Phases phrases faces

I suppose everyone always goes through phases of their life. All the time. But I think it is seldom that one can notice and observe a new phase in one's own life knowing that it is a phase. That's where I am, that's what is worth writing about for invisible internet aliens to read.

It is a most interesting phase, as phases go and it is an interesting vantage point to be observing it while being in it rather than reflecting on it from the future as is usually the case.

it's shaking things up. Not on the face of it, but inside me. Why, I wonder, do we form certain ideas, beliefs and frameworks and then stick to them as if we are them and they are us. Why do we let these ideas, rules, constructs define us so indistinguishably that we feel empty, lost or abandoned without them. And without knowing why we do this - how can we really know which of these should be immutable and which of these should be flexible and open to the winds of change.

The current me is trying to answer this in an exhilarating and possibly self destructive way. By exploring, by free falling in life. And again no, I have not left home to live with an acapella yoga troupe in Tibet. This is more like a letting lose of myself, my ideas, my relationships, my dreams. Allowing them for once to decide their own course instead of making them fit in well with the "kind of person I want to be". This obsession with being someone I can at all times be proud of, this fear of letting myself down, is something that I have lived with and by- never questioned, let alone noticed or articulated ... till recently. Then I did and I grew restless and the dichotomy I perceived within me grew. I grew tired of myself, if that is possible. It was almost like an oppressed- oppressor relationship between how I felt and how I was allowed to feel by myself. Between who I was and who I was allowed to be by myself. Every action, every emotion was being audited by me. That began to feel like an injustice to me, I had to break free. Try it some other way.

So, I am trying something very difficult for me. I am trying to just be. And to see who I am. Allow myself to walk different lives, wear different shoes, think different thoughts and find out who I really am. Before I decide who I want to be. That too shall come, in its place, in its time- but I must get the order right. Be. Then become.

And like a person let out of a dark dungeon after long solitude, I blink at first in the sun, cringe from voices and noises, feel nature with trepidation, stretch my limbs with nervous anticipation and then I breathe easy, I smile at nothing and everything, I run feeling the wind in my hair, and the grass beneath my feet., scream words of no meaning at no one in particular,let the rain drench me, let the sun dry me. I am free. I am me.

“All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost;
the old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadows shall spring;
renenwed shall be blade that was broken, the crownless again shall be king.”

< This post makes so much sense to me, I expect it to not do so to almost anyone else. I wish to be pleasantly surprised >

Garble

Just indescribable vastness,
Swimming with my thoughts,
Brewing with tangled emotions
Yelling a silent scream
Searching for something from the past
Trying to change the immutable
Racing with time to reach the future
Go anywhere, somehow, just not here
The strength isn't real, but it's there
Like an illusion captured in stone
The apple which wants to be worshipped
Like the stone which wishes to be food
Captured within, taught with strain
With hope the enemy, disguised as a friend
The darkness blinds, the silence screams
But all things change in the blink of an eye
The beauty in it is the soul that dreams

Randomly picked from my random writings, dated 21/3/2009


To no one and nothing,

In lieu of a night conversation…

I am feeling very restless, and I thought this might calm my nerves.
I hate when I get like this. So fidgety and restless - not physically of course- but in my mind. And it spirals out of control so rapidly that I feel almost helpless. Though I realize what's happening and I know how I should and I say all the right things to myself, yet I am usually quite unable to stop the flow. The increase in entropy, if you please- my nerdy side had to add.

At this moment- how do I feel exactly? what is beneath my restlessness , and beyond it? I feel scared. Distinctly. Yes, I feel fear. why? I am not sure.. I have nothing to be scared of, but yet somehow I feel scared- nervous.. as I would if I had come to school without a very crucial homework assignment in a particularly vindictive teacher's class. Yes that is almost exactly how I feel.

Nervous also - about the future, about myself. More specifically about myself in the future. Self doubt. Nobody can look at themselves objectively and assess themselves. But I have become so acutely aware of this inability that it stays with me all the time- clawing into me ... negating every clear thought I have and questioning the very basis of everything I do or feel.

