Widuri.

Widuri will not mean much to many. Yet to many, it may.

Many things remind us of our childhood. Events. People. Food.

One of the things that reminds me of my childhood is the song Widuri, sung by a popular Indonesian singer Bob Tutupoli. My dad and I liked him and his songs.

I saw Bob Tutupoli at the Surabaya airport. After some prodding from my dad, I went upto him and smiled. We were leaving Indonesia that day and a part of my childhood as well.

With Widuri, it is easy for me to reach back to my childhood. The memories. What could have ... would have ... should have. All left there, in the innocence of time.

"Widuri ... oh sayang" (Listen here).

August 28, 2008

A lot happened today, like any other day - in a small corner of the world and in my life. As this day winds to a close, a large marker was engraved in time. History was made and is being created. From across the Rockies comes a message. Promise.

Photographs

Photographs are
silent sentinels
of the past,
from the past
smiling into the future.


Everyone who lived
irrespective of what life
threw at them
smiling.


Captured and caught in time
smiling for a better tomorrow.
Through time
sending us a reminder
that whatever it may be
or happens
life is worth ...
smiling.

Siblings and wonderful memories

Growing up as a single child has its challenges. Life is after all a mixed bag. Growing up I did miss having a sibling. That to an extent was offset by my wonderful extended family - my cousins. Living in a boarding school with a band-of-brothers to get into trouble with. After all that is what one needs in a sibling growing up.

Things have changed. After loosing my mother, I miss having a sibling. It would have been easier to share the loss. But more importantly it would be nice to share the wonderful memories.

Training Wheels and Life

I was over 5 years old when I started to learn how to ride a bike. I must have spent 3-4 days with little progress. Late in the evening on the forth day my mother stopped by to see me ride. No luck.

She held the bike and asked me to pedal. I did. She let go. I stopped pedalling and gravity took over. We went through this routine couple of times. Same result. Bruised - both physically and ego-wise (after all she had let go) I stood up and refused to ride.

My mother looked me in the eye and calmly told me that I would not be allowed back in to the house if I did not learn how to ride on my own. Simple. With that she turned and walked back.

The sun had set. I was alone. I tried. It must have taken me over an hour to master the rudimentary skills. Pedal. Stop. Pedal. Stop. Straight line pedalling, nothing fancy. Bruised and with a smile, I walked back indoor and announced my success. She smiled and we walked out into the evening. I pedalled. I managed to not fall. She patted me on the head and we both walked back indoor.

There is lot in common between life, parents and training wheels. All along I had my parents as my training wheels - my safety net - in my life. Things have changed over the last 2-3 weeks. From riding with only 1 training wheel, I am now down to none. There will be no more unseen hands holding me up and tending to the various bruises. I would like to think that perhaps I am ready. Only time will tell.