Story of a book mark


What? You don’t think book marks have stories to tell? Think again. Over the years at the library, we have seen so many book marks or objects used as book marks that we can get a pretty good idea of the habits of the book mark user. Book marks (that we have found at our library, tucked within the pages of a book) range from ornately designed pieces of art to dental floss to used tissues (and everything in between). Yes, you read that right. We, library workers, wash our hands more frequently than perhaps you do so one of the most popular gifts that we give to each other is hand lotion to show some love to our rough, red. well washed and well sanitized hands. I am telling you, library work is not for the faint of heart 🙂 .

A friend gave me a hand embroidered book mark. She is a whiz at embroidery and anything she creates is beautiful. As I held the book mark in my hand, I decided this one will only go into books that I will love and cherish. I live in a world of books. I touch books through out my work day. I bring home an inordinate number of books too. So much so that I fear I have a problem of hoarding. Fortunately, I am also very conscientious so I never keep the books beyond their due date and diligently return them on time. As you can imagine, many of those books get returned unread. There are only finite number of waking hours and within those hours, I must work, eat, be present with family, do some mindless phone surfing and read. At this ripe old age, I have realized that life is too short to continue to read books that don’t hold my interest. I start a lot of books, read about 50 pages and then abandon them if they don’t keep me engaged. My beautiful book mark never goes into those abandoned books. I only use that particular book mark for books that I know I will finish. You can say, my piece of art book mark is my love language to the books that capture my heart. Authors have to earn that book mark in their books. Here is a short list of books that have earned this honor:

Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver

The Soul of an Octopus by Sy Montgomery

How to Say Babylon by Safiya Sinclair

Poverty, by America by Matthew Desmond

Master Slave Husband Wife: An Epic Journey from Slavery to Freedom by Ilyon Woo

Finally Seen by Kelly Yang

The Heaven & Earth Grocery Store by James McBride

Rough Sleepers by Tacy Kidder

Lady Tan’s Circle of Women by Lisa See

Not Quite Not White: Losing and Finding Race in America by Sharmila Sen

I find this book mark to be a perfect gift. My beautiful friend and colleague who embroidered it by hand knows my love for books. And her gift of love nestles within the pages where I lose myself and find myself too. This is one of those gifts, along with her love, that keeps on giving.

What is your idea of a perfect gift?

Thank you, whoever you are…


I lazily opened the email from WordPress about my February stats. Generally I delete them since I have shown no love to whatmamathinks for many, many months. When I get the monthly emails about stats, I simply delete them without opening. I was in a phone surfing mood (read waste my time mood) and I thought let me see the flatline of my blog. I opened it and frowned. The stats were quite good. Some folks from all over the world had read my blogs. WordPress users, you know how the chart gives you fingers when they show your stats. The short bars, then a long bar, followed by a short bar. I always chuckled at the image – my blog post is showing me the finger. This February, the bars were all on the higher side. No flatline!

Who are you? How did you find my blog? What do you find interesting? I am thrilled that you took the time. Thank you!

I have a hard time opening this site now. I poured my grief here after my parents died. Writing here helped my broken heart. I consider this a vessel which carries my sorrow. Once upon a time, opening the blog site was joyful. I wrote about my children’s childhood, I wrote about some stories from my past, my romance, my newly married years, little joys, little sorrows, my adventures, my travels. Then after that awful May of 2021, this blog site became my sounding board (writing board). So this site is truly a tapestry of my life – it holds sunshine and rain.

Thank you for reading about my life. In this crazy world of ours where humans are intent on killing each other, I hope you read my blogs and found something relatable. I hope you smiled at some of them. I hope you found comfort in some. If I could reach you in any way, even in a miniscule way, I will feel grateful, fulfilled.

Lately, I have been thinking of writing again. We shall see. The February stats energized me a little bit. But even if the stats flat line, it doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, I really write the blogs for myself and my children. My hope is they will have this site to look back on and find their childhood. I hope this will be their treasure chest of memories and I am the archivist like my parents were for my childhood.