I worry incessantly. I think of myself sometimes as another person- someone I care a whole deal about. But even a person you care about more than anyone else, is too much of a disconnect to have with yourself- and this worries me. I look at my dreams, and I wonder if I will realize them, I want myself to realize them, I want to help. I worry about the pain that not realizing them could bring, and the anticipation of that pain makes me sick. Yet it is almost as if I think all this of another person, a person whose actions I have no control over, but the consequences of which I will bear.
I feel tired as if I were a woman of 80 not a girl fo 23. As if the weight of the world- or 3- were upon me. Society shames such an attitude and calls it weakness. Who am I to judge, but being me and feeling it, I know it is not out of choice or for the lack of wanting different.
I cannot write anymore, and I dare say- even if you have got this far, you cannot!

Writer's Unblock

I have had this blog for a few years now, and it is with a sense of pathetic deja vu that I return here with gusto every now and again filled with a purposeful desire to embrace my love for writing and unleash the blogger in me. Unfortunately, I know where this always leads so I am not going to make any little determined forwards to my blog (or speeches in my mind about it). I am probably meant to write a blog like I do so many other things- sporadically, moodily and clumsily- I might as well just get used to it.

I love to read fiction. I would love to be able to write it. Unfortunately, it is not my cup of tea. I hate to think of the reason as being a lack of imagination or a limited vision- for I have convinced myself irreversibly that I have both in good measure. I have to say therefore, that it is my restlessness. The inability to stay dedicated to a plot or a character or even a simple chain of events long enough to write it down. This, I have recently been told, unlike a lack of ideas, is ‘fixable’. I can train my mind to concentrate- to return to the same theme and to develop ideas to coherence. I have decided to try my hand at this, at a later stage in my life maybe- when I have more leisure. So it is that this finds its way to my wish list.

My wish list, by the way, is an eclectic list of anything I wish to have/do/be. There is no theme, no age of accomplishment, no rules to the list. That, as far as I am concerned, defeats the purpose of a wish list. I would encourage anyone as crazy, confused and full of thoughts as I am to maintain a wish list. I don’t know if it makes anything happen, but it is certainly nice to know what all I want.

Anyway, after the pointless diversion about the wish list, I want to get back to my writing skills. I have decided to “work” on them. In the first place, this will be difficult because I have traditionally turned my nose up at working on anything- an attitude and philosophy which life is beating out of me. (There are lots of other attitudes that life has beaten out of me which are suddenly flooding my mind, but I am determined not to let another distraction hijack my blog)

It is now top most on my wish list that I teach myself some discipline. I never thought I would say this one day- for all the years I have berated discipline as being a highly over rated, creativity restricting, happiness destroying, completely superfluous concept. And yet, here I am thinking to myself of how I need to get some and of all the things I would have done, if I had that. I could have sung well (which god knows how much I want to be able to), I could have played a decent level of basketball, I could have written fiction, I could have done a PhD in particle physics.

It is not that my life so far has been a series of disasters, it is just that I think of how much higher my wish to reality conversion rate would have been, if I stuck on through with a bit of discipline. Really, all the principles I will have to try to apply to my writing to get good at it, are also what I want to apply to everything else in life.

There are other, more private things, I plan to apply this to, and I hope 10 years down the line, I can have crossed certain items off my wish list as accomplished.

Of course, the test of the pudding as always is in the eating – I become a year older in 10 days, and with this decision hopefully, also a year wiser!

A twenty rupee debt

Today I want to narrate an incident, something which happened to me many years ago. Perhaps in itself it is not significant or noteworthy, I cannot be unbiased and say. And why did I think of this story now? I always think of this story- very often at least. It is one of those memories that the years going by make more vivid, more true.

