When You Say Nothing At All

This is probably one of the most popular songs by Ronan Keating, also the soundtrack of Notting Hill- an equal favorite of the masses. This song also happens to be the bane of my existence in engineering. As I’ve said before, we were a group of six three guys and three gals who hung out together. The three chaps were adept at dropping a song like it was no big deal at all. At the drop of a hat they’d break into song- that was all right as long as I had some company being the audience but inevitably when they struck up “Its amazing…” the entire troupe would join in the serenade and I would be left gaping in the sidelines. It didn’t helped that I’d watched Notting hill a million times but I couldn’t for the love of God, learn this song or even its lyrics. It was only when the chorus of “when you say nothing at all” began that I would realize it’s the same song I was struck dumb by yesterday. I thought things couldn’t get much worse and it did-

They started singing bits one by one…

One person would start off and the next in line would pick it up- unfortunately I wasn’t capable of carrying a tune in a bucket and therefore was excused but it used to burn me when the rest of my college used to stop and some even used to join in. Their voices used to mingle with the dulcet tones of my bosom friends and there I was left all alone feeling the pangs of agony as the song that promised that “the smile on your face lets me know that you need me”- even though I used to grin n bear I doubt my college buddies ever got wind of how much it used to hurt when they sang this..”There’s a truth in your eyes saying you’ll never leave me”- True enough I’d never felt more alone in a group where I thought I fit perfectly.. “The touch of your hand says you’ll catch me wherever I fall”- I fell into the greatest depths of despair with pangs shooting through me at my inability to join my circle of friends in something they did so well and yet I was not a part.. I used to vanish round about this time and so I never did hear the last line “when you say nothing at all” I never said anything and I doubt if even now they recall this chapter in their cluttered lives.

Years later- three to be precise- I had a laptop and finally learnt the song, but by then twas too late- my friends had flown and learnt many other songs… I was left singing alone.. even now I cannot hear the song without feeling some aversion although I have learnt to love its lyrics as much as my friends did…

But maybe someday we guys would once again sit in the pathway of my engineering college and someone would suggest something to do.. and they would all break into song, only this time I would be ready with my part…”Cause you say it best when you say nothing at all….”

Absolutely Useless

Ever get the feeling that when the time comes, the sum total of your existence might prove to be a naught. This thought used to come often and unbidden in the most inopportune moments causing me more discomfort than the loss of sleep. It inevitably arrived right after my having completed something successfully, after those wistful live-throughs of the work, effort and finally the success- just when you think you’re ready to hit the bed for that elusive slumber, it hits you. What have you accomplished to justify your existence till now????

These rudimentary questions focused on the scope of your seemingly inconsequential life are apt to trigger a spate of unrestrained agony over having done absolutely nothing worthwhile in all the time you’ve spent in the world. Each achievement starts off in a haze of glory but ultimately fades away in view of its utility and ephemeral quality in the face of things to come. In short all our castles come crashing down as we perceive the mirth that for all the time and effort put in and all the rewards reaped, everything just moves on and nothing is for keeps.

A deeper welt embeds itself in the understanding that the knowledge culminated and experiences gathered in varied and motley hues will fail to produce the masterpiece tapestry to refurbish the fruits of our time herein. But wait, there is hope yet amidst such dismal wreckage of dreams and hopes unlived. Memories!

Gleaned over a lifetime of acquaintances, places, tasks, embroidered with dreams, ambition and hope, nurtured with care and remembered with affection, these annals contain the sum of our very lives. So what if the rest of the world does not revel in it? We must cherish and hold dear it’s etches from the bygone lanes and haunting tunes to relive its essence. To us and us alone falls the noble task of framing those memories in gilded portraits and walk through those galleries once in a while to dart a fleeting glance on the encased thoughts and exquisite emotional states that we’ve surpassed and moved away from. Just a moment, that’s all, the same that was the cause of your futility shall be enthroned in your heart as the harbinger of good times if but you would let the curtains fall aside and dare to look behind you- into all that you’ve left behind. The child that loved your old teddy more than food, the teenager who felt stifled by your parents lack of fashion, the youth who dreamed of movies- the sum of all that you ever were, all that shaped who you are now is locked within your mind. If you have the strength and will, do turn the key- you’ll be surprised at how much you’ve survived and that in itself will serve as a testimony to your life…..

Taking Stock of Bond...

Six words that changed the face of espionage and have held sway over the movie-goers for nearly half a century- the immortal "The name's Bond, James Bond"

I really doubt whether Ian Flemming realised what a phenomenon he was creating while covalescing from an illness during which he penned his first bond novel and now blockbuster Casino Royale. Bond... the beginning.

Bond has given people an ethereal sense of existence capped with a license to kill all under Her Majesty's jurisdiction of course. he lives the fantasy many of us dream. Suave, witty and heroic: he is the epitome of what all of us wish to see in a spy. The racy cars, fabulous women and deranged villains form the standard plot lines but each time in different proportion so as to sustain and keep the audience at the edge of their seats. Exotic places, out-of-the-world gadgets and outrageous albeit sinister plots all rivet the storyline to culminate in a fast-paced thriller ensured to grab your attention for the better part of three hours. Even thought the opening scene is invariably followed by the title song, it has never failed to impress.

The latest bond flick shows the upstart of James. A little violent but amazing in terms of the Stunts ( eye candy!!!).Bahamas is the new location with extra emphasis on the Beach club there (watch out while giving the keys to the valet)... Twas Bond as it was meant to be- action-packed, pretty women, beachy locales and a license to kill. What more can one ask???

Over the years Bond has grown from actor to actor, each with his own characteristics to apply to enigmatic and ever-changing Bond. Ultimately they've come and gone but we never tire of James but have begun to accept his cohorts- M, Q, Moneypenny and the rest of the gang; not just expect but eagerly await their roles (essayed to perfection....) in the twisted convules of the plot. All said and done, the series is all about 007- James Bond... So what are you still reading, go grab a ticket and watch him in his latest larger than life venture: Casino Royale

Requiem for a Dream

A dream is more precious when unattained because it embodies that which we all aspire for- greatness, recognition and a dash of adventure- all of which come plunging back to the ground when you attempt to realize the Dream. I too had a dream- something I cherished in the deepest folds, embodying my ambition, my wish to separate from the path my parents had made me walk, a rebellion where I stood tall and proud amongst my peers for having tread the path less followed, a grand finale where life was a bed of roses and me the heroine. But alas, fate had other plans in store…

It took every bit of my courage, every ounce of my fears and all of my determination to break free of the shackles that my education, professional disposition and most everything else to look beyond the horizon and force myself out of my torpor to do stuff my parents didn’t count me capable of. The result? Pretty much the usual…

The dream was like a delicate flower, newly-blossomed and fresh in the valley of ambition waiting for me. Just looking at the flower and imagining it in close-up would transport me to raptures of ecstasy. Ah! How lovely it would be to possess such a delicate object of beauty… So thinking I bought the shovels, plastic pot and other equipment intending to either transport the flower to my drab garden or else offer my services to the flower. I followed its fragrance doggedly through days and overcame the fence of self-doubt, still dreading that I should be unequal to my task. Finally I stood trembling in awe of its creation at the entrance of the flower beds.

