Helplessness, that’s what I feel when I look at The Storyteller’s Hut. I began last year with this story (one of the posts, closest to my heart) and this year, something as trivial as this post. What a contrast!!
Now, how do I stop that bitterness that’s lumping up at my throat?
I miss you dear blog!
I really wish I could find the time to experiment more, to write more! :(
God, are you listening?!!
Monday, January 08, 2007
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
The Moment
#
Here, on this earth,
Where nothing stays,
Like,
The passing cloud,
The flowing stream,
The rushing wind,
The fresh bloom and the fading flower,
The seed, the cub,
The withered tree, the dying lion,
The autumn, the spring,
Like wars, people, and innocence..
#
You flow too,
And so does that one dream,
That both our eyes painted..
Ah, shades of love,
Smudged by tears;
When colors seem meaningless,
I request for a streak of gold -
Can I hold on to you,
For a minute now -
And cherish it for a lifetime?
This memory,
The joy of a minute’s beauty.
Here, on this earth,
Where nothing stays,
Like,
The passing cloud,
The flowing stream,
The rushing wind,
The fresh bloom and the fading flower,
The seed, the cub,
The withered tree, the dying lion,
The autumn, the spring,
Like wars, people, and innocence..
#You flow too,
And so does that one dream,
That both our eyes painted..
Ah, shades of love,
Smudged by tears;
When colors seem meaningless,
I request for a streak of gold -
Can I hold on to you,
For a minute now -
And cherish it for a lifetime?
This memory,
The joy of a minute’s beauty.
Friday, December 08, 2006
Amritavarshini
Amritavarshini. You would hardly hear anybody calling me by my full name. The last time I think I heard that myself was when my class teachers took our daily attendance back in school. I am Varshini to my dad, Amrita to my neighbours, Varshee to some of my friends, Amy to few others, Varshu to my cousins, and Ammu to my mom. Ammu – would Siddarth have called me that way?
Siddarth – all I know of him is what I have heard from my parents and my aunts and uncles. Are you surprised when I tell you that I didn’t know of him till I was ten years old? He was like a little box of chocolates hidden away from me; a treasure that remained oblivious till I was deemed fit to be told about it.
It was on December 19 1996, when mom pulled me into the dining room, as I returned from school and threw my bags carelessly on the sofa. I still remember that day so vividly, in all its detail, as if it had happened yesterday. There was a cake with a single, lonely candle, glowing serenely. And my, what did I catch in the light of that candle? It was the photograph of a sweet, chubby face, with such innocent eyes, the photograph of a boy with lovely curls.
I saw Siddarth for the first time in my life, heard of him for the first time during his 20th birthday, 20th if he had been around, with mom, dad, with me. My mom spoke of a brother that I had, a child they had till five years before I was born, a precious child they lost in an accident when they sent him with his grandparents for a vacation.
Somehow, I didn’t pester my mom for details. But I burned with curiosity to know more about my brother, who had drifted away like a beautiful feather, back to God, who wanted him back so badly. How would he have looked? How would he have handled his little sister when she got all the attention that he had received by all means, earlier, exclusively for himself? Would he have flung her new doll to the corner, scribbled with a sketch pen all over its face? Or would he have kissed her gently, stealthily, when mom put her to sleep and disappeared into the kitchen? Would he have run away to grab his share of mom’s lap when the princess slept in her cradle?
What are these questions that remain answered even today? Tormenting figments of imagination, that’s what they are – when one remains clueless about what would have happened, if what happened hadn’t happened.
Siddarth was all but five when he left my parents. I think of my mom now. How many times I would have nagged her as to why I didn’t have a sibling! Why should I be the only one? Oh, how many times I have bothered her! Where would she have buried her face and cried then? My heart feels heavy, like a rock tied to the end of a thread; so heavy with guilt. Don’t give me reasons – you were afterall a kid and anyway, you didn’t know what happened. I tell you, this feeling is beyond any human reasoning.
My brother I hear, was so naughty, that his eyes forever sparkled with innocent mischief – like those of khannaiyah. My aunts tell me that he was one among them, more than belonging to his generation. He used to claim to be Lord Krishna himself and talked all sorts of things, like what big men do, for he declared that he was a big boy when he was four! Another of my aunts fondly recollects that he said he would marry her, when he finished college. The many beautiful facets of a small child that never saw light.
These are like pieces of a puzzle for me. I gather them all together to get the bigger picture, of a brother whom I have grown to love more with every passing day, a brother with whom I wish I could spend at least one day. Sometimes, I sit by the sea, smiling to myself as I let my imagination run loose. How we would have built a castle out of sand, together; how we would have taken sides with mom and dad, and laughed a great deal in the end, together; how we would have shared secrets and sealed our mouths and fooled her, together; together, together, together. I am a lonely dreamer who dreams of us being together. I am Ammu, who became Amritavarshini because Siddarth once said his baby sister would be called Amritavarshini, years before I was born. He lives no more to see it, and I live as an impression of what my brother once uttered – as a fragment of memory called Siddarth.
Siddarth – all I know of him is what I have heard from my parents and my aunts and uncles. Are you surprised when I tell you that I didn’t know of him till I was ten years old? He was like a little box of chocolates hidden away from me; a treasure that remained oblivious till I was deemed fit to be told about it.
It was on December 19 1996, when mom pulled me into the dining room, as I returned from school and threw my bags carelessly on the sofa. I still remember that day so vividly, in all its detail, as if it had happened yesterday. There was a cake with a single, lonely candle, glowing serenely. And my, what did I catch in the light of that candle? It was the photograph of a sweet, chubby face, with such innocent eyes, the photograph of a boy with lovely curls.
I saw Siddarth for the first time in my life, heard of him for the first time during his 20th birthday, 20th if he had been around, with mom, dad, with me. My mom spoke of a brother that I had, a child they had till five years before I was born, a precious child they lost in an accident when they sent him with his grandparents for a vacation.
Somehow, I didn’t pester my mom for details. But I burned with curiosity to know more about my brother, who had drifted away like a beautiful feather, back to God, who wanted him back so badly. How would he have looked? How would he have handled his little sister when she got all the attention that he had received by all means, earlier, exclusively for himself? Would he have flung her new doll to the corner, scribbled with a sketch pen all over its face? Or would he have kissed her gently, stealthily, when mom put her to sleep and disappeared into the kitchen? Would he have run away to grab his share of mom’s lap when the princess slept in her cradle?
What are these questions that remain answered even today? Tormenting figments of imagination, that’s what they are – when one remains clueless about what would have happened, if what happened hadn’t happened.
Siddarth was all but five when he left my parents. I think of my mom now. How many times I would have nagged her as to why I didn’t have a sibling! Why should I be the only one? Oh, how many times I have bothered her! Where would she have buried her face and cried then? My heart feels heavy, like a rock tied to the end of a thread; so heavy with guilt. Don’t give me reasons – you were afterall a kid and anyway, you didn’t know what happened. I tell you, this feeling is beyond any human reasoning.
My brother I hear, was so naughty, that his eyes forever sparkled with innocent mischief – like those of khannaiyah. My aunts tell me that he was one among them, more than belonging to his generation. He used to claim to be Lord Krishna himself and talked all sorts of things, like what big men do, for he declared that he was a big boy when he was four! Another of my aunts fondly recollects that he said he would marry her, when he finished college. The many beautiful facets of a small child that never saw light.
These are like pieces of a puzzle for me. I gather them all together to get the bigger picture, of a brother whom I have grown to love more with every passing day, a brother with whom I wish I could spend at least one day. Sometimes, I sit by the sea, smiling to myself as I let my imagination run loose. How we would have built a castle out of sand, together; how we would have taken sides with mom and dad, and laughed a great deal in the end, together; how we would have shared secrets and sealed our mouths and fooled her, together; together, together, together. I am a lonely dreamer who dreams of us being together. I am Ammu, who became Amritavarshini because Siddarth once said his baby sister would be called Amritavarshini, years before I was born. He lives no more to see it, and I live as an impression of what my brother once uttered – as a fragment of memory called Siddarth.
Friday, November 17, 2006
To each one, a tale..
Sai was clutching his tummy and almost rolling over the floor. Well, laughing. Anybody who didn’t see his face would easily assume that he was having a fit of spasms. His hehehes and hahahas reminded me of a monstrous but cute creature like Shrek, guffawing at a joke that may be only he found utterly amusing.
“Sai,” I called. He was too busy laughing to pay any attention to me.
“Saaaaaaaai,” I screamed, “Now what the hell is up?”
