“All of our unhappiness comes from our inability to be alone.” Jean de la Bruyere
What is it about being alone that is so scary? That seems so insurmountable? That chokes me and leaves me running out like a mad hatter, as if the world were coming to an end. What will make it better? Why has it suddenly become so impossible to be alone? Why do I dread my own company? Or is it something more?
I need answers. I don’t want to be locked up in an asylum cell fearing even the goddamn disinfectant smelling wall.
Make me see sense. Give me courage to tide over this. I need to be strong.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Friday, January 04, 2008
This or That?
The Rig Veda says, “When there is harmony between the mind, heart and your determination, nothing is impossible.”
Now my question: for someone as confused and vacillating as me, harmony seems as unattainable as utopia. So then how do we make the impossible, possible?
I am perpetually torn between two extremes. Why I wonder? Is it because those two divergent choices really exist in my little world? Or because I would like to delude myself that though the available option is not as pleasant as I would like it to be, there is this nook in my little brain I can run away to hide in.
The choices stump me at times. Yet I pretend I am conquering something, a temptation, a lesser option, a similar not up to the mark opportunity in favour of this so-called wise and well-informed decision. Only to rant in a few months at best a few hours.
If varied options merely lead to confusion and discontent in hindsight, why not do away with them?
But then how will I console myself that I got the better deal, unless there is something to pip in favour of it?
Life’s choices have me confused.
But that is my silly high.
I refuse to let it go.
Now my question: for someone as confused and vacillating as me, harmony seems as unattainable as utopia. So then how do we make the impossible, possible?
I am perpetually torn between two extremes. Why I wonder? Is it because those two divergent choices really exist in my little world? Or because I would like to delude myself that though the available option is not as pleasant as I would like it to be, there is this nook in my little brain I can run away to hide in.
The choices stump me at times. Yet I pretend I am conquering something, a temptation, a lesser option, a similar not up to the mark opportunity in favour of this so-called wise and well-informed decision. Only to rant in a few months at best a few hours.
If varied options merely lead to confusion and discontent in hindsight, why not do away with them?
But then how will I console myself that I got the better deal, unless there is something to pip in favour of it?
Life’s choices have me confused.
But that is my silly high.
I refuse to let it go.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
And true it is...
“What is love? Love is when one person knows all of your secrets... your deepest, darkest, most dreadful secrets of which no one else in the world knows... and yet in the end, that one person does not think any less of you; even if the rest of the world does.”
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Cleaning out….
As I rummaged through some old mails etc, I came across this little neatly hidden note. Personal, written in A’s hand.
“The point of the matter is she never would have gone so far away if it hadn’t been for them…. there was nothing that could have come in between them. The princess would have patiently bided her time, forever. And yet…the storm raged. She was swept away. And while he searched with all he had left, she was floating unaware in some faraway shore, calling out to him, choking on tears. Something died then, deep within. Never to be reborn or mended. Not trying to make excuses and slip away. It was ignoble and simply disgusting. It hurt too. That it did whatever else he might want to believe. It tugs at the heart more than he might actually give credit for. She did let you down, did turn out to be a slippery eel, uncaring and unreliable. But if ever he finds it within himself to believe and forgive, he should do so, for come what may the princess will wholeheartedly love the captain, and him alone till the end of time.”
Those days it never made sense to me…
Neither had ever explained why they chose different partners. It had shocked me then, it scares me now. I had stayed away. Now I wonder…
I have another 20 odd FYI ones. I wonder if I should make sense of it all, after so many years.
Ignorance is indeed bliss many a times.
“The point of the matter is she never would have gone so far away if it hadn’t been for them…. there was nothing that could have come in between them. The princess would have patiently bided her time, forever. And yet…the storm raged. She was swept away. And while he searched with all he had left, she was floating unaware in some faraway shore, calling out to him, choking on tears. Something died then, deep within. Never to be reborn or mended. Not trying to make excuses and slip away. It was ignoble and simply disgusting. It hurt too. That it did whatever else he might want to believe. It tugs at the heart more than he might actually give credit for. She did let you down, did turn out to be a slippery eel, uncaring and unreliable. But if ever he finds it within himself to believe and forgive, he should do so, for come what may the princess will wholeheartedly love the captain, and him alone till the end of time.”
Those days it never made sense to me…
Neither had ever explained why they chose different partners. It had shocked me then, it scares me now. I had stayed away. Now I wonder…
I have another 20 odd FYI ones. I wonder if I should make sense of it all, after so many years.
Ignorance is indeed bliss many a times.
For the captain and the sea princess
“………I was just entering the place.
He looked right at me, smiled and walked away.
Something in me went off. It kept saying he likes you.
I put it aside. Walked on.
Talked on, lived on.
3 days later I met him again.
We were going the same way.
We were sitting next to each other.
We talked.
And talked.
And fought like 3 year olds.
