?

Philadelphia blues, sometime in 2009

Cry that tear or smile it away?
Let the words form or say it with profound silence?
Run? Hide? Fly away?
Burn the midnight oil or sleep that extra half hour?

Waist-ful deposits made each day, worthwhile deposits taking a while to make.
New bonds take time to make, old ones so easily break.
The ones in the here and now consume all it takes, and yet, fall short of a pat.

Quixotic ideals in this quizzical world, spinning my mind in a whirl of fate
Change my face and wear a new hat.
Write a new song and dance to a new rhythm.

Armor me with grace

Patience be my artillery

So much irony

In these defenses and instruments of violence

All in the guise of crying out for serenity.

Home/ Away from home

I stumbled upon this one, sitting in my draft box (not so quietly).

And so, here's a not-so-fitting jot about the amazing bunch of women I (had to) live with through my (mostly) academic years away from home.

February 2010, Philadelphia

Living in a dorm is not a domain of new experience for me (frankly, I thought I'd had enough, but was in for another dose). I have had experiences living with every category/kind/specie of hostel mate/ room mate/ housemate and accomodation too- during undergrad in a room for two, room of four, in a hostel, as a paying guest (pg) and much later, when I was working and was at grad school living by myself with all the space to myself.

The pecking intruder- who always wants to know what you are upto, who would tirelessly explore every nook and cranny of evidence to satiate her curiosity.

The leave-me-alone introvert- who just comes in to the room does her own thing, takes her stuff goes out, comes in, slips into bed, wakes up, gets going, knows am around and only replies in monosyllables to every question in my endeavour of atleast knowing the whereabouts of the person I live with.

Queen liberties- the self- anointed queens who take every liberty they want to- from breezing into your room to borrowing everything- from stationery, food, make- up, to clothes and other favours they want you have done for them. Ah! Speak the annoyances.

There was this very dear friend with an obsessive- compulsive disorder for dust. Imagine that.

And then there were the majority of others that were on the other end of the spectrum, that didn't care a fig about layers of accumulating dust.

I had to bear with the early- to bed, early- to rise types and had some amazing late night talks with owls like myself.

The tough cookies, the talking- machines that never listen, boyfriend woers & whiners

And so on and so forth...

And then....

Those good buds that were heaven- sent :) With whom I cherish an everlasting bond and to whom I owe an ode for making those times and years away from home, feel like home, away from home.

And, my nephew decides to call his mum by her name :)

Price tags

The cost of human dignity comes at such a high price

that so many people cannot afford it, they make do without basic amenities of food/ clothing/ shelter. Decent ones at that.

The homeless of Philadelphia.

The slum dwellers of Mumbai.

And the inhabitants of Penn Station in New York City.

These are ofcourse only few places that I have seen them in.

And is true for most metropolis.

Metropolitan landscapes are magnetic enough to pull throngs of people to it.

For livelihood reasons and others.

But in this process, it also escalates the price of human dignity.

So much so that, it ceases to matter.

Layers

Life seems like a layers- full of reality and a slow, a very slow uncovering of truth.

About people, self and stuff.

Who knows what's at the bottom of it all?!

Note to self

Last of the night- outs in the library!

Customer is God

I heartily laughed while doing some course reading for a New Product Managment course.

Specifically, when I came across the term 'Consumer sacrifice gaps' the point where every customer varies in his/ her uniqueness in terms of what they need in/ from a product and what actually is out there.

Really, consumer sacrifice?

Surely am quite reserved about mass customization, and prefer retaining the uniqueness that makes each of us so different and gets reflected in all the stuff/ products we use.

But I find this terminology out of sync. Very.

Learning the tricks of a trade doesn't have to or wont make you good at it.

Thought to keep

"I can be affected by what happens to me; I refuse to be reduced by it"

Maya Angelou

After note: People mostly interpret things the way 'they' hear it, not the way 'you' intended for it to be heard. (To float some not- required jargon, its called confirmation bias, in behavioral economics). So, I often happen to be at the receiving helm, like you might find yourself...

The thought for me (and you, if you agree with me) is that such things will alter you and me, but we need to be strong enough to shrug it off, making sure it doesn't 'reduce us'.

And though this might seem trivial, these trivialities go a long mile in shaping you. Not just those once-in-a-lifetime, topsy turvy happenings. Isn't that how collective culture gets formed, bit by bit, chisel by chisel?

When the plate gets the better of the platter...

Photo by Jason Varney retrieved from phillymag.com

You know your'e in a food art restaurant when the plate is bigger than the food. Ofcourse, that's not to be generalized as much as it's meant to be sarcastic. You get my drift and that's when the plate gets the better of your hunger.

I've had my good share of restaurants, mind you, those that come in all shapes and sizes and including their plate sizes and servings too, in a fair number of countries. The 7-stars, 5-stars, 3 stars, 2 stars...road stars (road side food) too.

Visual appeal is very important to me, no two doubts about it. It makes eating a more satiating experience, by not only crunching the hunger away but also by appealing to the eyes, atleast if your'e the kind for whom aesthetics matter. But what's equally important, if not more, is that the food lasts for a few munches atleast?

That probably, a good strategy, to place more orders and make more margins.

But you know what, we'd like our stomachfuls please, if not platefuls and our pennies' worth too.

?

Amongst reasons like life changes that brought about self-editing of thoughts and experiences, I think I figured another potential link with regard to why my writing diminished.

And my guess is Facebook.

Is it because thoughts and opinions started getting channelised on FB status messages? Or for that matter twitter. Or is it that you feel the presence of people reading what you post, so it preempts you to be more active on FB rather than on the blogosphere...

Has this happened to you? Back in 2004, so many of us used to blog, and regularly at that. Not so much anymore.

Or would you just like to call blogging a phase?

"My Sweet Lord..."

Looking on and looking back

So many years have swiftly gone by

Life's mysterious colubrine trails

Will never stop catching my surprised eye.

Blessed occurences seldom tell you their story

Then one morning the elusive jigsaw puzzle fits right

Looking through and looking on

I'll never take you for what you have been

You can be all that you haven't

All that I dont want you to be

And all that I want you to be, all that you want it to be for me

You are beautiful

You are definitely divine

You keep afar

And yet, hold me so tight

You'll never let go off me, even when I have of you

I come back to you, you act like I was never gone.

My sweet Lord, Thank you!

Feeling the Gloom in Full Bloom

Put on music and tap ur feet

Get up, lift ur hands, swing to the left, right, turn...

Close your eyes, throw your neck back, SMILE.

Swing some more, sing some more,

Music was made for you and me :)

That Sweet Little Corner

In the corner

Is where it resides

Is where it hides

Is where it opens up

Is where it weeps

Silently, in the corner.

That sweet little corner.

Only to me is it known

The depth and meaning

Of that sweet little corner

Its not what you see, you thought it was just a tear?

Its a song, a story

The teardrops that wet my cheek

And soothe my soul

In the warm summer it cools me

In the cold winter it warms me

Let that sweet little corner be, just let it be

Solitude

Empty spaces in your mind

Reflections and memories that come running behind

They sneak up and catch up with you

And you thought, time, had left them behind?

Solitude makes room

It takes you back and forth to it all- in full bloom

What you didn't make of it then

And what it means now

Is more than you would know back then

Sifting through time and broken memories

Is the not- so- pleasant gift of Solitude.

The Paradox

Ubiquitous creatures on the promised land

They are ALL around.

Some

Ubiquitous finders seemed alien here

With an agenda of their own

In no time, they became belonged here.

So comfortable they have grown-

Munching hurriedly,

Moving scurriedly,

Staring threateningly,

Perching decisively.