When I was in the 2nd grade, I had a friend- R. A “best friend” if you please, as every little girl of seven must have. We sat together in class (when the teacher let us), we played, talked, shared our food and our secrets and did all the other things that best friends should do!
One day the school planned a class trip. I don’t recall now where we were to go - must have been some sort of educational-fun trip to some museum or the other. Or perhaps it was not a trip at all- it is not important. The class teacher had asked us all to bring 20 Rupees for it- without fail. WITHOUT FAIL. Or else, she had told us, we would be left behind all alone in the school not to mention we’d be yelled at and scolded! Now, if you remember being in Class 2, and particularly if you were anything like I was, you would know just how terrifying that prospect was. Teachers are no less than gods in that little controlled environment. What power they have, what knowledge, how good it feels when they pat you on the back, how terrible to bear their wrath.
So it happened that on this fateful day, I forgot to bring the money. I was doomed. I asked everyone, anyone, if they had an extra twenty rupees. But twenty rupees is a lot of money for a kid, and I knew even as I asked that I was clutching at straws. My stomach was in a knot, and tears welled up in my eyes. R tried to convince me it was all right, that it didn’t matter- but I couldn’t be convinced. The bell rang and we trooped to our seats, the money was going to be collected. With a sigh, R took out her twenty rupee note and thrust it into my hands. Oh, how clearly I remember it, like it was happening right now. The nervous look on her face just before she gave me the money; the hesitation just before she let the money go, and then that look of happiness just after she did- for just one second, before she went back to being nervous. I remember being surprised, astonished. I can still feel the guilt I felt then as I shamelessly took the money. The grateful look I knew would never compensate for the deftness with which I put my guilt away.

That is where my memory ends. I don’t remember what the teacher said- so it could not have been that terrible. I never said thank you to R and we never spoke of it again. We were friends for many years, but eventually we drifted. I doubt if she has any recollection of this event at all. I wonder sometimes why I do. But I do.

Often I sit re-living this, thinking about it. Never do I analyze it as is my habit with almost everything else. I sometimes wonder if in life I will have the chance to give up my ‘twenty rupee note’ for a friend, and I wonder if when that time comes I will have the strength to do what I should. Or will I once again bury my guilt and play for myself like I did when I was seven.

R is a doctor now I think, I don’t know where. We are not in touch though we tried a couple of times. But I shall always remember this incident, when another seven year old taught me a bit about the kind of person I want to be.

For whom the school bell tolls

It’s that time of the year again, schools open their doors (just a crack mind you) to let in the new 3 year olds (as of March 31st of the previous year, I am told) welcoming them to the torture they will learn to enjoy over the next 14 years!

This year, our very own little Puchkit (my niece and the blog famous K’s sister) finds herself in the rat race, though of all those involved she seems the least affected and teaches the rest of us insecure, petty adults a lesson in life.

Now P is as cute as cute can be (and I don’t just say this because I am very biased). We can never tire of narrating anecdotes of her smartness and all those darned things that our kids say better than other people’s kids. However, the truth is, she is a sort of..err..a non conformer !

Not for her are the ABCD rhymes or numbers beyond 3, colours need no names and all the animals can easily be classified under dog, lion and snake – eliminating a lot of fuss.

Ask her however for an opinion on lunch and she will accurately tell you if it is undercooked, needs more salt or you over did the “ khatta” . If ever there was proof that food appreciation is a talent – it is she. Red maybe blue, 5 may come after 2- but little miss muffet can name 3 kinds of pasta, all the fruits and vegetables and is well versed with the edible varieties of mush-looms!

So here now, in a final effort my mother has been providing some intensive training to little it. Grand mama has started mumbling b-b-b-b-baaalll in her sleep now! Of course P loves the lessons- it is her turn to sit on the (quite tiny) BIG YELLOW table that used to be K’s privilege and get all Grand mama’s attention. Her School gives her worksheets involving writing alphabets- first it was I and T then L, H and T… B and D.. W and M..Q and R… with each worksheet we scratched our heads, looked from photostat sheet to Puckhit and from Puchkit to photostat sheet, trying to wonder if ever the twain shall meet. Then P invariably comes up with a ” lithen lithen, whel is the jhingalala lemote? “ (TATA Sky remote !!) and helplessly we put our doubts away and hail our very own genius, the apple of our eye.