A task was delegated to me- to create pathways in the arbor-filled spaces. I set to my task- seeing neither time nor effort as this was what I’d wanted and revered. The task was completed- I’d line the pathways with grass and laced them with smooth white pebbles with a pattern formed by brown stones. The pathways ran in curves all through. The gardening committee derided my work saying they had asked for pathways and not their arrangement. I was disappointed. They said perhaps I needed to figure whether gardening was what I wanted or just buy a bouquet for myself. Crushed and defeated I felt my world crumbling, haziness cause by a blur of tears and a heavy heartache. Sorrow I know thy nature now…

I realized my prowess exceeded their requirements, maybe I couldn’t transplant myself to the flower or subscribe to its nature but I needn’t let go of my dream. Its just that gardening wasn’t my best venture thus far. I got as far as my home before breaking down and was recipient to my parents and friends tirades on how flowers were never of any use other than the sight and smell and how structure was above all such things. I wasn’t crying because I am a bad gardener- I was crying for my dream: that elusive wisp that fairy tales are made off had been crudely taken off my shoulders. Sure there would be other dreams- maybe bigger and better where I will be the star but for now my heart mourns for this one. That flower just wasn’t for me. May the person who chances upon it relish it…

I’ll end my torrent of sorrow and wallow some more in self-pity with this verse from Emily aptly titled Success…

“Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flag to-day
Can tell the definition,
So clear, of victory,

As he, defeated, dying,
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Break, agonized and clear!”

And for the finale one of mine own…

You dream of a vision with silver wings,
Designed to take you high
Of hope, effort and other wistful things
That will build your castle in the sky

But alas you were mistaken
That spot up there was forsaken
To another fortunate whose fate dictates
The very destiny for which your heart aches

Much as I hate to admit
That does not mean I quit
It means I’ve realized my dream has flown
And I will treasure the experience that’s helped me grow

And shed a tear or two for I
Was not allowed my kite to fly
But revel I would in the thought that I
Did the best I could- gave my mightiest try

And though defeated now I may seem
Soon I’ll be chasing after another dream

Leisure

Lounging, idling, loafing… so many words to describe the state of idleness or rather the epitome of leisure in its purest form. I am an active proponent of lounging- sitting and staring at objects of no or higher levels of consequence is my favorite pastime (I normally isolate myself when I crave for wall-staring, somehow people aren’t accommodative to its nuances yet). With psychologists and behavioral analysts extolling the virtues of a balanced work-life through the use of rejuvenating activities such as meditation and yogic breathing- idling is the cheapest and the easiest ways to achieve those benefits without having to focus on anything at all!!!

Allow me to elaborate: choose a sunny part of your room or work-space (preferably one with happy memories) and sit in any position you please. Stare at the wall or any other object you feel like focusing your gaze on. Don’t think about your work or problems: just let your mind wander- a lot of thoughts are apt to hit you at this point (particularly nagging stuff like did I finish the cross-word or some other activity-oriented pastime : these are the main killers that deter people from attaining the full pleasure of an idling hour). Let the thoughts leave, watch them, enjoy them but do not react to their substance- this is the most difficult phase in the entire process and takes a while to master. Once this technique has been assimilated there’s pretty much nothing left to do…

Let your thoughts flow while keeping your vision and hearing unoccupied i.e. focused on nothing in particular or staring dumbly at an inanimate object (you’d be surprised how fast your brain’s apt to jump topics and subjects in this state despite your iron clad will to keep it empty!!!). If you’ve survived till this, its likely that your conscious has been reduced to a semi-soporific state where your subconscious takes you through the corridors of your memory and you savour the scents and flavours of seasons gone by- That, my dear, patient reader is the best part of lounging. You’ll recall friends and acquaintances, instances and events you swore you’d forgotten, pranks punished for but never played etc. come unbidden to the empty mind. Surf them for as long as you please and when you come out you’ll feel refreshed!!!

(there’s always the chance that the memories that surface may not be the happiest but rather the worst of your life: in those times just remember this – it can happen only once, the next time its like been there survived that…)

So, the next time you catch a person staring blindly into a wall window or even your face, please do not misconstrue their intentions but rather join them to rediscover what your mind still holds from your meandering past and relish those times once again (If undertaken in the office kindly hold a half-filled cup of coffee just in case your boss is at hand). I’ll end this soliloquy with a befitting verse by William Henry Davies

“What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.”

Life : do You Live it???

Life: a common misconception of life is living it to the fullest. What does that really mean??? Most people think its filling the jar of life with as much as can be crammed in and more!!

I know people who stay late to do their work, get back home, barely sleep and wake up again early to get more done: when they look back on these bygone years, it may not be these memories that seem precious. Even the pub-hoppers who stay up till three or four to get to the next pub to meet their next gang of friends and rock through the night- some can barely recall or relate to what happened through the night!

I for one have forever been chastised by my mother as lazy- because I can’t cut into my beauty sleep and my leisure reading for anything- be it work or studies. I’d much rather postpone the work than my current toast in literature (although sacrificing sleep for literature is an option I’ve exercised time and again, much to my mother’s chagrin)… Does that mean my life is being wasted: just because I prefer quiet reading to parties!!! No way!!! When I look back upon such episodes when I’ve refused to call or spend time with people due my engrossing hobby- because reading fills my soul.. It carves new tableaus and renders new heights: each new book is full of potential and rarely have I rued my choice of reading… For me, when I do something- its of more consequence if done in my own time frame rather than cramped with half a dozen other things of which I can recall none at a later time…

An hour spent on the beach just listening to the waves can be much more memorable as compared to an alternative choice in squandering my time- after all its my life; it should be for my benefit- of what purpose is a sleepless night- I ma more liable to forget what I did then: even with my friends I have the faintest recollection of our group activities but rather vivid and vibrant memories of a few of us hanging about… Such is life: the more you try to stuff in, the more gets strained out… be careful with how much you try to squeeze for you may miss the essence in the end…

Growing Up…

Its takes just one day in a year to officially register the fact that from that day forth you are a year older, as if that’s a standard upgrade function that gets run annually- a special day, wherein you download the latest patches and are thus ready for the next 365 days.

Growth, happens gradually through a lifetime. Its not sudden spurts that get triggered on the day of your birth but rather by the cumulative experience gathered perennially. How does a person grow? Time is but one factor- isolate a person for a year from company and society and any interaction; deprive him of reading and speech- what would his growth be- absolutely nil! Our social circles, our friends circle, all the situations and earth-shaking events we’ve mulled through, the times of quiet contemplation, the passion-driven arguments and peace initiatives after it, principles that have been modified through circumstances, the sweet ephemeral heady rush after a hard-won success and the bitterness and resolutions built upon failure- each and every one of these instances contribute in equal measure to growth, but are lost in the one-day celebration that ensues.

Our dreams, goals even our likes and dislikes undergo a variety of changes year in and year out. Even a span of 24 hours can wreak havoc on an individual’s personality and outlook. Yet at the end of it all, it gets boiled down to a single grand event wherein none of the important days are remembered- but rather a congregation of those nearest to enjoy having survived another year. After all if each painful memory were to have been relived what would have been left to celebrate? Instead humankind, as always, adopts hope and embraces luck by multiplying the joys of having stayed alive with kith and kin- and move onward and away with courage abreast and best wishes at your helm, you ride out to face the tumultuous year ahead…

That We are; We Are

What this seemingly cryptic statement implies is the veritable truth buried in each one of us- uniqueness. From childhood on we are constantly pushed to vie perfection, as if such a state were possible or natural. Even nature herself does not pursue perfection- for who among us could scorn the curled petal of a dainty rose saying the roses should have exactly this much curvature and such and such texture- there are so many things that defy quantification and cannot be meted out; but each one is an embellishment to perfection itself. A gnarled old tree looks far from perfect yet its beauty lies in its twisted old limbs.

Following a similar analogy, each one of us is precisely what we are. If all of us could sustain perfection without effort- what would the future generations have to strive for? Instead each of us has a store of talent, a personality with attitude to match, and faith, hope and perseverance in whatever measure we decide to arm ourselves with, and off we go. We set out into the world with heads held high and proud hearts, determined to conquer it all. We face comparisons and competition, all in a rather constricted effort to prove ourselves. For we measure not us with our own scales but rather with the gilded scales of others- and this leads to our downfall.

