or expressions of gratitude for minor matters, a subtle power dynamic can emerge. The person receiving the constant “thank you” or “sorry” begins to feel superior, as if the other person owes them something, even if only subconsciously. This dynamic can lead to a sense of entitlement on one side and servitude on the other, affecting the balance of respect in the relationship.

So, how can we shift our perspective? Perhaps it’s time to reclaim the power behind these phrases by using them with intention rather than habit. Expressing genuine gratitude and apologizing when truly necessary remain important. But when used too freely, these words risk reinforcing dynamics that benefit neither party. Instead of reflexively saying "thank you" or "sorry" for every small gesture, consider whether a nod, smile, or simple acknowledgment might be more appropriate.

When we begin to choose our words with care, we avoid reducing ourselves in the process. By seeing "thank you" and "sorry" as tools for genuine connection rather than servitude, we uphold a sense of equality and self-respect in every interaction.

In the end, words like "thank you" and "sorry" have a unique power to both elevate and diminish us, depending on how we choose to use them. By being mindful of when and why we use these phrases, we can foster relationships built on genuine respect rather than perceived indebtedness. Manners, after all, should be tools for mutual acknowledgment, not mechanisms that subtly place us beneath others. When we speak with intention, we not only honor others but also uphold our own sense of self-worth, transforming these words from habits of servitude into expressions of true connection.

After all, the only way we can expect others to value our words is when we first learn their value ourselves. And something of value should not be strewn around recklessly, no? It should be handed over carefully to only those, who we are sure, will respect and acknowledge its value, and in time, pass it around with equal care and affection.  

The futile search for new beginnings

Everybody wants a new beginning. We all make mistakes, big and small, and then want to start over. Turn the page. Change the course. Turn over a new leaf.

But what we are forgetting here is that there can never be a 'new' beginning. New beginnings do not exist. It is practically impossible. We will always carry with us bits of stories we have played a role in; people we have met, relations we have fostered, experiences that have enriched our lives.

So how then can we wipe the slate clean? Can we really ignore the past? Can we unfeel the things we have once felt, unsee, unhear, unthink what we have seen, heard, thought? That would be denial, wouldn't it?

What we can do instead is acknowledge our mistakes and try to rectify them as early as possible.

So this time around, how about we take all the lessons from our journey so far, old beginnings et al, review, retrospect, accept responsibility and finally take charge in order to   change the narrative of our story?

In place of the futile search for a new  beginning, why don't we try to reach a new ending...a better ending instead?

The disappearing artist

The power of social networks is that while it exposes you to the risk of scams and trolls, it also widens your perspective and humbles you in the strangest of ways. 

Some months ago, I came across this profile of an interesting artist who revealed almost nothing of his identity but almost everything of his art.  And that is where my fascination started. 

Everyday, this man (assuming it was a man from his hands, since his profile had no other indication of his gender or personality) would go live on Instagram and post impromptu videos of his art, his camera recording his every move on a simple A4 sized paper.

However, what was fascinating was that all his art was created on the spur of the moment with a sharpie (permanent marker). No rough draft. No pencilling in. No erasing. Not even once. The prompts would be submitted by those who joining in the live session, and he would get to work almost instantaneously. It did not take him even a second to formulate his thoughts and transport the pattern onto paper. 

Picking up his sharpie, he’d sketch away like he could see a pattern on the canvas, as if he was joining the dots that were visible only to him. 

The first time I saw him doing this, I was gobsmacked. I told myself it must be a one off thing that he had probably rehearsed before. It was unbelievable how his hand could work so fast to create something so beautiful. 

Nevertheless, I started following him, out of sheer curiosity. 

But senough, the frequency of his live sessions and the confidence with which he created art in each one of them convinced me that this could not be a fluke. This was undeniably a man of extraordinary talent. 

His art was simple, yet eyecatching. It wasn’t the fancy shaman you stuff some artists come up with after weeks of brainstorming, erasing, photo editing and the works. This man’s work was simple and genuine. It was the kind that would urge even the art illiterate to pick up a paintbrush or pencil and try his hand.

As he dragged smooth, well defined lines and curves on the paper with his sharpie, one could not help but see at the confidence and clarity in his ideation and design. 

A senior writer I met at an art and literature festival had once told me this. “It doesn’t matter if your art isn’t perfect,” he had said. “It almost never is. But if it’s relatable and inspires people to read, write, create, then you are already on your way to be an artist par excellence.” 

Just watching this person’s hands move so confidently on paper made me want to sketch like him. There was absolutely no doubt or hesitancy. No second guesses. As his sharpie drew out connecting lines and shapes one after the other, a pattern appeared, slowly filling the entire paper. He only stopped once he was finished. That’s when the sharpie would be put down and the camera turned off, leaving a sense of mystery hanging in the air. I attributed that to artistic eccentricity. 

But soon enough, I was in for another surprise. A few months of following this mystery artist, I woke up one morning and logged onto Instagram only to realise that the mystery artist had now disappeared, gone off the grid. His account had been deleted and there was no sign of him anywhere in the virtual space. I am sure, like me, a lot of his followers felt a sense of loss and disappointment that day but told themselves they should have seen it coming. I know I did.

This little extension of his idiosyncrasy (if I may even call it that), however, makes me wonder how this person must be for real, outside this small little art world he had created and which we had happily chosen to be a part of. 

Would he be as adept at taking life decisions as he was with taking decisions on his canvas, would his thoughts be allowing him the same confidence and lucidity...the same spontaneity? 

Would he never have felt the need for second chances? No rewind, no pause, no edits. Would his life, like his art, be running as smoothly as his art, sans afterthought, sans regret? 

I reprimand myself, “Separate the art from the artist.”

I have always believed that art, in any form, is a liberating experience mainly because it gives you the leeway of second chances, and maybe even third chances and fourth chances (depending upon which medium you use). 

In fact, that is why most people (including me) would vouch for art therapy as being the best kind. Art is like this getaway from your anxieties, an escape route from reality into a realm you can tailor-make at your own whim and fancy. 

And yet, there are people like this mystery artist, seducing the arts with an admirable sense of discipline, a distinctive clarity of thought, who know exactly what they are aiming for and do not believe in looking back part journey. 

I pick up a sharpie and try to doodle something small. But mine is not a still mind. It keeps flowing like a river, enumerating different trajectories a line can take until I can bear it no more. Keeping the sharpie aside,  I choose the familiarity of the more forgiving pencil...

The eraser lies nearby, assuring me it won’t let me slip up. 

In life too, perhaps, we are constantly searching for this kind of security. The security that will allow us the leeway of committing a mistake and yet not messing the final picture. 