Irrelevant they seemed, but they were all around.

Almost like they were on homeground.

Most

Other ubiquitous seekers made their 'landmark' arrival.

Knowing for sure they were here to be ordained.

Some walked, some talked, some mingled, but, most meandered.

They tried so hard, they strove for so long.

They thought they had reached the promised land.

It slowly dawned, like the rising sun- like waking up in a reverie

They were still looking, they seemed lost more than ever.

Reality shone- They had burned many a calorie and their bank accounts.

They trudged on, to find a homeground.

The longstanding guardians of the promised land

Spelt out the irony on that ' not-so-landmark' way out-

"You came here a seeker and go out a seeker

You do not know what to seek

But you insist you do.

Your being watched, you ARE being directed and you may not know that too (like a myriad other truth). "

to be continued....

On the feet, and on the run

The glitz and glamour of the West, have it all be it all society is not quite what gets me. What did get me was the fresh clean air here, sans smoke & pollution, honks and shrieks. I love the leisurely walks on the all-pedestrian Locust Walk as much as the walks on any other street around the corner. Also, this longstanding (mis)perception cleared up since I came here a month ago.

When I see people running, running for a cause, running for fun, running for their health and mostly (it seems) running for their lives, I wonder about the commonplace (mis)perception of the 'Obese American'. I have been here for over a month now, and have seen only a handful of obese people on campus. At anytime of the day, I see people wearing shoes, shorts an i-pod and they're running.

Even at the gym, these girls and guys, keep running on and on and on, like they draw from a seemingly endless pit of stamina. They even read while spinning & cycling in the gym. The icing on the cake however, has to be the 60 year old lady who swam the other day for 45 minutes nonstop, spare a few breathers.

Its almost impossible not to be tugged by this air.

I want to write and write and write. Explosively.

"Calibrating Your Eyes"

Over the last one month, I have been lucky to meet some remarkable people at graduate school, some friends and others, Professors. I know I wont be wrong if I said, meeting new people is like seeing new perspectives and refining your own.

Sometimes, we get morphed into a singular vision that makes what and how we see- blur. And its probably looking at the way others look at things, that makes us 'resee' how and what we see.

Dr. Kenwyn Smith said something remarkable and very beautifully articulated to this effect- one of the things we're going to do is ' calibrate your eyes.'

New Found Meaning

There are words and phrases, words of wisdom and advice, songs, poetry and stories too that have new found meaning with passing time and phases of life. Some make more sense, while others cease to make any.

I last read 'If' by Rudyard Kipling when I was in school and jotted it down in my book of favorite quotes and poems.

Am reading this after a long time- and how different it sounds, how much more it means.


If by Rudyard Kipling


IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

PS: I dont think the poet meant to be chauvinistic. So the last line is free from gender bias. I would interpret it that way.

Why I hate comparisons...

I seldom use extreme language in the written word.
And when I do, its more to emphasize on something VERY CLEARLY.

I hate comparisons of any kind, flavour, type. Probably because its this comparison- drawing that kills individualism, more than anything else. It also leaves life long psychological scars that mar the growth of the unique U.

I've seen it as a kid, within family, uncles and aunts drawing comparisons- but thankfully, I have personally been very fortunate not to be in the receiving end. Even within my nuclear family, my elder sister was the stellar star who always performed well academically and held leadership positions in schools. It was the care my parents took that became an auspice in protecting me from the comparisons that others would tend to make. As I grew up, I learned to observe the point at which this heinous habit would take off- comparisons of grades, physical features, wealth, luck, fortune etc., and chose to shrug it off besides abhorring it!

The repercussions of being a recipient of such demeaning comparisons can be long lasting, especially on/ for a kid.

Its often hard to appreciate and nurture something that is not in our field of familiarity- be it a virtue, a habit, a culture, something that is not up to an expected mark, a personal way of thinking or an established norm. This either causes discomfort or creates a complex.

And that's why I think its best to immediately step back from the subjective mode to an objective mode when we begin to see ourselves getting into the mode of comparison-making, either with ourselves or for others. Getting clarity before making comparisons and conclusions and forming opinions- its all a thin line and we need to think clearly to see them.

Sometimes we tend to succumb to the mind's natural tendency of making comparisons. But its only wise not to do so- to protect ones own peace of mind and that of others. We'd rather celebrate the differences that make each of us unique.

PS: A conversation with a friend today, steamed this post from start to finish. Otherwise why would the other posts lay dormant, half-written... ?

A thought just struck as I was watching the demonstrations agains the G-20 summit in London. A banner read ' we wont pay for their crisis'.

Somehow, I wonder if all this recession got triggered off because of the war US unleashed. War entails huge losses, economic also being one of them.

Who really knows what's happening, behind the secret veils of power?!

There is so much to conserve

I was pleasantly amused to find this- The Endangered Language Fund

Ice Tea

Photo credit- http://www.pennysallamerican.com/pics/IceTea.jpg

Just a little than a year ago, I met my beloved dearest. Ever since, the 'I' has become 'we'. My world turned upside down, as I started a roller-coaster ride with him. It took him one day, and me two, to decide to live the rest of our lives with each other. Pretty quick for a self-confessed romantic atheist. (Whatever happened to that proud exclamation!)

In a month we were engaged. And in the ensuing 4 months, married. From the night he took me out to dinner until now... approximately 270 dinners we might have had. The first evening he said he'd have an Ice Tea. Second one, Ice Tea. Third one, Ice Tea and so on and so forth. The only other drink that he considered was Lemon Ice Tea or may be Peach Ice Tea. It didnt take me too long to know the guy was hooked on to Ice Tea, and that's something the cooking-apprehensive lass should learn. And she did.

Since then making Ice Tea has become pretty much a routine. Until now my only connection with tea, was the glorious tea gardens where I spent a huge chunk of summer holidays at my Aunt's and Uncle's. ( Another post on that has long been due.)

I brew tea this afternoon for the first time, the authentic way. As against the practice of dipping in the tea bag ( My Uncle, an expert in this field, says, tea bags are made from the worst quality of tea). I realised this would definitely give away the classic aroma ( We watched Bridges of Madison County over dinner last evening and Meryl Streep is serving Ice Tea from this huge jar, needless to say, the man's eyes light up :) ).

Some straberries were lying idle in the refrigerator so the lass went over and crushed a few of those and stirred them in with the fresh brew. The aroma of the crushed strawberries was simple exotic- earthy, divine and indulging to say the least. It tasted better with the Ice Tea. (Its another detail that Mr. hates strawberries.)

The man has been busy all day today. A few minutes ago (around 6.30 pm) I send him a mail saying I was sipping strawberry Ice Tea as I was working on a project. And he exclaims... 'Without Me!?'

So I told him, a pot was waiting for him. And Quesadillas for dinner, he boards his Fiesta and says, am going to come home and work. I say yes. In return for a game of basketball.

Sigh

What an uncommunicative civilisation we have become.
We have the speediest means, most inexpensive means, and yet we have become thus.

We have more of everything today, and less of the real thing.

Very few things matter to us, beyond our shrunk, selfish lives.

Sigh.

How absolute is Slumdog Millionaire?

I've been munching on this thought for quite sometime- On what parameter, is it justified that Slumdog millionaire portrays the real India?

I would wish for some statistical data. What percentage of Indian's live in the slums? Then we can conclude with the above statement.

I would not defy this so-called acclamation if it was said that this is also an aspect to multifaceted India. I think its absolute, and nothing really is absolute. And its not complacence that makes me defy that statement. There are just too many facets to India to narrow it down to slum-children from Dharavi in the streets of Mumbai.

