The Last Day of 2006.
I got hold of quite a few chances, yet I missed many. I met many of my old friends this year, while I missed many others. I welcomed brand new friends into my life, while I bade tearful goodbyes to others. I laughed a lot more than I sat down to cry, this year. I took up reading again. (That should explain why I am writing a whole lot lesser! Excuses! Excuses!) Travelling, wandering, vagabonding. I learnt many new lessons. Warier and wizened, I continue. While many sweet-nothings fade with time and tide, some messages have woven themselves into my being.
Cherish Beauty!
Live Life!
Forgive me; I am in a mood to retrospect. As clichéd as this activity may seem, I don’t think it is a bad idea at all. Especially when you have quite a few things to feel glad about.
Okay. I will gloat for a bit. I began this year with a couple of resolutions. I normally never make such resolutions because I find the whole process daunting. But the fag end of 2005 really took me to my wits. And, sitting alone in the dark, on 31st Dec 2005, made a couple of resolutions. Three of them, to be precise—A new job, visit new places, and some work on the personal faith front. I got hold of that job within three months, and got down to drawing up an itinerary for the second task. (I got to see ten brand new places.) The faith fog, well, lifted gradually.
2007, it’s your turn now.
Carpe Diem!
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Saturday, December 30, 2006
To the Rulers
"If you do not interfere in politics, then politics will interfere in your life."
I guess these lines by Lenin, years ago, holds true forever.
Just got to know that Saddam was executed this morning. How much ever you try to not involve yourself in politically colored thoughts, I guess a headline such as this will make some impact in our lives.
Many of us have stayed in makeshift tin shelters and taken unending bus rides to Amman. Many of us wont forget the constant threat we lived in, while growing up and going to school. The Invasion did change our lives. I am aware that what we suffered/experienced is nothing in comparision to what his people suffered.
Anyway, I know this event will leave an indelible scar in each one of you, as it did to me.
***
From a mail to a group of schoolbuddies, this morning.
I guess these lines by Lenin, years ago, holds true forever.
Just got to know that Saddam was executed this morning. How much ever you try to not involve yourself in politically colored thoughts, I guess a headline such as this will make some impact in our lives.
Many of us have stayed in makeshift tin shelters and taken unending bus rides to Amman. Many of us wont forget the constant threat we lived in, while growing up and going to school. The Invasion did change our lives. I am aware that what we suffered/experienced is nothing in comparision to what his people suffered.
Anyway, I know this event will leave an indelible scar in each one of you, as it did to me.
***
From a mail to a group of schoolbuddies, this morning.
Friday, December 01, 2006
Red Ribboned Coward
I am conscientious.
I do feel strongly about what is right and what is wrong.
However, I have never really been vocal about many issues that I personally feel strongly about. I can attribute this cowardly behavior to the mass mentality that I tend to follow.
Enough of excuses.
After a seemingly normal Friday, today, after 25 years, 5 months, and 1 day of existence on this planet, I actually cried for a global cause. A cause that doesn’t have (at least that is what I think) direct implications to my life as it is, now.
I watched footages of people in pain.
It didn’t matter what the color of their skin was,
Or what texture their hair was,
Or what language they spoke.
I saw children withering away.
I saw multitudes with the Quilt in DC.
It’s the First of December today.
It’s World Aids Day.
Friday, October 13, 2006
Ramadan Nights
As she walked down the dusty lanes of the Irani market, the strong—almost acrid—smell of bakoor (incense), mixed with the heavenly aroma of shawrma cooking somewhere nearby, thrust itself into her nostrils. She ran her fingers over the rich carpets and the muslin robes. A cacophony of skull-capped children distracted her from the fabrics. The teeming Mohammedan bustle in the market—haggling men; unnoticed women; fattened animals—sheltered under the bright blue tarpaulin sheets that served as roofs. Turkish coffee and shai. Trained eagles and listless camels.
These were things that she saw ever since she could remember. These were affairs that she had taken for granted, for so many years. As alien as the culture was from hers, it was just as dear. Swimming in the tide of unknown people, she wondered if she would ever return to this country again. Would she ever experience this familiar bustle and din? But then, one suffocating evening, Joshi who stood in front of the bathroom mirror, changed everything for him and her.
He was listening to Handel. Staring intently into his cold empty eyes, he watched himself as he slit his own throat. He watched the thick red fluid blending smoothly with the running tap water. By the time she figured that something was not right, he was lifeless. They sent him back home in a wooden box, sealed from the world outside.
Now, seven years later, in another country, she sat down alone on the stairs in front of a massive red Mughal structure. On a full moon night, watching the glistening Iftar shopping, she transported herself to her Irani market days. And once again, it was only the bakoor and the Irani carpets that ever mattered to her.
These were things that she saw ever since she could remember. These were affairs that she had taken for granted, for so many years. As alien as the culture was from hers, it was just as dear. Swimming in the tide of unknown people, she wondered if she would ever return to this country again. Would she ever experience this familiar bustle and din? But then, one suffocating evening, Joshi who stood in front of the bathroom mirror, changed everything for him and her.
He was listening to Handel. Staring intently into his cold empty eyes, he watched himself as he slit his own throat. He watched the thick red fluid blending smoothly with the running tap water. By the time she figured that something was not right, he was lifeless. They sent him back home in a wooden box, sealed from the world outside.
Now, seven years later, in another country, she sat down alone on the stairs in front of a massive red Mughal structure. On a full moon night, watching the glistening Iftar shopping, she transported herself to her Irani market days. And once again, it was only the bakoor and the Irani carpets that ever mattered to her.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
The Vagabond
She stood at the unopened door, watching people bustling in and out of the metro train. Earplugs sealed her from the manic world around her. Wisps of hair flying about, others hanging limply, she leaned disobediently on the glass that had a sticker warning ‘do not touch glass’. She chose to ignore the papery admonition. Faint sunlight, softened through the glass windows, and streamed into the compartment.
She brooded over the numerous thoughts she had hoarded like an over-zealous squirrel. What is it that ties us down to mundanity? Muse never failed her whenever she was on a long journey. Her mind wandered, aimlessly poring over old movie plots. Armed men blasting into the vehicle, screaming women, frozen men, howling children, all silenced when they brandish their weapons. Money-less travelers left to fend for themselves… Her train of silly thoughts broke off here, her skin betrayed a sheen of freshly appeared cold sweat. The air-conditioned chill welcomed her back to the present.
She was leaving a couple of things behind. Among them was the comfort that stemmed out of familiarity. A never-used guitar and a PSR-260 that made her cry bitterly the last time she played it. The guitar will remain giving tacit company to the synthesizer until she gathers courage to touch them again. Chinese wall hangings and framed, smiling friends graced the blanched walls. A dusty wind chime—so heavy that it would need a tornado to make it chime—hung from an orange colored fancy light. A soothing Good News Bible and a prayer-wheel rest atop a glass stand alongside ginger-flavored, obese candles. An unused bed accompanied by a deep blue bolster. Raggedy dolls and jute bags. A faithful old radio. Color pencils. The hand-made velvet rug covering gleaming beige tiles. Bright yellow curtains that flirted with the Rajastani painting. Peeling plaster tactfully hidden by the borrowed bookrack.Her room. Her world.
When it got dark outside, and when the train began its stealthy descent into the underground station, she gathered her luggage—which was just a rucksack, really—and prepared to disembark. Her eyes stung while they accustomed to the bleak and balmy exterior. No one would be waiting for her at the station. She would just drop her travel token and walk through the exit gate, out into the Unknown. She absent-mindedly recited Walt Whitman while trudging out:
She brooded over the numerous thoughts she had hoarded like an over-zealous squirrel. What is it that ties us down to mundanity? Muse never failed her whenever she was on a long journey. Her mind wandered, aimlessly poring over old movie plots. Armed men blasting into the vehicle, screaming women, frozen men, howling children, all silenced when they brandish their weapons. Money-less travelers left to fend for themselves… Her train of silly thoughts broke off here, her skin betrayed a sheen of freshly appeared cold sweat. The air-conditioned chill welcomed her back to the present.
She was leaving a couple of things behind. Among them was the comfort that stemmed out of familiarity. A never-used guitar and a PSR-260 that made her cry bitterly the last time she played it. The guitar will remain giving tacit company to the synthesizer until she gathers courage to touch them again. Chinese wall hangings and framed, smiling friends graced the blanched walls. A dusty wind chime—so heavy that it would need a tornado to make it chime—hung from an orange colored fancy light. A soothing Good News Bible and a prayer-wheel rest atop a glass stand alongside ginger-flavored, obese candles. An unused bed accompanied by a deep blue bolster. Raggedy dolls and jute bags. A faithful old radio. Color pencils. The hand-made velvet rug covering gleaming beige tiles. Bright yellow curtains that flirted with the Rajastani painting. Peeling plaster tactfully hidden by the borrowed bookrack.Her room. Her world.
