Saturday, January 29, 2011

Mind over heart?

Plain ignorance by choice or downright shamelessness

We approach people who hurt us a lot,
Who do not deserve an iota of forgiveness,
Those who are a blot on loyalty
 Is it justice to one's 'self'?


The mind is a stronger and a more practical entity. The heart a fickle minded wanderer.
The mind portrays facts, the heart chooses to ignore. As Gandhi quoted, "But, self comes in and we hug the chains that bind us."
A mortal is so fearful of reality, so blind to facts.

Could it be out of helplessness?

Friday, January 28, 2011

About Kōan

When two hands clap, which is the sound of the other hand?
No thought arisen yet, is it a sin or not?

A Kōan is a story/dialogue/statement or rather a riddle, the meaning of which cannot be understood by rational thinking but through intuition. It's a concept of study under Zen Buddhism. Koans are a product of enlightened sages who were the followers of Bodhidharma. The purpose of kōans for a Zen practitioner is to become aware of the difference between himself, his mind, and his beliefs, which influence how he sees the world; and, ultimately, to help him realize his true nature.

Why a sudden fascination for a Kōan?
A Kōan in my dream...
The nonexistent 'Kōan of Ochers', the brown monument and ....

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

The brighter side

A person who cribs a lot can seldom appreciate. He is so forever full of complaints and criticisms. Pleasing him is a task. His standards are set high. He won't tolerate mediocre attempts. He wouldn't participate, neither encourage. To him, it's all a waste of precious time. He would boo your trials in the crowd, ridicule you on your face, maybe even claim that he can do better. His respect and support is limited to a handful of people who he thinks are worth it. He makes it sound like as though he has given up on the rest.

What makes him so negative? What makes him crib? 
What stops him from seeing the brighter side?

Are all our politicians really that hopeless or is the citizen of India getting too choosy?

Monday, January 24, 2011

Growing old together





















Would you hold my hand and walk with me through good an bad?





















Would you kiss my forehead as I start a new day?













Would you hold me close every night and protect me from the world?

Would you inspite of any arguments, quarrels and divides, or a bad day,
love me forever?

Sunday, January 23, 2011

A letter from a well wisher

Dear Mai,

It's the 10th day since you have gone. There is a wedding going on in the family. Preparations are on in full swing. I sent a card. I can't go for the wedding. Don't want to. Every time I see them, I remember my last meeting with you. Maazor an Nevul are also not going. 

Something is wrong with your 'baie'. She can't think straight. She has become very temperamental and pessimistic; cribbing and frustrated. She hates people around her, prefers being left alone. She feels hurt easily. She cries a lot when she remembers you. She hardly talks, smiles in class. She sits quietly and listens and observes the people around her. She wishes she could meet you. So many things around remind her of you. Off late, she has been annoying many people with her dumbness. She has been confusing many with her changed attitude. She gives up easily in testing times. She can't sleep in peace at night. She is disturbed. She doesn't know why this sudden swing has overcome her. She was so bubbly, jolly; such a go-getter. She has lost that passion somewhere.  

She is turning 20 tomorrow. Yes, that same toothpick, thin and tall, fair little infant you held in 1991. That same clumsy kiddo who you chased around the house. That cranky girl who got your Maazor late to office everyday. Maazor and Nevul would come in the evening to meet her for about 3-4 hours.  She had decided, she won't celebrate this day, 10 days ago. They know that. There may be a lot of buzz and wishes in college. She is not even bothered about the day. She has planned to be alone, it's her preference. She has a lot of unfulfilled wishes. Wishes that she has gradually given up on. It's just another day for her.

Maybe you can see her through all this. After all, she is the apple of your eye. Protect her and take care of her. Help her get out of it...the fake smiles and happiness. Help her get out of trapped bonds.The people around her, have tried and are fed up. Maybe its only you who can drill some sense and life into her. Before she fades away. 

Yours,
Sherry

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Joie de vivre

Je cherche la 'joie de vivre'. J'ai beacoup cherche. Je ne trouvez le.  C'est peut-etre perdu dans les tenebres. Aurai-je le trouves rapidement?

Friday, January 21, 2011

Uselessness

Time stings. Loneliness stings even more. No substantial, productive work, greetings by failure on all sides, questions on your identity, personal attacks on yourself, the quest to wake up from and endless drowning sleep, too many expectations, few basic demands, a horrifying temper, sunken tolerance levels, no reason to be happy as the world celebrates...

