tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35270483820978553302024-03-08T23:07:29.399+08:00Impulsive OutpouringsSomeday I'll run away from home. Till then, I will blog.Moihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00199678373575102621noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3527048382097855330.post-73275499282041512482013-02-10T21:15:00.003+08:002013-02-10T21:16:30.001+08:00On Growing Up and Born Confused<br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My conversations with KrA, when involving the arcane questions I am prone to ask so often these days, end up being monologues. And somehow, more often than not, in trying to make sure my question makes sense to him, I paraphrase and rephrase and inadvertently stumble upon an answer too. Maybe not an entire answer, but usually at least a part of it.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Today I said to him this: “When I was very young, I told myself I’d grow up into being a very sophisticated lady. Now I am xxx (on the other side of thirty) years of age, and I seem to be telling myself the same thing. What do I mean by “growing up” now? Shouldn’t I already be the sophisticated, cultured lady I had been dreaming of becoming? Or would I have to wait until I am fifty?”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He only said that I should have not have to wait until I am fifty. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But as I mulled it over even at the time of asking, I knew I was referring to the emotional wobbles I go through even now, something like teenage angst, except I was a teenager so long ago and I find it strange and silly that my mind and heart are still stuck in a temporal place that existed a decade and a half ago, of which some faint memories are the only residue. And I am losing time this way, forgetting all the memories we had made in the interim while I still hopelessly hold on to a life lived aeons ago, a past long gone.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I hope some day, some day really soon, I learn to live happily with what and where I am now. So now I look to my right and I am happy to see KrA smiling at something witty or funny he has just read in the Asterix Omnibus 2 that I have got him for our second wedding anniversary. We have three marriage anniversaries although we have been married only twice, but that’s a story for another day.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">To end on a happy note, I leave you with some magic from Tanuja Desai Hidier’s Born Confused. I had read this book ages ago and re-read it a few weeks ago over the several days when January hesitatingly prepared to exit and February slowly took over. The book grabbed me by the throat, each scene so vividly portrayed I was swept up in all the emotion, the poignant depth, and literary magic that Born Confused is. </span></span></div>
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<li class="li3"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s2"><i></i></span><span class="s1"><i>Through my viewfinder she left now, dragging out all the colour and speed and life with her like a bridal train that sweeps up any confettied hopes with it on its way to the honeymoon. </i></span></span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1">And there is so much more. But you ought to read the book for these delights.</span><span class="s2"> And oh yes, the author has beautiful eyes of exotic colours.</span></span></div>
Moihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00199678373575102621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3527048382097855330.post-39526168938438702592013-01-30T21:32:00.003+08:002013-01-30T21:32:49.938+08:00Happy Birthday, Dear Grandpa!
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now how often do you get to wish your grandfather on his ninetieth birthday? </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Today my maternal grandfather turned ninety. Happy birthday, grandpa!</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The answer to the above question is at most twice in a lifetime, once each for both your grandfathers.</span></span></div>
Moihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00199678373575102621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3527048382097855330.post-32424270260421444332013-01-25T15:31:00.000+08:002013-01-25T15:36:04.726+08:00Of Nostalgia, and of Freedom from the Past<br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Two days of nostalgia. Triggered by two events - one absolutely unrelated and another that has carved for itself a permanent place in my life. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And my mind is a monkey, a baby monkey that cannot sit still but jumps from one thought to another, holding each strand of musing for less than a fraction of second, but interweaving them into a complex, beautiful story nonetheless.