Random Thoughts

Get a life!

2012-02-02T07:18:00.000-08:00

She was applying an eye liner which made her eyes look alive. She paused for a second and looked at her reflection before applying gloss over her lips. She did that reflexively and unconsciously, the movements ingrained in her as surely as the sun rose over east. She looked at herself in the mirror with no expression on her face and her sardonic face looked back. She put on her shoes and walked out of the house without looking back. She walked long into the light, just drifting, breathing in the gas fumes of the traffic on the streets, her eyes burning in the smoke. She slowed her walk to a stroll and looked from one side to another, gazed at buildings and frowned at the honks.

She entered a park and walked on and on and finally sat on a bench overlooking a lake. She sat there and gazed farther into the light.

Someone came to sit beside her, but she did not turn her eyes to see who it was.
“It’s a beautiful day,” the stranger said. She did not turn her head. After a few minutes the stranger got up and walked away. She got up and walked away too.

She walked back on to the street, towards the direction of her house, her face a mask of serenity. The morning’s intensity was not present in them, yet she looked peaceful and settled.
Someone stopped her and asked, “How is everything?”
“It is as it is”, she responded, sounding somber. He stared at her and went his way. She sighed. “It is not his fault”, she whispered, seemingly to herself. She walked on.
“You look good”, said someone else. She looked like she could eat him alive and responded, “Yeah? So?”, challenge open in her voice.
“Sorry”, he said, his smile fading.
She sighed, “Sorry, I was preoccupied with imaginary hoodlums.”
He walked away. She sighed again.
“It is not his fault”, she whispered, again and continued to walk.

She walked into the house.
“There you are. Where have you been? Why did you walk out like that, without telling anyone? I was sick with worry and your mother...”, the lady saying that looked exasperated.
She looked at the lady and said, "Sorry aunty", her face a mask carved out of stone. She walked into a room and saw a figure asleep. Her face softened and she moved closer to the bed. “I am sorry mom, I had to. This is driving me insane”, she whispered.

Her face was in agony, looking at her mother, when she noticed her aunt beside her.
“You know she would have been worried if she was awake", her aunt said and gave her a hug. She did not hug back. Her hands were fists and her face was mask of stone again. "I will come back in the morning. Take care of her. I have placed food on the table, have it”, she heard her aunt say. She nodded. Her aunt gave her a quick pat on her head, as one would pat a small puppy and left the house.

She walked into the kitchen, opened the covered dish and looked into it and closed her eyes. Slight wetness on her cheeks seemed to annoy her as she furiously wiped the wetness and closed the lid. She took her bath and came back and ate the food. Then she went and sat next to her mother. She looked at her face lovingly and tenderly, her hand stroking her face with gentle pats. And suddenly, the tenderness swept away and her eyes were no longer sardonic, but harsh and filled with anger and she moved away from her mother, looking at her hands with wonder and staring at the shivering hands.

She walked out of the room and sat on the couch in the hallway, seeing the sleeping figure on the bed and just staring into the space. She grabbed a paper from the table next to her and started writing furiously.

Her eyes a cesspool of tears and she wrote, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Then she paused and looked down. She sighed and crumpled the paper and threw it out of the window onto the street. She sat quietly, visibly shaken and fell asleep on the couch.

Someone picked out the paper from the road and read it out loud:
I cannot. I cannot be angry. I cannot. It’s no one’s fault. It IS no one’s fault. I hate holding onto my life, holding for something, anything, a hope. I fear that the time has come, to let go. Yet, I fear that I cannot. I have to focus on something, anything. I have to get out and get away, from this madness. I cannot admit to this weakness that is growing inside of me. I have to be strong. I have to see the storm through. I need a life.

That someone looked up and shouted: “Well, get a life!” and moved on.

And I will...

2012-01-11T04:57:00.001-08:00

I have been rather quiet. Rather unusual, when I seem to have a zillion thoughts running through me. Most of the time I end up writing, when I am stuck in a phase of life, but this time it seems like I am being a passive observer to the point where nothing seems to emit a reaction that would trigger some vitality through me.

Things important or unimportant ceased any meaning. Relations loving or hurting ceased any meaning. Friends present or absent ceased existing in the vicinity. I like to think I am being a saint, with no emotions or feelings, yet, I seem to be perturbed by the slightest trigger and have to constantly remind myself that it is not anyone’s fault that life sometimes is daunting. I would rather I could move on through this phase and leap through to another.

Relationships are a boon and a bane to life, I think. Some are fragile to the extent that they break at the slightest pull away. Some are strong but wither through the wear and tear of the pull. Some are stagnant that they make no progress either by pulling away or moving together. Yet, these relations seem important in life. What good are they if they haul you over coals? What good are they if they hurl you over fire? What good are they if they frost your life? What good are they if they suffocate you? I do not honestly know. I sometimes truly believe that being alone in a cave would cure my madness more than anything and sometimes I believe that living through them and enduring the rough patches makes me stronger. I am sure that either of the options is of least help.

I want to think of a time where there are no complex thoughts running in my head. I am having a hard time coming to a specific time frame of my life, even though I am not old, to think I have lived an awful lot of years to not remember the best of my life. I desperately want to hope that the best of my life is yet to come, but, I keep wondering if there is no comfort period that I want to reminisce about. It is alarming to not have a cushion to fall back on, when I cannot move forward. The shackles that hold me are more in my mind, perhaps.

I wish I could cast aside my notions of life, my dreams and accept life as it comes. I wish I do not have to battle my inner self all the time and move forward towards the life I want to live. I wish I could let go of all the reins I seem to hold and move away, carefree and into pastures of my choosing. Yet, there is this small voice inside of me that says, the pain I go through is a reminder that I care and love and those are not bad things. Yet, there is a selfish corner that says, shit happens, let go and move into oblivion. Yeah, oblivion seems a way forward, except it isn’t! I battle myself, yet again, to find a way from the rut I seem to land myself in and the more I think on these lines the more depressing it looks. Yet, I still stand to fight through the murk and keep fighting to claw my way forward. I might not alter fate or destiny, but I sure can fight tooth and nail, if it means I get to take a step forward. And I will.

A splendid cast ...

2011-11-20T10:08:00.000-08:00

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.

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...who cannot figure out the plot

Emotions are such powerful things. They crawl into our lives and create these crevices that make a perfectly soft soil into a patched barren land. How ironic? Instead of being rich and filled with life because of emotions, the wonderful life becomes barren because of them! Why? Because they are the very cause of disruptions in a perfect life.

She looked at herself in the mirror, the aged lines on her face, carefully covered with a concealer, the smile perfected with a lipstick and the tired eyes lit up with a hint of mascara. She looked picture perfect. She gave an angelic smile and the reflection in the mirror gave her a smile too, that warmed her heart. She took her Gucci and walked down the stairs. She looked at her husband who was waiting at the end of the stairs, the light in her heart growing brighter.

As she walked gracefully, one hand sliding down the railing of the stair case glittering in a diamond bracelet, her engagement ring shining with the lustre only a solitaire would give, he stared at her agape at the vision in front of him. His wife for ten years, who looks every bit as beautiful as she did when he first met her and aged gracefully than he did over the last ten years, made his heart grow fonder, just by her smile. Amazing that her smile could fill his heart, even after all the numerous fights and countless arguments they had. Amazing that she still makes him feel like the twenty year old kid, unafraid and daring to walk head on into anything, for her. Amazing that she still makes him feel that every moment is worth living, when she is with him. God, she is magnificent, he thought.

She could see the smile on his face. She looked at his unfathomable eyes that conveyed everything and nothing and felt a thud in her heart. She stood next to him, not knowing what to say. Silence has become a form of communication between them, for a long time. Silence when words were not enough would have made a perfect song, but silence when words were absent is a huge emptiness. Yet, her smile did not falter. Did he still love her? Did he still need her? The questions lingered on her mind, yet the smile did not falter. Years of practice at making everyone else happy, despite her emotions, made her an expert artist in the stage of life.

Little did she know that she still made his heart stop, every time he looked at her. Little did she know that she was the centre of his universe, that she was on his every thought every day, even on the days they did not talk to each other, that she was his life. Little did she know that he admired her audacity, her courage and that, in his heart, he has a shrine built for her, holding her picture perfect smiles, the sound of her laughter, her quiet tears, her feistiness, her anger, the rainbow of her emotions, perfectly aligned, one after another, that he loved to reminisce. Little did she know any of these thoughts that run through his mind, every now and then. He had no words to express and she had no way of knowing.

She thought, did he ever wonder if she continued to love him? After all these years of their marriage, did he need that reassurance that she loved him? She held off the “I love you” that was on the tip of her tongue. For some bizarre reason she could not say it out loud. It seemed pretentious, to say it out loud. She wanted to reach out to hold his hand, but refrained herself from doing so. It has been a very long time, since she held his hand. The last was when they walked down the aisle after they were married. It is strange that they never strolled hand in hand after that day. Amazing how they have two adorable kids, who lived in a happy family to the outside world. Her insides want to melt down into a puddle of raw nerves and her heart wants to give out at the depressing thoughts her mind is rushing her past with.
“Are you ready to go?”, he asked.
“Yes, let us go”, she said.
They sat in their car and he switched on the music, while she stared out of the window at the shadows that followed them, as he began to drive. She wondered if they were her own shadows that threatened to come out of the closet.

He stared at her once in a while, oblivious to all the thoughts running in her head. He wanted to ask what she was thinking. But he kept quiet. They were used to this silence. They were comfortable in that silence. Their world looked perfect in that silence, that he did not want to break it. Did he ever wonder, for how many days that world looked perfect? Did he ever wonder, why silence ruled their world? Did he for one moment stop to think if the smile on her face was real?

Moments whizz past life, which never come back. Times where life and emotions are taken for granted. Mind in its wrapped up reality spills the guts of faceless emotions, while heart in its pumping glory cocoons them into heartbeats that translate to a living and together they give a surreal experience. But where do they go from here? As they move past the familiar silences, the music that echoed in the background became a dull thud.

“Do you remember this song?”, he asked.
“Should I remember this song?”, she responded.

He sighed, wondering why she was always this disconcerting. It was the song that played in the background of his car, when they had what seemed to be their biggest fight at that time, her not willing to give up her job when they get married, eventually. When they fought, which often resulted in her tears and senseless tantrums and an eventual cuddling of the unresolved tension, he felt it was over and done, having done his manly duty of holding her through the tears, while she felt the resentment of being a woman unable to communicate to her man. Those moments of familiar discomfort and frozen seconds and the later make up time were part and parcel of their relation. Yet, he remembered every insignificant nuance of their time, while she zoomed past the stuff and remembers nothing, or perhaps only those that she wanted to remember. He felt the bile of resentment reach his heart, which he suppressed with practiced precision and clamped his mouth shut.
She looked at his face, waiting for his response, knowing full well the significance of the song, knowing full well what he asked of her when he uttered those words of dependency on him, knowing their full blown out fight in the very same car, on the very same road, waiting for him to say that he remembered them too. She wanted to repress the memory of her first moment of insecurity, of her choice of trusting this man she wanted to walk the rest of her life with. But she could not. She could not repress it. Was there some reason he asked her this question?

“Are you going to answer it?”, she reiterated.
“What should I answer?”, he asked.
Then why did you bring it up, she wondered.
“Never mind”, she said.

And the familiar walls of silence engulfed them. Each lost in their own inner turmoil, each bearing the resentment of the unsaid words, each laying a brick on the wall that separated them.

They reached their destination and they walked into the restaurant. She ordered for them and they had their dinner, quietly. While she writhed in the familiar uncertainty of their future, he drank his beer and wallowed his anger and frustration, their familiar silence now a boon. She paid their bill, not wanting him to pay for her and they walked back into the car, when he drove them home. Next morning was a new beginning, the wall impenetrable, today a new day and together, in their own tiny ways, tried to get past the previous night. Those countless hurdles that passed their day to day mundane chores, that took monotony to a new level. Both went on with their lives, as though yesterdays were nothing and with hope that tomorrows would be better and the todays a bundle of emotional vulnerability. Emotions disrupting their perfectly normal life.

Life - it does not stop!

2011-09-06T21:37:00.000-07:00

Sometimes in life, there are paths that lead away from our heart. We follow that path and walk through the serenity and embrace the anonymity of the new path. We walk along that path in the hope of finding something. That something is not always quantitative. But, first, why choose the new path? Because, good old same road is boring and new path promises more. And despite everything life taught us, we still believe that promise.

As we walk along that new path, we ponder once in a while, to go back. Of course, that is only natural, given that, everything new has a sense of risk and the comfort of the known walls is better than the luxury of the unknown. Yet, we persevere, until we hit a road block. As it happens in life, every path will have a stumble and a road block. Just to make the journey interesting.
Now, here comes the tricky path. How to move forward from that road block? It seems so easy to turn back and walk into the comfort zone. Yet, few brave venture to cross the road block. Few return, never to explore a new path again. But, the brave, who move forward, trigger the entire process again. Choose – stumble – forward or backward. But, did anyone ever wonder, why the process? Why choose? Why stumble? Why move forward or backward? Of course, the logical question to ask would be, why to stay?

More often than not, I keep asking this question to myself. I still do not have an answer.

But, life – It doesn’t stop. Not when there are questions nor when there are answers.
When life seems meaningless, it does not stop.
When life seems blissful, it does not stop.
When life seems full of life, it does not stop.
When life seems a drag, it does not stop.
When life seems chaotic, it does not stop.
When life seems to be filled with passion, it does not stop.
When life seems heartless, it does not stop.
When life seems to be filled with love, it does not stop.
When life seems loveless, it does not stop.
And the list goes on, and life still does not stop.
But why, why do I want it to stop, just for a second and let me catch up with it? Why does it want me to huff and puff and totter behind it, as it bosses me around? It is supposed to be my life, ain’t it? When did it suddenly cease being my own? Did it slip away, from my hands, just like the quick sand that slips through the fingers, when we hold it too tight? Should I scramble to collect it into my hands again? This time, will it stay?

“Of course not, you idiot! Life goes on!! Don’t you get it?” (says my alter ego. Life- here is a request, please take her along with you, the next time you wish to leave me behind!)

Story of Little Elm

2011-08-27T22:51:00.000-07:00

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.

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She felt like the prettiest girl on the planet, when he looked at her that way. When his hands touched her, she shivered in reverence at that delicate touch. When he fed her, his kindness melted into her, making her weak in her knees. When he dressed her up, she felt that she is the luckiest girl on the planet.

She did not care that she was in a glass cage, she did not care that she would never get to know anything beyond the glass cage. She was content watching him every single moment of her life. She was content to be taken in hand and trimmed to shape and made weak in her knees. She knew that he cared for her, she construed that to be love. And she was happy.

One day, she was taken to the outside, into the garden. He was holding her and that was all that mattered. He put her down in the cozy green grass, while he took out a shovel. She worried that he would bury her there and when he started digging a hole, she felt depressed. She started losing her color and feeling pale. She looked withered and by the time he dug a hole to bury her, she looked dead too. He took one look at her and decided that she needed additional attention and so, he took her back to his room and placed her on the window sill. She started breathing again, her color retained and she looked happy too. She felt that he read her well and that he knew exactly what was good for her.

Every day, he gave her water and for that one sip of water, she felt grateful to him. But, she wanted more. She wanted him to spend time with her, to whisper in her ears, to sing for her, to dance with her, to tell stories to her, to show her to his friends. She waited for him to do that. One day, he brought his friends over and they had fun, while she looked on, to see, if he would introduce her to them. He and his friends were not interested in her. Not once, did he looked at her. Not once! How dare he!

She was frustrated. For the first time, she wanted to show him that she needed attention. She wanted to scream at him for being so unkind as to shut her off completely. She looked down at herself. She still looked pretty, with a sturdy build and trimmed leaves, she looked pretty in her glass cage. She did not understand why he would ignore her! She turned to look out of the window, while she fumed in hurt. She gazed into a far off land, not really seeing anything. He left the room, along with his friends and she felt alone. She looked back to see if there was a note on her glass cage, his handprint which usually lingered when he touched the cage. She was disappointed. She turned her back and looked out of the window, now noticing for the first time, the vastness and the hugeness of the nature spanned infront of her. She saw the hole he dug for her. She looked past that hole to see a huge tree, smiling down at her. The tree looked pretty too.

“You alright, little Elm?”, she asked.

She was too startled to answer. She looked at the huge tree, which continued to look at her with kindness. “Yes, I … I … “, she stuttered, looking a bit out of place and flustered.

“You know, the kindness these people show you is fantastic. But, there is nothing like freedom. There is nothing like the warmth of a mother’s womb. When he dug this hole for you, he was giving you a chance to embrace that! But, you looked unhappy. So he took you back. But, why are you unhappy now?”, she asked.

Elm looked on at the kind old lady and pondered over her words. She grew restless as she thought about them. She was stuck in a glass cage, with her world wrapped in a tiny block of glass, with her feet in artificial mud and her leaves and roots, trimmed to fit this shape while her brothers and sisters are out there, living a carefree life, with their feet buried deep into the mother earth and standing tall and dancing with the children. She looked at herself and realized, she made the choice of staying in this glass cage, because she loved him. She wanted to be with him. She felt miserable knowing that she is missing the possibilities out there, in the free world, while she chose to stay with him.

He returned home and he lay on his bed. She looked on and not once did she see him turn his head towards her. No sorry either, for not introducing his friends. No sorry for not talking to her the entire day. No sorry that he had not fed her. She felt sorry for herself. He was supposed to love her and be her world. She looked on at him, wondering why she felt out of sorts.
The next day, he hurried out of the door, having woke up late, yet again, for his office. He really should get his priorities right, she sighed. Damn, she loved him. But, she was thirsty. The meagre spoon of water she had a couple of days ago was not helping her and he did not feed her today. Her will was snapping and she was withering and he was not there to hold her hands through it all! She was losing consciousness too. She was hyperventilating, but there was no one to help her now.

When he came home, his little Elm looked dead. He cursed and fed her a glass of water. She felt choked, the water is not going in. she tried to tell him that he was pouring too much down her throat, but he was not looking at her. He was talking on the phone. She was furious. She tried to stomp her feet, but they refused to budge from the soil. She was choking and her spasms increased. She was feeling suffocated and she looked to him for help. But he was busy on the phone. She looked on. She thought back to all the days when he fed her, every day. She recollected his face, the expressions that he had when he spent time with her. She realized with shock, that he had always been like this. He had always been this self-absorbed. He did not look at her, he did not care that she looked pretty. He just cut her to shape, because he wanted her to stay in the cage. She was hurt beyond words when she realized, she was held captive all this time and she was a willing prisoner. As she realized she was in on her last breath, she felt pity on herself, for wasting her life, fantasizing on her perception of him, rather than seeing the facts. She suddenly realized, she was not even pretty. She was small, she has no self-worth, she was being fed, by a person who took care of her, perhaps out of pity and not out of love! Her world, as she knew, came crashing down. She lost her consciousness again!

When she woke up, she found herself in a yard, sprawled nude. She was embarrassed beyond reason, when she looked around and heard the snickers of her fellow companions, her brothers and sisters, looking at her, with amusement.

“Get up. You are not alone there little sister. We are here for you. You can do it. Grab on that Carbondioxide, there is plenty of it here. We can help you live, if you make little effort. We are here for you, holding your hand, to take you to our mother, who will nurture you back to health and royalty. It is a huge process, but you need to take baby steps. But, first, you need to take a step, to believe in yourself and believe in your worth.”
Despite her weakness, she tried holding on, grabbing onto anything that can give her a chance to see him once. She heard the word of advice, but they just don’t understand. She cannot survive without seeing him with her eyes, every single moment, even though he cares little whether she survived or not. She held on and gazed past her companions, into the small window. Her eyesight wavered, but she held on to the hope, to see his face and go into heaven.

“Breathe!”

There he is, her charming prince. She looked at him in content and she felt she could close her eyes now. She looked down and saw that there was another Elm in the glass cage, drinking a spoon of water from his hand, looking ecstatic. Elm jolted out of her weakness. She realized she was replaced with a look-alike, nevertheless replaced. She was not precious after all. She withered and he threw her out, presuming that she is dead and moved on, while she held on to his memories.
“C’mon, you can do it, breathe”, she heard someone day.

“Oh, poor baby, look how weak you are. I am here now, I can take care of her. You all have chores to do, get moving”, she heard a voice call out and looked around. Everyone of her brother and sister went back to their chores. She looked for the source of her voice, when she felt a warmth rise into heart. She felt her feet covered and she was glad for the heat. She was being fed, with a different sort of food. She wanted more. Perhaps, the voice heard her, because she was having more. She looked at herself and realized, what it means to be home and in mother’s warmth, for her feet are buried deep in soil and her mother wrapped herself around her, providing her warmth and food. She sighed, content!

My tryst in a tempest

2011-08-11T08:55:00.000-07:00

It seems like a dull day. Not that the place is dull or that the morning is dull, it is all bright and sunny and warm, just a right day to play a sport or walk around with friends or just hang out or read a book or do anything other than procrastinating. And it is not that I do it often, but I got up this morning with a dull ache in my heart, for some reason. Perhaps this is what people call being home sick. I never realized I am that sort of a person. New place excites me a lot. I love to meet new people, I love to explore the surroundings, I love the independence that comes with being alone in a strange place. I feel it to be an opportunity to see how I fare and how I react to the situations. But, this time it seems different.

Walking around the Mississippi river, along the bridge gave me a reminder of one other experience I had, the one that made me an altogether different person, the one that exposed a different side of me to myself, the one where I was carefree and enjoyed the challenge of a new place. It reminded me of the lone walks, the casual conversations, the respect of the strangers and above all, it reminded me what it means to live with people of different communities and back grounds and explore in subtle way the unity in diversity. Here and now, the familiarity of the people, yet the strangeness that revolves around them, knowing that we come from some common back ground, but have different perspectives and feelings for life is not so much of a comfort. It is not a comfort to know that you have people to talk to too. Why? Isn’t it strange that the comfort is not comforting?

A bright morning is clouded by nothing more than the thoughts that are revolving in my head, half of them that have to do with me living up to my own expectations. This is not the promise that I made to myself when I came here. But then, it sometimes is not all about promises, isn’t it? From afar, the land looks green and beautiful, but once you land there and walk around, you notice that the path is unclear, that the beauty in the scenery is because it was uninhabited, the limited paths that exist are those of the passing travellers who left their footprints for some stranger, who walks in those paths on some random day, forming their own impressions, all the while, leaving something for someone to ponder upon and to take it into their life. You also notice that the beauty is no longer a beauty but a trap to invite you into the depth of the paths intertwined with emptiness. Above all, it is the loneliness that adds to the beauty of those unexplored paths. And that is a pinnacle one has to enjoy to hold themselves together.

I progress along these uneven lands, my tryst with the tempest, hoping to find a shore that is my pinnacle, be it loneliness or grandeur and be it with the crowd or without. Of course, sometimes, solitude is a crowd in itself. The voice(s) that one hears is a company in itself. These are phases in life, that I do enjoy the most, particularly because there is somewhere inside this tiny person, an alter ego that urges me, on the side of caution, to persevere despite the pressing burden. I love that person, I love that sanity. So, good luck to me!

Another phase: A trip to the US of A

2011-08-08T20:01:00.000-07:00

There is something absolutely thrilling when a dream comes true. I am here, in USA and it is unbelievable. The journey to the place was tiring, but it did not take much time for me to adjust, thanks to being aware of the ordeal. How I came to be here is a different story, but being here definitely makes me feel the excitement of a ten year old kid about to go to a circus!

Minneapolis is a beautiful place. On the offset, it does not look secure or safe, but, beneath all those gory feelings, the place is absolutely gorgeous, with its lovely surroundings and amazing buildings. My first take of the place is that it is extremely beautiful, albeit reserved in its welcome to strangers! And for the record, public transport in the US is really sad and bad. From an ecological perspective, it would save a ton of petrol/diesel/gas if the transport in the US improves. Just saying.And ofcourse, the rent is exorbitant, but that comes with not knowing the place. Leaving out the mundane details aside, I have a beautiful view of the skyline of Minneapolis and a view of the Mississippi river and a perfect view of the traffic that flows around the place. I love watching all the three. It is fascinating to be lost in the clouds, that are clear and look warm. Summer is beautiful when it does not show its wrath. And the traffic is something I do not get tired to watch and it is fascinating to see the order with which the traffic moves in this place. Coming from India, it certainly is a refreshing pace.

Winter, a couple of months down the line, I was told, is pretty harsh and the first winter might be particularly harsh. I really do not like the cold and I have absolutely no clue as to how I landed myself in this part of the US, where the winter is the coldest. Ofcourse, there is a silver lining that I get to see the snow, but then again, I was told, it would be a snow desert for a good six months, so I would eventually get tired of it. Well, whatever anyone says, I am pretty excited about it and I am looking forward to it, though I might change the tune when it really comes down to it. LOL.

But, most of all, I am excited about seeing New York. For some reason, watching CSI NY drove me to the point of desperate measures to see this place. Ofcourse, watching a crime scene investigation gives me little chance to see the surroundings, when there is a murder suspense to unveil, but then, I am good at observing things, particularly architecture and New York is the place to see it. I am not sure when I would get a chance to see this place, but I will have to see it before I return back home. I am super excited about it.

On a side note, I am working on something I have absolutely no clue about, so catching up on it will take most of my initial time and ofcourse, a place to stay is still vague for now. And yeah, the possibility of seeing Vampire Diaries while it telecasts is like, super thrilling for me. That is another thing I am excited about.

So lets see how this phase of my life goes…

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2

2011-07-15T07:53:00.001-07:00

Glad that this is my 200th post in this blog :).....

Its curtain time for the most enchanting series I have witnessed. Harry Potter turns Happy Potter as he embraces his destiny and leaves me a little sad. I am super excited and super thrilled to be watching it on the first day and undoubtedly will watch again. I have not yet stepped into the Cinemas and I have not seen a single trailer, for I want the first hand impression of the grand finale of the one fantasy movie I would love to watch over and over again. Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson have clutched to the strings of my heart and I will be sad to not see them as Harry Potter and Hermione Granger and I am sure that their future movies shall hold their enthralling performances, but I shall always remember them for their roles in this fantasy series. Time does not fly when I want it to fly, darn…

And I am back, after watching Harry Potter finale and boy, was it brilliant? It had everything, and amazingly the grim tone of the situation is brilliantly captured through out the movie. Despite the occasional laugh, the movie did give me what I wanted in Harry Potter movies, magic, fights, fire works, sparks. And Daniel Radcliffe did an amazing job as Harry Potter and he took me into the movie, into his emotional state, as he portrayed the character with impending doom to an outstanding extent. As you see him accept the fact that he needs to face Voldemort alone and that it would be fatal to him, the entire weight of the life he had, the experiences he had to go through and given that while he is alive, Voldemort will always be alive and that he has to be dead for Voldemort to be dead, in that scene, you just get into his character and feel that entire pain in your heart, as he sits helpless in Dumbledore’s room at Hogwarts. And that scene alone is sufficient to see the movie.

As Hogwarts fights back along with the one and only hope for their world to survive, when the professors cast the protection spells around the school, I was spellbound. I almost went into heaven watching the fireworks from there on. Sure, there are certain things I wish were better, like Harry’s explanation to Voldemort about why the spells from his wand were rebounding and why the Death Curse did not work on Harry. I wish that scene was captured according to the book. I also wished for the cheers to be heard, when Voldemort died, that the entire wizarding world that was afraid of him could heave a collective sigh of relief when they see him sprawled on the floor or become dust. To put it bluntly, I just wished that the end would drag a little more! Two hours of magic was insufficient for me… greedy me! C’mon, if you were a fan of Harry Potter, tell me that you would not wish for the same, honestly!

The movie is definitely enchanting, thrilling, surreal and absolutely a treat for all the Harry potter fans. More importantly, it succeeded in portraying the epic battle between good and bad to a very satisfying extent. And also, it’s not just about the big battle, but also the subtle themes about the love shared between the characters, that is very touchingly portrayed, which adds to the magic of the movie. It definitely makes us wonder how quickly childhood passes and pushes us to think that in a matter of a second, we might not actually have a life. When the doom shall come and embrace is definitely unknown, but what is real is the life we have at this moment and if we cannot make it work, we never know if we will have to embark on a journey as Harry Potter (fat chance!) or whatever. SO, seize the day, watch Harry Potter and get on with life as this minute is your last ;)…

Loveache

2011-06-20T03:29:00.001-07:00

Here is the thing. I am obsessed. With what? Perhaps I have to call it ‘love-ache’. There should be such a term, obviously and there should be a branch in the Medical Sciences to educate about this. There should be students queuing up to take this course. There should be hospitals that sponsor research aid for developing medications based on the stages of this love-ache. Yup, there are stages.
Stage 1 : When an eye meets eye and there is this tingle in the belly.
Stage 2: When the hand meets hand and the slow burn begins in the places until then unknown to human anatomy.
Stage 3: When all seems great and the world looks pretty. Dude, you are on the verge of a precipice so steep, you have no idea IF you will ever land on your bum. Seriously! And for the record, the only way you will land is on your bum and that would be so hard that your breath shall take a short hiatus and you will be left choking and there is nothing you can do to stop it.
Stage 4: When tears start and questions form and the lousy feeling of the difference between night and day is not obvious(duh!), it has turned terminal. Nothing can save you, but yourself. That is when you are hanging onto the precipice peak. Be careful to take any help you get and feel grateful that someone is willing to lend you a hand and pull you up!
Stage 5: When nothing comes to mind and everything seems perfect, but there is no spark for life, dude, you are a goner.
Stage 6: Embracing the afterlife.
Stage 3.5: In between Stage 3 and Stage 4, there is an intermittent stage 3.5 or the love-coma. The love-coma is a dream like state where you are sedated with the happy dreams of prosperity, happiness, promises of more to come in future and essentially one step away from the dreaded after-life. There should be a genetic study done to check if it is possible that the offspring could develop this bug. Since it is not dependent on age, the vaccines should be given as soon and as often as possible to ensure that the probability of love-ache is minimal. Remember, there are no guarantees in science.

There should also be software companies lining to tie-up with universities to do a research and study the genetic engineering behind this ache and produce a software that can assist the doctor and the patient alike to understand the progress. There can be several intermittent stages, ofcourse, that are not always possible for humans to understand or fathom. Every out of bound scenario should have a special case. Care should be taken to understand the symptoms correctly.
- Is the person smiling unnecessarily?
- Is the person laughing intermittently, when no joke is cracked?
- Is the person gazing at the sky with a lost expression mixed with self-satisfaction?
- How many times does the person check his/her mobile?
- Does he/she have a smile when they check the mobile?
- Are you repeating yourself a thousand times before the person responds to you?
- Is the person crying for no apparent reason?
- Is the person locking himself/herself in a room?
- Does the person refuse to be part of the normal world, for the normal world does not exist for him?
- Does the person have a self-branded philosophy that makes little sense? (Yup, it is self-written)
- Is the person reaching out in every conversation?

Ofcourse, this is a developing branch and the list can go on after a thorough research and analysis. The analysts should study the market to understand the boundaries, symptoms and formulate the requirements correctly. And then, an engineer will develop a tool and incorporate it with “scalability” to answer any unforeseen requirements. That tool shall generate a report for the consultant lovelogist (yeah yeah, should find a better name) to form a diagnosis. Also a series of psychometric tests should be conducted to check how the person’s mind is responding to this love-ache and the results should be analyzed by an “expert” consultant, if there is one available, to give a prognosis. Finally, a medication should be suggested for a short term.

Advertisers should start making marketing campaigns about how the love-ache could be cured and what advanced techniques are offered by their treatment facilities over their competitors, misleading the average common-man into believing that this love-ache can be cured at any stage. There should be pharmaceutical companies that promise instant relief for this love ache with their advanced medical formulae. There should be milk powders designed for all alike that will enhance the resistance power of the human biological system to this love ache. Ofcourse, they shall be available in all flavors to appeal to all public.

Oh, like all medical discoveries and advancements, there shall be traumatic consequences of this work-in-progress. The media going frenzy, creating panic in people about the new “ache”, providing all the information required to corrupt the sanctity of a person’s mind. Then there is this online media, the twitterverse going crazy about this new ache, giving information on different places in the world, where the bug is developed and advanced, retweeting statistics about the number of terminal cases of loveache and how different organizations are volunteering their free service to help treat this love ache. How medications from all parts of world find a way into these people’s lives, thanks to the generous contribution of the celebrities and their followers. And facebook has a discussion page dedicated to fight and argue over various medications prescribed. And Google along with a link to the wiki on loveache, offers sponsored results, which laboriously offer mindboggling deals on the cheaper alternatives, only, they don’t work. There would be miraculous stories about how self-belief, determination and yoga has successfully helped a person overcome this ache and survive through the most trying of times. There would be autobiographies by the survivors and movies directed in their names. There would then come a celebrity jumping up and down the Oprah show that he/she has survived the danger and all is well in the world again.

And then, there would be fanatical movements that protest these drugs, saying they are destroying what little of good is left in the world and that if God wanted them to suffer, they had to endure that suffering and go in peace. There would be modern torture in the less civilized nations, applied to people who try to get a cure and there would be oppressed nations that say, men can take the cure and women cannot. There would be women rights association that shall fight to spread awareness of this brutality and the saga goes on.

All the while, people will fall in love, try to take a pill, forget the ache and move on, only to fall into the same pit again. And more stringent medicines will evolve and there would be opposing forces to balance out this evolvement and the saga goes on. SIGH!!!

Hmm… have I lost my mind? Or is it really possible? Any comments?

What can I do?

2011-06-18T10:34:00.001-07:00

I have tried so hard to put into words, the swarm of thoughts running through my head these days. But, I realized, the more I force myself to sit, the more antagonistic they become. They hide themselves in a corner, refusing to come out, despite the threats of never giving them company, ever. And then I realized, with twitter and facebook, my thoughts have learnt to become miniature versions of themselves and that I have little patience to sit and write a word or two about anything. There are stories that whisper themselves in my ears every now and then, those that are sweet, those that are horrific, those that are a work-in-progress. Yet, when I sit to string those words together, they refuse to form a coherent thought. Now, I sit on my bed, wondering what I can do, to open myself up. There was a time when writing was a solace. There was a time when reading was a comfort. There was a time, I could spring up a thought at my whim and go on about it. Currently, though, I see myself as a stranger whose purpose in life seems to be a mystery. Though there are paths unexplored, though there are venues that require attention, I seem to be caught up in a current that has no direction. I wish that things are different, I wish that there is something more I could do, with myself and my life.

2nd April, 2011 - A history was made!

