After writing about my garden in my grandpa's house, I feel I should write about my little pot garden in my terrace. Thanks to my hubby's interest, we have been into gardening as a hobby for a while now. Since we are not the professionals, we really don't know how to take good care of our plants. My sincere hubby pours water everyday and spreads manure soil once in a while. But that doesn't seem to be enough. Luckily, we got to know a gardener who visited last weekend, changed the soil ("repotting" in his terms) and put some new seeds. Though his charges were high, we were quite satisfied to see our garden after his efforts.
Now after a span of four days, while I was watering the plants and I see those cute, tiny plants which seem to peep out of the soil to see the outside world, my joy knew no bounds. I started to count these saplings and I prayed that they should grow properly. Sometimes, these little things that happen to us add a lot of joy and make our days happy.
I remember one of my neighbours used to grow many plants in her little balcony that it actually looked like a mini-forest. She had crotons, flowering plants, creepers and most importantly, rampha (not sure about the spelling) whose leaves she used in Biriyani. It used to add a lot of flavour. Another neighbour allocated a patch of land in the backyard where she used to grow different kinds of greens. Gardening can be a great hobby to anyone irrespective of age or place.
I plan to add more greens and vegetables that I can use for cooking. Vegetable garden - how cute this term is !
Jul 12, 2006
I want to...
I want to write
something interesting,
something worthwhile,
something to cherish.
Words, reflections
of my feelings,
of my thoughts,
of my life.
I ponder,
I wonder,
I crib,
I laugh.
This is my space,
free to express
free to write
free to chat.
something interesting,
something worthwhile,
something to cherish.
Words, reflections
of my feelings,
of my thoughts,
of my life.
I ponder,
I wonder,
I crib,
I laugh.
This is my space,
free to express
free to write
free to chat.
Jul 11, 2006
Sorting hat puts me into......
Ravenclaw....Not Gryffindor, at the same time not Slytherin as well. It was an interesting way to figure out my house. I'm intelligent (yeah, yeah...no more a Tuby!), capable (God didn't know which particular talent to bestow upon me, so he gave me everything) and witty.
Looking at the scores, I'm pretty much a mixed bag of qualities. Now, can someone please give me a ticket to Hogwarts Express. It's high time I start my first year before Harry, Ron and Hermione pass out of the school.
Your in-depth results are:
Ravenclaw - 12
Gryffindor - 11
Hufflepuff - 10
Slytherin - 8
Looking at the scores, I'm pretty much a mixed bag of qualities. Now, can someone please give me a ticket to Hogwarts Express. It's high time I start my first year before Harry, Ron and Hermione pass out of the school.
Which Hogwarts house will you be sorted into?
Your in-depth results are:
Ravenclaw - 12
Gryffindor - 11
Hufflepuff - 10
Slytherin - 8
Jul 10, 2006
FRIENDS - wow !
It might come as a surprise or a shock to a few people if I say that I haven't watched Friends serial until last Saturday. I got a chance to watch a few of them in DVDs and I enjoyed so much that I laughed continuously for 3 hours. The expressions were just amazing. Being a passionate toastmaster, I could easily relate to the importance of body language and how it can impact the audience. I especially liked the character of Chandler. His dialogue delivery and timings were superb. My friend Biju was comparing me to Phoebe, a stupid tuby she is. Oh, the part where she tried to impress her boy friend's parents was so stupid but enjoyable. The best part was the way they fight for Ross and Rachel's daughter, Emma. Adding to my wish list - to watch all the episodes.
"Friends" - very interesting to watch with friends. :-)
"Friends" - very interesting to watch with friends. :-)
Delhi is not far
The title intrigued me, and noting that the author is Ruskin Bond made me pick this title from a local library. I haven't read his novels before but have read his short stories and I thorougly enjoyed them.
This novel is about the protogonist who moves from a small town to the capital in pursuit of his dreams of becoming a writer. How he becomes friends with the young boy,Suraj and the barber is another interesting plot. The narration of Ruskin Bond seems to captivate me a lot , in terms of the way he explains the town, the streets, the distant fields, rains etc. He makes you picturize the entire town in minute detail. A very key resemblance to that of R.K. Narayan's. Though it wasn't very gripping, it was a good read for a couple of hours. I plan to read other titles of Ruskin Bond. Any suggestions?
This novel is about the protogonist who moves from a small town to the capital in pursuit of his dreams of becoming a writer. How he becomes friends with the young boy,Suraj and the barber is another interesting plot. The narration of Ruskin Bond seems to captivate me a lot , in terms of the way he explains the town, the streets, the distant fields, rains etc. He makes you picturize the entire town in minute detail. A very key resemblance to that of R.K. Narayan's. Though it wasn't very gripping, it was a good read for a couple of hours. I plan to read other titles of Ruskin Bond. Any suggestions?