Then suddenly held hands.
Suddenly we were shy.
Of everything, of each other.
Till that moment it had all seemed so pure.
Suddenly there seemed to be bigger questions that needed attention.
I was single.
So was he.
But we were strangers.
What was it that had brought us together?
Where was this seemingly sudden and one and only meeting headed.
Why had we both gasped and smiled the minute we had set eyes on each other again at the bus stop?
Was it another fanciful dream?
No. He is much older than me.
Then why am I, this fresh in college kid, swooning over him?
Pray what is wrong?
All I wanted was to be with him, talk to him, look at him, have him hold me, like this forever…”
A sent me this way long ago. Those days I had wondered how in the span of a half hour bus ride she had mustered up enough reason and courage to interlink her fingers with that of an older stranger.
After years of being together, they still took a bus ride to relive those innocent times.
Today as I search for those two faces, people who made me what I am, loved me to death and made me love so steadfastly in return.
The two of you…so far away, so removed from my life.
At every turn I look for your approval, your smile.
For every moment spent apart…
I miss you A & S.
Love you always.
He looked right at me, smiled and walked away.
Something in me went off. It kept saying he likes you.
I put it aside. Walked on.
Talked on, lived on.
3 days later I met him again.
We were going the same way.
We were sitting next to each other.
We talked.
And talked.
And fought like 3 year olds.
Then suddenly held hands.
Suddenly we were shy.
Of everything, of each other.
Till that moment it had all seemed so pure.
Suddenly there seemed to be bigger questions that needed attention.
I was single.
So was he.
But we were strangers.
What was it that had brought us together?
Where was this seemingly sudden and one and only meeting headed.
Why had we both gasped and smiled the minute we had set eyes on each other again at the bus stop?
Was it another fanciful dream?
No. He is much older than me.
Then why am I, this fresh in college kid, swooning over him?
Pray what is wrong?
All I wanted was to be with him, talk to him, look at him, have him hold me, like this forever…”
A sent me this way long ago. Those days I had wondered how in the span of a half hour bus ride she had mustered up enough reason and courage to interlink her fingers with that of an older stranger.
After years of being together, they still took a bus ride to relive those innocent times.
Today as I search for those two faces, people who made me what I am, loved me to death and made me love so steadfastly in return.
The two of you…so far away, so removed from my life.
At every turn I look for your approval, your smile.
For every moment spent apart…
I miss you A & S.
Love you always.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Forget it, but how?
“When love becomes labored we welcome an act of infidelity towards ourselves to free us from fidelity” --- François de la Rochefoucauld
In the last five years, a zillion times I have pondered, what forced him to commit such a heinous act? It was unforgivable then, and now.
What is it that spurs a human being to stray; from those he/she professes to love more than themselves?
Is it boredom, is it for pleasure or the thrill of the chase, or a craving for variety, or lust, or physical and/or emotional needs, or despair, or depression, or loneliness, or anger, or revenge, or pure mirth, or sheer disregard for another, or destiny or something beyond all that?
It had stung really hard, and has permeated sensibilities of mine, that are invisible to the naked eye or brain and now impede pure happiness and innocence in me.
Why? I ask myself, for I never got an answer.
Now as I build happiness with another, I am forced to relook and try and discard those fears and numbing feelings so as not to cast a dark shadow on the honesty of that which exists now.
I wonder if ever I shall break free of those shackles that bind me for life? How I shall mete out justice to this one who loves me beyond compare now and gives me happiness I didn’t dream of by worrying myself green that history might repeat itself.
How can you walk away from something that hurt you so bad and bury it so deep it can never again resurface?
In the last five years, a zillion times I have pondered, what forced him to commit such a heinous act? It was unforgivable then, and now.
What is it that spurs a human being to stray; from those he/she professes to love more than themselves?
Is it boredom, is it for pleasure or the thrill of the chase, or a craving for variety, or lust, or physical and/or emotional needs, or despair, or depression, or loneliness, or anger, or revenge, or pure mirth, or sheer disregard for another, or destiny or something beyond all that?
It had stung really hard, and has permeated sensibilities of mine, that are invisible to the naked eye or brain and now impede pure happiness and innocence in me.
Why? I ask myself, for I never got an answer.
Now as I build happiness with another, I am forced to relook and try and discard those fears and numbing feelings so as not to cast a dark shadow on the honesty of that which exists now.
I wonder if ever I shall break free of those shackles that bind me for life? How I shall mete out justice to this one who loves me beyond compare now and gives me happiness I didn’t dream of by worrying myself green that history might repeat itself.
How can you walk away from something that hurt you so bad and bury it so deep it can never again resurface?
Everybody has a good side?