When it got dark outside, and when the train began its stealthy descent into the underground station, she gathered her luggage—which was just a rucksack, really—and prepared to disembark. Her eyes stung while they accustomed to the bleak and balmy exterior. No one would be waiting for her at the station. She would just drop her travel token and walk through the exit gate, out into the Unknown. She absent-mindedly recited Walt Whitman while trudging out:
You road I enter upon and look around!
I believe you are not all that is here;
I believe that much unseen is also here.
I believe you are not all that is here;
I believe that much unseen is also here.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Invocation
Please keep Boogley's father in your prayers...
It may be a small gesture, but I guess it can go a long way for a lot of people in grief...
Thank you.
It may be a small gesture, but I guess it can go a long way for a lot of people in grief...
Thank you.
Pursuit of a Soul
Looking around for my tonic of life,
I turn back, disillusioned.
Feeling helpless is the worst feeling, ever.
It’s bleak and foggy as I try to look beyond the immediate.
Steel cuffs frozen on wrists,
Imaginary shackles in a seemingly free life.
Dripping in dark hope and shadows of pretence,
Giggles of false gaiety, bitter tears tactfully hidden.
Will I ever see some light?
I continue my search.
Enamored with youth.
Friday, September 01, 2006
Love Thyself
I cherish you.
I am glad I met you.
You continue doing what you are best at: Those smiles and giggles. Keep it going.
You always have the right words.
Thank you for wearing that permanently friendly smile.
Baby, I cherish you.
Try for a Pulitzer some day soon!
Feels so nice talking to you, any time, any season.
I have written a thousand words today. I wish we could meet.
You are Miss World, in MY world!
I feel damn protective about you, as though you were my kid.
You are very precious to me.
I am glad I met you.
You continue doing what you are best at: Those smiles and giggles. Keep it going.
You always have the right words.
Thank you for wearing that permanently friendly smile.
Baby, I cherish you.
Try for a Pulitzer some day soon!
Feels so nice talking to you, any time, any season.
I have written a thousand words today. I wish we could meet.
You are Miss World, in MY world!
I feel damn protective about you, as though you were my kid.
You are very precious to me.
I Love You.
-- Various notes. Various people. Various moments.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Midnight Sojourn
Chucking plans for a pizza dinner and a movie, we went for a different weekend-ender.
Driving into the cosmopolitan Delhi, we found ourselves standing in a queue at Nirula’s. Delhi’s very own 1931-founded ice cream parlor. Slurping on a Manhattan Mania, I listened to business banter. Walking about in Connaught Place, competing for space with untimely hawkers, I watched the panwala folding betel leaves with the condiments. He ceremoniously ended his activity by pinning the leafy packet with a toothpick.
***
Wafts of cooked mutton rushed into my nostrils as I looked around. We were standing in the middle of a bustling and bursting Karim’s. In the shadow of the Jama Masjid, we crossed skullcaps and dark burqas to get here. It was dinnertime and I was reminded that a woman wouldn’t normally venture out into this locality at this hour, unescorted. That was a well-meant admonition for me, lest the restlessness within me drags me back in here on yet another night, sans the company that I am currently enjoying.
After a sumptuous mughlai dinner, we walked out into the once royal, now unsafe and impoverished streets of a Delhi long gone. Remnants of majestic havelis, now housing countless shops, raking in an almost vulgar amount of cash. The infamous GB road with female silhouettes calling out to prospective customers, while they look the other way. Go-downs and granaries—the biggest in Asia—retail stores, and midnight business activities. We stumbled our way through the narrow, winding streets battling with the rickshaws. The famous paranthawali gali, which has now dwindled and shrunk to a meager number of shops. Six-generations-old shops that are not any younger than 1875.
After a sumptuous mughlai dinner, we walked out into the once royal, now unsafe and impoverished streets of a Delhi long gone. Remnants of majestic havelis, now housing countless shops, raking in an almost vulgar amount of cash. The infamous GB road with female silhouettes calling out to prospective customers, while they look the other way. Go-downs and granaries—the biggest in Asia—retail stores, and midnight business activities. We stumbled our way through the narrow, winding streets battling with the rickshaws. The famous paranthawali gali, which has now dwindled and shrunk to a meager number of shops. Six-generations-old shops that are not any younger than 1875.
Driving into the cosmopolitan Delhi, we found ourselves standing in a queue at Nirula’s. Delhi’s very own 1931-founded ice cream parlor. Slurping on a Manhattan Mania, I listened to business banter. Walking about in Connaught Place, competing for space with untimely hawkers, I watched the panwala folding betel leaves with the condiments. He ceremoniously ended his activity by pinning the leafy packet with a toothpick.
***
As we drove back home, we passed by the pizza joint that had just lost two of their regular customers, for a long time to come...
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Orange
“Come fast!” she urged as she ran quickly towards the shelter. They had to shout to make themselves heard while the rain poured down and thundered on the crude tin roof. Her non-stop banter was like the rain, he mused. Refreshing and evergreen. There was not a moment dull, when they were together. They were at the theme park he had promised to take her a couple of months ago. He sipped scalding hot chai while she savored an ice candy bar. Orange flavored. It always was orange. Was there a tinge of orange on her lips? He wondered.
Today, when the rain poured down over a cluster of black umbrellas that had mushroomed, he wondered if her lips were orange. They must be orange for sure, he decided as he played with the dirt. It was an unusual thought to ponder upon, at her funeral.
Today, when the rain poured down over a cluster of black umbrellas that had mushroomed, he wondered if her lips were orange. They must be orange for sure, he decided as he played with the dirt. It was an unusual thought to ponder upon, at her funeral.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Earth, Water, and Air
I am still journeying across the face of Earth. There is so much to see, hear, and savour. Sitting down and mulling over a non-returnable past is such a futile exercise. So I decided to take my bag and walk away. While a pal drove me back to sanity, I watched droplets flirting with the windshield and the cloudy sky. And this is what I saw.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Dreamers
Dreamers, we all are.
Aching to belong,
Aching to be understood.
Dreamers, we all are.
Dreamers, we all are.
Lying on stone-cold tiled floors,
Listening to music in the darkness.
Dreamers, we all are.
Dreamers, we all are.
Jolted back to reality when our silent tears,
They trickle down to the floor.
Dreamers, we all are.
Dreamers, we all are.
Tiny little islands,
Floating adrift in an ocean of muse...
***
***
Thank you, Rahul, for showing me the colors that I had failed to see.
http://sanitysucks.blogspot.com/2006/07/if-i-turn-blind-tonight.html
http://sanitysucks.blogspot.com/2006/07/if-i-turn-blind-tonight.html
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
The Show
Human flesh shines and looks beautiful, if given a little limelight.
She sashayed down the ramp, one hand resting on the hip while the other dangled free. Wolf whistles and hoots apart, there was a deafening applause that your ears had to get used to. She looked exquisite. I watched her as she transformed from the regular kid into someone I don’t know. Elegance personified. Her attire chose to cling onto her frame. Everything and everyone else on the stage, dimmed into unimportance, and gradually into non-existence, as she moved closer to the frenzied crowd. Then, her gait stopped. The audience went silent. She looked at the audience. Maintained confident eye contact. She curved her luscious lips and slowly batted her heavy eyelids. She smiled. The crowd went berserk.
Five years ago.
I was sitting under the frugal shade of an almost dying tree in the college lawn. Someone called my name and I looked up. I couldn’t see the face since the sun was right behind her, making a shadow across her frame. Her hair were school-girlish-ly unkempt. She seemed like she had a long, long day. “Chasing sponsors!” she declared when I asked her what she was doing. Her closest friend and my then not-so-close classmate caught up with her and whisked her away. For a moment, they looked like sisters. Countless Union heated meetings, meaningless estrangements, unplanned bumping into each other, and later working together… Life has its way of getting back the same people into your lives over and over again. Only, the roles differ in every scene.
No wonder Shakespeare said, “Life’s a stage”. Now, all we need to do is sit back and enjoy the show, I guess. Her show was over, the hooting died down. I got up to meet her backstage, while the applause continued to rain down.