If you are a girl, it could mean you are PMSing...but it could also mean that you are on the road to becoming a psychopath.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

About me

I am intelligent. I remember dates, rights, wrongs, the relevant and the irrelevant. I am better looking than some specimens around. At least, pleasant and cute. I am adventurous, curious to a limit that does not cross privacy. I am impulsive and take quick decisions and actions. I am a hard-worker, maybe a workaholic at times. I know what I want from life, what I do not. Whom I like, whom I detest. I belong to everyone and yet to no one. I am patient and persevering. I am judgmental and intuitive. I love exploring the mysterious and the unknown. I have the knack of falling into trouble. I am optimistic at heart. I keep hoping until I regret it.

I talk to myself in this fake world of masked mortals. I keep searching and yet I don’t find. Myself.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Woo Girls

This post has been inspired by so many observed situations!

Woo girls
They have no agenda, no business. Dignity and self respect? They stick to any random guy, smooth talk in a flirtatious voice and try wooing them. Looks may be an added advantage. Some philanderers even fall for it. They maybe even fake injuries to gain sympathy. Attention is like an Oscar to them. Boyfriend stealers, attention seekers, cry babies, tragedy queens, smooth talkers, gossipers, complaint boxes, I have so many synonyms in mind for them.

Even a guy's disinterest does not deter them. They are on a mission. They have to sit less than an inch away, cling to that arm, make that innocent baby face, widen those pupils and speak in that slow husky tone. They sound so hurt, wounded and deep in trouble. They seek a favour that 'only that guy' can do. He is her 'ultimate Messiah', her 'Saviour'. Needless to say, its a favour they can very well do unto themselves.

To think I see them everyday, in every couple of hours. I detest them, and so does every 'Un-Woo girl'.
And I truly respect those guys who portray they have a spine when it comes to this afflicted species.

Does it bother me? Not really, but I so hate calling myself a girl when I see 'em!

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Commitment

I have heard a number of people claiming to be 'commitment phobic'. Reasons.

"I fear that I won't be loyal to you."
"I don't deserve you."
"For me career comes first, then a relationship."
"I'm too young. A harmless fling or flirting is ok."
"How can someone spend his or her life with one and only one person? Don't they get bored of eachother?"
"I hate the institution of marriage. Too binding. Maybe a live in?'
"Open relationship? Sounds like a better option."
"We are better off as friends."
many more

But, when you are in deeply in love,
And done with your share of short term flings,
And when the feeling is mutual,
And when you dream long term - finances, marriage, kids, retirement...

Even at 19... Such excuses seem so lame and invalid!

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Silence

Silence can be hidden truths. Silence might convey pain.
Silence may speak of torture. Silence can drive insane.

Silence can answer questions. Silence maybe a joyous time.
Silence maybe awe or anger. Silence is the art of mime.

Silence may mean surprises. Silence can kill.
Silence may be forced. Sometimes it's by will.

Sometimes it's fun merely listening to silence.
But, darn!
What about those heartbeats and those pangs of breath... How does one get rid of them?

Friday, January 14, 2011

From a loving granddaughter

Just an anecdote I wish to share with everyone.

I lost my maternal Grandmother yesterday, on the 13th of January. She was really close to me. She saw me grow from a toddler to a teenager.
She was sent to Goa at my uncle's owing to some problems back home. I was 11. Out of the 9 years that she was there, she was bedridden for the last 5 years and tortured by my relatives. There was nothing me or my family could do about it.
So much so, that they didn't even know when she expired. They didn't even call my family and inform my mom. She got to know from a third person.

I had met her on the 3rd of November 2010 after 8 years. She initially failed to recognise me. When she did, we just stared at each other and wept. Being immobile she could not even hug me. I knew it was the last time I was seeing her. Intuition maybe. 
That was the first time I felt, she would be at peace only after death. I cried a lot that day.
I fought with my relatives. I was alone. Parents were not around. I don't know what gave me the courage, maybe it was her blessings and her love.
It was a chaotic time.

Today, I know she is by God's side. She is constantly watching me and guiding me. Having suffered a lot on Earth, she is now a part of a happy afterlife.

I had applied for my passport on Nov 1, before I had left for Goa.
Every once a week during my internship, over December,  I visited the passport office, in vain. I had in a way given up on that document.
I kept checking for updates, kept pestering dad over it. Nothing worked out.

My dad received my passport today by post, an hour before she was buried in Goa at 4pm.
That was her parting gift for me.


A sincere request to whoever is reading this,
Please pray for her. Her name is Violet Almeida.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Mai

Her voice echoes in my ears. She calls out my name as she chases me. A glass of milk in her hand. She fears that I may fall down and hurt myself.
Her muffled tone that tried to talk to me.