"Find the best in everybody. You might have to wait a long time, sometimes years, but people will show you their good side. Just keep waiting no matter how long it takes. No one is all evil. Everybody has a good side; just keep waiting, it will come out. "
Randy Pausch
My life and experiences, albeit small and numbered, tell me there is no inherent and hidden goodness in someone. There are no varying degrees. Either they are good or bad. There is never this fine line ebbing into nothing. Most manage to pretend and hope otherwise.
The people I have known range from downright evil to absolutely wonderful. Though the first category seems to attract itself more to me, the fact remains the last has been the one that taught me more.
They, who are innately good, can only exude goodness. And basking in that either we learn, unlearn or relearn. We may not become clones of those saintly souls, but it at least instills in us the belief that even if we are not considered pontiffs and divine messengers, we might be able to bring a smile to someone, somewhere. At the bare minimum, we might make life better for ourselves.
Few years back, each roadblock seemed a punishment to me. I berated against nature’s cruelty against simple me. But now I wonder otherwise.
When the going gets tough, the person who is a survivor grits his/her teeth and sees a silver lining even amidst the muck. That has been my attempt at many junctures in my life.
There is always something good, if only you persist and go through with it all. There is some reason it is happening to you, and not to the guy who sits next to you in office. What might that be?
I don’t have many answers, but I merely pursue what little goodness and purity that remains in me. I wouldn’t want to be the odd one living amongst pontiffs.
Randy Pausch
My life and experiences, albeit small and numbered, tell me there is no inherent and hidden goodness in someone. There are no varying degrees. Either they are good or bad. There is never this fine line ebbing into nothing. Most manage to pretend and hope otherwise.
The people I have known range from downright evil to absolutely wonderful. Though the first category seems to attract itself more to me, the fact remains the last has been the one that taught me more.
They, who are innately good, can only exude goodness. And basking in that either we learn, unlearn or relearn. We may not become clones of those saintly souls, but it at least instills in us the belief that even if we are not considered pontiffs and divine messengers, we might be able to bring a smile to someone, somewhere. At the bare minimum, we might make life better for ourselves.
Few years back, each roadblock seemed a punishment to me. I berated against nature’s cruelty against simple me. But now I wonder otherwise.
When the going gets tough, the person who is a survivor grits his/her teeth and sees a silver lining even amidst the muck. That has been my attempt at many junctures in my life.
There is always something good, if only you persist and go through with it all. There is some reason it is happening to you, and not to the guy who sits next to you in office. What might that be?
I don’t have many answers, but I merely pursue what little goodness and purity that remains in me. I wouldn’t want to be the odd one living amongst pontiffs.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Recourse to Plath
The Companionable Ills
The nose-end that twitches, the old imperfections---
Tolerable now as moles on the face
Put up with until chagrin gives place
To a wry complaisance---
Dug in first as God's spurs
To start the spirit out of the mud
It stabled in; long-used, became well-loved
Bedfellows of the spirit's debauch, fond masters.
The nose-end that twitches, the old imperfections---
Tolerable now as moles on the face
Put up with until chagrin gives place
To a wry complaisance---
Dug in first as God's spurs
To start the spirit out of the mud
It stabled in; long-used, became well-loved
Bedfellows of the spirit's debauch, fond masters.
Straying Hairs....
“I refuse to think of them as chin hairs. I think of them as stray eyebrows” - Janette Barber, stand-up comic
For once I have an explanation to what those black strands are doing way below my so called head…. each time I resorted to creams and gels and threads and painful waxing procedures, which I resented I racked my brain to come up with some rational explanation as to why they were there….and now I know!
And all this while I wondered how I could laugh about growing a partial beard like my dad, bro and hubby…. but hey it wasn’t a galactic conspiracy. It was just that like my spinal column fucked up and gave me two damn extra bones, my damn eyebrows forgot their limits and overflowed….a wee bit under!
What with extra bones, misdirected and stray hairs, almost joint eyebrows, (yeah not just Kajol folks, but in now way imitating the bewildering and frightening bridge that Karishma Kapoor sported) frizzy limp brown hair, a full figure (read overweight) and ……(better left unsaid, making me suddenly develop a complex) I have concluded that my body shall be given away to the world of science to learn what the repercussions of multitudes of errors can do…
And in the meantime, God bless her sweet soul for finally ending the traumatic overtures of the little grey cells to be creative on this one….
For once I have an explanation to what those black strands are doing way below my so called head…. each time I resorted to creams and gels and threads and painful waxing procedures, which I resented I racked my brain to come up with some rational explanation as to why they were there….and now I know!
And all this while I wondered how I could laugh about growing a partial beard like my dad, bro and hubby…. but hey it wasn’t a galactic conspiracy. It was just that like my spinal column fucked up and gave me two damn extra bones, my damn eyebrows forgot their limits and overflowed….a wee bit under!
