A trip to Cyprus and post holiday BLUES.

What's the hardest thing to do when you come back from a holiday -- a family holiday?

Unpacking?

Laundry/Washing?

Getting on the weighing scales?

Getting up the next morning to go to school, work or to drop children off to school?

I'd say all of the above, but NONE of the above are as hard as the one I struggle with the most. It's
picking the perfect picture to post on facebook. A picture that shows all of us looking our best at the same time, in the same shot. It's almost impossible.

So long and arduous has been this quest that I recently updated my fb cover photo( with a family shot) after more than two years.

It's all my fault. Really. I make the most fuss about how I look in photos. My family and friends know this.

You see, my idea of what I look like and the camera's idea of what I look like do not coincide.

For a good decade, I hid behind my Vitiligo patches to avoid being clicked sans camouflage. This could be make-up, long sleeves, turtle necks or scarves or night shots in dark corners. Now that I'm out of my closet, I create the fuss before and during and after the photo has been clicked on account of my prosperous physique (hum khatee peete ghar se hain bhai, kya karen?) My body subscribes to the Punjabi notion of being 'healthy'.

This is what goes on inside my brain when I'm about to be shot: the bossy little voice takes over...

Don't grin too wide-- it shows your creases. Suck in that lower belly, suck it IN I say...suck it in till you can't breathe. Oh! shoot! that makes you look like a rooster who's about to cock-a -doodle-doo. Okay, let out a bit of that air but hold onto that udyana bandha for your sake. Oh! And turn, stand at an angle...remember that's how all the women you know stand in all the group shots these days? And what about that chin? Should it be up or down? What did that article say? And look at the camera...not the sky. Oh! I give up...hang on, pop those shades on...you know they're a God send. 

'I tried.' whimpers my bossy little voice. 'I give up!'

While this battle is raging inside my head, my children are informing me that the camera is NOT in the direction I'm trying to half-grin at. Aaaahhh!!! At moments like these, I feel that models deserve every penny they get for posing.

BUT, hang on...there are non-model friends of mine who can pull off a pose or a selfie before you can say 'cl' of click with such ease and aplomb that I can't help but admire their grace and poise.

How do they do it?

'It's easy.' said Sukku (a pro at getting clicked) while we were camping in Bedni in June . 'Turn your shoulder like this, jut out a hip like this, throw your head back and pose. simple.'

You have to see how quickly and effortlessly she strikes a pose-- every time!

A dear friend tried to follow her advice recently. The result made us all roll on the floor with laughter,

My conclusion, therefore, is that some of us are just born with it. I'm not one of them.

That is why, being behind the camera is so much more fun and fulfilling for me than being in front of it.

A quick and short escape to Cyprus a few days ago gave us that elusive family photo-- yes, I have my shades on! Laugh, if you must. I'm a vain Jain.

Doors, walls and windows have no such vanity issues. They are perfect subjects and when the light is Mediterranean, the blues blow you away with their brilliance. And the doors don't shy away from extreme close-ups, either.

Doors and streets of Omodos.

The blue walls of Lefkara Museum (in Pano Lefkara) made a hot afternoon cool.

The entrance

Going upstairs

The sun peeks through shutters, lace,

windows

and windows.

Blue -- inside and out.

Where does the wall finish?
And the sky begin?

Why are all the walls blue? 

If you are planning a trip to Cyprus, a visit to this beautifully curated museum will make you very happy.

For more details, click on:

Folk Art Museum

Cyprus is beautiful, no doubt. But, the MOST precious part of Cyprus is its people and their hospitality. More about them and their warm hearts and their delicious food in the next post.

Have a wonderful weekend.

And admire the blue around you.

xx

L is for Let Go

Picture clicked on Tuesday, 12th April 2016, at Margaret Island, Budapest.

'Life is not a pony farm.' My daughter and her friend used these words so many times over the last few days that when I sat down today to write about L, the phrase jumped out of my fingers and settled on the computer screen. 

The girls spent their Easter break volunteering on a farm in Hungary run by a young Swiss German couple. Apparently, the man was extremely fond of this idiom. Like them, I'd never heard of it before and like them, I liked the sound of it. 

It's the German equivalent of 'life's not a bed of roses', or simply put- suck it up and carry on.

The question is: Do we have to suck it up? Can we not let go? And then maybe, we can dance with the ponies we raise or smell the roses we plant?

These are the things I let go of (some as recently as this year and some not too long ago):

1. Expecting my husband to make me a cup of tea in the morning. It ain't happening. And his tea doesn't come close to mine anyway. The way I make it with freshly grated ginger and crushed cinnamon- aah! you gotta taste it. So I've stopped comparing him to my friends' husbands who do. He's happy and I'm really pleased to sip tea just the way I like it, first thing in the morning.

2. Hiding behind Vitiligo. 

'Why do you wear long sleeves to practise? I feel hot just looking at you.' said my yoga teacher almost three years ago. 

I wore my first short sleeve t-shirt in more than ten years to class the next day. When I first went out in public with my patches on display, I kept waiting for people to react with disgust or curiosity. No one did. Slowly, little by little, the rope that I'd tethered myself with to this rock of Vitiligo, disentangled. I set myself free. Yoga helped and so did the speed with which the rest of my pigment vanished. These days, I can be spotted in a sleeveless summer dress.

3. Being the prefect host. I used to get so wound up when I organised dinner parties or lunches or hosted my in-laws that extreme exhaustion would plead me to cancel the plans all together and curl up in bed. Not anymore. I do what I can, when I can. I cook what I feel like with love and care to nourish family and friends, not to impress them. Life's easier this way.

4. Believing that I'm the sum total of the labels I wear: mother, wife, sister, daughter-in-law, teacher, student. I'm not. These labels are mere parts in a play (like Shakespeare said). I have to play my part and recite my lines. But one day, the curtain will fall. I have this life to find my true self, for only my true self will leave the stage with me. The rest will stay here. Only I will move on, on my own, just like I came here. The more attached I get to these labels, the further I go away from the true me.

"Know then that the body is merely a garment.

Go seek the wearer,

not the cloak."

said Rumi.

The list of things that I have yet to let go is longer. Rome wasn't built in a day and a lot has piled up over the years in my baggage compartment. It will take time. Life may not be a pony farm, but I hadn't expected it to be. It's okay the way it is. In fact, it's good and keeps getting better as I keep lightning the load.

Pictures taken at Buttermere, the Lake District- Summer 2015.

If the dandelion doesn't let go

how will she grow?

If the boat blames the rope

and stands at the edge of the lake

always hoping 

and 

sighing what ifs,

how will it know

the limitless expanse,

the light,

and

the life

that lies beyond

the pole it's attached itself to.

Let go.