Musings of an 80's Baby

Today’s little story is a slice of cake in celebration of mama bear.  Once upon a time mama bear was a young cub growing and wandering in a cozy little village that was much too small for her larger than life curiosity. One day little mama had a chance encounter that would unravel like a fortune cookie. It was a warm dusty day when little mama got her first glimpse of a future beyond the walls of her family home. Maybe it was because of her curiosity that the mysterious gypsy chose her door to stop in front of. Maybe the gypsy woman peered past the gates and was met with a child full of potential and a fate full of twists of heartache and turns of joy. Maybe the gypsy felt the pull of little mama’s magnetic spirit and couldn’t resist the opportunity to examine the extraordinary aura around her; it was a curious case indeed to see such delicate and truly beautiful features on the outside of a child in contrast to her fiery fearless soul. Whatever it was, the gypsy knew she had ...

There once lived a family of bears on Robinson street. The family consisted of a daddy bear, a momma bear, three sister bears and a brother bear; each family member had their own happy and sad stories to tell. This little story is the story of brother bear.  Brother bear can be considered a black bear for his preference of solitude. Or he can be considered an aggressive grizzly bear if he feels threatened. He is possibly a polar bear being forced to survive in his environment. One might say he is a panda bear for the tattoo on his arm and his Asian persuasion. If you asked me I would even call him a Kanye-esque “The College Dropout” bear that might be somewhere listening to “Through the Wire”. Let’s just say, he’s a complex bear.  Although brother bear has had many a stories to tell, today’s story is one moment of a lifetime. Once upon a time brother bear and little sister bear went to a festival. The music was flowing, the energy was palpable. The sibling bears could ...

Guess who’s back?! Back again!  ROARING 20’s Today I celebrate my 29th time around the sun and my motto for this birthday is to go out of my roaring 20’s with a BANG! I used to be someone who looked at my life’s glass as half-empty, telling myself things like, “when you get x  you will be happy...when you do y  you will be happy...” and sometimes in the process I forget to take a step back and realize all of life’s wonders that were already filling my cup with joy. I’m happy to report that I’m not a sour puss anymore! I am filled with immense gratitude and learning to live in the now rather than forecasting for future happiness. My birthday wish is simple, I wish for: a year full of the same sort of energy that got me through my early 20’s; an ever evolving sense of self-love and understanding; a strong bond with my loved ones; a fresh perspective when trying to overcome challenges; for gratitude to be my attitude; to do things that I enjoy, like writing; and fi...

Once upon a time there was a blossoming young brown girl who loved to dance. By no means was this girl a dancing queen. She was barely able to coordinate her lanky arms and legs to a decent rhythm. But dancing melted away the awkward adolescent years. Dancing was a way to connect to her roots. It was a way for her to make friends. The young girl loved this hobby, it fulfilled her like the music filling her ears. All through out childhood she had memories of going round and round in a circle of women clapping and twirling and singing along in exuberance. She couldn't remember the exact moment she first stepped into the dance circle, it could have been during a family wedding or at her home when the aunties turned the boom box on after dinner. What a glorious moment it must have been! The moment a young girl learned to become one with her body and culture. Memories of dance practice in a school ground, giggling with a group of nervous girls...

After detaching myself from social media and taking the first tiny baby steps towards understanding myself, I have come to a few rudimentary AHA! realizations. Right now I am focusing on a part of my authentic self that comes alive as a fire-breathing dragon. When this part of my personality is awake and in charge, every living being is afraid to approach me because I have smoke coming out of my nostrils and I WILL torch anyone to smithereens. I don't just blast people with my blazing fire, I then eat them and make it known that I will not go down without a full fledged fight. This version of myself is the hardest to control and I become an untamable beast. Lets call dragon Gags what she is - a scary bitch! My journey in the realm of adulting means taming my inner bitchy beast. If I am honest, I doubt I will ever be able to fully tame her, but I can watch out for her and train her to at least not burn people to crisp. I make my beast sound badass but the truth...

When it rains it pours Pours like tears streaming down your cheeks Unable to turn the faucet off Tears for all reasons. Someone says it's going to be okay Are you able to hear that affirmation? Or is it just lost in the fog after the rain The fog that takes over your brain The haze blankets clarity. The feelings are as varied as individual vapors of fog Loneliness is magnified, it's dark and quiet. Fear comes alive and spreads like a fire This fire demolishes everything Ashes like 9/11 Ground Zero is what you are staring at. Is it possible to rebuild and be even stronger, you don't know The uncertainty is a slow suffocation Like the fumes that disable you The flames are in the distance, the fire is a force you cannot control. A voice tells you to let the pain in Let others rescue you from the inferno Can you find me in the fog and ashes? Here is my plea for love and support. Or maybe this is meant to be a lonely path. If you believe in God and miracl...

