A Sublime Feeling

Proud

When was the last time someone told you they were proud of you?

As a student of Psychology Emma understands the importance of positive affirmations. It gives a very vibrant feeling and acts as a multiplier effect  on brain.To reward the children and to motivate them for their hard work, like any other parents Emma always says “I am so proud of you” or “awesome” to both her son and daughter. Emma walks to the living room and stands close to the big wooden shelves and looks proudly at all the children’s ribbons, trophies. She smiles remembering the days when her kids used to run home after school and show her  their achievements from Science fair projects, debate competitions,tennis matches, concert master/mistress positions in school orchestras, dance competitions, and scouting.

Emma walks into the study room, pulls a chair, adjusts the cushion and sits. “positive affirmation is important for adults too”, she says. Emma never expects anybody to tell her about how great she is in job or a great mom or a wonderful wife or a nice sister-in-law. she does not care a lot but then it always works like a magic.Someday she gets praise from her boss, or her children’s class teacher, from her children, but she never pays attention. Emma walks through the living room to one corner close to the hall, stands by the beautiful  picture of  Santa Fe on the wall. She closes her eyes ,tries to prop her chin on the hand. A wonderful memory flashes in her head. Emma smiles. On a particular occasion  Emma clearly heard and felt the real meaning of a positive affirmation.

                                                                                   

It was a Christmas break, in December. Emma’s daughter came back to home from the college in a break. Instead of staying at home , they decided to take a hiking trip  to Santa Fe, New Mexico. Emma loves outdoor activities and mostly the nature, away from the hustle and bustle of the big city. Santa Fe is the capital of New Mexico, 4th largest city,founded in the early 17th century and sits 7000 feet above the sea level. Atalaya is the ridge that rises just east of Santa Fe. Emma’s family decided to hike in the Atalaya trail in Atalaya mountain. That year there was not much snow in Santa Fe. They parked their car in the St. John’s college visitor parking lot. As they got down from the car Emma turned her head and stood still looking at the beautiful snow-covered mountain in-front of her. She zipped her grey jacket, wrapped her neck with a grey and white stripe scarf, and started walking towards the trail with lots of excitement,  feeling as a small kid in a candy aisle or in the toy section of a store. She was climbing and looking around the beautiful tall Juniper, ponderosa,and Douglas fir trees sugar-coated with the snow, then suddenly overheard her daughter telling her husband that the mountain is 9121 ft high and it may take total 6 and half hours for the total hiking, and some parts are real steep. Then Emma  craned her neck and looked up at the mountain and hmm, she thought, this is my first time hiking, it may be hard and scary, but I am determined to make it, well after thirteen hours drive! I have to make to the top.

Then they started the steep hike. Some parts on the trail were really icy and it was hard to climb. They hiked for almost three and half hours to the top. Emma was pushing her limits. But she was enjoying each bend in the path which unfolded beautiful scenes as she climbed up. She was glad that she took her daughter’s advice to carry water bottles and energy bars, which was a wonderful idea and a life saver.

As they were climbing up towards the peak they saw more of the pine trees and some white firs. Then Emma noticed that the  trail  was getting more treacherous, with steep and sharp turns (switchbacks). Her feet started to slipped more on the ice. Suddenly she turned her head to the back, then looked down, her heart started pounding. She wiped her forehead, blinked one more time, then looked down again. Emma remembered that she is scared of heights and by her own choice she was close to 8000 feet high. From nowhere the image of a Bollywood movie flashed into her head, where the heroine slips, falls from a high mountain, loses her memory and finds herself in a strange place and nobody ever rescues her. Emma could not see her daughter or husband as they climbed ahead of her. She was scared and nervous. She said, ‘ I did not want to be like that heroine from the movie, it is even hard to adapt  to new places or people and I love my family so much’. Her heart squeezed momentarily with anxiety. Emma found herself hugging a small pine tree so tight that the tree was feeling suffocated. So slowly she loosened her hold, adjusted her gloves, wrapped the scarf tightly and started climbing. She could hear her daughter screaming, “You can make it mom, try harder, only a few feet to go!” As she took the last step to the top her daughter came, hugged her and both her husband and daughter said “we are proud of you! you made it!”

 Emma could not hold her tear any more. She was overwhelmed with the adventurous hiking,overcoming her fears, achieving a glorious success, and at the same time seeing the breathtaking view from 9000 feet up on the mountain. 

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A Beautiful Saturday- Reflecting.

Hindsight

A fresh cold,windy and wet morning. The turf and paths are rustling with moist red and brown leaves. The rain fell fast enough to slice the green leaves from the big oak tree. The Prim rose and Crocuses are hidden under wintry drifts. The cold blue sky is half hidden by clouds. Today is Sunday. I am relaxing with a cup of roasted Dandelion root tea. The laptop sits on my lap and warms me further. I open up the daily prompt in  WordPress.

‘What? Really!’ I murmur to myself. I was surprised  that  I have to rewrite my first post. I thought that I misread the prompt. So I grabbed my reading glasses from the table and adjust it nicely on my nose, and then re-read the instructions. O’ fine, I say to myself. My first post was a very realistic experience, and was perfect for that particular time. The beginning is always so special and wonderful, from which I  started my journey in  WordPress.