She sashayed down the ramp, one hand resting on the hip while the other dangled free. Wolf whistles and hoots apart, there was a deafening applause that your ears had to get used to. She looked exquisite. I watched her as she transformed from the regular kid into someone I don’t know. Elegance personified. Her attire chose to cling onto her frame. Everything and everyone else on the stage, dimmed into unimportance, and gradually into non-existence, as she moved closer to the frenzied crowd. Then, her gait stopped. The audience went silent. She looked at the audience. Maintained confident eye contact. She curved her luscious lips and slowly batted her heavy eyelids. She smiled. The crowd went berserk.
Five years ago.
I was sitting under the frugal shade of an almost dying tree in the college lawn. Someone called my name and I looked up. I couldn’t see the face since the sun was right behind her, making a shadow across her frame. Her hair were school-girlish-ly unkempt. She seemed like she had a long, long day. “Chasing sponsors!” she declared when I asked her what she was doing. Her closest friend and my then not-so-close classmate caught up with her and whisked her away. For a moment, they looked like sisters. Countless Union heated meetings, meaningless estrangements, unplanned bumping into each other, and later working together… Life has its way of getting back the same people into your lives over and over again. Only, the roles differ in every scene.
No wonder Shakespeare said, “Life’s a stage”. Now, all we need to do is sit back and enjoy the show, I guess. Her show was over, the hooting died down. I got up to meet her backstage, while the applause continued to rain down.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
McLeodganj Mornings
The deep guttural blow horns woke me up. Sounded like one of those exotic instruments Yanni uses for his outlandish concerts. I realized that there were goosebumps on my hands. COLD. Incessant rains in the night and the lack of a think mattress ensured that I had blue lips. Ok, bluish-pink, to be fair. The bass of the blow horns grew somewhere at the base of my stomach. I tossed about in bed trying to conquer my wakening senses. Found a sibling missing from the bed, while the other slept peacefully. All worries subside when I spot him in the balcony watching the settlement wake up. I joined him in the balcony gathering my mess of a hair in a scrawny clip. Together we watched Germans smiling over their German breakfasts, while Israelis conversed rapidly over theirs. A Thapa served his customers briskly and efficiently. Chinese lanterns asleep after a whole night’s duty. The rain stopped. Skies cleared. A nice day to trek to the Falls.
We would walk to the hot water springs and the falls... We would go to the monastery and the church... We will go to the Dal Lake... We will have piping hot momos... We will wear those colorful costumes and buy prayer wheels and printed mantras...
We would walk to the hot water springs and the falls... We would go to the monastery and the church... We will go to the Dal Lake... We will have piping hot momos... We will wear those colorful costumes and buy prayer wheels and printed mantras...
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Making Up
Estrangement. Uneasy smiles. One attempts to break the ice. The scores of the ongoing game discussed. The other pitches in and remains forever helpful. Ice thaws. More topics skimmed over. “How’ve you been?” answered. Uneasy sentences begun only to be left broken, halfway through. Hands shaken. Warm hugs shared. Understanding smiles. Tears?
Begin stuck in the elevator isn’t all that bad, always.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Coming Soon...
***
And a faded photograph proved to be so powerful. Thoughts and half-baked pleas resurrect from the gut of her throat—or some place like that—when an atom of a memory satchel makes it appearance in the form of an innocuous photograph. The dull polaroid shows a medieval structure of sandstone, with early Islamic architectural residues, with miniatures of two grinning humans in focus. Where are they now? What is Life offering them? Is happiness a part of the menu? She put it away. Not for the memories it brought back. But for the sake of making this act—yet another—complete memory sachet.
***
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Wish List
Unlike what some of you thought, my birthday is not over and done with. It's just coming. And this time, I am thinking of gifting myself a little something. What it is, you will soon come to know. But in the meantime, I conjured up a list of what all I want this time. It all began with two close people asking me what I want from them, since they couldn't find an apt gift for me. "You seem too content, dammit", scowled one. Here is what I want:
From folks, I want time.
From lovers, I want moments.
From friends, I want trust in me.
From foes, I want forgiveness.
From me, I want acceptance.
Five "wants", yet I am so demanding!
PS: I celebrated the birthday of my dearest DPT, today. Happy Birthday, man! I Love You.
From folks, I want time.
From lovers, I want moments.
From friends, I want trust in me.
From foes, I want forgiveness.
From me, I want acceptance.
Five "wants", yet I am so demanding!
PS: I celebrated the birthday of my dearest DPT, today. Happy Birthday, man! I Love You.
Monday, May 22, 2006
When Two Atoms Met
ME: This wasn’t how I imagined myself to be when I am 25. Or maybe, it’s just that I didn’t know back then, just how young is 25 after all.
SHE: Latter
ME: What a relief!
SHE: But that doesn’t give you a lifetime to work on you dreams
ME: Point taken
SHE: What if tonight is my last?
ME: Are you happy with whatever you have done so far?
SHE: I have had no regrets this far
ME: If tonight is my last (or, GOD Forbid, yours) then I say, once more, that I Love You.
SHE: I am glad I have found the right people and the right clues and signs in their words and actions. I love you too, girl
ME: Same here. No regrets. No regrets in any of the decisions I have made. Or in the paths that I have tread. Or in the joys or sorrows I indulged in. Only, there are still so many things to be taken care of
SHE: Understandable. Heard of prioritization?
ME: It’s an illusion—once again—that things won’t move ahead without me
SHE: Oh be sure as hell...I am nothing to this world (but) a speck
ME: As the smallest speck of an Atom
SHE: But that doesn’t leave me distraught
ME: But remember, even an atom makes a difference in this universe
SHE: Latter
ME: What a relief!
SHE: But that doesn’t give you a lifetime to work on you dreams
ME: Point taken
SHE: What if tonight is my last?
ME: Are you happy with whatever you have done so far?
SHE: I have had no regrets this far
ME: If tonight is my last (or, GOD Forbid, yours) then I say, once more, that I Love You.
SHE: I am glad I have found the right people and the right clues and signs in their words and actions. I love you too, girl
ME: Same here. No regrets. No regrets in any of the decisions I have made. Or in the paths that I have tread. Or in the joys or sorrows I indulged in. Only, there are still so many things to be taken care of
SHE: Understandable. Heard of prioritization?
ME: It’s an illusion—once again—that things won’t move ahead without me
SHE: Oh be sure as hell...I am nothing to this world (but) a speck
ME: As the smallest speck of an Atom
SHE: But that doesn’t leave me distraught
ME: But remember, even an atom makes a difference in this universe
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Happiness Unbound
What is it that elicits in you a truly unbound moment of happiness?
A long forgotten song suddenly playing in your mind?
An unexpected rain shower wetting the earth and making you splash around?
Reruns of an old TV show that you watched as a child?
Funny sounds you hear when you place your ear on your mother's belly?
Your train getting to the destination right on time?
Coffee with new friends getting to know each other?
Bumping into an old flame at the music store?
A lazy Saturday wintry afternoon with a musty old book?
A silent bus ride with a secret crush?
Your sister squealing in excitement at an amusement park?
An old friend crossing hundreds of miles to stand at your doorstep when you least expected it?
And people wonder about my tagline…
… Life’s Beautiful!
A long forgotten song suddenly playing in your mind?
An unexpected rain shower wetting the earth and making you splash around?
Reruns of an old TV show that you watched as a child?
Funny sounds you hear when you place your ear on your mother's belly?
Your train getting to the destination right on time?
Coffee with new friends getting to know each other?
Bumping into an old flame at the music store?
A lazy Saturday wintry afternoon with a musty old book?
A silent bus ride with a secret crush?
Your sister squealing in excitement at an amusement park?
An old friend crossing hundreds of miles to stand at your doorstep when you least expected it?
And people wonder about my tagline…
… Life’s Beautiful!
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Commercial Break
For people who know Andiji, this wouldn't be news. The Dhanaulti Rock Fest is just a few weeks away. A well informed and enthusiastic chap gushed about the fact that Orange Street is performing. "You must let your bloggers know!" he insisted. So, I use my blog space for something that I normally dont do -- write about an event that is about to happen. My space has always been reserved for satchels of past and pent up memories.
Rock fans who can take off to beautiful Dhanaulti, please do so. Watch the action and report in. The fest will be held on 02-04th June, 2006. Listen to music, unwind, lie on the grass, watch the stars, muse, and thank me! Hey, whadaya know, that's my birthday weekend too... Visit http://www.andijis.com/ for more details. Check out that classic picture of Andiji too.