We look for it everywhere, this security net—-in our relationships, finances, work. We pick the pencil and shine our erasers when we should instead be sharpening our minds and steadying our hand. 

Sometimes what is more important than fixing our mistakes is how we can work around them. 

#GlobalFamilyDay: it's all in the family!

Today, I was reminded of an ad that I had come across a long time ago, on the power of eating together...

...in which all the residents of a building who are otherwise barely acquainted set table and dine together and get to know each other better...an act of bonding in a disconnected world. 

And that brings me smoothly to #Global FamilyDay, a day that is observed mainly in the U.S on the first of January of every year.  A feeling of unity that needs to be celebrated by everyone around the world. 

Now imagine the residents of the building to be inhabitants of the world instead; people of different religions, different nationalities. Now what if we all decided to sit down and eat together, share a meal, and get to know each other along the way. 

It would probably take us this kind of interaction to realise a much neglected truth...we as people around the world,  with all our differences in colour, age, sex, upbringing, culture, customs, traditions, habit, political affiliations, are not that different after all.

Speaking of which, 2020, in its own super-sadistic way, taught us exactly that. It made us realise how similar we all are, mainly in our responses to an unseen threat or danger that we have little role in causing. 

When a crisis of such global proportion, like Covid ;han strikes, everybody from the richest man in the most powerful country to the poorest man in the country of least power becomes vulnerable. 

The past year taught us how alike we are in our reactions, to our fears, and how in times like these, the entire human race should forget all their differences and stand up for each other. Have each other’s back. 

Global family day was traditionally celebrated by rising a bell or beating a drum on the first day of the year...a loud resounding promise to be there for each other. 

However, down the ages, this has been customised. This year especially, maintaining safety precautions is imperative in the midst of this pandemic. 

But given the situation, here are three ways we can all observe WorldFamilyDay in 2021 and feel like a part of this colossal unit of trust and togetherness. Let’s all try and make that positive dent in the world.

Because no matter how much the circumstances limit us, humanity should always come first! 

Here are five ways to celebrate the vibe of #GlobalFamilyDay in 2021: 

• Start small. Call that neighbour to ask him how he is doing. Connect with one friend you haven’t been in touch with. 
• Start at home. Cook a special meal for your own family.
• Make a small donation to trusted funds or contribute to your favorite NGO. 
• Change your attitude - promise to practice tolerance and mutual respect. Try not to judge people even if you don’t know them...especially if you don’t know them. 
• Last but not least, spread social positivity - Social networks are increasingly being abused for all the wrong reasons. Stop making the hate go viral. All arguments need not be fueled. It’s best to know when to argue and whom to ignore. It just helps keep the peace maintained. Don’t hold on to the resentment though. Every family has a few cracked eggs anyway. It takes all kinds to make this world. 

The world is at its vulnerable best right now and literally nobody wants to feel alone. So take that step. Extend that hand. Call up one friend everyday. Celebrate connections. Small gestures like these make a positive impact, no matter how tiny or far fetched they may seem.

And although we are still engaging virtually at the moment, know that the bonds we are forming are real. 

So if you are reading this, take this as a sign from the universe. Not just for today but for all the coming days. Lets pledge to encourage love and peace the best way we can. 

Because in times of crisis, it is our family we turn to. 

Because the world is one big family and someone somewhere is always there for you. So you be there for someone too. 

Because it’s true we don’t need one particular day to start making this difference. But ‘now’ is always a good time. 

So here’s wishing my extended global family a very happy, safe, and fulfilling 2021. 

May our ‘now’ be forever blessed! 

Book review: “The family upstairs” by Lisa Jewell

This one was recommended to me by a friend who for some reason (unknown to me) thought  I’d enjoy it very much. Anyway...

It’s not like I hated the book. In fact, I did enjoy it in parts. 

The story is fast paced, the writing is crisp and easy. And it has that ‘page turner’ quality (at least in the first 3/4th of the book). The narrative is split into three different POV’s, each with a distinctive style and course.

25 year old Libby aka ‘the baby’ has just inherited a mansion in the heart of Chelsea from a family she lost as a baby. 

While researching on this surprise inheritance, there are a few other discoveries that come to light, the prime among which is that as a baby she had been found by authorities in the midst of a crime scene, gurgling away in her crib with three dead people in the house (her parents and their friend in an alleged suicide pact), and that she has two other siblings she never got to see/know growing up. 

It is these three; Libby, Henry, and Lucy around which the narrative is structured. 

Thus unravels the story of the mansion, at the centre of which lie these three families whose lives become closely intertwined in sinister ways...ways that the reader will find himself piecing together as he becomes part of the journey. A journey rife with emotional upheaval, a troubled childhood, bizarre cultic traditions, and some deep dark secrets that once breathed in the mansion, waiting for 25 years to be uncovered. 

Jewell has managed to successfully arouse and maintain the intrigue of the reader with each person’s narrative alternating between their horrifying past replete with cloistered cultic traditions and incestuous relationships, and their tumultuous present that is filled with confusion, fear, anxiety, and yet a common yearning...to meet each other, especially ‘the baby’. 

There are moments of surprise and incredulity that will leave the reader open mouthed but turning pages nevertheless.

Some instances that require suspension of disbelief include: 

A murder happening (too easily executed and concealed) in broad daylight and the cops never following up on it. 

Henry (at age 12 or 13) learning the entire expansive science of herbs and potions from Justin and then practicing it all alone with equal finesse almost felt like a retelling of ‘the sorcerers apprentice’.

Also couldn’t help feeling all the kids in the book must have been precocious, with them the little geniuses mastering sciences and culinary arts, or understanding the nuances of mature adult relationships or even plotting the almost-perfect escape and getting away with murder. 

All this, with not even as much as basic formal schooling (Couldn’t help feeling it may have been education that ruined us).

Cut to the last 1/4th of the book, and the plot starts feeling a little stodgy or probably this is because your expectations have risen by then, when suddenly the big reveal...the sibling is not the sibling (which is a good twist nonetheless). 

You devour the next few pages at break neck speed and just when you think the plot is getting sinister, PHAATT! It falls flat! 

Yes, the way the story ended left me feeling let down because by then I was rooting for pure evil, what with a cultic plot like that. Instead it gave me a happily ever after with almost negligible traces of ominousness (a major roll-eye moment).

It was as if the quota of dark psychology had outdone itself during their childhood and not wanting to creep them out anymore suddenly decided to quit the family reunion. 

Jewell leaves a lot to the readers imagination, with her touch-and-go style of cause and effect. 

Well, I do acknowledge the fact that a nice little open ending exercises the brain cells, but experimenting with these kind of open loops a tad too frequently in the story can make it seem like the author may have not known how best to end what she had started. 