Though, even to me an overall perspective of India is very gloomy, its too overriding a statement that Slumdog Millionaire portrays the real India.

Another way of looking at it...

Its been three days since, ants have been trying to make their way inside our new home.
As I was fast-pacedly jotting out thoughts, teary-eyed for some reason... I saw a string of black wiggly creatures decidedly making their way in, through my bleary-eyed vision. And then all was forgotton, until getting them out was done.

I didnt want to smash and spank them dead. And talking didnt help. I tried putting turmeric, that seemed to help, but little.

And this, in the room least used.

I asked my maid this morning, in my very fluent hindi :), 'yeh yahan kyu aaya? yahan tho kuch khaane keliye bhi nahin. AC ka hole se aaraha hain.'

She kept looking, looking, and she bursts into a laughter and says in her bengali hindi 'baaran manzil tak chala aaya, dekhno ko itna chhota, itna chala aaya.'

Though I cannot reproduce what she said here with its twang of humour, I think her thought silently struck me with its plainness.

I cant put a finger on it. On why I dont write as much as I used to before.

For one, it could be too many thoughts muddled and intertwined together. Am not really able to sieve it out and untangle them. But its definitely not about other things taking precedence, I've written in the crunchiest of days. Or may be there's so much happening and happened at the personal front.

But right now my mind is brimming with- slumdog millionaire, tonight's dinner menu for 12, absurdities of the world, setting up home- the great experience, waste dumping, consumerism, folk arts, fixing the istriwala for doing the sheets so shabbily, beloved's b'day hangover, baby showers for my dear sister, the li'l one on his way out :) eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!, travelling (when have I not had this on my mind!!), the got milk campaign, apartment culture, friends- the real ones- and the real ones who got lost, maid matters and more...

Lucky by Chance...

I'd like to start from the end. The end of the film is a li'l flat. One is so used to Hindi films having those dramatic finales! And am really sorry, but I have to say this ( for those who haven't watched this, u'd be disappointed that am spilling the beans on this one...) One wud really expect that Sona ( K Sen) would go back to Vikram ( F Akhtar) or that F Akhtar would never really go back to K Sen guilt-filled and all.

Anyway, we missed the first half an hour of the film. Hmmm.... we got a li'l lost finding our way through the streets of Gurgaon, we were driving out by ourselves for the first time, to see the first movie in this new city, which I have christened, Mallgaon.

I also don't understand why the film is called Lucky by Chance, as the protaganist propogates exactly the opposite. Is it ironical? As his big break, happens, only by chance?

It was good to see F Akhtar dance in Bollywood style. I liked the film for the objective perspectives it throws. And what a product of sheer talent! Rishi Kapoor is great fun, as always. Such refreshing acting! And ofcourse I love the funky aesthetic set up, that is Konkana's home.

I'd still want to catch up with that first half hour, not that it would change my opinion on the film. I can comfortably sit through any F Akhtar film- he picks stories that are worth his time and ours.

i've wondered how my life is interconnected and interwoven with so many people.
how our paths have traversed and met.
and how these have grown into significant parts of my life.

Am beginning to wonder, if all that hype about globalisation stands justified?
Where it has got us, and where is it taking us?

Towel-wrap In Times Like These...

P was watching Filmfare Awards, I took a disinterested, but curious, peek.

I was short of being shocked at what I saw. Shahrukh Khan and Saif Ali Khan were dancing on stage- bare-chested and more. They were wrapped in turkish towels with shaving cream on their cheeks. I was like, what if a (planned) wardrobe malfunction happens? Just then, the two chimps turn around and protrude their back to the audience and lift their towels up! They were wearing half pants though... ( in a few years that's going to get shorter and then disappear, I bet!)

I went up to M beloved and said- can you ever imagine Tom Hanks & Brad Pitt jumping on stage in front of millions of viewers wrapped in a towel?! When I told him what I saw, I saw my reaction replaying in him.

In times like these, when we need a civic renaissance, here we have our so-called, supposed role models displaying their immaturity in this manner- showing their merit to the world, doing what they do best. I wonder why the adulatorised Bollywood can't do something sensible- first of, atleast make some inspiring movies- like- Yuva by Mani Ratnam- which not only portray the state of Indian politics, but also show the action that can be taken. And it has it all the elements of a Hindi masala film- the dance, masti, glamour, music, violence & romance in good doses.

May be their holding back from doing something constructive for the people being tipped off by the underworld. May be their too wrapped in their glamour, like we are in adulating them! May be it just doesn't matter as everything's fine for them- ever wonder how these people are never held hostage or get caught in such situations like terror attacks?

I'll wrap this post now. With another thought- in the front page of Deccan Herald today, a quarter of a page was clinched by a photograph of the 'Miss World beauties'. My reaction... In times like these?

Become Aware... Make Aware...

http://www.storyofstuff.com/

This whole study/ presentation puts in to right perspective so many relevant aspects of our lifestyle and how that is directly connected to the deterioration of the very planet we inhabit. Which means, we are responsible for it in someway, which means, ignorance is no bliss, which means, we cant take what's dumped on us. Which means, alarmingly, we need to be more AWARE.

Annie Leonard spent nearly 10 years of her life researching & traveling around the world, gathering information and putting this http://www.storyofstuff.com/ the way we see it. What we see is hard-hitting and candid.

I wonder if we did a simulation of this study that is India specific what would the findings be?

The noisy beginnings that some may call 'interventions' are too scarce to redeem the drastic damage already done- to our planet, its people and the systems arouns us.But each of needs to resolve to do our bit. At the rate the deterioration is happening, it would take millions of us to do something- not just voice our opinions or feel terrible about it.

To start with- I decided I would never get packaged fruit juices anymore- fresh, they will be made. And a religious practice of carrying cloth/ jute bag to get veggies- wont be a sporadic practice anymore.

And yes, do tell your friends and folks about this- circulate.

I've seen plenty of this kind of talk,
I've read enough in friends blogs,
I've felt it myself- to miss THE point.

When you touch the quarter of your life ( assuming the 100yr, else you've lived well past that quarter!) you tend to look back, increasingly. Look back at school and how that load of homework wasn't really that onerous, you look back at pictures of siblings and smile at those meaningless plays and fights (my Sis and I indulged in a game of catching butterflies, crushing them and making a soup of it.. ofcourse we didnt eat it! Pretty much a carnage...), the teachers weren't mean, wearing uniform wasn't all that bad. What stands out most is the fact that whatever Dad and Mum chided you for was for the ultimate good and love of/for you!


Its long-years after its gone, that childhood becomes a cherished chapter! Well past that utopian sheen of teen has abraded, that you stop feeling anger towards this world and you become a part of those who have given up! And mysteriously, it all seems to happen at that quarter of a lifetime.

I once was...

Anil Kumble retiring from cricket- it was a rush of memories for friends and folks and for me. Quite a few msgs and mails like this one from A (It had me wonder... "God! Folks actually remember! Sheesh!) "sending this ( http://www.guardian.co.uk/sport/2008/nov/02/indiacricketteam-cricket) to the most hardcore kumble fan i know! :) in memory of that scrambled scooty ride to catch up with the tall man for a happy pic together."

While in school some sort of a crazy Kumble fascination just got to me. Right from watching ALL of his matches to creating a scene to meet him at the benefit match in Hubli or the crazy bike ride to catch up with him along with friends and folks at a shop inauguration in Hubli, or getting another opportunity during an internship with at a production house... The fascination has waned away.

But here's to a cool sportsman, I could never figure out why Kumble though... didnt matter then, now either.

A plane full of kids...

Written back in time, posting now...