Her touch is unforgettable. Those bony, wrinkled fingers that pat my back. Her hands that hold mine and draw a cross and bless me every morning. That wipe away my tears in those numerous cranky moments.
Her hands, that tugged me and stopped me from leaving.

Her lap where I spend my toddler years. Where I am fed every meal in my parents' absence. Her bosom, where I hide in fear. Those comforting hugs and warm caresses.
Her body, immobile and bedridden.

Her eyes, of which I am an apple. They way they dote upon me. The eyes that always watch out for me around the house. They have seen me grow.
Her eyes that failed to recognize me.

Her face, serene and peaceful. Those features that I have inherited. Her beautiful countenance and looks. I look so much like her teenage years.
Her face, tear ridden, wrinkled and sorrowful.

I am sad. I wanted you to see me do all that you did for me.
I am happy. You are in His care and happy. You are free from your sufferings.

I know you are still watching me, guiding me from up there.
You are with me always and love me a lot and...
yet, I miss you a lot Mai.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

The old flame

An anecdote from a typical school life...

They were the best of friends. Classmates teased them with each other's names. No apparent reason. Just some common traits and interests. They were both studious, competed for the first rank every exam, had their share of cold wars. They were both front runners in any extra curricular event. They were both victims of partiality. They were predicted to lead as the head boy and the head girl too. But fate had other plans. They were in the same house, continuous in roll numbers and heightwise lines. They stayed in the same colony, played together every evening. All the more reasons for others to link them.

As school life ended, they parted. Each went their own way, pursued their life and had their share of growing up in different environments. They had lost track of each other completely...until fate brought them together 3 years later. They exchanged greetings, got talking and ridiculed those kiddish days. Ahh! they were still studious, had just chosen different fields. They shared experiences, familial, academic, personal. Distance had not really changed ties between them. The only difference was two matured minds interacting instead of two kids. They both had their respective crushes in college and were clueless on how to take things forward. Life had drastically changed for them. One was the other's agony aunt. They gave each other a guy and a girl's perspective respectively on relationships. They both needed the 'opposite-sex opinions'.

They pondered, "What if they had really been together?", only to realise the horrors - culturally, ideologically and yes, different futuristic goals. "It would be a disaster! We are better off as friends. Don't even think about this again!" They laughed their guts off as they imagined some of those possible funny moments.

The conversation veered from their lovelives to cities, to family life relatives, common friends, reunion plans, dogs, recently read books, music, hostels, college, courses, future plans and blah blah. It felt so great catching up after ages.

An intimate childhood friendship does not really warrant for a successful lover's equation. Distance does not impact the approachability and compatibility of good friends. And change, that is inevitable. But, the transition can be both awkward and confusing and unwarranted...
From a spark of friendship to an old flame.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Milestones matter

A century ago, I set out on a journey...

A journey of encounters good and bad.
Of experiences, rewarding and enriching.
Of strangers and the known.
Of stories, real and virtual. Of shadows of the past.
Of future interpretations.
And, ahh! the glorious present...

A journey of likes and dislikes.
Of myriad dreams and harsh realities.
Of laughters and joys, sadness and tears.
Of practicaly, of emotions.
Of gathered gems and castaway stones.
Of hardcore facts and heartfelt opinions.
A perfect blend of fact and fiction


An insightful journey on life and death.
On both simplistic ideas and complicated thoughts.
On characters dreamt and inspired by real.
Of memorable lyrics and haunting images
Of undying love and unconditional friendships.
Of introspections and daily rants.
I walked little by little every day.

A century ago, I set out on a journey...
And today, I have reached a milestone





















Cheers to a 100 Wandering Quests =)

Monday, January 10, 2011

Staring into nothingness

I had seen him sitting on a flight of stairs. There was a deep gash across his forehead and one of his eyes. Seemed like a freshly inflicted one. How could someone render that injury? That gruesome wound, crippling him forever. He let out neither a sigh, nor a whimper. He looked majestic, yet, so morose. His cashew brown eyes looked captivating. Wistful, dark truths hidden behind them. He stared into nothingness, or maybe something that no one, but he, could see.

I had never seen him here. Was he lost? How did he land up here? Who was he?
I walked over and sat next to him. The gash was now prominent. I could feel his pain, strangely unexpressed. I looked into those enticing eyes. His innocent gaze didn't waver a bit. I smiled at him. No reciprocation. I touched him. No fear or hesitation. He calmly moved towards me. He had sensed my harmless intentions. Seemingly abandoned, seemingly not belonging to anyone.