To sum up, ‘The Family Upstairs’ is a racy, chilling, psychological read that includes multiple story lines, scarred lives, a lot of mystery, several murders, a deranged cult, a malevolent obsession, and a happy ending, that will leave you with some jaw drops and a whole lot of roll eye moments.

I rate it 3 out of 5 

#WordlessWednesday: Of poetry vibes and poetry tribes

It was in January that walking book fairs made a stop at Goa, and I was thrilled...mainly because

• in an age and time where poetry is losing its glory, here were this young duo (Shatabdi Mishra and Akshaya Bahibala) who were trying their level best to reignite interest and resuscitate it back to life. 
• ‘Poems on the road’ was not just a casual and fun approach but also a earnest attempt at making poetry more accessible, more approachable. 

The van that became poetry

For the uninitiated, Poems on the road was basically a two month long ‘Pan India’ road trip by Walking book fairs, covering a distance of 10,000 kms, in 20 states, and 30 cities. 

From December to February, it covered Sambalpur, Raipur, Khammam, Hyderabad, Anantapur, Bangalore, Mysore, Coimbatore, Kochi,  Goa, Pune, Mumbai, Indore, Ahmedabad, Udaipur, Jaipur, Gurgaon, Delhi, Sonipat, Chandigarh, Dehradun, Greater Noida, Agra, Lucknow, Patna,  Ranchi and provided a democratic platform for people to express their views freely.

With over 500 poetry titles stacked in the back of their minivan, this duo set out with the sole aim to promote poetry. 

The lovely collection

What ensued were wonderful interactions where poetry connoisseurs got together to express their thoughts and bring about a positive change. There was an  open mic as well, wherein one was invited to perform their written poems and/or discuss favourite works.

Initially, I was a little skeptical. A library in a moving van...was intriguing but seemed a little too dramatic for poetry. However, what I witnessed made me instantly review my impression and accept that not all fine tastes need be high maintenance.

The certificate and book I was awarded

Of course, as the name suggests, Poems on the road was not about fancy-shmancy poetry readings, with snooty poets sipping on wine and twitching their noses to each other's poetry.

On the contrary, it was as low key an event as possible. Poetry on wheels. A van parked off the road and a group of poetry lovers surrounding it; reading, discussing, and performing poetry in front of a niche audience. Expanding circles one city at a time, like children gathered around an ice cream truck, like moths to a flame. 

A humble tribute for all to see. 

Professing love to poetry. 

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Since we are on the topic of poetry, I will take this opportunity to introduce to you all, my e-anthology of poems, titled 'Potpourri'. 

You can check it out at Amazon here. 

Do let me know what you think of it. It would mean a lot to me. 

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Linking this post to #WordlessWednesday. You can check the other submissions here.

Chai and I - a love story! #SuperBloggerChallenge #Instacuppa

My relationship with tea goes back a long way. I think it was the Madhatter's tea party that first got me all curious. I must have been barely seven then. That was a time and age when children my age were forbidden from touching any kind of adult beverage. However, even as a child, I was always the curious sort and an early introduction to books had only managed to fuel this sense of wonder and curiosity in me.
I would watch the adults sipping on their cups of tea, while I listlessly nursed my glass of milk, sulking at the unfair privilege age allowed them.
Alice was allowed to attend a tea-party. Then why wasn't I? I had raised the argument with my father once. "Because we are not mad hatters," he had laughed at his own joke. I was being clearly outwitted.

Until one day, I decided enough was enough. I was clearly missing out on something. I couldn't wait until I was a grown up to quench my thirst for this forbidden beverage. It would take me ages to get there. And so, with dogged determination, I did what every manipulative seven year old would do in times of emergency; I tried throwing a silent tantrum.
I stayed mum all day, refusing to talk to anyone until my demands were met. I pushed away my glass of hot milk and with animated gestures insisted that I was served what everybody else was having. After several futile attempts at dissuading me, my mother finally gave in and agreed to offer me a sip from her cup, on the lone condition that I'd finish drinking my milk later.
I grinned. The silent tantrum had worked. The negotiation was done! I promised I would drain my glass of milk to the last drop if only she'd allow me to have a few sips. Although I was aware that it was clearly my mother who had got better part of the deal, I knew beggars couldn't be choosers. Besides I was afraid they would adjust themselves to my silence (and God forbid, even begin to enjoy it) had I to push my luck.

For a good many months, I obediently settled for sips of my mother's tea as part of our negotiation...until one day, curiosity (that was until then my forte) got the better of her, and she stealthily entered into the kitchen just in time to see me draining my glass of milk in the sink. My secret was out!
She stared at me in silence. My mind was already coming up with excuses. I knew my life was over. My mother would lecture me on the hungry kids of Somalia, her favorite topic, when I refused to eat the veggies on my plate. She would take away all my books and distribute them among my cousins. Or perhaps she would forbid me from having another drop of tea. Before she could say anything, I went in full drama-queen mode. I started to over-explain. I bawled. I protested. I told her I couldn't let the milk ruin the taste in my mouth...not when I was being allowed just a few precious sips of the chai I so craved.

She was still staring at me. And then she laughed. "We have a tea-junkie in the house" she told my father, narrating my shenanigans later that evening. They both chortled as I stood there, staring at them with my best puppy dog expression, hoping I had convinced them into allowing me to make the grand 'doodh to chai' switch-over.

The next day onward, I was given my own cup of tea. And that is how my journey with tea started...

While the other adults in my extended family frowned at my parent's decision to allow me what I wanted (tea over milk, to be precise), I acted eternally indebted to them, much to the point of suspicion, until I was completely sure they weren't going to change their mind.

As I grew up, I started thinking of myself as a tea connoisseur of sorts. No matter where I went, I could not make myself leave the place without trying the tea there. Hitherto, I have enjoyed various varieties, namely lemongrass tea, iced tea, kulhad chai, butter tea, tandoor chai, Darjeeling tea, Assam tea, oolong variety, and some other herbal infusions.

Thinking about it, I can say that my preferences too changed dramatically over the years.
During my childhood or pre-teen years, I loved the more milky, extra sugary type of tea. I guess this had more to do with the tea-drinker adult image that I was so fascinated with. During my adolescent  years, it was masala chai that became my favorite. Perhaps the spice level of that chai was more in tune with my feisty teenage years. Somewhere during medical school, my choice of tea changed again. Late night cramming for exams and a hectic schedule meant me downing cups of black tea to keep me up and about.
Cut to present day, I am me, more mature and level headed (or so I like to believe), much more concerned about my health and fitness than I was years ago. I am still a tea lover nevertheless. But over the last few years, my choice of tea has changed once again, this time to a more soothing cup of green tea.

