You Got to do what you Want to do...

Every morning when I get up I don’t get the motivation to do so. It is as if I can go into a prolonged state of unconsciousness and not care of the outside domain that surrounds the lethargic me. I have a well paying job; I have a good place to live, friends around, people around, the necessary dose of action and drama but yet the motivation is absent, almost as if obsolete

What is it that takes one to get up every morning and look forward to the day with the momentary lapse in between? Someone once told me that you make an effort towards the things you want to do, and that effort doesn’t seem like hard work if you really love it. After all, the things that you love, you make a conscious effort to protect them and nurture them. So the necessary question is do I love the things around me enough to protect them from lethargy and prevent them from jading?

It is not about the people really, I love them all. But since all things are about me, the necessary question that arises here is also about me. Music is something I love. Singing to my hearts content and hearing the praises gives me the greatest high. Until recently I thought I must not love it enough, because I don’t pursue it with gusto, I don’t put in an effort to better the areas I know I am not good at. But something changed. I don’t know if Bombay did it, or being away from the people I love did it, or wanting to focus all my thoughts on one thing did it (because in the course of it I realized that my focus should shift), but here it is on the blog: I feel motivated with music.

I wish for everyone to realize what motivates them. In the course of pursuing it, you may come under the magnifying glass and be diagnosed of being selfish. The fine balance is anyway a distant reality. But today I don’t really care. I shouldn’t and I am motivated enough not to. Maybe I meet my expectations, maybe I don’t, but about time I induce a word called try in my dictionary.

Are you happy?

Over the years there have been many questions in focus in each of our lives. The answers that we have furnished a couple of years back are mostly in stark contrast to what it is now. Call it the age, call it affluence or influence. Here is a question to my mind that witnessed a set of different answers over the years. It may not be in tandem to what the likes of you would have furnished and judging by the fact that it is a momentary question frankly, it’s hard to generalize it…but here goes

Are you happy?

4 yrs- Yes

7 yrs- Yes, if I get my candy

13 yrs- I wish I had someone else’s life

15 yrs- I wish I was older

21 yrs- Maybe

28 yrs- Maybe not

35 yrs- hmmmmm

45 yrs- What???

55 yrs- Sure….why not….maybe…but why not

70 yrs- it doesn’t matter….

At 25 yrs, 4-12-2008, 1. p.m- I can’t answer this with a single word or a sentence….hence a blog that still leaves this question in the ambiguous state. Let it be….

Simply not just music....

When all the elements mix up in the perfect proportion one gets the magical essence of what we can call heaven. For me, this effect is ringing in my ears with Rafi, S.D Burman and Majrooh Sultanpuri. And this takes me on a whirlwind ride where I am lost admist the notes and I feel elated with the euphoric feeling his voice evokes.

I was wondering about the stark contrast in terms of the musical eras, the sixties and the seventies were definitely for the die hard romantics, subtle yet articulate. There are so many songs that speak the exact words that one would feel from time to time. The hopeless lover serenading his lover and she can’t help but be coy and sheepishly smile, that’s the image I get. The seventies were more for the ones who looked at other aspects than love, the roti kapda makaan logic. The male was more of a chauvinist, a stark contrast to the blind in love man of the yesteryears who was the more expressive one. Songs were not about wooing the woman in focus and if it was it was demanding in nature, as if it was his right. Not quite like Rafi who would be humble. The 80’s and 90’s I believe was the hopeless era not just for the romantics of my kind but also music (obviously exceptions are always counted out). To put it crudely…it sucked! And most of the current lot continues this legacy. In terms of music and lyrics though, the songs are more about the “we” than the “I”. Nothing wrong in that ideology, except when I listen to a “Aise tho na dekho..” and a “khuda jaane kyo”…I smile at the former and I feel like stretching my arms and dancing at latter, in other words….the feeling is communicated and transpired much better by the former….”Tum hume roko phir bhi hum na ruke…Tum kaho kafir…fir bhi ese jhuken…kadme nazuuke ek sajda ada ho jaye…:)”

My hangover because of the extra shots of songs sung by Rafi is quite evident. There is a song for every mood. Not quite like the usual sentence that we furnish these days, “Words can’t express what I want to communicate to you” doesn’t hold water here. The lyrics were brilliant and music was in tandem, and when you have singers like Mohd. Rafi, Kishore Kumar, Manna Dey, Lata Mangeshkar, Geeta dutt etc etc, you can put the soul in music. To me, listening to Rafi is like my hopeless romantic singing to me- “Mere Mehboob mujhe meri mohabbat ki kasam…”, “jeeya oo..jeeya kuch boldo”, “Ehsan tera hoga mujhpar..”, “dil ka bhawar kare pukar…” (gosh there are too many!), listening to him is like reiterating what I feel “Aaj mausam bada beiman hai…”, “yeh dil na hota bechara…”, “Pukarta chala hun mein…”. The wonderful part is it’s not just his voice; it’s the ambience that all the elements of the song create, make belief but so real. Nothing, no era beats it!....I am in love…:)

It's a funny funny world...

