Rekha's Ramblings

30 Years of Marriage This month, we are celebrating 30 years of being married, 30 years of togetherness. My husband and I grew up in India where your religion, cast, the language you speak mattered, still does. We came from two different backgrounds;  two different religions, two different cultures , and two different languages. Back then, everyone said we would never make it. The odds of us making it were stacked against us. But look at how far we have come. We defied those odds and here we are, for better or worse, in sickness and in health. Was it perfect? Of course not. We’d be lying if we said it was. We were barely out of college when we got married. I moved to the U.S. first, and he followed me soon after. There were no rules, no roadmaps, no elders to guide or interfere. We were figuring it out as we went. We made plenty of mistakes, stumbled, grew, and evolved (our kids might challenge the “matured” part!). When our children were born, we made the difficult decisio...

 It’s almost back-to-college time for many of us in the USA. This morning, I drove my daughter back to campus—just the two of us. Her twin brother left a couple of days ago to prepare for band camp; this is his second year being one of the drum majors. This is their final year. Both of them are excited. They are happy to return to the campus, their other HOME , their happy place , and I am grateful that they are doing well and have found a happy place. They are going through some “happiness/sadness” as well; this being their last year performing in a marching band, may be their final school year.    We know the drill by now—move the boxes in, run to the grocery store, stock a few shelves, hug, goodbye. And then, drive away. The tears couldn’t come any quickly on the ride back home, in the car—lots of them.  After three months of having them home, coming back to the house was not the same. Our evenings had been filled with music, my middle child at t...

  Recently, a friend, Anna,  shared a writing prompt with me —  “ The Ponderings of a Tree .” This post  is inspired by that prompt.  I love nature — the flowers, the trees. Growing up in India, the tall and majestic trees of my childhood were mango, tamarind, coconut, and guava.  My siblings and I used to climb up on some of them when we were little.  I do not have any pictures of those. Here, in the US, they are Oak, sycamore, Elm, Maple, Magnolia  and I don't know some of their names. But my connection to them hasn’t changed one bit. I still feel drawn to them.  And when I see one, my instinct is simple: go hug that tree. Here are a few pictures of those.     So when she shared the above prompt,  the words  just flowed . This is my first time writing a poem.    The Ponderings of a Tree Come here my child, what’s bothering you? You look sad, weary. Talk to me, tell me about it. Share ...

  Good morning! It’s the first week of August, and it means it’s almost back-to-school. College kids everywhere are getting ready to head out—and mine are no exception. They're leaving early to prepare for marching band camp, and I believe mentally, they are already halfway there. My house has been full for the past three months. And yet, despite everyone being home, they were busy, and we couldn't find a time frame where everyone would be available to go anywhere. I remember when this time of year meant road trips and vacations, back when they were little, in grade school, back when school breaks felt endless. Now both Google and Facebook are showing me all those memories, the good times we had, the road trips, laughter and singing in the backseat, our usual airport/ airline /rental car drama. (that calls for a separate post) Here are some pictures of those memories.  This year, we couldn’t even go for walks in the neighborhood as we went through heat waves. So, w...

I’ve been watching the show Your Honor lately, and I can’t stop thinking about the lengths a parent will go to protect their child. On the show, Judge Michael Desiato starts out as a man defined by his principles — a good judge committed to justice and honoring the law. But as the story unfolds, we see those same ideals slowly fall apart as he faces impossible choices to keep his child safe. His sinking down to the bottom is heartbreaking showing you  how far a parent might fall to protect their child. Parenting is hard , period. And though every parent rides this emotional rollercoaster, there can never be enough warnings to truly prepare you. Once you choose this journey, that’s it. Once you become a parent, there’s no going back — you’re a parent until your last breath, no matter how old your children get. No matter how many books you read, how many classes you attend, or how many stories you hear, nothing truly prepares you for what’s ahead. It's even more hard these ...

  Today’s Writing Prompt: When was the last time you screamed and why? This blog is going to be in four parts. Part 4 The original prompt was exactly that — When was the last time you screamed and why? Hmm, that’s not a hard one to figure out. I scream a lot — several times a day, in fact. People often say I don’t have an indoor voice. I’m always loud. I laugh loud, argue loud, cheer loud. I suppose I was born a screamer . But things have changed as I’ve grown older. So I changed the question to: Screaming then vs. now — how my voice has changed I’ve always been loud. As a girl in 70s India, that was my quiet rebellion — to never be quiet. When I was younger, my screams were raw — all fire, no filter. I would shout back at rules, family, injustice — anyone who tried to box me in. My father encouraged it. Never shrink , he said. Never whisper when you can shout . Now, my scream has grown up with me.  It’s softer (questionable) sometimes, but it cuts deepe...

  Today’s Writing Prompt: When was the last time you screamed and why? This blog is going to be in four parts. Part 3 The original prompt was exactly that — When was the last time you screamed and why? Hmm, that’s not a hard one to figure out. I scream a lot — several times a day, in fact. People often say I don’t have an indoor voice. I’m always loud. I laugh loud, argue loud, cheer loud. I suppose I was born a screamer. But with age, things have changed. So I changed the question: When was the last time you held your scream in? I was born a screamer — I had to be, literally and otherwise. There were a billion people, and I had to make myself heard.  But with time, I realized I could scream differently. Not every scream needed to be out loud. These days, my biggest scream isn’t always a shout — it’s these words. Every time I write a truth that makes people uncomfortable, that’s me screaming. Every time I hit publish on something raw and real, that’s me sc...