Why? Because each one of us knows none as best as our own selves and thus are the ideal judges of character; what would a total stranger be able to gauge from 2 weeks of conversation about you that you have been unable to garner despite your many years. People who crave others opinion tend to passively accept it and ensure its fulfillment- they believe it all too much to ensure its realization. Instead had they sown this blind faith into their own tasks and strengths surely better things would have been got.

Ultimately with our thoughts and our feelings, each of us is an ode to the infinite cycle of life thriving- what we shape ourselves into is contingent on us alone, and no other. Our dreams, opinions and emotions are what empower us to define ourselves, our experiences shape and educate us. All of this culminates to eventually define who, what and why we are… and who better to direct these answers than we ourselves, in all our glory. So seek not treasures that roam but instead strive to seek that within yourself- something that’s valued ten times more; for seen both through light and dark- that which we are; We Are.

A Blank…

A pure white virgin sheet of paper- what a glorious sight that be! Plain, empty and full of possibility. The mind will race away with its thoughts, traveling through space and time, but how many will be retained, the slow hand will determine. From carving and etchings to pens and recorders, numerous devices there are, but how can you capture the flitting and journeys of a thought no force can bar.

A blank sheet is present today, a sheet fair to view; but what to fill and mar its visage so new. A poem perhaps that speaks of beauty; or perhaps an epic of yore, Or would the whiteness be spoilt if it contained of witty sayings and repertoires. Surely it befits the substance of love to be preserved in its sheaf; or perhaps of an adventurer’s tale, a leaf.

Would a befitting essay on Nature’s grace, let fall this whiteness from its rightful place? Would black ink suit its texture or better red and blue in conjecture? A heavy edict of philosophy or an edict that descries democracy, would surely enhance the parchment’s native purity. A picture or a thousand words, may fall into literature’s purse, and the pristine sheet of white, would transform to everyone’s delight!

Or perhaps twas not meant to be filled at all, and let it remain as such, to enthrall. For what dilemma could be greater than, the subject matter of a simple blank. Were that Shakespeare or Milton to try, I am sure their answers would echo mine. For no author, artist or poet as yet, would rue what a blank paper could beget…

Never Fit In…

Ever had that problem when you never feel part of the herd.

I, for one, have always enjoyed the distinction of being the oddball. At home, my impulsive reading sets me apart from my physically active counterparts, through school and college I struggled to find a fit, experimenting with various groupies to determine my fit. I wasn’t hi-fi: nothing hippie or groovy about me; not the freak-out kind either- parties are alright once in a while, but I prefer my bedtime reading any day. Was never a geek either; I got good grades but nothing to categorize me to the genius cadre; sports were an extinct pastime as far as I was concerned- the safest game was one that involved only mental faculties- this ended my association with the field too. I had a passion for reading fiction. That allowed me to survive isolation for what is company to a good story. I even tried the gossip-monger club but my social status kept my stories on the mildly entertaining segment- I lacked the storyteller touch.

One thing I was proficient at was language- I could pen poems without much effort- ones that rhymed, possessed some meter and dwelt on a single subject. This, I used that to my advantage. Somehow people warmed up to the idea of having poetry written on them. And thus I amassed a circle of friends. Amongst them again, there were those I was willing to tear myself from a book for and those whom I was tolerated, barely, as part of a group. Even though now I was connected to people, I still relished the times when I was by myself- all alone in class eating my home-packed lunch. Nothing mattered as long as there was a tale. And there were those gut-wrenching times when I had to harbor the silence and solitude, yearning with all my heart for a friend. Never did I fit…

But over the past few years, it has changed. I have friends I know and who know me. Not because of what I write but because I’m me. Because I have certain traits that make me akin to them. Though we’re separated, I still know there’s one group I can always fall back on. One bunch of people who’ll worry about me, call me and think of me now and then. When that happens- an unexpected call from the blue, that’s when I know where I fit…

There’s always room for coffee

One of my college mates sent me a forward that talked about a college professor putting golf balls, marbles and sand in a jar with the students always responding that its full each time. He finishes the scene by pouring 2 cups of coffee to the concoction. He explained his actions saying that if we put the sand in first, there wouldn’t be room for anything else. The jar was a physical metaphor for life, the golf balls represent the big things in life, the marbles are stuff like cars, house etc., and the sand little actions and events. When a student asked what the coffee was for, the professor put it across as no matter how full life is, there’s always room for coffee with a friend.

Coffee is a rather popular beverage, available in both piping-hot as well as refreshingly-chill avatars. The universality of this beverage lies in its sublime flexibility for consumption- be it an Irish form with a dash of whiskey or a rich dark blend of Brazilian mocha, the south Indian filter variety all lend credence to its magnificent taste and luxurious aroma making it simply divine.

It perks you up- both with its luscious texture and its sparkling caffeine that provides an instant relief to hangovers and headaches alike. The bitterness of black coffee against the thickening cream and sugar of cappuccino- all other ingredients pale under the strong and plush flavor of the ground coffee beans, ensuring its dominance in the world of drinks. The great thing about coffee is its self sufficiency :- no need for an accompanying snack or biscuits or any other nibbles. Unlike other beverages, coffee can stand on its own feet.

Feeling down?? Depressed?? Lifeless??? Grab your cuppa and find out whats missing in the bottom… you’ll surely find your sunshine…

and It rolls On...

Oceans.. what is it about them that makes them so surreal.. The grey water that is translucent when it slips beneath your fast-sinking feet in the sand or the deep blue expanse competing for hues with the dazzlingly clear skies or maybe it is the white frothy foam that tickles your toes, that ebbs at the crest of the giant waves and disappears as quickly upon brushing the shore. The rythmic swish of the waves in their cycle, the gentle roll of the powerful waves as tehy touch upon the sand, the salty reflection of the bright sunshine upon the deep blue. The beautiful symphony of hot shiny golden sand and the cool refreshing water, the euphony of the sea as it returns to the beckoning shore only to be turned back in its vain and never-ending quest for a final embrace with the sandy beaches. The wet foot prints left orphaned in the quickly-drying shores, the washed away sand castles, punctured balls and remains of a picnic that nearly always ended a tad too soon. The kites that broke away from the anchoring thread, lead away by a treacherous breeze into the folds of the sky. the offerings of flowers, coconuts and other sacred objects that float as debris in the swift waves. the silver moon reflected in the mercurial waters bound or rather bounding the nearly-grey shores. The tides that ebb and fall, oftener than the moon waxes and wanes. The coconut troves that bent temptingly over the shoreline as if attempting to mollify the teeming waters with its casual touch. Cotton clouds framing the vibrant blue stretch of sky. Cries of gulls and other water fowls punctuate the constant sound of the ceaselessly rumbling ocean. A gentle calm hangs in the air enveloping all in a soft embrace and cloaking them with a peace that can never be found, save in the deepest of dreamless sleep.

Queen of Trees

Each day as I walk the road to my bus stop, there’s a sharp bend in the road that hides my house and lane. In the opposite corner of this curve stands a stately Gulmohar tree. It’s in the prime of its growth. Leaves are a dark, rich and lusciously deep green that seems to be rooted in its very branches. Its flowers are of deepest crimson, in stark contrast with the greenness of its foliage. The sepals and stalks are a pale orange that leads on to the dark red heart of the blooms. The bark is mahogany- darker after rains but lends a sober tinge to the deep tones in its pallid structure.

This is the last thing I glimpse before the road leads me on and anon away from my street and home. Every day as I pass it by, I feel a sense of peace engulfing me- there have been days wherein I have failed to notice its elegant glamour and rued it. I send a silent salute to this grand specimen. It stands unsupported and unhindered by walls or cages. Its shade is never used as it leans over the roadside. It strews the street with gold and red foliage, swept there by the playful wind dislodging flowers from its burgeoning branches. That tree reminds me to pray- not for anything but rather to thank whoever planted it there for the solace it gives. Just the thought of it standing proud and straight covered with bright flowers and long shapely green leaves fills me with a sense of relief- just to know it will still be there, tomorrow, waving me off to work.