You sip your morning coffee at your desk
You think of working a lot, while at rest
You get paid for a job undone
While the other slogs his ass with no fun

You feel you are wasted so you work your mind
And the places you see, you can’t say “its mine”
The real in contradiction, mocks at you
And the unreal moments diminish to a few

You start saying “anyway”, to all things you talk
But living it in your mind, it helps you walk
The two minutes of work, make you feel great
And before you realize you hate it, it’s too late

Flirting with the freedom, struggling to take care
Occasions where you feel pampered seem rare
Envy of one’s eye, she exclaims “I wish I had it like you!”
And you are left to answer whether you’d still be you

You have a dream, someone else follows his
You stay put when you know the things you miss
There is so much you want to do, so little you can
Time passes painfully, time slips like sand

Irony underlines your time, irony mimes it well
You may not word it perfect, but you have thoughts to sell
It’s not really a rough ride, but the ride is whirled
You can’t really laugh, but it’s a funny funny world.

Till Death do us apart...

It is not new that movies and books stimulate a certain thought process, something specific and profound. For me it is just the movies because I don’t read at all, and the movie in question is Almost Famous. There is a particular scene wherein the characters in the movie are flying to the next concert destination and come into rough weather. Almost believing that they won’t be able to make it, each starts to articulate his/her last words quite bluntly, almost to the brink of it being a blasphemy in the book on social conduct.

Now, the thought that followed the hilarious rendition of “What I feel about each of you in this plane where I am dying” was something like this. If we knew that today was the last day of our lives, will we be the same? All of us look forward to change, but a drastic one at it just alters and accentuates everything we do or feel. Specifically in case of being in our death beds, what are the things that we would say…to the world, to our world or to people who just happen to meet the same morbid fate that we are destined to.

When I talk of myself (because this is how it always is), I imagine three situations: one being in the plane, one getting a whole day, with the will to go anywhere and to anyone and one having the world to hear me. First of all I will absolutely make sure I am dying and there is no way I am going to get lucky (?). Because frankly there are so many things I want to owe up to and so many secrets in the closet (the key to which even my closest friends don’t have), that if by chance I survive that fate I will have to kill myself anyway. I will be like the drummer (in almost famous) who screams “I am gay”, and the plane gets past the rough weather that very minute and they survive (I am not saying I am gay here for the record). He wishes the plane would have plunged and killed all of them. It is like someone you really believed in, cheated on you.

Back to the plane. Keeping in mind that this could easily come to the notice of people who I hate and who irritate the crap out of me, I will tell them that instant that they do. I will probably not tell the people I love that I love them because that’s understood (and I have very less time to articulate my thoughts the last time). I will talk of the things that I wanted to do and want to do because sometimes I don’t word quite what I desire. It can be completely contrasting at times. And I will probably say that I don’t care where these people go from here but I want heaven.

In case of a whole day I guess half of it will be spent in indifference. Some part of the first half will be spent in telling the people I love that times up folks and I will invite a selective few to my house to have the last talk (now this is to my friends: please don’t ask me if you are in this list, because my answer to you is going to be I am not dying today). Now what I will say or do with them is subject to just one thing: me dying.

In case I get to address the whole world and they are made to listen to me, I will sing. Just sing and hope I die before the tiredness shows in my voice. I will sing my songs with everyone and just my songs, as well.

The things typed in above are nothing but a rough description of my last day on earth. Maybe my last words will be nothing but I hate yogurt or perhaps something profound like I lived…but whatever they are I don’t know now, because I don’t know if today’s my last day. None of us would be able to answer the above question anyway till they really know. But hypothetically this question just reminds us of our dark secrets and it reminds us of the consequences to live with them when you no longer burry them and instead voice them. How would it be like to live after you say “I am gay”. Death can be quite liberating it seems. For now, today, my secrets remain with me and not for anyone’s ears, till say…death do us apart.

Mi Casa...

When I buy my house how is going to be...