2011-04-17T08:48:00.001-07:00

I sat there, looking at the history in the making, stunned beyond words and as tears threatened to fall out, all I could think of was the ease with which India conquered the world to become the champions. If the group matches were a performance that seemed quite ordinary, the knockout Indian team has been a surprise. The group stage was like a build up for the grand explosion, the extent of which could be seen on the faces of Ponting, Afridi and Sangarkara. The fielding at an all together different level, reminding of what this team has stored up its sleeve, the cunning mask of putting themselves as harmless and hopeless fielding unit only to stun the opponents with its resurrection!

5 off 12 balls, Yuvi on strike and it could all be over. I forced myself to hear the commentary, Ravi Shastri talking about T20 world cup and other achievements by MSD and Co and some other commentator talking about how brilliantly Srilanka played, yet team India stealing the thunder and I could not even SIGH in frustration. The fireworks have already erupted outside, except for a miracle, nothing would stop MSD from lifting the world cup. Yuvi takes a single, painfully prolonging the celebration. And MSD gave one of his trademark shots and there is a leader, not just a captain, but a leader, whose six for the world title shall be remembered for the rest of my life. I was stunned to silence as the world around me erupted into one chaotic celebration, the music blaring loud, the fireworks making the night glow like afternoon, the noise good enough to be heard by the players in Mumbai, the joy that floated in the air, yet, I was only stunned into silence. I was watching the telecast of the team members celebration, of the unconcealed happiness and the exaltation that came with it, the draining of emotions – the moments that shall remain with me for the rest of my life. This team has given me memories that I shall recollect with fond passion and those memories shall always bring in tears of joy.

While the team lapped Sachin on its shoulders and MSD disappeared without a trail, I thought to myself, what a tribute to the man who kept India alive in the world cricket, and what a deserving finale to a brilliant journey? When the score read 31/2, I could hardly turn off the TV. Once, it was a possibility, but this time, I forced myself to sit and watch, to feel every wicket in my nerves – to feel the pain or the joy, whatever it could be, praying that the fanatics would not respond with burning their cars or breaking their houses or whatever , and I sat there, with a quiet despair, yet with some confidence, seeing the young hopes of India, battle it out in the middle – Gambhir and Kohli. My conscience was urging them to perform – a gift to the hearts of people who yearned for seeing their team at the top. It was not the demolition that was sought, we are painfully aware that we are limited by the very nature of our culture, yet, some how, the symbolic gesture of the climb uphill – the huffs and puffs, the drooping of shoulders, the calmness through impossibilities, the final resurrection –that is what this team stood for. Its way of clawing every inch for what it believed was truly theirs. That was clearly evident in the journey of this team to the goal of winning the world cup. It was not a murder like the domination of Aussies, but a journey scripted with cool heads that promised a thorough enjoyment and delivered in fashion. And fittingly, it was the resurgent young talent that stood tall, the future of the Indian cricket that delivered, promising that there is no dearth of talent or execution when the time comes. Deservingly, it is the leader who hit the winning runs.

For me, this victory stands as an epitome of the Indian cricket, since I began to watch it – 1996 – India vs Pakistan, Quarter Finals World cup. I have seen the ups and downs, the hefty promise of the much talented players failing as a cohesive unit, finally realising the power of a team and transforming to “Team India”, yet not having the potential to make it in the games that counted. I have ached when people responded with burning the effigies and breaking cars and windows of the houses of my idols. I have cried when Australia slaughtered us in the 2003 WC and I have been depressed with the exit in 2007 World cup. I have prayed for the team and for the players, every time they went on to the field, yet accepted that sometimes prayers were not enough. I have believed every time in my team, even when all the hopes were lost. Yet, when the world cup began, even when everyone screamed that Indian team is the favourite, I really could not make myself soar high in the air. I watched them wearily, willing them to win, rejoicing every win, yet somehow feeling slightly at odds with the way we were winning, thinking that we need more than just victories. I wanted that adrenaline of pumping the fist in the air, the gusto of the shouts for every run stopped and wicket taken, the fire in the eyes when dismantling the oppositions plans and the waving of the bat, giving us hope that we need not worry, that they have things under control. I could not find that in the group stages.

When the knock out started, I was petrified that we were facing Australia –the only team that has the chance of destroying any team on this planet. I could not sleep that night, I could not work in the office – all I could think was the match. I could not watch the match and glad that I did not. But when the team won, it was equivalent to a world cup victory –that is when I realized we truly are the champions of the world, that we defeated the only team that has a prayer of winning against us. What a sweet revenge that was! I still remember the 2003 world cup with a shudder. Ponting destroyed us that day. It was only fitting to see him go red and being humbled by Team India that looked him right in the eye and said, “Mate, you destroyed us in 2003 and here is our revenge. We will slowly dismantle the false hope of victory, slowly see your hope diminishing and despite valiant hearts, you just are not good enough for us today.” And boy, was that sweet or what?

And when I saw the semis against Pakistan, I was way too depressed with Sachin’s batting. I did not watch the innings after Gambhir got out, it was painful to see a maestro being tamed by a nobody. I do enjoy good cricket and a good battle, but Sachin is just too good for being shown as a mere batsman who can still be confounded. I just could not take that in my plan of watching India’s unhurried walk to the world cup. However, the second innings when we bowled, I was stunned at the fielding and the bowling. I was shell shocked and almost choked on myself when I saw that Nehra gave just a single run and took a wicket in the 44th over and wicket and two runs in the follow up over! I almost exploded with pride when Zack bowled a wicket maiden in the last over! The expected victory was cherished while the count down begun!

And when the final show down did come – it really was a show down! The adrenaline, the shouts, the determination, the running, the fielding – this is what I wanted, no matter the result, the way they threw themselves on the field and the way Zack bowled the first spell – that was just sufficient for me. We clinched the world cup then. As simple as that. If that effort did not deserve the world cup, I really don’t know if anything else does. The other end was leaking runs, while he stood rock solid and bowled with such valiant heart. He stole my heart long ago, with his rebound into the team, but his effort in this world cup was worth the result. And Gambhir’s effort with bat – brilliant. And him not celebrating his 50 indicated how determined the team were, to win this. A lot was left to be done, not yet time for a celebration. And Dhoni standing up to be counted in the match that mattered, kudos dear captain, I have admired your sensibility for a long time, but you gained my respect with that innings. Yuvi always gave me conflicting feelings, with so much potential, he just did not click as a worthy player to share the room with the likes of Rahul, Sachin, Anil, Sourav, Srinath, Zack – yet, this world cup earned a place in my heart for you! thank you!

“The way to win over India is to get 350 runs and seven quick wickets” says Sangakara. I laughed out loud when I heard that.
“I had a few questions I would have to answer: Why Sreesanth, why not Ashwin. Why not Yuvi, why did I bat up the order. That motivated me to do well.” – Very funny Mr Cool. Presence of mind amidst the exhilaration!

I was exhausted with the win. I just could not muster the energy to celebrate or shout. I just could not wrap myself around that success. It would take time for this to sink in. I shall follow cricinfo, but sitting and watching the match will be an altogether different matter! I don’t even know if I can ever begin to watch cricket again, for now, I am just spent with all the passion I share for my team that stood as an inspiration to me for years now. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I love my team and I shall always love it, no matter where we are!

A Pillion Rider Thoughts

2011-03-25T03:19:00.001-07:00

As a pillion rider, sometimes I have a lot of time to think, particularly when on roads with heavy traffic or long drives with time constraint. Today, on one such ride, I had time to munch on quite a few thoughts –the then deserted streets, the narrow roads, the bicycle rides and the now busy and wide roads, the myriad cars that continue to stream down the lane. I thought about the millions of bucks spent on the air-conditioned offices, the infrastructure, logistics, support staff, security, training, the amount spent on college funds, the amount spent on roads for improving the public transport to the roads that were unheard of a few years ago. I kept thinking, for all the justified reasons (yes, justified), how much of that money is spent wasted when that paid time is not used effectively. Am I the only one thinking like this, or are there many others who think that? I am talking about the over-paid employees with little satisfaction in the job they do and countless hours spent on (arguably) personal work during paid hours.

A need for a miracle...

2011-03-15T00:05:00.000-07:00

I decided to not jot down my thoughts, they seemed trivial. Sometimes I think, I jump from one tree to another, forever restless, forever absorbed and forever obsessed with whatever fancies me at that moment. Is that a crime? Is that not what one's mind should do? Mind being a monkey at free will, does a mad dash at the first sight of color, but, I feel like putting a boundary to my thoughts today. I am afraid that they might run amok with all the madness that is going on around the world. That is right, the crisis across a continent seems to disturb me beyond reason. I keep thinking, we could be next- any natural calamity unleashed on us has no mercy, for we have been cruel to her and to expect her to be kind to us does not cut a bargain. With tides running havoc, the fire being feisty, the earth trembling in equal bursts of mirth and fury - we can only do so much.

Though the Tsunami hit Japan is the one that started this inner turmoil, it goes deeper than that. It is the reason why I have been hiding - it matters little, these thoughts. Nothing matters, really. I keep fighting this urge in me to become a saint, for I can honestly not be one. But I also keep fighting the urge to be a philanthropist. Two completely extreme emotions running in my mind- one pushes me to open up to people, while one shuns me into my own world. In that little world, I keep urging myself for some redemption. For some sanity. For something to hold on to. To fight and to keep fighting, to live, to focus and to be passionate. Yet, I seem to scoff at the very idea of being passionate and sane.

Letting aside my thoughts, I hope that the nation that stunned everyone to admiration with its miraculous recovery from the world war 2, will find its feet together, with the helping hands from all the people from across the globe. While the emotional trauma of loss of lives is something that has to be lived with, the economical debacle, with the support of the fellow nations should be rectified, if not contained. Ofcourse, at this point of time, more than the value for economy, it is the value of the lives of people who are injured, exposed to the radio-active rays that is of concern. The nuclear reactor blasts are a continuous threat to the people in the vicinity of impact. I don't know what can be done about that, but I am sure that the capable minds are looking into the options, while I fill myself up with the physics of nuclear reactors, which by the minute is turning out to be alarming and depressing!

My positive thoughts are with the nation…

Redemption

2011-01-30T01:21:00.000-08:00

Forgiveness is divine, so goes the saying. I am not a forgiving person. I hardly ever forgive or forget. So eventually, I end up being lonely, because no one, including myself can ever live upto the high standards that I seem to aspire for. I cannot obviously, not live with myself, but rest all, who have been part of my life, who are part of my life have a tough time, when understanding why I am suddenly so cold or distant. But I cannot help that nature of mine. I take time to accept people into my life. I take time to trust someone. It is easy to break your heart, when unwanted people enter it and I don’t cope well with heart break. No one ever does. So, I am conscious. A friend of mine, once said, that I accept people too easily. That was way back, when I was fourteen. But I was not wrong then, my instinct has been right about her and we still are friends. The journey has not been easy with her, but we managed to walk for over ten years together.

I came a long way since the first time I heard that I accept people easily. I am sometimes hesitant about people, sometimes defensive and sometimes unkind. I have had all sorts of experience and however we try, sometimes, hearts must be broken. And when that happens, there is nothing much to do, except be broken and let the hurt sweep you all over and one day, when it is tired, it can help you catch your breath and you can start living again. That is just how it is. The glorified path of hurt only making you stronger, does not really work. Not really. There are no paths from pain. Except a deep tidal wave that engulfs you in a black hole. It will settle when it can and until then, you just have to deal with it. Of course, after that comes a better place and that is the happy place. I have had a share of my happy times too. The thing is, I have always been an introvert, with limited set of friends. Friends are not someone I take lightly nor do I call everyone a friend, just because I spoke to them a couple of times. Some people do that. So, I have to say explicitly, I do not say the word friend, lightly. And when I say a friend, all the shackles of self-defense are lost. Did I make wrong choices when I called people friends? Over the past few years, I have had my trust broken a million times and the people who should have been friends betrayed me. SO, yes, I made wrong choices. I made wrong choices and I paid for them, which made me even more choosy and set the bar that bit higher, so I would not be hurt. In this process, I lost confidence in a lot of people, people I care and love. And I did not make amends to fix whatever it is that pushed me away from them. Also along the line, I realized, I have not been a good friend either. I have lied by omission, which means I broke a trust. I have seen a friend go astray, which means I broke a promise. I have let a friend suffer alone, which means, I have not been there. I have let a friend take baby steps ahead and did not stand there, to witness it, which means I have not shared an important moment of his life. I have not indulged in a friend’s fantasy, I have been too uptight, which means, I have let myself be more important than that friend. I have not participated in friend of friend’s conversation, for I felt uncomfortable and out of place, which means, I have not had the chance to get to know the people who are important to him/her. I have put myself above others, which means, I cannot be a friend. Can I? When I feel such, why should I try to demolish the walls I constructed around myself? Am I not better alone, than be this selfish person?

I have realized, I have come a long way in life, but, I have just begun this journey. And as I evade past the choices I have, I realized, I have become someone who I should not be. I should perhaps try and fix the broken bridges and smooth the creases, yet, I realize, I cannot do any of those, for I honestly do not care for few and I cannot resurrect what has never been, in a few cases and few, I just am too ashamed to go back. I do not have the strength in me to forgive myself. And I also do not have the strength to forget. But I do have the strength to ask for redemption, of all the people, who have ever seen me as a friend and who have had the misfortune of being my friend. I am sorry, for being the person I have been.

So where do I go now? I ask this question of myself, over and over again.

I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever known
Don't know where it goes, but it's home to me and I walk alone

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating……..

And I don’t want to be anyone other than what I have been trying to be lately…

Welcome to Reality!

2011-01-13T09:20:00.000-08:00

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.

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“These last few years have been the best, in my life. Waking up every day, because, for once, the reality is far better than the dreams, because of you. And the sleepless nights have been a bliss, thinking about you, whispering your words over and over, again and again, waiting for the night to be over, just to look at you the next morning. To see you smile, to know that I caused that smile, to feel it in my heart, that fond glow that embraces me. You are one person, who made all the difference in my life. And today, is the best day in my life. Watching you work for that dream has been a mangled expression of awe and pain. Though this means that it would push you half way across the world, knowing that you are pursuing your dreams and knowing that you are happy, will help me get through the days. You know, even though I am alone, there is this another person inside me, the person who is insanely in love with you. She remembers every second of the last few years. The distance matters little, when every nerve in her body screams your name and every time your name pops up, she is this glowing person who is very proud of you. She fully intends to give me company, so don’t you worry about me at all”, she said to her most favorite person in this whole wide world and the only person in her world.

He looked at the happiness on her face, wondering if anything he ever did will ever shatter that pride he heard in her voice, when she spoke his name. He endured the months of desperation and succeeded, thanks to her unwavering belief and today, when those dreams are this close to becoming a reality, he was torn between happiness and despair. He just took one step towards the dream and already, the past threatened to fade away. Clinging to the past would mean that the dream would remain a dream and pushing the past away, means that the reality will drown him. Past, he said that word over and over in his head. Every time he said that word, it was like a knife stab through his heart. The significance of that stab is not lost on him.

“Thank you, for everything”, he said, with an emotion that was too difficult to put in words.

She looked at him for a long time, wondering if something was wrong. She was lost in the moment of his glory, that she failed to notice the trepidation in his eyes. She could not explain the dread in her heart, yet, she knew that this day, she would not forget.

“What is it? Are you worried about us?”, she asked. He continued to look at her, unsure how to respond.
“We are going to be OK. We will work something out. Don’t worry”, she said, moving closer to him.

He stepped back. She stopped, taken aback. She looked at him, with comprehension in her eyes. “It’s over, isn’t it?”, she asked, with calm conviction.
He took a step closer to her. She stepped back and turned around. The ensuring silence deafening in her ears. For one moment, the world came crashing down on her. Was it a moment ago that she said that reality was too good to be in a dream. She has been wrong all along. She lived in a dream, seeing what she thought she saw. Because only in dreams, she was happy. She chased those dreams and the reality crept up on her. And now, the swallowing darkness has no light from any corner, to show a path. The darkness is much harsher, when the light that sparkled in that path extinguished. He was the light in the path she pursued.

She turned around. “Why?”, she asked and the whisper made that question a raging tornado in his heart. He looked at the emptiness in her eyes and he had no words to say, no words that would shun out the emptiness. He took another step closer to her. She stood looking at him.

“I’m sorry”, was all he could muster. She stood there, for a few more moments, trying to make sense of those words. Sorry for what? Sorry for taking away the life line? Sorry for inflicting the pain she never thought was possible? And he had the gall to stand there and look worried and hurt? She looked at him longer, anger creeping in. How dare he be sorry for her? How dare he threaten to feel sorry for the one thing that meant everything to her? How dare he, to take away the rationale in her pain? The pain that seems to be the only reality of her life, from now!

“Do you like to see me in pain?”, she asked with a tormented voice.
“No. No. No, that is not what I want. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want …”, he lost his train of thought at the expression on her face.
“Watch me learn to forget you”, she said and stormed out of the room, leaving him stunned.

He looked at her retreating back, knowing full well that he destroyed something very pure and sacred and he would be marred for the rest of his life in search of that sacred thing. He sighed. He underestimated her pain when he agreed that it was over and her words “Watch me forget you” did kill him. Unlearning an emotion is not an easy thing. For unlearning, she has to feel the emotion, relive it and then strip it inch by inch by inch, dying a thousand times and there is no guarantee that she would ever succeed and honestly, does he want her to do that? Does he want her to forget him? Does he want her to erase the best part of his life to nothingness? Does he want to be erased from her life? “Hell no”, he thought. Yet he would not do anything, not when there are his dreams that are at stake.

“Congratulations! You just took the first step towards your soul destruction. There, you see that? That girl was the best ever thing that happened to you and you think that your dream has any meaning without her? You will find out soon enough. Just when you find out, be sure to have a well padded body, for when you fall flat, you need some cushioning to take the pain”, his conscience mocked him. Just like that, the start of a wonderful life looked turbulent. Just like that, he stripped apart a life to pieces and he intends to construct his dream on the shattered pieces.

She walked out of the house and started walking to no where in particular. She could hear nothing and she could see nothing. The monotonous foot after foot took her in some direction, the road disappearing beneath her and suddenly she felt air whoosh past her, a truck barely missing her. She stood stock still and looked around. She was standing in the middle of a road with vehicles moving past her. She could hear the voices all around her.
“Mommy, ice cream” she heard some kid speak.
“Are you out of your mind? Move lady”, she heard someone yell.
HONK HONK… she looked around once more and started moving. Life moves on, every one else’s life moves on, except hers, for now! For now, her life has no meaning, no direction, no purpose, yet she has to move on and get on with life. She smiled sardonically.

“Welcome to the reality! For what its worth, your dream was great”, her conscience mocked!

... trying to be less lonesome

2011-01-13T00:10:00.001-08:00

Realizing that there is no guarantee for the next second of life, we still hunt around for dreams, walk down the paths – sometimes alone and sometimes in company of people we cherish, yet, never stop and ponder, if we bothered to do the right things and say the right words at the right moment. What if, there is someone out there, screaming for your help in their dreams? What if there is someone out there, who perhaps is wondering the same thought that you are having at this instant? What if, your loved one has received the most coveted achievement of his life and is gloating in happiness for the feeling to sink in and is planning on how to tell you about it, while you are down in a dump not having the heart to feel the happiness? What if you are the most significant person in someone else’s life and don’t even know it? What if, no one ever told you that they love you and you would never know if you have been loved? When we are running around for success, chasing the dreams that are significant, sometimes, the people who cast those dreams for us, seem nowhere in sight. The people who are part of that dream seem unimportant. People who share those dreams are unimportant. “I” being the most prolific of expressions, “I” takes over “us”. And suddenly, everything else seems insignificant. The satisfaction of the crowning victory of the dream seems to be the only thing that matters. At that stellar achievement, is there no one who comes to mind, who would share that happiness with you? Who believed in your dreams and in you? If the answer to that question is “no”, then the achievement is just trash. We all need someone, ONE person, at least, who believes in us. But, finding that someone is the key. “We are lonesome animals. We spend all our life trying to be less lonesome.”

We meet people along the way of life. Few become the stalwarts whose presence makes a significant impact. Few relations lead to conflicting emotions of love and affection. Few become the star performers in the dreams. Few are mere obstacles. Few are part of life, yet insignificant. Few are not part of life, yet are significant. Essentially, people play role that steers the wheel of life. Words are spoken, thoughts exchanged, promises said out loud, vows exchanged, all of which form a time capsule. And I cannot help but wonder, how many of these incidents have a ring of truth to them. Like, if there ever was a meaning to: “I will be there for you, always, forever. Remember that!” or “I love you” or “I miss you”? I keep thinking, sometimes, in the heat of the moment there are a lot of words exchanged. Some are good, some are bad, but how many are the truth? Eventually, as the tide turns, silence rules the world, even between the thickest of the companions. If words become a lie, the “companionable silence” eventually makes it worse. Have you ever wondered, when the companionable silence becomes silence? Where even the whispers of the inner voice can become screams of pleasure or pain? It just creeps up on you, like old age, never sounding a horn at its arrival, just the glaring obvious truth in the deafening silence. And is the journey back to companionable silence hard? Is there a journey back? Back to the time where the words roll off the tongue, even with the intention of fully falsifying them in the future? Back to where silence is more of a comfort than of an insult or prejudice?

When the dusk sets in on life, there is time to wallow in thoughts. There is time, period. That is when, the hard questions of life start making an appearance. When young and blood runs through veins and muscles seem strong to move mountains and the world is at your mercy, there is no time for thoughts. But when, the wrinkled body withers further, for every strong move of the wind, at that instant, who is your companion? Who is your alter ego? Who is the reason for your smile? Who is the wind beneath your wings? When the good and the bad pass through the eyes, can you withstand the phase without regret? What about the moments where you missed out on saying out loud about how much you care about someone? Will you regret them? will the stellar achievements hold any meaning? Will the anger towards someone hold any meaning? When the end approaches like a whistle, shrieking loud enough to wake the dead or steal your soul, will you be content or will you harbor regrets that push you to hell? These are hard questions for someone who wants to be less lonesome and there is never a right time to find answers to these!

"It seems to me that, if you or I must choose between two courses of thought or action, we should remember our dying and try so to live that our death brings no pleasure to the world." – John Steinback
Every day, we move closer and every day we move further away. We move closer to the end and we move further and further away from the clear water. The murkiness of the future gets thicker and thicker. Every day! Perhaps it is time to think of a way to live life, if it is a life that is a harbinger of doom at dusk or a recipe for content.

One tree Hill and ...

2011-01-03T22:51:00.000-08:00

One tree hill became my latest addiction and when I started going through what is available online, my favourite character, Lucas Scott, played by Chad Michael Murray is no longer going to play in this soap, from Season 7 and it is a heart break for me and I am not really sure if I want to watch the season any more. The love that lasted tough times between Nathan and Haley might push me to perhaps catch an occasional episode, but for some reason, it just is not the same any more. This particular TV drama had me aching for the characters from the episode one. Leaving out the melodrama and the unspeakable story lines of few episodes, the voiceovers that quote from classics sometimes, leave me sleepless through the night. The plot evolves the characters decently, but rather sketchily for my taste. The byplays between characters is sometimes brilliant and sometimes rather sad. But, I enjoyed scripts that revolved around the sports, for they are a source of an inspiration. Watching a sports person’s career is like watching life in a capsule – the trysts, the disappointments, the choices, the hardships, the success, the failures, the fame, the attention and over all, the future that is forever changing and forever challenging and forever unknown. To see them succeed or give up or fail, is a lesson to one and all and when I started watching this, it was in the hope of finding an inspiration. But the show did not give me that, it just went on portraying the characters, sometimes disgustingly and sometimes brilliantly. Yet it stuck to me, as I wanted to know how these characters shall turn out as the life throws punch after punch. It also got me thinking about the life beyond the world I see.

I live in a world that is small and I see people with different perspectives. What choices made them who they are today? Are all the choices correct? Are they proud of those choices? Are the smiles behind their success true? Are the thoughts behind their words true? Are there hidden intensions behind every step forward? It is not easy to know anyone’s life but their own. And sometimes, I wonder, if I understand my life. The surrounding world has so many influencing factors that are not catered for, in the life plan. When I think of life ten years from now, I see a question mark. When I see it five years from now, I see a question mark. When I see it two years from now, I see a question mark. If I asked myself the same question, ten years ago, I would have dreamed of this day. And if I asked the same question, five years ago, even then, I would have said, I am still on course. Now that I ask this question, of myself, I go blank. It is like, one dream is realized beyond which there seems to be an emptiness I cannot handle. I try confronting the emptiness and I see nothing. I keep probing myself, pushing myself to dream about something else and I find myself lost in the nothingness. Sometimes in life, inspiration does not come from anything but oneself. Today, I seek inspiration from somewhere else. I try to see if there is one tiny ray of hope that shall pass me today, to perhaps push me in the right direction and I find myself disappointed. Not because I can’t find any outstanding achievements, just those achievements seem ordinary to me. Somewhere along the road, I lost the meaning of simplicity and somewhere along the road, I picked up a baggage that weighs me down and somewhere along the road, I forgot to stop and rest and stop thinking. Thought at some level intellectualizes everything. Like, relations. Too much thought and too little heart in a relation, just makes the relation cold. Like work. Too little thought spoils the growth, but no heart, makes one dissatisfied. There are no “for-sure” answers in life. And one has to find the answers to a lot of questions along the way. And along the way, perhaps, one has to realize that, it is not the answers to the questions that matter, but the questions themselves. Those questions mould the person into whatever they are. In search for the answers, they change their skin. Along the way, I also forgot the company of many people – parents, friends, well-wishers. Along the way, all lost the meaning, except solitude and questions. I still ask questions and have no one to answer. I still have people around me, just don’t really know if that should mean anything to me. It falls back to a thought I held close to my heart for a long time – “you are alone”. The thought of people in life, forever and till eternity just holds no meaning. When life is a question, what certainty can anyone give for forever?

The bonds shared by people sometimes just vanish, as though they never existed. The promises and words mean nothing but ash. All that is left is a bag full of questions and a heart that aches. At some point, the charade begins, where the smiles and affection becomes a fabricated exhibition rather than something that forms the core of everything. Along the way, there are no values that can be upheld, just a faint belief that echoes the certainty of truth, yet insufficient to hold any meaning. Along the way, there is no way forward, just a stop sign and an end.

A harsh reality.

Good Deed

2010-12-26T23:05:00.001-08:00

I did a good deed today. Perhaps allowed someone some peace of mind. There are a few people in this world, who require knowledge. There is nothing wrong with such people, as they want to expand their knowledge and assisting them in anyway can only be good, right? So I did the good deed of expanding some fern minded intelligence to that of a tea-spoon. Well, no one can say I am bad! So what is the knowledge that I have imparted? Well, it is about me! Right! Knowing about me is quintessential to a few people and they might not really sleep in the nights, if they cannot know things about me and I did them all a favor and let them know the truth about me, from the only reliable source in this whole wide world and that is me! Now, I am not so sure why that is important, but, it is important for their sanity. Why take the curse of someone’s insanity? So, I gave them the fruit of their labour. Another thing about me is that, when I do not want to lend information, I can be such an obtuse person. I can make the conversation very one-sided and I can also make remarks that last long. Nothing that would cut through the lungs of someone (oh, I can do that too. Anyone who knows me will tell you that, I have a tongue that is like a double edged sword, can either cut you or kill you, depends on what I want to do, ofcourse), just enough to stop the discussion from going forward. And sometimes, if I feel like it, if the person is persistent, I try and accommodate myself to answer to the best of my knowledge and tell the truth, (just in case I want a chance at denial, I know what my story is… evil conniver that I am) and let the chips fall in place for further discussion. Ofcourse, I reserve the right to respond to the leading questions and once in a while, I will be in a mood to answer those questions too! Today is one such day, where, the morose me wanted some cheer. After all, its new year around the corner and it is important that I bring cheer to people, right? So, today, I was caught up by a person requesting my life story. Ah, here is the twist though, I am a nobody. I mean, perhaps to a few, I am somebody, but face it, I am not a hot shot personality that is news, not even the classified news! So, why would anyone want to know my life story? Well, there are people who believe that knowing someone else’s life is knowledge and one such person required the information. Instead of listening to second hand junk, I spared a moment and told the truth. Then came the leading questions and well, I answered few and left few in some Schrodinger’s state. And you know what? It felt good. For, I smiled. Now, what kind of an egotist am I, if I tell the truth about myself with a straight face? So, I smiled and it did me good too.

Reliving the fond memories even for someone you could care less, does bring a smile and cheer to your heart. Not saying that one’s life is a public display, but, what bad can come out of a good memory, apart from it being told in perhaps prejudiced way, perhaps for one’s own voyeuristic gratification? Well, rumours fly in the same way too. So, I cannot forever hang in a cocoon, afraid that the breaking it open would eventually be a mistake! So, I broke the cocoon and it felt good, this freedom.

For all those who read novels, I have no mystery. I have no secret vendettas. I have no hidden communications in the closet nor do I have any mystery codes delivered in the newspaper nor do I have an underground laboratory that believes in aliens, where I listen to signals from Mars! I am a girl next door, who minds her own business and does not honestly care, if the neighbour next door has a cat or a dog or a late night visitor. I am a person who can try being a friend(unsuccessfully) once in a while. I am a person with an underpaid job and over ambitious dreams. In short, I am like everyone around me! So, wonder why it is important? Well, if only I had a penny for the curiosity of every person around me!! SIGH!

Pain and pleasure

2010-12-25T14:59:00.001-08:00

Missing you does not even begin to cover the hole in me. As time passes, these things should be easy. To let go, knowing that you would return, yet, letting go has always been a problem for me. Every time I let go, I have this feeling of being stranded in the middle of no where. Lost, that is how it feels. Lost my way and stuttering around in the dark, opening myself up for a pit or rock, not knowing what would embrace me and if I have enough strength to withstand that.

As the journey unwound today at a speed of 120, the intermittent red lights screaming at me to not look further down the lane, my heart raced abreast with the road, curling its way to the airport, the parched throat reminding me of a painful adieu. While I tossed and turned around, unable to get my mind around the numbness when I realized that the pain is just round the corner, waiting to grab my throat, I wondered if you felt the same way about this. If you could feel the distance that seems to forever hover around us, if you could begin to understand how complex a thought is running through my head, those thoughts that made me from a sparkling light to a defused bulb. The bitter sweet pain of the love I feel when you are around, when you hold me and smother me senseless, oh, how can I comprehend this emptiness? How can I withstand this queasy feeling of being choked by love?

Sitting here, in the chair, not so long ago, occupied by you, typing the letters which form words, words that are tortured to form a coherent meaning. My eyes blur all of a sudden and I wipe them away, angry at myself for being weak, I look around the room, the haphazard array of blanket thrown on the bed, knowing that I will wrap myself around in that blanket, hoping that the comfort of your scent shall offer me solace, hoping that the warmth of the blanket shall engulf me into your arms that have been the most coveted position I ever achieved, hoping that the ruffles on the pillow cover shall fill my head with your thoughts and put me to a slumber free of dreams…

Distance has always caught up on us. Is it a choice or a chance? Together we atone, for the choices we make in life, but, being alone we atone the choice of being together. Is it worth it?

I will miss you…

Sweet December

2010-12-15T23:36:00.001-08:00

There is something about December that brings in a sense of joy to me. Typically, December month releases movies full of snowfall, romance, vibrant color, fantastic fireworks, lilting music and exuberance. I love the snowfall, I love the colors in the air, I love the work in office – loaded and full-on pressure, I love the hope that comes with the new year being around the corner, promising something new and fantastic and ofcourse, the end of season sales and festive offers. I love the decors in the malls, I love the displays on the windows and the late night strolls on the walkways of the brightly lit stores. The smiles dance on the corners of the lips and a joy springs into the heart at the sight of beautiful dresses and lovely weather.

And ofcourse, today I have all those reasons and more. My heart literally sings at the very thought and the smile cannot be rubbed off my face today. Tense all around, yet my heart swirls in a dance, composing its own tune as it moves around. I cannot wait for tomorrow and yet, I do not wish for the day to pass on quickly. There is a beauty to a sweet anticipation, there is a beauty in enduring the constant tick of the clock, knowing that every tick brings me closer to the moment.

I am happy!

Harry Potter and Deathly Hallows - Part 1 - Movie

2010-11-20T22:18:00.000-08:00

I could hardly wait to watch this film and when I did, I have had a fantastic experience. I would not say that it stuck to the book to the letter, but at least the integrity of the book was kept as a whole. I do have a few complaints, but let me first feel the thrill running through of my nerves, of watching one of my favourite trio (onscreen and the characters of the book) – Harry, Ron, Hermoine. First impression, WOW, I am watching the epic finale or the build up to the epic finale. I hope the part 2 shall not be as disappointing as the book, though.

I would have been happy to watch the duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald. I get it, that the movie is about Harry Potter trying to find a solution to the impending doom, but, is it not logical to put a little effort in capturing the essence of Dumbledore, who played a phenomenal role in what Harry is today and what he would be doing tomorrow? A little portrayal of Rita Skeeter’s book , introducing Aberforth (Dumbledore’s brother, who has a role in the next film, hopefully) and perhaps the death of his sister, etc. That story meant something to Harry and more importantly, it would have been nice to have one huge fight in the movie, with sparks, colors and spells. Not every day do we get to watch magic. And when I go into the theatre to watch Harry Potter, that is what I expect, magic, that leaves me spellbound. And also, that story speaks about what made Dumbledore who he is, which comes out in the final meet with Harry, at the moment of culmination of the epic war between good and bad. Now, I wonder, how the ending would be, of this interesting onscreen portrayal. And I have a very LONG wait.

Hermoine was superb, she dominated the screen, as usual. Harry was alright, the usual self. Ron, was good too. I have no complaints on the usual deviation from the book – like the point where Harry was supposed to be Barny in the Bill and Fleur wedding, as he should not be seen as Harry Potter in public, or the missing speech of trusting the remaining people in the room, after they were attacked by the Death eaters – this was a slight reference to Harry’s father, James Potter by Lupin, or Harry finding the letter from Lily and his childhood photo – a little reflection of the existence of his parents, just a warm note in his grim life. Dobby – the house elf was fantastic. Beautiful. The comedy timing in the film was superb too. One complaint that stayed from the last movie – do NOT change the essence of Harry Potter, please. Harry is not the one who asks people to take risk for his sake. In the movie, in the first scene, Harry was shown to be reluctant to ask other people to put their lives to risk, when they all turn into Harry Potter’s, but later on in the film, he asks Ron to accompany him on his journey to find horcruxes. You cannot show Harry with two different shades of character at the same time!!! Harry is not selfish, period. He is compassionate and his greatest strength is his innocence and the bond he shares with Hermoine and Ron. And the proof of that loyalty is what makes him accept their presence in the journey to meet his own death! Unacceptable! But I am willing to overlook the flaw! :)

The movie served its purpose, the build up to the finale is superb. I cannot wait to watch the final part of this series. I thoroughly enjoyed it. As a Harry Potter series fan, the movie made sense to me. I am not sure, if it makes sense to all the people who have not read Harry Potter or watched his earlier onscreen portrayals. What amazes me is that the people who portrayed these characters have grown infront of our eyes, on the screen and it is fantastic to watch them grow.

