A Doll house for my daughter

My daughter is truly an angel. Many kids of her age is seen nagging their parents for toys: toys in the stores, toys in their friend's place, toys found in others clutches but I'm amazed, my daughter has never done that. When I tell my friends about it, they scoff at me that I buy things for her before she can even fathom there could be such kind of toy in the market.
Well, I won't say they are wrong. Look at the world around us now, its flooded with toys every li'l boy and girl can dream of. Back in my childhood days, my parents, both being uneducated thought toys were mere luxury affordable by wealthy parents only. May be it is this fact that I missed the opportunity of playing with such toys that I find myself eying every new toy in the town for my daughters.
 But our time kids weren't dull, we would use our idea to create toys. The empty khainee tins would be used for cooking utensils; a block of wood, if short, could serve as a car and  if long would serve as a gun. But we mostly jumped over the rubber bands and used stones to play hop-scotch and 'seven stones'. Our time games were mostly laborious ones while the kids now can just be sitting on the couch and do things with their tiny fingers.
Coming back to my daughter, as she looked at me with that ' I miss you mama' look, I casually asked her what she would want for her Birthday. "Dora kitchen." She surprised me, when did she learn to ask for stuff like that? Amused, I asked her where she had seen a Dora Kitchen. "Cartoon Network," she smiled meekly. I could sniff embarrassment in her tone.
I know it was more than empathy for the tone she used,I found myself saying, "I'll send one."She had asked me for something for the first time, how could I not fulfill it, "soon" I added.
The next day itself I set out on the quest to buy her Dora kitchen, I didn't want to wait for another month for her Birthday to come, I wanted to send it as soon as possible. Finally I caught hold of a huge doll house, it was not a Dora kitchen, it was a full house, with all rooms and furniture and even the tenants and their cars. It was way past 9pm when I boarded the train with that Doll house. Saturday night trains are noisier than other days with people going out, celebrating the weekend. I saw every eye cast at me as I stepped in with the house too big for my both hands stretched as wide as possible, while the bag containing the furniture,cars and the tenants dangled from my left arms and my handbag on the right arm. I felt hot with embarrassment. To worsen the matter, after getting off from the first train I found that my second train was out of service due to construction. Of all the times, I had to choose a different route than my usual one!
My normal two hours journey was stretched to four hours and I finally reached home, close to midnight, my arms sore from carrying all the stuff. I almost cursed myself for choosing a wrong timing for bringing that doll house home but how was I to know that the trains were going to be problematic.
However, I skyped with my daughter today and she was too busy to even notice I am on skype during our normal schedule. She was busy playing with her new doll house. Tears filled my eyes as I saw the happiness radiating in the way she handled the furniture, placing them in the right rooms of the house. I didn't mind that she wouldn't talk to me....there was a pure happiness in just watching her play.
The train, people's looks, my embarrassment, long journey, tired limbs.....everything faded seeing her so happily engrossed in her new toy.

Am I Religious?

Sunday morning dawns faster han any other mornings for it's the only day I get to feel like human. I mean it's my day off and only on this day I meet my roommate, the only companion I've in this place so far away from home. I darted out of the train and reached our closet- sized room just in time to see my roommate nearing the end of her morning prayer. She smiled at me muttering the prayers to JETSUN DROELMA.Sheepishly I entered the room. I could never memorize any prayer in my life no matter how motivated I felt.
The only solace I can seek is the BAZA GURU chanting which drops out of my lips whenever I am scared of the invisible ghosts or whenever I hear of some terrible mishaps. When people ask me about my religion, I say," I'm a Buddhist!"
Few weeks ago, there was a WANG which I attended with my room mate. As is the custom, there was a wang lung before the actual wang,I sat religiously positioned, my eyes looking solemn. As the Rinpoche delivered the luung in English for the benefit of all gathered, a man sitting beside me began with a friendly smile. He was a Pakistani who knew so very little about Buddhism but was all keen to make me his teacher, bombarding me with question after every pause Rinpoche took. I narrated whatever little I knew of Guru Rinpoche from my history class and beamed proudly at myself for being able to answer the queries of this muslim man sitting beside me.
But embarrasment took a first step as Rinpoche delved deeper into the crux of the luung.I fumbled,"you see, we don't really learn this deep in our school." The man understood that my knowledge about my religion had reached the dead end so he ended the conversation with the same smile he had given to me at the beginning of our conversation.
"I went to a synagogue," I announced as soon as my room mate was done with her prayer. "When?" I saw disdain in her lone query. "On friday, I went with my hosts for their Sabbath." I told her about the people who were there and the pizza,coke and lots of stuff for kids that were on display. She looked at me as if accusing me of being led to that place with the aroma of pepperoni pizza and not my interest of actually being in a synagogue.
I changed the topic lest she start her lecture on being a true Buddhist. Just few weeks ago I had suggested going into the church near our room just to see what it looks like and she rained words that made me feel like a failed Buddhist. I had to silently slip away on my own to embark on my quest for this other religion's place. The cross didn't warn me of crucifying me for being a Buddhist but entering their church. Infact, back in 2007, in Kyoto, When I bowed my head in silence and clapped thrice before coming out from a SHINTO temple, I didn't feel I had betrayed Guru Rinpoche in any way.Rather, although away from home, saying that silent prayer even if it wasn't a Buddhist temple gave me a peace I required at that time.
But having to face my room mate's interrogation whenever I pick the topic of other religion has me disturbed. Do I become a less of a faithful Buddhist merely because my zest to explore the other side of the fence is stronger than my room mate's. Am I less religious than she is just because I can't chant prayers like she does? It sometimes make me feel less of a good human when confronted with my knowledge of prayers and different kinds of rimdros.
But all the while, I try to keep my heart freed from all malice and make generous contribution for any religious activities. I may not chant prayers but I maintain a good heart( at least I would like to think so) and I feel I justify my being a Buddhist simply by being less of a sinner than more of a saint. However, I know this will be another round for a debate if I broach this in front of my room mate, who is snoring in oblivion of what I am typing (against her?) just now.