A two floor small bungalow with open spaces in front of the house.
Ground floor: a kitchen, , drawing room, the extra room, a hall, store room and a closet room with shoes and winter clothes
1st floor: entertainment centre, guest room, master bedroom (all rooms have attached bathrooms)
Favorite room in the house: entertainment centre: no furniture in it, no fans in the room (only AC) and on the roof music notes is stuck. All walls colored a different color and white floor (not pure white). One wall: a huge shelf where all my music CD’s, movie DVD’s and sitcom DVD’s are kept, with few books. There are bean bags and a mattress with a lot of cushions (bright colored). The room has dim and bright lights. On the wall in front of the seating a huge LCD screen TV is present. There is a side table very close to the ground where a laptop (with headphones and charger) is kept, right next to the mattress. The table has an extra shelf where magazines (MAD and some comics from the shelf) are kept. On the third wall on the right there is an acoustic guitar on the wall.
Master bedroom: A big bed with mattresses that soak you in when you fall on them (read extremely fluffy and soft), bright sheets and matching pillow cases (never had that) and two big pillows and two small cushions. Side table with a reading lamp and lots of drawers. One single color of the room that is one of the colors of the entertainment centre (a light mellow color like lime yellow). On the left a long sofa with cushions and on the right a dressing table with a full length mirror. Right next to the mirror a huge closet with clothes and multiple shelves. Bathroom of the master bedroom will be big and have a bath tub. The balcony of the master bedroom will have a single seating swing and few plants.
Drawing room: black wood furniture with square table in the middle. The room will bear a sophisticated look with nice vases and curtains. It will primarily be black and white in color.
Kitchen: obviously ventilated and should have air cupboards and shelves for the gas cylinder and the dustbin. Nothing is kept outside. Labeled containers with the contents specified. Color of the kitchen could be brown (again one of the colors of the entertainment center wall) the rest of the plan in process

This is going to be my house. I see I haven’t planned the other rooms but that will come to mind soon. I need two refrigerators on each floor and the one in the first floor would be stocked with beer . I hope I make enough money to live here. For now I am living it in my head

Reality Bites....

“The sweet taste of the apple of the Eden,
Oh the vision of the eternal bliss broken
Should I have tasted the fruit that ended the ignorance?
For reality is in stark contrast to the garden where I was born”

Escapism is a critical subject that invites mockery and insult. “You are an escapist” is not really a compliment or a no meaning laden sentence like “You are wearing red today”. We invite the momentary escape, into the world of music, movies, drugs and booze but if it is incessant and a way of life you are in for some serious damnation.

These days it’s just become far easier to seek comfort in the arms of the technologically engineered Garden of Eden. You put on a TV and vent your frustration watching other person’s misery on a reality show, you switch on the computer and chat and mail random people and imagine a perfect Hindi cinema story, you have an iPod, FM, an mp3 etc and you imagine the clouds, the color ringlets, the stars, the all. You got DVD’s, CD’s and movie theaters are now mostly a place to make out or be among the crass crowd and cross out “5 eccentric things I did” from your “things I will do” list. We are so wired in, that the infinitesimally small bytes of reality…ummm well bites!

There are a significant number of people who don’t like the standard things they are given, the one thing that tops the list is a job. Most of us know what we don’t want to do. To the people who tell me that it’s a great feat knowing what you don’t want to do because it is half the battle won, well I call this half the Eden and the other half reality. They don’t balance each other at all. I call this state the Eden because it takes me an ample amount of effort to act, after knowing what I don’t want and I am content with hey I am half way there. Leaving the one thing that I don’t want and pursuing what I want takes a lot of effort. The logics call it weighing the things, the extremist call it cowardice, and I call it being the pendulum.

When you hit a certain age where it is expected out of you to grow out of the fairy tale of a knight in shining armor or the stud in the Porsche 911, reality dawns on you, the reality of being alone. Even God put Adam with Eve (yes the people who screwed it up for us mortals and resort to cheap thrills such as big boss and Monika Bedi’s unfortunate life) because he knew that no matter how much ignorance you are born with, or the indifference that you can beautifully execute, this probably will be something that you wont get over with. The feeling of wanting to have sex…I am kidding…companionship. So you go through the matrimonial. Coms, the “wanted fair tall thin educated” sections of adverts, in the hope of finding the prince charming. Fair and lovely picks up sales this time because they are your key to the dream.

Freezing certain moments in the camera, write what you feel, preserving the birthday cards, the video recordings of moments that felt great etc is something you go back to when you feel like. The time when you took a break from reality for a moment or for a while, and cribbed when it was time to go back. I like Karan Johars idea to make us feel better…kabhi khushi kabhi gum. Makes you appreciate the “Gum” because you believe that it makes you appreciate the “Khushi” more, escapism, illusion...call it all you want.

Holding on to the things that make you happy becomes a desperate attempt to stay wired in. As one grows older this feeling dawns on you even more strongly. You wish that Adam and Eve wouldn’t have screwed it up for you by eating that forbidden fruit (why the hell was it there anyway?) and you type in the words hoping that this idea will turn out to be a brilliant write. Life is structured this way; you have to live your own. Where does the question of escapism arise anyway then? You are after all living…you are just doing it your way.