For all you Harry Potter fans, grab your brooms and fly to the theatres to watch this film, NOW. And feel the grim tone with which you leave the theatres, in anticipation of the next part! I enjoyed the ride so far!

A sacrilege

2010-11-03T09:43:00.000-07:00

There seems to be a choke stuck in my throat that is wilfully agonizing my day. For some reason, the choke is not out of despair, it is out of anger and frustration. What place are we sharing if a genius has to prove himself time and again, over and over and over again?

Rahul Dravid is a phenomenon in Indian Cricket. He might not be as flamboyant as Sehwag, might not have been “God” of cricket like Sachin or might not have been as outspoken as Sourav, but that does not make him any less important to the team. I don’t want to speak of the exploits he did with the bat or the courageous displays of grit. I just wish that he would be left alone. Given a chance, I would envelope in a time capsule and push him away, away from all these prying eyes who want to rip him apart. His batting is like that of the brush strokes of Da Vinci and the sonnets of Shakespeare. Why question his commitment? if for one shot of his bat, I have to wait for a thousand strokes, I am prepared to wait, for when the shot unleashes from the bat, it is so artfully played that one is left gaping at the splendour. I cannot quite fathom the criticism he needs to take. Why? Why is it so difficult to accept greatness? Is it because it is available for everyone to see?

I do not want him to play any more cricket, to allow any of these people who cannot understand brilliance, to ever watch him play cricket. It is like leaving a diamond in the muck and expecting a tramp to cherish the rare jewel and not broker it in a pawn shop for a meagre trifle. Gosh! It is heart-breaking to listen to the comments. Deliberate malice just to nudge a reaction out of me seems to be the thing of the day. And to speak of him, to defend him, is a blasphemy, a sacrilege.

Whatever tomorrow holds

2010-10-26T22:06:00.000-07:00

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.

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The random people on the street have more in common than them. How ironic is that? Yet, they are forced to endure those differences, by the law, by the people around them, by their well-wishers, by their parents. However, they would rather blissfully forgive their hypocrisy, if they do not want to be together. What defines this bond, that which pulls the strings of their conscience, but does not touch their hearts? Day after day, to kill a part of you, yet, unaware of the murder that is being committed. No wonder, when the time comes for the certainty, we are all unprepared. And no wonder the eventuality is assumed as a certainty. Perhaps, when one could have some integrity in their thoughts, world would seem so much better. One redeeming quality, is that too much to ask of oneself?

Every day, dreaming of monsters, loving and hating them at the same time, but still closing the eyes every single night in the hope of getting a fitful sleep; hoping that the monsters would not come to torment us, at the same time, hoping that they do and perhaps, push us into oblivion. What is it with people? Who welcome the torment and embrace it? What is it in pain that pushes people to seek it? Is it because the pain would perhaps be seen as a sacrifice? That the sacrifice we make to bear that pain is our choice of accepting it, hoping to be a martyr! We could choose to not live the pain, for it is in us to stop it and walk away. We all believe that, just as we believe that the sun rises in the East. We believe that we are the masters of our destiny. How foolish can we be? If we are the masters of our lives, then why seek a higher conscience to look up to? If we are the masters of our lives, why think of fate and destiny?

We smile at a passing stranger and frown at a loved one. We seek to love dispassionate people, hoping to ignite hidden passions. We love and hate, scoff and scorn, ridicule and spare - why is it that the human nature requires this chivalry for every thought that fool of a brain can think? Passion is craved, despite knowing that it is not freely available in the market. Craving for something that is out of reach is also human nature. For some reason, the journey towards a destination filled with thorns and fire is fascinating, perhaps, because we seek, in some hidden way to be heroes, super-heroes, if only for a single person.

Anna continued to struggle with her thoughts, trying to find some way of dealing with her frustrations. She looked at the clock, wearily, noting that in about another hour, she would be that stranger, whom she did not recognize in the mirror. She sighed. She looked around the house, the four walls that subdued her to a mere reflection of the inner most fears she had, when she got married. Her husband is not bad, it is just that she was unable to be good. She was having hard time, trying to cope up with the changes that were demanded of her. It was like her life changed continuously, from one moment to another, demanding more and more and more. She gave in to those changes initially and with zeal. She gave in to those changes a little conspicuously, as time progressed. And now, she felt that the change is the only thing that defined her, being stretched from one charade to another with alarming regularity. Just as the baton gets passed on the dining room table of a crowded army, she was being passed, from one role to another to another. Once being a working wife, then a new in-law, then a new mother to an old wife, to an old in-law, to a new-mother of a teenage son, to a house wife, to a neighbor, to a daughter. How many roles can she play?

She wondered, what right, people had, to influence her mind, into thinking that she had to live for the sole purpose of making her life worthy, by being this obedient wife, daughter, mother, in-law. The girl in her, craved for something more, which she could not explain to people. She had the yearning for him, just, she was not completely happy with that yearning. It was not like her heart flutters at the mere look of him. It was a long time, since her heart sang for him. She was tired of living together. Agreed, that the silence is comfortable between them. Agreed that he is conscious of her every move. But that just does not seem to be sufficient for her. She wondered, had she not been married, would her life be different?

She reflected that she would miss her son dearly. He was a spitting image of his father, the reflection of her love she once felt. The gooey attachment that sprung from being too intimate, the feverish spasms of breath, the tingling in the pit of her stomach, the longing to be home to be in his arms, the subtle flirting in the restaurants, the coy smile she held for his-eyes-only, the late night long drives, the content to just be in his arms on one of those irritating days, knowing that the world could come to an end, but she would still be safe in his arms. Gosh, she reflected on those moments, trying to find some semblance of that emotion in her. But she found herself dispassionately flipping through the images that once choked her heart. When did it happen, this bereavement? And most importantly, why? She wondered, if he noticed the indifference in her. Did he even wonder why she was quiet most of the time? Did he even wonder why she has a perpetual frown on her face? Did he even wonder why she seemed to be lost in thought, most of the time? Did he notice her slipping out of bed in the middle of the night, to sit with a book? She sighed. It was asking too much, to expect things from him. He is the one who puts food on the table, he is entitled to have a relatively peaceful day, without having to worry about her needs and desires. She had no right to be demand something from him, for he provides for her and her family. She laughed mirthlessly at this thought. How easily had she converted him into a pay check? She saw him as a golden goose for her family. The sardonic smile on her face was almost sad. What monster has inhabited her, to think such vile thoughts? To hold such contempt towards her better half? Despite her self-rebuke at the thoughts, she thought, why does she not have the right to voice her needs or desires. She is working as much as he does, perhaps not in earning bread and butter, but it is not easy to maintain the house and the kid, to handle the tantrums of the kid, to ensure that he studies while she is busy putting a meal together, to pay the bills, to shop for groceries, to be there for your in-laws, to be there for your son, the parent-teacher conferences, the neighborly bonding. Friends long forgotten, dreams long forgotten, as daughter - inexistent, as a lover - an act. It has been a while since she thought of herself. She did not even buy a new dress in a long time. Just because she stays in the house, did not mean she did not deserve the occasional gifts. She sighed, her eyes filling with tears, at the mere helplessness of the thought that she could not go out and buy herself a damn dress. Oh, she had money. He surrendered fifty percent of his monthly pay checks to do as she pleases. But she never used that money for anything other than the family expenses. She could not quite commit herself to using that hard earned money for some frivolous expense. What need did she have to be frivolous? She realized that she was being unreasonable, though she could not quite put a finger to that detachment. She brushed the horrid tears from her eyes and tried to steady herself. She looked at the watch and noticed that she had another half hour to make herself presentable to her husband. She vowed that he would never get to know the monstrosity in her mind.

She took the pain of swallowing the lump in her throat and dressed herself to look decent and tried to smile. She succeeded with some effort. She was not worried that he would notice. That might have been once, not now, when his career is blossoming and he has little time to make an effort to understand her. She sighed again. She hated that she should be part of a celebration that is a painful reminder of her pitiful condition. The anniversary, she mused. When was the last time she took real interest in any of the occasions? The last time that she remembered was their second anniversary. If she has to be honest, that was the only year she felt special. Now, after fifteen years of marriage with her son in his teenage and her husband's career prospects looking promising, she had no reason to be unhappy. Yet, she was and she had no idea how to overcome that. She briefly contemplated suicide and rejected it immediately. If she had the guts to commit a suicide, she had the guts to pick the shreds of her life and make it what she wanted it to be, rather than morosely reflecting on the past and letting the dejection take over her. Her heart protested that the future life is too difficult to fathom. She got up slowly, not quite understanding what she intends to do, when she heard the front door open. She saw him walk through the door with a bouquet in one hand and his lips curved into a smile that sparkled. She saw the Adonis that he was as she returned his smile, a reflex she developed over the years, easily slipping into the charade of a wife. It was unnerving, this transformation, she thought.

He hugged her and took a deep breath, breathing her scent in.

"Happy Anniversary, pretty wife. I love your perfume and I love you", he said, hugging her tightly.

Was that a compliment she heard?, she thought.

"Happy Anniversary dear husband. You look handsome too", she smiled.

He pushed her a little away, holding her at arm's length, subtly observing her.

"Are you alright?", he asked.

She nodded. He looked into her eyes and she wondered if he could read the thoughts running in her mind. Of course, he could not. He stared a minute longer and asked, "Did you cry?"

The tears threatened to well up again, but she refused to show any weakness to him. "Why in the world will I cry?", she asked, in mock incredulity.

She continued to hold his gaze steadily. He looked at her a while longer and asked if she was ready to head out. She gave a radiant smile and nodded. He looked at her a while longer, wondering how to explain the deadbolt in his heart. He knew something was wrong, but he could not put a finger on it. He had observed his light-hearted and warm wife turn into a cold companion, who struggled to pretend that all the things were alright. He waited too long to decide that he needed to confront her and get it all out of her system. He waited too long, after deciding that it was too long and the rift just grew to a boundary, around her. He did not know what else he could do. He let her be, giving her the time and the freedom, slowly knowing that she was slipping away. The sand need not just slip from the closed fist, an unstable hand can throw the sand around. Their relation became unstable and they were both of being scattered. And he did not know how to steady the hand or the relation and he doubted if she did. She looked tired, he noted. He is tired too. Of waiting for long, too long, hoping that she would let him help her overcome that pain in her.

He held her close to his heart, content on holding her, content on providing that warmth to her, hoping that it would be sufficient to soothe her pain, whatever it was. There was a time, when that was sufficient to make her feel elated. Now, he was not so sure. He pressed his lips on her hair, whispering "I am here for you". She could not bring herself to understand his words. It negates her emotions, that the changes in her were unnoticed by him, that the passion between them had dried up a long time ago. She could not come to terms with the feelings running through her. She was baffled by them. Is this why the relations last, for that momentary comfort offered on some fortunate day? Life does not change overnight and tomorrow would be another day, her thoughts pushing her through the hilt and her heart snapping at everything. For now, though, the comfort did soothe her raging heart and she suddenly realized that she missed that warmth of him, that embrace around her over the past few days, or was it years? Perhaps, the hug meant a little more today, because she was hoping to hold onto some sanity and his warmth gave that line to her. She pushed her thoughts aside, brought her hands around him and snuggled closer, holding him, taking the comfort and offering assurance. Whatever tomorrow holds, she had today.

She released him and they walked together to the door, both with heavy hearts, yet with smiles on their faces and the charade continued. People become attached to their burdens sometimes more than the burdens are attached to them. Martyrs are walking around us, every single day. Why are Oscars most coveted? Oscars are easy to find in the lives of every common man! "I only dread one day at a time", she mused.

Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte

2010-10-20T03:49:00.000-07:00

Reading classics is like falling back into time, into a world so different from now and seeing the perceptions that once existed and wondering if there is any difference now. Every single time I opened a classic, after what felt like eons of current writings, I always took time to get into the rhythm of the novel, to get the flavor of the sarcasm and wit and to get into the story. And this time, I read Wuthering heights. I remember reading this almost eight years ago and though the story remained with me, I did not enjoy the style or the story, neither did I appreciate the challenge it must have been, to Emily Bronte, to put that thought onto the paper, nor did I appreciate the complexities of the characters in the novel. But now, for some reason, this book, left a staggering amount of mixed feelings.

Any novel, once it falls into a genre, which in this case is romance, comes with a preconceived notion that the book goes about portraying the bonding and the sizzle of the relation. But, this is a romance novel, with no clichéd romanticisms. It is dispassionate with brilliant interventions of self realization and love. Love, in the conventional sort of romance, should be passionate, driving the lovers into strong emotions of tenderness and despair, evolving into a choking, gooey sentiment that demands compassion for the lovers, from any observer. This romance, is unconventional, in that it does not demand compassion. It almost clinically demolishes the little sympathy that might be evoked on the characters. But still, the under current tone of obsession, (yes, love is an obsession), that always seems to border below the main story line of revenge and hate, touches the reader. It is not a luke warm feeling, it is a thin blanket in the snow – insufficient, yet required. The book made me detest the characters for their self-obsessed nature, their cunning and self-inflicted misery. The hate that forms the tone of emotion, for the major part of the novel, left me slightly dizzy, in terms of the heartlessness and the cruelty of the characters, yet, the clichéd romanticisms did come in the form confessions of their true feelings. The author, should be appreciated for the most natural characterization of the human emotions.

To dissect the characters and their relations is like trying to figure out the starting and ending of a cobweb. Each can be a case study of its own. I am not attempting at that. At this point, I am not sure what I would end up writing in here, I jus thave to free some space in my mind else an OutOfMemoryError is right on its way and a forced shut down is inevitable!

"I cannot express it; but surely you and everybody have a notion that there is or should be an existence of yours beyond you. What were the use of my creation, if I were entirely contained here? My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff's miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it. My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being."

Despite the deepest emotion Catherine Earnshaw feels towards Heathcliff, the barriers of social class and her own selfish reason to assist Heathcliff to a better social life, away from her brother, who takes pleasure in tormenting and torturing Heathcliff, make her choose Edgar Linton over Heathcliff, there by pushing the world of Heathcliff into hatred and revenge. The martyred reason demolishes her world into insanity, depression and misery, yet this self infliction did not evoke any sympathy towards her. If any, she became a monster who willfully destroyed the one thing that could perhaps have been precious. There were a lot of “what ifs” in this novel for me, but be that as it may, I can only hope that had things been different and had Heathcliff been slightly more virtuous in his approach to life, perhaps, he could have stirred a more softer tone of emotions in me.

Heathcliff, who comes out as a protagonist of the novel does not hold the sympathy of the reader, despite having few brilliant passages that almost pass for passion. Undoubtedly, this is one of the most challenging characterizations I ever read. After hearing that Catherine chose Edgar Linton, he leaves the place only to return after three years, when Catherine welcomes him with unbridled enthusiasm, though her husband is not keen in entertaining the company. However, the visits of Heathcliff become more prominent, to the dismay of Edgar Linton. The consequence of which stirs his sister Isabella’s heart, which portrays Heathcliff to be her prince charming. One such visit forces a confrontation between Heathcliff and Catherine who wishes that he leave Isabella in peace. As the words fly, Nelly, the maid in the house telltales this to Linton. Linton in a fit of fury enters the confrontation of Catherine and Heathcliff and orders Heathcliff off his grounds and to never set foot on his property, ever again. This stirs a rage in Catherine that makes her lock herself in a room and eventually fall sick at the mirthless thoughts that surround her. Her health deteriorates over the period of time and on one occasion when Heathcliff visits her, in the absence of her husband, comes a brilliant exchange that left me choking.

"Oh, Cathy! Oh, my life! how can I bear it?" was the first sentence he uttered, in a tone that did not seek to disguise his despair. And now he stared at her so earnestly that I thought the very intensity of his gaze would bring tears into his eyes; but they burned with anguish: they did not melt."

"Why did you betray your own heart Cathy? I have not one word of comfort. You deserve this. You have killed yourself. ... You loved me - then what right had you to leave me? Because ... nothing God or satan could inflict would have parted us, you, of you own will, did it. I have not broken your heart - you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine. So much the worse for me that I am strong. Do I want to live? What kind of living will it be when you - oh God! would you like to live with your soul in the grave? I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer - but yours! How can I?"

Catherine never recovers from her illness and dies after giving birth to a girl child.

"Why, she's a liar to the end! Where is she? Not there—not in heaven—not perished—where? Oh! you said you cared nothing for my sufferings! And I pray one prayer—I repeat it till my tongue stiffens—Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living. You said I killed you--haunt me then. The murdered do haunt their murderers. I believe--I know that ghosts have wandered the earth. Be with me always--take any form--drive me mad. Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! It is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!"

Such fierce feelings!!!

Heathcliff teases to be a romantic hero, with his suffering and pain, yet his characterization leaves no doubt that hate is an emotion that shall change the heart to ice, unforgiving and relentless in pursuit of the destruction of the lives, who destroyed his. It is almost sad, to see such strong emotions suppressed in the necessity of his revenge.

Each character in the novel, had their moments of brilliance in their diction, but Heathcliff left me teasing till the very end – one side being so human that my heart went out for him and on the other side, driven by the revenge, his behavior towards the second generation – Catherine’s daughter, his son, his niece was despicable that it made me cringe with the deepest detest. It is like, he is incapable of loving anything purely, apart from that of Catherine. He might be the devil himself, yet the love that he continued to have for her cut through me, continuously. There might have been some remorse in the end, just little, perhaps, to sympathize him, but none, not one morsel of it.

The second generation of Earnshaw, Linton and Heathcliff also forms the major part of the story, with the senior Heathcliff playing havoc on all their lives, significantly influencing each in directions that are not heart warming, but certainly in a way a human determined on revenge would behave. Nothing can support the monstrosity of the actions, yet in some strange way, there is some satisfaction in his suffering too:
"That however which you may suppose the most potent to arrest my imagination, is actually the least – for what is not connected with her to me? and what does not recall her? I cannot look down to this floor, but her features are shaped on the flags! In every cloud, in every tree – filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object, by day I am surrounded with her image! The most ordinary faces of men, and women – my own features mock me with a resemblance. The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her!"

This book took me completely in and left me seething from the inside. It painfully twisted my gut, at every page turn, until I could hold no more, when I forcefully shut the book. What goes around, comes around, but what fault is it of Hareton Earnshaw (son of Hindley Earnshaw), to endure the torment that was unleashed on him? To deliberately scorn an intelligent mind and parade over the charisma of the person, the act itself is filled with such malice that it left me aghast, to say the least. Perhaps it is true that we reap the benefits of everything our parents sow, good or bad! And whose fault is it, that Linton Heathcliff (son of Isabella and Heathcliff) should suffer the torment of his biological father after Isabella’s death.

"He had the hypocrisy to represent a mourner: and previous to following with Hareton, he lifted the unfortunate child on to the table and muttered, with peculiar gusto, 'Now, my bonny lad, you are mine! And we'll see if one tree won't grow as crooked as another, with the same wind to twist it!" That alone promised more torture, the kind that he felt when he entered the castle of Wuthering Heights as an orphan.

I really could not categorize Heathcliff, throughout the novel. If a person could hold a passion, how can he hold such contempt? I think, it has got to do with something about the cause of the rift between Catherine and Heathcliff. That Hindley Earnshaw’s treatment of him as that of a servant than a family member, which drove Catherine to choose Edgar Linton as her husband, put a notion in his head that Hindley was responsible for the separation. And in marrying Catherine, Edgar also rubbed on the wrong side of the coin. Of course, his love for Catherine is eternal, but that does not mean he held any sympathy for her. The convoluted workings of his mind demanded that he be damned so much that at the end of the novel, when he progressed enough to endure the peace in his heart, it made me feel pity.

Gosh, this is gonna stay with me for some time. A deliberate attempt at remembering the convoluted minds. But then, such is the style of writing, that, despite the bravado at attempting to ward off any thoughts on this novel, I seem to go back to it, reading the passages over and over and over, sinking in the words and the motives and the intent. Even in the middle of the night, this torments me to no end. I keep playing this in my mind, questioning the rationale, thinking how it would have been, had the choice been different. Would Catherine sustain her love for Heathcliff, with the family disowning her? Would Heathcliff be strong enough to steady her ship? Somehow, throughout the novel, all the characters were in the back ground. The foreground has always been Heathcliff and his love or hate. Everyone else diminished in comparison. I am still inside this book, unable to form coherent thoughts to jot down.

What can I say, except that if someone makes an attempt at opening this book, it would be hard to put down. Especially if one loves the play of words. The plot, the genre, the setting, the rendition – all are one side, the prose is entirely on the other side, that demands that this be read and re-read and re-read.

I am still not at peace!

The Journey Begins

2010-10-13T04:24:00.000-07:00

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 empty road, as though, he wanted them to enjoy the refreshing scenery on either side. Meg gazed outside, at the sheep and the cows, grazing lazily in the pastures, oblivious to her stare. She plugged in her iPod and kept it at a full volume, the loud boom of metal in contrast to the serenity of the outside nature. She felt that way, the inner turmoil at the onset of this journey and her outward calmness against her throbbing heart. Occasionally, the cab passed a few people, who peeked into the car with curious faces, with little success as the tinted glasses obstructed their view and stared at it until it passed them. Steadily the car progressed further. Not for once did she dare to look at her husband, afraid that the calculated serenity of her face would be washed away by his resilience.

Abhinav continued to familiarize himself with his wife, picking up the subtle hints from her body language. The rock band music reached his ears from her iPod and he pondered over her choice. She did not come out as a person who listened to hard metal. Her words and movements were quite nimble, for such wild music. So many questions, so much to talk, but she is weary of opening up, he mused. He could understand that. They have a lifetime to understand each other and he has a ton of patience. They would know each other and each discovery about each other would be like unwrapping a gift– the gift, would be a cause of joy, though the gift itself might sometimes be disappointing. But, still, that does not undermine the thrill of discovering it. He is familiar with the surroundings because of the long solitary hours he spent there, away from the noise and the tensions that came with a hectic life. He felt that they need familiar and comfortable surroundings to deal with themselves, rather than more exotic places that would have been an obvious choice. They would come later, perhaps after a few years of mutual companionship.
He saw this journey is an onset towards the beginning of the most amazing journey in his life. The first time he saw her in the photo given by his parents, was a moment to reckon. He felt right about the girl. He took a couple of days to research on the net – what with the networking being so popular. He dug around a little, read through the vast material he found on the sites. His wife is very articulate, very aggressive, very opinionated and above all, very practical. What he planned might come out as gestures that belong to a different century, but he would rather have her questioning the practicality in emotional relations, than have her thinking that he does not care for her. The thing about practicality is that, it can come off as being callous. There is a time for practicality and then, there is time for love, for allowing the emotions to flow. If not for the person you vow to share the rest of your life, the ups and downs, the tears and laughs, with whom, can you open your emotional side? If there has to be secrets, even in emotions, then it would not be much of a relation. He was overwhelmed with an emotion at the sudden realization that the person next to him would play an instrumental role in his success or failure and would be the beacon of light to his journey in this world, just as he would be to her. But, being the woman in the family, the emotional burden she shared would be far greater and his support to her, would be significant. He grew up to the bond shared by his parents and watched his sister’s married life. Neither was perfect, far from it. He reflected on their relationships.

The difference between his parents marital relationship to that of his sister’s was that, the guys in the relation differed in their outlook. While his father was stronger, with lesser ego. he gave his mother, all the support she needed, but always knew about her life, her choices, her pressures, the things in the family and he was never out of the decisions that were part of her life, trivial or otherwise. He let her professional life be, supporting her where required and encouraging her to pursue the goals, but in their family life, he had a say in everything and supported her in everything.

On the other hand, his brother-in-law wore his ego on his sleeve and left his sister emotionally drained out. The problem with practicality is that. His sister’s relation, on the outset looks perfect. The guy is willing to give her space to explore her needs and interests, thereby divulging himself from the things that matter to her which lead to more lone time. He takes little interest in finding why she likes what she likes or in accompanying her to the activities she is interested in, because he is not interested in those activities and has little patience with them. His practicality did not ask him to make an effort to share those activities to be a part of them, so that they could spend time together. He has no interests or hobbies. He is the sort of a guy, who rides a bike to meet his friends or watches TV to get over his boredom or spends too much time in office, trying to be good at what he does. The guy allows her to visit her parents when she feels like it, conveniently drops her off and goes his way, more lone time. He takes her to movies or somewhere out, but those actions happen only when initiated by him. If his sister did ask for an outing, he would say a ‘yes’ and would put it off, till the last moment, when his sister would just get frustrated and go out on her own, to cool her mind. And when she returns, he just gets on with the day. No apology, no questions asked and no ‘discussion’ from either of them. Both were working and their morning routine was a nightmare. She cooks for both of them, with little help from him and if there were any relatives, the pressure of cooking breakfast and lunch and manage a word or two with them in the morning seemed to be too stressing for his sister. His in-law was brought up with a silver spoon in his mouth and a mother who was more than happy to do the cooking for an army, so perhaps he never understood the nuances of a working woman. Everyone requires an emotional outlet, a person to talk to, a person to trust. His sister is quite eloquent in terms of expressing herself, her tastes, her interest, her wishes, unlike her counterpart – her husband, who does not open up much, prefers to let things slide as long as he gets his life running smooth. For some reason, he was the chosen person for her sister and she being the obedient daughter, accepted the proposal without any discussion. Looking at her suffer sometimes, through the emotional stress of not knowing what to do or how to communicate to a wall or how to accept the warmth that was sometimes bestowed by her husband, he ached for her. Looking at her feel the hot and cold, and shrivel like a withered leaf, made him detach himself from his in-law. He could still hear her words:

“How can he be so detached Abhi? I am his wife, right? I expect him to do certain things for me. I expect him to help me through the mundane chores. I expect him to consult me before making the decisions, not after completing them and then informing me. Do you know Abhi, not once, did I meet his friends. Not once, did he act upon my request. Not once, did he say an immediate yes. Not once, did he offer help in doing the household work. Not once, did he offer to pick me up from the office. Not once, did he offer to drop me to office. Not once, did he ask if I needed anything. Not once, did he ask if I am alright. Not once, did he make me something, when I was sick. Not once, did he offer to massage my head or feet. Not once, did he ask if I want to have dinner outside. And we are married for four years now. I feel like I am dead inside. I live for the sake of living. That is not me, right? I tried telling him that his behavior is not allowing me to grow. That it is spoiling my core, yet, he does not understand. We stayed here for a month, to let him see the dance of our parents, the beauty of a relation, the beauty of husband and wife and the beauty of a family. Still, he does not understand. He is not incapable of emotions, he sometimes is nice. He sometimes surprises me with a quick peck at the most unexpected moments. He sometimes surprises me by booking an occasional movie ticket. He sometimes brings me flowers. He sometimes gives me gifts. Sometimes gives me chocolates. He sometimes tries to get me talking, but he does not succeed and gives up too fast. You know what, the flowers, the candy, the gifts, are overrated in relations. The best thing you can give someone you love is the time and the warmth of words. That improves the connectedness. Rest all are secondary. Perhaps, because I get those, I think that those are secondary. I am not sure. I am essentially a creature who needs to communicate, through words, not assume things. That makes me sound emotionally dependent, right? Is that wrong? To feel dependent on the one person you are supposed to be dependent? The ‘better-half’ is the one, who is better than you and gets the best out of you and shows that to the world. Hides your qualms in his heart and pushes you through? I am not sure if my expectations are too high. I miss being able to talk to a person. I miss being able to communicate without the need to be hesitant. I miss being open about my emotions. I miss being me, terribly. I can’t even have kids, because I am unable to relax. I am being torn from one extreme to another, most of the time. Who would understand that? Who would think that, may be the girl is not happy? I put up a farce and he does not see through it. He still does not understand. He does not even make an effort to make things work. I am not even sure he understands that the relationship is sinking, that it is not going to last long. I feel sick every time I think of myself and I only see two alternatives. I either will roll myself into a pit and bury myself there or will get away from him and this society and make my peace with my life. I am not sure how Mom and Dad would take these things, but you understand, don’t you?”

She was trembling before him and he could do nothing. He felt like shaking his brother-in-law and talk some sense into him. But what can he say? That he is not treating his sister well? These were emotional issues, the soft issues, that are at the core of the person. The care, the warmth, the protection, the security, all are from the core. His core is incapable of generating this light, plain and simple. A person who cannot understand his wife even after four years of companionship, cannot understand the subtle hints, he thought. So, he was left with nothing. All he could do was embrace her into a hug and let her weep. He could not even offer any comfort words. He could not even ask her to get out of this relation. Sex is more about emotions that about physical comfort. He understood, long ago, the emotional imbalance of their relation and he knew it in his heart, before his sister even confessed that much. It should have been crucifying her, to have to confess to her kid brother about this. She is the one who protected him, shielded him, being five years elder to him. Since his teen-age, he has been her comfort shoulder, through the trials that she went through, the twin devil who argued against her every time she has had a conflict, giving her the other side of the coin, reasoning or sometimes ordering her to do things differently. They argued about anything and everything, yet remained best of friends through the times. He rushed to her, the first time he had conflicting emotions about girls. He rushed to her, sometimes, to just understand why girls behave the way they do. His mother has grilled in him, the manners to court a girl, but it was his sister who taught him the subtle art of understanding the silent signals through body language. It became an invaluable addition to his skills, that made him one of the best in the industry. Being tech-savvy means that the soft skills are a toss, mostly. But, his soft skills were natural to him, the result of the training by his family. And that day, his sister required him to be strong for her. He did not patronize her, he just absorbed the burden. That was almost six years ago. His sister’s relation progressed to ten years and she still is unhappy and is almost a glaring reflection of a martyr. His in-law is another reflection of a loner, yet they still live under a roof in separate rooms! His sister stopped talking about her relation with her husband. She took the reins of her life and fought back hard. She drew a taut circle around the emotional life and let the emotional storm continue its tornado in that circle, while she reached the heights she set her eyes on. She let the rotten core of her in one corner and made peace with her expectations of marriage and let her husband be. She continues to be a friend to her husband, yet has carefully locked him out of her emotional needs.

Abhi thought about the time when he questioned her about her obvious detachment. “I did not realize it was obvious. He did not realize it, yet. By the time it happens, it would be too late, Abhi”, she said. The choke stuck in his throat and his sister barely acknowledged it. “You know that I am still your best friend. You could talk to me, if that helps?”, he said.

“I am happy Abhi. I have always been a loner. I took strength and pain from my own thoughts. Not from anyone else. I will be alright. Don’t worry about me. I know you are my friend, dear brother, just as I am yours. Don’t think you will have to shut up about your love or life with your wife, I would be more than happy to listen, if you need someone to hear you out.” How quickly did she turn that around to him? How quickly had she dismissed him with a warm smile? How quickly did she close up? His sister’s life has been an example to him. A reflection upon the insensitivity of people.

On the other hand, he was brought up by a working mother and so was his sister. They grew up to see their father sharing equal burden along with their mother. They both took rest or they both were doing the chores, inside and outside the house. If she was cooking, he would cut the vegetables or he would clean around the house, placing things in their proper places. They worked out a routine, sometimes he took the kitchen and she would work around the house. They each altered between watching him and his sister, through their studies. His father never once took a decision without ever consulting her and the same was reciprocated to him by his mother. She was by no means a door mat, she was independent, the head of a firm and took decisions that influence over few thousands of people, yet, when she is home, she is a mother and a wife and respected his father. His father, has his own firm and every day he takes decisions that influence companies that span continents, yet, when he is home, he is a husband and a father. His first priority has been his wife and then his kids. His first priority has been his wife, period. It looked like they never were apart and cherished each other’s company, though that was far from the truth. They had tiffs, like every couple, but, they worked it out. Fought and argued and stood on their feet, yet, one of them always compromised by the end of the day. Mostly, it would be his father. He smiled at that thought. But they did teach him an important lesson, that a relationship needs work. While he cannot be like his in-law, he cannot completely echo his father. He needs to create his own style and work out what would work for them. And as far as he is concerned, he is willing to put all his effort, in making this relation work. He was willing to play her game for the time being, to let her be in her own mind, work out the emotions. But, her time would be up when they reached the resort. She will have to open up to him. Patience, that is the only mantra, he thought.

“I intend to fit in his life as inconveniently as possible. I wish to be invisible”, he recollected her words from her post. He smiled at those words. The first time he read that, he was worried that she was unhappy about the marriage. His thoughts ranged from anger to hurt to worry. With discreet inquiries, he sighed in relief that she does not have a broken heart. When he asked her, if she was happy about the marriage, she responded, to his surprise, a little honestly.

“ I admit to be a bit nervous. I never had a reason to share my space with anyone. I am just worried if I have the necessary equipment to deal with that ordeal, now”, she said.

“Well, she just has to deal with it now”, he thought. In the battle of wills, he is the strongest, knowing the field of the game. But she has a few surprises packed up her sleeve and that would bring in the necessary spice to this game. He recollected the kiss on his cheek, infront of all his relatives and her blush. He would never forget that. He looked at her, the feeling of warmth already in his blood.

Ramble...

2010-10-09T11:30:00.001-07:00

What is it with questions that irk people? Is it because the answers to them are inconvenient or is it because it is the guilt of knowing that the truth hurts or is it because of plain ego that refuses to give answers? What is it in the ego that demands instant obedience (for lack of better word) and sacrifice? Are these the only things it can understand? Not love or pain?

“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I don’t require you, damn it.”
“Fine. Now let’s talk something else.”
“I don’t understand. PERIOD”

How many times have we heard those before, from one or the other or probably from one’s own echo? How easy is it to cut people from their voices, just because one cannot bear the thought? And just because one cannot understand the concept, does that mean that the concept doesn’t exist? Despite evolving over centuries and despite languages evolving beautifully, there is something about words that are difficult to fathom. Despite the cross cultural differences being shunned to nothing, the language of loved ones remains a mystery. Sometimes, I feel that the beauty of anything lies in its confined boundary. The laugh that bubbles in the throat, the unfinished thought, the breath held, the memory lingered – all within confinement are beautiful. The moment the laugh succeeds in coming out of that throat, it could be a giggle… the unfinished thought might be cruel, the expended breath is nothing but poison and the memory lingered is the proof of non-existent truth. Just like words are poured out of the heart only to be trampled upon. Just stop and consider – how the words that are slipped influence someone else! No, not until it comes back and bites you in the a$$... For some God forsaken reason, that still does not stop one from being spiteful!

