A song propels someone to do a mental jig of sorts, a little stream of water is perceived as a serene river cascading down rocks and the darkness of the night is paralleled to a space adventure. A wise kid said in “A Bridge to Terabithia”…close your eyes and keep your mind wide open.

Amen to that.

There is this issue of love and man
Perhaps god made love to show that he can?
And then he brought in the lovers and their heart
He told them his wish…love..
..my children, never part
Bud did he prepare them for the labour of love?
The agony, the pain, the upheaval of trust?
Pray, did he give a hint at all,
To the lovers and their heart..
About the mighty fall?
Nothing was told,
They were not fore warned
To bear the burden..
Would not be easy at all

Obscure Battles that are won everyday...

"I’m weak and ungrounded, the accident didn’t leave me with much to go on with. All hope was lost, all self resolve, all forms of resilience gone. Each day was a long journey of survival, every breath an effort of protest against the urge to give in to the abyss of loss. Every step I took came after much deliberation, and hesitation, it was accompanied with constant foreboding of doom. The fear of failure to walk was always at the back of my head. It impaired every move I made, it made me lose hope in myself. The days would float by, without much from me to it, and without much to it from me.
The passive existence continued. The hope would come one day and encourage me to conquer the fear and start anew, yet sometimes it would elude me for days at a stretch. The days it engulfed me, life seemed to have given me another chance. The days it went absconding, I wanted to crawl back to the beginning of existence or perhaps the end of it. I was broken at places I hadn’t even realized. I was broken in my belief in myself. I was broken in my belief in existence. I was broken in the perception of life. I would cling on to anything that promised to get me a step ahead. I believed I needed this support to learn to crawl back into the race. Somedays help came, other days I waited by the window, I called out its name, I even begged, yet it decided to stay away. Soon, I stopped waiting. I decided to inch back into the game by myself. I was tired of waiting for a miracle, a rescue mission. It started then, the recovery.
Soon, I was trying hard to live. Striving to move. Striving to be more than a breath. The motion and the breeze were my heroes, I sought inspiration from them. I was walking again. I could feel the wind in my hair. I started dreaming. Hope and fear stopped being quirky then. I knew they were not my enemies anymore. I wasn’t ready for the final race yet. Baby steps were all I could do. Then came the aftershocks. I wasn’t ready. The defense wasn’t in place, the gameplan wasn’t final just yet. I was broken again, the blow split me up. I lost my brace and suddenly found myself back in the abyss from where I’d just emerged. But this time I recovered faster. I’d been there before. It was familiar. I knew what was to be done.
I’m not perfect still, my insides are still weak from all those falls but I know, the next time when I fall again, I’ll be up faster than before, and then one day I’ll just stand the fall out."

All that you do is a drop in the ocean, but still, it counts...
All that you do can be wiped away by a single wave, but still, it counts.

Revolving Doors of Life...

People.Perhaps the single most defining thing in our life. Without the right kind, all accomplishments and sybarite lifestyles are worthless, and with the right bunch, pedestrian excursions to the ice-cream shop can be more fun than a helicopter ride across Manhattan.
All though life, some people make their place in our life, some however, leave.
All that seems important though is developing that keen sense of discernment, who do you let go of, and who do you cling on to for dear life.

How easy it is for people to rip our lives apart, as we go on with our life, naïve, vulnerable. Is it that the next step we intend take has been consciously destined to be our last, does such a though ever occur to us?
Outside, the sky is blue, the pedestrians mill about in quotidian fashion, but at some level we know, that something lurks behind the façade that obscures the darkness so well.
The reality that we can be violated grotesquely tries to reveal itself to us, and yet we choose to remain oblivious to the fact.
The Delhi serial blasts confirmed our worst beliefs, the plangent effect they had on the lives of its citizens, is evident. For, we have been intruded upon, our city has been attacked, and the places we frequent have been subjected to destruction. Government, and legal jurisdiction aside, the thought that something bigger, more powerful can change the face of a city in such a short span is unnerving. Terrorist activities leave us all wondering about our control on mortality and above all, safety in the place we call home.
Perhaps, in the context of these events, freedom has a new meaning for all of us, maybe its time the nation comes together, keeping the caste, language, religion, and state barriers aside. It could be the time to declare our solidarity; it is the time to be one.

