BREAK KE BAAD!

Took a break.
A COMPLETE Break.
It served the purpose too.
Not too many things like that, happen these days!
But this thing is worth a mention, really.

There are some times in your life, however insignificant you feel it is, when you need a break.
At that point of time, it may not seem to be the ideal thing to do.
Huh!, you think, I am not the one to run away from troubles.
If I do sound like a weakling, I don't blame you for calling me so.
Go ahead. But I know what I am talking about, out here.

I went on a two week holiday. Where? Home.
I went back, building impressions in my mind, about how I would go back to being a kid.
How my parents are gonna pamper me. And how my brother would dote on me.
How I would be able to gte away with being lazy. Oh! There's mom!, You think.
But in the initial days of my vacation, I was grossly dissapointed.
'Its because you have pre conceived notions!', admonished my Buddy.
'It is not!' I shot back. But the minute I uttered those words, I knew the Bud was right.

The effects of the vacation happened, after I returned back to 'the-life-is-so-boring' routine.
I was physically ill most of my vacation. And I wasnt particularly keen to move about, thanks to that.
But once I came back, I found I had a renewed vigour to get back to my life.

And I thanked God for all those small mercies, He keeps sprinkling me with.
I was so glad to see my pals again!
I was so glad to get back to work!
And this euphoria is still lasting.
As though I am on my honeymoon or something.

I smile when the thought of my honeymoon comes to mind.
As an afterthought, Life should be like a honeymoon. something to reminince in the years to come.

I am getting there.
Slow, yet steady.

Go ahead.
Have a break.
See you after the break.

BLOCKED

This is bad!
REAL BAD!
Nothing is coming out of me - I tried to write and I got stuck right here!!!
Read this. See if you can help me continue...
Waaaaaaaa !!!!!
ITS A SEVERE CASE OF WRITER'S BLOCK!!!!
*****
"She wasnt aware of her half smile, her gaze fixed on the melting sun. The Sun in the last moments of dusk was always very close to her heart. It never failed to remind her of a seemingly beautiful past she had. Those memories became crucial to her now.

The Sun blended with the evening sky, with such perfection - something one would only see in a state of unknown beauty -- reality?

Suddenly, aware of where she was, she came out of reverie. The cycle rickshaw hobbled along the lonely, unforgiving road. She was going with a purpose. Today, she had to know. She had to find out ."

*****

Now, I am stuck. I wanna write something nice. Nothing is coming out. I just happen to go through some old stuff I had... Seems like I am ALWAYS doing that! But I was heart broken when I found how much my language had deteriorated.

I used to be this addict of crossword puzzles. It helps. Most of the time, in the bus, in front of the television - anywhere - you would find me with a puzzle, just a few words away from completing it. I had an awesome vocabulary. (I sound like an old toothless tiger talking about his hey-days!)

That habit has worn off. Something that had started when I was eleven, wore off, after another eleven years.
Beautiful little black and white boxes. The contrast looked good when my Pa left none of the boxes empty. It used to catch my eye, even before I had learnt what alphabets are all about. My father was crossword-crazy. (Now you know where THAT comes from! And now, I am just PLAIN crazy!) There was a big tattered dictionary lying in Pa's office. They would be something like an awesome twosome - the dictionary and Pa. Both partners in a mission to solve a grid of black and white squares! Almost sounds comical!

I am drifting away from the topic... Remember that thing I wrote about a female and the Sun?? I was thinking of doing something about it. Then it was about something not related to it at all - CROSSWORDS!
*!!OUCH!!*
It is getting BAD!!

This is the part where you could go ...
*yawn* *yawn*!
SEE??? Now you see what I mean? I am losing it!!
*pulling my hair out*
AAARRRRGGGGHHHHH!!
I think I should give up. For now.
Go on... Check out that other site you were planning to.
I better be off!
OVER and OUT!

WANDERERS and SETTLERS

I rushed to "My Spot". My 'thinking bench'. I have been itching to write since afternoon. But constraints always mar your way.
This piece is just a couple of thoughts. PURELY - a string of real ODD THOTS strung together. Just for thoughts sake, mind you.

Everything has a catalyst. This includes what happened today. a couple of people sparked it off. One is my colleague and college pal. The other person is my 'bestest' -( if I am permitted to break the rules of the English language )- friend. Some conversations with them was all that was needed to set me thinking. Thoughts just flutter about - like butterflies. Today, it settled down on a thought. About people.

I tried to look around and 'see' the people. I could see two types of them. I call them the Wanderers and the Settlers.
I am clearly a Settler. I wouldn't have a problem with a monotonous and sedantary job. A Wanderer would feel asphyxiated. I would have one too many Saturday afternoons just idling away time, listening to endless music and cooking, or reading a book. A Wanderer is weary because he doesn't know what "freetime" is.

