JOMOwithpiyali

Dibbhai - that is what I called her! my maternal grammy. I do not have much pictures of her as she mostly flourished before the digital era. I have memories and smells that remind me of her. I have few of her belongings and lots of her wisdom, stories and jokes.  A teenage widow with two toddlers, shattering glass ceilings and stepping out to be a working woman at the age of 20, eventually building two houses, educating and marrying off her both daughters without any outside financial help, that was her. That is the tough part, the strict part of her. Most of her was the sweet smile, always soft spoken and giggling, loved to watch cricket and old Bengali movies. Blushed when complimented for her cooking and loved wearing floral sarees. The smell of her powdered hands and the memories of the stories she told, is what I recall of her.  She woke up early, everyday and the first thing I heard was the click of the transistor button, before the static, followed by a faint music. Lis...

Everything is different.... I feel different, I think differently, I live and love differently.. my focus and choices are different too. All these changes.. some by choice, some.. not so much. The more life progresses, the more I believe that its good to be a bit uncomfortable. As the famous saying goes, "Success builds confidence, failure builds character"... I am glad, I failed. I failed in motherhood, I failed in career, I failed financially, I am a fitness failure and I failed in love and friendship. I had to quit a stable job, struggled to find work, my marriage has run its course and my friends are not what I thought of them. To my surprise, I really do not enjoy motherhood and I felt stuck in a strange city, between strange people with a stranger.. me. These were my dominant thoughts in past couple of years. I WAS WRONG! As I was busy clinging onto the reminiscent of my past life... the promises, the good times, the emotional heights, the body, the mind, the s...