The momentary lapse of the happily ever after….

Have you ever felt the need to meet someone you connect at all levels and leave the moment with the happy thought of its existence? No bickering, no awkward silences, no escalated expectations…just a smile on the face. Imagine the first time you held hands, or the time when you coyishly put your hand around the shoulders of the girl you liked. The clumsiness that you portrayed seemed cute to her. The first romantic dance, the ridiculously romantic moment of chasing each other and falling down laughing or perhaps the “being pansy” in the eyes of your friends and saying I love you innumerable times. Sometimes I wish relationships were finite with all such moments collated together.

I for one do not know what love is, I am sure a lot of you will be all ready to jump the gun on my very convenient idea of it, but isn’t it supposed to be this way…convenient? I have been on a movie watching spree this weekend with an overdose of romantic movies that are definitely not clichés. Take for instance, before sunrise…two people meet on a train, feel the obvious spark, roam around a town strange to them (it adds to the romance that the city is Vienna) and talk all night. The movie is primarily about their conversation (extremely interesting) and how they come in terms with the fact that this perhaps is the moment they should go back with and live to cherish, for the rest of their life. They meet 8 yrs after is a different story, but would it be too much of a gamble to let go of the one person you met by chance (or fate for the romantics), just so you can leave it with a smile on the face?

I understand the need to have a fair share of sad moments, more so you appreciate the happy ones. If you keep having the happy ones with someone, you might get bored of that. But I guess you have enough moments of frustration on your platter, to incorporate the same in your love life. It is like the drum roll before the first kiss, it always excites you till you have had it and after the kiss, you crave for more and the more just kills it.

Alright let’s get inspired from another movie, what if you had the power to wipe out the part of the memory with your lover, once it started to deteriorate and start all over with the same person. Keep having the moments without the knowledge of having them again and again. Kind of an escapist attitude isn’t it? But what the hell…the incredible invention of the freedom of thought saves the day for me.

For those who are appalled with every passing paragraph, a question. Would you cherish a moment more when you know it is forever or would you cherish it more if you know it is going to end…someday? Two years of college, a significant amount of school life, a couple of years in your first job or 10 days with the one you love. A happily ever after for me is more of a deterrent, than tears of happiness in my eyes.

So as long as I am not ready for the social (read acceptable) definition of love, the happily ever after, I long for the person who I connect with and who understands the same I do (who said I can’t be greedy) or a memory wipe out clinic and meeting him again with all the firsts….the eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.

The Little Black book

The mind held a million and the pen strived to word
When the lips sealed to speak and the voice wasn’t heard
In a pocket the words fit, in a pocket they were read
For in the same pocket, the little black book was kept

Every realm of the mind, of the world, his world
The pages turned to unveil, all that was unheard
It looked the size of insignificance but not in real
For all thoughts were in it, all that one would feel

It wasn’t fancy, the book, nor was the writing in it
The grammar and the sentences inside, did not fit
It was too personal a statement, personal a story
Beautiful in many facets and in parts gory

He wouldn’t visit the black book, for it wasn’t to see
It was a vent out of the moments that used to be
In secrecy was it pledged, an unsaid hiding place
His mind was the locker and the key was lost in space

How old did I get?

A lively discussion over coffee and a wicked brownie yesterday brought this question up….how old are we?

Logically 24...but then when did I start to feel the change? When did the days of throwing tantrums go…or the ones when I sought to be constantly pampered and no one dared to tell me “grow up”. When did I stop looking at cute guys and started getting attracted to the smart ones, when did I start getting offended at men being chivalrous in an obvious way and when did I start to use the sentence “You need to think now” from “You need to chill”

When you qualify for being young, you don’t seek answers for a lot of things and settle for what you get. You know you are getting old when you start to re question everything, scrutinize it for its existence, justify your stand and then spend your time contradicting the justified point. “Old” is associated to being less strong, more lethargic…I guess this is where the energy is spent.

Spending hours on the phone with my boyfriend was a common practice then but now I would feel guilty of doing the same. It would make me think that “Man, do I really not have anything better to do?” Infact the very term, boyfriend, sounds like a sugar coated bubblegum romance threw up on me, and I think I should be more “mature”. Sitting idle in front of my computer since the past two days and doing nothing but whiling my time on Gtalk and listening to music has irritated me to the core. I look for work because I feel wasted. The constant need to make something out of what I call life is always there. I don’t know what I want really, because I am in the process of contradicting the many justified points in my life.

Friends were always there. Our fights were all about who calls and who doesn’t, well most of them. Now its understood if you cant call, if you don’t pick up the phone out of sheer laziness after a days work, if you think that they should understand and you don’t need to explain and if they ask for an explanation you can tell them to grow up and they buy it.