I agree it was an awkward moment of silence in here. It was just a break. A break is essential. I took one and decided to become the wagabond that I always yearn to be. This entry comes in after returning from a short detour from insanity and monotony. Took off to a not-so-far place to meet some not-so-far people. Wrote a couple of thousand words. Travelled a couple of hundred kilometers. Recovered from a few pleasant and not-so-pleasant shocks. Life is beautiful, or is it not so?!
Rock fans who can take off to beautiful Dhanaulti, please do so. Watch the action and report in. The fest will be held on 02-04th June, 2006. Listen to music, unwind, lie on the grass, watch the stars, muse, and thank me! Hey, whadaya know, that's my birthday weekend too... Visit http://www.andijis.com/ for more details. Check out that classic picture of Andiji too.
I agree it was an awkward moment of silence in here. It was just a break. A break is essential. I took one and decided to become the wagabond that I always yearn to be. This entry comes in after returning from a short detour from insanity and monotony. Took off to a not-so-far place to meet some not-so-far people. Wrote a couple of thousand words. Travelled a couple of hundred kilometers. Recovered from a few pleasant and not-so-pleasant shocks. Life is beautiful, or is it not so?!
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Myths in the Mist
There are quite a few reasons why my India is incredible. These are a few reasons why I am still in love with her. Presenting a few shots clicked at Bhimtaal, by an extremely talented colleague.
Bhimtaal, 22 km from Nainitaal, is the largest of the area’s lakes. The lake has mythical connections -- it is named after the legendary hero Bhim, one of the five Pandava brothers, of the Hindu epic, the Mahabharat. It is believed that Bhim (who was renowned for his strength) dug this lake out of the earth to quench the thirst of his four brothers and their wife, Draupadi.
I wonder if their thirst was ever quenched. I took off to the hills the night I left my job. I was probably trying to quench a thirst within me. I don't know. Came back to madness. Went back to the hills once again, in search of my "recovery button". I returned satiated with mountain air and with the realisation that I have no such button. That was a myth. And my thirst? Probably the mist should quench it.
My sincere thanks to http://www.igougo.com/ for the information about Bhimtaal.
My sincere thanks to Ankur Agarwal for the lovely snapshots.
Update: I am back after a tiny break.
Friday, March 10, 2006
Fare Thee Well
I am sitting amidst a lot of chaos at the moment. I am trying to pin down the chaos in the form of words. I am rambling. This is an excerpt from a mail I wrote to a few of my gems.
I deleted almost everything on this computer. Old mails, favorite songs, and photographs. I wrote goodbye mails to the few friends I made. I made a mental note to call up my boss, who is on leave, tonight. I collected the relieving letter. I felt guilty of a couple of professional white lies I told this morning.
I went to the library upstairs and took in the musty odor. The librarian was missing. I left the membership card with her assistant. I took a cup of coffee and went outside. Its raining. Funny weather for March. I made a call to V. Told him a light anecdote from work. I text messaged R.
I cleared my desk. I handed over now-irrelevant data to the rest of the team. I smiled at the fake bye-byes that were told. I have prepared a draft of a fake bye-bye I will be telling them. I will shoot the mail at four-thirty. Not leaving much time for them to react and reply.
I took out all the colorful flowers and suns and moons that my niece had made for decorating my office space. I tore off the nametag on my seat, while my co-cubby looked on. She is too new to miss me. I am too old to remember her. I gave her some of the colorful stuff for keepsakes. I wished for a few of the old people to be around. Just so that I can say a REAL goodbye.
Life is Beautiful.
***
I can hear Hindi songs from the seventies blaring in the background. There is someone else who is playing Vivaldi and Mozart. Yet another is adjusting the volume of Beyonce's music. I remembered Beyonce and her barely there bead-outfit.
I deleted almost everything on this computer. Old mails, favorite songs, and photographs. I wrote goodbye mails to the few friends I made. I made a mental note to call up my boss, who is on leave, tonight. I collected the relieving letter. I felt guilty of a couple of professional white lies I told this morning.
I went to the library upstairs and took in the musty odor. The librarian was missing. I left the membership card with her assistant. I took a cup of coffee and went outside. Its raining. Funny weather for March. I made a call to V. Told him a light anecdote from work. I text messaged R.
I cleared my desk. I handed over now-irrelevant data to the rest of the team. I smiled at the fake bye-byes that were told. I have prepared a draft of a fake bye-bye I will be telling them. I will shoot the mail at four-thirty. Not leaving much time for them to react and reply.
I took out all the colorful flowers and suns and moons that my niece had made for decorating my office space. I tore off the nametag on my seat, while my co-cubby looked on. She is too new to miss me. I am too old to remember her. I gave her some of the colorful stuff for keepsakes. I wished for a few of the old people to be around. Just so that I can say a REAL goodbye.
***
I am killing time on my last working day, in my first REAL job.Life is Beautiful.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Mango Monologues
The narrow road was deserted. Not a single soul in sight. We had to squint our eyes when we looked out at the front yard. Everything looked golden. Then, when your eyes adjusted to the glare of the noon sun, you saw the greens and the reds and the violets. Mostly greens. The red earth contrasted with the foliage. Violet flowers exploded out of the greens.
He sat listlessly on the veranda. Plump hands propped on elbows, supported atop a pair of podgy knees. They were bare because he was wearing shorts that rode up when he sat. His hair fell across his forehead and his plump fingers covered his cheeks. His eyes shone of five–year–old innocence. They were half-open, half-closed. He was drowsy but he would not nap.
She played with some dry twigs, not so far away. Her curly hair fell all over her face as she buried her face deep into her bundle of leaves and twigs. Her mouth was half open in absent-minded concentration. Her body language was anything but lethargic. She rared to run around in the lawn for a good measure of time. Her tiny slippers were tossed about. She sat barefoot, revealing orange heels.
I sat watching the coconut trees sway in the April breeze. If it were night, I would have been scared for sure. The cement felt cool beneath me. To take advantage of it, I extended my crossed legs, making an ‘L’ with my back against the wall. My pink skirt had a life of its own and I battled with it, while ‘Nimmi’, the pet cat, napped on my lap.
THUD.
We three ran towards the mango tree. A frantic search for the freshly fallen mango began. Nimmi, irritated and jolted, joined us. We found broken glass bangles. We found tiny coconuts that fell off much before it grew. We found a rusty old knife. We found an old wallet. We even found an abandoned snakeskin. Rustling in the dried leaves, we searched for the fallen booty. But the search party had to abort their mission.
“Monae! Moley!” Valyamma was calling out for us. He groaned that he didn’t want to nap. This he said with his eyes drooping heavy with sleep. She ran away with panther pace. I had found the mango. Succulent and ripe. Enticing and delicious. I picked it up only to find one side of the fruit intact. The other side of the mango was eaten away by some crow. Fleshy pulp exposed. Stony seed revealed. I threw it away and walked off with the glass bangle pieces.
Nimmi and I resumed our earlier position on the cement floor, waiting for the next thud. The other two were being put off to a reluctant, yet much-needed, afternoon nap.
*Valyamma = Paternal Aunt
He sat listlessly on the veranda. Plump hands propped on elbows, supported atop a pair of podgy knees. They were bare because he was wearing shorts that rode up when he sat. His hair fell across his forehead and his plump fingers covered his cheeks. His eyes shone of five–year–old innocence. They were half-open, half-closed. He was drowsy but he would not nap.
She played with some dry twigs, not so far away. Her curly hair fell all over her face as she buried her face deep into her bundle of leaves and twigs. Her mouth was half open in absent-minded concentration. Her body language was anything but lethargic. She rared to run around in the lawn for a good measure of time. Her tiny slippers were tossed about. She sat barefoot, revealing orange heels.
I sat watching the coconut trees sway in the April breeze. If it were night, I would have been scared for sure. The cement felt cool beneath me. To take advantage of it, I extended my crossed legs, making an ‘L’ with my back against the wall. My pink skirt had a life of its own and I battled with it, while ‘Nimmi’, the pet cat, napped on my lap.
THUD.
We three ran towards the mango tree. A frantic search for the freshly fallen mango began. Nimmi, irritated and jolted, joined us. We found broken glass bangles. We found tiny coconuts that fell off much before it grew. We found a rusty old knife. We found an old wallet. We even found an abandoned snakeskin. Rustling in the dried leaves, we searched for the fallen booty. But the search party had to abort their mission.
“Monae! Moley!” Valyamma was calling out for us. He groaned that he didn’t want to nap. This he said with his eyes drooping heavy with sleep. She ran away with panther pace. I had found the mango. Succulent and ripe. Enticing and delicious. I picked it up only to find one side of the fruit intact. The other side of the mango was eaten away by some crow. Fleshy pulp exposed. Stony seed revealed. I threw it away and walked off with the glass bangle pieces.