“Oh, here comes our Ms. Moody Memsaab,” he spurted out between giggles, “hehehe..hahahaa”
“hahahahaha”
“hahahahaha”
His whole body shook without any hassles, like ‘laugh laugh, no trouble buddy, am there with you to see through it all.” I stood there with my hands folded, waiting for the uproar to die down. As I did, the jumbo- bimbo’s laughter that spiked and slowed alternately, finally sloped down to a much desired silence.
“Now, could you for heaven’s sake share the joke?” I scorned.
Puffing and panting, Sai lifted his left hand and pointed at Ashok, who sat at his desk, facing his computer.
“Well?”
“Ashok,” he paused gulping down a piece of unavoidable laughter, “our dear handsome man seems to have had a great day.”
Sai shot a glance my way to see if I was responding. “Hmm“I nodded. “Whatever happened?”
“Arrey yaar Purnima, tu itna tube light be nahi ho sakthi hai!”
“Yeah right, you talk everything else other than what you are supposed to. “
“Aww..K, “he said and cleared his throat, as if on the verge of making a crucial announcement, “let me get serious,” he paused, “and not laugh, err and be precise..”
“Our romantic hunter went chasing his favourite bird with rosy dreams and the bird hopped away saying it already had a mate,” he grinned. “Our man proposed with all the romance of a love stricken heart and she told him, Can I ask my fiancé and let you know?” “hahaha, kya slap maara!!” and laughed again.
“Sai, that’s hardly funny!” I said sternly. “Why waste moments laughing?”
“Waste? Naah my dear lady,” he said, “it definitely made me feel better,”
“How unjust Sai,” I retorted, “you feel happy at someone’s expense!”
“That’s not the way you see it, Purnima,” he said meditatively. “I am just lightening up the heavy mood.”
I looked at him and sighed and moved to Ashok’s place.
“Hi Ashok,” I called out softly, “been a bad day, has it?”
“Well, yeah, didn’t expect things to turn out this way,” he spoke, words dribbling out like drops from a soaked sponge. Sadness oozed out from his voice, grief was smeared all over his face.
“Am not going to say it’s alright,” I spoke, “it takes time to get over but I know you will, someday.”
That assurance came readily from me until later when I wondered whatever made me say that. Can you get over something like that with time? Can I even make a claim to have been successful about it? Jesus, no! It’s tough and a struggle, and it hurts, hell of a lot.
“Thanks Purnima,” I heard Ashok say, “It felt good to hear that,”
“Now let me strike a blow to the gloom that’s settling in this work area,” Sai came announcing. “Let go guys, just learn to let things go.”
I smiled, hopelessly.
This man, Sai, Sairam was my immediate boss but to an outsider I suppose it would least seem that way. His heart was as big as he was. You could seek emotional refuge in him and be assured that your tears aren’t wasted. Feeling good? Go to Sai. Feeling utterly dismal? Speak to him. He always had the heart to listen, an unmatched ability to heal. I ought to be grateful to Sai. He tore open the cocoon of silence that I had spun around myself after what happened to me a year back. I suffered from what I may call a ‘loss of love.’
Do you know how it feels to be in love? I am not launching into one of those obsessed, heart wrenching, and utopian discourses on it. Love, I think, is plain, simple and beautiful. It fills one with awe, happiness and fulfillment. But, isn’t there always two sides to a coin? Haven’t we all heard of how love hurts? Few friends have told me that this perspective is farce. It depends on the way one sees it. Losing one’s love, however immature it may sound, hurts. It is like a thousand pins shooting down your heart leaving it bleed in agony.
When I met Shyam for the first time, I never knew love had come knocking. We met at a common friend’s party, started going around and things began to take shape. It reached the climax when he proposed to me on my birthday last year.
You know how it is when you have found the person of your life. You start weaving dreams, literally, thread by thread. And finally, one fine day, someone walks through the door and shreds your fabric to a million pieces and your heart lies shattered like shards of glass strewn devastatingly over the floor. That’s precisely what happened with me. As much easily as he breezed into my life, he slipped out, only that this time, he left a big emotional scar.
You can’t brush away the man just like that, can you? He left me because he couldn’t face familial pressures and finally yielded to it, married some other woman, leaving me alone.
I refused to show any signs of interest in marriage following that and much to the despair of my parents, moved away from Pune to Bangalore. Fussy I sound, don’t I? But I believed that change was a big healer.
The ad agency that I work with and the people around me sprinkled hope back into an emotionally deserted terrain, my heart. And suddenly, at some point in time, I felt I was standing like a fool, trying to leap from one cliff onto another, fully aware of a deadly chasm in between. Sounds cryptic? For all that seriousness in that statement, there is a dose of humour in it too. Laugh it off, horrors and horrors, I realized I was falling in love again -in love, with the man who had just then lost his love.
Ashok joined me over tea the next afternoon.
“Feeling better?” I asked.
“Hmm, just alright,” he said, flatly.
“Guess what Purnima,” he continued, “I truly felt like an idiot yesterday. I mean, it was bizarre. I actually felt burnt up, it that sounds any close to how I felt.”
I nodded, blandly.
Ashok looked into my eyes and I searched in those misery plagued ones, helplessly for love, for me.
Later that day, Sai walked into my cube to inform me of a client meeting.
“Sai, what would you do if you loved a girl like nobody’s business?” I asked him when he was turning to leave.
Shocked, dark silence, broken by a sheepish grin.
“I wouldn’t even tell her!”
“Come on Sai, stop kidding,” I screeched.
“Can we catch up on this during a late evening walk?” he requested. Suddenly, I felt like the boss. (Grin!)
Sai had grabbed a handful of popcorn from God knows where, when we left for a walk. After a string of useless talk, I desperately tried to drive him back to the point.
“Answer my question,” I said.
He nibbled away the single popcorn thoughtfully.
“Well, tell you what Purni, I would really tell her some day. When, I have no clue, I would do it just when it seems right!”
I smiled; Sai and his pretence of orderliness and problem-solution crystallization; Clever, quickwitted, funny and yet, thoughtful and immeasurably kind.
"But, I will tell you another thing," he continued, "I wouldn't care if she liked me or not and wouldn't sink even if she said a no!"
"To me, it's the feeling that matters, and it's just that! which is what I have always told you, ever since we met."
I kept quiet. What he said was true. This is a lesson he had always preached to me for months now.
"So," he startled me, "Let's come to the point. What's running in your head?"
For a moment, I felt like I had a transparent head; as if he could see through everything.
I sighed.
"Sai, I think I am pathetic."
"I think I am falling in love, all over again! With a man, whom you would least imagine."
"Ashok?" he asked me plainly while I looked on, dumbstruck!
"Sai, What the hell! How could you? I mean how did you..for heaven's sake, I tell you.." "Holy shit, you are too much!!" I spoke, broken sentences.
Sai laughed.
"Now tell me, how did you ever come to know?"
"Magic, magic.." he smiled and walked ahead.
I pulled him by his sleeve.
"Tell me Sai," I persisted.
"At the risk of sounding cliched, but definitely to tell you the truth, I could see it in your eyes."
And I thought I had cleverly avoided leaving any evidence.
"Do what your heart tells you to," he said and walked off.
Ashok. How was I going to tell him? Wouldn't he think I am a moron, who just advised him big time a few days before and now comes to him with a silly proposal? How stupid!
After two horrifying days and restless nights, I went up to him.
"Tea?" I proposed.
"Sure."
Over tea. The usual exchange.
And then,
"Ashok, I got to share something with you."
"Hmm..You like someone, don't you?"
"Mighty God, how did you know?"
"And I also know who it is.."
I blushed.
"Well?" I paused.
"Sai, isn't it?", "He loves you man, he told me that once!"
I just felt like a loose end, yet again.
“Sai,” I called. He was too busy laughing to pay any attention to me.
“Saaaaaaaai,” I screamed, “Now what the hell is up?”
“Oh, here comes our Ms. Moody Memsaab,” he spurted out between giggles, “hehehe..hahahaa”
“hahahahaha”
“hahahahaha”
His whole body shook without any hassles, like ‘laugh laugh, no trouble buddy, am there with you to see through it all.” I stood there with my hands folded, waiting for the uproar to die down. As I did, the jumbo- bimbo’s laughter that spiked and slowed alternately, finally sloped down to a much desired silence.
“Now, could you for heaven’s sake share the joke?” I scorned.
Puffing and panting, Sai lifted his left hand and pointed at Ashok, who sat at his desk, facing his computer.
“Well?”
“Ashok,” he paused gulping down a piece of unavoidable laughter, “our dear handsome man seems to have had a great day.”