‘We do not learn from experience..we learn from reflecting on experience.’–John Dewey.

Every day while writing we learn new ideas, face different challenges, and become more creative. I look forward to participating in each daily prompt.  Each blog wraps me  with more and more satisfaction and a happiness not only with my creation, but also in meeting other bloggers, making new friends and going through the comments,ideas and their sincere support. Things are better when shared. I am thankful to the WordPress for giving me  this beautiful space to explore.

The chirping sound of the baby  birds  woke me up . I turn my head to look  through the window. I see the sunbeams piercing the chinks of the shutter. I walk up to the window and see the beautiful rising Sun has painted the sky in pretty colors ,the still air humming, bustling  with summer life. The garden lilies scented the air and bloomed  in bright and brilliant scarlet and buttery yellow color.Some neighbors  are getting ready for walk with their dogs. Joy flash into my heart and light it up at once. My lips half-opened in  a vivid smile, an expression of joy. I have been waiting for this day.

After joining in the new job it is getting hard to make time for workout . But today I  have decided to go early to the gym, and try the new class they are offering. Morning tea can wait, so I gulp a glass of water and leave for the class.  It is very hard to find a parking place mostly the first two months of the year, as if every one suddenly gets aware of their health and tries to stick to a healthy routine.  The parking lot was full but there was one empty  spot under a tree, to the back of the YMCA building, as if waiting for me. I parked the car, rolled up the windows then walked leisurely towards the entrance of the building.  As soon as I enter, I met Robin, almost seventy-five, but still upright and trim. She is like an inspiration, always happy, cheerful and never misses the gym. After a little chat,we walk into the class room.Five minutes to class start, so we find a comfortable spot and decide to stretch a little just before the class to warm up the muscle.

A tall skinny lady walks in with a cheerful, pleasant smile wearing a shirt which says‘Body combat’. She introduces herself as Amy and about the class as a  non-contact martial art based fitness class,  with moves drawn from Karate, Tae- kwando, Kung- fu,  Kick boxing, Muay Thai,and  T’ ai chi. The music starts slowly, pulsing from side to side as the music builds up, then the fighting starts. It consists of simple punches,boxing hard, side and back kicks, shoot lunge. We visualize the  opponents and unleash into a series of fight. Our focus is speed, power and endurance.Sweats starts pouring like water, and heart-throb faster and faster.I try hard to concentrate on the Brazilian martial art “Ginga” and once mastered it flows perfectly. Right at the end we do the fast and powerful  shoulder blasting jabs. When the class ends we feel so tired but at the same time,  a smile of inner satisfaction that we stay to the end of the class. Legs are cramping but I walk slowly towards the new instructor with a smile to thank her for her high spirit and for the wonderful class. She gives me a hug  with a warm smile on her face and says,’please come to my next class on Monday’. ‘Sure’ I say and left waving my hand as if it is a promise to make each other happy by attending the class. I walked back slowly to the car with a heart full of gratitude for the wonderful start of my weekend.

A Dream Manifests

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“We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect”.- Anais Nin

I open my eyes slowly and turn my head to look at the clock and it is almost five.  Time to start the week. The pink of the new day seeping through the white curtains. I walk to the deck to do my sun- salutation. Some of the trees in the yard  have taken on their own personalities and paint the garden into a thousand different shades.I breathe in the cool, crisp air and try to concentrate on my routine. In the middle of the downward dog  position I notice the bright  message notification on  my phone . Guess what? That is  today’ s assignment to write’ Who I am and why I am here’. I stare at the sentence again and  like it, but it is  too early for that. I decide to write it  during my lunch break.

I grew up in a house where in every corner on the tables there were books and literary magazines. My paternal grand father owned a book store and a printing press and my father was a writer. I used to see him in most evenings writing on his desk. It was like  paradise. I did not care about food or sleep. I just wanted to read. People say it is the sign of an introvert, but that did not bother me at all. Every page of a book lights up my mind and gives wings to the soul. Even my paternal grand mother used to write stories for small children. I did not enjoy playing with dolls or  any type of toys but I fell in love with books. On every birthday  my friends and families showered me with books. I looked forward with lots of excitement to every summer and other holidays to spend my time  reading new books. Gradually I started filling up pages with my beliefs, emotions and looked at the finished drafts as my perfect creation. I love the idea of expressing myself in various captivating ways. “Books are the quietest and most constant of friends; they are the most accessible and wise counsellors, and the most patient of teachers”.- Charles William Eliot

As the children grew up I got more time on hand . Shopping stopped giving me satisfaction. Now, I want to have a more meaningful life, more satisfaction and fulfillment. I have decided to embrace writing again to share my thoughts through  short stories on this blog. l want to raise people’ s awareness on  different social  and cultural topics through my writing and  bring smiles, inspire, spread positive thoughts. And, have  a deep connection with readers by accepting their input and feedback.  “The unread story is not a story; it is little black marks on wood pulp. The reader reading it, makes it live: a living thought, a stay”.-Ursula K Le Guin

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