Once upon a day in Paradise

Each day on my way to work, the bus trudges along a barren patch of land, laced with drying and infirm shrubs, littered with scraps of useless things glinting in the harsh morning light. And each day as we pass the stretch I close my eyes and try to focus on the music blaring from the speakers of the travel weary bus, in a vain attempt to ignore the stinging brightness of the sunlight reflected from the yellow sands.

Today a butterfly flitted by just as we were crossing the junkyard. It wasn’t a fancy butterfly, just a regular hazel colored one with black tracings on its wings- a common garden variety. But its mere presence transformed the stark gloom haunting the dead land. Just the vivacity of this speck of life was enough to bring alive the tapestry. The shrubs seemed, all at once, more green than brown, a faint breeze could even be detected in their withered and bent stalks, the sun didn’t seem quite as scorching as it did a few days ago– the land breathed again. One could not but marvel at the change brought about by this tiny creature: death was gone as life took over and paraded in triumph. It seemed as if the butterfly was a messenger heralding the arrival of Mother Nature, at whose behest all the hitherto mute spectators suddenly sprung to action.

My bus took me away and I could not catch sight of the butterfly again, but I do hope that even without it I may be able to catch a glimpse of the fleeting greenery that is hidden in bowels of the land. How many more such treasures might I have missed each day- beauteous objects that lie beyond the scope of my understanding until a ray of light shine unto them. In due course, perchance, I gain the maturity and sight to catch their hues and cherish them as is their due.

Test of Time

If there’s anything constant in life- it would be change and its not just for saying. Cryptic statements like “the more things change, the more they remain the same” have been hanging around and partaking out attention because of the oxy moronic view that is inherent in its import. Dynamism is one force that is truly “global”- As odd as it may sound the true nature of all things rest in its latent ability, or even capacity to adapt or bring about change.

There’s no escaping this gargantuan phenomenon- each day thousands of things alter and shape way for more to come. Accepting them and moving on form the basic lessons of survival. When Darwin mentioned his theory for the survival of the fittest- it should have actually read survival of the flexible. Be it attitude, looks or for that matter weather, everything is tweaked by the ravages of time, including time itself. Each second and minute that passes us by is but an instance in an ever flowing harmony where we dance to the tunes of the one above, here one day and gone the next- leaving shadows of ourselves behind. A blue frock is the last remnant of my early childhood, stained with juices and food varieties, it’s a reminder of me when I was five- and I have changed a Lot since then. Our thoughts and feelings are markers that will later guide us into acceptance of what we once were. Each day we change and move on- our appearances, our demeanor, attitude, beliefs and even the way we live. We gather the sum of our experiences gathered through life’s meandering lanes and dusty routes to give shape to our uniqueness.

Time and tide wait for none- no moment is quite the same as the next and with each passing second something gives way to its successor. Each second is like a wave of change sweeping things away and ringing in a new order that may rule till the wave hits home again. Consciously or unconsciously, we each contribute to the mass conflagration by lending ourselves to it. Ultimately there is someone in the world for whom that second, a tiny expression of time, holds invaluable meaning and holds an irrevocable importance to their life. Each second is thus accounted for, that somewhere someone will cherish it and hold it in dear memory, ensconced through the travails of time- treasured in the depths of a heart, till at long last that heart too passes away into a realm where all such seconds are stored in their pristine forms, revered and relished by all those in the happy hunting grounds.

Monsoons

Ever had that moment where you are waiting with bated breath for the rains to begin? The sky is overcast with ominously grey clouds and lightning and thunder form a stark symphony of light and sound that complements the atmosphere. A heavy lull shrouds the air, a kind of suffocation that falls on the shoulders heightening the anticipation for the downpour. The moments drag on- each time slowing before the next tick deliberately as if testing the limits of your patience.
The trees seem glazed in their vibrant hues of green contrasting richly with the deep grayish streak of sky. Each leaf seems brilliantly bright as if covered with a gossamer veil while awaiting with bated breath the rupturing of sweet earthened moisture whose fragrance wafts in the still environs punctuating more deeply the wait. The soil lays absolutely still and there no hint of wind in the air. The confining silence is broken by bouts of thunder and lightning flashes in the tapestry lending a poignant touch to the scene. And then the heavens opened…
The rain, belched so long in the cotton cloaks of clouds rushes down in torrents to embrace the earth. The sight resembles a wash out- the greyness of the skies descends to the land enveloping the landscape while lightning and thunder make way for the soft whoosh of raindrops being inducted into the soil releasing the richness entrapped therein. The trees and plants are soaked in the torrents which gives them a bedraggles look. Pools and puddles form quickly form and the melodious chimes of water pouring rhythmically fill the silver silence. Sheets of water fall like a silken curtain obscuring the scenery- Monsoons, the wild temptress, has begun her tantrum once again

Language- a tongue twister

Although the primary impulse of creating languages was a means of communication- humans- being the capricious creatures that we are devote ourselves tirelessly to weave a bit of ourselves- our moods, feelings and observations are much reflected in the way we mould the language of our choice into effortless sentences. But whatever you say there is but one language for each person in which they are entirely conversant and comfortable- for me, albeit I do possess an adequate proficiency in my native tongue, that would be English. Its not that I dislike my native language, for there are many beautiful and eloquent pieces of fine literature and I have heard the language ceaselessly since birth yet I lack the aptitude and depth required to devote sufficient time and appreciation that is rightfully due to those masterpieces. English is more to my liking- I thrive in it like a fish in the sea.

Like the sea is an amalgamation of many rivers, pools and run offs, so is English a complex plethora of words and meanings gleaned of many languages that culminate in a symphony of ease and grace. Its grammar is easily twisted to form numbingly complex sentences and words can be twisted in and out seamlessly altering the inherent meaning and often embellishing the dry prose. To me English is like breath- it comes naturally and, hopefully, I add enough garnishing to its succulence to bring forth its majesty. Concocting thoughts in English and capturing the vibrancy of imagination in its hues is one of my fondest pastimes, be they through reading a book for the hundredth time, hours at a stretch or penning my thoughts in the middle of the night, both exact an equal satisfaction. Poetry and prose alike leap with a vivacity that I have not felt in other languages but are rather housed in English alone. English to me opens the door to another world where like minded individuals devote their time, thoughts and efforts in order to capture and bring out the nuances of the language and other distinguishing features that are put down for the generations to come and rediscover its magic in their tomes.

Photograph

No photograph of mine above the age of seven shows me as I am… I mean all my family photos, taken by an amateur photographer with a bad sense of light a.k.a dad and models with an ever changing poses of the latest carton on television- read me and my hapless bro, dressed and styled by another who was more than delighted to give back to her children all the torment inflicted by her own doting mother during the fragile, formative years of childhood innocence…

Photos of children dressed in bright colors in odd poses taken in an odd angle at the weirdest places- me and my bro inside a cupboard shelf remains an all time favorite. And the worst part comes when obscure relatives arrive, the pictures are produced with a flourish causing my and my hapless sibling to blush furiously.

I used to hate the days that my dad would pull out his camera and say the dreaded words : “Lets shoot some pictures!”. He would wait patiently for my mother to adorn my brother and myself with clothes that she considers cute… then we head to the spots my dad has scouted out for the shoot. Dad always made us smile- even though it was inadvertent, half the time, the pictures would be over exposed, the sun would make us squinty eyed and an unknown person would inadvertently step into the frame in the last minute. I never used to understand why my parents took so much pleasure in taking such photos and remained vehemently against any attempt to induce me to pose for them.