After quite an eventful visit to Delhi, we had no idea that more was in store for us on our return flight.

As we boarded the bus to get to our flight, I knew this flight is going to be different. The bus was filled with kids! The bus was in terrible shape though (I anticipate Spicejet is soon going to be in for a long haul- the bus was pretty much akin to a public bus plying on the streets). M and I got talking with this kid who was sitting near the window, bag cuddled and all. The kids were on their return flight to Bangalore after an excursion to the Himalayas, happy to have been there but eager to get home as well. WOW! (I spun back to my school excursions- of their own kind packed with fun! )

They were a melange of a 50-60 bunch of kids- some sober, some mischievous, some haughty but all of them- highly spirited. They didn't stop talking, murmuring and or whispering for a moment. When the plane got jerky, the kids were going ooooo....aaaaaa and having their share of fun! They had a senior nun who was with them, chastising, shooing, losing-her-nerve over them.

For M and me, this was the first time with so many kids on the flight- and sure it was a big difference and one I can still feel, each time I recollect that experience.

Think About It...

An e-mail forward I saw today spelt this out so well and clearly too.
Its something we all probably know, but the wisdom does not knock us when the situation is such-

The stone after the throw
The word after it's said
The occasion after the loss
The time after its gone

"Brilliante Weblog"

This was awarded to me by Shalom, dear lost and found friend. We studied in Bombay together and ironically we happen to be married and live in the same city now.

Thanks Salom for this gesture :) This award is meant for sites and blogs that are smart and brilliant in their content or design. And now, per the rules of the game, I shall:


1. When you receive the prize you must write a post showing it, together with the name of who has given it to you, and link them back. That's done!

2. Choose a minimum of 7 blogs (or even more) that you find brilliant in their content or design. Here, I share my predicament with the giver of this award. Considering that I would nominate-

1. Anju- Dearmost friend & family. We've shared more than those bus rides, telephone conversations, overnight study for French exams,. We've grown together... still are, in a strange way :)

2. Apoorv- Something of a blogger pal. Voracious reader, wanderlust bug, shutter bug... BUG? Not at all.

3. DK - An acclaimed poet in the making. She's most adept at putting the vaguest thought into a plainness of a clear flowing rivulet. Adore her writing!

4. Karanjeet- She's not kept her word nor her blog. But that does not make her a bad person/ friend. Nor a bad writer. Quite the opposite.
Keep ur word soul sister, let the words flow.
3. Show their names and links and leave them a comment informing they were prized with ‘Brilliant Weblog'. Done.

4. Show a picture of those who awarded you and those you give the prize (optional).

5. And pass it on!

Sometimes

Sometimes, the answer is in the question...

Psychobabble

I regret the untimely, but slow dying of the words.

Sometimes it happens I guess, a flourishing kingdom gets plundered.
A prosperous life gets dry.

But we can always bask in the glory of the past.
Without making 'the' today miserable.

When something goes wrong the index finger is all ready to point the blame onto someone.
Its hard not to do that, sometimes genuinely and sometimes not so.

So here's to the glory of the past. And to the serenity of the present.

After all, what's more alluring than 'peace', with yourself and the world (if not the words)?

Afterthoughts....

A conviction that the words will not die.
A secret stray ray of hope shines.
Words will get fuelled. They will flow, they have to.
Nothing can stop them.
The words WILL have to flow.
After all, words are thoughts that get frozen, those that dont just evaporate...

The Pages

That was a long time ago- when I was in a chronic spell of reading- reading page after page, book after book, hours after hours, ... late into the night, into the wee hours of the morning. That reminds me of a little story, something I find hilarious today but horrific then.

It was right after 11th grade final exams (Gosh it's almost a decade ago... and I want to write those exams again... and sometimes I still have nightmares that I've missed a paper between my finals and its either Math or Kannada), July 31st, I was turning page after page of Sidney Sheldon's 'Tell Me Your Dreams' gripping novel. It was just about time for the morning rays to hit the horizon and the birds to chirp the darkness away when I wrapped the book to a finish and kept it aside.

I heard the most strangest of sounds and got this eerie feeling. I peered through the window and could hardly believe my sight when i saw this figure that seemed to be afloat. I instantly drew the curtains and woke up my sister... ' Saw a ghost' and snuggled!! Chanted all the mantras I knew and slumbered, while my sister sat awake (in fear). Needless to point out, I thought I'd seen a ghost ( I still believe so!).

And here's this tag (after a long time)... :) Here's a book list... Shalom's got me running through this list of books and made me see how much I've read and how much more there's left to read!!!!!

1) Look at the list and bold those you have read.

2) Italicize those you intend to read.

3) Underline the books you really love

4) Reprint this list in your own blog.

----------

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen

2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien

3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte

4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling

5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee

6 The Bible/ The Bhagavad Gita As It Is

7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte

8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell

9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman

10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens

11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott

12 Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy

13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller

14 Complete Works of Shakespeare

15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier

16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien

17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks

18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger

19 The Time Traveller's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger

20 Middlemarch - George Eliot

21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell

22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald

23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens

24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy

25 The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams

26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh

27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky

28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck

29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll

30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame

31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy

32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens

33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis

34 Emma - Jane Austen

35 Persuasion - Jane Austen

36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis

37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini

38 Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres

39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden

40 Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne

41 Animal Farm - George Orwell

42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown

43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving

45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins

46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery

47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy

48 The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood

49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding

50 Atonement - Ian McEwan

51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel

52 Dune - Frank Herbert

53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons

54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen

55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth

56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon

57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens

58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley

59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon

60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck

62 Lolita - Vladimir Naboko

v63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt

64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold

65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas (children's version.....does that count???)

66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac

67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy

68 Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding

69 Midnights Children – Salman Rushdie

70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville

71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens

72 Dracula - Bram Stoker

73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett

74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson

75 Ulysses - James Joyce

76 The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath

77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome

78 Germinal - Emile Zola

79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray

80 Possession - AS Byatt

81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens

82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell

83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker

84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro

85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert

86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry

87 Charlotte's Web - EB White

88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom

89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton

91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad

92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery

93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks

94 Watership Down - Richard Adams

95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole

96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute

97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas

98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare

99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl

100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

Mantra for sane living

Don't read the unread
Don't say the unintended
Don't hear the unsaid

The List

Some end up making 'lists', all their lives.
Never 'hit' any of it.

And some 'make', 'just', a "FINAL" list.
And 'NAIL IT'.

ODE TO THOSE WHO NAIL IT!

Space

To be.
To feel.
To transcend into.
To hear.
To transform.
To think...

yellow submarine

there are times when i surge out of the waters of existence.
and breathe in some air.
i realise am living a subliminal existence.

with so much to learn, do and accomplish somewhere i need to float on these waters than swim under it.

so true beatles were when they sang ' we all live in a yellow submarine'....

Heritage Hysteria

Wonder what some of these posts were doing-sitting idle for all this while. Posting all the stuff resting in the drafts folder...


There were these temples that were built some hundreds of years ago right across the city where I grew up. Ofcourse, I did'nt know of its existence until a year ago. An intent search to see (neglected monuments- nt that i was discovering them even if the feeling was such :) ) places like this took me there. And need I mention the state this wondrous temple was in? Shambles. So one sunday evening the father and daughter duo drove along the raging colors of the setting sun...