I am writing one about book marks. Doesn’t the subject make you so curious? Aren’t you chomping at the bit to read about book marks? I thought so! 🙂

Patience, readers. I have to take baby steps back into it. For today, this is it.

Planning my funeral…


The conversation about my death started with an innocent moan “Ah, so many books, so little time to read.” I was suddenly struck by a horrible thought.

I turned to Sahana and said, “Oh my gosh! What happens if I die before I finish the book that I started? How awful will that be? I will never know how the book ended!”

Sahana concurred. “That is awful!”

“You should read aloud the rest of the book to me. Even if I am clinically dead, my soul may hover around, restless, until it finds out how the book ends.” I advised.

“Oh absolutely. I will read aloud next to your body and finish the book for you. I will never let you go without you knowing how your unfinished book ended.” Sahana answered magnanimously.

Then her eyes started sparkling with ideas for my book themed funeral.

“And guess what we will do? We will burn the book with your body and spread the ashes. That way you will never be separated from the book!” Her eyes were still sparkling.

“Make sure you don’t burn a library book though!” The conscientious library user in me warned her.

“Mom! Of course I won’t burn a library book. I will buy a copy and burn that one. I will return the library copy. Sheesh! And then…..”

She continued with a few more book themed funeral ideas and I got equally excited about my potential death and subsequent funeral till reality dawned that we were excitedly planning my FUNERAL. Hello??? I am only 53. I hope I have a few more years ahead of me before all this can take place.

I said to Sahana, “Hold your horses. Do you realize you are excitedly planning your mother’s funeral? With glee? With sparkling eyes?”

She looked slightly horrified and back tracked right away. “Well, if the pharaohs can plan for afterlife, why can’t you? If it was good for the pharaohs, it is good for you. You will take your most loved possession with you into afterlife. What if there are no books after death?”

We both shuddered at the thought. No books?? Who wants that kind of existence, either in physical world or when we cross the rainbow bridge?

I called Ryan from the kitchen. He was busy making his famous mile high sandwich for dinner. I told him Sahana was planning my funeral. He said, “Mom, you will not need a book when you are six feet under.”

“I want to be cremated, not buried. Thank you very much.” I retorted.

“Yeah Ryan, she wants to be cremated.” Sahana chimed in.

“When you are dead I will do whatever I want. I will bury you. Then I will put some inane quotes on your behalf from some inane TV shows that you have never watched so the world does not realize how much of a nerd you were.” Ryan said with a wicked grin. My funeral plans were well underway still.

“Do NOT touch my nerdom! I went to a college which specializes in producing nerds. I studied literature on top of that. I own nerdom as my birthright (schoolright?). After I am gone, I want the whole world to know I was a nerd of the highest order! Also, I am going to write an Advanced Medical Directive so you cannot bury me.” I was still going strong about my funeral arrangements.

“Haha, I will tear it up.” Ryan joked.

While the siblings started bickering about my cremation and burial, I just laughed. This moment was certainly blog worthy. Sahana did not think the blog will show my children in very good light but I think they are hilarious and oh-so-cute. As the years go by, moments such as these become rarer and rarer. I have written a lot about their sweetness and innocence in this blog over the years. I wanted to capture this moment too. A moment where we laughed out loud together. A moment that I will put in the treasure chest of memories so they remain.

No more hair brushes!


I detangled my hair with grim determination. “I will win this battle today even if I go bald in the process.” I thought, gnashing my teeth. Once the tangles were mindfully untangled, I looked up in the mirror. There was a halo of frizz around my head. I had read a meme somewhere which said something to the effect of those who have naturally curly or wavy hair, they are not doing well in this heat. They look like alpacas. That was me in front of the mirror, after 15 minutes of determined detangling. I was an alpaca. I sighed as I rubbed some argan oil to calm the frizz down.