Its been a long time since then and my parents have moved along with the technology, a sony handy cam being their latest contribution to their hobby and lifelong pursuit. Yesterday, my brother took up one of the dusty albums, hidden in the deepest and darkest corner of the shelf and skimmed through its pages. Surprisingly there were a lot of incidents and places and people there whom we hadn’t thought of in a long time. After years of whining about my parents obsession with cameras I finally was enjoying the results, but I dare not tell my parents for fear they’ll take it as consent to pose for more :P

Astrology: Following the Stars

I have always been the first in my house to grab the supplement of the daily newspaper in order to be the irst to read what the stars predicted for myday, my mother holds the distinction for knowing the order of predictions in the various programs across channels in the 6-8 morning band on television. And I am pretty sure we more than adequately represent the percentage of educated citizens who follow the predicitons with great zeal. What is it about stars and planets that make them so irresistable...

Zodiac, moon signs, star speak, planetology and many others base their beliefs on the orderliness of the universe and the interconnectivity of events and objects (something similar to newton's universal law of gravitation- each object affects every object around it and is connected to that object by a force). Astrology interprets this electro-magnetic pulse as a divine intervention which may be used to deliberate occurings around the world. Each planet, star and constellation symbolise emotions and states like jealousy, sorrow, poise, grace, just and many more. The inter-planetary motion sets stage for a variety of assumptions, hierarchy of importance and many other meandering factors which ensure no two astrology columns read the same on any given day.. This is my prognosis..

I am not going to divulge an opinion on its validity or even comment on its effects, i'd much rather discuss why I follow it and explain my reasons for so boldly defying the stasis of science y indulging in such a grey area (which by the way is my color for the day)...

Every morning I wake up i enjoy reading my fortune not because I follow it implicitly- till this date no dark handsome stranger has accosted me :P... But rather, to satisfy my ego, that if something goes wrong, I have someone else to shift my blame on- i mean my test didn't go well becaus of venus altering her course. Dumb as it sounds, it always alleviates my spirits and helps me approach the next test without too much regret. Its a mollifier- a testament to say that somethings will happen whether you like it or not just accept it and move on, after all who's to say what will come n my column tomorrow.

In addition, its nice to read such pleasant things in the morning- it helps me maintain a less pessimistic outlook than i normally wear. If I by chance happen to wear the same color ascribed, i feel more confident and pleased- its pscychological. even if my day is relatively bad, i somehow manage to console myself that things couldn't be that bad - c'mon i am wearing my lucky color for the day!!! It aids in evicting a quicker recovery from damaged spritits than normal.

In addition, it forms the base for most of my discussions with my friends- we chat on who got what today and how accurate these predictions were compared to the one in the other paper, onlines are also referenced- these daily predictions are a bond allowing us to accept that not everything is under our control and you never know if the one column you missed might have actually got your day right for a change :D

Finally it grinds down to belief- plain good ol faith. And faith is not bad. Knowing Mars is by your side this week, meaning your deals will come through, gives you enough motivation to go that one extra mile to secure your goal... In effect it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. This may infringe on the other side- meaning negative emtoions are also equally prone to realisation..

but come what may, astrology is fun- its a social binder, tension reliever, an emollient for roughened nerves and a very good topic to broach at the lunch table...

Host-Stellar

The time has come for good bye.. Good bye to my room that housed me and my junk for the past twenty four months, my spacious warddrobe that cheerfully accomadated the exploits of all my shopping ventures during the same time frame, the window and curtains that used to rattle in the monsoons and filter the blinding sunlight during my afternoon siestas, the mess where we occupied the central table and ate with great gusto- breakfasts pouring over newspapers, lunches discussing movies and dinner to denigrate the quality of food served and decide where to partake our nightly victuals for the day, the road outside the hostels where, whether you're coming in or going out you tend to bump into half a dozen individuals, listen to their stories and relate your own- this stretch took the maximum time ot navigate, the pond wherein many a midnight session of GD on any topic under the moon would take place with people randomly joining in or opting out, piping hot cups of tea taken from the hawker at the front gate, the sentry who knew each and every student on campus and the other ignoramus who ineviably stopped every vehicle to authenticate the occupants, the lush greenery that stored copious amounts of water during the rains- ready to spill on any unsuspecting character and the boon of summer where the soft shade would shelter hapless students from the scorching sun, the numerous crow clans who's daily routine remained incomplete if their droppings fell not on one of the newly laundered apparels, the stairs, all 96 of them that had to be climbed to reach the shrine of knowledge a.k.s the classroom, the rush for the lifts in order to avoid ascending on foot another four floors, the water cooler outside the classroom that quenched the thirst of those unfortunate enough to have taken the stairs all the way to the top, the terrace where bunkees would wait for the preceeding lecture's prof to clear out before entering for the next class, the parapet wall where many a philosophical discourse has been delivered and debated, the staff canteen perched atop that has served each batch with equal care and charged them equally (the price of tea never exceeded 2.5 rs in the past 11 years), the roads and lanes in the campus, lined with shrubs and herbs, manicured lawns that breathed greenery into the air, environs that astounded the senses and offered room for the soul to exhale, walls with posters and grafitti, repainted each year for the benefit of new comers, doors with hangers at the back thathave held each generations clothes through summer and winter, rooms that have held meetings and gossip sessions, intranet sockets that have faithfully connected computers year upon year, hostels that whispers secrets of older batches and offer freedom to the new ones that join, a battered xerox machine that has served its sentence xeroxing notes, assignments and other academic jottings around the campus, the computer lab situated atop the hill, air conditioned and free for use in the hot afternoons, the library a solace for late night studiers to cram the week before the exams, the reception counter with attendants handling booking of taxis for travel, holding mail and display of notices issued, the TV room- the cloister for all class meetinmgs and the nerve centre for the sports enthusiasts to share, a campus that lives and breathes through the vivacity and ethnicity of its students, unifying them in their pursuits and celebrating the differences- NITIE- the best place to pursue management, for an engineer....

Good bye, good luck and God Speed....

Birthdays

What are birthdays really about...

The concept of celebrating birthdays is one of the western customs that gravitated towards our culture. The chief highlights of most of my birthdays were an early morning head bath, a visit to the temple of my parents choice and may be a bar of chocolate. Later the trend meandered to more altruistic pursuits such as distributing chocolates to classmates, of course the all importanat status symbol, the brand of chocolate was ever present in their preoccupation with birthdays. My mother never one to be outdone used to purchase the cheapest ones and put them in fancy tins. The ruse worked well, until another of my class mates whose mother used the same technique told others about it.

The birthday parties were the next in the celebration history, you invited all your friends to your house for dinner along with their parents, if you had any manners at all, you collected your gifts, cut the cake, ate the food and finally gave 'return presents', stuff like silver pencils or tiny stuffed dolls for them to take home and mitigate the disppointment of having to have given you presents :P The nature, expense incurred in these annual congregations determined your social status in school. Birthdays were more about reinforcing popularity, flaunting opulence rather than the celebration of yourself. And half the invitees were bound to be your parents friends whose gifts of money were automatically reverted to parents- I mean whats the use of giving gifts that I cannot use!! Between the stoicism of the temples and the flagrant expenditure of the parties , there was little to recommend birthdays to me.

Post X standard my birthday was non existant save for a few friends who'd politely wish me on that day, barring the fact that they fell, inevitably on weekends... It was during my engineering days that the day of my birth finally proved itself memorable. I had made new friends as my class had changed during the third semester- three great guys and three groovy gals, a symmetry of coolness, grace, beauty, wits, brains and fun!! My bonding with them was of an entirely different genre than that of my school friends, we exchanged friendship bands, lunches, assignments and lab work, swapped stories, jokes and anecdotes. Our preferences were diverse as were our regionalities- but we gelled...