When I first started having green tea, around three years ago, it took me a while to get adjusted to its characteristic 'grassy' flavour. But soon enough, it had found its way into my routine. Green tea, is not just more soothing and relaxing, but also possesses a lot of health benefits.
Allow me to elaborate...

What made me opt for green tea?

Green tea is loaded with healthy nutrients. It is rich in antioxidants, polyphenols, flavonoids, and catechins.

1. Oral health: Green tea helps maintain good oral health. The catechins in green tea inhibit certain bacteria responsible for bad breath. Also killing off the bacteria reduces the risk of plaque formation and cavities. 
2. Green tea possesses around 30-40 mgs of caffeine (much lesser than in coffee). Hence green tea provides you with stable energy without the risk of risk of muscle tremors. It also increases your concentration span and helps you stay focused. 
3. Green tea increases good cholesterol (HDL) and reduces bad cholesterol (LDL)
4. It helps regulate hypertension by lowering blood pressure.
5. Studies show that the catechins present in green tea decrease the risk of developing Alzheimer's disease and Parkinsonism. 
6. L-theanine present in green tea helps you stay relaxed without being drowsy. 
7. The large amounts of antioxidants in green tea reduce the risk of cancer.
8. Green tea increases metabolism and promotes burning down of fats. Hence helps control weight gain.
9. Research shows that green tea decreases the risk of heart disease, stroke, and also increases longevity. 

Ergo, green tea is literally the elixir of life. Of course all the above benefits are based on correlation and should be supplemented with healthy eating and fitness habits. One cannot be reckless in all their habits and expect a miracle out of green tea alone. 

However, every time I traveled, I was rudely reminded of how good things in life are often either overpriced or simply unavailable. The cafes en route would either roll their eyes when I ordered green tea or came up with an exorbitantly priced pitcher of some ambiguous green-tea brand. So when I read about the vacuum insulated tea infuser bottle by #Instacuppa, I immediately made up my mind and placed my order at Amazon. 

With advanced temperature control, this double wall vacuum insulated design helps keep both hot for 1 hours and cold up to 24 hours. Also the vacuum insulted thermos travel mug is the perfect travel companion for those who want to have their regular green tea-fix even on the go, and be spared of judgmental looks and hole in the wallet.

The infuser bottle can be used not just to create infusions of green tea, but also to prepare infusions of coffee, fruits etc. Detach the steel infuser, and it can be used as a simple water bottle too.

How to prepare green tea using infuser bottle?

Of course, it is no rocket science.

1. Firstly, detach the infuser basket from the bottle.
2. Separate the long infuser from the short strainer.
3. Add one tbsp of loose leaf green tea in the bottle
4. Cover the infuser with the short strainer.
5. Put the infuser back in the bottle.
6. Add hot water to the bottle until it reaches just below the strainer level.
7. Cover the bottle and let it stand (infuse) for four minutes or more. The colour of the water changes almost instantly.
8. For faster infusion, flip bottle upside down for a few times. 
9. After four minutes, your tea infusion is ready. 
10. Pull the strainer and infuser off the bottle and sip on your freshly brewed green tea straight from the bottle.

And that, my friends, is how I prepare a perfect cup of green tea. 

I normally prefer to add a dash of lemon in my green tea. Lemon aids in the absorption of some of the nutrients in the green tea. 

So that's it, folks. Now that you all have read a slice of my love story and are privy to the secret of my energy (nope! it has never been a chocolate milk-drink that the ad mad world leads us Indians into believing), I will end this post by rephrasing a popular scrapbook line that most of us would fondly remember scribbling in each other's scrapbooks as kids.

"Drink hot coffee green tea. Drink green tea. Burn your tongue and remember me!"

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“Note: This article is written as a part of SuperBloggerChallenge2019 conducted byHealthwealthbridge.com, Allaboutthewoman.com and should not be repurposed, republished or used otherwise. The content herein is owned by the blogger. SuperBloggerChallenge2019 is not responsible for any kind of infringement caused.”

#WordlessWednesday : To you, to me, to us...

May this year be the pudding in our bread-and-butter existence...
Cheers to a fulfilling 2019!

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Linking this delicious little wish to #WordlessWednesday. You can check the other submissions here.

BE-YOU-TIFUL

I was watching TV the other day when it struck me how majority of our commercials ranging from soap detergent to diesel oil feature a fair, slim, attractive woman promoting the said product.
India, the land of changing trends has, since time immemorial, been obsessed with size zero, fair skin and silky straight hair.. From mythology to matrimony. From fantasy to fiction. While in reality, the common Indian woman often has to bear the brunt of these expectations.
So it was indeed a refreshing change when a leading beauty brand, like Naturals hair and beauty salon, decided to welcome and celebrate the real Indian woman,.

However, as I set pen to paper, I found my own self stuck for inspiration.
Who was the one woman who could encapsulate all that I wanted to say the beauty?

Khalil Gibran’s words came to mind.
“Beauty is not in the face. Beauty is a light in the heart.”

It was just then that my maid saw me frowning, biting the tip of my pen...something I often do when I’m thinking hard.
Malati has been working at my place for the past eight years, and by now knows to read into my every expression.

“Something wrong, didi?” she asked.

I thought I’d just take a breather and talk with her for a while. She always managed to get me smiling with her uninhibited enthusiasm.

“Umm...I’m trying to write about someone who is truly beautiful. But I can’t seem to decide who...” I told her, keeping my writing pad and  pen aside.

Malti looked at me for a second. Then a strange expression lit up her face.

“Then you can write about me, didi,” she laughed, tossing back her head.

And in that precise moment, Malti’s life flashed in front of my eyes.
What Malti had said in casual jest, was not a joke but the absolute truth.

Who else could represent real beauty better than this warrior-woman standing in front of me. In no way could I say that she was conventionally beautiful, in fact she was far from the superficial standards of good looks. But there was something about her that stood out. Draped in an old yet freshly washed sari, her hair neatly oiled back, her dark skin glistening with confidence, her eyes shining with hope, her laughter infectious,  smiling through the odds life had thrown her way, Malati glowed from within.

She did not possess much, but made the most out of what she had, ‘sans’  complaints. And that was what made her beautiful.

Looking at a Malati made me reflect on what beauty is really about. True beauty is not something that could be obtained by cosmetics and hair products. It cannot be attained from pampering and polishing the outside. Beauty parlours and skin spas can undeniably make you feel better about yourself, and look good, but only for a while (maybe until  your next hair wash or facial).