Nimmi and I resumed our earlier position on the cement floor, waiting for the next thud. The other two were being put off to a reluctant, yet much-needed, afternoon nap.
*Valyamma = Paternal Aunt
Friday, February 24, 2006
Admittedly Highly Unoriginal
THINGS YOU WOULD NEVER KNOW WITHOUT THE MOVIES
- During all police investigations, it will be necessary to visit a strip club at least once.
- When they are alone, all foreigners prefer to speak English to each other.
- If being chased through town, you can usually take cover in a passing St. Patrick's Day parade - at any time of year.
- All beds have special L-shaped cover sheets which reach up to the armpit level on a woman but only to the waist level on the man lying beside her.
- The Chief of Police will almost always suspend his star detective - or give him 48 hours to finish the job.
- All grocery bags contain at least one stick of French Bread.
- It's easy for anyone to land a plane providing there is someone to talk you down.
- The ventilation system of any building is the perfect hiding place - noone will ever think of looking for you in there and you can travel to any other part of the building undetected.
- Police departments give their officers personality tests to make sure they are deliberately assigned to a partner who is their polar opposite.
- The Eiffel Tower can be seen from any window in Paris.
- All bombs are fitted with electronic timing devices with large red readouts so you know exactly when they are going to go off.
- If you need to reload your gun, you will always have more ammunition, even if you haven't been carrying any before now.
- You are very likely to survive any battle in any war unless you make the mistake of showing someone a picture of your sweetheart back home.
- Should you wish to pass yourself off as a German officer, it will not be necessary to speak the language - a German accent will do.
- If your town is threatened by an imminent natural disaster or killer beast, the mayor's first concern will be the tourist trade or his forthcoming art exhibition.
- A man will show no pain while taking the most ferocious beating but will wince when a woman tries to clean his wounds.
- When paying for a taxi, don't look at your wallet as you take out a bill - just grab one at random and hand it over. It will always be the exact fare.
- Kitchens don't have light switches. When entering a kitchen at night, you should open the fridge door and use that light instead.
- If staying in a haunted house, women should investigate any strange noises in their most revealing underwear.
- Mothers routinely cook eggs, bacon and waffles for their family every morning even though their husband and children never have time to eat it.
- Cars that crash will almost always burst into flames.
- All telephone numbers in America begin with the digits 555.
- A single match will be sufficient to light up a room the size of RFK stadium.
- Medieval peasants had perfect teeth.
- Any person waking from a nightmare will sit bolt upright and pant.
- It is not necessary to hello or goodbye when beginning or ending phone conversations.
- Even when driving down a perfectly straight road, it is necessary to turn the wheel vigorously from left to right every few moments.
- It is always possible to park directly outside the building you are visiting.
- A detective can only solve a case once he has been suspended from duty.
- It does not matter if you are heavily outnumbered in a fight involving martial arts - your enemies will patiently attack you one by one by dancing around in a threatening manner until you have knocked out their predecessors.
- When a person is knocked unconscious by a blow to the head, they will never suffer a concussion or brain damage.
- No-one ever involved in a car chase, hijacking, explosion, volcanic eruption or alien invasion will ever go into shock.
- Once applied, lipstick will never rub off - even while scuba diving.
- You can always find a chainsaw when you need one.
- Any lock can be picked by a credit card or a paper clip in seconds - unless it's the door to a burning building with a child trapped inside.
- Television news bulletins usually contain a story that affects you personally at the precise moment that it is aired.
It's not original one bit but I couldnt help pasting this here. It gave me my much required laughs for the day! Do I hear a few voices of dissent?!
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Pilgrims Progress
You are free to bob up and down. You look straight ahead and you see the azure of the sky. Limbs splayed, water pressing against your eardrums, breath slower. You make a ‘Vitruvian Man’ on the water surface. You are free to feel the water rush into you as sheer white foam. You feel the cold and the warm all at once. You imagine doing a hundred million things in this state. It is a fantastic feeling. It’s a beautiful feeling. The feeling of letting go. Nothing is there to hinder your movement. You should float down Ganga at least once.
Ever so refreshed in life, but tired in body, they rested. From the serenity of the hills, they returned back to everyday insanity. Hairpin after hairpin, the vehicle twisted and writhed. At every curve, there lay an unexpected obstacle. In a slight daze, the world was just waking up to the bright morning in the hills. The vehicle was about to begin yet another ascent. A glance at the side-view mirror revealed the weary souls who were asleep. Brows creased as a result of uncomfortable sleeping positions, some slouched, some heads nodding, some fixed, while others leaned on fellow travelers like a pack of cards under a domino spell.
The radio song pried into the morning silence and the monotonous engine roar. It pierced through the white noise and woke them up, one by one. Some were persistent and continued to sleep. Others rubbed the creases on their skins, a result of crushing into limited car space and napping. Wooden flute that was apt for an oriental morning scene. No one spoke as though in reverence for the prelude...
Green. Green. Brilliant bursting green. The foliage boasted of life and fertility.
Blue. Blue. Tinges of an azure. The sky welcomed a new morn.
White. White. Foamy White. Ganga gurgled in recognition.
Tiny. Insignificant. Awed. You look at the world and sigh in pleasure.
Like a faithful pilgrim, you promise to return.
Then turn around, and walk into madness.
Ever so refreshed in life, but tired in body, they rested. From the serenity of the hills, they returned back to everyday insanity. Hairpin after hairpin, the vehicle twisted and writhed. At every curve, there lay an unexpected obstacle. In a slight daze, the world was just waking up to the bright morning in the hills. The vehicle was about to begin yet another ascent. A glance at the side-view mirror revealed the weary souls who were asleep. Brows creased as a result of uncomfortable sleeping positions, some slouched, some heads nodding, some fixed, while others leaned on fellow travelers like a pack of cards under a domino spell.
The radio song pried into the morning silence and the monotonous engine roar. It pierced through the white noise and woke them up, one by one. Some were persistent and continued to sleep. Others rubbed the creases on their skins, a result of crushing into limited car space and napping. Wooden flute that was apt for an oriental morning scene. No one spoke as though in reverence for the prelude...
Green. Green. Brilliant bursting green. The foliage boasted of life and fertility.
Blue. Blue. Tinges of an azure. The sky welcomed a new morn.
White. White. Foamy White. Ganga gurgled in recognition.
Tiny. Insignificant. Awed. You look at the world and sigh in pleasure.
Like a faithful pilgrim, you promise to return.
Then turn around, and walk into madness.
Friday, February 17, 2006
River Song
“To be like a river that flows
silent through the night,
not fearing the darkness and
reflecting any stars high in the sky.
And if the sky is filled with clouds,
the clouds are water like the river, so
without remorse reflect them too
in the calm deep.”
Brazilian poet, Manuel Bandeira
Monday, February 13, 2006
Ramblings
Sometimes, I go to this place to indulge myself. Where things happen only how you want it to. Where there is that pace for the world to go by. Where everything is painted in only hues you love. Where you are running free. Wind in your hair, kissing your smile. Where there are strains of your songs floating about. Where colours mingle with each other into a heady mix. Where nothing is spoken, lest it disturbs the tranquility. Where everything is understood without making efforts. Where you can lie down on sand and let water wash over you. Where nothing ugly is retained. Where not a frown wrinkles your brows. Where fresh lime, vanilla and wet earth fills your olfactory senses. Where yellow and lilac flowers are all you see from end to end. Where your feet feel light and you soar without wings. Where nothing unpleasant ever haunts you. Where you are what beauty ever meant.
Being lost in thoughts is such a beautiful state of mind.
Being lost in thoughts is such a beautiful state of mind.
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Wide Open Spaces
Edit: [[As I write this (which seems more like a journal entry), I am not sure if I will post it. It seems way too personal…]]
Boogley asks, "how many best friends do you have?" I did not have a definitive answer. But a couple of faces flashed in front of my eyes. The images then dwindled and settled. One flickered, dimmed and then shone out bright…
Meeting him was almost by chance. In a crowded church lawn standing with two other guys away from the socializing youngsters. I walked up to them and introduced myself and asked them to join the group. Apart from a social obligation it was also deemed as my duty at that time. I am not sure what he said, I am not sure of what my reply was or I don’t even remember what our first conversation was like.