Archaelogical Survey of India (ASI) has demarcated it as a site of 'historical importance' and put up a board with its paint chipped off from it. There's nothing much to read about the significance and story of the temple. I craned for information and sought to speak with the temple pujari whose ancestral profession and duty its been, to render worship to the deity of Lord Shiva in this temple. He's worried what will happen to the temple after him. He has no sons, and no one in the family wants to take on the profession of a humble pujari.

It brings me to the point that's been on my mind's horizon, for as long as I think and even more after visiting a few World Heritage Sites - as identified by UNESCO. Does it take a UNESCO to tell us that ancient temples that abound this country are Heritage Sites? Does it take their funds to restore a befitting respect of maintaining these sites? Does it take a 7 wonders Foundation to label a monument?

The lack of cognizance and attention these monuments beget in our lives is shameful to say the least. They are a living testimony to our great heritage.

If each person, every home, every community, every school, college, organisation takes a step forward and builds an awareness of such places in its precincts and instills a pinch of respect- there would be much hope in some restoration of respect to the glory of India that was and in this humility, we will take India back to its glory.

A revolution starts with small steps, it starts WITH YOU and ME.

Just the way it is...

In this world,
In the contour of every pleasure lurks pain,
In its core, there is void
In every love, there is lack
Every victory, there’s defeat
For every happy song, there is a poignant past and an uncertain future.

Was that a smile... or life itself?

Was that a crack on the frozen river?
To let the waiting water trickle beneath the frozen glass,
To come gushing out and run along, dance along…

Was that a smile?
Or was it the flaming fire, dancing to reach the sky?
Was that a smile?
Or was it the winds, lifting and swaying with it, the whole world?

Was that a smile?
Or victory? Or victor?
Truth?
Or the search for it?
Or was that a mountain that stood tall yet still?
Was it benevolence or was it munificence?

What was it?
Humility to stamp(ede) over?
Or honour to crown?
Was that the glint of wit?
Or the light of wisdom?
Was that patience, perseverance or tolerance?
Was that the sparkle of an idea?
Or was it divine revelation?

Many things can never be understood.
Most others can never be described.
But there are very few things that remain etched forever in the mind’s eye…
Like that smile.

A January Jot

Something I jotted in January...

IN THIS MAZE
I LAZE,
UNABLE TO HANDLE, ALL OF THIS CRAZE.
IT TOTTERS ME IN AN UNHOLY DAZE.
TO COME OUT OF THIS PHASE,
SOMEBODY HELP ME CLEAR THIS GAZE.

For starters...

For starters, am really glad I got could get onto my blog from my phone. Since Jan '08, i've been lethargically procrastinating getting this done. Or was it some kind of a techno block in my head. All I had to do was call the helplines and this was fixed in half an hour! hmmm... was lik magic unravelling before my eyes as the connection went for verification and then authentication! My uninterested eyes almost popped out :))

I feel so cut-off from the plethora of words and thoughts that i actually am floating in :)

Will be sometime before thoughts and feelings take shape in words. Until then, its a thoughtwarp!

Chapters and Books

A wise friend says to me- marriage is not like another chapter of life, as most people would put it. Its a new book altogether. That piece of insight coming in around the right time.

I say to time...

I'l get a hold on you soon, hang on.

life goes on, uncaptured

much as we try to capture the best moments of life,
in photographs, in words
in our hearts and in our minds...
much of life passes away, uncaptured.
i wonder, what it is that we hold onto.
everything and everyone seems ephemeral.

the more i learn and know of life, the less i seem to know of it.

no, life is not intimidating, its only humbling...

And now, I hear it more than once in a day...

Last year around, the ambulance siren dint go off this often.
Over the last couple of months, I hear the ambulance siren go off atleast 2-3 times a day!
Might sound weird, but what's with so many sirens going off in a day!?

Its almost like my day isnt complete without hearing that heart-displacing siren.


This I jotted last year around...

A damp morning and the waning siren

The morning mist made way for the damp wind.
People chugged along in the daily rut of routine.
Wake up in the morning, rushing for the 10 seconds of green signal waiting for you before a sea of wheels and heads.
I chugged along too, with a watchful eye.
The grey sky, almost colourless, loomed gloom.
The leaves refused to rustle and the wind blew uninhibited.

Some paved the way for others, some for themselves.

Then came along death.
Sounding its siren loud.
Pulling out everybody from the humdrum of thoughts.
The ambulance went ahead,
Trailing behing questions to ask and answers to seek
With its waning siren.

And everybody limped back to their humdrum of thoughts,
As the siren died silent.

Change agents, where are we?

A thought- tomorrow is Gandhi Jayanthi, the birth anniversary of Gandhiji.
I was just wondering if this had come to mean more than just a national holiday.
If all of us were to pledge this one day in nation development, collectively as a nation, the country in its last 60 yrs of independence would have reached another level, probably on a level of refined equality amongst, classes, castes and creed.

Its not too late. Change agents, where are we?

puppet in an evil devil's hand

will anything go right for me?
hardly seems so, nowadays.

the last thing to evince this conviction is a bottle of water slipping off from my hand and getting poured into my laptop!
looked like i was a puppet in some evil devil's hand.

sigh.

Madhavi Mudgal and her troupe from Gandharva Mahavidyalaya

The months gone by...

The months gone by have gone by whizzing... well pretty much. And there's been so much to see and learn. The Krishna Shringar dance festival was awesome to say the least.

A reinforcing, long-believed conviction in the uniqueness of Indian art and culture....

'Art is not like any other profession'

It was absolutely inspiring to be part of an interview with Priyadarshini Govind, the legendary bharatnatyam dancer of our times. It was great to be in the ambience of a person who is situated at a different altitude altogether...

She was very humble in saying... ' Art can look after itself. It does not need people like us. The bad things will grow out... '

And she was so right in saying that ' The arts are not respected enough in India... and that's why its a vicious circle... so many people do not take to it... as its not respected as its not viable enough...

' Art is not like any other profession.. you have to surrender to it... you cant switch off from it when you get home whether one likes it or not...' She feels its the spiritual aspect alone that carry forwards the arts... not the educational and the other aspects...

She's performing at ISKCON Bangalore's annual Indian dance festival ' Sri Krishna Shringar'. She feels that performing in a temple atmosphere is an alotogether a different trip and its sheer beauty to get the right stage...

I really look forward to her performance....

When a loved one dies, a world in us dies

There was just one thing numbing my mind all through the afternoon and the night of 20th July. Disbelief.
It was not possible to anticipate how ajja, could have left.
But well, he had.
And that I had not met him for a very long time, painted an emotion very hard to describe.

Restlessness engulfed me, until it was settled that few of us family would travel to siddapur in a private van. Meeting family gives a sense of roots, in some way, and in these circumstances, I was glad to be with family- uncles and cousins.

What started as a journey from Bangalore to Siddapur, was rather a painful trip down memory lane. It brought back in packets, all the other journeys that have been taken from any starting point that meets at Siddapur.. Bangalore to Hubli to Siddapur, Bombay to Hubli to Siddapur. Hubli to Siddapur ofcourse is the one route I could blindly drive, for all the infinite trips we took for occasions like nagpanchmi, ganesha habba, deepavali, new year parties and many visits without the need for one than just going to siddapur...
Driving to Siddapur, was a drive back to the roots, back to home, to puttappan kere, neergudi, back to kith and kin,
back to ajja and ammamma...

The first thing we all did when we reached was meet ajja, touch his feet and hug him. He was a towering figure without being overpowering.

Somehow, Siddapur tantamounts to ajja, and that's not no exaggeration.

My train of thoughts halts at 3 am. We are in Siddapur. At the gate. The silence of the night is engulfing. And what we see- shattering. My dearest grandfather, lays still. And ammmama deareast, bereft of Ajja's life force....

