Random Thoughts

Sachin retired, leaving an entire nation speechless with his emotional speech. While I watched the match on Saturday morning, I was having mixed feelings, but mostly there was a sense of helplessness. I am not a huge fan of Sachin. By the time I started watching cricket, Sachin was already a “little genius” and when cricket started to feel a bit more than just a sport for me, I have had my own heroes I grew to admire. I started watching cricket from the 1996 World Cup match between India and Pakistan in Bangalore. I got to admit, I had little idea what cricket was at that  point, just that the entire nation was praying that we win the match and the world cup. I can still remember the packed living room with all my cousins screaming and cheering, while I sat amidst all the chaos wondering what in the world was going on. And I sat there, amidst the cheers, to watch Ajay Jadeja whip Waqar Younis and suddenly the entire street erupted with joy. I could feel the adrenaline in the room ...

DISCLAIMER: This is a fictional story. All the characters are fictional. The incident itself is a creation. Any resemblance to people or to the situations in the real world, is purely coincidental. ------------------------------------------------------------- Meg was staring deep into the night that grew darker by the minute. The dark seems to grow onto her, pushing her into the deeper realms of a restless night and a dreading slumber of thoughts. The numbness of her decision finally sunk in and the reality caught her off guard. “You need to take this decision eventually, what difference would it make, if it is now or a year from now?”, her conscience probed. She delved deeper into her thoughts, figuring out the paths to tread, yet, every path seems to be filled with thorns. She feared none of those, just her heart, which seems to dread the doom she is willing to walk into. With a restless mind and a strangled voice inside her, she sunk deeper under the covers and closed her eye...

This is a continuation of the fiction under the label: Meghana "Abhinav Varma is his name.” She repeated that a thousand times, to fix it in her memory, lest someone should ask and she would embarrass God and company by being dumbfound or abashed at not knowing his name! She wondered if she could call him "Abhi", or probably not. Their families followed the customs of an eon-old, which went against calling husbands by their names. So, perhaps, she could not call him that. How sad would it be, to always address him, "dear" or "darling"? How can you convey that you are angry, when you are calling him, "dear"? She tried using her rude voice to match that sound and a ripple of laughter came out. She tried using her insolent tone with "dear" and she started giggling all of a sudden. She was packing her suitcase for her private time with him, which every one called, honey-moon. She was good at repressing shuddering memories and thi...

This is a continuation of the fiction under the label: Meghana Continuation after this They walked out of the airport, away from the modest crowd and to the cab stand. He moved past several and stopped at one. The cabby acknowledged him with a warm smile and took the trolley from his hands and they exchanged pleasantries while she stood beside them. Abhinav held the door open for her. She pondered a moment about his gesture, before giving up on trying to understand it and slid into the car. He closed the door softly and walked around the car and slid beside her. They sat as strangers, distant and respectful of each other’s space. The cab moved out of the airport, onto the wide route that went uphill. They took a right at the fork and the road dwindled into a curvy path. The pastures, green and picturesque formed the boundary of the road, as the car moved at a steady pace. There was no music, just the quiet roll of the car on a bump free road. The cabby did not speed even on the e...

This is a continuation of the fiction under the label: Meghana Continuation after this Meg continued to look outside. The green pastures were interlaced with the cheery yellow squares and the distant mountains at the backdrop made the scene picturesque. The intermittent houses seem to spring up from nowhere, each looking like a fairy cottage, with bold shades that were very uncommon. She concentrated on the music, breaking the notes one at a time, forcing herself to listen to the chords of guitar at one moment or the beats of drums in the next moment, a sort of tiring exercise and a throb in her head, anything to not dwell on the next few days. Her thoughts swarmed her head, each emotion engulfing the brain waves, the sea of emotions threatening to be a cause of embarrassment. She refused to acknowledge that emotion, forcing her mind to think of something else. She started multiplying a random number with another random number. Soon the music became a back ground score and the min...

It is like a punch in the gut, when I realize, that I cannot voice out my thoughts with clarity or openness any more. When your openness is mocked, when your voice is mistrusted, why bother?! I chose to let my voice quiet down and let it be and now, it sits dully in a corner, choked of exuberance, choked of life. Now, it’s pathetic existence is a constant reminder of what a stupid choice that was. It is important to have a channel to get things out of your system. Be it a thought that is a word or a sentence or even a complex verse, at that very instant. It is important to get it out, if only to acknowledge to yourself, that thought. No one, no matter how good a listener they are, can respect that thought nor listen to it as well as you do. I sometimes think, I should perhaps consult a shrink, just to be able to voice out what is inside me. But then I ask myself, what makes you think you can trust them to listen? Trust, such an elusive mistress. Despite forced to trust, there is a cl...

Oh well, we won the Champions trophy and this time remained unbeaten throughout the tournament, like the world No. 1 ranked ODI side should be. Starting with the practice matches, to the way they progressed to the finals to winning it, is such a fantastic feeling. They started with a convincing victory against South Africa, succeeding it with a flawless and thumping victory against West Indies, smashed Pakistan in a mere formality of a match, thrashed the Srilankans in the semis and marched to the finals with an aplomb. The rain interrupted final did not befit the final, but to have fought in the middle to defend 128 in 20 overs and to have forced England to lose in a sorely one-sided match was something to watch!! It was unbelievable. It is like waking to a fantastic dream turned reality. For some time now, there seems to be no dearth of laudable performances from the Indian team that it is thrilling to follow such a fairy tale. Not that there were no black marks, just that, the t...