The other day a guy was hitting on me in office, which is a common practice for people “our” age in office. And all I could think was does he not know that he’s much older than I am. He is 29. A Mcdonalds or a Whimpy’s isn’t good enough anymore for a date, if it is, you are either ‘chilled out’ or a ‘cheap skate’. A weekend is more to laze, a silence holds more meanings (because you don’t have to waste the energy on talking), a hug or I love you is a rarity and when said and done, special. A day that would comprise having roadside food, getting sloshed and sitting at marine drive for hours in the rain would be “feeling young”. How old am I? well at least now I know why they say…”You are 24 years OLD”

The Empty Rooms...

The empty rooms

A hollow room with open doors and the yellow piercing through
A comforting arm it seeks to reflect, searches for something new
The darkness engulfs, the loneliness screams, a silent player amidst
A secret it holds, a question it answers….waiting to unfold the fist

A house for the old, perhaps a playhouse, a dungeon to a killer in rage
Enveloping a thousand stories in the black, a thousand and one mysteries staged
In a fleeting glimpse I see them in motion, moving as fast as the train
A caged thriller beneath the scarlet clouds and wetted by the rain

A whisper in the lurk, an echo resonates, and I hear myself over
Many a life breathes in it, a fly in the web hovers
The leaf crumbles with my step and silence breaks, silence screams
Within the chambers, careful steps and I feel life bleeds

I concoct a tale of the knight in armor, a few horses put in
Imagination runs all directions and the world is set for a spin
A gulp I feel, a lump in the throat and the heart skips a beat
Far into the room I realize it’s time for me to retreat

The empty room calls me back and I turn around to see
The many knights who fought for it, the many kids it set free
And I walk back with a smile on my face and a thought to sell
Silence is golden for I learn; the empty rooms have a lot to tell

We Shall Dance...

The clouds in the sky drawing a picture
The winds humming our favorite song
With the waves in chorus or perhaps a harmony
We shall dance, all night long

The endless diamond sky, the moon overhead
Shinning and sparkling, mirrored by the blue
Our heaven below and his above
We shall dance, to songs plenty not few

And I will listen to your heart beat closely
And I will look into your deep brown eyes
The me I love, they will reflect
We shall dance and the time will fly

As you will take my hand into yours
My face will bear the tilted sky
A moment so quiet but plenty said
We shall dance, just you and I

The candle may blow out in the wind
The moon hiding behind the black
But the music shall go on forever
We shall dance, the moon will shine back

You orchestrate a choir singing my song
And I word it effortlessly and soon
A starry night will be blessed with it
Someday, we shall dance to our tune….

The third love of my life...

The saffron colored Jalebis on the sidewalk straight out of the hot oil or the Jamuns that make your mouth go purple and you can’t stop yourself from pointing your tongue to your friends thereafter, the cola bars and Limchus (that’s lemon bars to those who don’t understand the lingo) or the Kulche wala who gives extra Chole if you smile at him (I am not sure if guys get treated the same way). This post is about the third love of my life….roadside food.

To those who are intricately woven into the high end spectrum of luxury, to who the concept of road side food is dirt laden diseased lump of colored goo, this post is an earnest appeal to look beyond the realms of logic. For love in any form is crazy in its inception, what follows it is logic, be it love for a man/woman or food.

I always had this ice cream man in my school (that was before the plush food corner called “Daffy’s” opened up in my equally high-end school and ruined the poor guy’s business) and I remember the innumerable cola bars I had from him and contributed to his sale. After a point monotony sunk in and I shifted to orange bars but I always looked for him after school to have that juicy delight dripping on my clean white uniform and then running after the school bus like a mad woman. Ahh…eternal bliss.

A good day would be to hang out with my equally eccentric friends at a place like Chandni Chowk, have the famous stuffed Parantha dripping ghee and the tall glass of salted Lassi or probably shop till I drop at Lajpath Nagar and have the Masala Ladoo at the junction with a glass of chilled Banta (that’s a drink)….yummmm…

It’s not really always about the taste you see. Sure it is unhygienic but the Indian stomach is made to bare that. I mean if we can eat all the DDT infested vegetables with pulses that have matching colored stones (of the similar size) that click when you eat, then THIS is a luxury you should not miss. The interplay of colors and the carefully orchestrated mix of ingredients with a dash of spices, and the subsequent melting of the food in your mouth, pretty picture?:) I love the fact that most of the road side food is consumed via our (unwashed) hands; it kind of makes it tastier for the mere fact that you are able to exercise all your senses to savor the same. Sense of touch, smell, vision and taste, its amazing how all the senses beautifully fit in to give you a relishing experience.