I couldn't contain myself, much as everybody else, all we could do was weep some and some more... the man who touched our lives with unique relationships and equally with his persona, had left with a void, that can never be filled again....

And I jotted these thoughts in (I)as we all sat before him till the dawn of 21st July....

(I)
How still he lay, he lay bold
Body so cold and old
A legend with him lay still.

A life lived so full
So full a life lived.

He lay still, yet so calm
Almost a smile that curves his gentle lip.
A man of word, a man of deed, lay still.

Noon to dusk he lay still.
Flowers all around him.
Tears, all for him.
Those of appreciation and gratitude
For all he did, for all he lived.

Where is he gone from here on… ?
The head-man of this herd, its tusker
… is gone.

Wake up just once
Let me speak to you just once
Let me make you laugh just once
I want to hear that gurgling laugh and hug you
... Just once

(We are all here, together, almost all of us
Wont you share a light moment
And bask in your basket of kids, grandkids and greatgrandkid?)

(II)
His body lay still
Rituals, ceremonies and rites are done unto him
We pour water over him, cold water on his already cold body
The last that I get to touch his feet
Get his blessings, even in death
(And tears wash us, flooding us with memories, his loss and his emptiness)


His body lay still
As he's upheaved on a wooden stretcher
His tonsured-head sons, brave it in white
Never did I see a tear in my father's eye
Now, I see, as his father moves on with life

Rituals, non-descript rituals
That do not tell any tale
They are seemingly embedded in some code
That drudge on the deathly ceremonies

He still, lay still
As his body is adorned, on a sandalwood pyre
Its all set to burn his body to ashes
Log after log, covers him up
Until we have that last and final glance of him
And a slow and steady fire that is flaming the end of an era

Time burns out moment after moment
Leaving us with raging memories in the mind's eye
and photographs for the eye...

(Time is death
It eats the world we make bite by bite
Until the one day when a world in us dies
Cos a loved one has left the world to fragments of memories and photographs...)

Just a dream, in the valley of flowers

Painted with a tint of glow
So many colours these flowers flood
Each flower calling out, with its unique stroke
A sense of being a colour that no other flower is.
That innate sense of being 'one-of-a kind'.

The cool wind wafts the scent of
this illusion
As I float with him
Over the river of colours

In this surreal dreamscape
There's more tranquility than colour
More reality than surrealism
More learning than teaching
All humbling me with the colorscape, prowess of his wisdom and love
The wafting cool winds bend me into an arc
Symbolising the unessential tiny being that's me

I float an ascending note of flight
It glides us, Him and me
(Dreamscape, so real, it makes me think its for real.)

WAKE UP DREAMING SOUL!

now

swirling in an illusory dance,
smiling to the sky,
cooling rain awakening the senses,
child's play,
happy songs,
memories coming alive,
long live the yesteryears,
dreams fire tomorrow,
for now- some tears,
numbing pain,
a colossal loss

he's no more...

in his felicitation ceremony few yrs ago, he said he had 13 grandchildren, i stood up to say (in that big crowd), ajja u got 14! (my cousins whispered 'he forgot you')).
he kept telling me last few months to come and see him.
and i never did go.
either it was work. or it was some personal chore.
and now he's no more.

i wish i did see him. just once. and now, i can never see him again.

Its time to stay grounded, on the battle-field.
:)

Wonders of India Foundation

It takes a UNESCO World Heritage for (most of us) to sit up and take notice of the historical, sculptural and cultural wonder that India was!

You know what's sad? It still is a wonder, if only all those monuments, temples that lay scattered across the country, unheeded and empty, were considered 'wonders'. In few such sites, there's nothing more than an ASI board (with paint all chipped off and gone) flagging the site as a 'Historical and Architectural Site'.

There's a leaf to draw from the Seven Wonders Foundation- to start a Wonders of India Foundation that takes charge or atleast, make this most neglected treasure of India a furore of/ for attention!

wars of life

its like nothing gets done and there is so much to do.
and yet you have done so much in one day.
fought egos. fought self. fought destiny.
fought the pit of one human against the other.
its a fight all along, isnt it?

the sun has set. has the battle come to a standstill?
no, the sun has moved on to another battlefield. and the battle is still on.

the flickering light of hope is dancing to the wind, a whip of the wind and the hopes are all lashed.

i either quit the fight or fight the quit. or better still, learn the art of war.
battles after battles, wars are to be won.
glorious wars against this world.

passing thoughts as the day comes to a close...

In this lifetime, another day, this day has come to a close.
With some hopes crashed, some that blossomed and others that lay still, lurking for faith.

With new lessons learned and some unlearned,
some forgotten and some taught- lessons of love, lessons of life

This day has come to its fag end-
With some bonds endeared, some distanced and most, paid no heed to

This day was survived.
This day was lived.

a bunch of kids, grassfarms and a sunday

a bunch of kids- throws up more emotions in me than anything.
they are a bundle of innocence, insight, deep observation.
they laugh openly, and when they cry, even when they dont want to show it, their eyes do.
they are a fountain of energy which must and should go into play!

and kids in an idyll, peaceful spot at the government school of grass farms cannot make it any better.

so this sunday, not very far from the mayhem of city walls, grass farms held a memorable waiting for this weary soul. a bunch of kids (on a photoshoot), a rare good being- senthil- the photographer who agreed to give his time, space, energy and expertise probono to photograph these children on their most natural self- my day is instilled with a soothing hum in my being.

post the shoot I just had to break free. I cycled with these kids... took them on doubles, played with a just-born 2 day old lamb, who had not yet been named....I christened her Lakshmi and the farmer, joyfully called her 'Lakchmi' :P , slept in a village bus stand on a stone slab with the canopies above me n cool breeze just soaring my spirits.

kiddoscope-

dilip- he just wudnt stop wheeling the tyre all around the place. he wanted to be everywhere and in every frame :) and he pretty much was.

jeevita-
a cycling expert, she taught me to make a garland out of the gulmohar's flower leaves. she learned to make it outside the school where plenty of these flower leaves generously drifted off the tree. I cant put it in words, what she said with so much pain which she had let go.... she said ' yesht hoova bidtittu akka, adre kadad bitru gidana'. Translated from Kannada to English ' It used to give so many flowers akka (elder sister) but they cut the tree). And she continued to teach me to make the garland, now that she'd found those flower beds this day.

dont go away...

dont go away
continue to cast ur magical spell
the present of the past
has become the magical spell of today.

you came victorious to your beckoning lot
calmed them with your all-pervading cool breeze and soft colors
you make it seem like its yesterday, magical.

its a sight and feeling i want to forever hold-
the trees swaying in the cool but forceful breeze
the birds in control of their flight, playfully spreading their wings in joy... flying
the palliating sky that beckons us all to do no more harm
i bask in you
somehow the churlish rickshawallah overtaking from the left, the vagrant bikes criss-crossing my way,
the mayhem of today
leaves me unaffected as i continue to bask in u

its a sight and feeling i want to keep for years to come
but i know, in few days you will be gone
though very generous, your mercy is conditional like everything else in the confines of this world

we will sweat and toil in shadow-less lanes, sans calm breeze
the birds will not play in the sky, they will hunt for trees to perch and a voice to chirp
the sky will rage its indignation
and we would have lost yesterday
get vanquished with the magic that vanished away

I just penned this on Bangalore. The last few days have cast a pleasant spell of weather, recreating the magic of yesterday's Bangalore. I hold on to yesterday...

broken silence

broken silence and the soundsurround me.

on the weekend that passed by-
the nesting bird-couple that coo (through the night they are having a family) .
siddhu on a debate on cricket controversies being aired on NDTV (from the neighbours')
the honks from the nearby main road.
a beep on my mobile (i got a message!)
winds. trees swaying. leaves dancing.
thunders. followed by rains.
drops of water falling outside my window.
thoughts, in my head. (they criss-cross from person to person, thought to thought... endless!).

on a monday morning-
alarm rings non-stop (i keep snoozing it)
reminders of meetings.
the nesting bird-couple that coo (through the night. they are having a family) .
some U2 and coldplay. Followed by Venkatesha Suprabahata or Brahma Samhita.
knocks on the door (the help's at the door).
in office- everybody's on the phone, pretty much yelling.
i hear the keyboard as I type (No i dont jarr my finger, its the way the keyboard is :) ).
my phone rings.
construction works.
people gossipping. Laughing.

the unwinding silence, long broken, long forgotten.