Sai shot a glance my way to see if I was responding. “Hmm“I nodded. “Whatever happened?”
“Arrey yaar Purnima, tu itna tube light be nahi ho sakthi hai!”
“Yeah right, you talk everything else other than what you are supposed to. “
“Aww..K, “he said and cleared his throat, as if on the verge of making a crucial announcement, “let me get serious,” he paused, “and not laugh, err and be precise..”
“Our romantic hunter went chasing his favourite bird with rosy dreams and the bird hopped away saying it already had a mate,” he grinned. “Our man proposed with all the romance of a love stricken heart and she told him, Can I ask my fiancé and let you know?” “hahaha, kya slap maara!!” and laughed again.
“Sai, that’s hardly funny!” I said sternly. “Why waste moments laughing?”
“Waste? Naah my dear lady,” he said, “it definitely made me feel better,”
“How unjust Sai,” I retorted, “you feel happy at someone’s expense!”
“That’s not the way you see it, Purnima,” he said meditatively. “I am just lightening up the heavy mood.”
I looked at him and sighed and moved to Ashok’s place.
“Hi Ashok,” I called out softly, “been a bad day, has it?”
“Well, yeah, didn’t expect things to turn out this way,” he spoke, words dribbling out like drops from a soaked sponge. Sadness oozed out from his voice, grief was smeared all over his face.
“Am not going to say it’s alright,” I spoke, “it takes time to get over but I know you will, someday.”
That assurance came readily from me until later when I wondered whatever made me say that. Can you get over something like that with time? Can I even make a claim to have been successful about it? Jesus, no! It’s tough and a struggle, and it hurts, hell of a lot.
“Thanks Purnima,” I heard Ashok say, “It felt good to hear that,”
“Now let me strike a blow to the gloom that’s settling in this work area,” Sai came announcing. “Let go guys, just learn to let things go.”
I smiled, hopelessly.
This man, Sai, Sairam was my immediate boss but to an outsider I suppose it would least seem that way. His heart was as big as he was. You could seek emotional refuge in him and be assured that your tears aren’t wasted. Feeling good? Go to Sai. Feeling utterly dismal? Speak to him. He always had the heart to listen, an unmatched ability to heal. I ought to be grateful to Sai. He tore open the cocoon of silence that I had spun around myself after what happened to me a year back. I suffered from what I may call a ‘loss of love.’
Do you know how it feels to be in love? I am not launching into one of those obsessed, heart wrenching, and utopian discourses on it. Love, I think, is plain, simple and beautiful. It fills one with awe, happiness and fulfillment. But, isn’t there always two sides to a coin? Haven’t we all heard of how love hurts? Few friends have told me that this perspective is farce. It depends on the way one sees it. Losing one’s love, however immature it may sound, hurts. It is like a thousand pins shooting down your heart leaving it bleed in agony.
When I met Shyam for the first time, I never knew love had come knocking. We met at a common friend’s party, started going around and things began to take shape. It reached the climax when he proposed to me on my birthday last year.
You know how it is when you have found the person of your life. You start weaving dreams, literally, thread by thread. And finally, one fine day, someone walks through the door and shreds your fabric to a million pieces and your heart lies shattered like shards of glass strewn devastatingly over the floor. That’s precisely what happened with me. As much easily as he breezed into my life, he slipped out, only that this time, he left a big emotional scar.
You can’t brush away the man just like that, can you? He left me because he couldn’t face familial pressures and finally yielded to it, married some other woman, leaving me alone.
I refused to show any signs of interest in marriage following that and much to the despair of my parents, moved away from Pune to Bangalore. Fussy I sound, don’t I? But I believed that change was a big healer.
The ad agency that I work with and the people around me sprinkled hope back into an emotionally deserted terrain, my heart. And suddenly, at some point in time, I felt I was standing like a fool, trying to leap from one cliff onto another, fully aware of a deadly chasm in between. Sounds cryptic? For all that seriousness in that statement, there is a dose of humour in it too. Laugh it off, horrors and horrors, I realized I was falling in love again -in love, with the man who had just then lost his love.Ashok joined me over tea the next afternoon.
“Feeling better?” I asked.
“Hmm, just alright,” he said, flatly.
“Guess what Purnima,” he continued, “I truly felt like an idiot yesterday. I mean, it was bizarre. I actually felt burnt up, it that sounds any close to how I felt.”
I nodded, blandly.
Ashok looked into my eyes and I searched in those misery plagued ones, helplessly for love, for me.
Later that day, Sai walked into my cube to inform me of a client meeting.
“Sai, what would you do if you loved a girl like nobody’s business?” I asked him when he was turning to leave.
Shocked, dark silence, broken by a sheepish grin.
“I wouldn’t even tell her!”
“Come on Sai, stop kidding,” I screeched.
“Can we catch up on this during a late evening walk?” he requested. Suddenly, I felt like the boss. (Grin!)
Sai had grabbed a handful of popcorn from God knows where, when we left for a walk. After a string of useless talk, I desperately tried to drive him back to the point.
“Answer my question,” I said.
He nibbled away the single popcorn thoughtfully.
“Well, tell you what Purni, I would really tell her some day. When, I have no clue, I would do it just when it seems right!”
I smiled; Sai and his pretence of orderliness and problem-solution crystallization; Clever, quickwitted, funny and yet, thoughtful and immeasurably kind.
"But, I will tell you another thing," he continued, "I wouldn't care if she liked me or not and wouldn't sink even if she said a no!"
"To me, it's the feeling that matters, and it's just that! which is what I have always told you, ever since we met."
I kept quiet. What he said was true. This is a lesson he had always preached to me for months now.
"So," he startled me, "Let's come to the point. What's running in your head?"
For a moment, I felt like I had a transparent head; as if he could see through everything.
I sighed.
"Sai, I think I am pathetic."
"I think I am falling in love, all over again! With a man, whom you would least imagine."
"Ashok?" he asked me plainly while I looked on, dumbstruck!
"Sai, What the hell! How could you? I mean how did you..for heaven's sake, I tell you.." "Holy shit, you are too much!!" I spoke, broken sentences.
Sai laughed.
"Now tell me, how did you ever come to know?"
"Magic, magic.." he smiled and walked ahead.
I pulled him by his sleeve.
"Tell me Sai," I persisted.
"At the risk of sounding cliched, but definitely to tell you the truth, I could see it in your eyes."
And I thought I had cleverly avoided leaving any evidence.
"Do what your heart tells you to," he said and walked off.
Ashok. How was I going to tell him? Wouldn't he think I am a moron, who just advised him big time a few days before and now comes to him with a silly proposal? How stupid!
After two horrifying days and restless nights, I went up to him.
"Tea?" I proposed.
"Sure."
Over tea. The usual exchange.
And then,
"Ashok, I got to share something with you."
"Hmm..You like someone, don't you?"
"Mighty God, how did you know?"
"And I also know who it is.."
I blushed.
"Well?" I paused.
"Sai, isn't it?", "He loves you man, he told me that once!"
I just felt like a loose end, yet again.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Her Music
I watched her fingers play in perfect rhythm, dip, brush, and caress the keys of the piano as if it were a new born child. Ah my, what graceful movement of those long, divinely sculpted fingers that somehow held the key to a certain rarely experienced ecstasy! When she played, it was as if air, water, and fire seethed in anger and gushed at you, overpowering the hapless observer that one is. And yet there was that newly found peace and calm at the heart of it. Wasn’t her music beautiful for the irony that it presented with such ease?
My words seem to shiver in shame for their inability to duly describe that lingering sadness and the hum of a smiling music, unified in a moment. The force, a strangely magnetic one at that, stripped me of the human resistance I possessed and drew me fiercely, that I could go fall at her feet and slowly look up at her face. I did fall and I did see a face; a face that glowed with an unearthly serenity, a pair of grey eyes that defied the word beauty of its worth. I also saw that all that those soft eyes perceived was a screen of perfect black when her music produced a riot of colorful dreams.
My words seem to shiver in shame for their inability to duly describe that lingering sadness and the hum of a smiling music, unified in a moment. The force, a strangely magnetic one at that, stripped me of the human resistance I possessed and drew me fiercely, that I could go fall at her feet and slowly look up at her face. I did fall and I did see a face; a face that glowed with an unearthly serenity, a pair of grey eyes that defied the word beauty of its worth. I also saw that all that those soft eyes perceived was a screen of perfect black when her music produced a riot of colorful dreams.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
And I continue to dream..
Of so many things! Like taking a vacation, and writing a story, and catching up with friends, and buying a bookshelf! Recently, I have been taken in by the charm of a beautiful bookshelf, particularly because of its simplicity and elegance.