Give me sight
Beyond the world I see
Let my speech
Be more than the words I say
Let my steps take me
Farther than where I can go
Let my mind wander
Beyond the realms of imagination
May this life bring to me
vistas unseen

Tiptoe around the dark
my child,
I can see through you
I know what you hide
These pernicious affairs,
Avaricious nightmares
ghosts of the past that reside,
I can tell like it is,
The beauty , the ill
All that rests inside.

Pray for this day, today
my strength, my religion
Pray, for the day, someday
my clarity,my tomorrow

A typhoon, universal gratitude and a somewhat lost me.

I have watched enough movies to know that the slightest of hunch about a thing going awry, particularly when related to death by accidents, comes true. So, it was obvious when I heard about a typhoon in Hong Kong, I wanted to reschedule my flight. But such convenience was not to come my way, perhaps the universe wanted me to become more resilient, withstand higher degrees of turbulence, or just simply perish. As the hope of traveling on another date due to closure of reservation office dwindled, paranoia escalated. I battled that by promptly sleeping for three quarters of the flying time. The captain assured us of a bumpy albeit safe journey. But bless the man for he landed us amidst torrential rain and heavy storm cloud cover onto a runway that materialized out of the choppy seas all too suddenly but at the right moment. The landing alleviated my impending sense of doom which had resurrected itself as I had come back to consciousness after the slumber. Now all I needed to do was to eat an overpriced meal at the airport, buy a bus ticket and be off on the last leg of the journey.

Things however did not materialize as I had so brilliantly planned. The bus services had been cancelled, the tropical storm warning had reached 8, and If I didn’t hurry the trains too would be overcome by inertia and wouldn’t budge from Hong Kong. I hurried to get a taxi, as luck would have it, the guy knew only two words in English, thankfully one of them was ‘Danger’ , so I knew exactly how to feel on the ride to the train station. The rain swirled all around, and the taxi swayed sideways, which was the drivers cue to blurt out the word danger repeatedly. Even though the bridges were off limits, half the roads inaccessible, and my mind was running amok with huge tsunami like waves crashing on top of the taxi, I reached the station in time to catch the afternoon train to Guangzhou. But I wish the transition from the taxi to the train seat was as effortlessly brought out as the last sentence. When you add a person with my gait, and four pieces of luggage weighing more than me to the equation, the result is, well, nothing short of a miracle.

So I’d like to thank the man who helped me load on the luggage onto the X-ray machine, the people behind me who didn’t squirm or push when they crawled behind me as I struggled to maintain balance, walk, and push giant pieces of luggage onto the escalator, and the kind, kind man who helped me put on the above mentioned luggage on to the carriers in the train, and who broke his glasses in the process. Eternal gratitude is what I feel, and perhaps this is the only way I can express it. Xie, Xie all.

The end of an era

How do you fit your entire life into two bags? Your whole twenty three years of existence, your memories, your thoughts, your belongings? How do you say goodbye to the place you called home your whole life? Such a tirade of questions, few answers though.

There are some goodbyes which happen because they must and no number of wars waged against them delay their occurrence. There are some which happen suddenly, like an untimely death or an impromptu official trip, and then there are some which are carefully planned, meticulously thought about, goodbyes that have been ruminated over for a while, stewed in their own intensity, and are thus gulped and swallowed into the pit of reality ever so slowly. That is my goodbye, a heady, heavy feeling of loss that has become a part of my being now. It was premeditated, the consequences known. When I decided that this is something I need to do, I went through the final few days several times in my head. I’ve already shed my tears, and my heart has felt heavy many times now. I feel relieved somewhat. Even if I do get overwhelmed on that fateful day, I will be prepared.

Change is universally unwelcome usually, not here though, not by me. It is daunting at first, difficult to traverse, it throws curve balls your way, and you’re caught off guard most times, but that is exactly what endears me to it. It is my tonic for survival; it is what I do to break free. It is what I need to dream. It is what makes me say goodbye today.

Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been -
A sound which makes us linger; - yet - farewell!
~Lord Byron

Search for my puddle

This surrogate life, that I live, tells me I’m not to live it, this isn’t my life. I watch as raindrops fall down in slow motion onto the ground, into their personal little puddles, and wonder where my personal puddle is. Has it dried up or did it not exist in the first place?
The raindrops are fortunate; they have somewhere to be, a place where they can return to their form. No wonder they do their sanguine dance with such flamboyance. Enthralling us all. They know their personal puddle awaits them.