I have written a lot about my hair and my love/hate relationship with it. I have worn it long for most of my life and also worn it very short for about 10 years. Since childhood I grew up not loving my hair. The standard set for little girls was ‘reshmi zulfein’ (silky straight hair) by media, shampoo companies, hair oil companies. My hair was the opposite. Thick, unruly (read wavy), frizzy. I tried hard to tame it. For years, I diligently straightened it to get the silky, straight sheen till I didn’t. One day, I was late for work. I washed my hair but didn’t have the time to dry it or straighten it. People at work stopped me to ask what I had done, it looked so lovely. It had naturally curled itself. That was the day I felt liberated. No more drying, no more straightening. I was going natural.

I still put a comb through my hair though. Lately, we are experiencing intense humidity in our area. And the frizz has been out of control, to say the least. One day, I did not comb my hair after washing it. I put some leave in conditioner, some argan oil and put my fingers through my hair. And I got compliments. “Your hair looks lovely.” What?? The more I let go, the better I look? 🙂

I write all of the above in jest, of course. I do take care of it, brush it before bed time. The point I am trying to make is, at the end of the day, I have reached a place where I feel comfortable with who I am.

My little cousin sent me a poem recently that truly resonated with me.

Blooming Bare

And after the tears had dried,

my vision and voice became clear.

From my darkest shadow pierced the purest light.

I found myself:

Bruised, beautiful, and bare

Stripped of every comfort

but clothed in truth.

Blooming where I was once broken.

– Morgan Richard Olivier

It is age? Is it grief? Is it a combination of both? But I feel myself evolve from my earlier insecure, self doubting self. I look at myself in the mirror these days and look beautiful in my own eyes. I don’t care about how others see me. When I apply kajol to my eyes, or put on lipstick, I do them for myself. I have learned the art of saying a polite but assertive ‘no’ to things I don’t wish to do. I don’t conjure up excuses any more. I simply say I don’t want to do that and hence, no, I will not. I have become politely assertive. My feelings are not hurt as easily. I have lowered my expectations from others, including my family. I mindfully practice kindness to others and myself. I practice empathy. Everyone is fighting their own battles, I try to remember that. If I like something I always comment on it. Life is short and people will remember how you made them feel. I try to understand the changing world around me by reading books. Books help me take a closer look at my implicit biases and act on them. They have been my best friends throughout this journey. They have taught me, entertained me, made me cry and laugh out loud. They have given me words that I needed to hear and find solace in the thought that I was not alone as I lived through dark times.

I was not just broken but shattered just 2 years ago. I don’t know if I am blooming but I am putting pieces of me together. Not brushing my hair may seem like letting myself go but it is quite the opposite really. In my case, it is coming together. It is realizing my worth which is not dependent on the norms set by society. It is the knowledge that I like the person I have become, wet, uncombed hair and all. 🙂

You are on your own…


I have been married to a picky eater for almost 25 years now. At the beginning of our relationship, Sean was more versatile in his food habits. He ate a little chicken, a meatball sub now and then, some swordfish on special occasions. He never loved non veg fare but he still ate it occasionally. We could go to a restaurant and he could order fish or a chicken dish. Then India destroyed it for me. We moved to India for 6 years and he discovered vegetarian delight – more specifically North Indian veg delights – dal, paneer makhni, garlic naan. After our stint in Delhi we came back to US with a more fussy Sean than ever before. Instead of expanding his culinary venture after being in a country with fascinating culinary culture, he retracted it. And my problems begun.

He gave up all kinds of meat including fish. For a vegetarian, he does not eat vegetables like cauliflower, mushroom, cabbage, peppers…..and the list goes on. He is very self sufficient and fends for himself at home unless I make his favorite food from the goodness of my heart. But it is always difficult to choose a restaurant to dine with him. Instead of looking for something that I would like to eat, I scan the menu for possibilities for Sean. Most restaurants have veggie entrès made of peppers or portabello mushrooms which are untouchables for him. So we move on to the next restaurant and the next. To be fair to him though, he always encourages me to go to the restaurant of my choice. “I will find something ” he says.