To think, that there is love and respect – oh well, these are even difficult to find. The people we love are taken for granted and the respect never survives through the years of knowing someone personally. Sometimes I feel that living underground or below the sea is far better. The worst one can find are carcasses or sharks that swallow you. Not people who deliberately try to hurt you. No people, period. So much better – living a life alone. Parents, friends, partners, kids – all are really mere illusions that a comfortable mind creates – they do not exist. They are mere charades put on to quench the demands of society. Damn the society to hell, for demanding hell for everyone. Damn the relations to hell, for demanding the little peace in life.

I am frustrated about a lot of things, things that never made sense and are now nearly impossible to decipher. How true is it that in the ambitious life, everyone is a mere player in everyone else’s playground? Where emotions hold no meaning or value. One day, when we stop the play, we will realize, one did not make any progress, but every one is damn bloody and exhausted and an inch closer to death. Perhaps, even then, hell and heaven have a battle! God, please chase the nightmares away. I don’t need them and I am happy without them. And if you are still listening, you know what to do…please… don’t give me things and take them away – don’t give them, period! I don’t need them or want them.

Muse

2010-10-07T01:34:00.001-07:00

These days I am having difficulty jotting down thoughts. I am unable to come up with anything logical or conclusive. I am unable to even make a series of random thoughts. The disconnected array of thoughts is far better than a blank one. Yet, the brain blatantly refuses to think and mind draws a blank, after repeated requests! It is like, it has exhausted the limited supply of thoughts. Cannot quite understand why that is the case though. I am afraid that the muse has eluded me forever and that I am stuck in a pool of shallowness from which nothing ever springs – just a ripple on the water. For some reason, the echo of my inner voice that blasted in my ear has gone mute or I have become deaf. Either ways, there seems to be a glaringly obvious handicap I seem to carry.

Ramble....

2010-09-29T03:21:00.001-07:00

The ability to think opposing ideas, hold them in the brain and then go about performing the day-to-day activities would lead to satisfying results. Opposing ideas are such difficult thought processes, since the moment there are two things in mind, the brain refuses to respond and throws an exception – “AmbiguousCommandException”, saying that there are two tracks pulling in different directions and that it cannot choose. Brain is hardwired to perform in a certain way, right? It has inputs from X channels and inputs from Y channels and it processes them and comes to a cumulative set of options that are further analyzed and a certain output is thrown out of its complex structure! Which means, a cumulative set of options will have to be generated. But, what if, the cumulative set of options are all opposing to each other? Like, one signal says, love and the other says, hate. One says, light and other says, dark. To carry these simultaneously, weigh the pros and cons of loving and hating, light and dark, can one arrive at a conclusion?

Gosh! I keep doing this time and again and I personally feel, one day I would snap and that my IQ would drop down to that of a fern!

I'm with you

2010-09-24T00:28:00.000-07:00

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.

*************************

She looked forlorn, as she gazed out of her bedroom window, on to the street below. The skies are blue, the sun is bright, the breeze is cool, the kids are playing on the road. All in all, the day demands that it be enjoyed, yet, she looked forlorn. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, as though the reflection might help her over the sudden weight she felt. She forced herself to cheer up and on an impulse decided to go shopping. She got ready with a trouser and a top, took her wallet and the bus pass and breezed through the road towards the bus stop. She always did this little dance, when she thinks her body requires a little cheer, hoping that the extra jolt drives the weight off her mind and body. She stood in the bus stop, impatient for the bus, looking at her watch.

“Ahh, go away!!”, she murmured to herself and looked at the empty road. Her impatience soared high at the sight of the bus round the corner. She watched its slow approach, with the tense muscles on her face. The frown on her forehead, the creases around her eyes and the set of her mouth add a distinguishable aura to her. A warning to the people to stay away from her. The bus stopped in front of her and she boarded it, showing the driver the bus pass as she took her seat in the second row on her right. The bus was visibly empty, just a handful of passengers. The bus began its lethargic drawl and she glanced around at the fellow passengers.

A girl, talking on her cell phone, with her hand wrapped around a gift wrapped box. She looked at the box which had a blue shiny paper and a red flower on top. The girl played with the flower absently, as she continued to talk on the phone with a smile on her face. She felt irritated at that smile and turned towards a lone passenger on the back of the bus who looked asleep. She watched that passenger for a couple of minutes before turning to another couple who were sitting behind her. The girl was lying on the shoulder of a guy. She had her eyes closed and a look of contentment on her face. Her left hand was in his right, and their fingers were entwined. The guy laid his cheek on her head and was looking out of the window. She looked at their hands and at the guy. The guy looked content too. She kept staring at those hands, not thinking about the embarrassment if she got caught staring at them. The bus took a turn and the sun was on her side of the bus. She was so engrossed in those entwined hands, that she did not care about the sun in her eyes. The guy, with his left hand, took out a handkerchief and swished it in the air, the movement which she observed from the corner of her eye. He placed that handkerchief on the girls head, to ward off the sun from her face and kissed her on the top of her head, a fond, lingering kiss. Suddenly the guy looked at her and gave a startled look. She looked him in the eye and for a moment just looked into them, before she turned away. She did not know what hurt more – the sun in her eyes or the entwined hands or the guy’s soft brush of his lips on that girl or the evident love in his eyes or the content of the girl. She just could not understand. She had to get down. She looked around to see if there was anything she recognized in that place. She knew the area and she thought she could walk the remaining two blocks to reach the mall. She buzzed the bus for a stop. The driver gave a backward glance before moving along. There was no stop and she knew it, yet she buzzed again. “No stop”, said the driver. She buzzed again, her eyes pleading. The driver looked back at the passenger causing this mess. What he understood is unknown, but he pulled over a pit stop and opened the door. She looked back at the girl and the guy, both their eyes were closed. She looked at their hands, they were still entwined. She got down, tormenting herself for looking back. She walked fast along the foot path, not observing her surroundings.

She breezed past the road and turned left on the corner and walked at a brisk pace. She suddenly began to run and ran until she was out of breath and then she stopped, just as suddenly as she started her running. An abrupt halt, as though another step further was unimaginable. She bent forward, taking deep breaths, steadying herself. Then she looked around, noticing people looking at her, before moving along. She looked around and noticed that she was way past the mall and she almost ran a complete circle towards her house. She took deep breath, annoyed at herself. She opened her eyes and looked around and looked at her watch. Her vision blurred and she said again, “Go away!”, and closed her eyes again. She took several deep breaths and decided to walk back home. She recollected the guy and the girl again. She forced herself to a steady walk, while her legs ached to break into a run. Her mind issued an order and the legs were forced to obey and they were not happy. Her heart insisted that they run, but they were helpless. Mind, the ultimate controller gave a direct order, to walk. They cannot disobey a direct order! So, they walked. The inner war with those commands, made her gait awkward. She sagged a little, while moving forward and the twenty minutes in which she should have reached her place, took an hour for her. She climbed the stairs slowly, as though each step was painful and finally reached her door. She opened the door and closed it behind her and leaned on it. Took few breaths to steady herself and walked into the living room and collapsed on her couch. She closed her eyes, closing her right hand over the watch. The tears slid down her eyes, a slow drop, one after the other. She lay down for sometime, before she stirred.

“I’m with you”, a voice said. She snuggled closer, towards the sound of that voice, as she sighed and her lips formed a smile. She woke up at the embrace she felt. It was dark. She could not make out anything. She felt around and was surprised to find the embrace hard and unmovable. It took a moment before she realized she was on the floor. She got up and switched on the light and looked around the room. She was sure she heard the voice and felt the whispered breath. She was sure that her hair moved a little at the slight breath that whispered those words. She touched her hair, at that memory. She looked around the room and took a step towards the bedroom. She walked in, and switched on the light. Looked at the empty bed and looked at the watch. She sighed and walked across the room and opened the drapes on the windows. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. She was a mess. She removed her watch and turned it around. It was engraved with “I’m with you!”. She sighed and put it on the vanity shelf.

She went into the bathroom and splashed her face with water. She patted her face dry and changed into shorts and came out of the bedroom switching off the light behind her. She felt somewhat lighter. The thought of lingering breath made her breathe easy. She sat on the couch and thought of the entwined hands. She held out a hand and was not surprised to find them embraced. She looked at the table in front of her and kept looking at the photo, that stared back at her smiling. She gave a smile and murmured, “I’m with you”!

Five years and still going strong...

2010-09-08T08:15:00.001-07:00

8-9-10 – the number my husband is too fond of! And today, it is 08-09-10. Barring his love for this series, there is another event that occurred today – my fifth year in my professional life and I am still holding my fort, happy with what I am doing and where I am standing. Still hungry for more and still yearning for more – so, that definitely is a happy place. Here’s a note, wishing all my colleagues “Heartiest Congratulations!” on this significant day.

Hope that the forward journey is more challenging and satisfying…

Makes no sense to me...

2010-08-19T04:48:00.000-07:00

Behind the mask, the beautiful face casts its radiant smile, blinding and scorching the very essence of the bearer and causing a shudder to the observer. Yet, the beauty enchants and forces the embrace that turns into shackles that cannot be broken by mere whim or by the force of iron, for the shackles are not physical restraints but rather the ramifications of the imaginary locks on the thoughts of the mind. Pray, tell, how can one fight this? Should one endure this pain? Need not, it is just a simple solution of making oneself happy – like the “Expecto patronum!” charm against the dementors. Yet, it is so difficult to be happy, when one chooses to wallow in the never ending pits of one’s own selfishness and other’s self-centredness! Night grows into a day. As the hidden masks wear off and the light scatters the darkness around, few lives are stumbled into the darkness, those that spring to life in the darkest hour of the day. In the closed walls of the house, the demons of the lust embrace the insecurities that spur from the need of dominion and unleash their cruelty on to the weaker hearts – the demons enjoying the pain and pleasure alike. A welt or a lash, both pain as such, but the true hurt comes from the cold shoulders of the one you love. How easy it is that one forgets the journey to a destination, alas, is it not the race run than the race won that makes the win memorable, yet, the race run is always masked by the moment’s glory. How sad can that be? Sadder still, the paths covered with the tears are now covered with the flakes of snow – the snow caused by the coldness of the travellers! Perhaps, by now, the paths of the earth should have been filled with snow everywhere – making it difficult to breathe. Since it is otherwise, may be there are kinder folks, and happiness around, where the sun shines brightest and the rains come and go and the snow breezes through like a royal queen – visiting and enjoying the rare warmth before it unleashes its wicked face and swarms the warmth to nothing but a pale halo!

Impasse!

2010-08-19T04:26:00.001-07:00

Is there a truth to bliss in relationships? When people from different worlds meet and walk along together a certain road, a bond is formed. That is true, with everyone. We form bonds with people we study with, work with, share a roof with. Are those bonds really strong or will they blow away after a certain time? isn’t it true, that most of the friends we had in school are a distant past, a few who come and go in intervals to say a “hi” or wish on a birthday? And same goes to college friends too, the occasional phone call, the occasional birthday wish and perhaps an occasional anniversary message or perhaps an occasional movie together or a luncheon together or a group dinner, etc. The same with ex-colleagues, despite spending more than twelve straight hours in office, the moment we leave the company, they are nothing but mirages on the road. And what about colleagues we work with? The people we spend considerable amount of time, the people with whom we have conversations that last longer than five minutes? Aren’t they outside the box when out of the office? what about people who live in the same house? Mother, father, brother, sister, husband, kids – all have their lives, the lives they fondly built. Despite naming them personal relations, despite naming them blood relations, are they any closer than the acquaintances we pass along lives? When the inner voice, closes out and refuses to open up and the so called relations cannot see the turmoil of the people they supposedly love, what for are all those relations? Is it all a farce? Yesterday, in a conversation with a friend whose company I immensely cherish, there was a statement that went along the lines that we create better stories than God. If God, the embodiment of happiness, peace, love and success, could not create the world that is happier – because the people in it are forever unhappy with something or the other, can humans, with their creativity create a better world? The fantasy that exists in the words that are black on white can make a happy place for a soul to dwell in, why cannot the reality make a relative difference and be a cause of happiness? The suffocation of truths and the disappointments of the facades, that camouflage the reality with such ridicule, are the mirrors of life and perhaps that is why the “bliss” in the bonds that exist in day-to-day life is so little! yet, supposedly they are essential for existence, yet, supposedly they are what people crave for! Why live in a world that suffocates the “YOU”? Perhaps, that is the way the world is and that is the place we are forced to live in, since the astronomical charts say that there is little hope of life in any other part of the galaxy and even if there exists such a world, the economy is insufficient to bear the costs of such a journey and even if it can be remotely possible to make such a voyage, the lifespan of people may not accommodate the travel and more importantly, we would still be living with the same people, who are the root cause of the problem! So, we still live in a world we detest, make a living, spend the earning and still go about bitching, through the forty odd years a person lives! Impasse!!!

Oh Well, not again!!!

2010-08-19T04:25:00.001-07:00

“Why should I cook? It is a girl’s job!” I heard my brother stating vehemently. And the feminist in me took that as a sure sign of conflict, which triggered an age old debate of “Girl Job” and “Guy Job”. Boy, was I irked at that insolent tone or what! Define “girl job” for me please… just because a girl takes the responsibility of keeping a hot meal on the table twice a day, can that be labelled a girl’s job? I can show you a few hundred girls who do not know how to cook and I can show you a few hundred guys who do a grand job of putting a meal together.

And the topic went on and on about the usual “paycheck is earned by men”
“how difficult is it to cook a meal?”
“Men do all the hardwork in the family and girls just cook and sleep” etc etc etc…
I don’t even want to humble the questions with counter points. Seriously, I was surprised about the chauvinist attitude that I told him as such – to stop being such an MCP. Shudder!

I was wondering, however, what good is all that manliness if he cannot make a hot cup of tea/coffee or soup for a sick mother or wife or sister? Perhaps, that has something to do with over pampered morons who were fed three square meals a day irrespective of the state of their mother. Since, obviously fathers refuse to enter into the kitchen (barring my dad, ofcourse, who not only cooks buts feeds my mother when she is unwell!). why is it so difficult to inculcate sensitiveness into a guy’s brain, to have his eyes and ears open to the people who make his life easier? Hmpf!!!

Cabby's Lesson for the day...

2010-07-29T22:44:00.000-07:00

These days, I enjoy my cab ride a little too much. The reason being the chauffeur enjoys his job too much. I don’t feel a bump, I don’t feel a discomfort and that is when I sit behind. I relax with the soothing music, my kind of music – soulful, good lyrics and above all, fabulous voice and different music every day. I look out of the window, let the breeze gush onto my face and just about be lost in the words that are in the background. And as the voices behind disappear, I begin to relax and my mind wanders for the day ahead. The cabby doesn’t hurry, doesn’t drive fast and I still reach on time – there is this sense of relaxed mood around him that makes me feel that I have all the time in the world for planning my day. I get in a right mood to the office and get started with the day, in the right frame of mind – relaxed, well planned and completely happy. It made me realize, how much our environment influences the moods one has in a given day. Despite the traffic, despite the honking, despite the pollution – all these are right in front of my eyes, yet I don’t feel the wrath of the effort or frustration. Composed, quiet and focused, he moves on. Isn’t it amazing?

I have had the experience of travelling in different cars with different people at the wheel, few who curse the roads, few who curse the fellow drivers, few who see an empty road and think they can accelerate like a grand prix. Little do they realize the effect of their driving on the fellow passengers. When I sit in these vehicles, I tend to get frustrated as much as they do. I tend to see the anger building in me too- at the other reckless drivers, at the government for the condition of the roads and sometimes, just the frustration of driver. I can probably never understand the intricacies of driving comfortably, but all I know is that, if the driver is not someone who is passionate about his driving, even the ten minutes that takes to reach the destination can lead to a very frustrating few hours of time.

Simple, yet live example of how the environment we live in, influences us. Of course, we can have a mantra something like, “I will be happy. Nothing can spoil my mood or the day ahead. I will be relaxed and calm. I will smile and move ahead..” blah blah.. whatever works! But, this never worked for me.

What a waste!

2010-07-28T01:27:00.000-07:00

Need some inspiration – to draw out the hidden thoughts from the rusty corners of my mind. Words refuse to form sentences and the shackles holding my brain refuse to break and let go. The intermittent flashes of sense just about evaporates at the thought of “self-time”. As I struggle to form coherent thoughts that pull me into a protective wrap, I sense a desperate need for freedom. I want to go out and shout at the top of my voice, with not a care for the passer by. I want to stand in the middle of the night – in a down pour and feel the cold water rush through me, cleansing the fiery distaste for sanity. I wish to feel the warmth of the fresh morning coffee on a curvy road, surrounded by mountains and fog and take comfort in the rare luxury of such time in hand. I wish to breathe in the air of fresh blue berry muffins, as the vapor reaches my nose, feel the sense of deliciousness and be lost in the delicacy of the flavor. I wish to sit in peace in the isolation of an island, away from the humdrum and buzz of the city life, where the warmth of the morning sun promises a lovely and relaxed day, in the comforts of my glass house. As the music plays on, I wish to close my eyes and let go of myself into the soothing food for soul and just be lethargic. I wish to have a leisure lunch of tasty food, in the luxury of a cottage inn – take my time chewing it, while the timeless classics and endless romance plays on and I can laugh. I wish to stretch back on the bed – with a smile on my face at the fond memories going back in time and spare a moment for the people I loved and cared. I wish to have a dreamless sleep – free of nightmares –that which unwinds the day’s strain. Ah, how I wish I could clone myself and leave her here, while I travel the galaxies of stars and constellations, exploring the outer space and meeting new life. How I wish I could bury myself in a room full of books, not having a need to eat, drink, sleep and be lost in the world of books. How I wish I could meet people with whom I can have conversation without the care of being offended or offending someone – the unguarded thoughts flipping off the mind, letting go of myself and being free of shackles – of mind and soul!
Why need comforts? Why need things in life that should have some meaning? Could not happiness be found in the insignificant trivialities of mundane? Is finding sanity such luxury? Why have things for the heck of having them, when they offer little comfort? The thoughtlessness of actions, that define the course of life, seemingly difficult to fathom, are not so difficult, once stripped to the bare essentials of truth and classifying the need – necessity and petty. Breaking the shackles is not that difficult either – who cares if I have that cast iron round my leg, that holds me to the pole, when I refuse to move an inch- with or without the cuff? And if I really want to break that manacle – will the cuff stand a chance at the power of my will? No. Yet, the shackles are there – invisible and invincible, held by the figments of imagination that have little clarity.

I sit comfortably, thinking of life and seemingly feel the despair of the monotony that irks me to the core. Am I a part of the herd, guided by the invisible whip of the monthly paychecks – the higher, the greater the dissatisfaction? What, if any, is the point of earning bread and butter through the channels that have so little to offer? Yet, I find myself drawn to the possibility of vision, mine and theirs, together, to make a better product. And I still cling on, in hope of deriving the pleasure in creating something – however repetitive it would be. The process of creation itself a journey towards fulfillment. There is no self-discovery in this process. There is no higher conscience here, that which can be looked up to. Yet, the journey goes on. What a waste!

Inception

2010-07-27T09:33:00.001-07:00

Inception – wow! The limitless possibilities of dreams and the dream world are for one and all! Dreams have some rather special way of making one feel, particularly when they can be recollected and relived. And if dreams are an interpretation of our subconscious mind, then, what plays out in the dream as an action sequence can very well be an influencing factor in our day-to-day life. How many times did one get up from a dream only to realize it was hardly ten minutes that one dozed off? But the effect of that dream lasts for some time, particularly if it is a dream that has some significance to an internal conflict. I have had such dreams many a time and have been influenced by them too. And watching “Inception” left me feeling thrilled and excited.

Inception – is about a team that extracts dreams and there by extract certain confidential information from people. The extraction of the dreams is created in an environment where the people are asleep in certain proximity with the help of a sedative and they share a dream world orchestrated by the architect. The killing inside the dream awakens the subject. Extreme pain also awakens the subject, if the sedative is insufficient. Dominic Cobb (Leonardo Dicaprio) is the most sought after extractor, who is approached by a wealthy man, Saito(Wantanabe) who promises the one thing Leonardo desperately craves for, his reunion with his kids, if he inserts an idea into his competitor’s mind. The movie is about the orchestration of this inception.

A visual treat, with amazing screen play and back ground score. The clear demarcation of reality and the dream left me intrigued throughout the movie. The world created in the dream, the figment of imagination by the architect, has quite a few unbelievable visuals – particularly the one fight scene in the hotel lobby left me gaping at the screen. I thoroughly enjoyed the movie from the word GO. A subtle love story, executed brilliantly and conceptually different to the current movies. Demands a re-watch and I will honour its demand soon J. If one finds themselves bewildered despite paying attention for two and half hours, well, it takes sometime to leave an impression, particularly if sci-fi is not in your blood, but otherwise, it is difficult to think that it is a two and half hour movie. The time flies, with the gripping action and the ending – leaving the audience at a cliff hanger – let the imagination fly!

But, just imagine, being manipulated by a “dream snatcher”, not knowing if the idea originated from you or from someone else? Imagine, if the subconscious has become a slave to someone else’s imagination? Shudder! Slightly difficult to digest that thought, but never mind! This movie has some conscience, there is no evil conniving conspirator, to seduce the subconscious and induce the ideas – out there! Your dreams are safe! So, dream away and dream high and fly high!!! And enjoy the movie!

Restless Mind!!!

2010-07-26T00:21:00.000-07:00

Wonder what it is to be lonely! Does it mean that one awaits company in the middle of the night, when the eyes refuse to droop and the dreams continue to elude you? Does it mean that one seeks pleasure in the meaningless chatter with trial and errors and find that the world is asleep to keep you entertained? Does it mean flipping the channels from one to nine ninety nine, knowing that there is nothing interesting in the thousand channels that are telecasted and that you are on your own to survive the boredom? Does it mean that the thoughts surrounding your mind in the middle of the night have ten search results in Google and that the vagueness of one’s mind is insufficient for the search engine that requires precise key words? In that middle of the night, apart from the brain not sending the signals that it should probably shutdown for the day, it refuses to co-operate even for the economical and logical words that can provide a few search results to give you company, will that be considered lonely? Complicated thoughts!

When loneliness is a pinnacle, would it be unendurable? When one searches for the sanity of one’s mind in the pleasure of someone else and one requires the happiness of someone to be happy, then yes, it is unendurable! If loneliness is a state of being left to the comfort or discomfort of one’s thoughts, shouldn’t that be intoxicating? But if those thoughts surround the coldness of the night or the cold shoulders of the dear ones, can it be intoxicating? The illusions of the care or warmth of the near and dear ones is a revolting thought when stripped to the bare essentials of reality, yet the illusion is what is craved for. To need, to crave, to yearn, to want – all these are various forms of self-imposed drudgery that requires ruthless execution! In such case, loneliness is certainly a slavery! No wonder loneliness is painful! Yet, how can one forget the most important company? The dear old self? The good old self? The “self” that held you whole when your world is shredded? The “self” that pushed you beyond the pit holes of failed love? The “self” that rushed to assist you when you buckled down at the onset of mirthless life?

Loneliness is only painful when the expectations bar raises beyond reason. And it is unendurable when one forgets the “self” that is of prime importance in life. Thinking for people, whoever they may be, is such a waste of time. Despite the certainty of coming out as selfish and rude, if one enjoys the company of self more than anyone else, then it would be better to enjoy that, than crucify oneself by indulging in the heart games. The crass thoughts of life and death, the gush of blood through veins, the headache and heart ache are completely avoidable, when one trusts oneself and that nothing and no one is bigger than self. Tears are also such a waste – saving them for a better day might perhaps harvest the parched lands! And killing oneself – certainly not required – unless one’s sole purpose in life is to fulfill the obligation of satisfying every Tom, Dick and Harry, who, by the way will NEVER be satisfied.

My mind was conked beyond reason and my endurance, of which I was never proud, just about evaporated. When I cannot live with the consequences of my conscientious choices, then, I have no claim to cry “pain” and if that is what I get, for being me, well, the thoughts are not worth it. There are only so many people I let into my life and there are only handful who get to see the real me, and if they wish to toy with my emotions, well, what can I say? That mistakes merely make me human? But then, don’t blame me if the stage gets too hot. When it comes to self-preservation, there is no one colder than me!

Things from past...

2010-07-11T07:50:00.001-07:00

My grandfather is an icon to me. He is a legend who continues to inspire me, despite my indiscipline in my day-to-day life. And last night, the sweet pillow talks (NOT with my husband!) with my grand mother gave another small opening into the person he was. And this was a side I would never ever believe existed, not to my grand father and if someone else would have told me the same story, including my mom, I would have brushed it off as her fantasy! (Oh yes, my mom has a way of telling stories – those are for some other time!).

My grand parents stayed in Mumbai (Bombay then) during the initial days of their marriage, as grand pa was posted there. It seems that some of the days he used to cook food for her! (guffaww!!! I mean – late 50s, who would believe it? But then, I guess, guys then are much more romantic than the 20 or 30 something people now!). Though my grand pa culinary skills are not something to be talked about (Mind you, this is the statement from my grand ma, not me, though I would not put too much trust into that, for she does not like anyone’s cooking apart from herself and her sisters!)… he used to make break fast and morning coffee for her and spend a few minutes having it along with her, before he started the main course! It seems that his favourite was Dal rice and more often than not he made that, or may be, that is the easiest to make! ;)! Whatever, but still, he made an effort to do it for her and the kids in the house! How fab! It seems that every Sunday, he would take her out to an outside lunch and a movie and then follow it up with a walk into the fish market to pick up fish!

Now, I had a tough time imagining this, for I have never NEVER seen him enter kitchen, forget about cooking! And in all the talks I ever had with him, he said that it is a woman’s responsibility to handle the kitchen and kitchen is the place, where even the most dominant man has to submit to his wife. I confronted my mom about this in the morning, asking her if she remembered her dad cooking food for her, which she vehemently denied, saying, “My dad? In kitchen?!” – well, what can I say, I cannot agree that this is a figment of my imagination! She did agree to the fact that they went out every Sunday, leaving them in the neighbour’s house or locking them in the house! “Oh, they used to enjoy a lot! Any holiday and any weekend, they had the time of their lives!” Hmm…

Perhaps – the novelty in the relation lasted long or perhaps, the love lasted! Who knows! Over the years I have watched them grow old, I know that he cared for her more than he cared for himself! I know that he ached when she ached and I know that he lulled her when she had her tiffs with her kids and I know he held her comfortably when she was tired, running behind me all day! Of course, that cuddle had me in his arms too!!! There is something about a strong shoulder to lean on – knowing that the world’s largest monsters cannot move him an inch, if there ever comes a point where they want to swallow me or grand ma! Hehehehe! Oh Grand pa, how I miss you and your words of wisdom! Perhaps, now, even more – especially since I started this new journey with a person whose interests and ideas are so far from mine! They are like galaxies away – like yours and grand ma’s! but I guess, the commitment you people had to make it work - kudos for that! I know through your words that your life was made easy with her presence and had she not been as supportive as she was – to leave her comfort zone and move into a whole new world – not knowing the language, not knowing the place – yet willing to travel with you – leaving everyone she loved behind, to make her world with you, it would have been a difficult shuffle between family, commute and your job! I cannot imagine if I would ever be willing to make such offerings in my life, however! May be that is the difference between the generations! That the woman in the relationships now has more voice, more interests and definite set of goals, for which marriage is more of a hindrance than a scaffold that pushes her forward! Perhaps the same holds good for the guys too! but if the guys are old fashioned who believe that they should be the head of the family and their decision is final and that they need to take care of their family for every nook and cranny, few would say –it is romantic, I would say- it is depressing – particularly when the girl is independent – to have her wings cut out and feel like a jail bird. Knowing that it is not her place to make the choices and feeling that she is staying as a mistress in the house in which she should have been a Queen. She might just survive, but it would eventually kill the relationship when mere strangers exist in the house hold than wife and husband! But that is the trend of the relationships where the compromise act does not seem to have any meaning these days!

Anyway, the intricacies of relations are too early for me to fathom. For now, let me bask in the beauty of the love my grand parents and parents shared – as I continue to listen to their tales of love as they continue their journey through life!

Please make me whole again

2010-06-26T13:11:00.000-07:00

DISCLAIMER: This is a letter written by a lover to her love... A thought that came in the middle of a night - not intended for any one.

*****************

Restless night, as the hand inevitably moves to switch on the laptop and the thoughts inadvertently fling into the shallow mists of the midnight, I try to gather my thoughts that seem to befuddle me. I sit here at my table, at one O clock in the night, reminiscing the days that started my journey into the world of love. The days I waited for you, to welcome you after your tired day at work. Despite working overtime or boggled by work, the thought of you filled me with a vigour that helped me get through the day. Knowing that we had the night to ourselves, knowing that I can confess my fears, desires, thoughts and foolishness with you and knowing that I would not be judged, but would be embraced into the warmth of your hands, into you – wow, that sense of satisfaction is deep.

I know that I would get a bashing for being awake at the late hour, but I also know that the anger would only last a minute, before you engulf me into a hug that tingles me from the spine and wells up my heart with the glow that only you could give. Dear, I love you so much. Sometimes I wonder, if you really knew how much I love you, how very much I am obsessed with you, how very much I yearn to belong to you – to be owned, to be ruptured, to be shattered, to be torn, to be moulded, to be loved, by you. As long as you are in the equation, the hurt, the anger, the bliss and the solitude, all are acceptable. Do you understand all that? To know that you can break me into a million pieces by just ignoring me? That you could kill me with your look of disdain? With you around, the world seems small and not enough to tuck you and hide you away, for me to cherish and relish you and with you away, the world seems magnanimous.

Dearest… the endearment rolls off easily, before I wonder if I still have the right to call you that. Will you forgive me, for breaking a promise? A promise of living my life? But then, you are my life, my dear, the life you took away with you. I cannot help but feel empty inside, when all the insides ache with the thought of you, when every nerve craves for your voice, when every brain cell screams your name – how can I conceive a thought for myself, to even begin living my life? I cannot end this pain – you know that, don’t you? For, in this pain, you are the most closest to me. In the tempest of the rupture, I find my haven, knowing that the anguish is the reality of my love.

You leave me restless here, the waiting long and painful. The thought of you consumes me so very completely that every other thought just seems insignificant, every relation seems insignificant, yet, I know I am just a tiny portion of your life. Yours don’t stop when I do not exist in it, while mine ceased existing when you turned your back. Yet, here I wait – in the hope that one day you shall realize, that we are bound forever, within the realms of my heart – where the shrine built for you shall remain as a crowning glory to the “you” I fell in love with.

Please make me whole again, my dear…
Yours forever…

Random Thoughts...

2010-06-25T02:59:00.001-07:00

After a very long time , I have opened a few websites I frequented as a fresher and it amazes me that I actually lost touch with the innovations happenings around the industry. Today, people are talking about Infrastructure as a Service, Network Attached Memory, 4G. Long gone are the days of commute on foot/two-wheelers – now is the fast forward generation of speed trains and luxury shuttles. And pretty soon it would be a virtual box, with access to anything and everything over thin air! Like the Minority Report. We are talking about Infrastructure as a service and later perhaps, it would be Artificial Resources as Service (What do you say? I wonder if we are really that far from this being a reality – are we not already half way machines with flesh and blood?). The science fiction no longer remains fiction but borders round the reality, as the artificial Intelligence gives way to automated and highly intelligent machines (shudder!!) that can complete the tasks – based on the archival processing of the data and refining approaches that worked well in the past, without any human intervention. One side, it is a proud moment to see that the intelligence has no bounds and that miracles can co-exist with natural events in a miraculously simple way, and on the other side, it is frightening to think about the human reactions to those times. Man being a power-hungry entity, the more chance of acquiring power, the more ruthless his actions shall be: “It is purely business, nothing personal!”

But, for now, let me just mask in the glory of the innovations that are coming out into the market and will rule the future market – to virtualization – cloud computing… and perhaps to more focused and productive and short office hours than laborious, inefficient long hours!

Commuting On Cab!

2010-06-23T22:54:00.001-07:00

As the vehicle weaves in and out of traffic at a speed of 60kmph - 80kmph in fifth gear, with the sudden breaks and the roller-coaster rides, the little life in me almost chokes in the throat and as my heart threatens to stop, I hold on to the support gear near the door and try not to cringe at the oncoming traffic. The driver, however is least affected by my antiques or the conversation behind me, where people sarcastically remark that there really is no hurry and that they want to reach the destination alive! Every morning - as the cool breeze rushes through my hair, I close my eyes and try to catch some sleep, only -the driver has other ideas about his passengers sleeping - perhaps because he does not have the luxury of closing his eyes while driving (LOL), he either applies a sudden break or takes a rash turn to the right or left. Oh, my driver is expert on cuts too… So obviously, I cannot sleep, which frustrates me to no end - as the speed is not convenient to read a book either. So basically the hour in the morning and evening is a total waste. And the evening is all together another matter, where the traffic continues to pile on and the 101.9FM radio gives a load of crap as conversation –this seriously drives me crazy. I cannot pick between the irk caused by the FM radio blabber and the driver’s hurry to complete his job. The narrow cuts and the no-care for the traffic rules are seriously irritating. But it is almost a comical watch when the vehicles move out of the way, almost in respect to this cab. I keep thinking that a royal heir is passing through the streets and that the traffic is a standstill, almost like a procession and waiting for it to pass, before resuming their life. Oh dear! It helps me to think that I would get out of the cab soon enough and that mine is the first stop – thankfully and the last board onto the cab!

Speed is fun when on an empty road – but it seriously is a pain, when you are worried, not just about your safety, but that of the people on the road and the fellow companions. But this is another experience to share and I being a very timid person might have exaggerated on the threat of life – but seriously, what if the break does fail? Or the other fellows vehicle stops in the middle of the road or another crazy cab driver or for that matter, a bus driver tends to overtake the cab and misjudges the distance and the speed? Law of nature- nothing ever is definite . So, despite my exaggeration, there tends to be a genuine concern on my part over the well being of people around me! Anyway, this cab drive thrills and adventures are short lived as we move out to a different work area and commute by bus, however, the bus drivers are not any better! Hmpf!

A Journal: Coorg - April 2010

2010-06-19T04:59:00.000-07:00

With too much time to spare, the whim of a tour took off a mile a minute and materialized on the Saturday. Set and eager to enjoy the first ever planed vacation, I looked forward to having a quiet time, away from the countless hurdles that seem to amass with every step I take. Anyway, the tour required a hop stop at Bangalore and my first impression was, “Dirty!”, but then, I shall leave my impressions of her until I am better equipped with information by spending a date with her. For now, Bangalore was a strut in our journey to Coorg.