So it was that in this new contraption- the easy wipe mini white board that kids use these days- grand mama would write letters and painstakingly call their name out repeatedly, trying to make it interesting by relating them to familiar objects.. the usual..M for m-m-m-monkey. And so after a week, proud grand mamma decided her pupil was ready to be shown off…
The family sat around after dinner and the slate was brought out. P was cajoled and fussed over as a celebrity ought before a big show. The first letter was written – T- promptly puchkit says..Tiger!!- Which we loyal admirers recognize as T and applaud. The applause goes down well with Puchkit and she settles down for a long performance. T is erased and C is written… P scratches her head. Grand mama raises her eyebrows in hints.. trying as hard as she can to telepathically transfer the answer to P. She then mouths C… P misreads and loudly says.. T !!!...
“ no no no “ says GM (grand mamma),” half a…”
P faithfully repeats- “ half a.......”
GM tries again : Half a c-c-c-c
P : c-c-c-
GM : Half a circ-
P: half a circ- what is it? U tell me!!!

GM: half a circle
P: C !!!!!!!!!
GM : VERY GOOOD!!!...throws a proud look around the room
Thankfully the audience is a loving family and cheers enthusiastically
Next letter
L
GM : And what is this???
P: Lollipop Lavanya !!!
GM: yes yes, very good..I teach her L for Lavanya and L for lollipop, na? that’s why..she got it. She got it right!

And so it went.. ‘I’ was recognized immediately and the other letters well- usually the 4th time round it was right! And four times is fair…

No doubt if the schools have an interview P is ready. Perhaps though, we ought to send grand mama’s notes along to the teachers there. After all, they may not know the correct cues and may probably not be aware that lollipop lavanaya is an acceptable euphemism for L!

The process is now actually an improvement!

Pressure from beleaguered parents, (not so) stray accusations of corruptions and orders from the high court has forced schools to put in a transparent system of admissions in place. Kids may no longer be interviewed and neither may the parents. However, most schools still hold an “ informal interaction” with kids and their parents… and we all know what that means! ( Beta, what colour is mama wearing? How old are you? 3 years old!!?? And what comes after 3 ? )

Schools have an elaborate points system in place. There are points for proximity to school, alumni parents and student siblings. Points for girl children and for single parents. Some over enthusiastic schools have essay type questions for the parents to fill out not a far cry from an SOP.

Points are awarded, cut- offs are decided, and lists are displayed. Anxious parents revisit their “ board exam” days as they anxiously scan the lists. As usual there are some with good news- who visit Nirula’s right after for some well earned HCF and there are those who come home to cry on the telephones.

Imagine how bleak the future is for a first born male child in a happy family with no alumni parents and no good neighborhood school- the parents might consider a temporary divorce- just till their tot gets admission of course!

The thing is, parents asked for this, and one has to admit it is an improvement- even if that forms a very unfortunate reality- and this in the capital city of our great country, that is clearly going to rule this century!

At any rate, the ordeal will be over- for better or for worse- in a few weeks. What I will take away from this is the lesson I learned from Puchkit about how to stay above these absurd rat races that life scatters in our paths and remember to keep living life and enjoying it – whether it is by eating cleam clackers while watching tom and jelly or enjoying a chat with friends and curling up at night with a good book.

P.B: keep watching for more. next blog: interesting nursery interviews- Contributions are welcome

The christmas post

My favourite time of the year is here. One day to Christmas! My family has somehow grown together into big x’mas celebrators. I am not sure how it happened. It started innocently enough, with gifts kept under our pillow or stuffed in stockings. Then tiny trees (plants actually that looked nothing like Christmas trees) were brought into the house and decorated. The traditional Christmas cake was added one year. I have a close knit and large family, so everyone together in one evening automatically meant a festive atmosphere. Carols were sung, lights were hung, and mistletoe was discovered. Kids started buying crappy gifts with very little money and lots of love- addressing them to mummy and daddy from Santa Claus! The occasional friend with nothing to do was invited. The tree was upgraded, the cake became bigger, the wine began to flow. Kids turned to adults, started earning and became full fledged Santas in their own right! New kids were born and inherited the love for Christmas. And so a tradition was born. Even if it looks similar to everyone else’s Christmas, to me, I saw it evolve into this and so it is unique, it is ours. Even if it is accused of being commercial nonsense and causes a big hole in our pockets- to me it’s worth it- because it buys me something I can’t put a price on.

But this Christmas, there’s a tingling of unhappiness. Uneasiness might be a better word. Apart from the fact that I have a growing dissatisfaction with the state of my life right now and I am growing into a painful crib, there’s a strange feeling in me- which I am trying to unravel by writing this blog..