He had never seen me. That wound would never let him see anyone, anything. A touch is all it took. We walked away together.

That's how I met Homer. My first pet dog.

He now has all the love, a family, a great life, a wonderful companion Merca and an adorable litter of 7 newborn pups. He still stares into nothingness; and a touch is all it takes to snap him out of it.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

The end of the road

Pages were rushing in glee as he switched off the fan. If only time could fly like those pages. On the contrary, it was time after all. Time locked in a diary. He sifted through random leafs of paper, and paused. It read,

"Feb 08 2006"
"The TV industry suffered a huge loss in the form of the untimely demise of Kuljeet Randhawa. The 26 year old actress was found hanging from the ceiling fan in her Juhu apartment at 7:30pm in the evening by her maid. She was rushed to Cooper hospital but declared dead on admission. The police ascertains the cause of death as asphyxiation due to strangulation. A suicide note was found at the scene of crime. Foul play has been ruled out."
"How unexpected! Didn't she for once think that she was a role model to many. That countless loved her and that she had a bright future. Her family, shattered. Why is suicide the 'only' form of escape? What leads to it? Loneliness, a lot of guts, circumstances... Is it a compulsion of the mind and heart? I guess I would never know."

Today, 9th Jan 2010, almost 4 years later, as he held that rope in his hand...
He knew the reason.

Saturday, January 8, 2011

Snatched

He sat staring at the raging sea. A tempest of emotions surged with the crashing, noisy waves. The balmy summer breeze blew across and ruffled the waters gently. They ran through the curls of his hair. Like her fingers they ran from his ears to the back of his neck. Her caressing hands, the warmth of her palms on his face. The grains of hot sand were no comparison to her fiery touch. A gust of wind lashed out at him. He felt a strong need to be held, held close, protected and comforted. Silhouettes of soul-mates holding hands went past him. They were probably collecting shells. Each wave crashed into his memory lane. He wanted to hear that soothing voice, but cackling of gulls greeted him. He wanted to feel her presence with all his senses. He shut his eyes to the real world. How miserable it had become!

Just then, he felt a warm hand on his. He turned to his side, meeting her eyes. She was ethereal. She drew him closer and whispered sweet nothings in his ears. Her tresses caressed his face. A familiar scent hovered about him. The pleasant aura he was longing for. He blinked in disbelief. She kissed his forehead lovingly. Smiling, she wiggled his cold nose with hers. He felt warmer. It lasted a moment. Soon enough, the scent was diminishing, the palms of her hands retreating, the smile fading...
And then, she disappeared into the mist.

The waves receded into the depths of the ocean, just like life had receded into the depths of no return.
Tears streamed down his eyes, as he stared at that silver ring on his finger, reminiscing the promise of walking together forever.

Friday, January 7, 2011

The rebel

He was hated by many. For his slapstick remarks. For his rude demeanor. They knew of his ignorance, not his intellect. They had probably decided to outcast him. He belonged to no social circle. He didn't need one. Self contentment was his pride, dumbness a turn off. He loved sitting under red lights, lonesome and lost. Indulgences, he had many. He lived for himself. He had a secret hideout, no one knew where he came from. Discreet as a ghost. An enigma in human form. Mysterious, weird, different. Notorious eyes, vicious looks and an eerie aura about him. Rumors were rampant on his various escapades. So many gossips credited to him. He was a fascination for the curious, non-existent for the rest. Emotions alien to him, a heart of cold burnt embers. Guys warned their female friends to stay away from him. A worthless loser, they called him.

But, in my eyes, he was perfect...

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Choosing words

"I love you"
We used to say it only and only to the love of our lives once upon a time. Some actually waited for years to hear it. It invited tears, laughter, even slaps and rejections. The definition of romance too was restricted to lovers.

Now the line has blunt and platonic over tones to it. It expands to parents, friends, siblings, relatives, pets and plants. Romance is associated with nature and weather.

Those three golden words are better when used cautiously, sparingly. Spend them on a restricted crowd, maybe only on that one person for whom it was rightfully invented. Else it loses its charm, its meaning.

Call me old-fashioned.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

The culprit(s)

He carries that load tied to his chest. Personal emotions or a physical baggage? Whatever it is, it is going to wipe off his existence. His identity would be reduced to shards in a few moments. That body of flesh and blood, soon to turn to dust. Judgments don't scare him, he expects forgiveness. He has his last conversations, maybe also a prayer for forgiveness and courage. A victim of circumstances, a cold blooded heart, he has a reason. More than anything, he is committed to vengeance. Maybe an ideology, maybe a cause.