But real beauty runs deeper than skin. It lies in the core of a woman’s bones, in the spine that she  possesses, in the gut that she reveals in difficult situations. True beauty comes from humility, from courage, from kindness and compassion, from integrity and self assurance.
And I could see all these traits in Malati.

Image source: Google

I recalled the first time I met Malati. She must have been hardly twenty one in search of work, fragile and faint, with a child on her hips, trying hard to conceal the bruises left on her skin by an abusive husband.

While most people in her situation would have gladly accepted the monetary help that was proffered to them, Malti had kept her eyes on the floor, and refused to touch the money.

“No didi,” she had said. “Give me work instead.”

Then realizing that I had noticed the bruises on her arm and back, she looked up at me and said.
“I am not going back to him.”

There was a kind of finality in the way she said it. A confidence in her voice that told me that here was a woman who had made up her mind. I asked her if she knew house work and would work at my home, and she readily agreed.

Since then, she has been working for us. She had been attentive and quick to learn and soon managed to impress us with her dedication towards her job. In the last eight years, she made a place not just in our home but in our hearts as well. She almost feels like family now.

Malati represents the indomitable spirit of the common Indian woman, who has had to face more than her fair share of troubles...from bullying to street harassment to financial strain. But not once did she allow herself to break. Her positivity is  inspirational.

I have seen Malti grow up to be an assertive, strong, and independant woman.
I have witnessed her sensitive side when her baby was burning with fever and she rushed to my house late at night and asked me to see him. I have witnessed her integrity and dedication when she worked extra hours for some home industry after leaving my home every evening, in order to earn a few extra bucks but refused any kind of monetary assistance from others. I have felt her pain when her child was denied admission at an English Medium school, and have shared her pride when they ultimately relented because she stood her ground firmly and demanded to know why they wouldn’t accept him.

Malati is someone who is well aware of her rights as a human, as a voting citizen. She discusses the news with me. She can now talk complete sentences in English and this has boosted her confidence to a large extent as well.
She attends every open house meeting at her child’s school with her head held high. And understands and respects the need for a woman to be financially independent in today’s world.

On days when I’m feeling low, she even lectures me on what I’d once taught her.

As I reflected upon the trajectory of her life, I realized that here was a fighter, a winner, a mother, and most importantly a woman...an embodiment of Stree Shakti, someone who had proved her mettle in all her different roles and has made adversity bite the dust.

“Life is too short, didi,” she recently told me, “to keep thinking about the mistakes of the past.”

Malati is dedicated, doting, and self reliant. She is a survivor, a warrior,  a rising Phoenix who does not believe in looking back at her ashes.

Malati may not have lustrous hair and clear skin. But those are tangibles that can be easily fixed. What she has within her, however, is an intangible beauty...the virtue of living unapologetically and loving herself just the way she is. Imperfectly perfect!

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...true beauty that lies in the strength to brave the storm, show off every scar as a badge of victory and lead your life with dignity.

Over time, Malati has persevered to change her every vulnerability into virtue. From the timid twenty one year old to a feisty young woman who fights her battles alone, she has come a very long way.

When I look at Malati, I don’t see just a woman, but a powerhouse of positivity. She is kind, diligent,and honest. An epitome of courage and empowerment.

“Malati, you are right,” I said to her. “You are indeed truly beautiful.”

“I was only joking, didi,” she grins, a little embarrassed..

“But I am not, Malati. You are beautiful in the way your eyes light up when you talk about your baby, in your uninhibited laughter when you are happy. When most women are afraid to bare their soul, you believe in voicing your opinions without pretense or manipulation. You are beautiful in the way you make others around you smile with your infectious vibe. And what impresses me most is your relentless thirst or knowledge and perseverance, and that is what makes you truly beautiful. “

Malati smiled. She did not say anything. But her moist eyes spoke for her.

Then when she thought I wasn’t looking, she beamed at herself in the looking glass on my dressing table.
I smiled, hoping she saw in it, not just the reflection of her face but also the sparkle of her soul.

When I hear my name

"What’s in a name," said Shakespeare. "A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet."

As a child, I’d often pester my parents asking them the story behind my name. Most children I knew, including my sibling, had splendidly uncommon names...unique, exotic. Tapasya, Mughdha, Narayani...names that would make people stop and ask for their meaning. I’d squirm when my sibling, in all her glory, explained the Sanskrit interpretation of her name to a mesmerized audience.

My name, however, on most occasions, didn’t even get a second’s notice.
And why would it; every third female child in India shared my name. Plain, common, ordinary, that's what it was, or so I thought.

After a point, I started making up imaginary associations to my name. This, I thought, would get me the attention I deserved.
“I’m named after a princess...the finest the world had ever seen,” I’d try convincing my cousins.
I would then let my imagination run wild and paint a rosy picture of this so called princess; the namesake I’d conjured, who possessed all the traits my seven year old mind coveted...intelligence, beauty, royalty, talent, valour and so on.

I’d always pick cousins who were younger than me, that way they would believe my taradiddle. They’d stare at me, open mouthed, as I’d spin stories about the said princess and all her imaginary bravado.

Until one day, my mother noticed what I was doing and called me aside.
“Do you know what your name means?” she asked.

I nodded, hesitant to tell her the bull story I had concocted, knowing fully well she’d call my bluff.

“It means someone who is loved,” she smiled.

I frowned. What was so unique in that?

“But I don’t want to be someone who is loved,” I stamped my feet, all ready to throw a tantrum. “Why did you choose such an ordinary name for me?”

My mother laughed. Then she held me close and whispered to me a truth that got embedded deep within the core of my personality. A truth that has probably stayed there ever since.

“Love is never ordinary,” she said. “Don’t let yourself ever forget that.”

Today, as my mom fondly recalls this little incident from my childhood, I can’t help but ponder on the truth in my name.
In my life, I have loved and been loved. And for that I am ever so thankful.

On a somewhat related note, I watched a movie a while ago, titled 'Call me by your name'---a moving story on loving and letting go.
"Call me by your name, and I'll call you by mine," says Oliver to his love, Ellio.
And that made me think. Our name may be common to the world. But our identity is unique...reserved for only those we consider special.

Yes, there are days when the skeptic in me takes over. But on days like these, my name ‘Priyanka’ reminds me that if there is anything extraordinary in this ordinary life, it is the love we give and receive.

Ending here with a quote from the same movie; 

"We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to make yourself feel nothing so as not to feel anything - what a waste!"

Are you a bookworm too?

The 'Bookworm Bingo' tag has been doing the rounds on Instagram, and so I decided to bring it onto the Blogosphere as well. 