Wind Of Nostalgia

As yellow leaves fall down between the pages of the book I read, I look up the sky that filters through between the spread of the trees. I sit on one of the benches in college, two years since I studied there last. The sights I see, the surroundings, are ever the same, yet so different.

If I close my eyes I can picture the familiar faces milling around campus, amidst these familiar surroundings. How is it that human life is so transient where as the things around me stand transfixed, a witness to the journey? Perhaps they undertake a journey too, maybe these very things that stand transfixed in their existence have changed as well.

A moment in time is an amalgamation of the people and their surroundings, all intertwined together. Their existent together makes for that very instance. When I look at the trees that have stood here all through, in my presence, outside my presence, I realize that they have changed. The leaves that they shower on me are not the same I walked on two years ago. The yellow leaves that the wind brings my way have a different rustle to them. The buildings and classrooms are inhabited by a different set of people. How could they ever be the same?

Reminiscing comes easily to me and it is reminiscing about the small frivolous bits that makes me feel most nostalgic. It isn’t the grand bash that I miss or the day I got my result that I think about. It’s the walk down the road that leads to college that I want resuscitate , it’s the pages of the book I read while bunking class that I want to browse through again, it’s the laughter of my friends, that I want to hear, as I picture myself running away from mocha the resident college dog.

All through life people yearn for those big moments. A supreme accomplishment or that much sought after accolade won, that we could narrate to our grandchildren someday. But really, it is the mundane little things we disregard in the very instant of their occurrence, that we seem to remember two years hence. Believe me, it’s all about the song you hummed while driving to college, the flutter of the heart at an inadvertent gaze, the folding of jeans to wade through puddles and sharing that hot cup of coffee on a cold winter morning

The Passport Chronicles

5 Steps to easy application for an Indian passport:

The quest for passport acquisition. It promises such dreams, realization of plans of travel to exotic lands, and the much needed identity proof in this cosmopolitan global age. For me though, it was just a frustrating realization that the visa sheets are indeed all stamped up and no future travel can be embarked upon without an additional booklet. So with all the documents in order (or so I thought) I decided to accomplish this task and thus began the most enlightening three hours of my life

1. The Complete Addle-ment

On arrival (forty five minutes before the counters are to open) I am confronted with multiple winding queues that seem to have no start or an end. I look around everywhere standing in the middle of the road for a board or assistance personnel but all I can see are more confused people. But atleast they have water bottles. I convince myself to break the inertia and start moving around the general area, I remember some instructions which were uttered to me, they seem hazy and grey, but the words “queues at the back” seem to emerge victorious and I can literally imagine a light bulb popping somewhere in my vicinity as I rush to the rear of the building. To my horror, I see more serpentine queues, the giant grey building seems to have grown tentacles that seem to be encroaching on to edge of the compound, then on meeting the wall, they turn and start growing in the emptiness, multiplying by the second. Every time I look away and then look back, the tentacly-queue seems to have grown. There is no time to think or wait. I must do something now. But the profound questions is, What exactly?

2. Enter the Tout

I think the likes of touts have come to thrive because of little girls who are totally lost in environment described above. No wonder Shri Gopal, sensing my discomfort rose to the occasion assuring me of getting the mandatory Affidavit which I’d conveniently ignored from my documentation to bypassing the meandering course of the queues. For a meager fee of Rupees eight hundred of course. The notary fee is separate, might I add.

We walked, we braved the stray dogs, we got the affidavit, and the notary obviously doesn’t have much work to do apart from signing affidavits for complete randoms.

Shri Gopal had a lovely gentleman waiting in queue for us while we were trying to accomplish the unthinkable (the affidavit bit), on return to the compound bursting to seams with human queues, I was made to stand in place of Shri Gopals lovely gentlemanly friend. He tells me to stand in front of an ‘ uncle’- a man I’d never seen before, and wait for my turn at the window. I start counting the number of people behind me, in order to calculate the price of skipping each position in the queue. There are a good 50 people behind me. Had I just handed out sixteen rupees to each individual ( or offered them a coke) , in exchange for their position in the queue, I would have been here, same place, having performed a great deal of social service in the process. Ah well, if only all entrepreneurial initiatives could come to life.