I am surprised how I can take liking to certain things almost immediately. While my obsession for books, bags and music are always growing exponentially, there are those other desires that pop up now and then and hold my fantasy for a good length of time. Like the bookshelf that I am talking about. Let me refer to 'it' as a 'she' from now on.
I see her in my dreams because I am always preoccupied about where to place her if she arrives and how I would arrange all my precious darlings from fiction to non fiction to poetry to management to comics. May be this should go into shelf one, that into shelf two and so on.
Now that am writing about this, I should share with you a similar obsession that grew in me when I bought my scooty pep three years ago. I desperately counted down 45 days before the red princess came to belong to me on a rainy evening in Bangalore. Hell, who cared for the rains?
Like some of my friends would know, that day, I actually woke up at two in the night to check if she was alright. I am glad to say that my interest in her hasn't weaned away one bit, even today. I call her my daughter, pretty, sweet, child.
The point is, I am amazed by human attachment to certain things. We care for them like they are the most precious things that define our lives and a small damage to it or a life without it seems unbearable. Suddenly, all philosophy takes a back seat and you can't think of a life without getting your hands on it. Isn't it?
I began a countdown last Monday for yesterday when my hubby promised to take me to the furniture shop. Unfortunately, the rains killed all my dreams of seeing and bringing home my much desired bookshelf. What now, I have begun another countdown for the next weekend for the same mission! :D
Updates will of course be available! :)..Good day till then! :)
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Where have I been?
Everywhere else, except around my blog. I am busy shuttling between work and home, with very little or no time to spare for writing some stories and other stuff that are swirling inside my head.
I hope to make the time soon and get back with a post, really really soon!
Take care all of you and enjoy life (and work!) !! :D
Cheers,
AV
PS : A lot has changed back from when I began blogging. I felt the title of my blog needed a change and hence, it has changed! Request people who have my old blog name on their blogroll to update it with this one!
I have great pleasure in welcoming you to The Storyteller's Hut! :)
I hope to make the time soon and get back with a post, really really soon!
Take care all of you and enjoy life (and work!) !! :D
Cheers,
AV
PS : A lot has changed back from when I began blogging. I felt the title of my blog needed a change and hence, it has changed! Request people who have my old blog name on their blogroll to update it with this one!
I have great pleasure in welcoming you to The Storyteller's Hut! :)
Friday, September 15, 2006
Waiting for Grandpa
I draw lines on the canvas of dew that has settled on the window panes. I would fix them straight but they would trickle down aimlessly, beyond my control; Random, strange patterns. Try again, and again, and again. Random, strange patterns. No straight lines. They behave as they will. Does God script lines of fate similarly?
I watch through the misty glass, the pale yet unusually calm face of the man I so revered and loved – Grandpa. Yesterday was not like this. He and I had had a nice, warm chat, sitting by his bedside. And suddenly, with minimum fuss, he slipped into a coma.
Granddad was telling me about his childhood days. How he and his little friend, Somu, jumped over his neighbours’ compound wall, into their farm, to steal mangoes with great expertise. These for me were like silver screen stories in real life. Where had I ever heard of such stuff? The movies, I bet.
Ageing is such a mysterious reality, even stranger, the phenomenon of death. To me, they are frightful truths that often haunted one in the nights and quietly escaped through the backdoor as morning descended with the illusions called life’s responsibilities. Don’t we categorize them as simply, daily routine?
Coming to think of it, there is the other side. We run in a race, fast and faster, to be the first and always on top. In the process of running, many of us forget that the ultimate finishing line is the end of ourselves. I somehow, can’t subscribe to the fact, “there is only one life, live it.” We should live it, but well aware of our coordinates. We don’t live forever. Sadly, many of us either ignore death or worry too much about it. How many of us can gracefully accept that death is indeed a humbling truth?
Surprisingly, Grandpa always had a calming view of death, not the frightening undertone that it usually presented. He only dealt with it, with such elegant ease. The calm that stemmed from his subconscious glowed on his face, as if preserved till eternity.
We fear missing others, in their deaths and in our own, missing our own selves and lives, those lives, however miserable they may get. We fear death even more, because we have no conclusive control over the causative factors.
I was missing Grandpa’s toothless grin, as soft as a baby’s. I was missing his childish craving for the forbidden jalebis, his assuring talk, his strong will that beat the fragility of his physique. I was missing the complement of me, a weak young woman– he, the strong, old man. I was missing my confidant.
Is there nothing that we can do? I ask the doc, gazing at Grandpa. The doc shrugs in reply. He is deteriorating. I hold grandpa’s hand that had grown to wear the characteristic softness of old age. I will wait for you, Grandpa. Afterall, who am I to draw lines?
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Confessions
The river bounces along talking sweet murmurs and deeper down, escalating to a silence, inert and cold. I sit in the muddy banks, throwing stones into the water and watch them disappear clueless into the ashen grey, like a spine chilling mystery; sucked in by an astonishing power of absorption. Isn’t it a similar kind of gravity of the past that’s drawing me inside, to my inner layers that I have been desperately hiding away from?
I am not a woman who somebody would easily want for a wife. That was my husband’s last remark, when he was my husband.
“Jane, you are just not happening! Look at you. Now, why don’t you pump some life into your being?”
Now that I think of it, this was never how things began between us. Rosy, picturesque, dainty, and smooth – made for each other, we had imagined. But what we reaped in the end was disdain, hatred, repulsion, tough luck. All those happy moments were ephemeral that evaporated without a trace, to nothingness.
“I don’t for the life of me understand what you want,” I had screamed one day. “Walk around with dipping necklines, revealing thighs, party all time and smoke cigarettes offensively into faces? Is that what life is to you?”
“Come on Jane,” he roared, “That isn’t everything. But that, is also life. Is seclusion, quiet and mute arrogance all that there is in life for you?”
Petty fights weren’t real reasons why we separated. They were trivial, invented, to force a separation. We forced flaws, sharp divisions of attitude to merely get away. We were getting unbearable to each other, so I thought. I had all these days, tried running away from that one truth: What forced us to invent reasons? Was I so incapable of sustaining a relationship? Was I the reason for him to bring up reasons?
These have been days of emotional curfew. I wouldn’t cross the disturbing line, after which I would break down. “Why should I waste my tears for a heartless man?” I used to reason, but the reality was that I was running away from identifying myself, as possibly the core of the entire fault.
Ah, the travails of a wandering mind! I struggle to place the entire relationship and the events associated with it, under a surveillance system – my conscience. Where had it been all these days? Had I just snubbed it all those times when it rose before me to warn me of a possible breakdown?
“Let’s give ourselves some more time,” he had suggested and I had flatly refused to even lend an ear. What could you expect out of a heart that was fuming red with rage and obscene hatred?
“Don’t try to patch up things, Sam. I am tired of showing up this façade of loving you and living happily with you.You hate me, accept it and get done with me!” I had yelled.
“Jane, you are not a woman that someone would easily want to have for a wife,” he had shouted and walked out of the house. And with that he drew the final between us. Rather, it was I who forced him to face the severity of a separation.
Then, I had thought heavily about not compromising on my individuality. Why should I party and mix, when I don’t have the inclination to do it? Why should I stop doing what I love to do, when he doesn’t like it? Even the disappointment on his face wasn’t remedy to the selfishness that I was cultivating inside me. I could have at least tried out that day, couldn’t I? I could have at least made an attempt to set it all right. Give it some space, like he had said. Like I have today; I have worn the skirt that he so wanted me to wear then.
My love for him seems to have been locked away in unfathomable depths and I had let silly things come in between us only to realize that the love choked and died a silent death inside me, inside him, that the damage became irreparable. God damn, my murky, obscure attitude!
The sun has turned a dense ball of orange, and the sky a backdrop of shimmering gold. The water suddenly appears dyed orange, a flowing satin of orange. Time to leave, I decide and walk back, unmindful of the soggy mud. I turn and see that I have left a track of my footprints. These, I think, will be washed out in moments. I fervently hope that the ironies of life will brush aside too. Realization in itself is a big thing and it has begun today. I know I will learn to live, someday.
I am not a woman who somebody would easily want for a wife. That was my husband’s last remark, when he was my husband.
“Jane, you are just not happening! Look at you. Now, why don’t you pump some life into your being?”
Now that I think of it, this was never how things began between us. Rosy, picturesque, dainty, and smooth – made for each other, we had imagined. But what we reaped in the end was disdain, hatred, repulsion, tough luck. All those happy moments were ephemeral that evaporated without a trace, to nothingness.