What with extra bones, misdirected and stray hairs, almost joint eyebrows, (yeah not just Kajol folks, but in now way imitating the bewildering and frightening bridge that Karishma Kapoor sported) frizzy limp brown hair, a full figure (read overweight) and ……(better left unsaid, making me suddenly develop a complex) I have concluded that my body shall be given away to the world of science to learn what the repercussions of multitudes of errors can do…
And in the meantime, God bless her sweet soul for finally ending the traumatic overtures of the little grey cells to be creative on this one….
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Tread Softly
"Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet,
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams"
--WB Yeats
A sudden flash. Seething pain. Unwanted memories/sights/fears.
Wonder.
Did time stop for both of us?
Did things lose meaning for both of us?
Did it hurt so bad you wanted to cry out loud?
Did you ever want to give back what you had so mercilessly taken away?
Did you ever regret being so selfish?
Did you ever want to turn back time and give me back my innocent life?
Did you ever want to repay me that, which made you what you are, gave you a life, meaning to your existence, let you follow your dreams at the cost of mine?
Did you ever pray that finally happiness might kiss my life?
Pray that I might never ever shrink from fear of being beaten black and blue?
Did you ever wish me well? For one insane moment?
Did you ever repent for your cruelty? Your madness? Your covetousness? Your greed?
Did you for one moment, consider paying me back all that hard earned money that I foolishly spent to better your lot?
Did you ever love me so that dying might have been the easiest I could ask of you?
Did you ever?
Many a night, I cry for what I lost.
Many a night, I wish I had never ever come across you.
Many a night, I silently hope it will dawn on you that the money that bought you everything in life, was never yours to use or keep, to help dream, and hence will remain a debt for life.
Many a night, I pray that my God avenges me.
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet,
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams"
--WB Yeats
A sudden flash. Seething pain. Unwanted memories/sights/fears.
Wonder.
Did time stop for both of us?
Did things lose meaning for both of us?
Did it hurt so bad you wanted to cry out loud?
Did you ever want to give back what you had so mercilessly taken away?
Did you ever regret being so selfish?
Did you ever want to turn back time and give me back my innocent life?
Did you ever want to repay me that, which made you what you are, gave you a life, meaning to your existence, let you follow your dreams at the cost of mine?
Did you ever pray that finally happiness might kiss my life?
Pray that I might never ever shrink from fear of being beaten black and blue?
Did you ever wish me well? For one insane moment?
Did you ever repent for your cruelty? Your madness? Your covetousness? Your greed?
Did you for one moment, consider paying me back all that hard earned money that I foolishly spent to better your lot?
Did you ever love me so that dying might have been the easiest I could ask of you?
Did you ever?
Many a night, I cry for what I lost.
Many a night, I wish I had never ever come across you.
Many a night, I silently hope it will dawn on you that the money that bought you everything in life, was never yours to use or keep, to help dream, and hence will remain a debt for life.
Many a night, I pray that my God avenges me.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Reality Check
Last night as I sat on the floor staring hard at those idols and pictures of the various gods and goddesses I invoke at innumerable moments, it struck me….
The reality of my situation.
Its ugly. Its something I could do without. But hell…there it is. And maybe once I put it down, it will stop being so immense and unbearable.
It’s like this.
I have always been a dreamer. Colourful, Animated and joyous. Always chasing the stars in my head.
But when that came to living, I didn’t succeed in transforming all those wide-eyed dreams.
The first half was indeed easy.
But then I invited strangers and erstwhile lovers to come help me ruminate.
They chewed for hours, then months…it continued. By when the fire was burnt out, the initiative dead and gone.
I aint looking for a head to throw all the blame on. But at each passing in my life I have resorted to weird strangers to comfort and guide me. And I have been misguided all along.
And last night as I sat, sobbing and looking back, I wondered why I never ever woke up amidst the mis-directed travel. Why didn’t I ever cry out for help? Why didn’t I admit that I was in trouble? Why did I end up with so much emotional and some odd baggage? Why have I become bitter and unforgiving and forever angry?
What is it that I lost in this entire charade?
What is it that I was pleading to have returned?
What would that do for me?
Am I willing to redo all the drama, and embark on a completely new journey?
Am I completely off, from where I should be?
Can I get back?
Can I be the happy, don’t care a damn, ambitious, bewitching me?
Where is she?
Why did she die?
How can I bring her back?
How on earth?
Will I succeed?
The reality of my situation.
Its ugly. Its something I could do without. But hell…there it is. And maybe once I put it down, it will stop being so immense and unbearable.
It’s like this.
I have always been a dreamer. Colourful, Animated and joyous. Always chasing the stars in my head.
But when that came to living, I didn’t succeed in transforming all those wide-eyed dreams.
The first half was indeed easy.
But then I invited strangers and erstwhile lovers to come help me ruminate.
They chewed for hours, then months…it continued. By when the fire was burnt out, the initiative dead and gone.
I aint looking for a head to throw all the blame on. But at each passing in my life I have resorted to weird strangers to comfort and guide me. And I have been misguided all along.