The journey to a destination is what makes the ride worthwhile, but the journey to Coorg was tiring and very frustrating. As we boarded the bus to Coorg, I plugged in my ipod, with less hope of staying awake throughout the journey, yet the second half of the journey, I was fighting nausea and just praying we would get down the damn bus fast. Bus rides are not my favourite and obviously, the choice of transport was not really good. When I stepped off the bus, it was such a relief, my legs almost gave away in the groan of satisfaction. And then there was the cab ride to the resort. That, I thoroughly enjoyed, perhaps because of the slight breeze that rushed past me. The resort was something at least. Kadkani resort, secluded and isolated, it was perfect in its own way. Surrounded by the tea plantations and with the Cauvery river on its one side, the resort was situated amidst the tranquillity and serenity of nature.

The cottage we booked was named Blue Maria, unsure of its origins and the reason why it was named so, but it had what is required and a little more. A walk around the resort gave me an impression that it is not that huge. The heat, however was exceptionally irritating. We decided to tour the place the next day and take the day after that off and enjoy the resort and so we planned with the lady at the reception, asking her about the places that need to be visited and booked a cab. Next day, bright and ready and raring to go, we had our breakfast and started on our introduction to Coorg. First impressions were that the place could be better maintained. I keep wondering why our government does not care much for tourism. It makes me sad to realize that the facilities, food and roads, are all bare minimum and in few places, worse. As we snaked through the route to Madikeri, towards the Raja seat, the scenic view was one heck of a beauty. The up hill drive, the long lush green patches, the intermittent horns of other vehicles and the unavoidable heat – all were part of the journey, yet the place, offered beautiful panoramic view which was simply breathtaking. The next place we visited was Nisargadhama (Bamboo forest I guess) was what made the trip worth while. Walking through the hanging bridge and splashing in the flowing Cauvery and slipping through the slippery rocks, the one hour revamped the entire tiredness of the whole trip and made the heat bearable. Watching kids swim in the river and seeing my friend enjoy herself in the flow of the river was simply amazing. After satiating our interest in that, we paid little attention to the remaining place and walked out. We had lunch that can only be said as filling and nothing more, void of taste and almost made me cringe at the fact that it would almost be at least another three days before I had anything that can be called food. Lesson learnt is that you better be willing to survive on bread and jam and coffee when you are out. Next we set out to the golden temple and that was a vision of its own. I simply fell in love with the place. Just the calmness of the Tibetian monastery soothed my senses. Walking through the entire monastery and trying to decipher their culture without much success, I just enjoyed the moment and gave myself the luxury of basking in the serenity of the monastery. Then we went rafting in Dubare, that was cool and tiring, but well worth it. I thoroughly enjoyed the boat ride with the too friendly native Rajesh who was our guide/main rafter. The unguarded bits of thoughts that flew past me and the relative simplicity of chatting with a stranger that would have once had me tongue-tied gave me a jolt of surprise as I realized that this is what I have been missing most, the almost free bits of thoughts without a care or thought for the future, just cherishing the moment in its true sense. Perhaps, that one reason helped me enjoy the rafting. The scenic beauty of the place left me speechless again. After a half hour of this water adventure, we travelled back to our resort and just about wrapped ourselves in bed.

The next day we got up at leisure and after the yesterday’s adventure with food, I decided to quit experimenting and have bread and jam. While I asked the cook to give me bread and jam, he insisted on giving a native speciality called “Paputtu” and “potato curry – coorg style”. I had my doubts about it, though. My friend was inclined towards experimenting however and took the brave step of tasting it, while I made myself a strong cup of coffee and sat in the sofa next to her. After she gave a grade-A to the Paputtu, I too tried it and loved it. So yeah, if anyone ever goes to Coorg, please do try this out ;). After the breakfast and after flipping through the channels for sometime, we decided to get ready and roam around the resort. We walked around, taking few snaps along the way. the resort has the Cauvery river on one of its side and we went rafting in it. WOW!!! That was just wow! The dull rush of the river and the noise as it sliced through the rocks has such a soothing effect on the ears that I just closed my eyes and embraced the peace. The cool breeze coming off the waves and the greenery around us put me into a different mood all together. After an hour of rafting, we sat on the little rocks that guarded the section of the lake that deepens – one of the nature’s mysterious gifts to the humans, I guess. As the rush of the waves gave us a back ground music and the cold water washed our feet, we had out moments of bliss. When I say I have thoroughly enjoyed the few minutes we spent on those rocks, I am speaking for both of us. The journey back towards the resort was also fun – when the guide tried talking us into rope water crossing and a swim in the lake – which we adamantly refused. We had a sumptuous lunch back in the room and passed the time indoors by reading books. In the evening, we played table tennis. While my friend is alright with her game, I am a novice… I enjoyed the game and the conversation and the strange bits of thoughts that came to my mind. While playing the game, I realized – a game is not about winning – but about the attitude. The game is not about the points – but about the ball in the right corner of the table at the right time. It was at that point, I had the strangest line of thoughts that wrapped me so completely, I had tough time focusing and enjoying. The line of thoughts would form a different blog together, if I can ever put that entire swarm of emotion into words. On a separate channel of thought – the game also reminded me all the people I wished were there – to share that moment. It is then, that I realized – trips should be made with a bunch of people – at least trips where activities like these are also a part. Sight seeing can be done solo or with a couple of friends, but games – especially outdoor games require groups of people.

We started the following day, the journey back home. I had my date with the moon that night – as I slept in the bottom side compartment, secluded and alone – gazing into the night sky and the song – “Right here waiting for you” playing in my ears. One such journey came to my mind and as the moon played hide and seek with the clouds and me, I smiled and waited in anticipation for it to peep out again. the wait was always worthwhile as the full moon smiled brilliantly at me, every single time and almost took my breath away. The songs continued down my favourite list – the never ending romance circling the air, as my vivid imagination lurked round the corner, swinging me from one cosy corner to the other and as I flirted with the moon, my heart drifted slowly to the comfort thoughts stored in the corner draw and I slept a dreamless sleep after a very long time. when I woke up – it was dawn and I looked at the passing greenery with relish and happiness as the thoughts of home and the new challenges ahead of me opened a cheerful morning. I never thought I would miss Hyderabad or for that matter – I never realized I love this place so much – but believe me when I say, despite the mad traffic, Hyderabad is a better place than the natives seem to think and it has better food too.

That completed the three day trip to Coorg – an alright place – I would not say that it is a place that will have to be visited, but it is a get away of sorts – if the goal is to relax your soul.

Truths or fakes?

2010-06-06T08:39:00.001-07:00

As the new beginning kicks off with tiffs and laughs, there is this tingle of excitement that might lead to contentment in the deepest crevices of the heart, if the sadness of a life altering course does not sit tightly in it already. While the life ahead of me does look promising, the past hovers like an unforgiving menace that wishes for atonement and while the beginning sounds delightful, the nuance of distance with the loved ones does seem quite difficult to accept. Comfort is a luxury that sometimes becomes scarce even between mom and a child, what are other relations, if not trifles? While life offers many courses in dealing with relations, unfortunately every lesson is a whiplash that is every bit harsh and every bit painful, both to the bearer as well as the executioner, yet, those whiplashes come at frequent intervals from the executioner, despite the pain. Despite the care for solidarity, certain things are inevitable in life, like being alone forever. Companionship can be a boon and a curse. While the curses leave a scar, the boons leave hope. A hope that there would be more boons that might come along. Life’s courses offer twists and turns that are unpredictable and yet, they make life interesting. But that unpredictability is often a curse for the impatient, where the pathways into the future hold no meaning and the present is messed up.

Certain dreams are mere curses waiting to unleash as the curtain rises for the performance to begin. The wickedness of the reality sinks in with the rupture of hearts that once cared for each other. While the life extinguishes and the ending looms over, the beginning and end dancing hand in hand, one has to wonder, if it ever was a beginning. While life has no meaning when misery plays an upper hand in relations, few clings are mere strings that are adamant at being cut. They are neither together nor apart, forever circling in the eternal pit of misery and doom. Why do such relations exist? Why do such relations require a beginning if any? When the end spirals down into an endless pit, the vapors of stench and staleness are better than the fresh breath of air that brings agony every waking moment. The wail of the heart echoes deeper and the promises that look fulfilling are mere mirages that exist further from the reach. That is the reality of life that sucks the breath out of you every breathing moment.

Wish there are “undo” buttons in life, that can rewind and erase certain parts that should have been buried deeper than the subtle locks that mind and heart conjure, only then can one have a peace of mind. Love is a myth and it is a fairy tale that exists in the minds of romantic writers and while romance is certainly over rated, the relations that are based on romance are non-existing. Everything in life borders around being fake, including the raw emotion of love, hate, anger and despise.

Obvious Conclusion!!!

2010-05-18T13:55:00.001-07:00

“Not all screams are out of terror,
Not all the tears are of pain,
Not all the smiles are of joy…”

and so started my thoughts in the middle of the night. That is one of my major talents, to wake up in the middle of the night, however exhausted, to jot down a line that seems to tickle my over-sensitive brain. Pain and pleasure, walk hand in hand or so it seems. To the moment of bliss and to the moment in hell, pleasure leads to pain and pain leads to salvation – is this form of pleasure? If the salvation is the journey to a netherland, then, perhaps it is, but who can guarantee that the journey on the other side of life is fascinating or easy, if there exists such a life? The tantalizing hope keeps playing hide and seek, as the fortune cookie tries to give me a kind word. The pessimistic heart never stops to warn the impending possibility of disaster, while the practical mind seeks peace in finding alternatives, while the exhausted body wants to scream – not out of terror – just because it feels like it. However, all I can do right now is to seek serenity in the cesspool of my thoughts which make no sense, none what so ever.

The journey to paradise is through the twists and turns of a never ending uphill, but who guarantees that the paradise is devoid of the treacherous paths, once reached? Perhaps it has harder ones, those that DEMAND life. But, then, when I am hell bent on reaching paradise and the beyond matters little, why scratch the itch of understanding the beyond? When I walk through the doors of paradise, the loneliness I feel is something that is unavoidable. Despite the musical hums of the wind and the fiery breath of the golden dragons, the fairy tale land, however intriguing holds little charm. Unless I safeguard it with my will, I might lose my way and be lost in the whirlpool of crevices. Yet, I choose to walk through. Is that insanity? Well, may be! But why do mountaineers climb the mountains? Even though the climb to the peak is daunting and a wrong foot hold can be fatal, would they stop? If they did, would we have someone who can lay claim to conquer Mount Everest? Despite the challenges and the difficulties, when passion rules heart and mind, the journey and the difficulties go hand in hand. So, may be, insanity is not so bad, if it is ruled by choice! I lie awake in the night, hoping to make sense of the insanity, only to draw such obvious conclusion!

Alternate path

2010-04-17T21:32:00.001-07:00

So unfair to be frustrated on all the wrong reasons, but what would you do when you are forced to face the question that you dread as soon as you get out of the bed? Choices, decisions, life – all seem to stop for a moment, as though my answer has the power to influence the nature’s laws, as though saying a yes, would inevitably spin the world out of control and saying a no would put the world into a topsy turvy ride. Well, technically, my world, as it seems! Despite knowing that roads are blocked and that the only way to proceed further on that road seems to be by choosing an alternate path, it seems so difficult to turn my back, but also ridiculously foolish to stand and stare ahead and hoping some miracle would clear the space enough to move forward. But then, I am not a tiny ingrate, if I seem to count my baggage, I can easily weigh as much as a truck and wouldn’t it be a little exaggeration to hope for a miracle that shall blast all these boulders and create a way for me and my truck? Well, now since I do not believe in miracles, I will have to make do with unloading the cargo and carrying what is essential for this round trip and hopefully gather the essentials along the way! My so called cargo has so much of my past in it that I need not really worry about literally dumping all of it and just picking up a new path and proceeding barefoot. May be the amnesia might be rather difficult to cope, since I might not really understand the directions, but, what the heck, how different would it be anyway?

To somewhere.....

2010-04-11T05:29:00.000-07:00

Sometimes and mostly, all the time, there is this sense of urgency, to reach somewhere. Somewhere is such a lucrative word, isn’t it? No committed endeavors forcing your pace and no envisioned dreams, pushing your adrenaline to an all time high. The bliss of that carelessness and the challenge of the unknown shifted the continuous momentum to a journey of locking horns with fate.

There is this sense of void, particularly since I am about to reach a destination, a stop in the flow. I am tuning myself to accept that stop, but the journey to that stop is filled with fond memories that are difficult to leave behind. The innocence that started the journey, to the ecstasy that seem to have rubbed off on me, as I experienced the thrill and facts of the fanciful ride, as the clouds shifted and the mist cleared and the sun simmered through, brought in a sense of joy and pride, with every step, forward and backward. The urge to explore myself and the sense of reality all bare, I suddenly found myself stripped naked through the inhibitions of a glorified target. The learning that began with an unlearning and the self discovery that pushed past the inhibitions moulded me to be a better professional and a better person. This phase, the core of me, is not a blazing inferno, just a warm fire that cozies my inner soul and lulls me to a sense of tranquillity and as the yellow sun turns mellow, I inch closer to feel the heat again. I need to raise the bar and push beyond these immediate boundaries, to step closer to a pinnacle that wilfully and whimsically eludes me. And thus, I begin my journey to a land unknown. There is this sense of void in me that is difficult to fathom. And as words elude me today, I can only hope that the journey forward shall be filled with challenges that shall mould me to better myself with every step I take.

When I started on this path a good four and half years ago, I was timid and shy. I remember walking through the gates and taking the test, waiting anxiously for the results to be out. The earlier half hearted attempts at finding a career all seemed to push me with a vengeance as I realized I cannot wallow in the excuse of selfishness. As I took the reins of my life in hand and asked of myself to make a decent attempt, the door seem to have opened and it was like life giving me a chance at redemption. As the rounds cleared and I walked into the office, my first day of my professional career, I was late on my first day, thanks to the beliefs of customs that asked me to step into the office at a certain hour!!! I remember having the HR induction and I was pointed at, out of the blue, asking me what my goal was. I remember saying, very timidly, “I want to be the best software engineer I can be”. The HR looked at the class and said, “That is such a simple statement, yet it speaks something about her. She said, she wants to be the best SHE CAN BE. A lot of promise in that statement.” I remember feeling extremely conscious, as I looked her in the eyes and firmly repeated to myself, “I will be.” Now, I don’t know if I seemed to have made any difference to the organization, but I can vouch confidently that I never slacked in my effort and the promises I made to myself, albeit with little hiccups, were fulfilled.

Now, I am taking another step forward. With the incomplete thoughts in my head, I need a little more than ambition to survive in the field. And I intend to do that. I intend to better myself and detach myself of the emotional involvement I seem to have had so far. That would be a difficult promise to keep, for I cannot put myself into something when my heart and mind are not in sync and when heart is involved, there is always an emotional commitment. One hand, it is not so bad, but sometimes, it could be a terrible lapse of judgement where I could make mistakes that could cost me opportunities and push me into despair of making fatal judgements. I cannot allow that to happen, which means, I need to allow myself to go back to my journal writing and do a retrospection with a discipline that requires a lot of self control and an immovable faith in my instincts. I intend to make this break count, to firm my resolve. I intend to make the decisions with choices I can live with and that comes with a price I suppose. For now, that is just something I need to accept and hope that the things would eventually fall into place. Just as every stop opens up more choices towards the destination chosen, every choice comes with certain bumps and since I have no way of knowing what turns await the bus I take, I intend to rather focus on the journey and enjoy the path and take it as it comes. So, good luck to me, as I move at a glacial pace towards the goals… or so it seems!!!

Eleven Minutes - Paulo Coelho

2010-04-05T00:09:00.000-07:00

“At every moment of our lives, we all have one foot in a fairy tale and the other in the abyss.”

That is how the book kept me hooked. The blatant finality of the statement and the bold truth of it just had me gripping that book tighter, as I lost focus on the words in print and lost myself in a world of thought. Eleven minutes left me astounded. The choice of the theme for the novel and the protagonist’s profession to realize her dreams might be unconvincing (in fact it was unconvincing in the novel), the thoughts that were supposed to convey were aptly conveyed by the author. Paulo Coelho hit all the right chords as he spoke of love and triumph of it through the character Maria and her fairy tale with Ralf Hart, a painter who falls in love with her when he notices the special light she had about her.

The book speaks about the journey set about Maria from a girl of a small town to realize her dreams of earning money for supporting her family. At the age of eleven when she felt her heart throb for the first time and she loses an opportunity to speak to the kid she fancies, she realizes the importance of lost chances. A very subtle incident that shaped her in the long run. There are many cases where one loses the chance of a lifetime because one was afraid to take the chance or the risk required to fulfill that opportunity. Yet, every time upon reflection one regrets that act. Perhaps because opportunities are disguised in inconvenient packages and sometimes only after it is lost do we realize that it was an opportunity. And when Maria realizes that she lost an opportunity that would never return to her, she vows that she would never ever lose an opportunity, ever again.

As she enters adolescence and she became aware of her sensuality and as she endures the heartbreak of noticing her boy friend befriending her best friend who casts her pitiful glances, she realizes the pain of heartache. In the maturity one has at that age, she feels that guys bring pain, suffering and heartache and realizes that there never shall be a prince charming and that her fairy tale ending might not really materialize.

On her first earned break in Rio de Janeiro, she meets a night club owner from Brazil who offers her a chance of being a salsa dancer. The image of a flourishing city and the lust of reaching her dream flashes her eyes where she makes an impromptu decision of accepting an offer. “I can choose either to be a victim of the world or an adventurer in search of treasure. It’s all a question of how I view my life.”

Though she did not understand the language, with the co-workers who snort at the innocent belief of her, she understands the reality of the situation. “… I would rather throw myself out of the plane as it crosses the ocean. Since I cannot open the windows, I would die here. But before I die, I want to fight for life. If I can walk on my own, I can go wherever I like.” When she gets her head around the fact that she cannot go back home with shattered dreams, she sets on making herself better at what she does, but she still holds the dream of finding her knight in shining armor very dear. As days passed, she falls in love with an Arab guy and taking a chance against the rule of her work that relation with customers is prohibited, she gives in to her heart and takes a trip with the guy to spend sometime with him, which costs her – her job.

With what little money she had she sets herself up in a small room and decides to make her looks work for her and sets herself a modeling profile and runs around the agencies for a chance. After a long wait of three months, in which time she improves her French and her worldly knowledge through her regular visits to the library, she gets a call from an agency setting up a meeting with a prospective employee which she accepts. Upon reaching the hotel where the meeting was set up, the guy asks her to join him for a drink in the hotel room for a thousand Francs. That is when she realizes the intentions of the guy and as the despair reaches her mind, numbing her, she drops to tears.

“Despite her apparent freedom, her life consisted of endless hours spent waiting for a miracle, for true love, for an adventure with the same romantic ending she had seen in films and read about in books. A writer once said that it is not time that changes a man, nor knowledge; the only thing that can change someone’s mind is love. What nonsense! The person who wrote that clearly knew only one side of the coin. Love was undoubtedly one of the things capable of changing a person’s whole life, from one moment to the next. But there was the other side of the coin, the second thing that could make a human being take a totally different course from the one he or she had planned; and that was called despair. Yes, perhaps love really could transform someone, but despair did the job more quickly.” When she realizes that the life in front of her has not many options, she decides to accept his offer and thus her entry into the world of seduction.

On reaching her room after the ordeal which did not even bring her a satisfying elevation, she makes a decision of earning the money through this line of work and takes a walk to Rue de Burne where she enters a night club and approaches the owner requesting for work. She understands the simple system of how the guy approaches her, asking if she would be interested in a drink with him, where she has to order the fruit juice which was the costliest on the menu and accept his further invitation to take her out for three hundred and fifty Francs for forty five minutes, which every customer at the bar seems to know. As she continues with her life every single night, she tries to make her services better by making an effort to understand the needs of the guys she offers herself. She realizes that the men who come to the club are afraid and are ashamed of they cannot actually satisfy the women they lay themselves in. “Men are very strange: They can beat you up, shout at you, threaten you, and yet, they are scared to death of women really. Perhaps not the woman they married, but there's always one woman who frightens them and forces them to submit to her caprices. Even if it’s their own mother.” But she is befuddled with this realization. If any, she felt she should be the one who should be ashamed that she was unable to satisfy them for a night.

For a night? Now come on, you're exaggerating. It's really only 45 minutes, and if you allow time for taking off clothes, making some phoney gestures of affection, having a bit of banal conversation and getting dressed again, the amount of time spent actually having sex is about Eleven Minutes. Eleven Minutes! The world revolved around something that only took Eleven Minutes.

And because of these eleven minutes in one twenty four hour day, they got married, supported their family, put up with screaming kids…. Something is very wrong with the civilization and it wasn’t the destruction of Amazon rain forest or the ozone layer… it was precisely the thing she was working on: sex.

And that is the title of the novel, the importance of the physical gratification in everyone’s life and the approach one has towards it. As the days pass, she sends postcards to her home from the places she visited. She decides that she would get out of this profession when she earns enough money to buy herself a small land and set up farming, away from the city humdrum. With that thought, she sets about understanding farming and writes to her dad about her idea of purchasing land.

On a day when she was off, she picks a couple of books on farming and takes a stroll down the upper part of a city where she notices a yellow plaque with the name “Road to Santiago”. The name stood out and she decided that she needs to know the meaning of the word. She enters that place and asks the girl at the bar for its meaning and she was disappointed that the girl could not answer. She decided she might as well take a break and asks for a cup of coffee noting that they are highly priced than the usual. As she sips the coffee and flips through the pages of the farming books, she could not hold her interest and closes the book, pays for her coffee and sets to go out, when she hears the words “Hang on a moment” from behind her. She turns to notice that a painter was talking to her. Not realizing what those words shall mean after today, she just stares at the person. The painter wishes to paint her and requests her to pose for his painting. Noticing her apprehension the girl at the bar ensures that the painter is renowned and asks her to wait. Maria accepts the offer and stares out of the window as the painter gets to work.

After the painting was done, he introduces himself as Ralf Hart mentioning that he saw her before. She snaps on him that she is a prostitute from head to toe, while he calmly retorts that what she did held little meaning to him and that there is a special light about her that made her different. As she sits dumbfounded by his declaration and as he speaks more about his life and his disinterest in intimacy, she decides that she has something to offer to this guy after all, for this chance meeting with him is holding a significant meeting for her and she was enjoying herself and feeling genuinely happy. So she invites him for a stroll. As they keep walking on a route traveled by thousands, she realized that this was the loveliest afternoons she spent in her stay there. As they ended up in a bar on the other side of the town, he said that he would meet her in her club as her client. The anxiousness in her is evident as she opens the door towards an unknown while he insists that he will see her, if only to save himself. She reflects on the lost opportunity at the age of eleven and decides to be silent, allowing him to interpret that silence. “If he was the man she wanted him to be, he would not be intimidated by her silence.”

And thus begins her journey into a chance that fate brought upon her. She realizes, as the alarm bells ring in her heart, that the carefully constructed wall of self control was about to ebb away and that she is falling in love with the painter!

Ahhh… the rest of the book is simply superb. As she establishes herself a loyal clientele, the owner of her night club approaches her with an offer from a special client. She accepts the offer and when she walks with that special client into the hotel, she realizes she enters into an unknown world, where pain and pleasure go hand in hand, into the world of masochism and sadism. She, to her amazement realizes that she enjoys that pain.

When she meets Ralf Hart later on, though she covers herself well with additional accessories, he notices the marks left by the handcuffs and tells her to not enter into that world. While she glares at him saying that he had no idea what he was talking about, he surprises her by saying that he had his share of experience about the dark side and that it was not worth it. He invites her for a walk and as they reach the lake shore, he asks her to remove her shoes and coat. She was hesitant arguing that the stones would hurt her and that it was cold. He asks her to trust him, as he trusted her. As she begins her walk along the shore, bare foot alongside him, she finds that her feet were throbbing as the stones prick her skin and she is enduring a form of suffering. The pain heightens after a certain point where she merely puts one foot before the other, before she recedes herself into a moment of peace after reaching the limit of pain she could endure, collapsing into his hands.
“‘I felt that pain is a woman’s friend.’
‘That is the danger.’
‘I also felt that pain has it’s limits.’
‘That is the salvation. Don’t forget that.’”

“You experienced pain yesterday and you discovered that it led to pleasure. You experienced pain today and found peace. That’s why I’m telling you: don’t get used to it, because it’s very easy to become habituated; it’s a very powerful drug. It’s in our daily lives, in our hidden suffering, in the sacrifices we make, blaming love for the destruction of our dreams. Pain is frightening when it shows its real face, but it’s seductive when it comes disguised as sacrifice or self-denial. Or cowardice. However much we may reject it, we human beings always find a way of being with pain, of flirting with it and making it part of our lives………………
Does the soldier go to war in order to kill the enemy? No, he goes in order to die for the country. Does the wife want to show her husband how happy she is? No, she wants to show him how devoted she is, how she suffers to make him happy. Does the husband go to work thinking he will find personal fulfillment there? No, he is giving his sweat and tears for the good of the family. And so it goes on: sons give up their dreams to please their parents, parents give up their lives in order to please their children. Pain and suffering are used to justify the one thing that should bring only joy: love”

How does one endure a life time of suffering or pain, every day, basking it in a holy word called love, when love should have been a form of freedom, an ecstasy? Are we all seeking some form of pleasure in the pain we endure? Is sadism and masochism so much a part of our lives that the forbidden ecstasies are not really forbidden after all? The above passage of the novel had me grinding midnight oil as I realized, under the disguise of sacrifice or lies, one deceives oneself and that there is beauty in pain. And just as pain has a threshold, after enduring a certain amount of pain, what would happen next? The physical exercise exhausted her as she collapsed, but perhaps, the agony one puts oneself through the irrelevant sacrifices one makes in life gives one a heart attack! But the sheer thoughtlessness of the after cause of the suffering one puts oneself and the people they love, is it worth the time?

And that evening, Maria writes in her diary for the first time, that she detests what she is doing with her life. “Life is too short or too long for me to allow myself the luxury of living it so badly!”

Ralf has saved her from a world of pain and she realizes that she fell in love with the person. She has never been able to consummate herself to a guy, despite her profession, she only fakes her satisfaction to not make her clientele ashamed of themselves, but on that day, when she realizes that she actually loves Ralf, right in the middle of the road, she attains a physical gratification just by thinking about him touching her.

The way the novel speaks of the love that passed between Maria and Ralf is simply superb. The little unconventional things they do together, like sitting in front of fire and just staring at each other, as the shadows of time drool over them and the beads of perspiration burst on their skin, a moment more intimate than the physical contact passes between them which had nothing to do with sex. As they explore each other, simply by touching each other, through their eyes – the passion that passes through them is simply superb.

“Anyone who is in love is making love the whole time, even when they’re not. When two bodies meet, it is just the cup overflowing. They can stay together for hours, even days. They begin the dance one day and finish it the next, or–such is the pleasure they experience–they may never finish it. No eleven minutes for them.”

Such high passion requires an ethereal experience and I was in awe with the way Paulo wrote about it. Maria, after she reaches the target date, decides that it was the right moment to stop what she was doing and informs the same to the night club owner. She takes every penny she owns and packs her bags and walks out. On her way, however she decides to stop at Ralf’s place. The shared moments of intimacy, where Ralf not only owns her body but also mind is awesome. Where Maria not just satisfies the guy but is satisfied in turn as she embraces the beauty of sex for the first time with a guy, where Ralf not only shows her the beauty in loving but also the beauty in understanding a female body, where the passion heightens to leave them both in a state of dance that is sensual, is mind blowing.

“In all the languages in the world, there is the same proverb: ‘What the eyes don’t see, the heart doesn’t grieve over.’ Well, I say that there isn’t an ounce of truth in it. The further off they are, the closer to the heart are all those feelings that we try to repress and forget. If we’re in exile, we want to store away every tiny memory of our roots. If we’re far from the person we love, everyone we pass in the street reminds us of them.”
The next morning however, she walks out of the door, without looking back.

As she reaches Paris, she hears a quiet voice behind her “We still have Paris” and she turns to find Ralf Hart behind her, holding a bunch of roses…

“…. And to be utterly sure that this was what you wanted, that you were expecting me that all the determination and will power in the world would not be enough to prevent the love from changing the riles of the game from one moment to the next. It’s really easy being as romantic as the people in the movies, don’t you think?”

And thus the journey of a girl who turns prostitute, yet holds her dream of prince charming dear, gets her fairy tale and that is fruition of Ralf Hart’s search for himself.

A fantastic book, that left me astounded at the amount of thoughts it stirred in me. If I did not interlace those thoughts with the excerpts from the book, I would take another ten posts to just speak about the topics covered by this book. Worth every second spent on it. And this will remain as one of the most precious books I laid my hands on...

Killing me softly...

2010-03-11T05:40:00.000-08:00

Who are you, invading my mind?
Your whimsical charms in my hazy sleep,
Turn me mellow.

You torment me with your words,
The seduction passionate and romantic,
The charm irresistible and baffling,
I am caught in the halo of your warmth,
Desperate to hold onto you…

Your smile, lopsided and conspicuous,
The malicious glint in your eyes,
Threatening and challenging,
Warning of the inherent evil,
Yet, your charms are golden,
That melt me in your arms and
The trust in you manifold,
As I precariously step into your world.

The stench of the past,
Revolting and tumultuous,
Yet, your odor, sumptuous and inviting,
I walk through the labyrinth, following you.
Little do I notice, the thorns in the path,
And the carcasses in the corners,
My eyes only for you.

You turn to me, your eyes boring into me,
The smile fixed and the charm on full throttle,
seeking my heart, urging me to rip it out.
The heart in my hands, the blood dripping through the fingers,
I place it at your feet, kneeling infront of you,
Satiated and reverent, at your very presence,
Watching as you pick it up,
Your laugh echoing off the walls,
Ah, the pain, the unbearable pain, as you squish it,
The disbelief in my eyes,
As the life drains out of me,
I implore you to hold me, just once,
In your embrace, my eternal Eden.

The agony, the unbearable agony of your apathy,
A thousand deaths as the life goes out of me,
Oh dear, what have I done?

Why do you have to kill me every day in my dreams?
And why do I wake up, after every death?
A rebirth or a second chance, what is it?
The ingenuity of your torment,
Killing me softly in my dreams,
Yet waking beside me with a smile!!!

Frozen in time...

2010-03-10T04:53:00.001-08:00

I wish I can be frozen in time, not breathe, not think, not feel. Just be there, in that timelessness and be lost in the moment of that insanity. I am staring at this piece for the past thirty minutes and it feels like a wish coming true and that I am frozen in time, with no thoughts to bother me. But, alas, that is so not true. My mind works faster and heart even faster, in that, they can force each other to work overtime to gain the sense of time, again!!! I wonder, if there can be volunteers for lab experiments. If yes, I wish I can give them my brain, to do the experiments to compute the logistics of brain waves. I would like to understand mine! And at least, perhaps, in that zone of experimental science, I can find a moment of tranquility! Ah, the extent to which one has to go, to attain a moment’s peace.

It is blissful, this agony, to know, I have none to blame, but me! Trust is such an overrated expression, but, it holds no meaning when it is lost. A misplaced trust can hurt even the super man, what am I, to not feel that heat? But, even as the hurt grays my mind, the weight on my heart just about makes me wish that life is a bit more lenient in its punishments. Is it such a crime, to try and defy my mind? If this is the punishment, then yes, it certainly feels like a crime.

It is one of those days, where I feel, I need to be invisible or have the super powers to travel miles in a flash. I would run across the globe, a few hundred times, just to exhaust myself and collapse. I wish I can just wrap this entire saga in a cloud and let it float to a distance galaxy, never to return again. Or perhaps, there can be amnesia, where I forget a certain phase of life, never to remember again!!! Better yet, would it not be good to have a switch off button for life? To switch it off when one has no further purpose! I am sure, I am replaceable, none to lament and a place better filled by my absence!

Simple truth

2010-03-01T03:02:00.001-08:00

Sometimes I wonder if all that happens is a mere façade, that fades away eventually and what is left, when raw and bare would eventually be revolting. Many times, the paths crossed by the traveling strangers, leave an inexplicable impression which is borne for years to come. These impressions cast out brutal realities and impress the uncertainty of a dream, in that, they are like a trance, offering the fulfillment of lustful desires. But then, few would be like the cast iron realities that promises a lifetime of hell, yet the hold is so powerful that the certainty of doom does not wither the person’s will. That is the way of fate, perhaps! And few would turn out to be paradise, ahhh, how blissful and soulful and how very rare! But it is the deceptive facades that stay the long and turn you inside out and they tend to break the ground brutally and leave the scars, like the strike of lightning on the dear earth. And somehow, these very facades change the very you, making your act a mere façade for all to see. Ah, the callousness of fate!!!

Yet, there will be a point in life, where one questions the mask in the mirror. To break that ice and stand naked, to let the gut know the truth of the act. There lies the courage of the person who can strip to that self and stand through the recurring obscenities and hold the fort and be untouched by the devilish hideousness and redefine oneself to begin the journey, yet again! Every time a trust is broken, a scar is left behind, that which cannot be smoothened by a smile. And neither can you earn that trust back. But the fault does not lie with the person who broke your trust, but in you, in trusting the person and allowing them to hurt you. No one can make you feel what you do not feel, be it the feeling of being used, of being inferior, of being ignored, of being manipulated. That is the simple truth.

A fairy tale - A way of Life

2010-02-25T03:50:00.001-08:00

Do we need to learn to love a person? I believe so. Love is not lust, to be instantaneous and sparkling. There might be a phase, where that feeling of need for each other exists, the need to be with the person, in the whispered lullabies or sweet nothings, but, that is just a phase. What would happen when they outgrow that? When the need to hear the sweet nothings, though prominent, is a mere whim of a calculated mind and when the promises of eternal happiness are just a reflection of past, rather than the truths of the moment, does love exist? Perhaps, it does, in some corner, masked in an unassuming cover, in desperate need of dusting and cleaning. Well, then, how would one want to regenerate it? Particularly, how would one fight the urge to just let it go and let it be?

The root cause of the uncertainty in trusting the loved one is because of expectations. Expectation of the partner, to either reciprocate the warmth or the expectation of unconditional love – when that unconditional love itself is an expectation , to be there for that person – when that “be there”, in reality is just a myth created by the mind.
1) Who cares if you are stuck in an unknown road and your partner is happily watching a movie? You can’t expect the partner to have a sixth sense and believe that something is wrong with you and to immediately call you, right?
2) Who cares if you are a nervous wreck for your first official client meeting and your partner could not even call, to wish you good luck? Perhaps, he/she is busy with his/her schedule or more real – “I am not interested in what you do. As long as it is essential for you to do it, just do it” attitude.
3) Who cares if your family is ill? For all you know, why should he/she care about your family? DO you honestly care about his/her family?
4) Who cares if you have not spoken to your partner in over a month? He/She might be exceptionally busy, else your phone would be ringing off the hook!!!
5) Who cares if your friend drops you home and your partner is jealous of him/her? It is his/her mistake that he/she was unavailable to spend that time with you!
6) Who cares if you sit in a coffee day to sip the coffee, your most soothing ingredient and you sit alone and think, wish you had someone with you? When your partner, might be doing exact same thing in some other café day, for all you know!
7) Who cares if you have not had your food and your partner is out partying, knowing damn well that you are not eating food? Or, for that matter, knowing that he/she should have been there to hold your hand to help you get over whatever spooked your heart or mind?