On my birthday they gave gifts that were actually stuff i craved- like a notepad to scribble my poems, a dvd of my favorite movie, a cd with popular hindi songs, a pink teddy and other stuff that neither my parents nor my brother could claim utility of.. Hour long phone conversations from mid night, a three hour, five course lunch became staple birthday offerings. in additon was the fun in planning somebody's surprise, getting them something- cherishing the look on their face. I got my face creamed for the first time on my 18th birthday- a little late but worth every moment. The surprise parties, snow spray became more precious than their gifts. The fact that these poeple were willing to take time, money and thought to celebrate my special day made me ecstatic and all the more determined to return my debt in kind...

Now, birthdays symbolise much much more than the day I was born, its become a day to share with my friends- my extended family, the relatives that I chose, who are not linked to me biologically but mean equally as much just the same.. Hunting for suspicious activities among my friends, trying to read their "knowing" glances, guessing what they bought this time around are the general order of things preceding my birthday. It has now become a day to recount the old memories, make new fun ones for future reference, get creamed, kicked and sprayed- and return the favour with equal enthusiasm. More about me and what my life includes and less superficial expense... With each year that I grow, I gain newer friends, meet more people, gather moss and once each year I relax, let my hair down in the celebration of life- what the world has given me to be thankful for- enjoy the panorama, feel the breeze, savour the sunset, smell the roses, erase regrets and carry on with living... thats what birthdays are Really about!!!

Lost and Found!!!

I lost my mobile the other day and I cried. More than the resposibility of losing it I felt s dread that I was going to miss it. A mobile is an elctronic isntrument used for communications and my feelings for it seemed childish- like a child who lost his favorite toy. But I set pondering on what was in my mobile that made its loss so deep. I mean I had alreasy lost a 3310 a year back but my recollections are vague nor did I feel its loss so keenly. The following is meant to serve as its eulogy:

It was a nokia 3120- no camera, no radio, but it had color. I had downloaded some of my favorite wallpapers in it. When I first got it, my brother used his sim to download tunes into my handset. I remember us fighting over which song I liked versus which song he wanted to download. Later we resumed sending each other the sms jokes. It was fun. My brother has a proclivity to electronic goods while I suffer aversion. This phone was sleek- metallic greay cover, color display- I had fun jamming with my bro over technology that didn't overwhelm me. Sure it took a little while getting used to the keypad n settings, but it was worth it.

The second most cherished memory of my mobile was collecting all my friends' numbers. The last one only had a few numbers- those of my PG classmates, but this one had ppl from my eighth standard right up to engineering professors. It was like a greeting- whenever you see someone you know, you whip out your cell and swap numbers, irrespective of whether you use them or not. Having a big contact list was like having a big family. So many people that you can call and swap stories with. It gave me a sense of belonging in this big wide world.

Setting ring tones and organising my friends list occupied most of my time- creating caller groups, consolidating multiple numbers for the same person, setting new wallpapers and altering the display settings were the things i could do best without being noticed in class. Not to mention framing exquisitely long smses with verbose statements and sending tit o people who were asleep so as to wake them up, in addition to giving them missed calls. Yeah, missed calls were a rage. There would always be this one person who had forgotten to silence his cell. And when you caught him the result was jarring!!! Through the monotonous drone of the lecture, the shrill ringtone would pierce the air, shocking all those who were hitherto in a semi soporific state. The ringng would prolong as the hapless individual would fumble more than ususal in haste to switch it off, caught under the glaring eye of the professor. Yep, those were the days...

Another feature of this phone that I loved was the games section. Snake had been my game of choice in my previous nokia, and I wasn't sure I would enjoy the color version of this game. But soon, it had me hooked, I was playing all the time, not stopping for lunch or dinner. In fact I made my highest score the day before i lost my mobile, which makes it all the more poignant :(

Lastly holding the mobile after hour long conferences with close friends or long distance calls makes the handset seem like a person who has shared all those experiences, jokes and trivias with you, someone who's been there and heard it too, a passive companion who listens to all you and your frends say, who needs charging and refills, who can fit in your pocket, who you can accessorise as you deem fit.. A close friend who'll wake you up in the morning with the tune of your choice, who'll remind you of events year after year, who although you manhandle and scratch him, doesn't speak a word against you and continues to serve you in the same special way. Dear God, thank you for sending this phone in my life and I pray that whoever gets him keep him well. Amen.......

Developing parlor Habits

As with all middle income groups, my life has been parlor-free- I was one of the few in my class who wouldn't have a beauty crisis or quick-fix tips because I don't splurge each weekend at the hair dressers. But for my friends it was like a social clubhouse. Each Monday the topic of decision would inevitably revolve around whose beautician did what, followed by a detailing of the various scrubs, treatments, masks, facials and a host of other services offered at their sacred place of self-actualization.

Each week they'd discuss the merits of their favorite haunts, compare manicures and pedicures, trade the names of their favorites- all of which was Greek to me. I never understood what was soooo great about getting a haircut- to me my face was my face- a mouthful of crooked, off-white teeth, incurably wavy hair that curls in the oddest directions, a prominently Sharp nose, the bane of the gene pool, round face dotted with pimples and the likes. There was no hope- I mean c'mon how do make someone like me remotely look (dare I say it) pretty!!!

Grinding pearls and chandan together and basking in its lurid mixture didn't quite ring right, nor did it offer any hope to me albeit the proddings of my well-meaning friends. AS far as hair cuts were concerned, for me it was simple- no experimentation- a trim once every six months was my only pilgrimage to their shrine. I was more at home using a soap :) I mean so what if i had no clue as to what a mud mask was, I was still me.. I was convinced, after years of following my mother's "natural" therapies that nothing could make me look good. And besides it did afford me the attitude and swagger of the "i-don't-care-how-i-look" group who's only member was me (i was a little careless about my appearance, my friend used to remark on how fair i'd become after washing my face :P)

My MBA (my beautician appointment) materialized in Mumbai... on a whim i decided to let the saloonist decide how to cut my hair- that was last year.. she gave me something called a step cut, pulled my hair into groovy curves that screamed chicness. Up until then, i was used to the stylist talking about stupid stuff like what i do and how thin my hair was, how likely the chances of my going bald were- but this one was different.. She spoke to me about hair density, and how wavy hair tends to thin out because of curling in different directions- she made my hairdo a treatise on sound scientific principles. It was then that the academician in me got intrigued. the result was well flabbergasting. There i was the normal looking gal suddenly transformed into someone totally different-seven of my classmates asked me where i got my haircut and three of them got their hair styled the same way. Overnight i had become a icon for modern hair. Me - one who never fails to apply yucky coconut oil as part of an compulsive disorder ingrained from childhood. My hairdo was the flavor of the week!!!

This time i thought i'd seen it all. I mean surely that female was unique and gifted with the sight to see how beautiful people can become under her nimble fingers with the aid of her scissors and blow dryer. I returned to an outlet of the same saloon in Chennai and the result was disastrous- my hair looked as limp and lame as before. Even my mom acceded that the One before was a once in a lifetime miracle.

I realized now that even if I went to the same place, I had no clue as to who had done my hair the last time round.. I guess this is what separates me from my friends- they make a mental note of everything, who, what, how, when - thats where genius kicks in.. they have evolved through equally painful experiences to imbibe the facts of a facial in order to ensure exact duplication of results. I had to face it: I was a Klutz.

I entered the saloon for the second time dreading what would happen. I told my stylist that I wanted a trim for summer. She asked me what I do and figured that I should have enough hair to tie a pony or wear a clip for formal occasions. She began trimming and doused my hair in a dense spray of moisture. I was frowning and my gut feeling told me this was going to be a BAD hair day.. my hair was coiled in all possible ways and she was cutting it in a very random manner. I didn't even bother to ask her what she was doing. Then she told me she was going to straight dry my hair.. Straight and my hair was an oxymoron.. I wanted to tell her to stop.. but by then I had resigned myself to the fact that this was anyways a gone case and couldn't be redeemed. Let things take their own course. She struggled initially to straighten my hair- the primary reason for dousing it i am now led to believe.. I closed y eyes as the hot air blew close and fast on my ears n forehead. After what seemed an eternity- 45 minutes actually she said i may look now..

