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Showing posts with the label #LivingaMeaningfulLife

The Indian American Mom

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  As an Indian American mom, I struggle to teach my daughter the right values, and my parenting has sometimes been questioned. But motherhood in America changed it all…so much so that I am surprised at the cosmic shift that can happen in life when a baby pops out of the womb. As if all the alcohol inside the body dried up, the hormones vaporized in thin air, and all the morality, values, and traditions of India have one door to knock on – MINE. Thanks to the population of the Indian community here, I have fodder for my eyes and ears, to reinforce how we must preserve the Indian-ness in us, in our children; otherwise ‘times are bad’ and ‘anything can happen, you see’. Phew! To read the article, click on The Indian American Mom Image courtesy-Pixabay

Hoodwinked- When the mirror shatters

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Some months are polka dots; other months, it is spotlessly clean. Regardless, I wear a sanitary pad, just in case...one more time. Men love beautiful women. Men love fully rounded breasts, smooth, soft, and squishy, similar to a stress ball, and a voluptuous rear. I have them all. Or at least I used to. Lately, I have a lot running on my mind: The President’s inauguration, Los Angeles weather, my teenage daughter’s SAT exams, my husband, a podiatrist, and new fixation with The Gita classes at Laguna Isckon temple. Most importantly, my soaked blouses and my spotless months have induced a feeling I can with some surety call-RAGE-sweat commingled with a sense of rage that I have recently acquired at 48. As an OB-GYN, my hands are always full. Twenty years of experience both in England and the United States does not go in vain. What I enjoy the most is the administration of Botox, cosmetic fillers, and laser procedures for photorejuvenation, acne treatment, scar removal, and varicose ve

CLOSE TO DEATH

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Have you ever thought of escaping to Hawaii or the Bahamas in search of some peace, freedom, and fresh air and realize later, while lying on the golden sandy beach, that you have carried your miserable self along or the present is not delighting you the way you expected? I am not the exotic type; I have no big plans of traveling around the world, soaking on a beach in the Caribbean, hiking the world's most famous canyon, exploring ancient ruins, eating delicious cuisine, or learning more about a significant historical site. If I bump into them, I will pause, wonder, smile, and move on. If I don't, I am FINE. My biggest vacation is freedom from my mind and the voices it creates, a kind of freedom that turns my patio with five green plants into Hawaii. Do you believe that true freedom is freedom from oneself? I have realized that of many things that upset me, of many things that push and prick me, it is my own self that is the most bothersome. It is easy to deal with others,

My Father in-law's kurta

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My FIL knows I like wine, and had his health and family allowed him, I am sure he and I would be all ‘CHEERS.’ My husband’s family is a teetotaler except for my FIL.  He enjoys omelet treats with me on the terrace( that’s the only place we can cook the forbidden) and even secretly supplies me ‘ tangdi kebab ’ knowing very well that my ‘ tangdi ’ and his would be in trouble if ‘The House’ got to know about it. But he has me covered in his own unique way. Thank god for small mercies. Click on  My FIL's Kurta  to read the story.

How my son turned me into a Vegetarian?

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..because I was tired of lying to my 4-year-old son. Lying every day. Lying whenever he asked me the question . I felt like a cheat and the biggest hypocrite. I feel like a living example of an OXYMORON- A meat-eating sensitive person. LOOKING BACK. I am 35 now, and it's not the first time it has struck me. But I ate, ate heartily, applauding praises to the chef or to mum, whoever cooked those tender, spicy, delicious sumptuous chicken delicacies or mutton varieties. I was a slave to my palate and traded guilt for taste and hit it under the cover of ‘everybody else is doing it. I alone can't do anything about it.’ Point taken. Traded. Done. Leg piece of chicken goes down the throat with delight. Yummy!!! Somewhere around 9 years of age, the first time I actually went to the chicken shop with my father and saw the entire episode. I was aghast. I was pained. I came back home shocked. Two hours later, I had traded ….my palette a slave …I pretended to repress what I had se