All the above are quite true and also, the “who cares” – is mostly, “I care that my partner does so and so for me”. Aren’t they all expectations or sometimes punishment, depending on the person? Honestly, most of the scenarios could be simply eliminated by asking. Of course, sometimes asking always negates the response. And if you are like me, believe me, the “no” has many swear words associated with it, than you can actually hear and once a “no” is “never ask me again”, for me! But, the want to be embraced does not go. I still remember that my mom has not picked a lemon yellow shade of dress I so loved. I loved it, not because the dress was pretty, but because my friend, who is also my competitor has that color dress and I did not have. My Mom refused to pick it up and till date, I never picked a lemon yellow dress, not alone and certainly not when I am shopping with her. For me, it always reminds me of the color that she did not pick up for me and the first time she said a no. Amidst the humiliation (if I knew what to call the feeling that I felt on that day, when I was twelve, I would definitely call it humiliation – of being told NO when I asked something), I vowed never to ever ask her any thing ever again in my life! I don’t ask, I hint ;). Of course, now I pretty much buy what I want.
Anyway, that is all a moot point. Your partner is not telepathic; they do not know that you need them, full stop. That need not mean they do not love you. Perhaps, they do not know what love means anyway. See, it can be quite confusing if you have over a million sites offering their share of wisdom on love and their versions of definitions of love. But perhaps, in some corner of their minds, they do honestly believe they love you, but don’t know how to express it.

Leaving the above perceptions of partners aside, the biggest role is played by one’s own perception. In hindsight, mostly, it is guaranteed that – it matters not what someone feels for you, it is what you feel for yourself and for that significant other that matters. For, when you care about yourself and you feel that your happiness is bound to that significant person’s happiness, you will eventually find a way to keep that person happy and there by be happy. This sounds so much like a second rate romance saga. But, is that not true? If you truly believe that your happiness is with that person, would you not do what ever is essential to make that person happy –how ever irate it may be? And there by ensure your happiness? But, what if you feel that you do not need that significant other in your life, to make it enriching? Then, that is not the significant other and you better not fool yourself with thinking that he/she is the significant other. Whatever be the problems in life – family, friends, lack of support, lack of courage, lack of guts – the “N” lacks – if you do not feel the need for that other person, you are just fooling yourself in trying to sustain what was never meant to be. It is better to let it go and get on with your life, swallow the heart break and the vows to never hurt yourself again and open yourself up, for that one special knight, who will walk into your life to make the creases smoother and life enriched and who will hold all your fondest dreams to his heart and scares away all the trepidations of your heart and for whom, you are the centre of their universe. Perhaps, life is not a fairy tale, but love certainly is! Love is a fairy tale, the fable all around us, except in the reality of life. But, then, that is the beauty of a fairy tale – the myth is a make believe that creates a yearning that one has to learn to not ponder! Ha, the wily plots unleashed!!!

But then, even after finding that significant other, one has to learn to love. Learn to hold the needs of that person above your own. Learn to work around the inflexibilities of that person and even the roads for that person. Learn to hold your fort when all you feel like doing is crumble down and let everything go to doom. Learn to mask your disappointment and communicate to have a logical conclusion than a heated discussion. Every ditch is a lesson and every tide is an experience. As long as you trust your feeling for that person, let the storm roll in, hold your fort. The reward might not be enriching, as not all can appreciate the presence of love, but, then, that expectation of the reward should be swallowed to never allow it to surface or you will be disappointed, perhaps not the first time you get your expectation fulfilled, but subsequently. That is the way of life!

Truths of Life!!!

2010-02-21T21:59:00.000-08:00

How can we measure the extent of an emotion at a given moment? Is there a calibration scale that will measure the truth in that emotion? When we use words like – happy, euphoric, jubilant, love – to express the positive emotions and words like – dislike, hurt, grief, pain, sorrow – to express negative emotions, (I still need to understand how these words were coined), is there a measuring scale that will say – for these many units of positive energy – this is the word to use and for these negative units – this is the word?

I sometimes find it exceptionally difficult to pinpoint the emotion running through me and I keep wondering if there are machines that can justifiably measure the rate of positive and negative energies running through me. But, then, I guess, both the energies balance out, leaving me in the same state, day after day. Which is not really bad, considering that I can always border around on the negative force and be chronically depressed, which is not something I want to be or, border round positive energy, which means I would be eternally happy, which is next to impossible – for, I personally think, there is a journey between one happiness to other and it traverses through a pit of struggle!!!

I also wonder, if there are any machines that can help measure the truth in another person’s words or emotions. Is it not sad that instincts are paving way to machines? Rather than trusting my instincts to guide me through the life’s paths, I want machines that operate in binary or sine waves, to guide me through life. Am I joining the dark side? ;)… But, then, can anyone blame me? Most of the time, instincts are ignored and even if you follow them, you end up being swarmed with questions galore. Not all the time can one find answers and sometimes answers themselves are questions.

I wish there is some place like “Fortress of solitude” (exclusive Superman stuff), where I can be myself and just sit and get through the trying moments. I used to find solace in solitude and that solitude is basically a myth of my mind. But, now, I am hunting around for those moments of solitude that seem to be a luxury I cannot afford. And, sometimes, the word “unwelcome” or “burden” does not seem to register in the sane mind, when the subconscious mind is screaming its guts out and roaring at the top of its lungs for anyone and everyone to hear, except heart! And sometimes, “friendship” or “love” is a manacle round the throat and the choke, though deadly, does not kill the heart but definitely cuts off the sanity in life, which makes me feel that emotions are the deadliest poisons and the most cardinal sins one ever has in life. Perhaps, one needs to lead the life of a saint, away and aloof of people with pretense care. But the allure to such charade is the way of life. Even the awakening of the most hard-hit truths does not take way the grandeur of that false charade, for human mind is receptive to deception and conniving of the more wicked minds!

Of all the days I wish I were a negation of me, this day tops them all! At least then, I would not hold close the one that hurts and push away the ones that love. The façade is such a fake face that the deeper I go into the depths of each thought, I feel a rottenness that is difficult to fathom. Lotus comes from the dirtiest swarm of mud, yet looks the prettiest, and for the beholder who finds it the most beautiful flower and wants to hold it in the hands; he must go through the pain of sifting through the rotten swarm of pigsty. The effort is rewarded, sometimes with the bite of a snake or dirt round the ankles and if persevered, with the lotus. But, then, is that not what that beholder aspired for? And to reach that reward, the path was interlaced through the slimiest murk one can ever find. That is the way of life!!!

Machine or no machine, the intertwined paths do not change and the journey depends on the courage of the traveler. That is the truth of life!

Right and wrong

2010-02-14T09:31:00.001-08:00

Aren’t we all comfortable to be reactive than proactive? Newton’s third law works, every single time. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. How easy is it to act based on circumstances? Circumstances are the actions that cause our reactions. But then, super humans are those who use circumstances to resolve their course of action and bend those circumstances to their will. So, how many super humans exist out there? It makes me ponder about the simplicity of right and wrong and how the perceptions of those concepts, change with circumstances. Despite the gut feel, most of the time, are there not multiple things that seem to be right, when in a cross-road? But somehow, one takes a priority over the other. And perhaps, it boils down to that moment, when one reaches a conclusion that, most of time, words mean nothing and willingness to act, mean nothing too. And sometimes, the right thing might be the most difficult of all. So, should one shun away from the right thing?

Valentine's Day

2010-02-14T09:29:00.000-08:00

Valentine’s day!!!

There is something gooey about this day. Well, it is obvious, since it surrounds love, the most coveted of the pursuits in life. And so, I thought that I too shall be a part of this sharing and expressing love and I went to the movie, valentine’s Day and guess what? I loved it. If someone wants two hour break from a nervous break down, they can watch this film and they would not regret it. It is sweet, it is romantic, it is touching and it is filled with fun. But, if that is all, I would not brag about it so much! It also pointed out – how sometimes when the love is staring right at your face, one tends to ignore it and run around, trying to find that Mr or Miss Perfect.

Though there is just too much of stardom in the movie and I personally felt that not all the characters had their share of role, there is a central theme to the movie that surrounded a florist and his best friend. The movie succeeded in showing all forms of love – the budding, the blooming and the fruition. One moment, though, caught my attention completely. When Reed (Ashton Kutcher) finds out that his best friend was being cheated by the guy she loves, he tries to let her know that she was doing a mistake. The initial reaction, when a friend thinks that his/her friend is trying to do a mistake by being with a particular person is mostly to talk through the situation and let them be. They just allow them to go on their road, saying that they are there, when the need comes. Somehow, it is so good to see that the guy actually tries to tell her, “… no one believed that we (he and his girlfriend) could work it out, including you and no one told me about it. And today, when she left me, here I am, standing with a huge pain in the gut, because no one could speak their mind to me. I don’t want you to end up feeling this way”…
Only a person, who has fallen down and through no fault of his own, finds himself being surrounded by this inexplicable pain, can understand what it feels like to be hurt by the person you love. It struck me then, in the middle of the movie, that, we give so much of importance to friends and despite that importance, we often put them in the boundaries. Sometimes, those boundaries are drawn by us and sometimes, those are just the boundaries they are comfortable to work around with. And then it hit me, that she did what everyone confronted with the point, “your love is not good enough for you”. She felt sorry for her friend and went on, anyway, to meet her boy friend, only to find out that her friend was right all along. I was thinking, this is exactly the way everyone behaves, when confronted with the reality that the person they love is not really worth the love or the wait or the tears! And when the reality sinks in, finally, one needs to do an open heart surgery, if only with a heart-shaped cardboard box and a baseball bat!!!!

The movie had its moments – but it left me laughing, most of the time, with its wit and humour and above all, with its classic lines, that keep one rolling off the seat! But, it conveyed the point too – love does not always come in the most convenient of packages. If one wants it in their lives, they need to earn it and respect it and above all, accept it for what it is, without restriction. And when in love, you need to make a world with that love – else, you will find yourself watching the layers of it being stripped away and you being left alone. After all, love is the centre of one’s deepest happiness and grief. But, then, love is a fairy tale – mostly fitting the classic beginning, the difficult middle and the happy ending… if one dares the pain – the fairytales often come true. So, the happiness follows the grief, after all.

And, as a fitting ending note - here is Taylor Swift's fairytale love... Loved this song - as the scroll went by:

Today was a fairytale
You were the prince
I used to be a damsel in distress
You took me by the hand and you picked me up at six
Today was a fairytale

Today was a fairytale

Today was a fairytale
I wore a dress
You wore a dark grey t-shirt
You told me I was pretty when I looked like a mess
Today was a fairytale
Time slows down whenever you're around

But can you feel this magic in the air?
It must have been the way you kissed me
Fell in love when I saw you standing there
It must have been the way
Today was a fairytale
It must have been the way
Today was a fairytale

Today was a fairytale
You've got a smile that takes me to another planet
Every move you make everything you say is right
Today was a fairytale
Today was a fairytale
All that I can say is it's getting so much clearer
Nothing made sense until the time I saw your face
Today was a fairytale

Time slows down whenever you're around
Yeah yeah

But can you feel this magic in the air?
It must have been the way you kissed me
Fell in love when I saw you standing there
It must have been the way
Today was a fairytale
It must have been the way
Today was a fairytale

Time slows down whenever you're around
I can feel my heart
It's beating in my chest
Did you feel it?
I can't put this down

But can you feel this magic in the air?
It must have been the way you kissed me
Fell in love when I saw you standing there
It must have been the way
But can you feel this magic in the air?
It must have been the way you kissed me
Fell in love when I saw you standing there
It must have been the way
Today was a fairytale
It must have been the way
Today was a fairytale

The beginning

2010-02-13T09:40:00.000-08:00

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 this certainly is not something she wants to think about, at this moment. She was picking a few books, when her aunt walked into the room and exclaimed, "What do you need the books for?!!!"
She could hardly compose her expression from stark irritation to plain indifference, when she said, "I need the books. I cannot be without them for a couple of weeks."
Her aunt responded, "You are going on a honey moon, to have some private time with your husband, to get to know him. Perhaps he might not like it that you are spending time with books."
"I have a life time to get to know the person and even then, I am sure I would hardly understand him. And I am sure I would get a couple of hours a day to spend with my books", she countered. "And besides, books keep me sane", she continued.
"Fine, then pick a couple of books and no more", her aunt stared at her, making that pronouncement.

Meghana let out a sigh and took four books. Two in her hand bag, one in her hand and other in her baggage. Her flight is set to leave the next morning at nine and it was already eleven. She needs to catch her shut eye, though she doubted she could sleep.

The uproar in the house was close to that of a festival, with people from both the families trying to get to know each other, telling out family stories from their medieval times. She closed her baggage and locked it. They were going to Kerala and he specifically asked to pack a couple of jeans and couple of capris. She smiled at the memory of his hesitant way of asking if she had any! God, did he think she was the girl-next-door type? He should have asked if she had any ethnic wear that hesitantly. Boy, would he be in a shock! Perhaps, he should have asked and then, he would have gone into a shock and then, the trip could be postponed and she would be with her parents, she thought. Gah! What a dumb idea! This trip was his planning and she would get to see how efficient he is and she is already looking forward to see his taste. Very subtly, she hoped to see his romantic side as well.

"Oh!!!", she exclaimed. She suddenly remembered that she has not packed her laptop. Just when she was about to push that into the bag, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in", she said, working her way to putting that laptop in her bag and thinking that she will have to remove a few things and re-pack her baggage.
The door opened quietly and a voice said, "hi".
She turned very slowly, folding her hands behind and managed to greet him.
"I was wondering if you are alright and ready for tomorrow", he said. His tone is very soothing most of the times, she thought.
"Just about done, I need to re-pack, my laptop is not fitting in", she said.
"Laptop? Why would you want a laptop?", he asked, frowning.

She wondered if they are leaving the civilized world and entering some barbaric times to not need a laptop, but responded, "You know, just in case, to browse or watch movies or ...", she left the sentence hanging.
"We will have TV with cable connection, that would give us enough channels and I am pretty sure they have a DVD player to watch movies. Besides, there is no net in that place," he said.
She looked at him as though he pronounced her death sentence.

"I ... we ... we work twenty-four-seven with those laptops. I thought, it would be a good break to not have them with us", he stammered, bemused at her expression.

"Oh... that is alright. On the bright side, I don't have to re-pack", she said, in a subdued tone. She desperately wanted to ask, if she could get books or if he planned some activities that would pack the day and night of their stay, but held back.

"I have loads of DVDs. Perhaps you can look around the collection and select a few...", he trailed off looking at her expression and then added, almost pleadingly, "may be, you can tell me your preference and I can pick a few?"
"I trust your choice", was all she said.

He looked at her a minute longer and when she just stared back, he broke into a warm smile and said, "Goodnight, Mrs.Varma. Sleep tight. We will start at six in the morning."

That was the first time she realized that she is a "Mrs". That would take some time to get her head around and she fought the panic that started creeping into her and smiled pleasantly and said, "Goodnight, Mr.Varma. I shall be ready by six."

He left the room with a smile on his face, closing the door behind him. She had no idea what her words did to him. Hearing her say, "Mr.Varma", albeit as a jab, did arouse the pride in him. He is married and to the person he wanted to get married to.

She lay restless, thinking about the next day. She could hear voices outside and tried to think of them as a lullaby, putting her to sleep. She could not. She lay there, looking at the ceiling, counting the seconds in her mind. She inhaled and exhaled, concentrating on an even breath. She gave up the pretense of comfort and just sat on the bed, leaning against the headrest. As the clock ticked, she wondered if he was asleep. “Mrs. Varma”, she mused. She closed her eyes and let her mind drift. She woke with a start at the knock on the door and she saw her aunt walking in.
“Get up, you need to get ready”, she said. Meghana groaned, it was like a minute ago that she closed her eyes. She got up and got ready.

The knock on the door at six sharp and the voice that said, “Maggie, are you ready?”, made her quiver. He is punctual or perhaps, he too did not sleep. As he said earlier, he too shared the same worries. She walked out of her room, with the suitcase and he took it from her hands, ignoring her protests.
He staggered a bit and said, “I hope you did not pack a laptop and a TV in here”, he winked. She gave him a discomfited smile, when he lifted the suitcase as though it weighed nothing and walked further, amidst the delighted cousins and her aunt’s reply, “Only books, tons and tons of books” reaching her ears. He turned around and gave her a look that she could not quite fathom and did not even intend to. She stood a step behind him, waiting for him to lead. His cousins picked up the suitcases and took them outside, while other cousins stopped in front, blocking his way, hands outstretched. He gave an exasperated sigh and mumbled, “I am going to be bankrupt soon” and gave them a few bucks.

Meghana stood there, looking amused by all that was happening, when the small crowd zeroed in on her. She gave them a flabbergasted look and stood there, not knowing what to do.
“Go ahead, give them a ten, that should keep them off you”, he said. She looked at the notes in their hands and they had a bundle of hundreds in them. She did not have that kind of money at this moment, but, she did not want to back down. She looked at the youngest of the lot, the sweet little kid, kneeled next to her and gave her a kiss on her cheek and promised that she would get all of them something from their trip. But, for now, she took out a couple of five hundred notes and put them in their hands. The lot did not move. She stood there, helpless and looked at him. He let out a theatrical sigh and walked back to her and placed his hands around her shoulders and said, “Stop troubling my wife. We are on a schedule.”
The oldest of the lot, twelve year old Karthik, responded, “that is precisely why we are blocking. You either give us what we want or kiss your trip good-bye”, he said, threatening.
Abhinav looked as though he would strangle him and asked, “What exactly do you want?”
“Either she could give you a kiss or give me a kiss”, he responded, with a crooked smile, shocking Meghana.
She looked at him and she looked at Abhinav. Abhinav looked like he was about to explode into laughter and Karthik looked like he would just about roll on the floor. He winked at Abhinav and she was sure he was in this game. She stood her ground, while the little mob stood their ground and her husband gave up being composed and started laughing. After a couple of minutes, he started pushing her forward, but the little crowd held their place. Meghana cowered into her husband and let out a small sigh. She turned into his arms and looked at his eyes and gave him a light kiss on his cheeks. His eyes were as wide as saucers. When she stood next to him, he looked at her in shock and the claps and little murmurs around them left her blushing from head to toe. He recovered fast and hugged her closer and started walking towards the car. The car ride was quiet with polite conversation.

They got down at the airport and collected their boarding pass and started towards their gate. As they entered the security check, he saw the contents in her bag and gave a look of pure amusement. She could feel the blush coming on, but fought it and collected her bag and walked past the security guard and into the gate. They were seated in the flight, she took the window seat and he took the aisle. As soon as she settled, she did not wait for the stewardess instructions. She buckled her seat belt and flipped open the novel she brought with her. She did not stop to think if it was impertinent, this sort of behavior. All she could think of was her nerves and her thudding heart, that threatened to get out of her, any moment now. She desperately needed to get hold of her sanity.

Abhinav looked at her through the corner of his eyes. He waited till the take-off and made himself more comfortable, relaxing his seat to fall back at an angle where he could observe his wife. His lips twitching in the corner, he looked at the book. Some chick-lit by an author not known to him. He read a lot of books, but most of them were non-fiction and sometimes, purely business. Not that he had any aversion towards the fiction, just that there was never a need to indulge in fantasies and fiction, anchored by someone else's thoughts. But, looks like, he just found a reason, if only to have conversations with his wife that revolved not just about daily chores, but about something that would keep her interested in the conversation. Perhaps, she read serious fiction too, may be crime. He looked at her face. He could see her eyes moving through the page. The set of her mouth, the non-blinking of the eyes. He recognized that look, the state of mind, where one is engrossed in something and forgot the world around them. He saw her twitch her lips to form a smile – perhaps a joke. She flipped the page and already held the other page in her hand. He is familiar with that too, the anticipation of something significant that you want to breeze through the pages and find out what is going on. A signal to the mind to not wander, because, she wants to know what is happening and fast too. He saw her eyes rest on a page, her eyes blinking at a steady pace. She was thinking, perhaps something in the book triggered a thought. She let out a sigh and looked at the page bottom, perhaps noting down the page number and leaned back. Perhaps, she is absorbing the words and thinking about them. He wanted to ask, to know what made her think, but, he kept quiet. There would be a time to talk about those, he thought. He heard the stewardess approach with drinks.
“Juice, sir?”, she said.
“Apple juice, please”, he said.
“Ma’m?”
“Can I have a glass of water? Chilled?”, she said.
He maneuvered his seat to sit upright and looked at her.
“What is the book about?”, he asked, conversationally.
“It’s about a lot of things, but the theme is about a girl trying to find her place in the world. The author’s style is witty, funny yet thought provoking. The kind where you laugh, but then, there is something inside you that picks up the undertone and starts thinking, how would it be, if things were different. It’s quite interesting”, she said.
“Ok. So, you read a lot of books”, he said. A statement, rather than a question.
She smiled. He was falling for her again. The polite smile, when something was obvious, something that you do when you don’t want to call the other person a moron. He got that. He laughed. When she looked at him questioningly, he said, “Nothing. Just, to see that smile, I don’t mind making myself a moron.”
She narrowed her eyes and took a sip of water, wondering how in the world he figured that out!

She gulped down the remaining water and opened the book. He took that as a cue to be quiet. So, he leaned back in his seat and took his job of observing her very seriously. He could see that she is not into it, as much as she was before. Her focus is not there. He smiled, knowing that his focus on her is making her nervous. He closed his eyes and wondered how long it would take for her, to look at him. He was sure he could feel her eyes on him, just as she felt his eyes on her. Sure enough, she turned after a good five minutes and looked at him. He waited a few moments and knowing that she was still looking at him, he opened his eyes and caught her. She held his gaze for a moment before she turned her look away, flustered. Though he wanted to tease her, he held back his voice and just returned to willing her to look at him. This two hour flight journey is turning out to be entertaining, each trying to assess the other one. But, being the elder and more experienced, he is having an upper hand, so far. But, then, being young and smart, she might just outsmart him, if it is just words, he thought. He recollected the morning’s incident and thought, may be, she already won the first round of who is bold enough to express themselves in front of everyone. Man, that was a shocker! His wife made a statement with that act. “I am a little hellion. You better watch out”, it seemed to say. And while he was lost in that challenge, the announcement that they were about to land was made. He sat upright and fastened his seat belt. Smile playing on his lips, he was already looking forward to their time together. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed that she sat quietly, book closed and looking out of the window. The flight came to a halt and it coursed through the runway, promising a breezy ride for the next few days – the pace, the leisure, the luxury and the comfort.

... to be continued...

A fraction of the whole -Steve Toltz

2010-01-19T09:40:00.000-08:00

Hilarious, insightful, philosophical, perspective, the novel left me with a mixture of feelings. I could not keep the book down, but more importantly, I could not stop thinking. The background process ticked off the moment the lives of the Dean family unfolded and did not stop till I read the last word. This is a sort of book, one can pick and read any page and stop to think – and perhaps continue that line of thought for eternity. The characters of the dean family are vividly portrayed for their differences, but, what stood out mostly is the narration of the tale from different view points, giving more or less the shared animosity towards the collective living of the society. To think that this is the first novel by the author, it is unbelievable!!! It had about 700 pages and it is filled with wit, humor and a challenge to everyone who opens it – the challenge to put this down unfinished!

The initial narration starts with Jasper Dean, the son, who speaks about his father Martin Dean and about the others involved in shaping Martin to be the person he is. The story takes place in Australia for majority of the part, but, if one thinks we could get a taste of what is Australia like, hell no. The book is solely about the perceptions of Martin Dean and how his thoughts or ideas shaped his future and there by his notions and there by influencing his son’s future. The father who tried to teach his son about the values in life, giving contradictory advices most of the time, fails in his life and becomes the father his son loves to hate. Never once forming the bond, with his eccentricities (I have to call them eccentricity, if only because of my limited vocabulary), Martin Dean drives his son from mingling in the society to a person who is abrasive and filled with condescension against the very society.

The story begins with Jasper writing this from a jail, albeit for not having anything better to do. That is a strange, but, then, as the novel progresses, it does not seem to be a surprise any more. I laid my hands on this one – wondering what is this intriguing title – “A fraction of the whole” and wondered, what exactly is in it? I opened it and this is how it starts:
“You never hear of a sportsman losing his sense of smell in a tragic accident and for good reason; in order for the universe to teach excruciating lessons that are unable to apply in later life, the sportsman must lose his legs, the philosopher his mind, the painter his eyes, the musician his ears, the chef his tongue.” And that did it. I picked it up. Most of the time, though, I was laughing out loud because of the way it is written, but then, there is nothing to laugh about, when you feel sympathetic most of the time to the characters. The sublime style captivated me, and it took me sometime to get out of the characters mind.

The novel drifts to the life of Martin Dean, Jasper’s father, from Martin’s perspective and that too in vivid detail. It left me feeling sorry for Martin most of the time, as he was driven mostly from one hopeless branch to another. From the condescending eyes of his father, to awaiting death due to childhood sickness, to being in coma, to being ridiculed, to being idolized by his little brother, to being the cause of shattering the dreams of his little brother because of the unforeseen turn of events, to being poisoned by a crazed mother, to finding a semblance of love in his father’s eyes when everything is lost and finally, seeing his entire family dead, again – due to his lack of foresight, to an undying love with Caroline Potts and finally to his journey to Paris where he eventually becomes the father of Jasper Dean. It might sound too simple, but it is not. It is much more complex, because Martin questions every notion along the way. His thoughts sounded so far fetched, it left me rolling most of the time. C’mon, he actually suggests that, the little criminal gang that his brother is part of, requires a mentor who could train them and guide them in the right direction and that is how they need to learn the tricks of the trade they chose to live in – from the person IN the trade. And that just left me flummoxed for a few minutes, before I took a deep breath and pursued him more! And more it was, when he actually runs around the Sydney to get the handbook for criminals (titled: Handbook for Crime) published!!! And the titles in that book are something like this: Manslaughter:Oops!, (loved this), Crimes Of passion: hot headed murder.

Terry, his little brother, was like a kid possessed, with his passion about sports and more importantly, he was a kid for whom nothing was impossible. He was loved by the Australia, until the coerced fight left him in no shape to play further, which led him into the world of crime, though as a pay off to the bullies of the school, for leaving his brother alone. It takes us into the mind of Terry as well, though it is said from Martin’s perspective. On an impulse, Martin gets too creative for his own good when he decides to put up a suggestion box in the town. Little did he foresee the repercussions that would be unleashed, to self and towards his family!

Then the novel comes back to the perspective of Jasper, who was taught by his father, about life, in general. These are quite interesting to me, particularly because, the little anecdotes felt like they were written exclusively for this book!!! From the confusing advices to little gestures of warmth to almost ridiculous idea of paying a visit to an empty box in a cemetery, just because the kid has a right to mourn his mother in an appropriate setting, (LOL) this book is a joy ride with a subtle sympathy aligned to ALL the characters. Despising his father becomes very easy in the end, but, what can one say, blood is thicker than water and hence the bonds of the family last stronger through the tough times and hence Jasper could not desert his father for long, when his “make every one in Australia a millionaire” scheme turns out to be a fraud, making the almost overnight most-loving man in Australia to “the hated” man in Australia? And that too, because the outrageous almost successful scheme was backstabbed by his most-trusted friend Eddie, who turns out to be a farce that would be revealed later?

Each character in the novel turns out to be so different from what they initially came out as! Amouk, another significant character in the novel, who perceives the ideas of Martin Dean quite seriously, if only to save him from his depressed haste to meet his end! Man, that was one superb set of events, the persuasion of the richest man in Australia to heed his ear to Martin to help realize one of his crazed ideas! I thought that the author was fond of love triangles, if there is a semblance of love portrayed in the novel, if not for just hormones and opportunities, to put it palpably!

It is hilariously philosophic, outlandishly assertive – having everything – crime, love, hate, passion, friendship, kinship, affection, plots, twists, ironic tales. This is a sort of novel that one cannot put down, but that which does not leave the conscience for sometime to come!

Bitter Sweet

2010-01-17T10:30:00.000-08:00

Watched too many films like - Athadu, Bommarillu, What happens in Vegas, Mohobattein and warped in the world of love... Need that. Sometimes, even the melodramas offer a bit of sanity...

There are so many thrills in the initial drama of love. No wonder it is the most coveted topic and the most sought out emotion. When the love touches one’s heart, the curiosity of knowing the other person, just wraps them up in a shell that is indestructible and impenetrable from the outside world. The lovers form a world of their own, each seeking the beauty of the other, through their eyes and learning how to see the world from their collective perspective. Like a gift wrapped in colored papers, each new discovery gives a jolt of electricity through the veins, with the blood gushing through the nervous system, teaching emotions and feelings that existed in mutiny until then. The world seems colourful, hopeful and above all, there is this happiness that revolves, encouraging one to surpass the realms of their imagination, to embrace, to express, to defend, to claim their most sought out companion, their alter ego.

The tittle-tattle, the seamless banter that lasts hours, the midnight whispers on the phone, the hour meet in the cafe, the occasional movie, the gifts and the sweet nothings – well, the days pass, before one realizes the passed time and there, suddenly, the world seems different and the little buds of love soon blossoms into a flower, showcasing its beauty and perhaps, its life span - blooming before it fades into oblivion, just like the lifespan of the flower. Alas, while the flower is completely blossomed, it is worth every second of its majestic beauty, despite the impending unspeakable. And, for that blossom, many a heart throbs, awaiting the buds and sometimes the blossom.

As it progresses through the days of life, love, crowns the prince, making him the knight of the princess, who dreams her world around her hero. Her hero, who stands tall, winning the battles that come their way, protecting his princess from any and every obstacle down the path. Is this not what the romantic authors bring on to the unsuspecting minds, the gorgeous hunk, the beautiful world of love, the endless patience and versatility of the hero and the forever dependent heroine? And how far can this be from the reality of life? No blame on the authors out there and no nipping the bud, but, how very far from the truth can we get? Love, though coveted, like the most sought-out over-priced jewel, is the most dangerous of potions that alter mind and heart, never leaving the consumer in the same shape. It itself does not exist in one single form to succeed in lasting through the deformities of a human mind, no wonder the test of time beats it more often than not! Yes, yes, there is always an exception, but why can’t it be the other way that time is the one that loses its battle to love, that love stands tall through the test of times and fills the time with memories, bitter sweet? One has to wonder!!!

It's Raining!!!

2010-01-12T22:59:00.001-08:00

I absolutely love the weather at this moment. It is cold, it is windy and more importantly, its raining. I cannot quite understand why I ever cursed school, back then. I sit here in the office, wondering, what shackles hold me to my seat when my heart wants to leap out of this chair and get drenched in the rain. What difference is it from when I sat in the school, listening to the drone in the class, while my heart counted the rain droplets, to that of sitting at the desk and listening to the rain drops out here? I can only think of one, I was afraid I would get a cane if I stare out of the window and here I sit, staring out, though I do not fear the cane, I cannot quite understand why I cannot jump out of my seat and dance, “Its raining!”.

It is a torrent and as the gentle cadence of the raindrops reaches my ears, I write this post and that is the ONLY thing that binds me to this desk. Well, that and the thing that I cannot afford a leave at the beginning of a year. Why, oh, why cannot we have flexible timings? Why cannot we just get out of office when we want to and come back later! I want to get drenched in that down pour… I want to taste those droplets, ah, so divine and I want to feel the droplets on my face, as I welcome them and embrace them. Standing there, rain water dripping through my clothes, eyes closed in an attempt to savour that feeling of life in me, wow, that is close to ecstasy and nothing would beat it. It is not like I want to get wet ALL the time. But, today, there is this craving that I need to walk out and surrender myself to the mercy of the nature. There is this yearning for it. I hope it lasts for the rest of the day at least; I can see it out of the window and feel happy.

Groan!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Before I could even let my imagination soar any higher than it already it, the rain stopped!!! Such a teaser man!!!!

Letter from the grave

2010-01-11T11:10:00.001-08:00

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.

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Anne walked in the middle of their dinner and said, “Dad, I need some cash. I plan to go to a trip along with my friends.”
“No”, he said.
“I need it Dad, I promised I would be there”, she whined.
“We cannot afford it Anne”, he replied.

He could see her temper flaring and he knew any moment now that the words would flip out.

“You are just incapable of taking care of a family. You just do not have the spine to fulfil the needs of the family”, she shouted.
He kept quiet and continued having his dinner.
Anne was getting all the more frustrated and she finally bellowed, “I need the money.”
He concentrated on eating his dinner, ignoring her.

Mia was about to say something, but Anne just cut her short, saying, “Oh, dad is doing every thing honey, do not talk to him like that…”, she mimicked her mom to perfection.
“Mom, please. He cannot fulfil his daughter’s wish, what sort of a father is he?” she whined.

Mia had a tough time controlling her anger. Despite knowing that her daughter needs therapy, it is not easy for her to accept someone pointing at her husband. She just cannot stand to hear a word against him.
After a few minutes of silence, Anne started again, “Dad, I need the money now. I don’t care what you have to do for it. I just need it”, she said.
And that is when he had enough and all hell broke loose.
“Do not take that tone with me Anne, I do not have patience for your tantrums,” he warned his thirteen year old daughter. His six year old son, Peter was standing in the corner of the room, hovering behind his mom and looking wide eyed at the exchange.
“Honey”, he heard his wife’s reasonable tone and looked at her and said, “We cannot afford it Mia. If we could, you know I would never say no, right?”
“Let me talk to her honey, I am sure we will sort it out. You are scaring Peter here,” she said quietly.
“Anne, go to your room and we will talk”, she pleaded.
“I hate this family. I hate it. I just cannot stand a moment in this house and I am getting out”, Anne roared and started moving down the stairs.

Mia moved in front of her, blocking her way, “We are going to talk Anne. You need to understand”, she said, folding her arms over her chest, a clear defensive stance and a warning that she is not to push too far.
“I do not want to talk”, Anne said stubbornly and tried walking past her mom. But she could not. Her temper out of control, she shoved her mom aside and took the stairs two at a time. Mia was down at the force of the shove and her father, barely in control of himself slid down the stairs and grabbed her hand and pushed her into the kitchen and locked her in there.
“When you are ready to talk, just knock and I will open the door”, he said quietly. He walked upstairs and sat down beside his wife who was crying quietly.

“What can we do?” his wife wailed.
“If you do not open this door this second, dad, I am going to kill myself”, he heard his daughter’s threat.
“And I am going to write a note to the police that you were responsible for my suicide”, her threat continued.