Standing at a crowded market place, watching the young and old, unaware of the trauma that would befall them soon. Bustling roads, lively babbles, smiling yet anxious faces, innocent minds. Some waiting to surprise their wives, some out with kids or friends on a shopping spree. Some religious women out for a pooja, families out on a walk. Running, eating, yelling, confused, bargaining, talking,lost.
No one knows anything; he does.

He has predicted the next few minutes. He knows the future. He is unaffected by the present. Maybe, a sufferer of the past. Mutilated in life, glorified in death. Would he be lone in his suffering? No.
He would invite many a tears. To him, no one is innocent. To him, they all deserve that trauma. They are, after all, his 'culprits'.
Ever tried figuring out the psychology of a suicide bomber?

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

And time flies...

She woke up in his arms to the mellow rays of dawn. The shimmering sun light was caressing his face. As he slept to the tunes of chirping swallows, she gazed at him. Those eyes, like limpid pools of molten amber. That calmness in his expression, as if lost amidst a peaceful virtuality. She leaned over and kissed his forehead. How innocent he looked while asleep!

His eyelids flickered. He was not alien to her touch. He smiled to himself and held her closer. His protective arms locked in a tight embrace. She rested her head on his chest. He was breathing slow and deep. An aura of serenity hovered about them. She could hear his heartbeats and her own, so much like a single entity.

She wished that time would stand still. She wished to be in those arms forever.
She feared losing him, she feared going away from him. She could not imagine her life without him. She had forgotten those lonesome days and nights. She desired to die in those arms. She could not but help falling in love all over again...
Just like she fell in love with him, 70 years back...on the 4th of January

Monday, January 3, 2011

The revelation

I stood on that precipice...alone
A soft padding of an animal in the distance reached my wary ears. An almost silent clip clopping, blown away by the wind. I could sense hard hooves strike the cold turf. The ephemeral whisper of the soft swishing cloak stirred the air for a moment.

"Why are you leaving? I know what gnaws at you. You are intimidated, are you not?" My quiet alto voice quavered in question.

"Shai"... I heard a soft voice followed by a deep sigh. A sudden ear splitting neigh filled the air alongwith a thudding of hooves like descending claps of thunder. I turned around only to catch a glimpse of those grey green eyes, fair face and dark hair whipped by the wind. Those cherry red lips where many a smiles had lingered. Both rider and horse rode of like a thunderstorm on the wind. An endless rhythm against the lifeless terrain. Galloping away into the darkness of the untamed land, into the unseen depths of time.

Anne...My other world companion...

Sunday, January 2, 2011

Castaway

The wistful horizon seemed to loom clear as the trees smeared shadows like ink over the desolate grasslands. The wind howled and whistled in crescendo thus masking the barren grassland with an ambience of sedate solitude. The fiery sunset leaved trees and the sharp biting wind suffused the air with the hostile thought of winter.

A bare precipice stood out against the pale moonlight casting a silvery sheen on the faint trickling water on its leaden walls. The heather forced by the gusty wind, stooped low in the presence of the lone, tyrannical rock. The leaves rustled and the shadows in the trees whispered around the lawless country, charred and scorched by the flames of ascension.

No whisper, no sudden vehemence arose to pierce the heartrending silence. Gloomy tendrils of a cloud crept over the moon, engulfing me in darkness.
On the edge of this precipice, I stood alone...

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Tunes of the past

As someone told her, "Music weaves an aura of magic." She held the flute up in the light and saw it reflect the shades of the lamp. Raising it to her lips she played a lyric of the past. Low, mellifluous tunes filled the room gently. The night was filled with soul-stirring melody. She felt the music draw her into a world unknown. It seemed familiar, maybe a half remembered song. She couldn't get it out of her head, neither stop playing the flute.

An alien language rose unbidden to her lips. She had never heard of such a language before, but she knew it fluently. Vivid images flashed through her mind. The intensity of the music increased. She began singing with the music, deeply lost in the alien language. Those images...fires raging across settlements, files of warriors rushing down the hillside, spears shining like a beacon of despair, ebony dark eclipsed suns. No one was certain about friend or foe. Lives were at stake. She could feel the heat and taste of blood. She played on...

The daze broke.
The lyrics lost.
The tune disappeared.

She twirled the flute between her fingers. Sighed deeply. There were so many mysterious things happening around. Was there any escape from it all? Any escape from the tempest raging within her?