When you were on the other continent

Written long ago, unfreezing now. 

It was freezing cold,
I closed my window.
Frost formed,
And I wrote your name


On a drowsy morning
Steam sat on the glass door of the bathroom
Dulled by the distances and the paucity of conversation
The steam stanced like a stained glass
And I wrote your name


I nibbled on food
Mindlessly munching
I wrote your name on my plate
And fed my soul

Time moulds

Who we are is defined every moment by what happens to us, around us.
And who chisels that?

Part you, part fate, part everything in between the two.

?

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.