Gosh!!! even i couldn't recognize myself, the hair was sleek, smooth and unbelievably Straight!!!! I was called back to the world by her voice asking how i partitioned my hair. I looked and gaped and couldn't answer, she laughed, actually laughed- at my end i could barely tell right from left.. she asked me to run my hands thru my hair, see how it settles and then work on it.. my fingers touched my heir- it was pure magic... i love stuffed toys, especially those with soft finishes- but my hair, the clump on me head was tooooo silky for words... my mouth hung open.. She laughed again and told me that straight hair suited me.. duh!!!! i looked so posh.. wow, i was on top of the world!!!

The arcane bliss of the beauty parlor was finally unveiled- this is what people come here for time and again- to rediscover their eyes, their face and feel good about themselves. Sure it guzzles your pocket contents but hey at least u'll look good for a day. Well from my side, the straight look has worn off and my hair is beginning to curl at the ends.. But those moments wherein i saw myself in the magic mirror will remain with me for life. I never got a chance to say thank you to her, as I had stepped out of the saloon feeling numb and didn't realize i should've till i got back to my room.

She's advised me to straighten my hair.. And i am actually considering petitioning my mom for that..


This section is dedicated to the charming Ms Noorie who "managed" my hair yesterday.. and to all attendants at the lakme saloon in Bandra.. God bless ye all!!!

Garfield: the Fattest of Them All

Garfield, for the uninitiated, is the name of a large tabby cat created by Jim Davis. This cat can eat enormous amounts of food, sleep a load and can turn dieting into a form of self torture. His favourite food is lasagne, his teddy and source of joy and comfort goes by the name Pooky, his frustrated and desperate for female companionship, pet, is Jon Arbuckle and his kicking stump and second fiddle is Odie. This cat has two aims in life, Eat Sleep and Kick the Dog, sprinkled with occasional litter periods and endless cum mindless TV viewing (“attack of the sludge monster” is rated as his pick of the week). He goes about life, with an endless commentary laced with sarcasm and greed, that makes him my philosopher of choice.

He rates exercise, dieting and suicide as three forms of self-torture and is a firm believer of the dictum that round is a shape. His weight is a source of amusement to his household and his nemesis is the cute dwarfed kitten Nermal. His daily schedule features eating, Sleeping and troubling others prominently. His pastimes are to Get Rid of Nermal, destroying the furniture, damaging the ferns, rampage in the garden, gobble little birds, romp in costumes to suit his mood and a cartload of other things we wouldn’t dream of doing. In Jim Davis’s world- Garfield owns his own- he is the centre of the universe for himself and ensures the same for everyone else.

What endears him to me is he accepts himself as a insincere, lazy, greedy slob and doesn’t make a big deal out of it. He admits his faults freely and doesn’t mope over the guilt of eating an extra pizza during dinner even if it means his paws can’t touch the ground. You can only snack between meals is a fact of life that he lives by- he doesn’t regret what he does and simply moves on- his statements like “Life is a game of poker- if you don’t win… you lose” are profound and deep. They are realistic, not sugar-coated to appear cloyingly sweet. His attitude and mannerisms are real- after all which one of us can honestly raise his hand and say I am Good. What Garfield symbolises to me is just the opposite- he’s bad and loves it. He lives life the way we live it- no shortcuts to slim figure, temptations to our palate, hunger for power and success (his show times on the fence where despite incessant pelting, he goes forth in search of elusive stardom), his TV time- hours of mindless viewing with shows like Binky the Clown and reruns of paint drying, dreading approaching Mondays which inevitably turn his world upside down- it’s a true world and he thrives the best way he can- sarcastically!!! To me, Garfield is an epitome of what we human emulate the best- Greed and Selfishness, and he’s candid enough to accept that without hollow apologies and unlikely explanations. He accepts himself as he is- no more; no less. That’s what makes him a legend!!!

Garfield- here’s to your 75th Birthday!!!! Live long, Hog longer, Sleep Better!!!

Belief- A question of Faith

Being an avid reader, I am often put to test in various tight corners by my mother, who thinks it her right to point out that reading novels has no tangible benefits. One such spot was when she introduced me to her friend who began complaining that her daughter suffered from acute harry-mania. When asked where she wanted to go for a vacation, she said “Hogwarts”.. She’s 14.. They looked to me for an answer to her belief and I set thinking…

What’s wrong if she does? Each and every religion has scriptures written ages ago, they all speak of vices and contain tales of temptations, heroism, faults and miracles… Why can’t Harry Potter be accepted then? You never know.. heaven could be Hogwarts. We have no definitive proof that it does exist but then who can prove that it doesn’t? When children accept their parent’s beliefs unflinchingly, why can’t parents tolerate their child’s beliefs? How can someone with so much experience and education refuse to acknowledge that more than What it is How much we believe that matters…

Parables and fables have often recounted that to worship without faith is worse than not believing at all. Why thrust your beliefs on others? Is it because you don’t think you believe in it enough, that you need reinforcement in the form of your child? Children have the most perceptive hearts and are the most staunch believers. How much would it take for this mother to just smile at her child instead of seeking explanation for her faith. We speak of secularism- what is secularism; If I’m a believer of sun signs, don’t shake my belief- tolerate them and accept me for who I am.. Humans, for as long as they’ve existed, have been believers of many many things- Right from Fire to Water to Gods, Angles, Stars, Planets and a million other things. As long as you believe in something strongly, you have Faith, and ultimately that’s the most important thing.

For this woman, her daughter believes in the travails of young Potter, his brave face amidst misery, his life is dogged by a villain who has stripped him of all that he loves and all who love him and yet he strives. More than the wizardry and hocus-focus, This is what your daughter believes.. In a world of false gurus and fake preaching’s, she’s found her sanctum- It’s a damn good one at that.. Leave her, soon she’ll realise what she Really has faith in – Determination, Hard Work and Pluck to face challenges no matter how Big they are…

What some people spend most of their time searching for, this girl has found so soon.. (lucky her!!!) My best wishes for your getting to Hogwarts!!!

It’s Always Fun When you Start

It’s been 5.5 hours since I launched the site and already I’ve written soooo much… One of Murphy’s most famous laws goes: 90% of the work takes 10% of the time while the remaining 10% work will occupy 90% of the time… my blog is getting maximum attention from me right now, am wondering whether my initial burst of enthusiasm will sustain or whether all that I have written today will constitute the body of my blog…

Enthusiasm wanes quickly with me- be it yoga or jogging or even diets.. nothing ever stuck… The only thing I have been uniformly dedicated to in all my 22 years has been reading.. I’ve never tired of that no matter what.. All the other attempted pursuits withered and blew away like seasons…

Why is it so… why can’t we go to work everyday thinking this is my first day; I’ve got to prove myself.. Naah that never happens, we get accustomed to the way things work and settle down in our daily routines… Ennui follows suit and voila you have the modern day bored employee- the lacklustre individual who shrugs off any challenges and criticism with a “life goes on” attitude… Where goes the dedication, the Sincerity and the Innocence of the first Day first Job…

It gets corrupted.. gagged and shackled by chains of company bureaucracy and endless vibes of internal politics… The flame of ambition is squelched in these harsh environs of the concrete jungle.. What remains is a shadow- a mindless worker, who no longer craves to have his work appreciated for he knows if he does he will be saddled with more tedious tasks, a spiritless employee, who learns to time his coffee and lunch breaks in order to maximise out-of-cubicle Time… Is this what corporations want? Since when did work come to mean monotonous application of effort to moribund tasks? When did work get diluted from the lofty ideals of Aspiration blended with the heady intoxication of Success to something that has resulted in “Monday Morning Blues” and “Friday Night Fevers”…

Who can tell the answer? Who knows… Maybe the Blogger on the next Site….