And last night as I sat, sobbing and looking back, I wondered why I never ever woke up amidst the mis-directed travel. Why didn’t I ever cry out for help? Why didn’t I admit that I was in trouble? Why did I end up with so much emotional and some odd baggage? Why have I become bitter and unforgiving and forever angry?
What is it that I lost in this entire charade?
What is it that I was pleading to have returned?
What would that do for me?
Am I willing to redo all the drama, and embark on a completely new journey?
Am I completely off, from where I should be?
Can I get back?
Can I be the happy, don’t care a damn, ambitious, bewitching me?
Where is she?
Why did she die?
How can I bring her back?
How on earth?
Will I succeed?
Friday, September 14, 2007
Childhood of Modakams
My best memories of Vinayaka Chaturthi are those filled with modakams.
My Paati used to make absolutely yummy ones…. two kinds…one sweet with the traditional jaggery and coconut filling, while the other was spicy and had red chillies in it. The idea was to balance out the palate with hot and sweet modakams.
And we cousins used to fight as to who could eat more.
I remember saving mine up while everyone gobbled them down, and then sitting around licking and devouring them in a purportedly slow manner to drive the others insane and greedy.
Since we grew into our teens and college beckoned, modakams were forgotten and the only modakams we ate were those fashioned by some obscure north Indian in Delhi.
Today on the eve of Chaturthi, I can taste those modakams as I look back and wish those carefree childhood days back….
When all that mattered were playing games, eating hearty yummy meals egged on by Paati and Thatha who took great pride in watching us eat well, and then fighting amongst ourselves as to who got the bigger portion and then listening to stories from Paati and then sleeping together on beds strewn on the floor.
Those were days of bliss.
I wish they would come back again.
My Paati used to make absolutely yummy ones…. two kinds…one sweet with the traditional jaggery and coconut filling, while the other was spicy and had red chillies in it. The idea was to balance out the palate with hot and sweet modakams.
And we cousins used to fight as to who could eat more.
I remember saving mine up while everyone gobbled them down, and then sitting around licking and devouring them in a purportedly slow manner to drive the others insane and greedy.
Since we grew into our teens and college beckoned, modakams were forgotten and the only modakams we ate were those fashioned by some obscure north Indian in Delhi.
Today on the eve of Chaturthi, I can taste those modakams as I look back and wish those carefree childhood days back….
When all that mattered were playing games, eating hearty yummy meals egged on by Paati and Thatha who took great pride in watching us eat well, and then fighting amongst ourselves as to who got the bigger portion and then listening to stories from Paati and then sleeping together on beds strewn on the floor.
Those were days of bliss.
I wish they would come back again.
My favourite Elephant God....
Gajananam Bhuta Ganathi Sevitam
Kapittha Jambu Palasara Bhaksitam
Uma Sutam Shoka Vinasha Karanam
Kapittha Jambu Palasara Bhaksitam
Uma Sutam Shoka Vinasha Karanam
Namami Vignesvara Pada Pankajam
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Fools Rush In....
What is it about fools and me?
Why is it that I attract all the crap in the vicinity and then they stick on like leeches.
When all I can ever muster up is a deep founded disgust topped with intense violence.
From those above me in the hierarchy to some who merely crossed my line of vision there have been very many who have caused intense negative sensations to arise from deep within my gut.
There is a divine conspiracy on to never cleanse me of these nuts.
They find me in the middle of a night, a hailstorm, an erupting volcano and then never seem to wash away even under the influence of the strongest detergent money can buy.
Today, yet again the Big Boss has asked me to accompany him to prevent him from mouthing inanities and looking congenitally stupid in front of some foreign imported executive.
I have done this umpteen times and each attempt to wriggle out is handled with age-old ease leaving me feel dumb at having finally given in and accepted.
Why is it so hard to understand that my knowledge is not for sharing? If he is so concerned about what his stupid boob filled mouth will vomit out, he should probably try cleaning it out with phenol ever so often. Instead he craves for more boobs and fluids.
Am disgusted with this lot of parasitic folk.
But what irks me beyond repair is how do they find me?
Of all humanity why am I plagued by these despicable beings who deserve to be guillotined?
Why is it that I attract all the crap in the vicinity and then they stick on like leeches.
When all I can ever muster up is a deep founded disgust topped with intense violence.
From those above me in the hierarchy to some who merely crossed my line of vision there have been very many who have caused intense negative sensations to arise from deep within my gut.
There is a divine conspiracy on to never cleanse me of these nuts.
They find me in the middle of a night, a hailstorm, an erupting volcano and then never seem to wash away even under the influence of the strongest detergent money can buy.
Today, yet again the Big Boss has asked me to accompany him to prevent him from mouthing inanities and looking congenitally stupid in front of some foreign imported executive.