We went to New Orleans for a getaway without the kids a few years ago. This restaurant crisis became more acute in a city where even the red beans were cooked with sausage. I forlornly walked past one restaurant after another which boasted delicious non veg cuisine but had hardly any vegetarian choices. Finally we ended up at pizza places and a Mexican restaurant. IN NEW ORLEANS!!

Since the pandemic hit, we stopped eating out, of course. Now we have started ordering takeout. And I see something has shifted within me. I know he loves to eat at home so I don’t consider his choices of food from restaurants any more. The kids and I order kebabs, chicken wings, chicken 65 and wait for him to fix his own caprese sandwich. He prefers it this way and I do not care. He is on his own now. This realization hit me as I picked up sushi for lunch for the 3 of us with nary a thought about my husband. 😀

Lately, he has become vegan. First, he was a vegetarian who did not eat vegetables and now he is a vegan who still does not eat vegetables. I constantly tell him, “I can not cook for you anymore!” But guess what I did today, on my day off? I made vegan pesto and substituted cheese with nutritional yeast. No matter how many times I resolve to not cook food to cater to his taste, I end up looking for vegan recipes – that do not involve vegetables. Try it. It is a difficult task. These days, I make a lot of black beans, shallow fried falafels, dal, red lentil burgers, smoothies with frozen berries, spinach, oatmilk…

Why do I not leave him to make his own food? Two reasons. First, food, at the end of the day, is my love language. Second, if there is no food made he will unquestionably make peanut butter sandwiches for himself everyday. I can’t stand watching him cheerfully eating peanut butter sandwiches every single day! What is the joy of living if you don’t have variety in food? I am absolutely projecting my feelings on him but the fact stands, it bothers me to watch him left to his own culinary devices.

So I tell him “You are on your own, dude. I can’t cook for you any more.” He smiles. I let him eat peanut butter for a few days while I search for vegan recipes and then go back to cooking again.

Back at it….maybe?


Yesterday, the emails kept coming. Ping…ping…ping. They were from WordPress telling me I had comments on my blogs. That was surprising since this blogsite has been lying dormant for many months. It is not that I don’t think about this space. I think about it all the time. As I drive to work or gym, I formulate in my head, sentences that I would write in the blogs. But when the day is done, I look at my laptop and never turn it on.

Yesterday, my littlest cousin in Kolkata could not sleep so she went to my blogsite and read many of my blogs. Not only that, she kept writing comments on them. My favorite was “I love you so much, Didi.” I read the blogs where she left comments. Some of the blogs were sad, some of them were general observations of life around me. Seeing her comments and the fact that she was reading them thousands of miles away made me feel connected. I have written so much about my life in this space. I have written about my children, my travels, my everyday life that encompasses my joys as well as my grief. I still have not seen a grief counselor, although I am getting closer to the idea but this blogsite has helped me cope by allowing me to write down my feelings. I made those public and readers responded by saying some of those blogs helped them process their grief. That made me feel less alone.

We had beautiful weather this week. The barren trees are sprouting their luminous green, the green that is my absolute favorite. This new green that I get to see every year fills me with hope. This is potential at its finest. What flowers will May bring? How this nascent green will change to a deeper, somber green as the summer progresses till they are leached of their colors and become red and golden? I love this process, this circle of life. And I don’t mind my own transition from somber, deep green to the red and golden of mature years. Sure, I don’t enjoy the new medications that get added to my life, or the daily aches and pains of getting older, but I wonder with some anticipation (and a little dread of losing people I love) how the next phase would be? For the most part, I am eager to move on with life. At certain times, I am wistful. Especially as I see my children become their own people with their own lives. This is what every parent hopes for, yet there is a twinge in my heart as the grip loosens. Did I give them my best? Did I enjoy them to the fullest when they were younger? Why did I complain so much about how busy life was when they were little? Why did I make life so busy? So many questions, so much self critique. However, despite that, I feel so proud of them. Both of them are good people.