Books and me

The rains are here again. The slushy mud and the ladies scampering around always reminds me of Esther Rosa from Bashevis' Needle. Actually, I like playing Esther Rosa and imagine myself doing that most lady-like hop in the smallest puddles. But most of the time, when I am sane I stay tugged in with a book and a coffee (there is no better combination in the world,I guess). I proudly look at the shelf filled with books, books gifted to me by people close to me; books bought saving meager sum from my salary; books borrowed from friends and forgotten to return( these books actually poke me from the shelf filling me with guilty conscience).
There was time, the tear-jerker soaps filled  my time and those were the most impossible days of my life. Television times are always filled with tussle for the channel and the remote. So I lost the long battle for the ownership of the remote when I got married. But I think my foray into the world of books got deeper after that.
My interest in books started as early as the time before I started school. My aunt owned a book shop, I spent most of my days in their shop. When I went back home she would fill my bags with comics. I never slept without my comics. I would flip through the pages just to get into the flashy pictures. Then as I started identifying letters and words, I started actually reading them. Tinkle comics were the earliest. Followed by Casper the friendly ghost and Wendy the witch's comics. When I reached class five, the letter I had written to uncle Pai(Anant Pai but better known as uncle pai) of Tinkle comics and Amar Chitha Kathas, featured in one of the issues in the Reader's write column. I guess when I showed that to my entry to my parents they knew my interest in books was real. So after that they never denied whenever I wanted to go to my Aunt's place for vacation.
Archie's world followed. I liked playing Betty Cooper with her head and heart character. Slowly I crept into Photo Romance and Blue Jeans. I guess I was aging normally. However, the thick books frightened me with their size. So I tried a thick book only when I reached class six. I read my first Sidney Sheldon. BLOODLINE. It was difficult yet I managed to finish it.
 After that I took the thicker ones away for good and entered Nancy Drew's mystery stories. It had me ensnared so much so that one day, engrossed in following Nancy Drew with her mystery I had gorged on two kilograms of mango (Yech! I hate mangoes now) when I finished the book by the end of the day.
Somehow Mills&Boons never got into my system. During high school, I found many of my friends totally into it but it failed to leave its mark on my shelf. Then started Danielle Steel and Sidney Sheldon days.
Today I am a big Nicholas Sparks' fan. I feel proud to announce that I read all his books and I'm waiting for his THE BEST OF ME to come out in October this year.
My book shelf is a filled with an assortment of Dan Brown( although I didn't like his last book THE LOST SYMBOL as much as DA VINCI CODE, ANGELS AND DEMONS and DECEPTION POINT), Vikas Swaroop( people who loved his slumdog millionaire will simply find his other book SIX SUSPECTS far more captivating if you are into Bollywood and its happenings), Paulo Coelho(smitten by THE ALCHEMIST I bought all his books), Cheten Bhagat( all four are worth having in your shelf) and not to forget my much loved Nicholas sparks' books.
Someday I dare to dream.......If I own a house, it would definitely have a big room on the east side wing of the house for me and my books( THIS IS A SILLY DREAM). But till then I've to continue being tugged in the warm embrace of my rented apartment, for home is where my books are to me now.