Some days, it is really hard to love life. It is literally the one most unexplainable certainty, even if it is for one fleeing second. And when it happens almost every day, something has to give. These days, I feel that. I feel something has to change in life for me to feel the love inside of me, else, I will keep staring at this altercation in the mirror and wonder, what is staring back. Perfection is a difficult mistress to lap dance with, but so is imperfection. “Done” sounds a promising mistress, yet, it borders at being undone, that seeking it almost always seeks the “undone” too. Yeah, I know, that it is a convoluted sentence that sounds warped to mean something, but does not. But honestly, it does, don’t you think? Anyway, today is one of those days, where it is difficult to accept being an idiot when proof exists right in front of my eyes. Not that every day I think otherwise, but it would be nice to not have proof of being an idiot that obvious. I mean, how many days can we b...

Aaah.. New York! My mind frequently wanders there. I loved it the first time I saw it. Now, my mind reiterates, its as good a time as any to move there, to experience the arrogance of New Yorkers first hand, but also to be absorbed into the life of the city, to be part of that immense culture shock, to be a minute yet significant part of it. When I first landed there, it lifted me up from my cocoon, calling my name, asking me to be a part of it. The days pass insignificantly, yet, some part of my brain thinks about life out there. Some times, I feel like I am in a rut, some days more so. Eventually, I project myself, outside of this tiny bubble, to see life, to live it in my heart. Some days, that is enough. But, lately, I seem to realize, that is where my life is taking me, towards that pinnacle, towards that solitude, towards that anonymity, towards freedom, towards peace. How soon will I fulfill it? Some destinations are worth the wait. Hopefully, soon.

05/02/2008 If I had four legs, I would be called a dog, I act and behave like one. But I have two legs and a heart, Unlike the four legged creature, I wait on my master just the same. And instead of a bone I wait for a kind word, Am happy when he says it And hurt when he lashes out, Yet, like the good old dog, I maintain my degree of faithfulness I come back, the kick forgotten, anxious for a look of approval I lick his feet, as good dogs do, I whoof in a manner of smile Am wary of his swinging moods, but dogs have no say, do they? They never go away, their faith in their master unshaken Perhaps, they think quietly, someday… There would be a pat, a hug, along with the bone Remember, the dog loves his master, unconditionally. Its not the dogs fault that the master is sometimes cruel. Courtesy: http://sailingby.blogspot.com/2009/03/good-dog.html Some times, love and hurt, move hand in hand. Some times, pain is love. A smile - an act of kindness, understanding - ...

Sometimes, being saint seems easier than being myself. In a world that fights to change you every second, to be who you are is the toughest challenge. The thing is that, I am up for that challenge, with a ‘but’ associated with it. A bit of a bummer, truly. I can honestly say that I don’t enjoy being me anymore. In fact, I feel that I am as far away from me as possible. Some days are like that. I wake up and think about the purpose of this existence. Whose mere whim is it, that I exist? Whose fantasy is it that rides this boat? There are days where a coherent thought is far from my mind and days where the very next minute is an ordeal I do not wish to cross. And some days, I wish I can fly by to the next day, but the clock ticks incessantly, in its steady manner. Sometimes, that is a blessing, that says, nothing can make me move any faster than how I want to move. Like, it says, in this ever changing world, I remain unperturbed. Feel me tick, feel me tock, I love it when someone pays a...

It is a joy to see the India vs Australia series this time around. Despite all the ‘buts’ in the equation, being an Indian fan, I love that we are leading 3-0. I want my team to dominate, in and out of the country. I wish we would not fight, but just trample on the opposition like a herd of elephants, create a destruction so volatile that the crater seems like a better alternative than to challenge India. I would really love that. Why? Don’t I enjoy a fight, you ask? I do! But I have seen the Indian teams being tamed by the opposition at will, that I have craved to see total dominance by the Indian team for quite some time. We have been cornered too many times and having seen it, I wished we would fight back, not in a composed elegant script, but in a ‘you are dead meat’ way. We did not have destructive cricketers until Sehwag came along. But then, like an exception, he performed in some exceptional cases brilliantly, while he failed in almost equivalent number of cases. While we had ...

Who are you, you who mock me with the proprietary of ownership? Who are you, you who ask of me, that thing that I cannot yield? Who are you, you who ask of me to walk the path? I wonder, who you are, you who ask me, to estrange myself! Who am I, living this alter life? Not for a penny nor for peace, Yet, I live, if it can be called that, A life in the yonder, beneath the tombs of hearts. Who are you, you who whisper endearments with a whip? Who are you, you who hold me in shackles, in an iron grip? Who are you, you who put me on a pedestal, from where the land is a distant speck? Who are you, you who choke me, with my own breath? Who am I, laboring through the days, counting one and then, another, Marking myself with the welts of despair and hurt, Unable to break, unable to yield, Unable to love, unable to hate. Who are you, who am I? Dancing through the twisted paths. Strangers or friends? Neither or both, Littering the paths, with disdain. Ah, the turpitudes...

Reminiscing the happy memories comes with a price. The sad moments linger with their despondent faces bordering the happy ones. The past few weekends have been such cascading experiences. I played caroms and cards, the activities that signified some happy times with my close knit family. Though now, the family lost two very important and significant people, leaving a crippled family with patched up hearts, the fond memories still warm the heart. I have not been good at caroms, ever. I remember my uncle pocketing my caroms just to encourage me to play another game. I was not a sore loser. I learnt humility at a very early age, thanks to my pig-headedness. A very good friend taught me that being grounded is more important than being confident, by taking me up on my over confident challenge of giving her a half round lead in the three round race and beating me by a couple of steps. Though it was a couple of steps, it still was a loss that I never forgot. It taught me to remember that, no...