Apart from the amazing taste of the Pav Bhaji and the 10 bucks worth fruit ice cream of Dariya Gunj or the Sev Puri and Jelly cream of North Campus, it’s the memories they have given me. I somehow find myself in an induced state of stinginess, “chillar-pana” as we crude people call it, while I am eating my Tikki or popping the gol gappas in, that are bigger than my mouth. I would lick the last speck of that cream or the “chutney” and then attack the friend’s plate in between the laughter and innovative abuses. Is it just the taste of the food that makes me love it?

For me the road side food is my extended self. It makes me understand and appreciate the “smaller” things in life that sometimes hold more importance than anything on earth. It keeps me grounded, helps me go back to the “good old days” that our parents keep mentioning. It is a world that has the aroma of a place where I remain the child I was and the child I want to be in touch with.

The Candy Man

A penny I earned, and the penny I saved,

For every grade I scored, for every promise I made

The candy man would come, at the clock of five

I saw the kids circle him, like bees on a hive

He came with a box full, which rolled around

The children with their riches, went round and round

The reds and oranges, colors of the rainbow

The wind carried music, when the whistle he would blow

I ran to the window side, just to catch a glimpse

He was the answer to all my fancies, and all my whims

The breeze smelt fresh, with the fragrance of honey

I wanted to buy the best sweets with all my money

I was the patient kid and I was Santa’s favorite child

Countless nights without the toys, I never sighed

A penny was all I wanted, to put in my piggy bank

To have that choicest candy about which Billy would yank

I would shake the pink animal, to hear the coins sing

Every time I put in a penny and shook, it would ring

Days passed into weeks, months started to come by

I kept running to the window pane, the candy man I’d eye

I believed in my dream, I believed it so much

To me it was a life, a life I could feel and touch

For I deserved the sugar drops, I was the good girl

The candy man was my pied piper, the candy my world

The day came, I no longer heard the coins ring

And upon breaking the pink animal, a joy it would bring

I ran to the window, this time a little faster

From the yearning little girl, I was now the master

Dawn broke into dusk but I didn’t hear the whistle blow

What took him so long, I did not know

Days also passed by, the wait was now longer

I wanted to cry out loud and stop being the good daughter

I wished to smell the fragrance, wished for the red one

All I did was watch the stars, and then rising of the sun

I assured myself that he was coming, he was just running late

And with hope I sit by the window, and patiently I wait

You...

For the mouth that speaks, an ear to hear

For the eyes that see, a vision so clear

For the hands that seek, a hand to hold

For the words that lie, the truth being told

For the mind that thinks, thoughts making sense

For the dreams unclear, the magic lens

For the love that’s written, a love true felt

For the words furnished, a heart that melts

For the forever that’s happy, a new beginning

For the life that’s started, the perfect ending

For the myriads that exist, a myriad to follow

For the questions so broad, a solution as narrow

For the music that plays, lyrics arranged well

For every heaven to appreciate, a tamed hell

For the cold winter nights, warm memories few

For the not so perfect me, the perfect you

18-03-2008

Flashback to a baby just born and I see her crying. The light that she witnesses for the first time pierces through her eyes and she looks for something familiar, someone to hold her like her own. My mom did I presume, because that’s the touch I would recognize anywhere and it gave me a meaning, my existence.

A couple of months down the line there is always a struggle to say the first words, to have the first walk and to smile in the company of the right one’s. I must have done that too, though I started talking so late that my parents feared I was dumb. I was the laughing stock of the house, the kid who never speaks, so my mom says. It was my grandfather who used to say that she will speak making sense and sing beautifully and that was the second most popular joke. Call it his foresight because like all normal children I did speak and like the gifted one’s I sang and I started to associate to things that sounded similar to me.

I was given a name amongst a lot of choices (and I am glad my grandfather picked this one because it was the best among them) and my identity was given a push. Like perhaps a dog may not understand the relevance of Tomy until conditioned into believing it’s his name and he comes running to you happily knowing that he is being called. I was conditioned too and my name gave my existence the exclusivity, that’s what I believe. My nickname made me happier because the sound of it made me feel pampered.

Schooling was an attempt to stand out, academically or otherwise, because my parents in the audience would gleam with happiness saying “There she is”, looking at me on the stage. I was recognized as the good singer and a good orator in school, until a time, it changed after a while. I was also the rebel in school, the naughtiest kid and then the loser on the first bench with no friends. I lived it all to look for the one world that truly reflected me and I found one. I also learnt a lot and it changed the “me” that I was, like the same learned friend puts it “learning is the fastest way to earn self respect”, I did quite a lot of that earning and learnt more about me.

