September 29, 2010
September 28, 2010
A Lily Pond...
It's amazing how things can seem simpler once the maelstrom of emotions within you has calmed down. It's true, the only thing worse than people not understanding you, is when you yourself don't understand you.
A little clarity will go a long long way.
*****
There's so much baggage we carry all through life, that over the course of time it becomes a part of your daily existence. It becomes such an intrinsic part, that you don't even realise you're so many stones heavier, all thanks to the past you're carrying along with you.
Sometimes you do need to get lost so that you can find the way back to yourself.
*****
And I do know that I'll get dirty again. Like a friend pointed out, with good-intentions. It's a cycle. I know I'll come back to this junction again where I'll find myself without a map and without a friend to help me along, but for now, let me enjoy being in my own skin. I can worry about being lost, when I come to it.
*****
"Why did it happen?"
I have asked this question many many times. I don't have the answers, or rather, I don't know if they are the right answers. It doesn't matter. What matters in the end is that you loved.
A little clarity will go a long long way.
*****
There's so much baggage we carry all through life, that over the course of time it becomes a part of your daily existence. It becomes such an intrinsic part, that you don't even realise you're so many stones heavier, all thanks to the past you're carrying along with you.
Sometimes you do need to get lost so that you can find the way back to yourself.
*****
And I do know that I'll get dirty again. Like a friend pointed out, with good-intentions. It's a cycle. I know I'll come back to this junction again where I'll find myself without a map and without a friend to help me along, but for now, let me enjoy being in my own skin. I can worry about being lost, when I come to it.
*****
"Why did it happen?"
I have asked this question many many times. I don't have the answers, or rather, I don't know if they are the right answers. It doesn't matter. What matters in the end is that you loved.
September 27, 2010
Knotty Issues...
This song is pure unadulterated mush.
I think this is one of those perfect honeymoon songs. So perfect infact that it makes me want to get married just so I could wear those awesome sarees, braid my hair, fill maang with sindoor and all that. Nice? Indian women are hot I say. Hotter than any Jolies or Foxes.
And why don't women wear gajra these days? It's one of those Indian womanly things that makes you all...beautiful. Flowers in hair. Lovely, no?
And I don't understand why people go to places like Switzerland and Mauritius, book a nice plush hotel and order champagne and strawberries. I think that's pretty boring. My idea of a perfect honeymoon would be Egypt, or Morocco, Israel or Turkey or Cambodia or Mexico**. Or even a backpacking trip to the interiors and less travelled places in India. I always wonder if couples get bored during a honeymoon***, I mean, really, there's only *that* much sex you're going to have. What then? Honeymoon is supposed to bring you closer, and a big four poster bed is not going to that. How about a tent on the Tibetan Plateau? That should be fun! Or travelling through Sikkim in a rickety bus or even walking through the jungles of South Africa (Okay, maybe you can wear high rubber boots?). Now that's a good business idea there. Someone needs to market these destinations as honeymoon places.
And I need more crazy people around me so that I can say, "Are you crazy?". I can even say that in 7 different ways, really. Maybe you can ask me out for coffee and I could do a little demo for you. But I don't promise.
I think I have started appreciating Indian men. What was I doing all these years? Dreaming about Italians and Brits. You know, only if Indian men weren't such mumma's boys, they'd be perfect! I mean at 64, my Dad still raves about his mother's cooking!
And how beautiful is a relationship between a mother-in-law and a daughter-in-law where both love and appreciate each other? It's difficult, this relationship, but when you get it right, it's one of those rare beautiful friendships that has the power to brighten even the dullest moments.
I know what you're thinking, but it's the song. I swear. God promise!
Alright I'll go read some man-hating book now. That should cure!
**Someone please gift me a couple of million dollars!
***I could ask Anoop, but I doubt he'll answer.
I think this is one of those perfect honeymoon songs. So perfect infact that it makes me want to get married just so I could wear those awesome sarees, braid my hair, fill maang with sindoor and all that. Nice? Indian women are hot I say. Hotter than any Jolies or Foxes.
And why don't women wear gajra these days? It's one of those Indian womanly things that makes you all...beautiful. Flowers in hair. Lovely, no?
And I don't understand why people go to places like Switzerland and Mauritius, book a nice plush hotel and order champagne and strawberries. I think that's pretty boring. My idea of a perfect honeymoon would be Egypt, or Morocco, Israel or Turkey or Cambodia or Mexico**. Or even a backpacking trip to the interiors and less travelled places in India. I always wonder if couples get bored during a honeymoon***, I mean, really, there's only *that* much sex you're going to have. What then? Honeymoon is supposed to bring you closer, and a big four poster bed is not going to that. How about a tent on the Tibetan Plateau? That should be fun! Or travelling through Sikkim in a rickety bus or even walking through the jungles of South Africa (Okay, maybe you can wear high rubber boots?). Now that's a good business idea there. Someone needs to market these destinations as honeymoon places.