En-Gendered: Does it Really Matter?????

There has always been a hullabaloo about Gender… I really can’t fathom why… What does it matter whether I’m a girl or a boy.. Isn’t what I think supposed to count more than that… Unfortunately in today’s biased world it Very much does… If I were a boy, then what I’m writing would be characterised as something cynical and careless “just like boys”… on the other hand, were I known as a girl, I’d be written off for being too outspoken and presumptuous by the conversationalists…

They try to derail the train of thought with such meaningless or better yet irrelevant comments… A girl working late at night is too forward yet a guy burning the midnight oil- well he’s a guy.. as if that makes it okay for him to wide awake and working while the opposite sex can be condoned to sleep… what Is it with people?

If its equality that’s required, let it stem from the roots and not just at places where it is convenient… women have always been benchmarked on different scales as compared to men.. Equality doesn’t figure there, does it? Girls want equal position and status and yet stick to the six o’clock deadline imposed by society… Its not just the girls, its everyone..

All of us are ingrained with mindsets classifying guy’s night outs, parties and disorderliness and girl’s obedience, need for an escort and meekness… it is reinforced at every opportunity- mother, sister, wife and at all levels in the social hierarchy… When the basic differences in comparison are not matched how can equality suddenly spring up from this mess and envelope us in an ideal society.. “Reforms” cry the activists.. If reforms could solve everything we’d be way ahead by now…

What is needed is a change of Mind, a change of Heart, a change in the beliefs and values adhered to by people… Ultimately, what we believe in influences our thoughts and actions and would well reflect in our lifestyles… Be who you will be and don’t get sidetracked by what others think and say: you are a truth whether you’re a girl or guy.. And I’m not just saying that..

Accept what you have and work from there to where you want to get.. Chances are you may succeed ...

A Tribute to my Favorite

This post is dedicated to my favourite poet of all time- Emily Dickinson. Its not that I don’t appreciate Byron or haven’t been swept away by Milton or travelled fathoms with Wordsworth. Its just that more than the poems themselves the poet’s character fascinates me- that lends strength to the veracity of her penned thoughts and views. All through her life, in a male-dominated bastion, her writings were never accounted for much. Yet she wrote- it wasn’t to prove her critics wrong, it wasn’t to challenge others opinions nor to instigate a revolution in women’s contribution to literature. She wrote because she loved to..

All the greats, poets, philosophers, even story writers have succeeded because they love what they do..
what makes a joke funny- the way its told of course;
what makes a book special- the way its wrote of course

Doing something you love irrespective of the world is what set Emily apart in my eyes. Her writings are claimed to be a work of genius. These gems were dug up from the letters that she wrote to her friends and family- She was, as most geniuses are, recognised and laurelled posthumously.. Her devotion, and passion to write make her poems still more precious- who knows how many Emily’s are lurking in the world right now??

Similarly my favourite stories are of O’Henry and Oscar Wilde. I love them for different reasons. O never gave up- he started writing his shorties (famous for their twisted ends) when he was in jail for an offence he didn’t commit.. He didn’t languish in self-pity, rather he made use of the irony and channelled it into his immortal stories (my personal favourite being ‘The Gift of the Magi’)… Oscar Wilde, on the other hand, wrote heart wrenching stories.. I love them because they have life in them.. living breathing characters with shades of black white and grey… To give life to your writing you have to love your life and express the passion for your work in what you write.. I doubt if this makes much sense literally- but that’s what drives me…

Ultimately, its not how Much we do but rather How we do it that matters…What I write is not for a claim to fame but rather my small contribution to the works of others who have inspire and entertained me… I’ll end this with a befitting collection from Emily herself :

"This is my letter to the world,
That never wrote to me, --
The simple news that Nature told,
With tender majesty.

Her message is committed
To hands I cannot see;
For love of her, sweet countrymen,
Judge tenderly of me!"

Introduction

Effectively, this dictum should have preceeded all my previous posts, but i have been a firm believer of better late than never- So here goes...

This blogspot was basically created out of purely selfish motives i.e. to see my thoughts online :D Not for any altruistic purposes whatsoever nor is there any ulterior aim in sharing my thoughts... I have spent the best part fo my life reading- books, novels, articles, ideas, poems, myths, fairy tales, fantasies and fiction in an attempt to fill my time and to escape from physically strenuous passtimes prescribed for bored kids.. But in the end it became my solace and companion.. a bad day can be cured by a good book. Like yin and yang, reading begets writing- and thus an outlet for my muses was required- resulting in the creation of this blog...

To me, ideas are the only things we as individuals contribute during our time here.. be it habits, opinions or beliefs- these unique characteristics of a person are borne out of intellect.. and being a human and therefore possessive of pride and ego, I have endeavoured to create a space wherein I may spew my thoughts in prose, thus sparing my friends the ordeal of having to listen to my diatribes....

This blogspot would be privy to reception (post-editing) of my ideals and writings, it would function as a primary vent for my feelings and emotions. In short, it would be the equivalent of a thousand words (a picture's worth) insight into my mind... these dictates will shape in the form of verbose and lengthy writeups or be equally winding poems- read at your own risk!!

I almost forgot- vpworld- the name stuck cause of my initials which read of an executive ranking despite my being way down in the corporate ladder (the folly of parents is borne by their children).. It has been my nickname due to the fact that my name is a cliche... world because what I write here is my own, no one else's... It defines my space and being in this vastly overpopulated virtual consortium...

Without further ado I give unto you- vpworld!!!

[Applause!!!!]

Reasons to be Thankful

A heart may be thankful for a great many things
And when given unconditionally it can’t but fly on wings

Some hearts are thankful that they can give
Others are thankful to receive for through it alone they live

Giving not in great gifts that glitter and shine
But in little words or actions whose value one cannot determine

A word of consolation to an aggrieved heart
A wish of good luck before the race does start

A gentle pat on the back for a job well done
A soft arm to cry on when consolation there is none

A compliment whispered in the ear is worth more than a crown
For such tender affection, in materials cannot be found

A mouth that speaks gentle words when all else criticize
Sends a flood of hope into the heart to conquer its desire

A word of thanks is nothing to one who has been of aid
As compared to the sparkle in the eye, which every debt repays

A lost soul does appreciate a lamp in the dark
A guiding word is all it takes to reclaim the lost ark

The twinkling eye of someone who’s stood through thick and thin
Is worth a million times over than the thrill of the hard fought win

When you’ve put you feet in your mouth where it matters most
A wink and a smile from a confidant will make it a quaint joke

A hand to hold in troubles, a shoulder to cry on in pain
These are the things to thank God for, and in your heart they remain

It is these small gestures and incidents in life that people, does mould,
And the persons who’ve shared them with us, our affection does enfold

These simple memories are treasured by the soul
And in recollection we smile and thank them silently once more

-VP

Hope Springs Eternal

Hope springs eternal
Like a shower of crystal light
To cast away the darkness
And render a clear blue sky

Hope springs eternal
In a toddler’s twinkling eye
For though it tumbles in its first steps
It does not cease to try

Hope springs eternal
In the travails of a boy
Who vows that the apple in the highest branch
Is destined his to enjoy

Hope springs eternal
In the pursuit of true love,
For what one dares to aspire for
Needs approval from Above

Hope springs eternal
In the wishes of one who is wed
That the progeny he will leave behind
Will reap honors wherever they tread

Hope springs eternal
In every breath we take
For who of us, sick and dying,
Could, another tomorrow, forsake

Hope will spring eternal
It is nestled in our everyday
With sweet fragrance and colorful dreams
Through this world, it guides our way

-VP