And I am still learning. I learnt something valuable yesterday, that perhaps I am not some of the things that I firmly believed (or voiced) I was. I picked my friends (you can say vice versa too), I was given a family (a wonderful one at that), I was given an environment and I related to the things that got me closer to me. Why then was I choosing something that made me the person I fear being, the one who would compromise on being herself and jeopardize and distort the world that is hers’. One does do that, that’s when it is termed special in my case and such moments last for a special day or perhaps two. My attempt to have someone in my world made me almost distort it. I have done that before and I was too scared to realize it back then. I learnt it after getting “the kick”, but this time I was made to realize by the one friend who played his part perfectly. That was a moment that enlightened me in many ways.

When you talk of individuality, you look for things that define you. It may be your family, your friends, the one you love, to a certain extent, but it is primarily the person they accept you as. You have a twisted world of your own and the people you choose or get are the people of YOUR world, accepting you in your crooked ways. Why then do we accommodate things in our world (or people) so they fit? They can’t make your world any more special for the mere reason that they don’t accept you for the person you are. All my friends are different, I mean they aren’t alike. They represent the varied facets of my world and reflect that for me. I guess that’s why I look for immense space from them and maintain the bond over the years because I want to reflect the multi dimensions from time to time, not always. But over a few days (call it staying alone blues) I saw myself constantly being in touch with one facet of my world, reflecting on it and despite the much required break continuing to do so to the brink of accommodating it. Why? I don’t know. But I am glad I was made to look into other things that would define me, that exist as synonyms in my life. I would always be in touch with that facet as it reflects the “me” that I want to be understood as, but then I have more to me so I should look at the other facets as well.

The reason for this post is perhaps hard to understand because it is something personal but I am adding this last paragraph to put the many above in concise. When you make friends, be with your family or rebel, your reason for doing so is that you value your existence. The things around you mirror you and you like it that way, you end your life when you realize you have accommodated things to such a degree that the mirror image isn’t yours’. If everything boils down to you then why compromise. A friend in “love” with a guy I know makes innumerable efforts to fit into his world (and make him fit into hers), why? If he is the man of your world he will reflect you. I know mine does and I am happy that the things that exist in my world with the people, reflect me. The day it stops to happen my world will lose its meaning.

Preaching is anyone's business....

The other day I was chatting with a friend on Gtalk, she just had a break up with her boyfriend of three years. I knew I wanted to help but I did not know how, so all I furnished were well constructed grammatically correct feel good sentences, and I was an angel in disguise that day. The reason why this so called help, in my words, invites sarcasm is because anyone can preach, be on the other side and furnish a “things you should do list”, and no matter how much mess you are in yourself, furnish the advice to the needy(?) one. I often get from my friends that “you should be a consultant”, well to the learned one in my life who said that consultant is a badly abused word, I agree with you my friend

Funny being an MBA I have an aversion for all books that preach, 7 effective habits, how to be a good manager, blah and blah and some more blah adorning the best sellers list. No offense to all those who have truly felt that these books have enriched their lives. Maybe you needed to hear the obvious at that time, for your belief faltered. All of us do at one point in time or the other, wanting to hear the obvious, but what is it that makes these books sell and not our friends who state the obvious all the time…”dude you suck!” , “I love you so much”, “this class is so boring”, “get a life!”…get a life…this sentence is the best consultant’s advice to everyone wanting to find answers from everyone but themselves.

It appalls me to see people worshiping other people. You can respect other people but not worship them. At the risk of inviting some pissed off comments on my blog (I know some people personally who would hurl the abuses) how can people worship Puttaparti Sai Baba (I don’t know if I am getting the name right) or all the ammas and babas in town who look at you smiling from a torn down sticker in a bus so crowded that makes you feel “God why can’t I get a chauffeur driven car?”. Just because they show you magic tricks or say “Aum” in a meditative manner and tell you to lead a virtues life? Well hello!!!??...worship all the magicians, the yoga instructor and read the religious books for the best preachings till date. I guess the thought of having our prayers answered the simpler way will even make us worship an ant! Hold religious gatherings, spend millions and be virtuoso by mind and not in deeds.

Does it take a super human to realize that preaching is anyone’s business? Each of us preach the things we hear from the other person and we believe because we agree. My friend did believe she deserved a better guy, the ardent follower of Amma in town believes that he should lead a good life and yes sound business communication skills makes you a good manager. The preacher, the one taking the supposed higher road, wants to believe the things he rendered through the pious incantation. “Everyone deserves to be truly loved and will find love in time”, I wanted to believe that when I preached that. I want to hear all that is obvious sometimes because sometimes stating it makes all the difference. Lines like “You are the best”, “I am so glad you are here” make all the difference and they don’t invite a prayer in their honor, just my smile. It doesn’t make them a consultant or another amma, just human…and human we shall be. So all you ardent followers of Stephen Covey and Baba Kishorilal....Please don't get offended, I was only exercising my right to preach and in turn believe.