Heal

Feel the wind on ur face. Heal.
See the skies, stars that twiknle all night, some shoot and some forever shine. Heal.
Hear the wind, it makes the trees sway and dance. Hear the waters that trickle, drizzle and shower. Heal.
Touch the love, in the smile and in the eyes. Heal.
Time will heal, and you will feel my love. Heal.

an old saying- rephrased

it's a small world is 'the' most common phrase u say when u catch up with old friends in new lands or meet friends of common friends.

but that phrase is most appropriately going to be rephrased-

... from "its a small world" to... "its an orkut world!"

it rained

the winds blew.
and took with it the raging heat away, though momentarily.
raised a storm of dust.

the winds blew.
brought back with it, the pleasantness of yesterday's blore.

the winds brought the rain clouds.
it poured.
it cooled.
and brought out muck from under (un)impressive cityscapes
it stopped to pour.

the wind settled.
there was calm. n the night ahead.

and the fan tried hard to blow some wind.

Yes, I would if I only could...

Meaningful music, has become so rare to come by these days. Anything meaningful, rather.
For now, singing my song by Simon n Garfunkel for the moment-

EL CONDOR PASA (IF I COULD)

I'd rather be a sparrow than a snail
Yes I would, if I could, I surely would
I'd rather be a hammer than a nail
Yes I would, if I only could, I surely would

Away, I'd rather sail away
Like a swan that's here and gone
A man gets tied up to the ground
He gives the world its saddest sound
Its saddest sound

I'd rather be a forest than a street
Yes I would, if I could, I surely would
I'd rather feel the earth beneath my feet
Yes I would, if I only could, I surely would

In the summery summer

Cocunut water.
Evening breeze.
The koel calling.

What a respite these are in these enraging summer times!

Now I tag Apoorv and DK to summery summer...

Express Highway

The drive on Express Highway en route Khandala is a quick, efficient and sure shot way of a good break from the city walls.

That's another attribute (of the hazaar attributes) that sets Bombay apart from other cityscapes. Though the nerve centre of a country's economy and entertainment network, just a small battle through the gridlock and out you are, on the considerably handsome roads of Express Highway, on the roadtrip to usher a rush of nomadic veins.

And the kind of music system that my brother's car has, only makes the roadtrip all the more exciting and memorable.

Under one of the three tunnels on Express Highway

A view of the Express Highway and the lanscape its set in from a viewwing point at Khandala

Random Notes-

-The Express Highway is at its best lanscapes right after the monsoons, as it stands all green in glory.

-My fav lap in the drive has to be the tunnels!

- While driving over the quaint town of Lonavla at night, it looks likes the milky way has come down all the way, glittering and dedicating itself to the travellers on the road (haha i call this license in poetic thinking :) )

The Hindu

Its back to meticulous and scrutinous reading of newspapers and magazines.
It doesnt seem to have changed, that Hindu is, by far the best.

May 1st, May Day- I really liked the pic indicating an old man, way past his retirement age, doing neck-breaking work for a living.

On the cliff of Malshej Ghat

How many times we plan!
The bunch of us wanderlustbugs, who just want to set our feet on treks and adventures all the time or else dream endlessly of those distant hills, mysterious mountains and that hidden adrenaline-rushing adventure.

Many of these plans never fructify, but those that do- remain etched in mind's eye...
of which Malshej Ghat comes brimming in my memory.

The supposed farm stay turned out to be more than we could ask for, with Mrin's uncle taking us around some of the most beautiful places nestled in the niche of their farm surroundings, in the precincts of Malshej Ghat.


I cant forget the evening walk-up the ancient Anjaneya temple.

The pajama party thereafter, in the farm.

Lying on the grass and star-gazing, with the dawgs, those adorable dawgs, sitting by us and wondering what on earth we were looking up at/ for!

The curvy drive round the carpeted hills early next morn, upto the point where we soaked, soaked in waters that fell on us like mercy-showers. And D and i sang away, drunk on life!

And then the spicy warmth of the hot, crunchy vada pav, the taste of which is still lingering in my taste buds.

And that walk to the edge of the cliff, where we sat, sat still and calm, that brought all apprehensions mundane and existential to a peaceful standstill.

And we just gazed in silence, humbled by the breathtaking green scenes that stood before us, most unassumingly yet magnificiently.

And I sat there and made a secret prayer, clasping my hands (am sure all of us did hehe...!), that I would go there again, someday.

But with the list of places to travel that are just piling up and time not only shrinking but also running out.....

...... Malshej Ghat tell me, do you see me coming to you?

Travel Tag

"So if you could go anywhere in the world where would u choose to go?"

Apoorv just tugged a travel tag...

That not only reminds me of the places to go but also that its been REALLY long since I did any travelling. More than a year I think. Shame!

So, on this sultry afternoon, in solatary solace, i make a wish to be there sometime....soon-

Valley of flowers, Himalayas

what is it?

what is it?
writer's block? or the applied etymology to blogging- blogger's block?
whatever it is... i cant get to terms that its been a while since i really wrote out something (anything!).

this time around i need a magic potion to defreeze the numbness in my fingers- to write, to jot.

A to-do list

My list of concepts, projects and tasks not only seems endless but is difficult to keep track of.

I need a to-do list! and that's again part of my to-do list!

U, Me and Everybody

One mind. Many thoughts.
One face. Many masks.
One truth. Many perceptions.
One person. Many personalities.
One dreamer. Many dreams.

Common sense is uncommon to have.
ROAD SENSE?????
More so!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ode to these days

Ode to Monday-
fingers jammed with cold
mind jammed with grumbles
sunday was so humble
now am lifting dumbles
with munday(ne)gambles

Ode to Tuesday-
tuesday has me on toes
with never ending woes
here my grumbling goes
yet another day of heavy dose

Ode to Wednesday
wednesday sets me in tune
with the week's sa(n)d dunes

the cold morning greets me
with a headache that teases me
all i can think of is me
and everyone seems to be like me

up and about i run
as usual in no sun
light rays from the comp
make me want to stomp

masks i want everyone to remove
and make them bare out their hoove
rather be a matador
than a masked actor

i need time alone
but in this crowd iam thrown
like the salon
where ugliness is beautified
and beauty is denied

tell me how far is the bay
until i swim to reach sunday

Ode to wednesday evening
wednesday is over
but my work not over
when will it stop to hover
i want to go undercover.