3. In the midst of the serpentine melee

So what do you do when ‘uncle’ behind you fails to come to terms with his decibel level and the existence of ears of others? In a mere five minutes, I know his entire familys’ first name. His daughter isn’t exactly soft spoken either who intermittently comes in to check on the progress of the queue. I wish someone would tell her that it hasn’t managed to move an inch since the attendant who is supposed to be at the window is on a prolonged tea break or is absconding. Whatever takes your fancy.

A fight breaks out in one of the other queues, I hear a scuffle, some agitated voices. The security guard next to our queue is urged to go and settle the issue, but he seems to be either suffering from some form of ear dysfunction or information assimilation disorder for in reply he assures us that the window would open soon. People give up. I shut my gaping mouth. The tout is MIA.

4. Directions through ESP

I have a new identity. I am token number 15. I look at it with sheer happiness inside my heart. But then reality dawns, I don’t know where to go next. I try to look as confounded and confused as I can, so some person feeling super helpful would stop by and ask me If I need help. This doesn’t work. So I take a round of the building, asking around guards and looking for some kind of board that would guide me to the realms of clarity. My respite comes in the form of a gentleman, who on being asked tells me that I am to go inside the building, into hall number one. Of course, hall number one! It all seems to be a breeze now, I confidently walk in and settle down on the chairs in front of the huge electronic board which seems to be belching out numbers in red. I make small talk with the kind lady on my right.I look at the board intermittently as I ask the lady about her work and her family. She volunteers information willingly. She is married. I am taken aback for I had passed her off as a college student. She has children. She has TWO children. And she is a housewife. I volunteer my meager details in return. I have nothing to offer really. Stale job. No family by virtue of marriage. The ‘ uncle’ from the queue joins us, oddly enough he seems to be happy to see the gang from the queue outside the building and gleefully points us out to his wife. We exchange token numbers, and settle down in the endless wait.

5. The counter relay

So I am indeed called to a counter. But that’s not it! I am harshly reminded that I need to fill in some details. When I look at the form, the blank space asking for husbands name stares up at me. I look at it more blankly. Then the kind sir, tells me that the identity proof is also absconding.
Oh well.I walk, I brave the stray dogs, and get a photocopy of my drivers license. Then a gory wait begins. A baby cries. A lady jostles me to the side. An over enthusiastic girl points out that a particular is incomplete. I mumble a thank you. It’s my turn and I’m parceled off to counter number eight. Counter number eight then shuns me to counter number seven and half. Some signatures and nods occur, I’m thinking perhaps now, I'm done. But then the file is shoved in my hands and another counter is fated for me. I’m asked to produce money. I do it quickly lest he ask me to move to another counter for delaying the same. The nods of head look more promising this time around; maybe it is actually the end of the counter mania. The cashier hands me a green coloured receipt. I look at him. I look at it. It says collect on 4/8. I ask the words hesitantly “ Ho gaya?” - Is it done?. He nods without looking up. I’m stunned. I walk out in a daze.

I love this storm, Why don't you?

There is this storm, it’s here and there. Its really everywhere. Sometimes outside, sometimes within.
I am not quite sure if it’s a portent of the good or the bad. Adage says it’s a symbol of things going awry; it’s a symbol of turmoil, an indication of bad times to come.
My heart tells me it’s just a bunch of clouds blocking the sun, it allows me to look at the sky without the usual beads of perspiration on my forehead, I’m free from the squinting eyes.
I see people running, taking shelter. I stand there transfixed. I find myself getting drenched. I close my eyes. I let the storm swirl all around. My heart flutters a little, and then beats steady.
The turmoil of the storm churns me up. It takes me to thoughts and moments I’ve never experienced before. It rids me of the inertia, it propels me to explore.
The gusts of wind, with their mighty force crash into me, against me, instigating action. The rain seeps into my pores. It creeps out the inaction.

I look up to the sky, I wait for another storm.

Silly, Stupid Heart

I’ve wrapped my heart in butcher paper, and told it to wait. There Is no point to its beating, no need to carry so much weight.

I’ve let it subdue from its convivial self, and I’ve coaxed it sit tight. I beseech it to not skip a beat, when the words said are right.

I will it to cease from aching, after all this effort that’s been made. For all the joys and tribulations, I don’t think it likes this trade.

Someday perhaps, I’d unwrap it so and let it flutter again, my vulnerable little heart, that beats for everyone, under all this mountain of pain.

Lets Make obscene Sounds, Lets Shout!