“I don’t for the life of me understand what you want,” I had screamed one day. “Walk around with dipping necklines, revealing thighs, party all time and smoke cigarettes offensively into faces? Is that what life is to you?”
“Come on Jane,” he roared, “That isn’t everything. But that, is also life. Is seclusion, quiet and mute arrogance all that there is in life for you?”
Petty fights weren’t real reasons why we separated. They were trivial, invented, to force a separation. We forced flaws, sharp divisions of attitude to merely get away. We were getting unbearable to each other, so I thought. I had all these days, tried running away from that one truth: What forced us to invent reasons? Was I so incapable of sustaining a relationship? Was I the reason for him to bring up reasons?
These have been days of emotional curfew. I wouldn’t cross the disturbing line, after which I would break down. “Why should I waste my tears for a heartless man?” I used to reason, but the reality was that I was running away from identifying myself, as possibly the core of the entire fault.
Ah, the travails of a wandering mind! I struggle to place the entire relationship and the events associated with it, under a surveillance system – my conscience. Where had it been all these days? Had I just snubbed it all those times when it rose before me to warn me of a possible breakdown?
“Let’s give ourselves some more time,” he had suggested and I had flatly refused to even lend an ear. What could you expect out of a heart that was fuming red with rage and obscene hatred?
“Don’t try to patch up things, Sam. I am tired of showing up this façade of loving you and living happily with you.You hate me, accept it and get done with me!” I had yelled.
“Jane, you are not a woman that someone would easily want to have for a wife,” he had shouted and walked out of the house. And with that he drew the final between us. Rather, it was I who forced him to face the severity of a separation.
Then, I had thought heavily about not compromising on my individuality. Why should I party and mix, when I don’t have the inclination to do it? Why should I stop doing what I love to do, when he doesn’t like it? Even the disappointment on his face wasn’t remedy to the selfishness that I was cultivating inside me. I could have at least tried out that day, couldn’t I? I could have at least made an attempt to set it all right. Give it some space, like he had said. Like I have today; I have worn the skirt that he so wanted me to wear then.My love for him seems to have been locked away in unfathomable depths and I had let silly things come in between us only to realize that the love choked and died a silent death inside me, inside him, that the damage became irreparable. God damn, my murky, obscure attitude!
The sun has turned a dense ball of orange, and the sky a backdrop of shimmering gold. The water suddenly appears dyed orange, a flowing satin of orange. Time to leave, I decide and walk back, unmindful of the soggy mud. I turn and see that I have left a track of my footprints. These, I think, will be washed out in moments. I fervently hope that the ironies of life will brush aside too. Realization in itself is a big thing and it has begun today. I know I will learn to live, someday.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Where I talk about the real ‘me’
I realise I have talked very little about myself in the last few weeks (or has it been months?). Hence, I have decided to put my stories, poems and all those other stuff aside for a while and talk a little about what’s been happening with me. An extemporaneous effort, hopefully without sounding like a rigmarole!
Nothing very important but nothing unimportant either. I was surprised by a strange phenomenon. Suddenly quite a few people that I know have asked me questions (through Orkut and phone calls) in their own styles, but with an underlying theme that could be framed thus: “How has married life been treating you?” and I got back to them saying more or less, “Yeah, splendid”. And it all happened in a week, when one of the dates coincided with the completion of six months of our married life.
I have to admit I have learnt a lot in these six months. Reflective as it may seem and sound, living with a partner alters one’s lifestyle from what it was when one remained single. It’s so much fun sharing one’s joys, sorrows and fears with a special person where adjustments, compromises made with the right temperament contributes in a big way to a harmonious life together.
There is a thin line that runs between what you would want to do and what your hubby desires and I think if one is smart enough, she should be able to strike the right balance between the two. Like, eating upma, for instance ;). I have hated the very prospect of eating that silly dish for years and I would run miles from the kitchen when I got a hint of it being prepared by my mother. But I cook the same thing for him, these days. And the best (or worst?) thing is: I eat it as well. But halfway through, seeing me struggle, he would kindly ask me to drop the idea. :D. Well, that’s fun. But, the fact is, it could be extrapolated to larger issues that tend to crop up in people’s lives together.
Oh, we have been doing tremendous shopping at Shoppers Stop. Logically speaking, we shouldn’t be talking about clothes for couple of months to come. Nevertheless, I know, we will and may be even go a step further to redo our wardrobes. :D.
Did I miss out “Vettayadu Vilayaadu” in between all this? :O. Oops, I loved the movie, the thrill, the immense change that it brings to the kollywood world which is otherwise increasingly being loaded with silly, soapy, sentimental scripts! Kamal Haasan dons the role of a smart cop and man, he really is, after all those ‘in between humour based movies’ of his. Jyothika does a subdued role and breezes through the movie. But the real eye catcher of the film is the characterization of the villainous men. The Diro-man really makes you hate them. Definitely worth a watch, if you are the sorts who can tolerate a little bit of gruesome scenes and violence.
Lord Ganesha alias Vinayaka better be happy :p. We celebrated his day in all its splendour and made his favourite kozhakattais, sundal, vadai, idlis, payasam and a full course meal! I don’t know whether He really ate it all and felt happy but our friends surely did. My friend was home within an hour of me telling him we made kozhakattais. Hey, you better treat me someday for this!
What’s more? I am now happily listening to a beautiful playlist on winamp and typing this away. But caution soon warms up the insides of this not so bright head. No more of these stretched out, relaxed happy days. No more of those afternoons when hubby comes home for lunch. No more of leisurely book reading, for I report for work (again, after a break of eight months) in exactly one week!
Nothing very important but nothing unimportant either. I was surprised by a strange phenomenon. Suddenly quite a few people that I know have asked me questions (through Orkut and phone calls) in their own styles, but with an underlying theme that could be framed thus: “How has married life been treating you?” and I got back to them saying more or less, “Yeah, splendid”. And it all happened in a week, when one of the dates coincided with the completion of six months of our married life.
I have to admit I have learnt a lot in these six months. Reflective as it may seem and sound, living with a partner alters one’s lifestyle from what it was when one remained single. It’s so much fun sharing one’s joys, sorrows and fears with a special person where adjustments, compromises made with the right temperament contributes in a big way to a harmonious life together.
There is a thin line that runs between what you would want to do and what your hubby desires and I think if one is smart enough, she should be able to strike the right balance between the two. Like, eating upma, for instance ;). I have hated the very prospect of eating that silly dish for years and I would run miles from the kitchen when I got a hint of it being prepared by my mother. But I cook the same thing for him, these days. And the best (or worst?) thing is: I eat it as well. But halfway through, seeing me struggle, he would kindly ask me to drop the idea. :D. Well, that’s fun. But, the fact is, it could be extrapolated to larger issues that tend to crop up in people’s lives together.Oh, we have been doing tremendous shopping at Shoppers Stop. Logically speaking, we shouldn’t be talking about clothes for couple of months to come. Nevertheless, I know, we will and may be even go a step further to redo our wardrobes. :D.
Did I miss out “Vettayadu Vilayaadu” in between all this? :O. Oops, I loved the movie, the thrill, the immense change that it brings to the kollywood world which is otherwise increasingly being loaded with silly, soapy, sentimental scripts! Kamal Haasan dons the role of a smart cop and man, he really is, after all those ‘in between humour based movies’ of his. Jyothika does a subdued role and breezes through the movie. But the real eye catcher of the film is the characterization of the villainous men. The Diro-man really makes you hate them. Definitely worth a watch, if you are the sorts who can tolerate a little bit of gruesome scenes and violence.
Lord Ganesha alias Vinayaka better be happy :p. We celebrated his day in all its splendour and made his favourite kozhakattais, sundal, vadai, idlis, payasam and a full course meal! I don’t know whether He really ate it all and felt happy but our friends surely did. My friend was home within an hour of me telling him we made kozhakattais. Hey, you better treat me someday for this!
What’s more? I am now happily listening to a beautiful playlist on winamp and typing this away. But caution soon warms up the insides of this not so bright head. No more of these stretched out, relaxed happy days. No more of those afternoons when hubby comes home for lunch. No more of leisurely book reading, for I report for work (again, after a break of eight months) in exactly one week!
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Love nuggets
Nugget#1
For all the four years that I had known him, we spoke most when our eyes locked. But I couldn’t decipher its implications. Where was all this heading to? What did it mean when I saw a sparkle in his eyes? Was it love or an imagined, self conceived attraction? It could be love, I guessed, for, the pristine beauty of the feeling meant that there was indeed something special.