Wanderer. Bound by his own harsh rules. He is too much under pressure to reach upto his own very highly set standards. A warrior. A restless soul. Going places. Always. They know they have to go. That they can't stay. He is very much aware of himself and his power. So much so that he fears himself; his mind.

A Settler forgets to use the wings he is given. He looks at the Wanderer with pure admiration and awe. He admires the Wanderer for the courage he takes to use these wings. Despair sets in. The Settler is aware of his limitations.
But a Settler is generally happy. He doesn't see as much as the Wanderer sees, when he looks around. Hence, he has lesser problems to worry about. He would be able to use the gift of humour and make life easier for the Wanderer.

Wanderers. They shut away their thoughts for fear of hurting others. They often conflict thier own thoughts. An everlasting battle goes on in their intense and powerful minds. They live in the surety that there is only one of their kind.
( I beg to differ at this point. They are actually quite a few in number. It is just that they seem to be so unitary in nature, they would give the impression of being alone.)

I cannot classify all the people I know, into just Settlers and Wanderers. There would be another class as well. Only, I don't know who they are, as of now. Are they lost? Are they sure of themselves? Are they happy? Are they sad? I have no clue.

I'd like to dwell on the thoughts about the Wanderer. They are strong in heart and mind. Dragon hearts. Made of Fire. They carry themselves as though they were born to rule and nothing less! Royal and magnificient beings! But they move on. Always. Without fail.
( The Settler realises this often with pain. He falls irrevocably into intense passion, constantly. The Settler has not mastered the skill of letting go.)

The Settler would never fly. He is simply not meant to. Instead, he is firmly footed on hard Earth. He enjoys solitude, but only in limited amounts. Staying solo for long would kill him off - maybe not in the literal sense - but aren't all these thoughts abstract?
It is.

I paused to wonder. What made me, a pure Settler, think in this manner?
I became aware of my surroundings. I am sitting on a park bench. The Sun has sunk in the west, long back. I am being feasted upon by mosquitos. But I came here to write. Call me superstitious if you want. But I felt if I sat HERE, I could write.

My friend has shared a lot with me, sitting here. I just sat here, a little numb, listening to the person speak. I knew I was with a Wanderer. One that soars high. I sat here thinking that soon we would part ways, simply because a Wanderer has to go. Realisation dawned on me. Hard. I was made aware that my path is different. I am a Settler.
Hard luck? As always.

This entry was made on 29th April 2003. 1840-1915 hrs.

* I have more Wanderers for company! The college pal is one. So is the best budd. If my entries seem shockingly similar to the way they speak, I cant really help that! These people do affect the way I think, in a big way. I am still learning new lessons. The course isn't over. Not as yet.

GETTING EVEN WITH ODDS?!

Why are my thoughts odd??
Thats an odd thought in itself.

Let me tell you why -

A friend of mine sent me the link to his blog, over chat and asked me to 'check it out' and tell him what I thought about it.
My fleeting thought - odd thought - was something like this:
" why didnt I have a blog of my own, in the first place? I should be having one because you get your thoughts all out there for people to read. Those who wanna read your thoughts. Hehehe... thought readers - more like reading minds, eh? Why, would that make these people, you know, Clarivoyents?? Not really. Clarivoyents would be more than just that..."
My poor friend didnt really get to know what his blog looks like, to me.

Another odd thought of mine -
Why should this whole thingy be called a BLOG??
My thoughts led off to a discovery in the lines of something like this -
A Blog is a venue to express yourself. To remove all the BLocks while writing. To vent off all the pent up ideas that clOG your flow of thought... in this case, odd thoughts. Aah! Thats how the name must have come about!
BLOCK+ CLOG = BLOG
Not that bad, eh?

Trying to get even with odd thoughts??
No. Never. Its just the way I think.
Odd, aint it?
Neva mind...

Like what the nun in my Catechism class used to tell me.
" You are unique, my child.." And in the same breath she would add, "EVERYONE is unique!"

Now, even THAT isn't odd enough for me.

WHAT SAM SIR TAUGHT ME

Maybe I dont have Writers Block after all!
I thought my receptors were clogged and new ideas just werent seeping in. Thats why, I couldnt write anything new. So what? I could still use my stale, yet recycled for the times, pieces. Besides, I want to see how they look in a web page! :-)
Anyways, I just thought I should put in a little something about Sam sir, my Mentor ever since I came to know of him.