Anne had some issues reining her anger in and her irrational demands were just getting out of control and so was her temper. They were considering therapy, but, Mia was apprehensive about the institutions and worried that they may not treat her well. The truth is that there is no hope and Anne was suffering from a neurological disorder that was detected when it was very advanced. The treatment can only delay the inevitable. So, it was exceptionally hard for Mia to let her go, even if it was for the duration of the treatment, knowing that these were the last moments that they could spend together as a family. Though the hospital staff was friendly, the atmosphere was very depressing, with the howls and the angst of the people there.

Mia was sobbing uncontrollably.

“Shh.. honey,” he said to her.

“I think it is already late, but we need to admit her in the hospital”, he said to his wife.

He went downstairs and said, “Anne, do you want to come out?” and waited a couple of minutes before opening the door. He found his daughter sitting quietly near the sink with a hysterical expression on her face. He approached her cautiously and sat down next to her. He enclosed her hand and tried pulling her closer and suddenly bolted to reach the carton lying next to her. He quickly checked the sign of her heart, the faint thud of her heart beat was enough to give him some strength to call the ambulance.

“Mia, Mia… get down this minute”, he shouted frantically.

His wife was at the door and she looked at Anne and at him and the truth dawned on her face. She had a resigned expression as she walked towards Anne and sat next to her. Then she began slapping her in the earnest, tears sliding down her eyes and her hands mechanically slapping her hard and fast.

"Mia?? Mia?? Honey… ", his voice was touching the extremity of agony and he was at a loss for words. The pain that is cutting through his heart, at this moment, was like a thousand girders falling over his head. He looked at his wife and tried to hug her close, but she pushed him away and he let her be.

“You will not talk to your father like that. You will apologise to him right now”, she was saying.

He could hear the sirens and rushed to the door. The paramedics took one look at the scene and took Anne to the hospital. Mia was given a tablet to fight her shock. He was a man in agony. His family, his bedrock is shattered and his son was crying out loudly. He was hopeless, helpless and in pain. After an agonizing thirty minutes of frenzied action, the doctor walked out of the emergency room with a sombre expression, which said everything that should be said.

“She committed suicide drinking a pesticide, though, it would not have killed her if she was not already suffering from a neurological disorder. In plain words, the strain and the pressure along with the pesticide just took her blood pressure to a high and she had some difficultly breathing. The control to her brain snapped shut and she had a stroke of paralysis and heart failure. I am sorry”, said the doctor.

He took a deep breath. His world was crashing down on him, the agony of a loss brought the composed man to his knees and he was clueless as to what to do. His wife, his bedrock, his personal saviour, his companion…

“My wife? How is she?”
“She will be fine in a couple of hours,” the doctors assured him.
He nodded. He was preparing for this, but the reality is much harder to bear than the imagined depression. He was worried for his wife, who has had a tough time accepting the inevitable and he wondered, if she could cope with the reality that came faster than they imagined and in a way that was different than they imagined.

When she finally came through, she was completely devastated, “I am sorry honey, I let it get out of control. I never realized it would come this far. I did not see this coming. When we went to those wards to find out about this, I just could not take the sadness of all those people out there and I was not willing to leave our daughter like that. But I did not see this, it is my fault”, his wife wailed into his chest. He had no words of comfort and he had no strength in him to even find a voice that would help him get through the formalities involved. His son, sat next to him and held his mother’s hand. He hugged them closer and held them to his chest, while trying to calm himself down.

After the funeral of Anne, he walked to her room and started going through her things. So many things, he did not know about her or assumed he knew about her. The teenage little hellion, did not allow them into her room. He stepped into the room and looked around. There were a couple of posters on the wall, facing the head rest side of the bed – the posters of their family. The first one, was the picture of her newly born brother, taken in the hospital, with her, her mom and her little brother. He took that snap in the hospital. The second one was that of him, holding her on his shoulders, when she was three. A single tear slid down his eyes as he looked at those snaps. The room was completely bare and the drapes closed, with a post-it on the drapes, that read, “Do not open”. He sat at her desk and opened the drawer. One by one, he laid the items on the table. There was a chocolate box, his gift to her on her eleventh birthday. He opened the box, to find a pen, a key chain, a photo of her and her friends, an eraser, a pencil and a post-it set. There was a diary – that had smilies on it. He opened it and shifted through the pages, looking at her beautiful writing.

“HOPE – the ONLY beacon of life” – was written on the first page. He flipped through the pages, reading through her words. They were mostly about her school. Anne never spoke much about school, but, in her diary she wrote a lot about it. She wrote a lot about her teachers and her class mates. He flipped through the pages and all of a sudden, the diary was blank – nothing more. He flipped through the remaining pages and nothing was written. He closed the diary and on an impulse, he flipped through to the last page in the diary, checking the cover.

“BLANK – that is how I feel, right now. To know that I would not survive my teenage and to know that I would kill my parents by dying, I am just feeling numb. I wish I can do something to ease their pain. I hope they would find the courage to let go of me and I hope, I will have the courage to let go of them. I love them so much. I hadn’t even had the chance to boss around my little brother, yet!!!”

He re-read those lines again and again and finally closed the diary and laid his head on the desk. As tears rolled down his cheeks, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Mia walked quietly into the room, or perhaps, he was just lost into some world that he did not hear her. She stood next to him and took the diary from his hands and flipped through the pages of the diary. She quietly placed it back on the table and looked at the other items. There was a small box, that Peter picked for her on the Raksha Bandhan. Peter was four then and was the most naughtiest kid. She recollected that day, when she went to the shopping mall to pick the Rakhi, when Peter picked this small jewellery box from the table infront of him and started playing with it. On an impulse, she decided, this might as well be the first gift Peter shall give Anne. She opened that box and saw a small chain – the second gift on the second Raksha Bandhan, when Peter was five. It also had a small drawing he drew, with his little fingers, that made little sense, but, just looking at it made Mia ache for her daughter. How much love did Anne hold in her heart, for her brother and she did not even have a chance to spend time with him, at least until her puberty? Mia let the tears slide down her cheeks unabashedly. She sat down on the bed and took the pillow case and held it close to her. When she felt something, she slid her hand into the pillow cover and retrieved an envelope.

“If you found this, then I am already dead and I sincerely hope that this is found by my parents and that they are coping with my early departure, just as I am coping with their absence. I assume there is hell or heaven or a third world, where we go – the dead people and I am sure, I would miss my parents and brother there. But, there is little I can do about it. So, if you are not my parent, could you please pass this on to them? This is my letter to them, from my grave…

Dear Mom and Dad, and my dearest Peter,

Please forgive me for my behaviour over the last few months. I have been difficult to handle, but it scared me that I will leave you all so soon. I am not fully aware of how it would be, to not ever see you again, but I know that, I would miss you all. Will you remember me? The clock keeps ticking and every second brings me closer to my end. The countless tears that Mom wept and the countless hugs Dad gave her, shows how much I am loved. Peter, though young, looks at me as though he knows that something terrible is about to befall me. I kept wondering, Why me, but I never got any answer.

Dad, despite ALL the words I threw at you, you are the greatest Dad, who ever walked on this earth. You are the kindest, patient and most loving Dad and if I ever will be born again, I wish to be your daughter and wish to live till I have the chance to take care of you and reciprocate ALL the warmth you blessed me with. I love you.

Mom, you are a personal saviour. Many a time, you saved me from the wrath of Dad, especially when I got myself into a lot of trouble at school, by not doing the homework or scoring good marks. Only your soothing voice ever gave me the strength to show the report to Dad for asking the sign. I know that you stood behind the curtain, while I hovered near his study, waiting to be slapped and I know you would rush through that curtain, if Dad would ever have to raise his voice and ask me to come closer. But, as it happened, Dad never said anything. He must love me a lot to accept those grades or he values his life a lot, knowing you were standing outside that curtain, ready to explode at the slightest possibility of his frown. I love you too, for everything you ever did and for everything you are.

Peter, dear brother, if you ever read this letter, then you must be ALL grown up and know enough about me and our family. I only wish to tell you that, I love you and I used to lull you to sleep many a time. I treasured every single gift you ever gave me. I wish, I could atleast survive another six years, if only to see my little brother stand up for my defence against my X-boyfriends. Ha, that is not the case. Do you already have a girl friend? Just between you and me, brother and sister? Don’t worry, I won't tell mom or dad, we will work out our understanding. I wish, I could stand beside you, through your first broken heart or through the first heart you broke, but, I am not. All these are mere wishes. Will you please remember that I love you very much?

- Anne”

She read through the letter for what seemed to be the hundredth time, as the misery shook her very essence.

How many secrets has Anne buried in her heart? How much love did she hold for them? What else did she felt like conveying, before abruptly ending her life? She frantically turned the room upside down, in an attempt to find something, anything, even a piece of paper with a word on it, like a treasure hunt. Treasure hunt articulated by her daughter from the grave.

He looked at his wife and started reading the letter. He read that letter a few times and he too joined the search, turning the room upside down. Finally, he opened the drapes that had the post-it on them, which opened to a window that overlooked their garden. There stood the swinging porch, Anne’s favourite porch. He felt that she was sitting there, waiting for them to embrace her. He looked down from the window and felt a ripple of peace overcome him. Mia walked to stand next to him and they both looked at the swinging porch, thinking of all the things that were left unsaid. Whatever was said, though, filled their heart with heaviness, yet left them strangely at peace with themselves, knowing that their daughter knew that they loved her very much.

Death, though inevitable is unsettling, especially if one is young and hadn't yet started dreaming. But, as it happens, sometimes, life’s battles are lost and there is nothing anyone can do about it.

.....

2010-01-02T23:54:00.001-08:00

Seeing the one who loves you, weep for you, is one of the most crucifying thing you will ever have to undergo. Especially if that one has a shock that only a mother in the world can endure, the loss of a child, and is barely recovering with the hopes pined on you and you eventually break the news in a tone harsher than it was supposed to come out and the words were tad second late for you to realize you can never take back, you would rather die than go through that humiliation and all for what? For sacrificing your dream and that of everyone round you, doubting if it ever was worth it. And when the fault is partly yours and eventually completely yours, for you chose to walk that path, for you trusted that ONE to do the right thing, shattering the hopes of the people you love, for at some point you realize, you are willing to walk down even the slimiest part of the slum you are walking because the one you chose is walking in that path, because that is the ONLY feasible option left, you pay a price – guilt. The overbearing amount of it, something you will wear on your sleeve forever. Not your love, not your husband (wife), not your kids – no one can ever ease that pain. And you are never whole again and never complete. And that is how you die. Even the happiness of seeing your love smile their way and even seeing your kids wrap their little fingers round your hands, can never once make you forget the knife stab you made to the very spine that created you. Never.

Sometimes all you can do is run. But what if that is not an option, but a tragedy? Tragedy that befalls those who chose that path? In what conceivable universe can you explain the concept of committing an act of treason as an act of love? In what conceivable way can one explain the concept of ditching the people who stood for you all the way, because your eyes are so warped around the little universe you created that did not exist in reality? Not in this universe and not in any universe with sane people. Not in a zillion years. But then, that is how life is or perhaps, that is how cold-hearted one can get. And all for a relation that one would eventually take for granted, because there is no where else one can go!! Well, news flash, what goes around, comes around, that is just the way life is. However helpless you are, you are only limited by your hindrances and once you decide to shatter them, nothing is left, not even the bits of those manacles that hold you or your heart. It just takes a second, to turn and claw your way back to life, than living the life of dead, hoping in despair about non-existent knights. And the clincher is that, you don’t even feel loved anymore!

Last Man Standing - David Baldacci

2010-01-02T11:04:00.001-08:00

“I defy you to begin this book and leave it unfinished” – Sunday Express…

Well, I got to say, that suits the book perfectly. I just could not keep the book down and believe me when I say that I have read enough action thrillers to not be surprised by the tone or the story or the action sequence. But this is my first Baldacci’s novel, an impulse buy and I was glued from the word GO. Amazingly written, giving enough rope to the details and practically painting the picture for the reader, both about the surroundings and from the perspective of the characters in that environment and to do it with such finesse is brilliant. And Baldacci has done an outstanding job with this one.

The story is about the FBI super-elite Hostage Rescue Team member, Web London. When he lost his entire team on what was supposed to be a bust operation of a drug dealer’s nest, in an alley, in what turns out to be an ambush, he just about lost everything he cared for and if there was something that he needed at that moment, was perhaps the retribution for his team, but he finds his reputation tainted and suspicions thrown at him from his own colleagues. And despite the deep loss he felt and apparently no time to regroup his thoughts, he needed to find answers. Answers to why he was the “last man standing” among his team and why he was not dead as he was supposed to be. And so begins his journey, in the due process sifting through the complex fabric of his life as a child and into a lethal world of his career and into finding the only other survivor, a ten year old boy named Kevin, who has gone missing.

The story inevitably grips the reader all the way to the last word. And more importantly, it evokes strong emotions towards all the people who do thankless jobs and never have a prayer said in their name (perhaps!) or have their memory confined to a wooden frame. And the author’s writing just about makes you wish that there would probably be a bit more to the story so that you could flip through the pages and get into the life of Web London, the protagonist of the novel and perhaps know him better, though what all was to be known about him was succinctly pointed out. He is just that sort of a character, with a little mystery associated with him and slips like a sand through fingers, never letting you get a grip! I, for one, could have used more about him!! On the other hand, there are other characters, each as strong as Web London, but well, the hype had to build around the main protagonist to cultivate the empathy!!! And I have no complaints!

Not the sort of a book you might want to pick when you are about to go to a party or on a date ;), but yeah, certainly something you want to pick, if you seem to be in a mood for some thrill and have time! Baldacci does not cut down on details and I got an impression that he likes to paint a vivid picture to the reader and build up the adrenaline, pretty much how the characters see it. You are as involved as the character and that is a significant achievement for any author. So, I got to say, hands down to David Baldacci, he has my attention and just about spiked my ante for another one of his writing.

Happy New Year 2010

2009-12-31T11:12:00.000-08:00

Silver Lining

2009-12-31T10:10:00.000-08:00

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.

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The clock ticked, changing seconds to minutes. The constant motion of the clock seems to be slower than the usual, yet she knows that it was her impatience that stretched the time and tested her endurance. As she stood tapping her foot on the pavement of the platform, she recalled the day that went back a year.

“Good luck Shashank. I would miss you”, she smiled.

The simplicity of the words spoke everything that was left unsaid. The perplexity of what would happen with time, or the unwarranted pang of insecurity that popped in her heart, had no justification. They were friends from childhood and a couple of years of distance should be a piece of cake, particularly with his voice being just a call away. But, the tremor in her voice spoke everything her heart did not want to convey despite her false bravado.

“Good luck, dear Sashi. Take care of yourself. I will miss you too. But don’t you worry. I will call you every now and then. It will be like the old times”, he smiled, his face reassuring.

If he noticed the tremor, he did not acknowledge it. But, that did not matter. This was Shashank, the one person who knew her every heart beat. The silence that followed, was not to hold back the emotions they felt, but, in an acceptance that no words could truly communicate the intricacy of the underlying feeling. They held each other’s gaze and let the silence engulf them. The whistle barely reached their ears and she looked at him, frantically, willing her eyes to convey the thoughts she refused to put into words. Narrowing his eyes, he took a deep breath, his only acknowledgement that he understood her.

“I will come back. I promise…”, he said and turned and got into the train. He did not look back, yet he could feel her eyes on him. He stood near the door, looking ahead and out of the window, the familiar passages running past him. It would be very painful for her, to walk those paths that they walked, hand in hand or was it heart in heart? How did it come to this, without a word ever being spoken, the confession of the love she felt for him? He suddenly wanted to yank the chain and stop the train, to get back to her, to hold her and to assuage her pain, to acknowledge this powerful feeling they felt, to let her know, in plain words, that he felt the same, since a very long time and that, they will be together, that, this was necessary. He sighed. “Yes, it will be hard for us”, he whispered, a small smile curving his lips at the word “us”.

As the train left, the uncertainty she felt, enveloped her and though she knew that this was not a farewell, she could not help but feel the pit in her stomach. And as the tears threatened to stream down her face, she closed her eyes and took deep breaths, as though, that would calm her beseeching heart. Locked in her heart was the voice that asked too much of her, the selfish cruel voice, that demanded his attention, that sought his company, that wished, he would throw away every dream he conceived and stay with her, yet, she knew, she would never make herself say those words. She opened her eyes and noticed the empty rail track and looked beyond the sight of her eyes, as though she could look into the future. She knew that lurking there would do nothing to placate the agony she will undergo in his absence. A little comfort came in with the doubt that he would not have left, if she just said the words, but, the self pity was disturbed by a harsher conscience, “Are you sure that he would have stayed?”. She did not care. It did not matter whether he stayed or not. Not now anyway.

She took a step forward, surprised that she could walk. The emptiness in her, echoed in every step that she took forward, the hollow footsteps on the asphalt reaching her ears, but not her brain. She kept walking, with purpose, through the familiar paths they traversed many a time, in the not-too-distant past, not acknowledging the drowning feeling she felt. She walked into her house and closed the door. She slid down to the floor and curled herself into a foetal position and let the despair reach her brain. As the agony traversed through the blood vessels, reaching her brain, registering the quietness in the room that once echoed the laughter of two dear friends, her vision blurred. She realized that she was crying, the quiet sobs unnerving and heavy. She closed her eyes and blinked the tears and slept.

Days passed.

Her half hearted attempts at living a life were pathetic as was her excuse to seek pleasure in the routine that held no meaning without her companion. She never realized the command he held over her and she was glad she did not realize it when he was near, for she wasn’t sure if she could have let him go. A phone call interrupted her self imposed idiocy and her heart started beating again.

“Hello”, she said, the thud of her heart was too audible.
“Hello Sashi…”.

Its him. The shackles that held her brain were broken. A ripple of happiness lifted itself, from some corner of her heart and she was floating, in that moment. “Shashank”, she said. The happiness and relief in her voice all too clear.

“How are you?”, she heard him ask.
“Exuberant. Ecstatic”, she responded, surprised that she could bring her voice to such buoyant tone.
Why am I surprised? Of course, this moment I am happy. I am with him. He is speaking to me, she thought.

“Lovely”, she heard him say. Why did he not believe her? Of course, he would not believe. He knew her, she thought.

“Truly, apart from missing your teasing, I am really well”, she said, in a pretend bravery. He laughed, his voice trilling down the phone, filling her.

“Really? You miss my teasing? Hmmm… I miss your pouting”, he said. Her lips curved into a smile. There was a moment’s silence.

“I am in New York. You will love this place”, he said, with assured confidence.

“Why?”, she asked.

“Buildings. Beautiful and lovely”, he said.

“Oh”, she said, the longing in her voice evident.

He spoke about the buildings in minute detail, the color, the shape, the height, the surroundings, his feelings on each, knowing she cared more about that than anything else. Surprising at how easy it is to satisfy her. Just his words bring in a wave of fresh breath, he was sure of that. He was also sure that her ecstasy lasts for about the duration of this call. A wave of sadness gripped him at this thought, but he ignored that pain. He needs to be strong, for her, for them.

She heard his words with wonder and excitement. Hearing his voice, the exuberance in his tone, the detail with which he spoke of the place, it was like, she was next to him, seeing for herself and sharing those moments. Soon the call ended, bringing in a reality of her surrounding. She held the phone a while longer, letting the moment last, while she could see herself slipping down into a pit, slowly. The effort of sounding excited and happy, so that he would be happy, took a toll. A repentant sigh and a whiplash of her inner voice, she shifted in to a world she created for herself.

Months passed.

The yearning lasted. The calls lessened. Every call was an explanation of how tight his schedule was. But, nevertheless, his calls brought a smile and a rhythmic hum to her heart.

“What are you doing?”, he asked, suddenly.

“I am talking to you, silly”, she said, laughing.

“I hope you know better than that Shashi. You know what I meant”, he said, in mock severity, though the smile in his voice betrayed the subtle hint of anger. She loved the way he said her name. She let the silence drag on.

“I am still waiting”, he said, his voice serious.

“I am missing you. I am counting the days. So, perhaps, I am doing mathematical calculations?”, she said, trying to lighten the mood.

“I don’t like it”, he said, quietly.

“What? You don’t like Maths? Or you don’t like calculations? Or you don’t like me missing you?”, she asked, knowing very well that she was treading on dangerous waters. She heard a deep sigh and she knew that he was trying to control his anger at his helplessness.She could see his face, the anger in his eyes and a memory lingered onto the surface.

“I don’t like this and if I were there, you would not have liked, what would have happened, in about another minute”, he said, his voice biting. The disappointment in his voice made her ache.

“When I call the next time, I hope to hear something better than this evasiveness or have a damn good reason for your offhanded way of passing time”, he threatened, his anger surfacing.

“I will be there in another couple of months”, he said quietly, his tone implicit.

“You are coming?”, she said, her voice excited, despite the impending doom.

“Yes”, he said, a smile lingering in his voice, her enthusiasm despite his threat infectious.

“Please take care of yourself. I will be there, soon.”, his voice pleaded. She heard the hurt in his voice, the pain of his guilt.

“I will”, she assured.

“And make yourself useful”, his voice ordered. She kept down the phone, her spirit flying high.

His questions of her future and his frown on her evasiveness and his irk on her offhandedness and his anger, oh, the so lovely anger of his voice, ordering her to rein her rudders together and the pleading in his voice, to hold on and live a life, a promise of a return for a few days and a rebuke, harsh and cruel – to make herself useful. Oh, for the love of all that is holy, did he honestly think he could demand her to rein her life in, when her life is so interwoven with his breath and that he took her life away when he left her here, to follow his dreams? SIGH! How well he knew her? Just the plaintive in his disapproval was enough for her, to refocus.

A year passed.

The distant whistle brought her out of her reverie and Sashi waited. She did not know what to expect, wondering if something changed between them. She looked haggard. She aged ten years in this one year, yet the sparkle in her eyes did not dim. She recalled his words from the last phone call, “You have a lot of explaining to do.” She shuddered at the anger that rang in his voice and her spine tingled as the train halted in front of her. Her eyes were searching for a familiar figure, wondering if he was not familiar after all and then, her heart fluttered as her eyes took in the figure getting out of the compartment, his eyes locked on her. And then a thousand bells started ringing as the joy of seeing him settled in, pushing away the tingle and the shudder and the depression and her friend (…or something more…) was back again. She smiled, her smile reaching her heart and as he approached her, holding her eyes all the while, she just about collapsed with the thud of her anticipation. He stood before her, staring at her a minute longer, before he broke the eye contact to appraise her. His eyes tightening at her frail figure and a cloud of concern washed over his face, before he looked into her eyes.

“Are you alright Sashi?”, he asked.

Ah, the beauty of his voice, the concern in his tone and the way he said her name… it is the same. Nothing changed. She heaved a sigh of relief.

“I am now”, she said. She looked at him a while longer before gesturing to walk. They walked together in a companionable silence, fathomable only between two people who knew each others heartbeat. They reached her house and as he sat on the cushion chair, her world seemed right again.

Minutes passed.

She sat next to him, tongue tied, as though a spell was cast on her, while he stared at her. Finally, in the confines of the familiar walls, he reached out to take her hand in his.

“I missed you”, he said. There was heaviness in the words, as though they did not convey what he wanted to convey.

“Me too”, she said, with a light quiver in her voice, “more than you can imagine”, she added.

“Oh, I can imagine. One look at you and I know the pain I caused you through this year and to think, I would cause this pain again, for the next year or two…”, he said. The trailing off caught her attention. Year or two, what does this mean? Did he come here to convey that it might take more than a year for him to come back to her? Did he honestly think that she could endure that pain? She swallowed the lump in her throat and dared to look into his eyes.

“I want to work there, for sometime”, he said. “You do not understand the pain this would put me through, to know the yearning you feel and to know I cannot satiate it.”

He looked at the shock on her face and said, “I have loved you for a long time now. I know you realized your love for me when I left. But, I knew it a long time ago", he said. He took a deep breath and whispered, "Will you wait for me?”. His eyes, burning into her.

"Did he just echo her feelings for him? How long had he known? Why did he not enlighten her? Why did he not speak to her?", she thought

“Yes”, she whispered.

“But not like the way you lived your life the past year”, he said severely. She squirmed uncomfortably. “I want you to get a grip on yourself. I am yours, forever. Nothing will change that. With this in your heart, will you please live your life? My Sashi’s life, before she felt the need to yearn for me? Don’t get me wrong, I love that she yearns for me, but I would rather, I yearn for her. I would rather, I try and keep up with the shores she could travel. Will you?”, he asked her.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Dusk descended. Dawn awaited round the corner. They were still talking.

A new day began.

Time to travel, yet again. “Remember your promise. I love you and I will be back two years from now”, he said, as he boarded the train.

The familiar knot in her stomach left her in a pit, as the wave of his hand disappeared into the distance.

Day passed. Month passed. Year passed.
Another year...
She waited.

Another…
Her frail figure alone on the platform, she waited.

Another year passed. She waited.
Another… She waited.

The shrine she built for him, over the years, seeking the inevitable fruition....She waited, to reach the epitome of her life...

Surreal...

2009-12-26T22:25:00.000-08:00

The longing in my heart seems to redefine yearning,
to seek you, to see you, to feel you, to know that you are real.
The cadence of my fingers on your angelic face,
stroking every crease and curve, surreal, but true, you are real!

The whispered lullabies, that put me to sleep,
dreamless and content, with me in your arms,
the unspoken words of love and the spoken promises,
endearing and sparkling, Oh, why, do I wonder, if all this were true?

Perhaps, because the alluring radiance of you,
Is mystifying as it is absurd…

Stupendous performance by the Delhi duo

2009-12-24T20:07:00.001-08:00

- seals the series for India at the Eden!

OK.. So that, is how it is done! With calculated, merciless dominance. Impressed, would be too little a word and astounded would make it a dream. I saw our team, take on a moderate score and tear it apart. To say that, there was not an instance, where there was a chance that Srilanka could win, speaks everything!!! 315 runs, by far - a decent score and phew!!! It was easy! Or, it was made to look easy by the brilliant performance of Gambhir and Kohli. I am pleasantly surprised at the class displayed by Kohli. Gambhir is an established senior, but, Kohli is still finding his bearings and it was so relieving to see a talented individual make himself count.

Starting with a commendable opening bowling and finishing with such finesse, it just left me feeling fulfilled. Completely! Looking at them bat away with a calm, composed and collective way, oh man, it takes some doing to forget this match! And the bowling, was it not a refresher to see the score board not jump as multiples of 10? It was a breath of fresh air, to see Zack and Ashish perform the way they did, with the new ball! It is not often that Indian fast bowlers get their due share of respect, but this match, they looked every bit like feisty lions unleashed on the ground, hunting their prey! And the fielding was appreciable, if not laudable! It was abominable in this series and this match, it was better. But, it was batting that stood out – the planned attack just left me breathless. The running between the wickets was absolutely brilliant. The shots that left the bat of the two were superb. And I could not take the smile off my face, through out the innings.

It was such a sweet gesture by Gambhir to share his man of the match with Kohli. I thought, it would have been better to give it to Kohli, for if not for his positive play when he walked in, perhaps the runrate would have climbed a notch higher! But, more than that, because this is his maiden century on a historic ground and he is the youngster who is still making it big, it would have boosted his confidence and it would have made him happy! Perhaps! Awards are rewards for your performance and sometimes, it need not be for the best individual in the team, but for the most deserved and rare talent and Kohli deserved it and his performance, to stand out when India is still batting Sehwag, Sachin, Gambhir, Yuvi, Dhoni – would be difficult to stand out. So, let me just say that Kohli deserved the share of limelight and this is not taking away anything form Gambhirs brilliance. Just my way of seeing things!!!

Congratulations team India, superb performance.

We lead the series 3-1. it could have been 2-2 (Srilanka did brilliantly when chasing 414 and it was India vs Australia, all over again, but, let me not crib when it is team India!!)…. Wrap it up in Delhi and lets celebrate New Year together!!!

On a side note, I was quite surprised with the post-match talks of Kohli and Sehwag. Kohli, when asked if it was his dream to score a century at Eden Gardens, I was pleasantly surprised with his response – “It is a dream come true – to make a one day century for India at international level”. Man, do I read too much or is it safe to tuck this warm feeling away and let time decide what I need to do with this fuzzy feeling? And Gambhir – what humility?? There it is guys, the camaraderie, by a great cricketer in the making!

Sleepless and.....

2009-12-14T12:55:00.000-08:00

It is that difficult night, where eyes refuse to droop and thoughts whirl around in the air and the flashes of memory are painful and disturbing. It is that difficult night, where the concept of pain holds no meaning. It is inevitable and it is awaited. As it approaches, the sane mind blocks it and wakes me up, fights the sleep and effectively promises a sleepless night. The charms or the prayers, don’t often work and while the prayer that leaves the heart, whispers soothing verses, calming the mind, the sleep deprivation lasts.

Walking through the urban jungle and lost in the concrete walls, I run through the blocks, hoping for a ray of light, a promise, a hope. The moon shines brightly, but I stand alone, scared and out of breath, searching, waiting. I run again, tripping and rising, limping and bleeding and I run again. I seem to run and run, to no where in particular, in the night and through the obstacles. Is there an end to it? is there a path somewhere? Do I know where I am going? What am I running from? What haunts me through the drooping eyelids? What wakes me and makes me curse the very life I live? Why does the heart beat faster, wishing that it can break the rib cage and just find a path of its own? Why does the blood gush through the veins, running as though it is in a hurry to reach somewhere, like perhaps, out of my body? Why the eyes keep looking everywhere and no where in particular, as though they see the omnipresent? Darting around, playing hide and seek with me? Why is that, the calming breaths I take, leave me gasping for more? Questions that are incessant and perhaps have no answers. Sometimes, questions are a lot better. The unknown keeps you safe and relaxed.

A Bridge across forever - Richard Bach

2009-12-12T11:00:00.000-08:00

I have to say, Richard Bach is a poet who writes in prose! Whether the concept of soul mates exists or not, is not something of a debate for me, for even after reading such a splendid book, I dare to believe that it can only be possible in fairy tales. Somewhere someone might or might not be there, but the values projected in this book, though bordering to be tad bit philosophical, challenges one to really look into the core and bring that inner voice out and see where it takes you. The novel left me in want of more though. I cannot help but feel that the ending of it was too abrupt or perhaps, that is just me!

As the story unravels, I felt that it was Richard Bach in the evolving, through the help of Leslie Parrish. What started as a friendship, through the lengthy chess games, and interesting conversations and the yearning to spend quality time with each other, slowly evolves into something much more than kinship. Though Richard envisages his soul mate as someone who is a mirage of him, slowly realizes that Leslie Parrish is a wonderful person, the sort of person for whom he waited his entire life for. But, Richard Bach, has his share of problems in lowering his defenses and surrendering his ideologies and letting the relation grow into something more substantial than just friendship. And the book depicts the struggle of Bach to overcome his selfishness and to give himself to this wonderful person. Leslie Parish comes out as an infallible person, who slowly nurtures Richard into choosing the path that is enormously difficult to him, the path called commitment. And of course, after that, it is about the journey the two together embark upon, pushing past the known limits.

The letter she wrote to Richard, when like all men, he too wasn’t ready for the long term commitment, was simply fabulous. Here is an excerpt from that letter:

“We have both had a vision of something wonderful that awaits us. Yet we cannot get there from here. I am faced with a solid wall of defenses and you have the need to build more and still more. I long for the richness and fullness of further development, and you will search for ways to avoid it as long as we're together. Both of us are frustrated; you unable to go back, I unable to go forward, in a constant state of struggle, with clouds and dark shadows over the limited time you allow us.
To feel your constant resistance to me, to the growth of this something wonderful, as if I and it were something horrible—to experience the various forms the resistance takes, some of them cruel—often causes me pain on one level or another.”
“Away and apart or together and apart, it is too unhappy. I am watching me become a creature who cries a lot, a creature who even must cry a lot, for it almost seems that pity is necessary before kindness is possible. And I know I have not come this far in life to become pitiful.”
“Richard, my precious friend, this is said softly, even ten¬derly and lovingly. And the soft tones do not camouflage an underlying anger: they are real. There are no accusa¬tions, no blames or faults. I am simply trying to under¬stand, and to stop the pain. I am stating what I have been forced to accept; that you and I are never going to have a development, much less the glorious climactic expression of a relationship grown to full blossom.
I have felt if anything in my life deserved departure from previously established patterns, going beyond all known limitations, this relationship did. I suppose I might be justified in feeling humiliated about the lengths to which I have gone to make it work. Instead, I feel proud of my¬self and glad to know I recognized the rare and lovely opportunity we had while we had it, and gave all I could, in the purest and highest sense, to preserve it.”

Those are few sentences I loved in that letter.

Any relation requires compromise, but to compromise to the level where the very essence of you is lost, is unnecessary hindrance to one’s growth. No relation, however special it is, requires one to buckle over the knees. And the discussion that follows this letter shows that Richard has acknowledged the special person she is and is willing to give this relation a try. And the book evolves to show how they stay together through the tough times and learn to grow on each other, how they build intimacy and finally about how they bring in a sense of completeness. The novel brings in a ray of hope to everyone who reads it. It gives wings to those hidden thoughts, the thoughts buried deep inside chester drawers, whose keys are lost in the moment’s fury; those thoughts that are buried deep within, on those sleepless nights with a promise to never put oneself through the humiliation of unrealistic dreams of true love! And Richard Bach does weave magic with the words and it is all the more special, because, for once, it is not a knight in shining armour rescuing a princess, but a princess saving the life of a struggling knight.

Though it is ironic that the couple are no longer married or lawfully wedded, it just makes the biography all the more real and not a fairy tale. Love, surpasses many boundaries and a wedlock is just a gesture to stake a claim, perhaps!!! But, what is more important is that they experienced love and they experienced the joy of living together and growing on each others strength. Isn’t that what love is all about? To help outgrow one’s own self, through the inspiration of your partner? Richard and Leslie Parrish, show the same, in their journey across that bridge, with a promise that they would grow together.

"We're the bridge across forever, arching above the sea, adventuring for our pleasure, living mysteries for the fun of it, choosing disasters triumphs challenges impossible odds, testing ourselves over and again, learning love and love and love!"

The book is worth the time and the effort :)

India are on top of the world!