I am in the mood to say sod off today. Having reached the conclusion that anger is better than sadness, and shouting better than being morose, the garb of demureness is being shunned and the tails of acrimonious, venomous words being clutched, as they prepare for their launch into the oh-so-unprepared world.

What is the point, If I may pose a question to everyone, of grieving when wronged? Does the wrongdoer have any inkling of the silent sniffling that is being carried out in the dark corners, the tissues that are being littered all across the floor with silent promises to self of cleaning up later? Does the sorrow do anything but cast more cement into your already heavy heart? These rhetorical questions have been my muse of late.

Such inspiration seldom comes one’s way. Shove the sniffles, embrace the spontaneous yelling. Amen.

To the dreamer...

This is dedicated to 2 very special people in my life, who have been my dream rechargers of late, in this very very turbulent time.

You are a Dreamer. These thoughts that weigh you down, need to be unfettered, this moment that hangs like an ominous cloud needs to shower just this once and disperse. Compel the forces that work in tandem to abash the dream to exit, order the dream to pervade.May this be a moment to reckon with, a reality check of sorts, a time to believe, that everything you do, all that is your existence will take you towards that very dream...your new reality.

May the eloquentless of this inspiration instill the will to laugh at my pretentiousness, but that was MY dream for today...:)

PS: ' All that we are is a result of what we have thought' Buddha

Memories of Marseille

When I settled comfortably on the lush green seat aboard the TGV to Paris, the thought of leaving Marseille probably had not occurred to me. Had that been the case, I would have lingered on a little while longer on the platform, taking in the last few gusts of the mistral, forming the last few memories of the place I’d called home the past three months At this time, I can’t help but think of the Chairman in Memoirs of Geisha and what he eloquently mentioned -“Sometimes the things I remember are more real than the things I see”. So mesmerizing were the idyllic days spent. Could it be possible that your sense of reality at a point in time is so magnified, so well entrenched, so deep, that it never ceases to overpower your today, never detaching from your existence in the present? As I rush through life just a few months later, it seems the days gone by would be cherished by me, as memories unparalleled. On deep thought, I realize that there was no one defining moment or an exceptional circumstance of clarity which I could attribute this experience to. There were no momentous occasions where I was overwhelmed a great deal, barring the isolated sighting of a shooting star on a drive to the Loire valley. It was just an amalgamation of each day, each new city visited, every gust of wind that blew my hair astray and every drop of that drizzle that didn’t drench me.

As I think back to the day of the journey from Marseille to Paris, I recall sitting by the huge window and looking at the sights speed past me, or rather me speed past them. The terrain transitions all through, the beauty remains ever the same though, casting a spell on me, a reverie that sends me to a place where words are redundant because all there is to experience is transmuted naturally, effortlessly. The music seems to agree with the sights that quickly disappear before my eyes. The speeding train, the ubiquitousness of the wilderness and the music all seem to work in tandem, creating a filigree of paradise.

The journey could have extended beyond the stipulated hours without me ever realizing. Such was the power of that moment, simple in its setting, yet so intoxicating that its vividness lives on as I write these words.

I lasted through the winter, until the onset of spring, the trees, that stand transfixed on either side of the road that is testament to this journey, accompanied me on this adventure. They had stood there in the cold winter months without any speck of green, bare, exposed, but they had persevered the test of time, and a few days before I were to leave, I saw the first few leaflets blossoming on to the branches.

Answer to a question asked...

What are we here for? Does anyone really know the genesis of this existence? The root cause of everything, the fundamental that guides every breathe we take.

We can live through this life doing the mundane things we do, without understanding why we ought to be this way. Our materialistic pursuits guide our existence, warp our existence, and convolute it too. But then again, there is the other way of doing things. We don’t always know where our actions will lead us, perhaps we have a general idea, but that’s about it. I guess its okay not to know all the answers, hell if we know half the questions that should be asked, I’d say we have achieved something. What is of consequence here is realization that the answers can be found only when we get in touch with ourselves. These seem like grandiose words which we hear spiritual leaders talk about but I’m just borrowing the words, literally, the interpretation is my own, perhaps ideas I’ve garnered from the varied experiences.

