Stylish Spaces

The man who does not value himself; can not value anything or anyone. Ayn Rand As good parents we are expected to keep correcting the moral compass of our children till it conforms to societal needs – and that includes telling them to be less selfish and more selfless in their actions and speech. Schools promote and teach that in abundance as well – by advertising and putting on great shows for a great cause - all the bake sales are the gold standard for that. But what in reality are we teaching our children? A forced sense of conformity, how they need to act, behave and think in a certain way to be accepted and valued by others? No wonder so many of our children end up having emotional problems. I have worked in schools and the emotional problems are alarmingly starting earlier and earlier each year – but is that at all surprising? We have lost the art of nurturing the individual. We hardly give children any chance to find anything out for themselves or discover who the...

I have been quiet of late. More so on the blogging front but also in everyday dealings as I have struggled with myraid emotions brought on by the loss of my mum. The quietness has shrouded me like a thick smog, heavier some days than others. I woudn't call it depression, but a deep sadness and a whirling turmoil within trying to grapple with the meaning of existence, what to hold dear, what to dispense with. What memories to cling on to, which ones to erase. My mum was a connoisseur of beauty of everything on the home front (a trait I have inhereted from her) and as she grew weaker and more fragile nearing her end, the beautiful things she had so lovingly bought, spent days and precious hours pouring over the details of where and how, gathered dust and looked forlorn. Her house took on a neglected look. Her garden and plants she so cared for grew wild and unruly. Its almost as if death signifies not only the end of ones life, but the end of an orderly existance of things and p...

In joy and sadness, flowers are our constant friends. We eat, drink, dance, and flirt with them. We wed and christen with flowers. We dare not die without them. We have worshipped with the lily, we have meditated with the lotus, we have charged in battle array with the rose and the chrysanthemum. We have even attempted to speak in the language of flowers. How could we live without them? It frightens one to conceive of a world bereft of their presence. What solace do they not bring to the bedside of the sick, what a light of bliss to the darkness of weary spirits? Their serene tenderness restores to us our warming confidence in the universe even as the intent gaze of a beautiful child recalls our lost hopes. When we are laid low in the dust it is they who linger in sorrow over our graves. The Book Of Tea, Kakuzo Okakura Nothing lifts a drab old side table more than a potted jar of peonies spreading sweetness and light to all within its reach. A rusty old urn carelessly stuff...

I personally think the word 'creativity' has such a hollow ring to it. It is literally jammed down our throats in every sphere of our lives - from our schools to our workplaces, the pressure is on to be original and creative and standout from the crowd. And we are starting earlier and earlier each passing year. I have witnessed many times teachers in primary schools looking at a miserable attempt of a child's art or piece of writing and desperately trying to find its merits to reel out to proud parents - beacuse thats what the school advocates and thats what the parents want to hear. Every child is special and has hidden creativity just lying dormat waiting to busrt out the seams. What a load of rubbish. We are misleading our children into believing they don't need to learn any skills nor have any knowlege to be good at something. Creativity cannot stem from nothing, it needs a base or some kind of fuel, perhaps even a channel or a springboard from where to lauch...

Life presents one with endless possibilities. Growing up I truly believed I had at my disposal endless possibilities, paths yet to be trodden, routes yet to be mapped - the world was my playground, living was an exciting prospect, every day unfolded new and newer avenues to skip down soaking up the delights on the way. I loved learning and school and books which were opening up my mind and increasing my wonder at all the things out there to choose, experience and savour. And then I grew up and experienced 'real' life. A life strapped down by responsibilities, duties and commitments. I was a wife, a  mother, a home-maker. The world wasn't my playground anymore, more a to-do errand list that I mentally ticked off every day. Experiences, good, bad and ugly, just rolled on me rather than me choosing to experience something. All exciting possibilities grew distant and distant, even books read failed to ignite wonder and passion for things unknown as I knew them to be mere...

If any concept screams blissful ambiguity and has ceaseless shift in boundaries, than it would be this one - striking a balance . In how we choose to live our lives to how we choose to decorate our homes, and how we choose to conduct our relationships - in public and private,  with people, shopping, food, gym - striking the right balance is always a thought never far away from our minds - yet sometimes just as ignored as we give in to pressures of existence in our social spheres. I had heard people talk about changed perceptions when faced with a terminal illness and I had always wondered what would it take to have the right balance to begin with, where possibility of looming death would not be a reminder of how you need to adjust your life and priorities. Lets just say, I had been on a soul-searching quest for a while on how to have some "measurable" for a balanced and well adjusted life, relationships and homes. And being a Libra sign, I really was looking to find an a...

Life may be short, moments encountered may be transient and time may be ticking away faster than we know, but in many ways it doesn't matter - we all live on longer than our physical existence - some more than others - and here's how. We live on in the memories of those we shared good times with and those who are grateful to us for standing by them in bad times. We live on in quirky little gestures, habits and phrases unwittingly picked up by our children who have watched us, heard us and copied us since they were wee toddlers and in the genetic cocktail we have passed on to them, weak or strong. We live on in the good turns we did others that perhaps changed their lives in some little or big way. We live on in tiny little good deeds that snowball and flourish and breed more and more prosperity for those who need it. We live on in words we write down that touch a chord with someone reading ages after we are no more. If you think about it, there are so many ways to live on....