I have done this umpteen times and each attempt to wriggle out is handled with age-old ease leaving me feel dumb at having finally given in and accepted.
Why is it so hard to understand that my knowledge is not for sharing? If he is so concerned about what his stupid boob filled mouth will vomit out, he should probably try cleaning it out with phenol ever so often. Instead he craves for more boobs and fluids.
Am disgusted with this lot of parasitic folk.
But what irks me beyond repair is how do they find me?
Of all humanity why am I plagued by these despicable beings who deserve to be guillotined?
Saturday, August 18, 2007
My Auto Stories…
Another one of those days when the driver of the auto rickshaw I traveled in felt compelled to dole out some advice to me.
It’s been a consistent event in my life. Ever so often I end up taking a rick/auto, whose driver has something to tell me or teach me or even lecture me on. I have been scolded, taught, made to wonder, laugh, and fear and amused at many of those who took me on a ride.
Some have let me off, without taking a penny in return (has happened only in DELHI and they were extremely well meaning old men) while others have haggled and been cursed by me in turn.
I distinctly this one man who drove me from Connaught Place to Munirka and on learning that I was a student at JNU, he spoke with perfect clarity about the UN and told me to get a job with the UN and do India proud. He was the first auto driver to turn down his fare.
Others have spoken to me in well-structured English, despite being clad in monstrous smelly clothes.
Some have made me violent beyond comparison and I have walked away cursing them like no other and invoking the gods to cause a road accident.
I remember the night I was travelling with a group of friends by bus, and we had reached Hyderabad and were to board a connecting train. It was 4 am and just outside the railway station, autos were queued up all playing songs from Rajni starrer Baasha at full blast.
Another time, the driver proudly spoke to me about his sons, both of whom were pursuing professional degrees with full scholarships and were the top scorers in their respective colleges. For a man who had run away from a village with a dream of making it big, he was now living his dreams through them. Unable to mouth English, he was drawing up plans to send his eldest son to the US.
One good man actually saved me from some stupid bike-rider who was tailing me insistently. The rick guy not just lost the bike’s tail, but also escorted me to a cop, placed a complaint and dropped me off, for not a penny more than what we had agreed on, though we had traveled double the distance. He even offered to pick me up the next day!!!
My memories of winters spent in Delhi are incomplete without autos. Many a time I have taken refuge in autos when the cold was biting and I had left home with a flimsy shawl to fan my vanity. Those rides, clinging to myself, covered from head to toe in a shawl, staring out at the lights and waiting to reach the warmth of my rajai were wonderful.
I have often wondered what possessed those men driving me around to turn to me and speak like they had been dared to bare their souls. What made them feel this cranky girl, either lighting a cigarette or trying hard to keep her teeth from chattering could do with some sensible talk? Many have taught me things. Many inspired me to write stories. Many sparked off hatred. But they have all been filled with learnings of all sorts.
Most of the men who chatted on while I sat in the back watching miles and buildings pass by were honest souls. But they form the small minority of those I bumped into. And surprisingly as I look back and recount my experiences, I realise the honest ones were all in Delhi, while the crudest ones were in Chennai and the ones with the most horrid attitudes in Bangalore. Some of the most learned though I have come across only in Kerala.
I can’t wait for my next ride…
It’s been a consistent event in my life. Ever so often I end up taking a rick/auto, whose driver has something to tell me or teach me or even lecture me on. I have been scolded, taught, made to wonder, laugh, and fear and amused at many of those who took me on a ride.
Some have let me off, without taking a penny in return (has happened only in DELHI and they were extremely well meaning old men) while others have haggled and been cursed by me in turn.
I distinctly this one man who drove me from Connaught Place to Munirka and on learning that I was a student at JNU, he spoke with perfect clarity about the UN and told me to get a job with the UN and do India proud. He was the first auto driver to turn down his fare.
Others have spoken to me in well-structured English, despite being clad in monstrous smelly clothes.
Some have made me violent beyond comparison and I have walked away cursing them like no other and invoking the gods to cause a road accident.
I remember the night I was travelling with a group of friends by bus, and we had reached Hyderabad and were to board a connecting train. It was 4 am and just outside the railway station, autos were queued up all playing songs from Rajni starrer Baasha at full blast.
Another time, the driver proudly spoke to me about his sons, both of whom were pursuing professional degrees with full scholarships and were the top scorers in their respective colleges. For a man who had run away from a village with a dream of making it big, he was now living his dreams through them. Unable to mouth English, he was drawing up plans to send his eldest son to the US.
One good man actually saved me from some stupid bike-rider who was tailing me insistently. The rick guy not just lost the bike’s tail, but also escorted me to a cop, placed a complaint and dropped me off, for not a penny more than what we had agreed on, though we had traveled double the distance. He even offered to pick me up the next day!!!