Emotions are what govern my life, it’s the heart behind the thought, the euphoria of existence and experience. Love is the fundamental behind each and ever particle that exists in this universe. The beauty that the spring day shares with us, is it not but love for mankind? The flowers that bloom, allowing us to marvel at the extraordinary spectacle, the fusion of colors and contours, exude love every moment of their existence. The ocean, with the pristine azure quality, it lies down before the sky, is that not love, which makes the ocean bare its soul? And we watch out in amazement, the culmination of the water and the sky, the love which they bring out in each other.

The stars in the night sky that religiously sparkle, to decorate the lackluster emptiness of the darkness, would that not be self-less love? And of course the darkness, which hangs on to the numerous stars for hours together, giving them an existence?

What about music, that makes us skip as we walk, nolens volens?The desire it creates within us to soar up above everything else, is that not love in our being for music, and why would music permeate the way it does through us if it didn’t love us in the first place?

I could go on about the examples in the physical world, but sounding idyllic wasn’t the purpose of this realization.

We always seek love in the wrong places, we look outwards to other people, without realizing that love is indeed all around. Accepting this reality would magnify every minute of our existence. Every breath we take is a new breath, it brings with it new experiences, hopes and it wipes out the vestiges of the past. Such is life too, it is intended to be experienced with panache and a sincerity that is only paralleled by the respiratory system. Only if we let the experience engulf us from all directions can we learn to love the existence that has been bestowed upon us.

the muse

But my memories are stronger than ever before, my past ever in my present, during my day, engulfing me like a wave, and then it comes crashing onto my reality, my now, and breaks my reverie.

Reality Bites..and How...!

Nothing prepares you for the eyesore that is Delhi than the reality check at the Indira Gandhi International Airport. Okay, I can relent a little and state that the airport is indeed being revamped and the city is being spruced up for the Commonwealth Games in 2010, but is there some training planned for the people too? Because unless our ruffian populace is taught a lesson or two in respecting women, hell respecting people at large, I don’t think much good is going to come out of all this so called beautification.

Something is fundamentally very very wrong with the men in this city. They openly stare at women as if they have descended from a planet unknown. Flattering, perhaps one would say. Believe me the look in their eyes is anything but respectful. It is impossible for a woman to venture into certain areas of the city without a male in tow. It is shameful that in this day age a woman needs to think ten times before choosing her attire depending on the areas she will frequent that day. Slacking on this front can lead to circumstances bordering on molestation also popularly known as eve-teasing in this area. It is important to note that no matter how a woman dresses no one has the right to feel that they have the authority to either pass comments in a lewd manner or in a way to make that woman feel uncomfortable. I have seen other societies and nowhere does this exist except for our country where women are supposedly revered. It is ridiculous how such an obscene overture can make a woman doubt herself.

Once on an airline, I was nicely tucked in the window seat, sleeping away the unearthly ours of the flight. I was jolted out of my sleep by my co-passengers hand trying to reach across me in order to shut the window, while innocently ‘brushing’ against me. As I was coming to senses from the slumber I realized there was some thing touching my back, I thought it was possibly my co-passengers foot, who was fidgeting around in his sleep trying to find a comfortable spot. I couldn’t really see because of the blanket and was wondering how to get him to shift when the supposed ‘foot’ started getting a bit too comfortable, I jumped in my seat and removed the blanket only to see him pulling his slimy hand away. I was in a state of shock for several minutes in which he decided to strike up a lame conversation to hide the awkwardness. Well, as soon as I came to my senses.. I ran …ran for the nearest free seat and plopped myself there, thinking, much to my dismay, that was I possibly wearing something that was suggestive. Barely a month ago I was strutting around in France without a care in the world about what I wore, and here I was on an international flight where men’s hands start flailing around independent of rationality and totally devoid of control. On second thought I had dressed well for the flight, nothing flashy, nothing revealing, just a simple pair of cargos teamed with a black shirt. Why am I telling you this? Perhaps to prove to myself that I never brought that incident upon myself, probably to realize that I could have worn a tube top and a miniskirt in some other country and wouldn’t have even invited a second glance let alone a slightly out of control albeit sleazy hand action. Is this the society we are building? One where a woman is confronted by self doubt on having snubbed an insinuating gaze from an unwanted eye? Is this what we call progress?

No amount of tall buildings and fat pay packages can make for a progressive society unless we do something about this deep seated insecurity that hounds every woman in this city. Anti-social elements exist in every society be it any country. But the problem is so widespread here that an untoward incident isn’t a chance occurring, it’s a part and parcel of every woman’s life. The extent varies of course, it can be as casual as a bunch of men laughing over a lady driver in her car at a traffic signal, and it can be as demeaning as a guy producing kissing sounds directed at women crossing the road whilst his rickshaw glides across the road.