WHAT SAM SIR TAUGHT ME

Bushy black hair, a moustache-beard set that always tickled his nose. His attire makes one feel that there is something terribly wrong with his taste for clothes. These were the main features that made Mr. Samuel Alexander Korah, or our Sam sir, stand out. His profession? He taught English for the crucial tenth grade in an Indian school in Kuwait. Sam sir's almost effeminate hands have guided me until today; from the first day I met him.

The 'first day' is worth a mention, really.
The first day in class ten. We were anxious to know who would teach us what. That is when Sam sir entered the class, dressed in black from head to toe. He introduced himself as, "welcome to hell and I am your devil!" but in the months to come we realized that 'hell' was thoroughly enjoyable and that the 'devil's' classes were thought provoking and reflective.
Sam sir was also a journalist working for a local daily and he always emphasized on effective communication. He made us think and forced out short stories and poems from his students. (I have written 2 unprintable poems under his threat!) Being a young person, he was more of a friend to us. Sam sir always 'understood'.

Humour was always part of him. Once he told us to make a farewell card for one of our classmates who would be leaving the school. But only later did he know that the boy had changed his mind. Our class had already made a very sentimental card, which sir quietly accepted. A few days later, we came to know the whereabouts of that card with 35 signatures on it - securely pasted above the flush in Sam sir's toilet. The magnificent card read, 'adieu, dear friend, we will miss you…'!

He had different ideas in everything he had to deal with. The most peculiar punishments were meted out to those who failed to bring their books to class. We were made to count the total number of tiles on the school corridor floor, run through all the floors of the school in less than ten minutes, do push-ups, mimic a weightlifter without any weights to lift, and so on.
Sam sir strongly believed in encouraging extra curricular activities even though the BIG BOARDS were just round the corner. Many teachers were against the idea. To prove his point, he presented a fancy dress show with all 35 of us as a 'dustbin', a 'flower' or a 'sign-board'. Depicting a neighbourhood park.

Towards the end of the year, Sam sir made a short trip to Canada. On returning, he distributed biscuits of maple leaf syrup and some colourful wooden beads. These were parting gifts. He was leaving our school to go off to Canada. I have cherished my little bead. It reminds me of what Sam sir taught me. It reminds me to keep my identity - in writing and in living life; to be confident to face life wherever I am; and above all, it reminds me of Sam sir - who helped me say, 'I'll try'.

N.B.: Sam sir is in Canada, and in the process of touching hundreds of student lives, in his own unique way.

Not So Great

Tests. Exams. The key words of the month. I thought there would be an end to these when I am through with school and college, but realization dawned on me slowly – I am giving an exam every single day I live.

We are facing so many little tests every day. The decisions I make, the opinions I form. The ever-changing world projects itself as big exam to me. Funny – sometimes, we don’t even know the questions we are giving answers to!

But there is a beauty to this sort of exam – we can use external help! The special people who come out of nowhere just when you need them – they point their fingers towards the direction of success. The path would be treacherous, but the goal can be seen! And it would surely be easier with company.

There is a well-acclaimed book named “ The Alchemist”. The protagonist is a shepherd who travels across deserts and seas to seek his fortune. His path towards his goal is strewn with omens and signs. It is a fictional piece of writing, of course. But it set me thinking – sometimes a little bit of such superstition would help you “take it easy”. Omens, good signs, Angels, Good luck charms, Genies, Fairies… nice thoughts.
Thoughts that tell you that there are people around you who would see to it that you have reached your goal safely.

Whoever told you that we weren’t shielded?! Boy, Am I glad.

MILAN DAYS

Today was awfully hot - the weather that is!
I just couldnt help but think about the winer months that just flew by. And my thoughts come to a standstill when I think of November (invariably, the time when I fall in 'Love'!)
Beautiful things happen in November, for me. It has always been like that.
Ever since the last four years - the time I have spent in Delhi - I have had an amazing experience called Milan happening for me, in the month of November.
Milan, technically, is an all Delhi based Christian Youth Feastival. Essentially, something about dance and song and drama. It is a two day affair, with 30 - 40 groups of youth participating in it. These groups are church youth associations. Somehow, Milan brings about something more than just talents. I have always found new friends in old existing acquaintances - without fail - every Milan.
The practice sessions for this feastival start as early as October. And every weekend is spent off in toiling for the same. The frsutration, the laughters, the tears... Oh! The joys of it all!
I wrote this piece for the church youth column right after Milan 2002. You would find mention of a couple of people right through the article. I cant help it if you dont know them. Its just to show the personal level at which the youngsters work for a feastival called Milan.
Read on...