My memories of winters spent in Delhi are incomplete without autos. Many a time I have taken refuge in autos when the cold was biting and I had left home with a flimsy shawl to fan my vanity. Those rides, clinging to myself, covered from head to toe in a shawl, staring out at the lights and waiting to reach the warmth of my rajai were wonderful.
I have often wondered what possessed those men driving me around to turn to me and speak like they had been dared to bare their souls. What made them feel this cranky girl, either lighting a cigarette or trying hard to keep her teeth from chattering could do with some sensible talk? Many have taught me things. Many inspired me to write stories. Many sparked off hatred. But they have all been filled with learnings of all sorts.
Most of the men who chatted on while I sat in the back watching miles and buildings pass by were honest souls. But they form the small minority of those I bumped into. And surprisingly as I look back and recount my experiences, I realise the honest ones were all in Delhi, while the crudest ones were in Chennai and the ones with the most horrid attitudes in Bangalore. Some of the most learned though I have come across only in Kerala.
I can’t wait for my next ride…
Thursday, August 16, 2007
My Little Brother
Sibling relationships outlast marriages, survive the death of parents, and resurface after quarrels that would sink any friendship. They flourish in a thousand incarnations of closeness and distance, warmth, loyalty and distrust. To the outside world we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other's hearts. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. We live outside the touch of time.
I don’t remember my first memory of Rahul. Though I do remember being responsible for him since the day he was born. People tell me, I was in love with my kid brother since the day he was born and was protective of him since then. I still am madly & fiercely protective about him.
My oldest memories of him are when he as a newborn would sleep with his butt high up in the air, when they shaved off his curly locks, when we used to play with little insects we had named lady birds.
Of playing in Chennai, amma taking both of us to Bambino Kindergarten, when he would wait patiently to know if his sister had beaten everyone in class in dictation, when both of us were photographed as the best dressed kids by some newspaper photographer. When he once during a game, threw his toy gun at me and I got hurt. The times when we overturned chairs to become horses and dragged them around the house, screeching to a halt only when our landlord from downstairs came running up hurling abuses. And how amma tied the chairs to the windowsill and how we despite that sat and pretended that we were trotting on our ponies.
I remember those days when Amma walked Rahul and me to the bus stop in Kollam. And then just when he realised the van was fast approaching, he would burst into tears and sob so hard, amma wouldn’t have the heart to let him go. Then with me pulling from inside and amma pushing from outside Rahul would hang onto the van. Finally amma would succeed in pushing him in, wherein she would catch an auto and follow us to school. Or else she would pull him out with helplessness as he smiled and hugged her as if it was only in her arms that he would feel safe ever.
Then there were the sessions where he would run out of Wendy Miss’ class. And I would follow him around and catch him and deposit him there and head to my own, a tad late. Or the times amma patiently sat outside his classroom so that each time he looked out he would see her and be comforted. Then those days when the principal finally not able to hit upon a solution, decided to coach him herself and he would pompously sit in one of her chairs and she took private lessons and I went down in every break to feed him and look on him. And how he named me “kutti amma” because I took care of him while amma was not around.
So many places and phases we share. So many memories.
Wondrous moments. Treasured for life. Mightily forgotten by my absent-minded younger brother.
For the first time in our lives, we are in separate continents. And I miss him sorely.
I sought my soul, but my soul I could not see. I sought my God, but my God eluded me. I sought my brother and I found all three.
Friday, August 03, 2007
Yearly Review.
Rain…. like zillions of people I love the smell of freshly wet soil. As if its been reborn and given another chance.
But that’s not why I am writing.
A year in Bangalore and I am still slightly clueless as to what prompted me to come to this crazed city.
Career is going on fine, if we were to ignore the idiotic politics that governs it. But then this place has survived 150 years and if it hadn’t been for these wheeler-dealers would it have lasted this long??? Guess underhand and behind the back dealings are the stepping-stones to success and longevity.
Friends…. not an absolute blank. Hardly half a dozen but who’s complaining? Then again, the frivolity of those Delhi days has passed me by. But I sorely miss those drinking sessions followed by dancing and then eating out in the middle of the night, hitching a ride back home…. Surprise element…am suddenly in touch with people from my earlier innocent days in Kerala. Nice to relive a childhood phase in bits.
Family…. well we seem to be seeing more of them given the proximity and it hasn’t been so bad. And I could play mommy to my brother all over again, after our childhood years. And him I will miss acutely when he moves to foreign shores.
Life…it has its moments…. of quiet love, of tumultuous fights, of sweet nothings, of long drives, of ice creams from a roadside van….
So all in all…. a 6/10.
But that’s not why I am writing.
A year in Bangalore and I am still slightly clueless as to what prompted me to come to this crazed city.
Career is going on fine, if we were to ignore the idiotic politics that governs it. But then this place has survived 150 years and if it hadn’t been for these wheeler-dealers would it have lasted this long??? Guess underhand and behind the back dealings are the stepping-stones to success and longevity.