But what I do remember are the many, many, many times when we sought out for each other and to our delight and relief found us. I don’t know what it is that I like about it. Probably his sincerity. Probably his way of letting me know that I am sane. Probably his way of giving space and yet being together. Probably I would never be able to zero in on the list of reasons why I like him. He is hardly the kind that indulge in flattery (which I oh so love!) In fact, he calls a spade a spade, and never minces words when it comes to criticism. (I can quote the latest chat we had about a movie, for this one!)
There was this one moment I will take to my grave. We were helping out in making costumes for a choreography competition. We sat there in the veranda, with bloody-thirsty mosquitoes feasting on him (mosquitoes don’t ever spare him), making adjustments to the costumes as per the choreographer’s requirements. She peeped out of the dance room and checked on us occasionally. He and I have two left feet each. We can’t dance for two pence! So, there we sat making those costumes, not uttering a word, listening to strains of Yanni floating in from the dance room. And at the end of it all, it was as though we had just had a fulfilling conversation. Nothing special about the evening, but everything was special about being there with him at the moment, in silence.
There were long walks we took, sun, rain, dust or wind. I don’t know what all we spoke of. But, there was always more left to say. Sometimes, the wisdom he imparted made me feel he was four decades older than me and not just four months. But there were other moments when I felt he was just a frightened four-year-old. Many sunsets and dusks gave way to nights, while we sat wide-eyes on our park bench, watching a lone kid swing nearby. He would talk of Spartan philosophy or about a potboiler with the same ease. That park bench bore witness to our shares of joys and pains. We have laughed and cried like babies together on that bench. I have sat there on some days, alone, not expecting him to be there, but just to search for a moment I had spent here. The whimsical ‘fairytale’ person within me would love to say that we have a ‘connection’ or that our ‘wavelengths match’. Let’s just say I like to think of him as my second skin, my alter ego. We don’t come from the same background. Our pasts are so different, and yet to find someone with whom you can share every thought that crosses your mind. Well, that’s comfort level, for you.
It sure did feel like I knew him for a lifetime. It still feels like he is here to stay. We seem to be together like forever. Let there be spaces in your togetherness? This line did not make much sense to me for quite a while. Space in togetherness? Quite an abstract thought! How would you love and yet let go? How can you love and yet leave?How can you stay together and yet apart? He has taught me this.
There were painful pangs of separation. There were moments when I collapsed on the spot where I had stood talking to him. There were moments when a hug seemed awkward to pass on to each other. There were times when the only thought I had was to run away and escape into obscurity. He held me then. And yet when I had to fly away, or when I rejoiced, he would delight with me. With me in my joys, but leaving me just enough space to savor it alone. He looks out for me. He has been more than what you could ask for, in a friend.
Boogley asks, "how many best friends do you have?" I did not have a definitive answer. But a couple of faces flashed in front of my eyes. The images then dwindled and settled. One flickered, dimmed and then shone out bright…
Meeting him was almost by chance. In a crowded church lawn standing with two other guys away from the socializing youngsters. I walked up to them and introduced myself and asked them to join the group. Apart from a social obligation it was also deemed as my duty at that time. I am not sure what he said, I am not sure of what my reply was or I don’t even remember what our first conversation was like.
But what I do remember are the many, many, many times when we sought out for each other and to our delight and relief found us. I don’t know what it is that I like about it. Probably his sincerity. Probably his way of letting me know that I am sane. Probably his way of giving space and yet being together. Probably I would never be able to zero in on the list of reasons why I like him. He is hardly the kind that indulge in flattery (which I oh so love!) In fact, he calls a spade a spade, and never minces words when it comes to criticism. (I can quote the latest chat we had about a movie, for this one!)
There was this one moment I will take to my grave. We were helping out in making costumes for a choreography competition. We sat there in the veranda, with bloody-thirsty mosquitoes feasting on him (mosquitoes don’t ever spare him), making adjustments to the costumes as per the choreographer’s requirements. She peeped out of the dance room and checked on us occasionally. He and I have two left feet each. We can’t dance for two pence! So, there we sat making those costumes, not uttering a word, listening to strains of Yanni floating in from the dance room. And at the end of it all, it was as though we had just had a fulfilling conversation. Nothing special about the evening, but everything was special about being there with him at the moment, in silence.
There were long walks we took, sun, rain, dust or wind. I don’t know what all we spoke of. But, there was always more left to say. Sometimes, the wisdom he imparted made me feel he was four decades older than me and not just four months. But there were other moments when I felt he was just a frightened four-year-old. Many sunsets and dusks gave way to nights, while we sat wide-eyes on our park bench, watching a lone kid swing nearby. He would talk of Spartan philosophy or about a potboiler with the same ease. That park bench bore witness to our shares of joys and pains. We have laughed and cried like babies together on that bench. I have sat there on some days, alone, not expecting him to be there, but just to search for a moment I had spent here. The whimsical ‘fairytale’ person within me would love to say that we have a ‘connection’ or that our ‘wavelengths match’. Let’s just say I like to think of him as my second skin, my alter ego. We don’t come from the same background. Our pasts are so different, and yet to find someone with whom you can share every thought that crosses your mind. Well, that’s comfort level, for you.
You were born together; and together you shall be for evermore.
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
You shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of the lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts but not into each other's keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
It sure did feel like I knew him for a lifetime. It still feels like he is here to stay. We seem to be together like forever. Let there be spaces in your togetherness? This line did not make much sense to me for quite a while. Space in togetherness? Quite an abstract thought! How would you love and yet let go? How can you love and yet leave?How can you stay together and yet apart? He has taught me this.
There were painful pangs of separation. There were moments when I collapsed on the spot where I had stood talking to him. There were moments when a hug seemed awkward to pass on to each other. There were times when the only thought I had was to run away and escape into obscurity. He held me then. And yet when I had to fly away, or when I rejoiced, he would delight with me. With me in my joys, but leaving me just enough space to savor it alone. He looks out for me. He has been more than what you could ask for, in a friend.
And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.
As the years went by, our friendship has changed hues. We don’t meet just as often thanks to the task we have to oblige Life with. But he is in my prayers every single day, just the way he keeps me in his. The walks have dwindled because I don’t live just as close. We don’t meet just as often in church either. Our common set of friends has drastically reduced (but that choreographer is very much there!). But we are growing together. Yet apart, away from each other’s shadows.
Note:
* He has crossed a milestone in his life, a few days ago. He is once again the frightened four-year-old. If he is reading this entry (which is highly unlikely), I want him to know that I have thoroughly enjoyed the journey that we made together. So far, so… awesome! I Love You.
** The verses quoted are from Kahlil Gibran’s Prophet.
Monday, January 30, 2006
ACCEPTANCE
I accept myself completely.
I accept my strengths and my weaknesses,
I accept my strengths and my weaknesses,
my gifts and my shortcomings, my good points and my faults.
I accept myself completely as a human being.
I accept that I am here to learn and grow,
and I accept that I am learning and growing.
I accept the personality I've developed,
and I accept my power to heal and change.
I accept myself without condition or reservation.
I accept that the core of my being is goodness and that my essence is love,
and I accept that I sometimes forget that.
I accept myself completely,
I accept myself completely,
and in this acceptance I find an ever-deepening inner strength.
From this place of strength,
I accept my life fully and I open to the lessons it offers me today.
I accept that within my mind are both fear and love,
and I accept my power to choose which I will experience as real.
I recognize that I experience only the results of my own choices.
I accept the times that I choose fear as part of my learning and healing process,
and I accept that I have the potential and power in any moment to choose love instead.
I accept mistakes as part of my growth,
I accept mistakes as part of my growth,
so I am always willing to forgive myself and give myself another chance.
I accept that my life is the expression of my thought,
and I commit myself to aligning my thoughts more and more each day with the thought of love.
I accept that I am an expression of this love.
** This is one of my personal favourite prayers**
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Ego Trip
.... So, the ego got the better of me. I just realized that these are the ones that came out in print!
WHAT SAM SIR TAUGHT ME
MILAN DAYS
Of Rains and Pains
MISSION: CRE8TIV WRITING
ARABIAN CHRISTMAS
New Year Revelations
Coming soon, in print...
The Meeting
Must say that most of my favourites lie here, in this blog space. Wait for the book!
:o)
WHAT SAM SIR TAUGHT ME
MILAN DAYS
Of Rains and Pains
MISSION: CRE8TIV WRITING
ARABIAN CHRISTMAS
New Year Revelations
Coming soon, in print...
The Meeting
Must say that most of my favourites lie here, in this blog space. Wait for the book!
:o)
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Hair today...
I love poetry. But I can’t write a decent one.