Back to weather. Yesterday, Sean and I went for a long walk in a local park. We decided to leave the paved walkway and follow a trail deeper into the woods. I was looking at my feet as I walked, mindful of treacherous roots that poked above the ground dangerously. I had already stumbled a couple of times but managed to stay on my feet. We stopped for a second and I looked around me. Sean was in mid conversation, saying something about his work. I touched his arm, and whispered, “Look! Look around us.” We were surrounded by young royals – trees that were getting their new leaves. The sun tried to peek in through the foliage that rendered the leaves luminous, fluorescent even. There was nobody around us. There was no sound except sweet chirp of birds. I felt insignificant and I felt special all at the same time. Insignificant in front of such majesty and special because I got to witness it.

I don’t go to any building that is designated as a place of worship. The little opening, surrounded by trees, sunlight creating dappled shadows around me was my temple, my church, my mosque. I did not pray. But I gave my thanks.

Yesterday was a weird day.


Yesterday was a weird day. I hardly saw any of my family members. The partner is traveling, daughter was working and my eighteen year old son did an errand and then shut himself in his room for the rest of the day, and night. It is interesting how little I see of him even when he is home. I noticed this with Sahana before she headed out to college and I am noticing this with my youngest too. They let us know that it is time to loosen the grip, it is time to let go. I think of how their little hands fit in mine just a few years ago. I miss that touch but it makes me happy to see they are ready to take the flight.

I ditched going to the gym yesterday and cooked for the week instead. I even baked a cookie cake for no reason at all, because, why not?

I ordered biriyani from a local store. IT WAS NOT A GOOD IDEA. I was sick as a dog at night. I haven’t been that sick for a very long time. Before I got sick though, I spoke to my cousin sister for a very long time and realized how much I needed that conversation. So that was nice. And she offered to be my Piglet when I needed her. She read my previous blog.

This morning, though, the sun is shining. I am sitting in front of my parents (their photos). And I have this book on my lap.

On days, when I feel I have nothing to look forward to this book may provide some inspiration. I forget to focus on the little joys sometimes and require a reminder once in a while that even pouring cup of coffee in the morning can be a simple delight. A hot shower on a cold day. Sitting by the sun on my reading chair. The sunset that I get to witness everyday from my kitchen window. My dear friend, the lop sided oak tree in my back yard is full of buds. The cherry blossoms in my neighborhood are blooming their vibrant pink. The pink and white rhododendrons will appear soon to brighten the world briefly.

My daughter looks hopeful these days and my son can not wait to go to college.

A day of deep breaths and blinking away tears


I woke up with a soft kiss on my cheeks as Sean said goodbye before he headed to the airport. I tried my best to fall asleep but sleep eluded me. I was dreading the day. It is ironical that I dread March 2nd since it was a day of excitement and happiness in my life for many years. It is baba’s birthday.

Today was a day of deep breaths and a lot of blinking. As I drove to the gym, I felt my chest constrict with pain. I tried to breathe in, hold it and exhale slowly. No matter how much I tried to focus on the happy memories, all I could think about was the last few days of his struggle and my utter helplessness.

A few friends still remembered him. They wrote on his Facebook page. Khushi wrote too. She said she missed him so much. She hopes both of them are blessing her from heaven. I also read a passage from A.A Milne’s Winnie the Pooh where Pooh is having a very Difficult day and Piglet asks him if he wants to talk about it. Pooh doesn’t want to talk. So Piglet just sits with him. When someone is having a very Difficult day, it is wonderful to just sit with them. Perhaps that is what friendship is all about. I needed a Piglet.

I had a very Difficult day but I went about my life – gym, work, dinner, without Piglet. I got through it. Today brought back glimpses of the very painful place I was in. I am certainly getting out of it and I am sure tomorrow will be better and as years go by birthdays will hurt less. Grief is like the waves – it ebbs and flows.