MILAN DAYS

A wintry November morning. The Sunday mass was over and the parishioners had already filed out of the church loans. I briskly made my way to the Holy Child convent nearby. There was a song on my lips and a spring in my steps. I entered the school and walked through the hallway.
There were no rhyme singing or children's din - the usual you would expect when you enter such a place. What caught my ears instead was a piece of western classical music and rhythmic thuds of feet accompanying it. There was a dance practice session in progress. Leena was gracefully gliding among her dancers, most of them sweaty in spite of the weather, and correcting a few steps here and there. This session was going on in the music hall. There was a rusty old piano in there. 'One day,' I thought, 'I will play it.'
I went to the nearby classroom and found a messy bundle of clothes and a pondering Teresa sitting right in the middle of it. She was wondering about what the costumes would be for the dancers. There is a lot of work to be done and she was getting ready to take the measurements for the costumes. A couple of young girls were hovering about her asking 'Didi, should we do this?' 'Didi, should we do that?' I thought of going over and giving her a hand but something else stopped me right where I was.
A lively song being sung pretty well, with a rare key going a little off-tune, reached my ears. I hurried towards the room - that's where my heart lay. I didn't even bother to knock. I caught a surprised Sophie unawares. She was making the team practice. Sheldon sat with the guitar perched on his knee. Leslie uncle and Paulose uncle couldn't make it today. Sophie was telling the group that there are just a few days left for Milan and that this performance was not up to the mark. Eljoh and Dolly were asked to put in more life into the song (which they obediently did later on). Sophie saw me and asked me why I was not there for the practices. I mumbled a really lame excuse and told her that I would be back very soon.
I left the room in search of someone. I was looking for Tanya. She was to work on the poster. I found her in Class One A. She knelt beside a chart paper that was beautifully done with a pigeon's picture. She was giving it the final brushes, as a professional would do, not being satisfied with anything she had done so far.
Milan preparations were going on in full swing. The children would be here till late evening. After all, it's just a Sunday that we get for practices. They will have lunch here. Some of us took turns to bring lunch for all. 'Lunch' was one curry with bread and a banana or so. It may seem light. It is kept light so that we don't feel lethargic after lunch. We had to practice. The shields we got last year were lying in one of our homes. What all of us had carried home last Milan was the sheer joy of jumping onto the stage to receive them. A state of euphoric excitement! Most of them were hoarse from cheering and shouting. Almost toeing the lines of hooliganism!
Mohan bhaiya brought me out of my reverie. I had not seen him but he had seen me enter the school and go into all the classrooms 'loafing around'. He just had a smile fixed on his warm face. There was sudden flush of guilt in me. I knew I have not been giving my sincere efforts in the practice sessions. And I knew that he knew it as well. I tried to make conversation. 'We will win Milan this time, right?' He gave a knowing laugh and said that we would have to wait and see. He had seen right through me. I left for the music practice feeling a wee bit embarrassed. 'How naïve!' I thought to myself as I sang 'California Dreaming' along with the group.

BTW.. We won the third overall championship that year...

INQUILAB ZINDABAD!

So this is it! My very first Blog Entry!
I have to test these grounds though - with an old piece I once wrote -
Here Goes....

INQUILAB ZINDABAD!

“Now is the time for us to change the world!”
A very revolutionary line. A line that will never lose its newness and appeal. A phrase that is as old as humanity itself! And ‘rebels’ are swept off their feet. They can finally identify with someone. Yes! They feel, we are not the ones who should change, it’s the system!! They applaud whenever a ‘rebel’, at complete lose for words, would blurt out this line.

This ‘revolution’ has been going on for a long long time now. Of course, they took on different avatars with the passage of time. Watch an old movie flick and you will see what I am talking about. The ‘rebels’ would be floating about in the world of LSD, wearing outrageous attires that haven’t seen the laundry bin for a long time. They ‘fought’ for complete freedom, Vietnam War and ‘flower power’ and Communism.

‘But those were the Good Ol’ Days!’, today’s ‘rebel’ screams. The millennium rebel moves about furtively, not wanting to be identified as a ‘Freak’ by his peers. In spite of the sure-footed next generation image they have created for themselves – with generous aid from the media – they, the ‘rebels’, are a confused lot. They are in an age when the rebels of the seventies are busy with baby formulae and school admissions. They have no one to look up to. They are supposed to carry on the ‘revolution’ with its glorious history hanging heavy on their conscientious heads.

Sadly, today’s ‘rebel’ doesn’t know what to ‘fight’ for. He doesn’t have a Vietnam War to protest against. As for the racist issue, nah, it’s too outdated. They haven’t read Das Capital. So, the rebels of today have no work. They just continue to exist. There’s no cause to fight for, they defiantly argue.

How about communal riots, dowry deaths and religious fanaticism? You ask. ‘We are not politicians and NGOs.’ They retort. ‘We are rebels, remember?’ Yeah, sure.


Yeah, yeah! You guessed it! I really have ODD THOUGHTS!