I can do all things, no not through Christ, but through my own enduring soul. There are days, weeks even months where it might feel like no I can't do all things, I can't even do one small thing, but still I persist. The greatest threat to success is my own doubt and lethargy; since doubt and lethargy exist only in my head, I have the power to disrupt them. I might stare at a pair of jeans that fit my ass perfectly last fall and now won't zip up and hear the little voice in my brain viciously attacking. I might open up an incomplete document at work and the critical thoughts might scatter across my forehead like commuters in traffic. For an outwardly chill and confident person, I might not seem like I deal with the burden of negative self-talk. Imagine being at the gym at the squat rack, trying to push back up after you put on way too much weight. It feels like your body is physically incapable, it feels panicky and mostly it feels like someone is watc...

Let's talk about life as it was 10 years back. What kind of Gagan was the world dealing with a decade ago? Tall, lanky, freshly faced with independence and adulthood. Its Fall time and a nervous energy starts taking over. What is college going to be like? Will I make friends? Is homesickness going to consume me? On day one of moving into the dorms, another tall lanky Punjabi girl comes up to me and out of nowhere knows exactly who I am, where I'm coming from and feels we have too much in common to not be friends - fast forward 10 years and she marries her college sweetheart, all of us day one dorm girls celebrating with her. Living on an all girls floor of the dorms - rushing to class, skipping class to sleep, making lifelong friends - all of it is a blur of laughs, stress, and occasional drama. We get in food fights, covering the walls of our dorm in chocolate syrup and ketchup. We drive to Denny's at 3am, two people stuffed into the trunk, ordering chee...

Do you ever have so much energy and excitement for something that it 100% consumes you, only to see it slowly fizzle out? Picture a shaken up bottle of soda, or a tea kettle on a hot stove, or a firecracker bursting, loud and full of light before disappearing into the night. That is basically me when it comes to most things I am passionate about, including reading and writing, even this very blog. I find so much joy in writing but the minute it starts feeling like a task on a to-do list, my excitement takes a turn towards anxiety and I never fully recover. If I tell myself, 'You have to post every Monday, because, like "Monday Musings" is so catchy..' then every Monday morning I wake up feeling like I have my work cut out for me. Don't get me wrong, almost all of my posts were written in one session, on a Monday morning, about whatever happened to be on my mind at the moment. Even if writing sometimes felt like a task, I was still satisfied enough with my mornin...

I have a vague memory of a man on an airplane who left a lasting impression in the span of two hours. I was on my way to the European vacation of a lifetime that started off with a short flight to Denver before the cross-Atlantic leg. I usually prefer sitting next to family or friends that I am travelling with but on this particular flight I was sitting next to a stranger. The first thing I noticed about the stranger was that he immediately took out a small, worn out journal once we sat down. He began writing in the journal which was sitting on his lap horizontally; he was jotting things down in random order, not meant to follow a lined paper route. His pen was full of midnight colored ink that made every word jump off the page in 3D. Every so often he stopped and stared at the page as if pondering the meaning of his own words. His writing hand was full of rings that were spectacularly one of a kind. Each ring had its own personality and immeasurable valu...

She grows from her own ashes, constantly reborn as the ageless cycle of life and death. At her essence she is a survivor, bursting into flames and still rising up. She embodies resiliency. She fights the fire, not allowing it to consume her. She spreads her wings as she takes flight, glinting in molten gold. Each feather sizzles in embers. Just as the sun always rises, so will she ignite. No fear of combustion or the swirls of smoke. She emerges from the slow burn radiating warmth and light. She is as beautiful as she is dangerous.

Mom's hundreds of voicemails are saved on girl's phone because A) mom is practically the only one who calls and B) girl likes to listen to mom's voice whenever she needs some of mom's warmth. Mom is vibrant and fiery and works harder than girl ever could. Girl thinks mom overworks herself but mom is just mom, and working three jobs is just what mom does. Mom travels and if you get the honor of traveling with her, you see a version of her soul that is happiest and most carefree. That version of mom is the most authentic and bright. Girl also sees mom when she's tired and barely has the energy to trudge up the stairs after God knows how many hours on her feet. Girl wishes she could let mom rest, uninterrupted by the demands of life. Mom never complains, even though she has a hundred rightful reasons to. Girl is pretty damn sure she would be complaining if she were in mom's shoes, but still mom never does. Mom has inner strength that defies modern science. How can ...

Note to my high school self (Inspired by watching '13 Reasons Why') Dear Me, High school is an interesting time. Everything is changing and friends feel more important than pretty much anything else. Life is a pendulum of school related stress and carefree sleepovers. Every year you have an increasing amount of freedom and fun with your clique. Every year there are moments of embarrassment and drama.  My advice to you is this: Stop being petty and gossiping about others. You don't know what someone else is going through. Try to imagine why someone acts and reacts the way they do. Maybe they are living through hell and your rude AIM remarks will make their day even worse.  Empathize with the person sitting by themselves, maybe for them getting up and making it to school feels like a ginormous task. Realize how lucky you are that that isn't you.  You have no right to judge what someone else does. You might find yourself doing the same things one day. Alwa...