Below is the original tag and my pictorial edited version. I have also included a customized description of my choices, because for someone who loves words, I just could't restrict myself to ticks and crosses. 

The original tag

My choices --- guilty and proud!

#1 - Cancelled plans to read a book - Guilty. On several occasions actually. Honestly I find a good book to be better company than most people.
I have cancelled plans to finish (reading) a book and have cancelled plans to finish (writing) a book. Sigh! I guess most would just call me a ‘plan canceller’ .
So, guilty...guilty...terribly guilty!

#2 - Can name a book that changed your life - Guilty.
I can name a few that did. But if I had to stick to one, it would have to be ‘Noddy and his new car’. That was the first book my parents introduced me too (at least the first one I can remember). I remember being so fascinated by it. That book triggered off the spark of reading in me. After that, there was no looking back!
So yes, while most would quote Ulysses or some such epic, I’d say it was ‘Noddy’ that changed my life by introducing me to the wonder of books.

#3- On a first name basis with the librarian - Not Guilty! 
Not my fault actually, small towns like Goa have frequently changing librarians. They never really stayed long enough to know them on a first name basis. Also I must confess it’s tough to see beyond books when you are at the library.

#4 - There's always a book in your bag - Not Guilty!
I find the concept of carrying an entire library along more fascinating. So usually have my iPad in my bag during holidays and staycations. Or the reading app on my phone for normal days.

#5 - Read until the sun came up - Guilty, Guilty, Guilty! 
Almost every second day for this one.
I normally prefer reading in the night. And now with reading devices having their own inbuilt light, it gets even better.

#6 - Wept over a tragic plot twist - Guilty! 
‘My sisters keeper’ by Jodi Picoult, 'Love story' by Erich Segal, 'The boy in the striped pajamas' by John Boyne (just to name a few). Yeah, yeah! I know. I am a book-keeper and a book-weeper. *facepalm*\

#7 - Posted a book review online - Guilty!
A lot many times...
Writing, reading, and discussing books make me happy!

#8 - Owned an item of lit-inspired clothing - Guilty
I once owned a T-shirt with 'REDRUM' written on the front and the back of it. Until one day, I accidentally spilled some ketchup on it and it had to be discarded.
Honestly, I had a good mind to leave it unwashed and leave it lying around---to ward off unwanted visitors.

#9 - Spent way more on books than planned - Guilty
This used to happen all the bloody time, until e-shopping (for books) came along to keep my book budget in check.
Yet, even now when I enter a book store, it's like the whole Mamma Mia song running in my head....



#10 - Joined a book club - Guilty
I've been an ardent fan and regular member of 'Between the lines', a monthly book club with an eclectic set of members in Panjim's Fontainhas, and although the club did not hold up as long I'd wished or expected (that is forever), it was still great as long as it lasted.
Currently, I am a member of several equally interesting online book clubs.
After all, online or offline, as long as there are books and bibliophiles, little else matters...

#11 -Wish list consists mainly of book titles - Guilty
I include as many new books as possible....because who doesn't love the self-fulfilling feeling that comes with ticking off things in your wish list?

#12 - Utilised randoom items as an emergency bookmark - Guilty
I have used things as random as ballpoint-pen caps, ticket stubs, boarding passes, candy wrappers, dried leaves, and chopsticks (Yeah, beat that?). Desperate times call for desperate bookmarks!

#13 - Maxed out your library card - Guilty
I'd always max out my library card back in the good old school and college days. I don't visit the library as often now. Technology and age has changed that!

#14 - Guilty of book-sniffing - Guilty
Irresistible...but only if the book is brand new or ancient!

#15 - Owned a signed copy - Guilty 
I usually tend to shy away from teeming crowds that crash upon the author's space (or so I tend to feel) for a signed copy. But there have been those rare occasions wherein I've waited for a ghost of a smile from a Jeet Thayil or Ruskin Bond or Geetha Hariharan in my direction, and jumped for the kill  autograph.

#16 - Tried to write a book - Guilty
Tried, succeeded and plan to try again!

#17 - Reccomend books frequently - Guilty
I think that is a default feature of every bibliophile. I recommend only when asked though, but once I start, there is no guarantee I'll stop.

#18 - Secretly judged someone's literary tastes - Guilty
Err...I won't name the authors. Some of them are...err..in my friend list.

#19 - Followed authors on social media - Guilty
Sure. Some because I really like their writing. And some because, they follow me! *facepalm*

#20 - Read in an odd location - Guilty 
I've done it for a couple of family functions I was obliged to attend.
When would smart phone reading-apps come in handy otherwise? *grins*

#21 - Have a nook in a bookstore you consider 'yours'- Not guilty 
Duh! I have a reading nook in my home that I consider mine...

#22 - Pre-ordered an upcoming book - Guilty 
Currently pre-ordered 'Sea prayer' by Khaled Hosseini.

#23 - Fell in love with a character - Guilty
Heathcliff (don't ask), Atticus Finch, Hassan (the kite runner), Will Turner.

#24 - "The book was better" - Guilty 
No movie adaptation till date has been able to match the picture painted (in our mind) by the printed word.

With that, we come to the end of the 'Bookworm Bingo' tag. If you are a bibliophile, feel free to take it up...
And do leave a comment so that I come over to read you.

Cheers! :)

Mindfulness decoded

“I wish I could be in two places at one time,”my friend sighed.

“Wished every woman ever,” I laughed, and we both rolled our eyes.

She was desperately trying to squeeze her hair spa appointment in between her work hour break. The voucher she had won for an Instagram giveaway had been pending since the past five months now and was nearing expiration, and Ria (name changed) was, in no way, one to give up on a freebie without a fight.

“Just imagine!” she sighed, “I could be at the spa enjoying my aroma oil hair massage therapy, and completing my project with my team at the same damned time. It would make time management so much simpler.”

And that got me thinking.  There have been so many times I have actually been in two places at the same time. Physically present in one, and mentally somewhere else altogether. We drift off in between conversations.  doze during seminars, are constantly distracted by our phones during dinner with friends or on a movie date.
In today’s day and age, mindfulness is a diminishing art, known and practiced only by a select few.
We talk more than we listen. We listen to only half of what we hear. And we hear the cacophony of a million tongues wagging at the same time.

So what exactly do we mean by mindfulness? To put it simply, mindfulness is the art of giving your whole self to the moment you are in, and accepting it without prejudice or judgmental any sort.
Studies have shown that this kind of interaction (with the self and with others) has a lot of positive effects on our physical and mental well-being.

• It helps to alleviate stress and prevent stress related ailments like hypertension, heart disease, diabetes etc.

• Improves concentration and allows one to focus better.

• Increases creative potential.