2009-12-05T22:23:00.000-08:00

Team India with the Jaypee Cup, Mumbai, India vs Srilanka, 2009

I am inspired. I am euphoric. I am brilliantly happy. India is the best in the world test cricket and that is no small achievement. The journey started under the realm of Sourav, cannot quite forget the team that started believing in themselves and moved forward. And now, under an unassuming captain, Mahendra Singh Dhoni, the dream is fulfilled. “We need to maintain it.” I cannot even think of the number of years I have yearned to see our team beat the best of the best and stand top of the world. When I started watching cricket, 1996 World cup against Pakistan in Bangalore, where I learnt about cricket overnight, I have to say, I had lesser dreams of the team, but when I saw India in England in the 1999 tour, that is when I started believing in something more than just cricket. That is when cricket ceased being “just cricket” and became an inspiration to me. Every run scored and every wicket taken and every run saved, all seem to teach me more. But, truly, the faith restored by the “Team India”, after the unspeakable “match-fixing” scandal and to rise above all that to stand where they are today, is an outstanding achievement. Congratulations!!!

The lone light shining brightly, fell for a beauty of a delivery in the morning and it was a matter of time, for the innings victory and boy, did it come, or what? Indian team has out performed in every department to stand atop Srilanka and the world too!!! Sehwag, what a cricketer? The magic he weaves on his spectators can only be undone by him. The poise with which he plays, shuts out every other non-technicality and just fills the brain with the breathtaking strokes that leave one gasping for more. The support he got from his batting partners, first from Murali and then from Rahul, of course, was fantastic. Not to take away the contributions or Sachin, Yuvi, Dhoni, Laxman. If they are the layers of the cake, Sehwag is the icing. Zaheer, man, it feels so good to see his bowling! Just the run up to the crease, fills me with a tremendous amount of pride. To see an Indian bowler, charge into the batsman and the sweet music of the ball hitting the deck hard, can anything beat that? Not even Sachin’s straight drive!

Today, we stand as a proud nation and I feel so glad to witness this history (two back to back pieces in the history – 100th test win and world number one) and pray, I will witness our journey in holding onto this slot in future. But, whatever future unfolds, today is “the present” and it is brilliant and I want to savour this moment, for as long as I can savour it. The turn, the catch, the shout and the “hip-hip-hooray”, are ingrained in my mind and it will take some doing to forget this happy moment. Thank you Guys, for the inspiration. I love my team.
Congratulations Team India!!!!!

Miracles happen in life...

2009-11-30T09:55:00.000-08:00

... just need to know what that miracle is, to realize that it did happen or pray for it to happen!!!

Deep inside the enchanted forest lies magic, the magic of miracles. That is where knights find their princesses! Deep inside the magical forest, lies an enchanted tree whose branches reach the sky and in the cloud that hovers above this tree, lies a land that changes every day (Enid Blyton ofcourse!!). And then, there are wanderers roaming these forests, some find love, some find bravery, but one who survives the charm finds a warrior… If life is like an enchanted forest, each day charming its way through the lives of knights, princesses, dreamers, wanderers, warriors alive in us, who would I want to be?

Tough question! I want to be a princess, enthralled by an alluring knight. I want to be a wanderer, exploring the path, being absorbed into the captivities it holds, as it unravels. I want to be a warrior, unafraid and strong. But, truly, am I not a dreamer, in that I wish to be a princess or a warrior? Honestly, I am a dreamer. I love to dream and I love to dream big. Every day I wake up, I need to feel that gush to my head, that I am something – not by definition of my predecessors or by a last name, but as “me”. And I dream about it, every day. Of course, I dream of an Edward (I know that it is impossible to find an Edward, for I am no Bella! Please checkout the Twilight series, if any one is confused – they are the new Romeo-Juliet, without the tragedy!), I dream of a cosy house, of a challenge surrounding my day ahead. I dream of a warrior strong enough to deal with the challenges and emerge a winner. But, dreams aren’t enough, to be a princess or a warrior.

At the close of the dusk lies a dawn, yet at the close of every year, there is a foreboding inside me. I want to shoot like an arrow, yet, I am afraid I am losing focus. Or perhaps, I have not found my focus, yet. Too many questions clogging my mind and here I sit, wondering about the choices of life and the paths I chose. I do not regret the paths I travelled, yet I want to take a complete U-turn and start afresh. The very core of my strength is suffocating me and I want to cleanse the entire slate and make a meaningful beginning. Nothing can turn the time back, not even an earnest prayer. Wish I had a time-turner!!! (Harry Potter, here I ask of you too!!!), but alas, life is no fantasy – it is real! And lost time is “experience”. How true, experience is a word that the old use to cover their mistakes! A piece of wisdom that came through experience again!!!

Yet, there is that tiny corner of hope for miracles in life. That this foreboding will warm up to something truly magnificent and the enchantments will turn to endearments! The demons that unveil in the dark will wash away in the flicker of hope that shines through me. And the will in me won’t snap in two, for the darkest hour lies just before the dawn. The U-turn might not change back the time and perhaps, I need to go obtuse, think out of the box and do something all together different for the miracle to happen. But, what is that miracle? Damned, if I know!!!

Missing You...

2009-11-22T00:49:00.001-08:00

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.

------------------------------------------------------

My Dearest,

How would I begin with, when I know that the very reason for this letter is the cause of my distress? I miss you terribly. And nothing can be done about it. Last night, it was our anniversary. You called me and we spoke for sometime, but for some reason the emptiness of the house (I can’t call it home, when you aren’t around!) got into me.

Do you miss me too? Perhaps you do, else you would not call me every day! What do you miss the most? Me or being around with me? As I fondly reminisced my favourite moments with you, I fell asleep on the couch with a smile on my face and woke up with an ache in my neck :D. I know, I cannot take care of myself! Well, I ask, one tiny thing that is to take care of me. Is that so wrong? Of course not! And if you aren’t around, there is no one to take care of me. Can’t help if I am sick, can I? Another thing to consider among the million things that are to be considered, when you plan on going alone, to some place without me.

It rained in the morning. Now you know what would happen, right? Though I can sense your anger across the miles, you really should NOT be angry with me. Too bad, you cannot do something about it. Well… you got to understand that I did not plan on it. I dressed up for the weather – that is, with the rain coat and got out for a walk. Well, I could have said, grocery, at least, I am being truthful, cut me some slack when you call tomorrow! The cool air and the drizzle called my name, I could not resist, so I opened my rain coat and got wet in the drizzle, that slowly turned into a torrent and I loved it. I know, I know, one cough or sneeze and I am in for it, but, for now, I am well, so hold on to your horses! Do you remember that time, when you caught me getting wet in the rain? I was running fever and barely recovered. Just to be on the safe side, I took the day off, but asked you to go to the office. It was raining that day and I could not resist the urge to get out and I did go out. I got drenched and the torrent from my clothes matched the rain outside. I walked into the house through the back door so as to not puddle the living room. You were in the kitchen, sipping coffee. I knew I am in for it. I did not even try looking at your face, afraid that it would be contorted with anger. I stood there, waiting and shivering. I know that the shiver was not because of the cold, for sure. You did not say a word, just helped me out of my wet clothes and pushed me into the hot shower. While I stood there, you joined me and lathered me with the shampoo… I still did not speak and neither did you. After a good ten minute shower, you switched off the tap and wrapped a huge towel, one, around me and other around you. We got out of the shower and you dried my wet hair, not uttering a single word through the five minute ordeal and then took out a few warm clothes and helped me get into them. Even now, you would not talk.

While you dressed, I mumbled an apology, which you conveniently ignored and headed down stairs, leaving me standing in the bedroom. I could not help but feel like a kid who is being punished. The guilt of having you worried was just unbearable. I could have joined you downstairs, but I could not face you and some how, I did not think that would be appreciated. So I waited around, not moving an inch, not daring to make a sound, when all I want to do was cuddle up in your arms and cry. After a good twenty minutes, you came up with a cup of hot chocolate and a sandwich and kept it on the bed. You sat on the bed and beckoned me towards you. I sat beside you and you gave me the hot chocolate. I looked into your eyes and apologized. You just looked at me.
“Not one word out of you, until I am ready to talk. Is that clear?”, is what you said.
My eyes filled up with tears. Normally, that would suffice to get into your embrace, but not that day. You did not even try and wipe my tears away. Just pushed my hand holding the cup to my mouth. I drank it, slowly, wondering how long it would be, before you would talk. After about half of the cup was done, you pushed the sandwich towards me. I did not want to eat it, so pushed it away. You slapped my hand and brought the sandwich closer to my mouth and glared at me, daring me to say a no. I do not push your buttons often and I did not dare to do it then. Your voice, just your controlled voice is sufficient to make my spine tingle. And I have never seen you so angry in the three years of our marriage and the couple of years before that, when we dated. I ate half of it and leaned to take the hot chocolate. You let me have a sip, before pushing it aside and feeding me the sandwich. After a horrendous twenty minute of food, you lifted me off the bed and took me to the couch downstairs and placed me on the couch. Wrapped a blanket around me and joined me after a good ten minute and just held me. My head was on your chest and I could hear the controlled breathing while you wrapped your arms around me and held me close. I did not dare to move either. Your hands moved to my face, which was warm… I could hear you sigh and you turned me towards you and looked me in the eyes. I could not hold your gaze. You lifted my chin up until I saw you and kissed me on the forehead.

“What am I going to do with you? What were thinking? And now the fever is back. Do you like worrying me?”
I did not answer.
“Answer me”, you said.
“No, I do not like worrying you.”
“what were you thinking when you walked out of the house?”
“I had to, I love the rain.”
“You could wait until you were better. I never stopped you from getting wet.”
“But I was bored sitting in the house!”, I pouted.
You talked as though I am your little kid, tried reasoning and the guilt that held me was overwhelming.

“Once more and I would not be this quiet”, was all you said and hugged me. I know that things are alright now, but just to test the waters, I had to be sure.
“What would you do?”, I asked, with a tiny smile on my face and a glint in my eye.
“That, you would better not find out”, you said, with a sloppy smile and kissed me.

Well, now, I have done it and I can’t find out, what you would do! I hate a mystery. Perhaps, I shall try it when you are here again. what say?

With this impish thought, I got up and sneezed my way through the day. Did I hear a grunt? Well, you need to come down here first… :P. Just let me know before you start, so that I can book a ticket to Bahamas or Arctic ;).

Little memories, even the not so good ones, light a heart, right? If I am not around to put you on your toes, you would be bored. I hope you are glad that the little imp (as you call it) is in me, to keep your day happy and mysterious. Else, you would be bored! Once in a while, you need to remind me if you are glad that you have me in your life or no! Been a long time…

Waiting for your call... as much as I dread it, I still have to hear your voice and know that you are OK...

~With love,
Your Imp

A moment frozen forever

2009-11-13T02:54:00.003-08:00

Why are certain days, a pinnacle of celebration? Despite the trying times and unspoken eons – certain things stick in life. Providence? May be not. They are there, for they mean something…

Sometimes your cold shoulder feels like lead in my heart,
Yet, I know, I can’t be far from you…
Not, when you breathe and live,
Your breath a whisper in the air that only I can hear…

Years may count for nothing,
When everything falls apart,
Yet, there was a time,
When “we” were a world in ourselves…

Are we still there?
Days bygone, magic melted,
Smiles frozen, heart gone cold,
So, where do we stand?

I woke with a smile today. Don’t know why and I look at the date, as I realize, wow, today is special! A moment frozen forever in the casket of my memory.

Atonement - Ian McEwan

2009-10-25T08:52:00.000-07:00

Atonement – true to its meaning, is about the atonement of the protagonist Briony Tallis. It splendidly portrays the perceptions of a thirteen year old child and the subsequent consequences of her preconceived notions and the aftermath that changes her life and the life of her sister Cecilia’s and the life of her sister's beloved, Robbie Turner’s.

The novel starts of with Briony’s attempt to write a play, Trials of Arabella, for her brother Leon, whom she adores. The characters in the play would be played by her cousins – Lola, and her twin brothers - Jackson and Pierrot. So absorbed was she in her play, that she failed the basic courtesy of enquiring if any of her cousins were tired of the long journey they had to make. But as the rehearsals take shape, she has a sinking feeling about the play, as her cousins enact the characters lifelessly. To let lose her frustration, she chooses to stay alone in her room.

Cecilia, just completed her college in Cambridge and is trying to think about her future. She walks out into the garden holding a vase filled with flowers, to fill it with water, where she notices her childhood friend, Robbie Turner, gardening. She loiters a little longer, wondering how to proceed further towards the fountain. For some unfathomable reason, she was often awkward in his presence. Though they studied in the same college, they hardly had any communication and whatever little communication they had, it was filled with discomfited moments. Robbie, too, could not quite understand why he was tongue tied in front of her. In an attempt to make a conversation, Cecilia speaks first. In the follow up that leads to a strange intensity of tension between them, Robbie offers to fill in the vase with water, for which she refuses. When Robbie, true to his male ego, tries to take the vase from her hand, Cecilia, holds to it in an attempt to ward him off and in the pointless struggle that follows, the vase is broken, part of which falls into the fountain. Cecilia, saying that he was an idiot, strips in front of him to retrieve the broken vase. Robbie, stunned by her actions, gapes at her. After she retrieves the vase and puts on her clothes, the ridiculousness of the situation hits her, and she runs back to the house, embarrassed. Robbie looks at the water, touching it, trying to steady his heart beat and looking to check if there are any more pieces of the vase left in the fountain. Unknown to them both, Briony, who watches this incident is stunned to see her sister stand half naked. The situation from her bedroom window, looks like Robbie was threatening Cecilia, and as the scene unfolds, it makes little sense to her.

On his way back to his home, Robbie meets Leon and his friend Paul Marshall. Leon, invites him home for dinner. When Cecilia knows about this, she is irritated, but for reasons she could not quite comprehend. Robbie, on the other hand, though worried about the irritation of Cecilia, could not quite say a “no” to the invitation. In the comfort of his home, as he was thinking about the incident that unfolded near the fountain, he started to compose a letter to her, to apologize for his behavior.

While going for the dinner, with his letter in hand, he notices Briony in the field and calls out to her. He asks if she minds delivering a letter to Cecilia personally. Briony takes the letter and runs back home, and locking the door behind her, opens it and is aghast at the words! Robbie on the other hand, realizes that the letter he composed to Cecilia, the formal note of apology, was still on his desk and that the improper words, those that should never have left his fantasy, were in the letter he handed to Briony. He unsuccessfully calls out for her and realizes that it was too late!

Briony, though gives the letter to Cecilia, is shocked and in tears and in desperate need of counsel and she speaks her mind to Lola, who happens to say that Robbie is a maniac. The thirteen year old kid in Briony takes that word too seriously and is determined to save her sister. Cecilia, after reading the letter, though, clearly understands her feelings towards Robbie.

When the door bell rings, she answers and finds Robbie, who is embarrassed and who apologizes for the inappropriateness of the letter.

"The anticipation and dread he felt at seeing her was also a kind of sensual pleasure, and surrounding it, like an embrace, was a general elation - it might hurt, it was horribly inconvenient, no good might come of it, but he had found out for himself what it was to be in love, and it thrilled him."

Cecilia draws him into the library, where she confronts her feelings for him and they make out in the library, against the book racks. The transformation she feels in her and in him, somehow, changes the dynamics between them and she realizes, then, that something beautiful has happened and it changed the way they perceived each other!

"Nothing as singular or as important had happened since the day of his birth. She returned his gaze, struck by the sense of her own transformation, and overwhelmed by the beauty in a face which a lifetime's habit had taught her to ignore. She whispered his name with the deliberation of a child trying out the distinct sounds. When he replied with her name, it sounded like a new word - the syllables remained the same, the meaning was different. Finally he spoke the three simple words that no amount of bad art or bad faith can ever quite cheapen. She repeated them, with exactly the same emphasis on the second word, as if she had been the one to say them first. He had no religious belief, but it was impossible not to think of an invisible presence or witness in the room, and that these words spoken aloud were like signatures on an unseen contract."

Briony, walks into the library, hearing the noise and afraid for her sister thinking that Robbie is physically abusing her and is shocked to notice them in that state.

In the dinner that follows, with the obvious tension between him and Cecilia, and Briony’s clear hatred (mutual hatred, I dare say :D) for him, he sits uncomfortably, thinking about eloping with his sweetheart after dinner. During dinner, the twins, unhappy about their stay and confinement, run away from the house. While the entire family starts searching for them, Leon and Cecilia as a pair, Robbie and Briony set out on their paths, alone, to find the twins. Briony, suddenly notices her cousin Lola, strangled by a man and is shocked to notice them. Lola, was in no position to say who it was, Briony on the other hand, convinces herself that the person was Robbie. In the events that lead to the investigation, she gives her witness that she saw Robbie holding Lola down and as a further proof of Robbie’s perverseness, hands the letter he wrote to Cecilia to the investigators.

Not knowing the drama that unfolded, Robbie returns with the twins and is immediately arrested for abusing Lola. Cecilia is the only one, who trusts him and says that she would wait for him and what happened between them was their little secret.

Thus, the perception of Briony changes the life of her sister. And in the events that follow, one is left wondering, if only, Briony could have understood the love or, if only, the events unfolded as they should have, but, alas, they did happen in a certain sequence and the melodrama that follows, touches the reader. And as Briony, completely grasps the meaning of what she had done, on that fateful day, that changed the lives of three people, she asks for atonement from her sister, a good eight years later.

The novel has beautiful passages, splendidly written, which reach out to the reader and perhaps, the following statement from an adult Briony, serves for an apt conclusion to this post:
"Every secret of the body was rendered up -- bone risen through flesh, sacrilegious glimpses of an intestine or an optic nerve. From this new and intimate perspective, she learned a simple, obvious thing she had always known, and everyone knew: that a person is, among all else, a material thing, easily torn, not easily mended."

… certain things can never be mended and however sincere an apology is, there can never be a complete retribution and above all, time that is lost can never come back, nor can the dreams of the young man, who aspired to do medicine and who is confined to the army, not with dignity and honour attributed to a soldier, but with a choice between jail and army.

Ian McEwan does a fantastic job with his characters and the prose just brings to life, even the dullest of routines. The novel is rich in its prose and the command of the author is not lost on the reader. It paints a world and draws the characters to perfection and the reader, is there, in the novel, witnessing the events as they unfold. The beauty of a novel is in portraying the magnitude of the place and environment to the reader’s eyes and though it is largely left to the reader to imagine the surrounding, Ian McEwan simplifies the process of imagination by bringing in vivid details that cling to the reader and portrays a picture as he perceives it to be! Not an easy task!!!

Lovely book, easy to read and very touchy!! Not easy to put down, once one starts it and absolutely irresistible.

The Other Boleyn Girl - Philippa Gregory

2009-10-24T00:54:00.001-07:00

Even as the days pass by, the beauty of the history is that it never tires one… This novel is a brilliant effort to bring in a piece of history without any lullabies in between. I can only imagine the effort it must have taken, to put in a novel of this magnitude, in one piece, considering the astounding amount of information that is available, with fewer facts. But, leaving aside the history, the novel takes us back to the 16th century English court, to the times when men ruled (not that they do NOT have a say now!) both in the house and outside (:D), where marriage is about family connections and way to move forward, where mistresses are common, especially if the person is wealthy and the love between siblings is certainly a little more closer for comfort… and more importantly, it is about the “Boleyn Girl” (Anne) who is ambitious in that she wants to be the “Queen of England” and how the family supports her ambition and revels in her success and leaves her alone when everything shatters round her, told from another Boleyn girl’s (Mary) perspective. The novel, though a rendition of history, has everything to make it a story that is captivating. It has – passion, rivalry, love, ambition, greed, scandal, incest, murder, lies and a little more. I am not sure if all the incidents did happen, or if this novel is a historical fiction, but I would say this much – the novel is a page turner, either you are reading it or thinking about it, it is as simple as that!

The author has done a splendid job in bringing out the contrasts in the characters and the vivid details of the societal imbalances. And the prose is beautiful, to keep one going till the end.

Mary Boleyn, was fourteen when she first came to the kings court as a lady in waiting, in an attempt to draw king’s attention away from Catherine, the queen of England, who fails give the king, a male heir. In a more complex scheme, devised by her uncle and supported by the Boleyn family, Mary is merely a pawn and they will stop at nothing, to reach the heights of fame, fortune and glory. Anne is brought into the court along with Mary, to entrance the king and keep his eyes on Mary. George, their brother, will stop at nothing, to ensure that his sisters are in the eyes of the king at all times. When the king and Mary elope and Mary is carrying his child, he showers her with gifts and a rare passion, but, Anne has a mind of her own and draws the king to her, through her flirtations and charms and teases him and pleases him at the same time, manipulating him by the click of her fingers, yet deliberately making him yearn for her. The wicked mind games of Anne eventually force Mary out of king’s way. Though Mary does love the king, she understands that she merely is a pawn in the bigger scheme of the things and that, her role in the court as a king’s mistress ended as the king is now interested only in Anne. Mary gives birth to a boy, yet, fails to please the king any longer, hence failing in the main plan. And, Anne, has everything to play for, now that the king is dancing to her tune and that is exactly what she does. She plays a hard game that eats her away from the inside, yet, she never stops, that is the power of ambition, that she moves forward and upward, but in the nights, in the confines of her room, seeks the comfort of the solitude or her sister or brother, to hold the king to her.

The story progresses to show how Anne raises and how, despite her success, she is unhappy. On the other side, it shows the contentment in Mary, when she finds a husband in William Stafford, who is willing to stand for her and father her children, along with her. Though she has no riches of the court, she is happy to be a farmer’s wife, though, not for once, forgetting that she is a Boleyn and that the family priorities will always come first. And when it did come to stand up for her family, her husband stands by her and supports her.

When Anne is carrying the king's child in her womb, Mary is called to the court to be the lady in waiting for Anne. When Anne gives birth to a girl named Elizabeth, the king is displeased. And the other children that Anne carries are still born. And there comes the full circle, with king losing interest in Anne and moving out with another mistress, Lady Seymour. With her dream threatening to be shattered, Anne is carrying again and is on the verge of losing everything. But when she gives birth to a monster – still born, she loses everything, including her family. In the scandal that follows, she is tried and charged for incest and sorcery and murder and is found guilty on all charges and is beheaded. George, who helps her in every step of her way, is charged with adultery and for assisting Anne in sorcery against the king and is found guilty.

Thus, the fall of Anne Boleyn. But she did leave an heir, not a male heir, but a beautiful girl, Elizabeth, who went on to rule England and start the Elizabethan era!!!

(Hmpf! Even men wiser than me, fail to realize that the hand that rocks the cradle, rules the world :D)

Leaving the facts or the fiction of the tale, I loved the way the novel progressed. With over 500 pages, it should have had a few boring passages, but there were none. It is an easy read, captivating and irresistible. The grace with which the novel progressed is in every word as rich as its theme. Giving a taste of the earlier generation and the emotions of people and families, the whiplash does last long and does move a person! Despite all the soup that is not easily digested, it is worth picking up and sure is worth the time too!!!

Who’s that Girl? – Alexandra Potter

2009-10-18T02:42:00.001-07:00

Splendid! This book is insightful, funny and definitely an indulgence.

It is about Charlotte Merryweather, owner of a successful PR agency. She runs on a tight schedule and hardly has a minute to spare. At thirty two, she has everything- a steady boyfriend, a luxury house, a car and a successful enterprise. On her way to office, one day, she suddenly notices someone driving a familiar car, her old car, when she was twenty one and as she proceeds to look at the driver, she shocks herself when she sees a reflection of herself, ten years younger. She proceeds to follow her and to her dismay notices that the girl stays in her apartment, the apartment she stayed in, when she was twenty one. She was wearing the same dress, driving the same car and living in the same apartment. At a chance meeting she realizes with some fascination that her name is Charlotte! Too much of a coincidence? Well, hell, yes. And before I realize, I was caught in this web of fantastic write up that takes the story from one twenty year old girl, full of life, to thirty year old successful entrepreneur and back, with many insightful points to remember, and certainly many incidents to reflect.

Charlotte feels that this is some sort of a second chance for her life and is determined to make certain changes in her life, so as to not let certain incidents happen. With this thought, she sets out to change the twenty one year old girl and help her not do certain things, that, as she got older, realized she should not have done. But, as it turns out, she realizes that those mistakes were what made her stronger and wiser. But she also realized that, at this age, with more wisdom under her hat, she does not have answers for everything. Perhaps, she needs to address few issues in her life first. And as this realization hits home, there certainly are few surprises for her…

“Who’s that girl?” is certainly a life every woman would want to live, but more importantly, it also points out many things that could slide down, when one stops realizing their dreams and starts compromising. Mistakes can happen and mistakes make one stronger. But, when one forgets that they need to realize their dreams, there comes a point when one will have to do a little retrospection and stay silent when the inevitable question of “happiness” comes out. This is a chick-lit for sure, but I can assure that this book is for everyone. It holds a mirror to one’s life and forces one to reflect their paths chosen.

I could not keep down the book, it is a page turner, with its ease of writing and it certainly is entertaining!!!

Questions and questions!!!

2009-10-14T01:09:00.001-07:00

I have been thinking…
What is progress? Who defines this progress? Why should one progress? Why do we need goals? Why do we need accolades? Why do we need career graphs? Why do we need personal milestones? Why do we need a vision?

Statistics and History, both say that “WINNERS” had vision, goals and made progress to achieve their personal milestones and the accolades were showered on them for their progress. But who are winners? Are they the people who are claimed winners by the society? Are they the people who are in the history books, whose stories I had to study during school? Or are they those, who I stumbled upon in the library to quench my thirst of reading books? Then, what about the numerous others who succeeded but did not lay a claim to the big apple of fame and what about all those who fought valiantly in the face of defeat and still stood their ground, even though they fought for a lost cause? Who decides who a winner is? Just because few had a chance to showcase their name in the history books, does not mean that they alone are winners and just because there is a common belief that, they who have fame and power are successful, does not mean they are successful.

Is it not “we” who give a voice to the society? Is it not “us” who speak the majority of opinion? But, then, if every one follows a group blindly, because it is the common ground, who is leading that pack? Is this why we do not have leaders any more? If everyone is happy to lead a life of a second hander, eventually bullying the people with the awareness of these second-handers into treason, what is the society coming to? Being aware and forced to act on would be an excuse, but how can one face this faceless hypocrisy? How can one fight this formless inhumanity? When the society frowns upon the use of profanity in PUBLIC and sheds a tear for a blast or a tornado or a hurricane, why then, that collective society cannot join hands to bring in a sense of integrity to their thoughts? Like a pack of herd, we move through the roads of the jungle, not once stopping to think, if that is really what one wants. We progress, without actually knowing why we want to progress. We set a goal, but why do we set that goal? What is sense of achievement? What is pride in oneself all about?

On the other hand, society is basically the common group we live in, which changes from place to place and day to day and hence, their common beliefs change from moment to moment, at whim. When that “society” itself does not have integrity in terms of thought or voice, why should one care a damn about this society, eventually chipping off the little integrity that one holds? If this society is supposed to be discarded, then, why are near ones dear? Are they not part of that society, whose thoughts are influenced by what people think and say? Then, if the society should not be cared for, should one not care for all those who mean something to them? Perhaps this is an exception! But that exception can also be a compromise. But, how can one hide behind this compromise, always, for the foolishness of their decisions or choices? Or how can one make an excuse of compromise or be martyr when it makes little sense? Who are these people who take a piece of you with every step you take, just because they lay a claim that they are near?

I think, all boils down to the fact that, there is no middle way to live life. If one wants to compromise, whatever be the reason, they slip into the charade of living life by the demands of the people round them and they are not living their life. So, why should one live such a life? If they do not compromise, the aloofness would be treated as indifference, which would mean that these people SHOULD be changed, as they are not the ideal people to live with. One can accept sympathy, compromise and sacrifice, but one cannot accept individuality, independence, both in terms of thought and expression and one can certainly not accept integrity!!! That is the sad truth!!! The half baked ideas of independence or individuality hold no meaning to all these people and as the vigor for life slowly chips away, their job is done! But, then, if one chooses to be walking martyr for the pressure of the words or circumstances, he is held as an error for the people who want him to do otherwise and he is a victim to his own thought, neither getting peace nor solace through the people who care for him or love him. He gets sympathy, which is assumed to be love.

Either I am a cynic or have completely lost it!

But again, history and the statistics both prove that people who are considered successful are those who dared to look within themselves and trusted their inner voice to point a path and traversed that path without care or damn about this "success" concept. The very people who were condemned for the path they chose, as they went against the tide, will now be the societal icons (if they succeed) and the people who condemned them, walk around them and call themselves followers! The memory is short for the people around and just as failure is a cardinal sin, success gives an overnight fame and with fame comes the power to control the very aspect that gives this fame. (Fame is nothing but the name coined by this society we live in, right?). That is the irony! So, should one follow their path or take the highway and risk their life? Or, should one bow down and be run over by the pack and tag along, with absolutely no claim to life? How should one live? How CAN one live?

Can someone please answer??

Farewell...

2009-10-11T09:46:00.000-07:00

I opened a closed chamber today,
To confront the demons I held in that,
I know, it IS time…

I traversed this path many a time,
I know the end and as the dusk approaches,
I have a journey to make, a longer journey,
Into the depths of the night and into the shadows of the past,
Off to the delusions of the world that is mine and mine alone…
A knife in plain view, the end, painless and swift…

The fork in the road and the paths detached,
The forlorn thoughts and the myriad tears,
Together we traverse, yet alone in our paths,
Into the depths and into the cataclysms,
I hear you no more,
Not in the rhythm of my heart, Not in the need of my breath,
I am there for you, no more,
Not in the curves of your body at the dusk, Not in the lyrical hum of your heart in the morning…

Alone and breathing, two hearts as one,
Farewell, dear one, my heart in yours, forever more to keep or throw,
I journey alone, through the Gates of Mordor…
The first step I take, seals my fate…
North, West, South are the nature’s obstacles,
Tide or fortune, one cannot face…
Journey north-west dear one, at least you can fight the enemy with face,
I leave you to your fate, bliss or sorrow, yours to make,
None mine, never it was… foolish was I, to think other wise!!!
Just make sure, you journey quiet and walk straight,
I won’t hear you no more,
I won’t see you no more…
This time, I walk alone…

Incomplete thoughts

2009-10-11T09:07:00.001-07:00

Things that keep us aloof, keep me alive,
Things that keep me alive, keep me alone.
Should I forgo the aloofness or the loneliness?
Which is more dear and which is more near?

Goodbye, dear Uncle!!!

2009-09-28T11:31:00.000-07:00

There is a sense of impending doom hanging around as a life balances thinly in the clutches of despair. In these situations, even a tiny hope might help a person retain the faith in the almighty, but I have a reason to challenge his games today! Clutching to the last straw of hope, I ask of him to help us retain the trust in him, at least my trust in him. Somehow, couple of years have been trying and I cannot stand another let down from his side at all. “Life stops for no one and when it does, nothing else matters”, was posted as a comment on my post recently, by a very dear friend. And how true could she get!!! I do not open my heart and wail that this cannot be happening to me, but I do wail, sometimes openly and sometimes inside for reasons unknown and it is one of those trying moments where I need to be strong for people round me, even at the behest of coming out as cold hearted. But that matters little, when things slide down a pit hole and one is in a desperate need of rope to dangle down that hole, however thin it may be and perhaps that additional minute of hope might make all the difference.

With a prayer on everyone’s lip, we silently will the tide to turn in our favour, every minute clinging onto a ray of hope that is withering. Why is it that people who want to live their life, find themselves in the midst of a tragedy, when people who want to die seem to get on with their lives with a half hearted attempt at it? No offense meant to belittle a life anywhere, yet, that seems to be a genuine fact. I do not like going to hospitals at all, for the experience leaves me all messed up and edgy most of the times, but I did one mistake because of my cowardice which I refuse to do the second time, so I went to visit my uncle and with a wavering heart, I stand in front of him, seeing his life being pumped by a machine. My heart aches to reach out and touch him, yet afraid that I might mess something up. The conflicting emotions of anger, of pain, of despair pass through me as I watch his face shake a couple of times and his eyes open to look around. In that moment’s consciousness, he looks at me and beckons me closer. I take a step closer to him and he shakes his head, asking ME, IF, I WAS OK!!! I nod, telling him that I am OK and he would be OK too. And the next moment he is asleep. I could barely control the tears as I fiercely hold them back to squeeze my aunt’s hand, who was barely in control of herself. And from that moment, everything else is covered in a mist that is thick enough to block the entire world out!!!

I wrote the above on Saturday, hoping that some miracle is on the reckoning… and here I sit, on Monday, with everything done and dusted and the lives of three families shattered, all looking above for some comfort, knowing that even HE cannot provide any. Here I sit, reminiscing the past, the toddler I was in his laps, the little girl I was, running behind him, the kid who looked through his eyes, the journeys he travelled… for, he always brought me a carefully thought out present from every tour of his, the niece I was, who sat next to him, during his marriage and the adult I was, when I took care of his kids from their innocence to puberty… and here I am, shocked beyond my wildest dreams and at a loss of words to offer comfort to the little kid who is still in the process of getting a grip of the reality. Shared ice creams, partners in caroms and shuttle – I shared quite a few moments with him and to think, I will not even see him, again is utterly devastating. There was a phase in my life, where I did push away every relation and today, despite trying to make amends for my cowardice, I keep losing these strings. Death does not really mar the memories or does not diminish the love. The bonds are forever there and I am sure he will still feel the love that aches for him, for, those bonds are not physical, they are tuned to their subconscious, which will linger on and on, as long as the memories last, even a tiny bit of memory.

An invaluable lesson, learnt the hard way – life is short, live it the way you want to live, surrounded by the people you love and who love you back, for at the end of the day, these are the people who shed a tear for you and these are the people, whose regards reach out and comfort you and give you the strength to move forward in life, when the tide is difficult to navigate, rather than wasting time being a spectacle to the people who care a damn about you. Age has nothing to do with death; young and old alike, suffer and wither. Despite the heavy day, eyes refuse to droop. And the silence that has enveloped me has nothing to do with a quiet house. The incessant voice inside me is silent and the slide show of the incidents, bring in a scene by scene play of the good times and bad and the worst. At 45, and with his first stroke, he should have made it and he should have been amongst us today, but, as it turns out, he wished his farewell when he sat in the car for going to the hospital and on this very fateful day, last week, he was operated, to never ever remain the same.

Good bye, dear uncle, journey well… if there was any way things would have been different, I would have gladly given half of my life to you, if God could only listen to my prayers!!! Whatever I want, I already have and the rest – home, marriage, family and kids – have little interest to me. But, you have so much to live for - you have two wonderful kids, who love and respect you and need you and have a beautiful wife, who would gladly cut her heart out to see you live a happy life, she truly enriched yours and fulfilled yours, by just being her and today, you stranded her in the midst of the life… how do you think you would offer her the courage to live through this trauma? All said and done, nothing matters now that the bygone is long way from being a dream, so, until we meet again, journey well and convey my apologies to grandpa… and give him my deepest respect…

I light a candle in your name today,
hoping that it will guide your way...
Past the clouds and into the mystic lands, far, far away...