Being 1st generation American in an immigrant family is like being the actualization of your parents' dreams. Families uproot from their native homes in search of something better, sacrificing everything they know for an uncertain future in a foreign land. Growing up, you constantly hear your relatives speak of their homeland with so much longing and nostalgia . "Home" is something completely different to them now. How do they handle the juxtaposition of their American life with memories  about the home they were raised in? They do whatever they have to do to survive in their new environment. They form a community and try so hard to hold on to the values and traditions of their culture. The desire to remember their roots binds that community deeply. Acts of defiance look like someone never learning English or how to drive or eating the same thing for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It feels like a safe bubble to raise children in. Then we are born. And we are raised in a...

Let me be that motivational voice in your head for a second. It's Monday, it's gloomy outside, the weekend is over, you got 48039722 things to do..but I want you to forget about all those problems and GO GET SHIT DONE! Life is too damn short to dwell on the small stuff and forget to LIVE. Take a moment this week to go out and do whatever it is that makes your soul dance. Put on some bomb ass music and let that shit move you. Move your hips to the beat and sing along all loud and obnoxious. Feel it!!!! Call the people that bring a smile to your face, tell them how dope they are. All the unnecessary bullshit is for the birds. Make unforgettable memories. Relive those epic moments that still make you catch your breath. Next time you stress over something unimportant, stop yourself! What are you worried about? You are ALIVE aren't you? If you are healthy and able and have basic necessities, please take a moment of reflection to be GRATEFUL. All those crazy ass dreams you h...

Living in a neighborhood full of street smart kids, Standing around casually, always up to no good. Making mud pies and climbing trees, Canon-balling into a pool on a hot midsummer's day. Filling up water guns and Running around like mad cows. Speaking of cows, Collecting figurines of favorite animals. Walking down the street singing,  "I don't wanna be a player no more."  Not knowing what those lyrics truly mean.  Smelling funky odors from El Cap middle school's restrooms,  Realizing that smell isn't a skunk. Putting rubber bands around the ankles of baggy jeans. Showing off new high tops; White tees and some Nikes.  Attending the baby shower of teen parents - two of our neighbors' kids now Celebrating an unplanned child of their own. Instant-messaging on AIM,  Thinking of witty Away Messages.   Walking on to high school grounds, conscious of body and grades and new found interest in crushes.  Sl...

I claim my own power and I purposefully create my own reality. Endless possibilities are within my reach.  I give and receive all the love that I possibly can.  In this moment, I feel peace.  I evolve and increase my threshold for positivity. Change is a welcome and necessary aspect of my life. I live authentically and let my inner-self shine. Gratitude is my best attitude. I will not dwell on things I cannot control. Every element I need to feel energized surrounds me. I deserve compassion and support. No hardship is too great for me to overcome. I possess everything I need to be fulfilled.  Today, and everyday, the universe responds to my intentions.  I am enough. 

On a cold and cloudy Saturday in January, I woke up with the anticipation of a historic day. I put my rain proof outfit on and walked briskly to BART. As I approached the platform I saw two girls wearing glittery tiaras that said "#WOKEBITCH" and immediately I knew I was in good company. A few other people had posters, pink pussy hats, "The Future is Female" t-shirts and all kinds of resistance paraphernalia. We were on our way to the Women's March in Oakland. The energy of my fellow travelers was almost tangible. Seeing the BART fill up with all types of people united with the same purpose gave me a rush. The numbness of watching Trump take his oath was warming into activism. Tens of thousands of people were side by side with me in Oakland and even though I had come alone, I was engulfed in a feeling of connectedness. The Women's March organizers knew the best response to a government that seems like...

I inherited the need to scribble words on to a notebook from my father, he was a lyricist and a poet. Journals filled with fragments describing the life of an only son, sent to live in a place that had no space for a dreamer. I never paid attention to my dad's self expression through his writing; his method of relating to the world around him. Maybe it was his favorite way to free his mind, until alcohol came along. On a Thursday night when I see an empty bottle of Merlot, I worry about inheriting other dispositions from my father too. Cognizant of the fact that one relaxing glass of wine a day could turn into an addiction. A fair share of positive and negative was passed down to me: a good sense of humor and charisma, coupled with a stubborn hot head. "You've got your dad's long legs," I'm told. And it's true, that, and his perfectly long arched eyebrows. I am heir to his internal struggles: Being an introvert and an extrovert. One mome...

A girl was born to a family blessed with land in a quiet village. Spirituality ran deep in the veins of this family, with a devotion to God that was unmatched. The baby girl was unlike her mother, who had piercing blue eyes and a gentle disposition. She was born with a demanding cry and a fiery, opinionated and unrelenting character. The girl was named "Jarnail", as in commanding army general. Jarnail was a force to be reckoned with. She had a razor sharp photographic memory; when she told a story she recited the tiniest details as if she were in a trance of remembrance. Jarnail had an aura of light around her and deep set eyes that seemed all-knowing. She was raised to live a fulfilling, God serving life. Jarnail bore several children, six who survived infancy. A daughter was born to Jarnail who had an uncanny resemblance of spirit to her mother. She was a warrior, born to defy the bounds of an ordinary life. Jarnail raised her children with the wits of survival. She h...