Wednesday, June 28, 2006
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.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
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
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.
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
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
Thursday, June 08, 2006
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...
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...
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