Friends…. not an absolute blank. Hardly half a dozen but who’s complaining? Then again, the frivolity of those Delhi days has passed me by. But I sorely miss those drinking sessions followed by dancing and then eating out in the middle of the night, hitching a ride back home…. Surprise element…am suddenly in touch with people from my earlier innocent days in Kerala. Nice to relive a childhood phase in bits.
Family…. well we seem to be seeing more of them given the proximity and it hasn’t been so bad. And I could play mommy to my brother all over again, after our childhood years. And him I will miss acutely when he moves to foreign shores.
Life…it has its moments…. of quiet love, of tumultuous fights, of sweet nothings, of long drives, of ice creams from a roadside van….
So all in all…. a 6/10.
Forever Young???
I yearn to be carefree again.
Those years of sheer abandon, when everything seemed conquerable and attractive.
Times when you could go on without food or sleep, the sheer thrill of the experience filling you up with the necessary stamina and energy.
Those moments when you seemed to have the blessings of the stars in everything you undertook.
Those fleeting glances, of furtive pleasure, and implied interest.
Those smiles beckoning strangers to share a thought and some words, maybe random moments and desires.
Those winks that were meant to wound and tease.
Those sniggers aimed at everyone who crossed you.
Those walks, staring at every fallen leaf, wondering about its life, wanting to stand and stare as humanity passed you by in a random shuffle to gain something more, make another buck, prove a point.
I long for those nights, when the sheer darkness made me want to walk in the middle of the road, or sit by its side, chatting away even as the first rays of light whitened the rock I sat upon.
I long for those winter mornings, when cuddling warmly in my blanket, and watching the chilly breeze outside my window, I lazed in bed, nodding off into sleep at every alternate moment.
I long for those walks in the rain, and the freezing chat beside the tea shop, clinging to your hot cup while the clothes and hair dripped and when a cold seems the smallest price to pay for a evening of fun.
Those afternoons when I walked back for lunch, and the whole world seemed to be fast asleep and the sun shone for me.
So many wonderful moments…
What I would give to have them back…
To live them once more,
In a more indulgent and memorable fashion!
I long to be young all over again.
Those years of sheer abandon, when everything seemed conquerable and attractive.
Times when you could go on without food or sleep, the sheer thrill of the experience filling you up with the necessary stamina and energy.
Those moments when you seemed to have the blessings of the stars in everything you undertook.
Those fleeting glances, of furtive pleasure, and implied interest.
Those smiles beckoning strangers to share a thought and some words, maybe random moments and desires.
Those winks that were meant to wound and tease.
Those sniggers aimed at everyone who crossed you.
Those walks, staring at every fallen leaf, wondering about its life, wanting to stand and stare as humanity passed you by in a random shuffle to gain something more, make another buck, prove a point.
I long for those nights, when the sheer darkness made me want to walk in the middle of the road, or sit by its side, chatting away even as the first rays of light whitened the rock I sat upon.
I long for those winter mornings, when cuddling warmly in my blanket, and watching the chilly breeze outside my window, I lazed in bed, nodding off into sleep at every alternate moment.
I long for those walks in the rain, and the freezing chat beside the tea shop, clinging to your hot cup while the clothes and hair dripped and when a cold seems the smallest price to pay for a evening of fun.
Those afternoons when I walked back for lunch, and the whole world seemed to be fast asleep and the sun shone for me.
So many wonderful moments…
What I would give to have them back…
To live them once more,
In a more indulgent and memorable fashion!
I long to be young all over again.
BLOCK US OUT!!!
The conspiracy to shut us off from the world is gaining in strength as each day passes by. Its funny even as the world is trying hard to become part of the social networking bandwagon and global leaders are talking about breaking down boundaries to finally have a seamless global village, my company is now downing another nail on our lives. We who have been reduced to dependency on Indiatimes (HAR HAR) and Gmail for our communication needs are now being taken off the Google network also to ensure our productivity is enhanced.
Journalism I thought was all about keeping in touch and talking to multitudes of people continuously to get information. But looks like we are supposed to sit in our little corners or then spend money in inane coffee shops and on travel to get our information while TV channels score by merely thrusting a mike in the middle.
What really are these people trying to prove? The more they cut us off, the more time we will spend trying to physically catch up with people and the more our time in office is reduced and the less productive and efficient we are. How much of knowledge of astro physics was necessary to make out those connections?
Journalism I thought was all about keeping in touch and talking to multitudes of people continuously to get information. But looks like we are supposed to sit in our little corners or then spend money in inane coffee shops and on travel to get our information while TV channels score by merely thrusting a mike in the middle.
What really are these people trying to prove? The more they cut us off, the more time we will spend trying to physically catch up with people and the more our time in office is reduced and the less productive and efficient we are. How much of knowledge of astro physics was necessary to make out those connections?
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