• Has a soothing effect on the nerves, thus helping to calm the mind.

• Sharpens cognitive abilities.

• Improves memory.

• Contributes in building healthy, happy relationships.

• Betters social skills and interactions.

• Makes one feel content and satisfied with oneself.

• Allays anxiety, palpitation, nervousness and helps elevate a depressed mood.

How do we then practice mindfulness in our day to day life? Here are some tried and tested tips that I have been practicing for a while now.

• Maintain a gratitude journal. Write about the things you are grateful for. It could be a lottery won, a vacation with a loved one, a promotion at work, or a flower blooming in your garden, count your blessings. Jotting them down in your journal will only remind you how lucky you are.

• Follow a simple meditation routine every morning. Mindful meditation sessions can range from 1 of 2 mins to as long as fifteen minutes or more. I’d suggest a fifteen minutes session every morning. And brief sessions as and when you feel stressed out during the day.

• When you are eating your meals, keep your phone away and focus completely on what you are eating. Be mindful of every bite. Appreciate the sight, smell, and taste of every morsel you eat. This will not just keep a check on how much you’re eating, but will also ensure you relish the food on your plate—something we often tend to take for granted. 

• Keep your eyes and ears open only for the one you are conversing with. Giving your hundred percent attention shows that you care. Exercising mindfulness during conversations will automatically improve your quality of interaction and strengthen your interpersonal relationships.

• I recently read about known as ‘Thin slicing of mindset training’ which is a fascinating mind exercise that Microsoft CEO Satya Nadela follows. It includes four easy steps spread over a period of 90 seconds. Every morning when you wake up, take in a deep breath for around 12 seconds while still in bed. This will reset the sympathetic nervous system that activates the ‘flight or fight’ mode. Next, mentally name something that you are grateful for. This step triggers in you a cheerfulness and optimistic approach. Then decide on one intention for the day and visualise it in your minds eye. This will help you visualise yourself performing better and more efficiently. Lastly, put your feet on the ground and just feel them. This makes you aware of the thoughts, emotions or body sensations you are experiencing in that moment. Practice this exercise on a daily basis to combat stress, improve concentration and make every day into a productive one.

In short, focus on one thing at a time. Do not worry about the past or future. They are not in your control. Just throw in your entire self in the present...in the now.
It is never too late to start this journey of mindfulness.  All you need to do is begin.
I started noticing positive effects within a week of practicing mindfulness. I was feeling less stressed and more at peace with myself.

Below is an easy guide to initiate the journey:

Select a spot in your house. A spot with a window view is preferable since this tends to be more comforting and relaxing. This will be your go-to spot for mindful meditation.
Slowly but surely, your mind will be conditioned to accept that spot to be a meditation zone.
Sit up straight with your legs folded (but stay relaxed), hands on your lap, eyes closed, focus on your breath for the inhale-exhale rhythm. Then slowly drive your attention to the sounds around you. Try to concentrate on the most distant sound you hear. Maybe a car honking from across the street, or a cycle bell, or a bird chirping. Notice the quality of that sound, the duration, the nature, the fine details you normally overlook. Now slowly move your focus to the other noises, until you come nearer and nearer and back to the source of your own breathing.
While doing this, try to drive away all stray thoughts that tend to interrupt. It’s going to be difficult in the beginning. Forgive yourself if your mind tends to wander. With practice you will soon be able to focus on your thoughts and improve on your concentration power.

In the wise words of Henry Miller,

“The moment one gives close attention to anything, even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself.”

Start paying attention to the world around you...
Start exploring the universe within yourself! 

Musafir diaries: the travels of a gypsy heart

"The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page."

~ St Augustine 

I was bitten by the travel bug rather early on in life. As a child, I recall looking forward to the end of every academic year. Vacations not just meant freedom from exams and school but also meant adventure and travel. Come summer and I'd already be dreaming of the trip that lay ahead. This triggered in me an irresistible wanderlust that with time only grew stronger.

Cut to present day, I am always up to venture and explore new places. However, the meaning of travel for me has evolved over the years. Traveling, to me, is no more only about the destination. It has become more about the people I meet, the experiences I share, and the lessons I learn along the way. It has become more about the stereotypes it helps me break, the conclusions it helps me draw, the roads it helps me pave for the journeys ahead, an exploration of the deeper nuances of other cultures and customs.

In a way, I can say travel has shaped my personality to a large extent as well. Then again, it could also be just an extension of my personality. Either way, I'm not complaining.

Those who know me will know about my fascination for nostalgia. I like to think of myself as a memory keeper, someone who carefully procures, polishes and preserves these precious nuggets of reminiscence, only to render them sacrosanct. And travel caters well to this habit of mine.

However, holidays cannot be always organised well in advance. But some of my best holidays have been spontaneous decisions. And why not? Haven't you ever felt the need to disconnect from the busy humdrum of life and break free from the monotony and madness of a mundane existence? I know I have. At times, we need to desperately fall back in love with the universe, and life always presents us with a choice---continue living the same tasteless documentary or turn it into a commercial feature film replete with new people, new cuisines, new environs and more importantly, new possibilities.
With travel being the perfect recipe for a delicious cocktail of adventure and therapy, all we need is good timing, and VOILA! There we are, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to love the world by embracing it with open arms.


So when Indiblogger with Lufthansa organised this contest, my mind immediately started playing the feature film of my travel experiences, urging me to present a collage of memories for the occasion.

Accordingly, I have jotted down my travel inspiration and experiences; particularly the ones that made me reconsider my opinion, revise my outlook, broaden my horizons, and open my eyes to a whole new world. So here goes...

**insert flashback mode with dreamy effects and soft music**

• In Nuremberg Germany, when I was introduced to this car pooling service called Mitfahrzentrale...

I was thoroughly impressed by the States initiative to conserve energy. Mitfahrzentrale are facilitation centers that provide unique, low cost, car pooling services that provide those traveling cross country or cross continent travel (with shared fuel resources) at a nominal fee. These centers also serve as pick up and drop off points to help avoid delay, confusion and further expenses. I liked the idea, and silently wished for similar safety standards back in India that allowed strangers to commute together without worry. Being Indian, I was slightly wary of traveling like that. I recall thinking of all kinds of misadventure and mishaps that I could have met with. But the pleasant company put me at ease. And although I didn't get a chance to share food or drink with them, we shared our travel experiences and regaled each other with stories. By the time we reached our destination, my irrational fear had dissipated by the incessant chatter in the car, and I bid a warm adieu to my co-travelers, happy to have connected with them and brushed off a bias.

This experience taught me something.

1. The most interesting encounters are sometimes the briefest.
2. Geographical distance doesn't make us any different from each other. At the end of the day, we are all story tellers living the same life, just different stories.