When we are little, our world is simple- everyone we love lives in the same house. There’s a mummy and a daddy, perhaps a sibling, a couple of grandparents maybe- a favourite aunt or uncle and some cousins once in a way. And at the times when you want everyone you love around- all you have to do is go home. But then you grow up, and eventually the number of people you love also grows. It may happen at 18, it may happen at 28, but most of the time, it does happen. And what happens then, to my Christmas, or your diwali or birthday- or whatever that time is which you spent with the people you really loved?
I cannot imagine a Christmas away from home. Not decorating my tree, not buying gifts for the same people year after year. Not feeling a tad but disappointed cause I got what I wanted but in the wrong colour!

And yet, Christmas without that someone special- the person you learnt and grew to love. The person you loved, first for what they were and then despite what they were. Some one who for some reason becomes more family than some of your real family. And just like family, you don’t realize how much they matter till something like this comes-a-calling.
If and when I get married, I will have to work it into my wedding vows- that Christmas will always be at my home with my family and my tree!!!
I want that someone, we all do- but I don’t want to give up what I have for what I want. I suppose, in the end, it just sounds like I want everything. Just like a bratty child who has not been good at all the whole year but writes Santa a long list of things he wants. In that case- I’ve got my Christmas spirit bang on. And like the child who does not get everything he wants, but gets something nice anyway, I will heave a sigh, and let the cake , the wine and the singing do the rest.

To all a merry Christmas and a very happy holiday season 

P.B : I want to take a minute to tell all those people who I have learnt to take for granted how much they mean to me- and how they are also someone I want to spend Christmas with. To D, R, both the S’s the A’s and the other S – here’s to a Merry Christmas and a crappy new year (you know it’s not gonna get any better! )

She's blind and there's a damn good reason for it !

A defense for arrested terrorist Mohammed Ajmal Kasab is the new controversy. Why the Shiv Sena (and all its offshoots) chooses time and again to pick up the wrong causes and go ahead and fight for them in the most objectionable ways is beyond me to answer. That they do is once again plain for all to see.

Mobs have threatened, attacked and staged less than peaceful protests against a Lawyer who agreed to defend Kasab. Many lawyers have refused and associations have taken decisions not to defend him.

It would not take an in depth knowledge of the law for us to know that every accused has a right to his or her defense. Equally every lawyer has a right, I understand, to choose not to take up a case offered to him for whatever personal reasons he feels bound by. A defendant (or maybe I should stick for now with the word ’accused’ ) can either defend himself, appoint a lawyer, failing which the state MUST by law provide him with a lawyer. This is the law in letter, which we must follow. But there is also a spirit, however hard it may be at this point for us to see.

It is hard for any of us right now to imagine a credible defense for Kasab, but the issue here is not of any individual or the extent or nature of their crime but of the liberty and justice which our judicial system is based on. It would in fact be a person who believes in justice and fairness above all else who would fight for this man’s right to get the best defense he possibly can. It was the right of Nathu Ram Godse, the right of the accused in the Jessica Lal case, and now Kasab’s right.

Let us put aside, for a second the letter of law, which unarguably insists on a defense for Kasab. I want us to understand that we need this in spirit as we do in letter.

What if he were tried, convicted, and punished without a defense? Would that makes us proud as a country? As a people proud of our democracy, of our fundamental rights and of our justice system it would be shameful, no less. It would be a farce of a case. We would have sinned in punishing a defenseless man. A man, who like all other men, however heinous the crime or certain the guilt, is innocent until proven guilty. And we cannot have proven a man guilty who has not had the chance to defend himself.

It is sad that political parties continually put themselves behind such pointless issues. It is bad enough that people like us often thoughtlessly agree with them. I heard it during the Jessica Lal case, and I hear it now.

Such sentiments do us the disservice of giving people a chance to point a finger at us for assuming someone’s guilt unfairly. They deny us- the people, the right to punish the guilty after a fair trial and to proudly claim that justice has been done.

There was an sms doing the rounds during and after the Mumbai attacks asking where the Sena was now and what it was doing. Well here they are now, and this is what they are doing.

"I do not agree with a word you say, but I will fight to the death for your right to say it"
- Voltaire