But, we weren’t talking. Don’t ask me why. I simply don’t know. Sometimes, the language of silence is far too soothing than any spoken word. We didn’t want to confess something we innately knew. That’s stereotypical, archaic, clichéd. The belief that he loved me, could sustain a parade of dreams for all those years and that was exceptionally sufficient to keep my soul happy.
Someday, I would get a sign, a positive one at that, and I would know the answer, I believed. The sign finally did come, when his eyes beckoned me to his arms, on a beautiful night.
Nugget#2
One glance my way and I blushed like those docile touch-me-nots that shrink unto themselves at the touch of a finger. It was a moment pregnant with the joys of newly found love – not a word exchanged, yet it felt like I had known him for eons.
The instant was a perfect confluence of a woman’s femininity, fragility, fluidity – that the warmth of his gaze enveloped my feminine wraps. I surrendered; I melted away like drifting ice. Did he even know about it?
Nugget#3
Rishi and I had shared wonderful moments in the three years we spent together at college. It’s hard to find a true friend, someone who can sense your mood, act accordingly, lend a shoulder to lean on and cry, ruffle your hair and let your tears have a beautiful meaning.
Rishi was all that to me, but I was always left groping with a sense of doubt – Why should he do it all for me, a girl who had nothing extraordinary about herself?
I loved taking long walks with him round the campus. This won’t last forever, I told him one day. Isn’t it unkind of fate that all good things had to come to an end? Who said this would end, he asked. How could it end, if we decided to go together forever? I stood still, feeling dizzy and as I can recollect, feeling extremely confused. What ever do you mean? Why me, Rishi? There are so many pretty and interesting women, who dote on you. Why me?
Because you are not extraordinary, he told me. Because I adore the sweet child in you who cries for a Mills n Boon story, who smacks her lips after a dose of ice cream and who without hesitation, truly hugs me and sobs for a badly done test. You are simple and hence, truly beautiful, he said and pressed his lips on my cheek leaving a solemn and tender kiss, for the first time ever.
“You are the music of my life, Maya. Won’t you be my girl?”
Nugget#4
Sanjay couldn’t understand what went wrong. Veena’s send off hadn’t been very pleasant in the morning.
“Good bye, honey,” he had said, while leaving for office and was met with cold silence in return.
“What could be wrong?” he wondered all day long.
Back from work in the evening, he tried the hug and pacify formula. It always had fetched good results. But that day it had a different effect. Veena thrust a cup of his favourite badam kheer into his hands and was speaking to herself.
“I am a fool,” she said, “a silly wife who does all that her husband likes and he, he doesn’t care to even speak to her! All he can do is to waste away the morning, talking to a female colleague who he finds much more interesting than his own wife!”
“Ahh, pangs of jealousy. Now, I know!” he thought and grabbed a bunch of roses from the vase, knelt down and said out loud,
“Veena, my true love, come hug me now, right away!” and ran around her following her all over the house.
“I should tell my mom that I have married a monkey,” she said.
“Really, but it so happens that the monkey’s wife is curiously jealous!”
“Nobody is jealous, here, now go away!”
“Ah really, then somebody is trying to suppress a smile, isn’t it? Now come on, don’t lie!”
“Get lost, you meanie!”
“No, no way,” he laughed, and seized her by her waist, pulling her close to him.
“You silly, stupid, leave me now, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate to hate you, you bum!”
Nugget#5
They had been married for over fifty years now. But things were slowly moving away from what it used to be. Lakshmi was distancing herself from their beautiful past, quite without her knowledge. Swaminathan was trying his best to pull her out of the deadly abyss she was plunging into. Her memories were falling prey to Alzheimer’s disease.
“Do you remember this painting?” he asked her one day, pointing at one. She looked at it and drew a blank look. “You gifted me that on our 25th wedding anniversary!” How could he hold her back, she, the essence of all that life had been to him in the last 50 years? A big part of him was nearing annihilation. What was he to do?
One of those nights, he sat, massaging her foot and telling her how the blue in her eyes still remained beautiful, even after so many years. He told her how the warmth of her grasp still communicated a thread of togetherness even that day. He told her, how he missed her voice, their early morning talks sitting in the balcony. He told her of how they had shied away during their first night and how he carried her all over the house, when she confessed her motherhood to him. He told her how he still loved her silver grey curls and her small feet.
He took a deep breath and looked at her face. He saw a tear slipping down her cheek and rushed to hold it in his palm. He believed she heard him.
For all the four years that I had known him, we spoke most when our eyes locked. But I couldn’t decipher its implications. Where was all this heading to? What did it mean when I saw a sparkle in his eyes? Was it love or an imagined, self conceived attraction? It could be love, I guessed, for, the pristine beauty of the feeling meant that there was indeed something special.
But, we weren’t talking. Don’t ask me why. I simply don’t know. Sometimes, the language of silence is far too soothing than any spoken word. We didn’t want to confess something we innately knew. That’s stereotypical, archaic, clichéd. The belief that he loved me, could sustain a parade of dreams for all those years and that was exceptionally sufficient to keep my soul happy.
Someday, I would get a sign, a positive one at that, and I would know the answer, I believed. The sign finally did come, when his eyes beckoned me to his arms, on a beautiful night.
Nugget#2
One glance my way and I blushed like those docile touch-me-nots that shrink unto themselves at the touch of a finger. It was a moment pregnant with the joys of newly found love – not a word exchanged, yet it felt like I had known him for eons.
The instant was a perfect confluence of a woman’s femininity, fragility, fluidity – that the warmth of his gaze enveloped my feminine wraps. I surrendered; I melted away like drifting ice. Did he even know about it?
Nugget#3
Rishi and I had shared wonderful moments in the three years we spent together at college. It’s hard to find a true friend, someone who can sense your mood, act accordingly, lend a shoulder to lean on and cry, ruffle your hair and let your tears have a beautiful meaning.
Rishi was all that to me, but I was always left groping with a sense of doubt – Why should he do it all for me, a girl who had nothing extraordinary about herself?
I loved taking long walks with him round the campus. This won’t last forever, I told him one day. Isn’t it unkind of fate that all good things had to come to an end? Who said this would end, he asked. How could it end, if we decided to go together forever? I stood still, feeling dizzy and as I can recollect, feeling extremely confused. What ever do you mean? Why me, Rishi? There are so many pretty and interesting women, who dote on you. Why me?
Because you are not extraordinary, he told me. Because I adore the sweet child in you who cries for a Mills n Boon story, who smacks her lips after a dose of ice cream and who without hesitation, truly hugs me and sobs for a badly done test. You are simple and hence, truly beautiful, he said and pressed his lips on my cheek leaving a solemn and tender kiss, for the first time ever.
“You are the music of my life, Maya. Won’t you be my girl?”
Nugget#4
Sanjay couldn’t understand what went wrong. Veena’s send off hadn’t been very pleasant in the morning.
“Good bye, honey,” he had said, while leaving for office and was met with cold silence in return.
“What could be wrong?” he wondered all day long.
Back from work in the evening, he tried the hug and pacify formula. It always had fetched good results. But that day it had a different effect. Veena thrust a cup of his favourite badam kheer into his hands and was speaking to herself.
“I am a fool,” she said, “a silly wife who does all that her husband likes and he, he doesn’t care to even speak to her! All he can do is to waste away the morning, talking to a female colleague who he finds much more interesting than his own wife!”
“Ahh, pangs of jealousy. Now, I know!” he thought and grabbed a bunch of roses from the vase, knelt down and said out loud,
“Veena, my true love, come hug me now, right away!” and ran around her following her all over the house.
“I should tell my mom that I have married a monkey,” she said.
“Really, but it so happens that the monkey’s wife is curiously jealous!”
“Nobody is jealous, here, now go away!”
“Ah really, then somebody is trying to suppress a smile, isn’t it? Now come on, don’t lie!”
“Get lost, you meanie!”
“No, no way,” he laughed, and seized her by her waist, pulling her close to him.
“You silly, stupid, leave me now, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate to hate you, you bum!”
Nugget#5
They had been married for over fifty years now. But things were slowly moving away from what it used to be. Lakshmi was distancing herself from their beautiful past, quite without her knowledge. Swaminathan was trying his best to pull her out of the deadly abyss she was plunging into. Her memories were falling prey to Alzheimer’s disease.
“Do you remember this painting?” he asked her one day, pointing at one. She looked at it and drew a blank look. “You gifted me that on our 25th wedding anniversary!” How could he hold her back, she, the essence of all that life had been to him in the last 50 years? A big part of him was nearing annihilation. What was he to do?