A garden, no more
A small house in the far end of the plot, with a nice, little garden in it's front, showcasing flowering plants like jasmine, december, kanakambaram (what's the English word?), huge fruit bearing trees like banana, mango and guava (white and pink varieties) etc. The whole street could smell the fragrance of curry leaves and eucalyptus. No one bought curry leaves from the shops. They plucked it from our little garden. Can you believe that a drumstick plucked from that garden costs 25 paise? (I checked out in Foodworld yesterday - 2 drumsticks cost 5 rupees, Inflation ! I suppose). Our evening tiffin was always served on fresh, green badam leaves.
15 years later, there is no trace of jasmine or december plants. The shoulders of banana trees are drooping. I can see only the trunk of the drumstick tree but no trace of the vegetable. The curry leaves are dried out. The guava and eucalyptus trees are gone. The house is not the same. The garden is no longer there. That's my grandpa's house, my dear readers.
Change is inevitable. A beautiful garden now changed to dry shrubs and withered leaves. There is no one to feed them, no one to talk to them and caress with love, no one to play 'iceboys' and hide inside the dense shrubs and behind the thick trunk.
My childhood memories are always linked to that little garden of ours. It was my study area, my play area, a place where I used to chat with my cousins, a place where I used to sit and watch the morning sky, the chirping birds and listen to Thiruppaavai (a set of hymns sung by the goddess Aandaal) being played in the Ram temple just behind my house, a place where I used to wake up as early as 4 AM and observe my grandma , blowing air to light up the fireplace and put kolam (rangoli) in front of our house. My eyes are brimmed with tears now. Change is inevitable.
My grandpa used to draw water from the well and water the plants everyday. We (My brother and I), as little kids used to pluck the flowers early morning and give it to our grandma for the Pooja. Our neighbours would come to pluck curry leaves for their cooking needs. No restrictions to anyone. The vegetable vendor with her huge basket would visit us once a week to buy drumsticks (I reiterate, 25 paise per piece). My grandma in her leisure time would string the jasmine buds neatly. Weekends and summer vacations were heaven. We used to climb the guava trees and pluck the juicy, sweet guavas.
Monsoons brought a fresh fragrance to our garden, with rain drops on the leaves. We used shake the trees and enjoy the drops that fell on us. Weekend afternoons was a chill retreat, with grandma placing balls of curd rice on our little palms, sitting in our garden and we, relishing it.
Due to the frenetic lifestyle of the others living there and my senile grandpa, our garden is no more the heaven it used to be. My friendly trees have become senile too. There is no one to take care of them. Death is inevitable.
15 years later, there is no trace of jasmine or december plants. The shoulders of banana trees are drooping. I can see only the trunk of the drumstick tree but no trace of the vegetable. The curry leaves are dried out. The guava and eucalyptus trees are gone. The house is not the same. The garden is no longer there. That's my grandpa's house, my dear readers.
Change is inevitable. A beautiful garden now changed to dry shrubs and withered leaves. There is no one to feed them, no one to talk to them and caress with love, no one to play 'iceboys' and hide inside the dense shrubs and behind the thick trunk.
My childhood memories are always linked to that little garden of ours. It was my study area, my play area, a place where I used to chat with my cousins, a place where I used to sit and watch the morning sky, the chirping birds and listen to Thiruppaavai (a set of hymns sung by the goddess Aandaal) being played in the Ram temple just behind my house, a place where I used to wake up as early as 4 AM and observe my grandma , blowing air to light up the fireplace and put kolam (rangoli) in front of our house. My eyes are brimmed with tears now. Change is inevitable.
My grandpa used to draw water from the well and water the plants everyday. We (My brother and I), as little kids used to pluck the flowers early morning and give it to our grandma for the Pooja. Our neighbours would come to pluck curry leaves for their cooking needs. No restrictions to anyone. The vegetable vendor with her huge basket would visit us once a week to buy drumsticks (I reiterate, 25 paise per piece). My grandma in her leisure time would string the jasmine buds neatly. Weekends and summer vacations were heaven. We used to climb the guava trees and pluck the juicy, sweet guavas.
Monsoons brought a fresh fragrance to our garden, with rain drops on the leaves. We used shake the trees and enjoy the drops that fell on us. Weekend afternoons was a chill retreat, with grandma placing balls of curd rice on our little palms, sitting in our garden and we, relishing it.
Due to the frenetic lifestyle of the others living there and my senile grandpa, our garden is no more the heaven it used to be. My friendly trees have become senile too. There is no one to take care of them. Death is inevitable.