Tag Archives: birthday

To The Man I Adore

9 Jul

The year was 1982. And the bottle was Green Moss. Along with it, came explicit instructions to keep away.  So I did what all four-year-olds do. I climbed up to the cabinet, opened it, unscrewed the cap, and took in a deep breath to smell Daddy. He was at work. I missed him. This was the next best thing.  I remember the dark green liquid splashed all over the mosaic floor. The bottle lay halved in a corner. Daddy’s going to be so angry when he gets home, said Mum. And I quivered. Waited for the inevitable. Braced myself when he came in through the door. Daddy looked at me and smiled sadly. Shook his head like he was sorry. Nodded gently and walked away, my heart bumping behind him on a string. He has no idea this is when it happened, but at that precise moment, his ardent devotee was born.

The thing about having a male parent role model who is supremely gentle, emotionally available, and the center of your little girl universe is that it affects you in deep and insidious ways.  Beautiful and life-affirming ways. Quietly confidence-boosting ways. Valuing yourself comes effortlessly. Self-esteem is a non-issue, even when you know you aren’t exactly the belle of the ball. You never have to think about loving yourself because someone else has always done a damn good job of it and you are so sure the world will continue to do so. (And if it doesn’t, their loss, the people who matter do!) You know what you want in a partner. And avoid those loud, brash, supposedly macho, I’ll-be-your-savior sorts like the plague because who wants fire and brimstone when you can have sweetness and laughter and gentle support? If there is a single commonality between all the significant others I’ve had, it is this: they were all versions of my father. Adoring, patient and thorough gentlemen. And this I know, I am blessed.

Just this past weekend, Daddy spoke quietly and firmly to me about compassion and helping people even if it sometimes means being taken advantage of.  I don’t have his copious quantities of goodness. I do not trust easily, can see through people like a human x-ray, and save my kindness and loyalty for the truly worthy. Except, everyone deserves some, don’t they?  And if I can incorporate this easy to understand but oh-so-difficult to practice lesson in my life, I will not have squandered my chance to learn from the most precious and truly spiritual teacher: my own father.

Happy 66th, Daddy. This lesson and the many others you have for the world is why you need to keep blowing out those candles for the next 300 years.

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Four Twirls Around the Sun + A Giveaway

1 Jul

Little Blogette sat up in bed and yawned.  Raising her chubby arms above her head, she stretched, then flopped back onto a pile of pillows, dizzy with excitement.  The sun was shining, the birds were singing, July had begun and it was her birthday!

Jumping out of bed, she stuffed her feet into her piggy slippers (Parsi mammas were militant about these things) and padded out of the room. Mamma OJ hadn’t stirred yet, but there was a growing stack of presents and messages outside her door. Little Blogette peered into a gift bag and squealed at a sparkling bauble nestled in tissue. A large box housed a tower of cupcakes, and yet another package, an orange polka-dotted dress. Storybooks, crayons and puzzles tumbled forth as she ripped open the dragonfly-embossed wrapping paper. Then there were messages, wishing her a happy 4th birthday and telling her how much she was loved. Friends from around the world, girls and boys she had never met, had sent virtual bear hugs, and she wished Mamma OJ would rise and shine and share in her delight.

She decided to look through her baby yearbook as she waited. And read posts about The Beginning, Year One, Year Two, and Year Three. This new home had been fun so far. Decked in pretty pastel pink and smack in the middle of friendly aunties and uncles, she felt free to skip on the wet grass, build sandcastles and stories, and marvel at gleaming spider houses. Throwing open a white-shuttered window, she peered at the World Wide Web. Were more wishes coming her way? Any hugmeisters in sight? Maybe they’d march up to her in a line, wearing clown hats, juggling blog comments and delurking for this one special day.

She sat herself down on her favorite wicker chair and delighted in the feeling of being 4. She could read and write now! She always remembered to flush and wash her hands after. She could touch her tongue to her nose! She ate neatly with a fork and knife, and loved singing when her mouth wasn’t full. Even Daddy was so proud of her when she showed him how she had finished four twirls around the Sun and ended with a curtsy. She knew there was something special planned and settled down to wait. After all, she had been told patience is the Mamma of someone.

And there she sits in her pyjamas the color of sunrise, unbrushed and dimple-elbowed, broadcasting her toothy grin to a world that has been so good to her. Wish her well, won’t you? And not just for the return presents her Mamma’s going to give away. Four, after all, is more.

***

Dear readers and friends,

Six and a half years after my first blog post (and four on this blog), it is time to stop a moment and thank you. For visiting Wisdom Wears Neon Pyjamas, for being so generous with your kind words, even for just saying ‘hi’ and leaving a little smile behind. I know there are plenty of you who stop by but won’t say hello. Whatever your reasons may be, thank you too, and welcome to my little cubby hole.  To the lovely folks I have had the chance to meet through my blog—chatter away to, hug, laugh, swap life stories, and establish friendships with— it’s been a pleasure and a privilege.

As my way of saying I love you too, I am giving away copies of Kiran Manral’s The Reluctant Detective to 5 of my readers in the U.S., with a special handwritten note from me. Fast-paced and funny, Kay Mehra’s story is the perfect summer read. Sit by the pool—or in it, if you fancy—sip something chilled and heady, and dive into this murder mystery that keeps you guessing and rooting for its lovably ditzy protagonist.

To win your copy, answer this question and The Reluctant Detective could be on its way to your mailbox:

Which is your favorite post on Wisdom Wears Neon Pyjamas and why?