And I need more crazy people around me so that I can say, "Are you crazy?". I can even say that in 7 different ways, really. Maybe you can ask me out for coffee and I could do a little demo for you. But I don't promise.
I think I have started appreciating Indian men. What was I doing all these years? Dreaming about Italians and Brits. You know, only if Indian men weren't such mumma's boys, they'd be perfect! I mean at 64, my Dad still raves about his mother's cooking!
And how beautiful is a relationship between a mother-in-law and a daughter-in-law where both love and appreciate each other? It's difficult, this relationship, but when you get it right, it's one of those rare beautiful friendships that has the power to brighten even the dullest moments.
I know what you're thinking, but it's the song. I swear. God promise!
Alright I'll go read some man-hating book now. That should cure!
**Someone please gift me a couple of million dollars!
***I could ask Anoop, but I doubt he'll answer.
September 25, 2010
Than Sorry...
GK is a good friend. She's what you might say, "truly golden at heart". She's funny, sweet and smart but not "chaloo" or clever. She could fool you, but she would never, her conscience would never allow her. She has a fair complexion, green eyes, is pretty. But unlike the rest of her Punjabi family, even remote aunts and uncles, she's short. At 5 feet, she's the oddest member in her entire family--where girls are slender and tall, men broad and tall. She's different.
When GK was conceived, accidentally, her parents decided they did not want a baby so soon. And so they, her parents, decided to opt for abortion. Only later did they realise that the abortion pills had not 'killed' GK, but just stopped her growth. So while GK was born, she was born unhealthy, frail, tiny and many inches short of her family height average.
She's a positive person, but at times, just sometimes, she does lament about her height. If only she could be a few, just a few inches taller.
The moral of the story is pretty obvious. There's the question of someone's, some child's, your child's life, and you're putting it at risk.
When GK was conceived, accidentally, her parents decided they did not want a baby so soon. And so they, her parents, decided to opt for abortion. Only later did they realise that the abortion pills had not 'killed' GK, but just stopped her growth. So while GK was born, she was born unhealthy, frail, tiny and many inches short of her family height average.
She's a positive person, but at times, just sometimes, she does lament about her height. If only she could be a few, just a few inches taller.
The moral of the story is pretty obvious. There's the question of someone's, some child's, your child's life, and you're putting it at risk.
September 23, 2010
Account...
The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.
Some would be devoted to acting against consciousness,
Like the flight of a moth which, had it known,
Would have tended nevertheless toward the candle’s flame.
Others would deal with ways to silence anxiety,
The little whisper which, though it is a warning, is ignored.
I would deal separately with satisfaction and pride,
The time when I was among their adherents
Who strut victoriously, unsuspecting.
But all of them would have one subject, desire,
If only my own—but no, not at all; alas,
I was driven because I wanted to be like others.
I was afraid of what was wild and indecent in me.
The history of my stupidity will not be written.
For one thing, it’s late. And the truth is laborious.
--Czesław Miłosz
Some would be devoted to acting against consciousness,
Like the flight of a moth which, had it known,
Would have tended nevertheless toward the candle’s flame.
Others would deal with ways to silence anxiety,
The little whisper which, though it is a warning, is ignored.
I would deal separately with satisfaction and pride,
The time when I was among their adherents
Who strut victoriously, unsuspecting.
But all of them would have one subject, desire,
If only my own—but no, not at all; alas,
I was driven because I wanted to be like others.
I was afraid of what was wild and indecent in me.
The history of my stupidity will not be written.
For one thing, it’s late. And the truth is laborious.
--Czesław Miłosz
And Yet The Books...
And yet the books will be there on the shelves, separate beings,
That appeared once, still wet
As shining chestnuts under a tree in autumn,
And, touched, coddled, began to live
In spite of fires on the horizon, castles blown up,
Tribes on the march, planets in motion.
“We are, ” they said, even as their pages
Were being torn out, or a buzzing flame
Licked away their letters. So much more durable
Than we are, whose frail warmth
Cools down with memory, disperses, perishes.
I imagine the earth when I am no more:
Nothing happens, no loss, it’s still a strange pageant,
Women’s dresses, dewy lilacs, a song in the valley.
Yet the books will be there on the shelves, well born,
Derived from people, but also from radiance, heights.
--Czesław Miłosz
That appeared once, still wet
As shining chestnuts under a tree in autumn,
And, touched, coddled, began to live
In spite of fires on the horizon, castles blown up,
Tribes on the march, planets in motion.
“We are, ” they said, even as their pages
Were being torn out, or a buzzing flame
Licked away their letters. So much more durable
Than we are, whose frail warmth
Cools down with memory, disperses, perishes.
I imagine the earth when I am no more:
Nothing happens, no loss, it’s still a strange pageant,
Women’s dresses, dewy lilacs, a song in the valley.
Yet the books will be there on the shelves, well born,
Derived from people, but also from radiance, heights.
--Czesław Miłosz
September 22, 2010
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