Sam sir simply refused to believe that not all his students were capable of rhyming and using rhythm and making sense all at once. So, as a part of his assignment, I HAD to pen one. I was fifteen and back then, for me, the coolest way to write (or express myself) was (trying) to be funny.
Sat up all night trying to write down something. That’s when I heard Ma telling Pa about something that happened at work. So, I bit my lip and went down to work. I crippled that story into a poem. Here's the poem Sam sir squeezed out of me…
Sam sir simply refused to believe that not all his students were capable of rhyming and using rhythm and making sense all at once. So, as a part of his assignment, I HAD to pen one. I was fifteen and back then, for me, the coolest way to write (or express myself) was (trying) to be funny.
Sat up all night trying to write down something. That’s when I heard Ma telling Pa about something that happened at work. So, I bit my lip and went down to work. I crippled that story into a poem. Here's the poem Sam sir squeezed out of me…
Once upon a time, a nurse,
Found being new, a real curse.
She didn’t know Arabic one bit,
All she knew was ‘juloos’ is sit!
On the first day in her ward,
She found instructions on a card.
There came a man in funny pants,
Holding a suitcase in his hands.
There he was as big as a bear,
And a long white coat he did wear.
“Good Morning Doc, May I help thee?”
“I am new around here, you see…”
He answered with a huge big smile,
That was almost as long as one mile.
He stood there for a minute or so,
Lifeless, as a dead Dodo.
Does he speak English or Spanish?
Is he Swedish or maybe Danish?
Thinking thus, she just stood there,
Staring at the Great Big Bear.
He placed his suitcase on a stand,
And out came mirrors in his hand!
Razors, combs, and safety pins,
Wigs, scissors and powder tins!
What she saw, almost struck her,
Found being new, a real curse.
She didn’t know Arabic one bit,
All she knew was ‘juloos’ is sit!
On the first day in her ward,
She found instructions on a card.
There came a man in funny pants,
Holding a suitcase in his hands.
There he was as big as a bear,
And a long white coat he did wear.
“Good Morning Doc, May I help thee?”
“I am new around here, you see…”
He answered with a huge big smile,
That was almost as long as one mile.
He stood there for a minute or so,
Lifeless, as a dead Dodo.
Does he speak English or Spanish?
Is he Swedish or maybe Danish?
Thinking thus, she just stood there,
Staring at the Great Big Bear.
He placed his suitcase on a stand,
And out came mirrors in his hand!
Razors, combs, and safety pins,
Wigs, scissors and powder tins!
What she saw, almost struck her,
The Bear, he was, ICU’s barber!!
[[10th Sept 1996]]
Ok, so I suck at writing poetry! Laugh all you want.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Blur
Hair gathered in a dirty, unkempt bun, oily-faced, traces of leftover kohl in her sleep-deprived eyes, lip-balmed mouth, sleeves of the tee rolled up to her armpits, dirty jeans folded to a little above the ankles, floaters strewn somewhere beneath the berth, she sat cross-legged, facing the window. Steam whiffed into her face, leaving miniscule droplets of perspiration on the rind of her upper lip. Traces of the strong Indian tea she was sipping mingled with the sweat. She watched the trees and landscape run by as she adjusted the Walkman’s earphones. The Pakistani rocker crooned only for her. Percussions tried to rule the song. She wasn’t listening to the lyrics. But she knew it was something about a mermaid and her lover.
The sun was kind. No one seemed to shade their eyes from it. There were clouds. There were huge patches of shadows cast from the clouds, on the lush green fields of God-only-knows-what. Black soil wherever green failed to catch up. Tiny watering holes catering to cattle. She was watching rural Maharashtra early in the day. It was an effort to avoid socializing with her co-passengers of three days. Right now, all she wanted to do was to listen to the mermaid song, watch the landscape, and feel the rumble of the train engine.
Traveling in a non-AC coach had a sense of freedom to it. The urchins were free to drag themselves across your berth. The vendors were free to barge into your privacy handing you a C-grade magazine. The co-passengers were free to watch you while you slept, read, spoke. The wind was free to play on your face. Everybody was free to do whatever they want! To restrict yourself to your own world in such a seemingly anarchical world seemed like an impossible task. And she had easily achieved it. However, there was also a benumbing quality about train journeys. Especially while passing through dark clammy tunnels. She found the comfort of a mother’s womb when smoke filled the compartment and when all she could hear was the moans and sighs of the engine.
A few more hours and she would be getting off at a station platform, where she barely knew anyone. It was supposed to be a short vacation. She was temporarily running away from people. But running away from thoughts would be so difficult. Thoughts would shuttle in and out of her mind interspersed with sleazy magazine snippets, the urchin’s tired song, or the shoeshine boy’s bare eyes. Emptying the teacup, switching off the music, wiping her eyes, ignoring the wind on her face, she got up to go for a short walk down the steely compartment.
A man already stood there at the doorway, looking out. She could only see his back. Jeans, pale orange kurta, very many wooden beads strung around his neck, a sorry excuse for a scrawny ponytail. His left hand in pocket, the other supporting him against the door, he stood, forming an inverted ‘V’ with his legs. Company. She groaned her disinterest in human contact. She caught her reflection in the grimy mirror near the entrance. God-awful. She wished she could just fade into the surroundings. To look presentable, she tidied her hair and leaning against the metal, feeling the cold seep into her, through recently formed goose bumps, she check her reflection on the mirror again. From where she stood now, she could see his face. Clean-shaven, cleft chin, traces of dimples that would have made cameo appearances if he smiled. This is probably what Gautam would look like, now. She thought, trying to conjure up the image of a grown-up Gautam. Just a vague faraway thought.
Gautam, who loved rough and tumble games. Gautam, who ran for the school team. Gautam, who broke more than just a couple of hearts. Gautam, whom I worked on my summer projects with. Gautam, who waited for me at hallways shyly. Gautam, whom I secretly liked a lot too. Gautam, whom I didn’t have the courage to face. Gautam, who would have become someone much more significant had he only confessed. Gautam, whom I was sure I liked. Gautam, who became a faded memory when I left high school.
For a minute, she seriously contemplated asking the kurta-clad man if he was related to anyone named Gautam, but decided against it. He would laugh at me, she discouraged her impulsiveness. He was watching her now. He was not staring intrusively, but, on the contrary, she could feel that he welcomed her presence. Before she got comfortable, she decided to go back to her window seat. After all, she was trying to shut out every decibel of noise from outside herself. And meeting new people was the last thing on her mind.
The sun was kind. No one seemed to shade their eyes from it. There were clouds. There were huge patches of shadows cast from the clouds, on the lush green fields of God-only-knows-what. Black soil wherever green failed to catch up. Tiny watering holes catering to cattle. She was watching rural Maharashtra early in the day. It was an effort to avoid socializing with her co-passengers of three days. Right now, all she wanted to do was to listen to the mermaid song, watch the landscape, and feel the rumble of the train engine.
Traveling in a non-AC coach had a sense of freedom to it. The urchins were free to drag themselves across your berth. The vendors were free to barge into your privacy handing you a C-grade magazine. The co-passengers were free to watch you while you slept, read, spoke. The wind was free to play on your face. Everybody was free to do whatever they want! To restrict yourself to your own world in such a seemingly anarchical world seemed like an impossible task. And she had easily achieved it. However, there was also a benumbing quality about train journeys. Especially while passing through dark clammy tunnels. She found the comfort of a mother’s womb when smoke filled the compartment and when all she could hear was the moans and sighs of the engine.
A few more hours and she would be getting off at a station platform, where she barely knew anyone. It was supposed to be a short vacation. She was temporarily running away from people. But running away from thoughts would be so difficult. Thoughts would shuttle in and out of her mind interspersed with sleazy magazine snippets, the urchin’s tired song, or the shoeshine boy’s bare eyes. Emptying the teacup, switching off the music, wiping her eyes, ignoring the wind on her face, she got up to go for a short walk down the steely compartment.
A man already stood there at the doorway, looking out. She could only see his back. Jeans, pale orange kurta, very many wooden beads strung around his neck, a sorry excuse for a scrawny ponytail. His left hand in pocket, the other supporting him against the door, he stood, forming an inverted ‘V’ with his legs. Company. She groaned her disinterest in human contact. She caught her reflection in the grimy mirror near the entrance. God-awful. She wished she could just fade into the surroundings. To look presentable, she tidied her hair and leaning against the metal, feeling the cold seep into her, through recently formed goose bumps, she check her reflection on the mirror again. From where she stood now, she could see his face. Clean-shaven, cleft chin, traces of dimples that would have made cameo appearances if he smiled. This is probably what Gautam would look like, now. She thought, trying to conjure up the image of a grown-up Gautam. Just a vague faraway thought.