Life....is your movie

The first rays of the sun falling on my face, waking me up from the prolonged welcome state of unconsciousness, and I go about the day. With a song in my ears I walk towards the station to get on the crowded train, reach my destination only to work my ass off on things that probably don’t even matter. I stand at the centre of the crowd cracking mindless jokes and I hear the laughter that makes my day. I fight with someone who matters and cry over it, but a hug makes the whole difference, an insipid sorry perhaps and we are back to playing the role of friends. I have an exam and I cheat and score better than someone who studied and boast about it, despite being socially unacceptable at that time. I hear another friend yanking about her boyfriend and how wonderful he is and I fly into the world of imagination where I rule. Running towards the love of my life in a great outfit among the clouds and falling into his arms. With probably rage against the machine or Judas priest in my ears for the evening, I end the day thinking the numerous stunts that I will have to display to get home. Life…is my movie.

Ever wondered how your monotonous routine of getting up and then lying down again sounds like a great plan, a great direction. Everything centers on you, it is always your family, your friends, your work and your love. In other words you are the star, the undeclared hero of the amazing twisty plot etched out to be a masterpiece. It has the right amount of action and drama and corny sense of romance that will give Karan Johar a run for his money (take Yash Chopra if you want to make it sound classier). The different realms of world that you choose, add the spice. Music, movies and the internet, take your mind through an imaginative journey with background songs without dancers thrown in (you may dance and you choose to be the best at it too). Walking down the road with a song to hear you go into trance, thinking that the characters walking on the road around, who you don’t know, are so insignificant, if it weren’t for your eyes. Life is your movie.

Despite this exclusive role of a lifetime, why do we wish to play different roles? Why do we say “God, Why me?” why not you and if not, then who? Who else can play the hero as good as you do? You fit the role to the tee. You are in good hands after all; you can trust the director here. The people that are thrown in our lives, as whatever, have a role to play too and we get to decide their significance in the plot, or so He might like us to believe. There are some relationships that we make that have a defined scope, a special appearance. They make you feel good (or bad) and solve their purpose. Prolonging them makes the movie boring. There are some supporting characters that can be applauded with an academy, they are just absolutely brilliant! And there is always the hero or the heroine for you, with a supposed “this is the beginning” tagline.

Mould away into a fine actor, a fine tuner, who understands the gravity of his role. Be the excusive star and sometimes the Aamir Khan or Taboo, and play between the frivolous actor and the dramatic one. If it’s a movie, it has its fare share of action, drama and romance. You may never know what part of it may win you the accolades. Trust him and trust yourself, if you have chosen the script that is being directed by the ultimate director, it is bound to be a hit!

"La tristesse durera toujours"

Beneath the star studded sky, a faint melancholy,
a song of heart or perhaps a mourn.
Happiness enriched, the breeze smiled,
a reflection of the countenance of her.

the silver streams harmonized
the breeze in tandem played
the song of her heart she felt in nature
and everywhere she wandered

For God has his words spread to the ears,
Some mouth the gnomic pronouncement
others feel and mime the pious chant
but she sang to hearts content...

but my dear, your songs fell
on deaf ears filled with noise of the world
I wish I could understand the sighs that
laced the sorrows and eternal bliss

You loved the world dearly
even when they forsook your soul
Your songs exuded the life
that they all frivolously lived

Your love made the mundane come alive
Your songs exemplified passion
Yet I can understand the agony accompanied
For a listener your heart sought

And with the songs you passed away
But in the songs you lived
For life in a different meaning you taught
To me and the world left behind.

Into the blue...

The deep blue submerges the obscure, the plenty
I stretch forth my hand to dive in and be revived.
Time, comes and goes, and brings with it the nothing,
Washing my feet on the coarse shore...
and i look, stare as far as my eyes reach,
where the cerulean blankets the blue,
interplay of colors and merging within...and i wonder is it life?
Is it life...i look for?
Is it myself?
& i stretch forth my hands to fly into the oblivion,
Where the depth merges with the zenith.
the sylph frees me, or so i think..
but only enmeshes, like a sylphs' hair dancing with the wind.
& I wonder..the oblivion knowing no bounds, curtails my forlorn soul for what reason.
I wish i could dive in, fly...into the blue without certitudes,
for even forlorn to the eyes, I'll have myself.
For standing on the shore only begging, I have lost me.
Do i look for a soul as forlorn or a reviver?
Do i wish for a paint brush to fill colors to the limitless canvas,
or the canvas itself?
But standing, a hope flickers, someone in the far reaches is listening,
to the unsaid, the untold, the undone.