One of those nights, he sat, massaging her foot and telling her how the blue in her eyes still remained beautiful, even after so many years. He told her how the warmth of her grasp still communicated a thread of togetherness even that day. He told her, how he missed her voice, their early morning talks sitting in the balcony. He told her of how they had shied away during their first night and how he carried her all over the house, when she confessed her motherhood to him. He told her how he still loved her silver grey curls and her small feet.
He took a deep breath and looked at her face. He saw a tear slipping down her cheek and rushed to hold it in his palm. He believed she heard him.
Saturday, August 12, 2006
அவளது கவிதை
தித்திக்கும் இசைக்கும்,
கொஞ்சும் மழலைக்கும்,
நெஞ்சை நெகிழ வைக்கும்
தமிழுக்கும் நடுவே,
உன் இதழின் மௌனம்
ஒரு திகட்டாத புதுக் கவிதை..
கொஞ்சும் மழலைக்கும்,
நெஞ்சை நெகிழ வைக்கும்
தமிழுக்கும் நடுவே,
உன் இதழின் மௌனம்
ஒரு திகட்டாத புதுக் கவிதை..
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Letters to Dad – 21st February 2004
Dearest Dad,
I realized it’s high time we revived a certain tradition that both of us – you, and me, by virtue of being your daughter, have held so close to our hearts. As you might have very rightly guessed, it’s about getting back to the art of writing letters – it feels like ages since I wrote something to you out of my hand. The fact that my handwriting seems utterly messy would suffice to say that I have moved distantly away from a culture that has a charm of its own and demands special prowess. Nevertheless, I shall attribute that to initial trouble and move on.
Dad, I am planning to do this thing, systematically. Let matters of daily routine rest with our usual telephonic conversations and daily mails. These letters will be different. Let me explain. Do you remember those nights when I returned home for my vacation? We used to sit in the balcony, look up at the sky and talk philosophy watching the stars! I remember how we used to glide from one topic to another and let words play, to put forth our different ideas. Discussions, they were, that taught me plenty and left me wanting for more.
Time has always ushered new things into our lives and can you believe it is seven years since you got me married? Dad, try how much ever, it’s been tough to maintain our relationship the way it had been before my marriage. However, my love and concern for you and mom, have remained unquestionably intact and isn’t it true that love grows even more splendidly in separation?
I want to begin this series of letters, with a special person who has redefined the meaning of my life and in the process, has offered me such interesting perspectives and thoughts that I haven’t really been able to identify myself with, before. Yes, I am indeed talking about the three year old brat that I have for a son and you for a grandson - Aryan. Dad, you got to tell me if I had been such a big trouble for you when I was young. This chap really gives me all the exercise I need to keep me going in my old age – very active, or more appropriately, brimming with ‘difficult-to-manage’ mischief.
I know I have shared aspects of his growing up with you and mom, over the phone. But certain observations, a few realizations, I feel I can best articulate only through writing. It so happens that when you watch your child grow up, it’s almost like looking into a mirror and seeing your own childhood. In a way, it’s an access to insights about what I might have been when I was a child and what as a parent, you would have done (leaving aside photographs) – things that I, in all realistic possibility don’t have an inkling about.
What I want to share with you is the emotional side of bringing up and being with one’s child, after having been one, to one’s parents. Aryan brings inside me a gush of feelings – love, concern, responsibility, pride and sometimes, fear.
It’s surprising as to how a fresh soul can breeze in so much of happiness into one’s life. From the day Aryan was born, I have watched every act of his, as one of divine nature and worthy of all human awe. Ah, what could be more fulfilling than watching your child toddle, seeing his teeth grow, throwing all those fond admonitions for getting his shirt dirty, or for fussing over a glass of milk or for sucking his thumb? I remember you telling me how mom used to scare me that she would tie a cockroach to my finger if I ever sucked it again. May be, it’s time for me, to use those silly tricks again and feel foolishly superior to a child, who knows no fear. Dad, didn’t you feel this way too?
I tremble with pride when he cites nursery rhymes with half audible words and syllables that are yet to find their way to perfection through that sweet tongue. In child talk lies the core of innocence and I wish I could trap that and keep it with me forever. It’s something that experience has eroded off my being and I helplessly realize, my son would be subjected to the same fate.
I feel responsible for his life and sometimes as Akash puts it, get over protective and fussy. Can’t help it, can I? It’s that being a mother, I feel insecure when the child is away from my vicinity, slowly leading to fear. When he holds my hand, I feel overjoyed and overwhelmingly safe. As your child, didn’t I redefine the outlines of your life? May be I did, from what I am learning now.
My son teaches me so many things that I ironically have forgotten; the beauty of simplicity, the power of an inquisitive mind, for example. May be as a child, I had taught you similar things – what you taught your parents and had forgotten. Suddenly, your daughter starts teaching the same things all over again! We teach lessons, to forget them, only to learn them again. Vicious cycle?
It all seems so similar and it’s just that I was a daughter to you whereas Aryan is a son to me. But, we hand down those emotions, those tricks. And those childish pranks run down unstoppably, generation after generation. The phases that we observe and admire are undoubtedly the same through years. May be you used a cassette recorder to tape my rhymes and childish chatter. But today, I do it through my digital camera and my mobile phone. There are things that do not change and there are some that change.
I am led to believe that a chain of changes dominates every generation and at the same time, there are things that are handed down to children – such is life, isn’t it? For all that there is, we have so much to learn and ponder about!
We’ll indeed talk more on anything remotely possible, in the days to come. Do write back to me.
Love to mom and messy darling doggy, Bruno!
Lots of affection,
Sumi
PS: Dad, I miss your cake and your hug. Wish me Happy Birthday!
- Sumi
I realized it’s high time we revived a certain tradition that both of us – you, and me, by virtue of being your daughter, have held so close to our hearts. As you might have very rightly guessed, it’s about getting back to the art of writing letters – it feels like ages since I wrote something to you out of my hand. The fact that my handwriting seems utterly messy would suffice to say that I have moved distantly away from a culture that has a charm of its own and demands special prowess. Nevertheless, I shall attribute that to initial trouble and move on.
Dad, I am planning to do this thing, systematically. Let matters of daily routine rest with our usual telephonic conversations and daily mails. These letters will be different. Let me explain. Do you remember those nights when I returned home for my vacation? We used to sit in the balcony, look up at the sky and talk philosophy watching the stars! I remember how we used to glide from one topic to another and let words play, to put forth our different ideas. Discussions, they were, that taught me plenty and left me wanting for more.
Time has always ushered new things into our lives and can you believe it is seven years since you got me married? Dad, try how much ever, it’s been tough to maintain our relationship the way it had been before my marriage. However, my love and concern for you and mom, have remained unquestionably intact and isn’t it true that love grows even more splendidly in separation?
I want to begin this series of letters, with a special person who has redefined the meaning of my life and in the process, has offered me such interesting perspectives and thoughts that I haven’t really been able to identify myself with, before. Yes, I am indeed talking about the three year old brat that I have for a son and you for a grandson - Aryan. Dad, you got to tell me if I had been such a big trouble for you when I was young. This chap really gives me all the exercise I need to keep me going in my old age – very active, or more appropriately, brimming with ‘difficult-to-manage’ mischief.
I know I have shared aspects of his growing up with you and mom, over the phone. But certain observations, a few realizations, I feel I can best articulate only through writing. It so happens that when you watch your child grow up, it’s almost like looking into a mirror and seeing your own childhood. In a way, it’s an access to insights about what I might have been when I was a child and what as a parent, you would have done (leaving aside photographs) – things that I, in all realistic possibility don’t have an inkling about.
What I want to share with you is the emotional side of bringing up and being with one’s child, after having been one, to one’s parents. Aryan brings inside me a gush of feelings – love, concern, responsibility, pride and sometimes, fear.
It’s surprising as to how a fresh soul can breeze in so much of happiness into one’s life. From the day Aryan was born, I have watched every act of his, as one of divine nature and worthy of all human awe. Ah, what could be more fulfilling than watching your child toddle, seeing his teeth grow, throwing all those fond admonitions for getting his shirt dirty, or for fussing over a glass of milk or for sucking his thumb? I remember you telling me how mom used to scare me that she would tie a cockroach to my finger if I ever sucked it again. May be, it’s time for me, to use those silly tricks again and feel foolishly superior to a child, who knows no fear. Dad, didn’t you feel this way too?
I tremble with pride when he cites nursery rhymes with half audible words and syllables that are yet to find their way to perfection through that sweet tongue. In child talk lies the core of innocence and I wish I could trap that and keep it with me forever. It’s something that experience has eroded off my being and I helplessly realize, my son would be subjected to the same fate.