:(


Ode to Thursday evening
thursday has me dumb
cos i have become (dangerously) numb

i have withdrawn
as i dont want to be drawn
into an abyss of the mundane lawn
i want to rise in dawn

and feel that sublime calm
and dew drops in my palm
that will be a balm

for a soul in such curry
and never ending hurry

sunday's a distant thought
friday and saturday i still have got
that has me in a knot
in which iam caught

i can breathe no more
i want some musical score
that has my heart leap
out of this creep
of the week's perennial weep

Ode to Friday
Fridays had me fried
Like mexican tomatoes that are sun-dried
I can't fathom how much i've tried
To make this heaviness subside

The week has been eventfull
I need to see the glass as half full
If I see it as empty
I will become hefty

With lots to achieve
But nothing to believe

Now I know one thing- all days are friedays
Its upto me to make it a sunday

Boink Boink

In a world where everything has a shelf life, my eye looks on to the eternal.

A damp morning and the waning siren

The morning mist made way for the damp wind.
People chugged along in the daily rut of routine.
Wake up in the morning, rushing for the 10 seconds of green signal waiting for you before a sea of wheels and heads.
I chugged along too, with a watchful eye.
The grey sky, almost colourless, loomed gloom.
The leaves refused to rustle and the wind blew uninhibited.

Some paved the way for others, some for themselves.

Then came along death
Sounding its siren loud
Pulling out everybody from the humdrum of thoughts.
The ambulance went ahead,
Trailing behing questions to ask and answers to seek
With its waning siren.

And everybody limped back to their humdrum of thoughts,
As the siren died silent.

(Un)Interrupted Rain

We're not used to sunsets at 5.30 are we?
We're not used to unannounced rains that come interrupting
right into pleasant temperatures of November evenings.
That's just how the weather is right now.

Like(un)wise (pun intended) We're not, in general accustomed to anything more than the seasonal changes.
But interruptions do happen when ur having a suspiciously smooth ride, whether u like it or not, like the interrupting November rain...
that sets u back.

And the only way to not get stuck in the moment is to have one thing loudest and clearest---

"DONT SWEAT THE SMALL STUFF and its all small stuff".

By the way, that's a nice book i've just begun to read...

Chords of ingenuity & pride of being U

I never really gave a second thought to listening to Kannada music from around today's times.
But
Swarathma's number- ee bhoomi dispelled all assumptions.

Another song that i ( even u) can instantly relate to jaana kahan hai mujhe is one of my favorites.

Plug in to Swarathma :) -- humble music from the chords of ingenuity and pride of being one's real self.

Wear Sunscreen

Bazz Luhrrman says so
And the doctor too.

Wear SPF 15- whether u go out in the sun or not, the sun rays penetrate ur skin.

So, wear sunscreen.

The Reason

The emptiness within cannot be without reason.
The nomadic veins dont rush blood in search for serene pastures without reason.
The question of life after death cannot be without reason.
The question of truth cannot be without reason.
This life cannot be without reason.

Rain Drops

They somehow feel good, cause they come from up above?
Or is it the slight splitter -splatter sound in the way it falls?
Or is it that lovely puddle u can just jump into.....?

I dont know what it is. But, raindrops are special cos they make u feel like a kid.

But, as u grow older u tend to see the germs in the puddle of water u'd otherwise hop-skip n jump into.
Ur weary of wetting urself in the rain- fearing that nose-run n sore throat.
N u really wudnt want to go with a rain-splashed-attire for a formal presentation.

I think its with growing up that I have a problem with. But, can u really have a problem with something u have no control over? That thing called time? Nope.

:( am sad

i want to always play in the rain, and jump into the puddle o'rain water even when am barely able to walk- picture me faltering at every step trying to hold onto the walking stick n with an idea running behind those wrinkles of jumping into the puddle (that would straight set me on the funeral pyre).

so, as for now i'll settle with the sad thought of atrophy and take joy in the rain.
will figure out how to enjoy the rain when am m older n wiser, in the mean time.

Cavernous Cry

Republishing something i wrote two years back

Distant, untrodded virgin lands teasingly beckon the wanderlust bug to its unfathomable treasures.
The sensory touch of forest leaves…
The sight of green hues contouring blue skies tempt the aspiring nomad…
The instance where only time and space exist,
Wafts the drifter to the journey which lives its destination every moment.

It stirs, in my soul, an aching desperation to refrain from the mundaneness of this
solitary confinement.

"We hang the petty thieves and appoint the great ones to public office."
-Aesop

Sleepy

Am quite sleepy.Which is neither being asleep, nor being awake.
And given that choice I'd happily choose the former.
Yawns.

Haikuesque

Haikus may not be meant to be rhyming. But thanks to freedom of expression (and poetic license :p) here's a haikuesque-style- 17 -syllabled rhyme.

Its been a while for a while
I sat thinking on an isle
Life's agile

Just posted two unposted posts - Aditya & Nagarpanchmi

Nagpanchmi

So my grandma handed over a box of “Thambhit” laddus, some green bangles, a halved dry coconut, pan and beetlenuts, a saree and ofcourse kunkma to my mother with a puritan’s touch to tradition observed on ‘Nagarapanchmi’, the festival of the Lord of snakes, Lord Shiva.

I sat across ajji, who with much zeal had made the laddus, and asked her what gave her the verve to make them. (In the monotonous humdrum of todays mundaneness, conforming to these traditions seems more than just a time-consuming elaborate effort to most. One just doesn’t have the ‘verve’ to do it anymore.

‘So what is this festival all about?’ I ask ajji and she nonchalantly says “nagpanchmi andre nagara havina puje madodu” translated from Kannada that means worshipping the Lord of snakes aka Lord Shiva. Sounds simple?

Celebrated with special gusto in North Karnataka and interior Maharashtra in mid-rainy season, Nagarpanchmi is an elaborate five-day celebration of life. The festivities commence with crunches, munches and special lunches. Call it ‘peth pooja’. I would without a doubt say that’s a part of every Indian festival. But, what’s different about Nagpanchmi (apart from the festival-specific food) is the 180 degrees swing play.

Donning new clothes, adorned in new jewels and fragrant jasmine garlands in the long plaits, ajji, her cousins and comrades, escorted by maids, took to the game of ‘sway and catch the coconuts’. They had to stand on ropes tied to perennial trees and swing a substantial 180 degree up in the air to catch the dry-coconut garlands and bring them back. And all this in the farms, with that shimmer of greenery, glint of sunshine and wind that carried you away with the sways to a happier place.

‘It was so much excitement’ ajji says concluding her fleeting recount of Nagarpanchmi, with a resounding laughter reminiscent of the mirthful bygone years.

Aditya

What else did I expect to find in the paedatric surgery ward other than heartrending wails and teary-eyed babies? Nothing really.

There came this grandmother who tersely said to the tiny 4 year old-something brat ‘Aditya come here and sit with me’.

Children solicit conversations with their mischief, smart observations or with just their cute faces and doleful eyes. So we got to know this Aditya who wants to be a Superman when he grows up cause he wants to ‘yelp’ people.

‘Seethamma, please come here’ called out a patient’s mother. So, somebody said her name’s not Seethamma its Narasamma. After a momentary lapse of deep thought, Aditya confidently said with his baby twang, beaming with intelligence- ‘Here, everybody is ‘Nurseamma’ the whole ward was smiling for a change.

What lateral thinking I thought!!

:)

Gimmicks

Friendship day, mother's day, father's day, brother's day, sister's day, doctor's day, valentine's day- where have all these day's come from!?

These revenue generating tricks have tricked most people at the emotional nut bolt really well- why else would u have hazaar messages wishing u happy friendship day (some as plain as that and some entailing elaborate analogies).

Friendship is something we live each day and that IS the real celebration.

The sunny side to it all is- there are those friends who dont message/mail/call in a long time. But will not forget to forward a 'happy friendship day' wish :p

PS in retrospect:
When I/we was/were a kid- there was just Teacher's day where we danced for our teachers and likewise they did for us on Children's day.