Let the Sun Shine For You

 And just like that I had the house to myself in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, albeit for just an hour. The last time this happened, the year was 2019 – before the pandemic, aka the good old days. As this realization hit me, a wave of excitement came with it. I quickly grabbed my Bluetooth speaker, allowed my Spotify playlist to envelop the empty house – no crabby voice asking me to turn it down!

Emboldened, I set out to the balcony, book in hand, to soak in some sun and good prose amid this rather unsettling peace.  Ah that’s quite a sunny afternoon, my brain notices. Just the right weather for that quilt to dry out in the sun after a round in the washer? I hurry back in and just as I am almost done wrestling in the impossible quilt into the washer, I remember the tablecloth could use a wash too and there’s just enough room left to squeeze it in. Well, that’s just practical, both of them need the same cycle. I run in to grab the tablecloth and somehow fifteen minutes later I am gazing satisfied at a table with neat linen and a freshly arranged basket of fruits. Well now, I really must get back to the sun and literature.

I reflexively grab my phone along to change the playlist and dagnabbit, it’s not already the fifth of the month! After paying the hair-raising premium online, why not one round of Wordle…..or 10? The sound of peaceful snoring has suddenly stopped and the fur child in residence has woken up for her afternoon snack. We greet each other afresh after the nap and head over to the kitchen. (Oddly, the task of feeding this ever hungry mouth doesn’t seem an annoyance.) After the snack has been dispensed, this time I’m actually out the door and in the balcony before Mother Cinderella’s time comes to an end. The front door opens and bangs shut as the human child is back and the next round of dispensing snacks is upon me.

Reluctantly, I pull away from the warmth of the sun. I still remember it when I am in the kitchen and as the washer beeps its “I’m done”. Nope, not today. I’m out back in the sun with my book, giving myself the same advice I would to any other woman I know: Let the sun shine for you!

'Tis the Season to be Jolly!

Christmas and the entire holiday season can bring with it a caravan of memories right from childhood. It could be the sound of carols everywhere you go; it could be the smell of freshly made goodies; or, it could be the fairy lights your parents struggled to unwind every year.

Fast forward to a decade and a half later and the thrill of the holidays has become the pressure of the holidays when I race through it all trying to make sure all my bases are covered: home, work, family and friends. The lights are still a mystery.

Coincidentally, this year, my reading list had A Christmas Carol at just the right time. Now, I’m no Ebenezer Scrooge. I thought I loved Christmas till I realized I loved the memory of it more. So, I decided to listen to what the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future had to say:

Ghost of Christmas Past – The best memories do not have to remain in the past. It’s wonderful to recreate them today too, adding a few twists and turns of my own!

Ghost of Christmas Present – There’s so much going on around me! It’s a time of plenty for some and a time of need for some. Not just financially, but the burden of other responsibilities can be overwhelming too. Can I attempt to tip the scale and make someone’s day just a little bit brighter? Perhaps a warm cup of coffee and conversation is all it takes.

Ghost of Christmas Future – This was the most unsettling specter of them all, so my takeaway here is going be a bit dark, I thought. I was pleasantly surprised though: I’m creating fond memories for my loved ones to look back on someday (read: heaving a collective sigh of relief every evening when the tree stood safe from the clutches of the resident pest, err pet).

Mr. Dickens has some sound advice to wind up with: "For it is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christmas, when its mighty Founder was a child Himself."

Lights, Dry Fruits, and Kaboom!

The season’s first box of dry fruits and diya candles arrived last week. This never fails to make me yearn for the days of yore – when corporate Diwali giveaways were ghee dripping sweetmeats quaintly decorated with dry fruits further sautéed in ghee. The brightly coloured, festooned box now looks more appetising from the outside than from the inside. Phew, that’s off my chest…onto the next! 

Two years ago, our beagle freed from 3 years of caged existence at a testing laboratory came hesitantly into our lives. She shivered and scampered in fright for almost everything, including kind, calm words of assurance. So the distant, dying sounds of Diwali frightening her didn’t surprise us. Over the months and years that followed, she learnt to settle into her home with us, go on walks to explore her world, put her inquisitive nose to good use to find her way to the kitchen every time any kind of cooking was in progress, show her intense disapproval if someone came to her door by barking the roof down (the angry rebuff can turn into a Heathcliff-like cold welcome depending on the chicken and cheese you offer by way of a bribe), and to jump into my arms as only an excited child at the sight of her favourite person can. 

I’m now used to her tirelessly following me around the house as I go about my work. She’ll pause for a quick scratch to her ears or sit on her haunches as she watches what I do and then the pitter patter of her paws assures me I have my shadow with me as I continue moving around the house. A few days ago, I was putting together the things for her bath when the first familiar kaboom went off. We both paused in our tracks. I couldn’t show much emotion or reassure her because that would strengthen her belief that there was a need to be frightened. As nonchalantly as possible, I turned to watch her. The silence that followed the firework was a few seconds long and Daisy decided to go to the balcony to investigate.

She looked out into the bright afternoon and could see nothing to fear other than the buildings and trees she gazes out at everyday while sunbathing. The second boom came as she turned to come back to her trail behind me. She didn’t turn around to inspect but raced ahead of me into the room where she sleeps every night and jumped onto her bed, panting and looking at me. “Zoomies for what now?” I questioned her in a light-hearted tone. She wasn’t fooled. She continued panting and watched the direction from where the sounds came. I gave the ears the forgotten scratch and went in to turn on the water. 

When I came out, she was nowhere in sight. I called out to her and her head popped up from between the dinning table and the wall, but not a sound, nor a pitter patter. I grinned and made as if to catch her for her bath – a usually high-speed chase follows this gesture as she jumps from bed to floor and on and off a zillion times till she collapses on the bed demanding a belly rub. My heart skipped a few beats as she picked up a paw ever so lightly and held it close to her – a sign of fear. The honey-brown, doe-like eyes that fire up with joy and sheer naughtiness now looked wary. The panting continued. And the worst of it all for me was the shivering haunches. I knew if I held her now, I could feel her racing heart.

When children are frightened, they cry, they come running to you to be cajoled. Daisy did neither, nor do most dogs. They cower in fright, when even their own homes where they rule the roost become a battleground of confusion and fear. I closed the sliding doors, knowing that it will do little to keep the sounds away and picked her up for her bath. Usually not a fan of being cuddled, she let me hold her as thankfully, the sounds died away in the distance. 

So, what happens next week? Hopefully, we get to run for shelter with Daisy to a quite getaway in the outskirts. Not because we don’t love the lights and happiness around us, but because the sight of a thousand pair of frightened eyes on the streets mirror the pair we see at home.