I feel responsible for his life and sometimes as Akash puts it, get over protective and fussy. Can’t help it, can I? It’s that being a mother, I feel insecure when the child is away from my vicinity, slowly leading to fear. When he holds my hand, I feel overjoyed and overwhelmingly safe. As your child, didn’t I redefine the outlines of your life? May be I did, from what I am learning now.
My son teaches me so many things that I ironically have forgotten; the beauty of simplicity, the power of an inquisitive mind, for example. May be as a child, I had taught you similar things – what you taught your parents and had forgotten. Suddenly, your daughter starts teaching the same things all over again! We teach lessons, to forget them, only to learn them again. Vicious cycle?
It all seems so similar and it’s just that I was a daughter to you whereas Aryan is a son to me. But, we hand down those emotions, those tricks. And those childish pranks run down unstoppably, generation after generation. The phases that we observe and admire are undoubtedly the same through years. May be you used a cassette recorder to tape my rhymes and childish chatter. But today, I do it through my digital camera and my mobile phone. There are things that do not change and there are some that change.
I am led to believe that a chain of changes dominates every generation and at the same time, there are things that are handed down to children – such is life, isn’t it? For all that there is, we have so much to learn and ponder about!
We’ll indeed talk more on anything remotely possible, in the days to come. Do write back to me.
Love to mom and messy darling doggy, Bruno!
Lots of affection,
Sumi
PS: Dad, I miss your cake and your hug. Wish me Happy Birthday!
- Sumi
Thursday, July 13, 2006
United we stand!
More than a hundred lives lost and over a three hundred injured. Of what worth is all this immense loss, I understand not. Why target the innocent common man? Where is all this leading to? When will peace return to this land?
Bombay. What I share with the bubbling city is a long time love affair. The terror attacks that wrecked havoc in the city, by targeting the lifeline of Bombay, have left me feeling empty and wanting to share my spirit to fight, though I don’t stay there anymore.
A part of humanity wants to instill terror, while another goes about its business undaunted and the city wakes up to live the next day as normal as ever.
What's more. It's high time some relevant action is taken on this front. Meanwhile, the strength of unity is what can help us now. Overcoming differences and joining hands is the need of the hour and Bombay set a perfect example of this spirit yesterday.
I remember how we fought the July 26th floods last year and like I was mesmerized by some supreme force, I got back to office the very next day. I am sure the same calm would have returned over the skyline at the Marine Drive, even today.
Salaam Bombay! Your spirit shall rule over every other evil force that wants to purge the courage out of you! May the kith and kin of those who lost their lives, find themselves even stronger and may those who caused it, tremble with shame for the gruesome act they committed!
Monday, July 10, 2006
Weekend delights..:)
May I have the lovely pleasure of introducing to you, the delight that tickled my taste buds over the weekend?
Ladies and Gentlemen, put your hands together to welcome,
The Sizzling Brownie!!!!! :)..:)
Ladies and Gentlemen, put your hands together to welcome,
The Sizzling Brownie!!!!! :)..:)
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Reflections
Charming yellows, soothing greens, smart reds, earthy brown, pale purple, hazy blue, icy silver – gorgeous, glamorous, picture perfect, every year. I watch the twenty seventh spring of my life, this time, a little early. I, Scarlet Wadsworth, let myself loose as the wind pulls me, swirls and rolls me down the memory lane.When did I smell the hint of my first spring on earth? It was when Sally, my caretaker took me down the slopes near my home, and I caught the sweet scent of spring and received the first shower of dew. Then on, I have come a long way, may be far, far away from the novelty of a new born.
Isn’t it fascinating? The way we all grow up; so many changes manifesting themselves in our physical form and the nature of our being. That, what once seemed meaningful and perfectly valid becomes the ground stone of absurdity; that innocence, turns to be a paradigm so distant, and next to impossible, that we struggle to realign our focus to what we once were?
Pouring over a cup of hot chocolate, landing up with sticky fingers, sticky lips, standing in those long twirling lines in the school, waiting for a chance – to pick up a library book or to get your notebook signed, or maybe for a drill, or may be just to render a prayer with due reverence and hear boring speeches with undue disrespect. Memories – how they rustle like the falling leaves of autumn!
And what about those merry go rounds with Agnes Anderson, Hilda Osborne, Rachel Larson and Matilda Merryweather during school days at Southampton? Would I care to do that today? Come on, I just can’t afford to make a fool of myself, Can I? That’s what I think - openly. Secretly though, I wish I could call all of them to my guest room sometime and do it all over again!
Deals used to be struck those days. Rachel and I would exchange our pencils and pencil cases. Hilda would let me have her doll for a week’s time and I would give her my (much eyed) kitchen set, but mind you, only for a week. Deals often led to complaints, teaming up and pesky fights. And those were followed by courageous reconciliations, ironically through deals struck again, only different ones this time.
As children, I think we asked interesting questions, enthusiastically pondered for answers and surprised elders, out of pure naiveté. Momma, how did I come into this world? May be Momma said, from me. And then she would have gone on to say, God made you and sent you to this world, through me.
“Really, But, where did God come from?”
Silence. Period.
Today, I have changed, in so many ways. I have grown up. Yes, I have. I no longer let out a shrill cry of joy at the look of a box of toffees. I don’t sink my teeth into a pastry, unmindful of cream smeared all around my mouth and falling onto my dress. I don’t fascinate wearing all those jazzy pink ribbons and laced hair clips that I had once held with so much adoration. I live, carefully treading along the boundaries defined by the society, the world, people. I no longer ask the right questions. Even if I did, I don’t bother to struggle enough to get answers.
I bother. Oh hell, yes, I do. I care for what others would think of me. I care for not messing up.
Time changes one or one changes with Time. May be you realize that or you don’t. Years back I was a kid who ran back home after I lost something as small as my school badge or snapped up my watch strap accidentally, out of fear and agony. Today, I can’t even think of doing all that again.
What’s all that? A part of the package called ‘growing up’?
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Monday, June 12, 2006
'Coz sometime I have to wake up..:D
Yeah, my sister finally woke me up from my blissful sleep..:)...and I have decided to go in for a weekend roundup..KK and I had an exotic buffet lunch at the Taj, watched Fanaa at PVR Cinemas and visited Landmark and Crossword over the last two days, though there isn't anything significantly surprising about the last mentioned activity!
Fanaa was ok. Kind of predictable storyline. But Aamir and Kajol's pair rocks! My lips now fail to stop murmuring Chand Sifaarish and of course I sway happily to the beats. Nobody could have rendered it better than Shaan.
The next few days are gonna be kind of busy and I wish I could keep my blogging in course.
Oh yes, I also have a small reason to celebrate. 100th post!!! :)
See you all soon..!!
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
An Alarm Clock, a Divine Lady and I
A devoted Alarm clock (Crooning mechanically):
Wake up, wake up, my darling,
You gotta get going
It's a new, new beginning
A beautiful day in the making.
A sleepy Me (head popping out):
Oh, stop all that crooning
You tell that every morning
Remember, that gets boring
And, I don't feel like waking.
To the coziest of all divine ladies, Lady Idleness!
A blur of white
rising in might
patting me alright
I know thee, my light!
A bewitched me (looking in her direction):
My, I can't stop gazing
At thy form so pleasing
Despite all the ageing
You still look thriving.
A puzzled Alarm clock (rolling eyes):
Now dear, stop wailing
Look at the sun beaming
How dutiful and inspiring
Your day ahead is waiting.
A half convinced Me(struggling):
Oh, enough of convincing
Yet again, you are winning
In holding me from falling
A prey to idleness so dazzling.
And thus I wake up
steaming coffee in a cup
dabbing fresh make up
Sigh, everyday is a hiccup!!
Yet another night returns
Yet another dawn breaks
Yet again his duty begins
Yet again, my friend sings:
Wake up, wake up, my darling,
You gotta get going
It's a new, new beginning
A beautiful day in the making.
And so the story runs
for days, days and days
As the Lady divine returns
in her ever tempting forms.
Alarm Clock: Wake up, wake up, my darling..
Me: No, no, she is alluring
Lady Idleness: My honey, stop resisting
There's lots in the offing.
Alarm Clock: O' dear, you, she is wooing
Me: 'ts just a day, stop worrying
Lady Idleness: My child, continue dreaming
And witness idleness flourishing
Alarm Clock: O'Sigh, why aren't you holding?
Me: Indeed I am, but to her, smiling
To the hand she is lending
Lady Idleness: Come on, it's happiness calling..
And thus for a day
Feeling happy and gay
From the work,cut away
I slept and slept, all day!
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