I have no reason to believe that I am any less than a man, then why must I be subjected to such obscene behavior? The reasons are etched in social history, an understanding of those might help us fight the problem. But for that we need to acknowledge the problem, at a mass level. There is an easy option of running away, settling in some super developed nation, and visiting your city once every five years. I am very tempted considering the events of late. Then there is another option, one which entails fighting back. Reminding men of their role in upholding the honour of womenfolk ( I know its getting a tad dramatic here), rather than embarrassing them in public. It can start with reprimanding men who resort to measures which lead to writing of such pieces. It can start with stopping the guy who utters obscenities on the road and reminding him politely that he can better impose his manliness in the police station. Walking away should never be an option. There is always a choice, I regret looking for new seats. I should have slapped the guy and prescribed him a sedative for his hand lest it feel the urge to go on an exploring spree anytime soon.

Oh this trivial existence...

An excerpt from " My wonderous musings and aimless thoughts" by yours truly

I am unable to find a reasoning to the existence that we all share. All through life we have objectives set out for us, either by the society or by our family or if we are lucky by us, ofcourse within the sanctioned limits of the social system. These objectives are often monetary or status related. Some accolade won here, some candidature obtained there. We trudge on. Is it possible to ever get satiated this way? Thriving on these tangibles which stem from mans commercial activities and pursuits ought to get jaded some day. The very reason behind this is that all these objectives which we resolve to achieve, amidst the onlookers who egg us on, are a function of the artificial world. A world which man has created, it stretches beyond the grass root level of survival, it exists contrary to the world which thinks with the heart, and believes in the greater humanitarian good. It goes on like that, the objective may reach crescendo but the piece never ends. The music starts all over again. There is no end. There are just more pursuits, a bigger car, a better position, a prettier house. And once we have that, the cycle repeats itself. The quest for the superlatives is endless.
What is the greater purpose? Is it a mere obstacle course where on crossing every hurdle we land a plump prize and after a minuscule sense of pride and effusive appreciation we brace ourselves for the next hurdle? Is it just ruse, to throw us of the bigger objective? Perhaps there is a bigger purpose, one beyond seeking the highest pay package, something other than the desire to get into the top rung university, one that stretches beyond the incessant urge to pull ahead of that car in front of you at a crossing. I think it could be the greatest mystery of all. The great divine façade. The supreme attempt to throw-off the mortals by inundating and engulfing them with the penchant for commercial pursuits. How many of us are willing to see beyond this reality, how many of us are willing to compromise on the objective setting path. Are we brave enough to go the Robert Frost way and question the path frequented and take to the road less traveled? I am not sure if I can foray into this great unknown.

Thoughts..

Rain when smelt…
for what good is rain
trickling down the sides of a glass house?

Music when felt…
pulsating through
each and every vein

Wind when caressed…
on a mountaintop under the sun
affectionate tousling of hair

Book when held…
promising a journey untold
an existence in itself

Tears when shed…
for what good are welled up tears.
that get stifled before their time?

Love when said…
beauty like no other is sharing it
suppressed love isn’t love at all

The Sun roof

The concept of the sun roof, simple as it may be, offers a very profound view to life. On a bus journey back to my apartment, the thought struck me..the inventor of the sun roof must have been a very wise man indeed. Come to think of it, it’s the ideal filter mechanism. All we need to do is keep one view of the world open all the time, so we can experience what goes on outside whilst being protected from the extreme variations in weather..and yet we have the option of opening the window whenever we desire to become a part of that world. Perhaps he was the sanest man alive, for he realized how important it is to shut out some aspects at the same time having the opportunity to revel in the beauty the world offers.

Divine Retribution

Life takes us along paths and alleys which we think will lead to somewhere beautiful. In an idyllic world this might be true but in the real world, things seldom fall perfectly into place with the flamboyance we desire. On the journey we might encounter trouble, and we are tempted to compromise another person to ease the pain of our sore sore feet. Then we continue to trudge on, carrying the false sense of complacency of having made everything alright.

Who has seen Heaven? Has anyone experienced hell? It’s all here. It’s all in this life. There is no wait till death to get to the justice. It all happens in this lifetime. The good, the bad. The right, the wrong.