Gautam, who loved rough and tumble games. Gautam, who ran for the school team. Gautam, who broke more than just a couple of hearts. Gautam, whom I worked on my summer projects with. Gautam, who waited for me at hallways shyly. Gautam, whom I secretly liked a lot too. Gautam, whom I didn’t have the courage to face. Gautam, who would have become someone much more significant had he only confessed. Gautam, whom I was sure I liked. Gautam, who became a faded memory when I left high school.
For a minute, she seriously contemplated asking the kurta-clad man if he was related to anyone named Gautam, but decided against it. He would laugh at me, she discouraged her impulsiveness. He was watching her now. He was not staring intrusively, but, on the contrary, she could feel that he welcomed her presence. Before she got comfortable, she decided to go back to her window seat. After all, she was trying to shut out every decibel of noise from outside herself. And meeting new people was the last thing on her mind.
* * *
His eyes followed her while she went back to her seat. And while he taxed his memory, Gautam swore that he had seen her somewhere.
Monday, January 16, 2006
New Year Revelations
Twilight darkened to welcome the dark of the night. The group got together and set up the tiny planks of firewood they had collected during the day. One of them poured kerosene on top of the piled up wood. Another lit it. One flame caught on to the wood and grew into a nice warm fire. They huddled around it and made themselves comfortable.
This was supposed to be the coolest way to welcome a new year, they unanimously agreed. With Christmas just over and with the exhaustion from carol singing and card selling sessions, they were quick to settle down and make themselves comfortable. They were a group of youngsters. Responsible. Effervescent. Aware. “What are the resolutions that you intend to make for the coming year?” munching on chips, one of them volunteered to start a conversation. An opener to shatter the existent silence.
He fumbled. World peace, work for more greenery, I need better faith. Oh, whom am I kidding, he thought. New bike, non-smoking days, better MP3 player, lesser booze, and an awesome ipod. This is going to be my year, he thought.
She spoke. Lesser pollution, work for an NGO, sponsor a child. Oh, whom am I kidding, she thought. More clothes, lesser gossip, a better cellular phone, a new job, and a more meaningful relationship. This is going to be my year, she thought.
Mighty words were exchanged during the discussion. The world needs to be a better place to live in. At least for the sake of our future generations. They reasoned. They contemplated. They supported all the right causes. Words of appreciation and pats on the backs were exchanged for the noble intentions that were made vocalized around the bonfire. The place was transformed into yet another battlefield of virtues and vices.
Come next sunrise, life is going to be just the same. How can I change the world in a night? Those stuff are meant for movie scripts! Munch chips. Enjoy the warm fire. Listen to the chatter. Watch the sunrise. Go home. Live your life.
The countdown began. They hugged and wished each other luck. They danced till their feet gave up. At dawn, orange spears pierced the dark sky. They watched the transformation of dark hues into azure while birds were disturbed. They welcomed the brand new morning with much fanfare.
Happy New Year, 2006.
How many lies will you tell yourself, this time?
Post Script: This was an article I wrote for a Youth Column, for a private circulation, in church. Came to know that it came in print this month...
This was supposed to be the coolest way to welcome a new year, they unanimously agreed. With Christmas just over and with the exhaustion from carol singing and card selling sessions, they were quick to settle down and make themselves comfortable. They were a group of youngsters. Responsible. Effervescent. Aware. “What are the resolutions that you intend to make for the coming year?” munching on chips, one of them volunteered to start a conversation. An opener to shatter the existent silence.
He fumbled. World peace, work for more greenery, I need better faith. Oh, whom am I kidding, he thought. New bike, non-smoking days, better MP3 player, lesser booze, and an awesome ipod. This is going to be my year, he thought.
She spoke. Lesser pollution, work for an NGO, sponsor a child. Oh, whom am I kidding, she thought. More clothes, lesser gossip, a better cellular phone, a new job, and a more meaningful relationship. This is going to be my year, she thought.
Mighty words were exchanged during the discussion. The world needs to be a better place to live in. At least for the sake of our future generations. They reasoned. They contemplated. They supported all the right causes. Words of appreciation and pats on the backs were exchanged for the noble intentions that were made vocalized around the bonfire. The place was transformed into yet another battlefield of virtues and vices.
Come next sunrise, life is going to be just the same. How can I change the world in a night? Those stuff are meant for movie scripts! Munch chips. Enjoy the warm fire. Listen to the chatter. Watch the sunrise. Go home. Live your life.
The countdown began. They hugged and wished each other luck. They danced till their feet gave up. At dawn, orange spears pierced the dark sky. They watched the transformation of dark hues into azure while birds were disturbed. They welcomed the brand new morning with much fanfare.
Happy New Year, 2006.
How many lies will you tell yourself, this time?
Post Script: This was an article I wrote for a Youth Column, for a private circulation, in church. Came to know that it came in print this month...
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Three Borrowed Lines
-- From an old forward a friend passed on. I liked these lines.I love you not for whom you are, but who I am when I'm by your
side.No person deserves your tears, and who deserves them won't
make you cry.The worst way to miss someone is to be seated by his/her side
and know you'll never have him/her.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Coffee in the Cubi
Leaning forward to place the cup on the mat proved to be quite a feat. Well, it sure will be, if you have your earphones limiting the extent to which you can stretch. While I tried to resume my work, tapping my foot to Alanis Morrissette, she came over and plopped herself on the seat next to me. I pretended not to notice her. She was not to give up that easily.
Flouting workplace decorum, she sat atop my desk, cross-legged, hands propped on their elbows-on-knees-pose, piping hot coffee warming her palms. Lime-green salwar kameez that was stiff with delicate smelling starch. She wore her slightly damp hair loose, gathered in a miniscule hairclip that was looking hapless in a jungle of raw curls. Heavily kohled, dark expressive eyes. High cheekbones, and a body most men would drool over. She was a sensuous South Indian beauty, awrite.
I had to give up. I took off the earphones, refilled my cup, faced her and smiled. She directed me to look over my shoulders at the guy sitting in the workstation nearby. I saw him swaying his headphone-clad head wildly to the tune of some song nobody else could hear. I looked back to face her. We smiled over our tacit conversation.
She went back to her seat when we saw a couple of heads popping out of their cubicles…. Like prairie dogs on hind legs.
Flouting workplace decorum, she sat atop my desk, cross-legged, hands propped on their elbows-on-knees-pose, piping hot coffee warming her palms. Lime-green salwar kameez that was stiff with delicate smelling starch. She wore her slightly damp hair loose, gathered in a miniscule hairclip that was looking hapless in a jungle of raw curls. Heavily kohled, dark expressive eyes. High cheekbones, and a body most men would drool over. She was a sensuous South Indian beauty, awrite.
I had to give up. I took off the earphones, refilled my cup, faced her and smiled. She directed me to look over my shoulders at the guy sitting in the workstation nearby. I saw him swaying his headphone-clad head wildly to the tune of some song nobody else could hear. I looked back to face her. We smiled over our tacit conversation.
She went back to her seat when we saw a couple of heads popping out of their cubicles…. Like prairie dogs on hind legs.
Friday, January 06, 2006
Invictus
OUT of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
My Kinda...
OK... so he is...
Funny.
Naughty.
Cute.
Lean and mean.
Stylish.
Wot say?
:-)
Edit:: Funny... A dark sense of humour is more like it
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Looking Back and Forth
Good Things about my 2005:
* Fierce dedication to be more regular in blogging. I did it!
* Traveled quite a bit and roughed it out. Bangalore, Valley, Kerala, and Jaipur.
* Made a lot of new friends and renewed a lot of old friendships. Managed to meet a couple of my schoolmates and some online friends.
Not so Good Things about my 2005:
* Laxity on the managing finances.
* Some friends moved out of town. Now they seem oh-so far off!
* Umm… an unwelcoming expansion of the waistline!
POA for 2006:
* Professional change
* More travel
* Work on personal faith
* Fierce dedication to be more regular in blogging. I did it!
* Traveled quite a bit and roughed it out. Bangalore, Valley, Kerala, and Jaipur.
* Made a lot of new friends and renewed a lot of old friendships. Managed to meet a couple of my schoolmates and some online friends.
Not so Good Things about my 2005:
* Laxity on the managing finances.
* Some friends moved out of town. Now they seem oh-so far off!
* Umm… an unwelcoming expansion of the waistline!
POA for 2006:
* Professional change
* More travel
* Work on personal faith
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)