Feel free to browse through the archives and unearth one that rocks your world. Leave your answers in the comments section and they will be published after the giveaway ends at 11 pm (PST) on July 5th. Winners will be chosen randomly and notified on the blog. This giveaway is open to U.S. residents only, but everyone is free to share their favorite(s)!

Love and warm fuzzies all around, and onward to year 5,

OJ

Updated to add: In response to some queries, let me clarify that all comments will be approved once the giveaway ends on July 5th. 🙂 Keep ’em coming, people!

 

***

Updated to add:

*Trumpet blast*

Hear ye, hear ye! The 5 lucky winners of the WWNP birthday giveaway are…… *drumroll*

# 1: Vidya

#2: Nidhi

#3: Sraikh

#4: Pam

#5: Mystic Margarita

 

Congratulations, ladies!!! (Where have all the menfolk gone? Long time passing. When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn? Sorry for the wee song break. We’re back to regular programming.)

Please email orangejammies@gmail.com with your full name and mailing address and The Reluctant Detective, bearing a special note from me, will shuffle into your mailbox, collar up high and magnifying glass held to eye.

Special thanks to the Boy for being The Hand That Picked The Winners’ Names.

And to all you lovely folks who wrote in, thank you for your kind comments, emails, and birthday wishes. Little Blogette wants me to tell you that she’s blowing kisses in gratitude.

 

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To Nana. Because Silence Never Worked For Us.

19 Oct

I tried to celebrate your birthday quietly. To hug you to myself and cradle your memories and bask in my fortune at being loved by you. It was a silent day, the hours bristling with things unsaid, and aside from an oblique mention to the Boy and a brisk, awkward acknowledgement to Dad, I bent inward and let you incubate in me.

But now I want the world to know. You, the most beautiful of women. You, of the grey eyes, porcelain skin and sparkling wit. Your heart larger than your slender gold-bangled hands that patted me to sleep each night. Your temper shorter than your bobbed hair. Your eagerness to devour the world. To engulf me in hugs. To shower “dearies” on my emaciated soul. Your laughter, liberation and military order. And midget nail scissors wielded compulsively. Your sharp mind slipping away into a fog of grey. Your sprightly legs that exhausted us. The parchment skin that contained our history. The flannel blanket you laid for me nightly. Your belief I was leaving forever.  And then, turning the tables and slipping away before I could burst out from behind the door, laughing “Here I am!”

You left. Just like that. Because I wasn’t little anymore? Because I had parents? Because you had taught me all? Because you thought I was ready?

Now I know what I must do. And when she is born, my beloved soul, you shall have your answer. Or perhaps you already do. And it is I who must await mine.

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It’s That Time of the Year

25 Jul

Hello readers of Orange Jammies,

As will be (painfully) obvious pretty soon, once you have detected a not-so-subtle change in writing style and conspicuously poorer use of English – this is not OJ. No siree, the honour of writing this post has been given to her worse half or, as he is known in these parts, the Boy. And this honour is not to be taken lightly, because it is indeed an onerous task to fill her shoes as the “Sutradhar” of the crazy world of neon pyjamas. I shall do my best to not let her blog down… but I do sincerely solicit your patience and tolerance just this once – because it is OJ’s birthday!!

Yes, twenty some years ago (or was it thirty some years ago…can’t be sure), this mistress of spices arrived into the world in a beguilingly simple manner. Though I was not present at that point in time, it is said that free OJ was distributed in the halls of the Parsi General Hospital in the leafy confines of South Mumbai. These are just rumours – but I would like to think this is what happened. With the free OJ, all the nurses, doctors, the infirm but lovable Bawas and the fruit vendor across the street were handed an issue of the latest edition of People magazine, a scented candle which brought about visions of Autumn in Bavaria, a bottle of industrial-strength kitchen-top cleaner, a pound of Norwegian (not Alaskan) smoked salmon, a Bottega Veneta crosshatch handbag, a gilded copy of “The Women of the Raj” and a vial of the strongest of good intentions. On receiving this puzzlingly odd collection of stuff, most were confused, because little did they know that this was just the beginning of a beautiful life filled with beautiful things.

That is my wife. A study in contradictions, but only those which make life interesting and worth living. There are many things I have learned about her, over the relatively short time I have known her – but if there is one thing I can mark with a flourescent highlighter for everyone to see it is that she relentlessly searches for beauty in this world. Whether it is through her amazingly crafted prose, or her selfless support of those in need, or her ability to change her own point of view, or her search for the perfect handbag/industrial-strength cleaner… it is all to make this world a prettier (and cleaner) place. A world her Nana would have been proud of.

And if it is her birthday, I for one, have many reasons to celebrate. After all, twenty some years ago (or was it thirty…does it matter?) on the 25th of July, the world suddenly became one heck of an interesting place to live in… that is worth celebrating, isn’t it?

Happy birthday, my love… may God bless you with health, wealth, happiness and lots of beauty.

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Three Loves A Crowd

1 Jul

Dear Blogette,

Congratulations on being done with the terrible twos. Now that you’re all potty trained, less attention-seeking and inching past toddlerhood, I grow fonder of you each day.

You’re a sociable little one. You like visits, don’t you? And those mean folks who lurk in the shadows and never say hello upset your contented California existence.  There, there. Not on your birthday. Here’s a clean tissue.

Let’s take a quick look back, shall we, and then onward ho to fabulous four!

The beginning, One and Two.

Happy 3rd, precious page. You’ve brought me joy, catharsis and friends. And for that, I shall always be grateful.

Your typingly,

OJ

 

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