"Whenever the warrior draws his sword, he uses it"

A quote from my favourite book Manual of the Warrior of Light.
Paulo Coelho.

Thinking about this today.
They say when  a Khukri is drawn, you have to have blood on its tip.
Even if it means your own finger being pricked.

Or it could be a pen that writes to imprint, influence.
Once it is on paper, it cannot be restrained.

The idea is simple.
Empty threats are meaningless.

Life is about the open playing field.
Face to face interaction.
Honesty. Facts.

It is about completing what we set out to do.
It means thinking.

Think a lot before we act.
Contemplate.
Listen. To both our mind and heart.

So whether it is the sword or a pen, we draw it when we want to make a difference.
And once it is drawn, it should go back into its sheath or case once we have made that .

As Coelho says," Do not diminish the force of a blow by talking about it".

We are all wearing the same Tee

Fridays are usually a great day at work in most offices.
For one, wherever it is permitted, T-shirts surface on this day.

It is amazing how a T-shirt can shave off quite a few levels of hierarchy.
You walk into a conference room with men and women in tees and you definitely can't figure out who's the boss. Usually.

Fridays are also a day when  the cafetaria boys at work also wear t-shirts.
Suddenly, the pale blue shirts and dark blue trousered uniformed masks disappear and they appear younger, brighter and yes, happier.

T-shirts are a big style statement for ( and sorry for using a demographic jargon) the lower SECs.
They are easy on the wallet and heavy on attitude. Low maintenance as well.

You get them  in all possible branding and bold statements.
From Eat, Love, Pay to Harley-Davidson ones which are a clear favourite, to  variations of  slogans with the word Cool.

In a somewhat class conscious society like us, T-shirts are indeed a great leveller.
They shave down divides of finance, position, society, the tie- brigade.
They showcase common values of someone who wants to look good and get on with life.

Maybe T-shirts can do what most of us have been wishing for.
Uniformity of life, without the shackles of a uniform.

A Day for Mums

Haven never seen so many profile picture changes.
Black and white, sepia, colour... young mums, middle aged mums....

And no matter whose picture it was, it made me feel good.

While there are some who ask questions like why just this one day?
We love our mother's every day.
Why display our affection on social media?

I feel this flood of pictures on social media have behind them, a loving call today to mums, a lunch or dinner date if they are in town, a long distance gift or more.
I feel most mums who are actually on social media would have felt proud to see this expression.

That's what celebrations are for.
No matter how much we see celebrations can be every day, there are always special days where we set aside every thing else.

And though I know there are many who will deny this, I also feel that this day has become what it is for them and their mums, because of social media.
The effort of looking for a picture from an old album comes flush with memories of yesteryears.
You remember selfless nights and days of young mums , times when they were firm but gave you an extra hug at night, the smiles, the tears.
You feel good when you see others talking about how good your mum looks or looked.

You feel a stronger connection.
You make that call again.
You tell her she is special.
You look at that picture again and again every time someone hits a Like or keys a comment.
You feel good.
She feels better.
And special.

And for one day, the bonds are tighter than ever before.

Mother's Dressing Table

Mother's dressing table came as part of her wedding furniture.
One long mirror balanced on a small low table, with a set of three drawers on one side.
A stool with matching "sun mica".

The dressing table braved many lorry travels from Jorhat, my grandparents house, to Digboi , Guwahati , back to Digboi and again back to Guwahati. The sun mica was replaced twice, not because it was worn out but because mother wanted a change.

The dressing table  had stuff which we don't see today.
Starting with a stand where mother hung her hair pieces.
"Khopa", as we call in Assamese.
In those days, hair fashion was a khopa with rolls and layers, stuck in place with a packet of hair pins.

Then there was a jar of "snow".
And Charmis cold cream.
An ornate "powder case" with a puff.
The puffs were replaced quite often, so they always looked fluffy and pink with a satin ribbon for holding.

A hair oil bottle surfaced once in a while.
The drawers had a few lipsticks.
Some of them had been used and the remnants were like a well inside the plastic case.
But mother never threw things till they were completely used.
She used a clip to scoop the lipstick out for a bindi.

I remember a lipstick she had years back with a green cake which was pink when applied to the lips.
Don't remember the brand now.

Mother would always sit on the stool, pull open the drawer, take out her "make up"- some foundation, compact, powder, lipstick etc.
I would sit on the floor next to her and watch her  as she transformed her tiredness into gorgeousness.

My dressing table looks quite different today.
Well, I have a mirror and a dresser in front.
The lipsticks are still there.
I have lip glosses and rouges and colour palletes.
And a moisturiser and sun block cream.
But nothing else remains from those days.

My daughter does not stare at me when I am in front of my dresser.
She is busy . But she also does not see any magic in the moment.
The TV, the games, the screens are more magical.

I guess  we took great joy out of little moments which seem so insignificant now.

As for mother's dressing table, it finally got carted out of our house quite unceremoniously a few years back.
Maybe it lies in an old shed, forgotten by all.
With memories of a beautiful woman turning gorgeous every day in front of it.