• My first encounter with Durian in Singapore.

I was wandering through the local fruit market, when a strange intense odour caught my breath. I was about to run away from the place when I realized the odour was coming from the direction of the local fruit called Durian. Curiosity got the better of me, and I asked the vendor to pack me a slice. I had to give it a try. Pinching my nose shut, I bit into the fruit and immediately regretted it. It was only much later that I realized it was an acquired taste, and I was glad I hadn't given up on it.
That day, I decided that I would not hold bias against any kind of food. And although I still have my priorities, I am of the belief that if someone somewhere is eating it, you can eat it too!

• In Sri Lanka when I realised the real meaning of meditation and inner peace...

We were visiting this Stupa when I saw a monk immersed deep in meditation. Eyes closed, glowing visage. Just looking at him made me happy. There was a lot of commotion around him. Tourists clicking pictures, talking among themselves, discussing itineraries. But the monk stayed undisturbed. On finishing his meditation, I went up to him and asked him why he hadn't instructed them to maintain silence.
His words will always stay with me. 'I cannot ask the world to shut up,' he said, smiling calmly at me, 'But I can listen better to myself.'

• In Amsterdam, when I visited Anne frank house and Van Gogh museum...

It was heartwarming to witness in front of you what you'd only read in books and seen in pictures. I could feel the overwhelming presence of Anne and her family. How they must have sought shelter in that cramped little secret annexe was beyond me. The pieces of furniture, the notches they made in the wall (to mark heights of family members during the incarceration) were all a reminder of how terrifying the experience must have been. I'd read the diary of Anne Frank multiple times, but standing there, breathing the air she once had breathed, touching the things she once had touched felt like an emotional holocaust in itself. There was an eerie silence amongst us tourists who had traveled back in time to pay homage to the place. But somewhere we knew there was a silent bond being shared between each one of us. The bond of empathy. Of feeling a common love for a girl long gone, someone we had all read and heard about. Of respect to all those who struggled to fight the holocaust. Of hatred for the dastardly Fuhrer who was responsible for the inhuman concentration camps

The Van Gogh museum presented us with a similar experience. Here we were all linked by the love of art and empathy for the disturbed life of a genius who had left us all a legacy of paintings to reminisce and admire.

• In London, when I witnessed the overview of the entire city in the London eye...

London Eye

I also had a wonderful time at Madame Tussaud's wax museum, and despite the teeming crowd of over enthusiastic tourists, I did manage to get a few hasty clicks with Mahatma Gandhi and the Queen.

Lesson I learned in London

1.  No matter where you go, you will always find friendly Indians smiling at you, making you feel comfortable in foreign land.
2.  The British might not miss much from India. But they surely love the butter chicken.
3.  The Brits couldn't get heaven on earth. So they opened Thorntons instead.

• In Kovalam, Kerala when we bargained a fantastic boat ride through the marshy back waters...

  

  View from the boat
  

A beautiful opportunity to explore the aquatic life and birds there-the abundant flora and fauna God's own country is blessed with. There was a young couple accompanying us on the ride, and the man turned out to be an ornithologist who was only too happy to identify and explain about the varied species of birds we saw. However, this did rob the local boatman of his share of attention as all doubts and queries were now directed towards the young specialist instead of him.

• In Brussels, we were only too happy to reach in time for the annual 'flower carpet' festival...

Grande Place - Brussels

It was a beautiful sight to behold, with the whole of Grande Place carpeted with brightly coloured flowers in full bloom. The mannequin piss and other tourist attractions faded in comparison, hence proving that nature has its own way of impressing mankind. Be it  the wonders of weather or the sights of Spring, we can never beat it at its game. The magnificent experience of the 'flower carpet' festival only accentuated the feeling of comfort as I sunk my teeth into fresh, hot, made-to-order waffles and crepes, reinforcing my belief that food forms the deepest connections in the most wonderful ways. From butter chicken to waffles to scones and cream. From the simple to the complex. We are bound to each other by the tips of our taste buds. And as scientifically improbable as it may sound, I still think there must surely be a special undiscovered relation between our taste buds and our heart strings.

• When we visited the artisans of Dandasahi...

The Pattachitra I bought--- 'Dasha Avatar'

Located 12 kms from Puri, Dandasahi is a small village in Odisha renowned for its craftsmanship and artistic talent. I visited 'Ananta Maharana Gurukul' and was left mesmerized by its famous art of 'Pattachitra' paintings. The canvas for these paintings is mostly cloth, and the colors used are natural made from seashells, powdered stone, soot, leaves etc. Stone carving, papier mache, mask making are other dying arts that need to be preserved as a part of our heritage. Interacting with these craftsmen in Dandasahi made me realize that talent does not discriminate or differentiate. It is distributed without any bias. These craftsmen may be financially backward but are blessed by Goddess Saraswati. They were only too happy to showcase their work and talk to me about it. Their work was their passion. So much so that even though it may not make their pockets jingle, it surely made their faces beam. I bought a couple of paintings and left the place feeling positively inspired.

With that, I come to the end of this post. I have loads of stories to regale, myriad more experiences to reminisce about, but I think we will keep them for another day. Globe trotting has invariably taught me countless lessons, thus showing me how much I still have to learn. It has made me far more open minded...about things, people, and their opinions. It has taught me to approach new people, embrace their thoughts, listen to their views, and understand them better. I have met and conversed with various people during my trips. But each person, each place has its own unique quality and something special to share, making me believe that the world is such a colossal sea of experiences and knowledge, and I am but a mere speck.

However, every journey till date has inadvertently made me understand one thing about life---we are all in this together; working towards a common goal, exploring the world, discovering one another, and perhaps leaving a small part of ourselves wherever we go, with whomever we meet along the way. That way, we are all connected, each bearing a piece of each other within ourselves---each a part of that one big story.
So be gentle to everyone you meet along the way. Walk a few steps together. Share some smiles. And make lots of memories...

Life is this huge unpredictable adventure, part beautiful, part scary. We are all travelers on the same road, heading towards the same destination, with no one road map. We are all fighting the same battles, nursing similar wounds, and hiding matching scars. Sometimes we stumble and fall. The trick is to learn...always learn. Making notes may feel exhausting at times.
But never forget; Adventure is out there! 
And with the right balance of compassion, positive attitude, and will to explore, we can unravel all the mysteries of the world.

In the famous words of Mark Twain, 

"Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the things you did. So throw off the bow lines, sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore, dream, discover. 

So let's pack our bags, flip open the camera of our mind, and say yes to the world...
As cohorts....
As co-passengers...
As friends!