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yesterday, DN said to me, like he does every other day, that he had misal pav for lunch. I decided to Google it up and came across a recipe for it on this <a href="http://amusrecipes.blogspot.sg/2011/11/misal-pav.html"><span class="s2">blog site</span></a>. As I scrolled down, a particular comment on the post caught my attention. Posted by ‘best chat in edison nj’ on November 30, 2011 at 1:32 AM, it read as follows: Bombay street food in nj [sic] the world’s largest open-air kitchen! The city is dotted with street carts selling a wide array of food and has an amazing culture of outdoor [sic] <a href="http://www.bombaytalkusa.com/"><span class="s2">www.bombaytalkusa.com</span></a>”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And the comment got me thinking of the US of A, and I remembered vividly how, at one point in my life, several years ago my only ambition in life was to get to America, the land of dreams. I remember wanting to desperately get into IIT because a) I wanted to get away from home and live by myself for a while and b) it was my passport to America. It was funny. At the time, the world comprised only India and America for me. Other nations did not exist, and even if they did, they held no significance for me. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I did get into IIT Madras in the late 90s and continued to cherish my dream of making it to America from there. When I won the Institute Blues Award, I knew I wanted to get to Harvard Business School. (I am smiling at myself as I write this.) But towards the end of my stay in IIT, I decided I had had enough of studying and that I now wanted a job. I did secure a job, a very high-paying one for the time, but threw in the towel in less than a year, joined a lower paying job where I remained confused and depressed for the better part of the two and a half years I spent employed there. But I also have the fondest memories of this job as I met KrA there and also made some very good friends there. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But I digress. My trip to New York in October-December 2005 was my first overseas trip, one that I cherish. I under-performed at work, but I was young and fearless enough at the time to explore Manhattan all by myself. I remember going to visit the Statue of Liberty and ganging up with a couple of Indian tourists, who gave me good company for the rest of the tour. I remember visiting Boston by bus to meet SG and Ani, my closest friends from IIT days, sitting by the banks of the Charles, taking in the wonderful views of HBS’ Baker Library. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The struggles of Indian immigrants in America were romanticized in books such as Jhumpa Lahiri’s Interpreter of Maladies and Tanuja Desai Hidier’s Born Confused, books that I devoured, engulfed by the emotions portrayed in the novels.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I remember listening to Joey Lawrence’s Nothin’ My Love Can’t Fix and naively believing that America is the land where people have fun and frolic for a living. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And just like that, without any warning, London became the love of my life. Yearnings for a life in America were replaced brutally by a pining for London. I fulfilled a dream of taking KrA to America last May. We went up to Manhattan only to find it so polluted and filthy we wondered if we were in Mumbai. Since then I have <a href="http://impulsivelyme.blogspot.sg/2012/10/move-over-london-sydney-is-my-new-love.html" target="_blank">moved on from London</a> too. But it is startling how what was once the land of my dreams is no longer on the list of places I want to be in. As if I now know this was a dream I once had, but the Cosmos had other plans for me, and so I have other dreams now.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The other big thing in my life that happened today was chatting with SG after ages, perhaps for the first time after I last met her in Boston all those years ago. She was my closest friend in college, and somehow after that we sort of drifted apart. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Chatting with her today brought back memories of how I struggled to cope with life in the real world after the enjoyable years at IIT. To me, my college years represented a period of time when I was determined, hardworking, alive and full of dreams, confident, and successful.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Life spiralled downwards after that. I kept thinking of my college days, wishing I could bring back to my life the qualities and attributes I had back then. I had a hard time moving on and I didn’t know if my batchmates were struggling as well. I found it harder to make new friends, I struggled with non-achievement. Time slipped by and as more years wore on, I kept sinking into the miserable feeling that I had achieved nothing of worth since I graduated from college. </span></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">KrA hit the nail on the head when he said I had grown to be afraid of hard work. I had paralyzed myself into inaction. My dreams had remained just that, intangible wisps of whims and fancies, fantastical castles in thin air with no foundations on the ground to support that. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Life changed for me ever since KrA gave me that epiphany. I am as relentless a dreamer as I used to be, even more so now perhaps, but I am also a bit of a doer now. I try to do more, oftentimes I give in to the temptation of laziness and inaction, but I do get back on my feet before it is too late. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And, as I was telling SG this morning, now when I think of my college days and my college mates, that part of my life and people from that era feel as if they belong somewhere in the distant past. And that I have moved on from them and there. And suddenly I can now look back on the past with peace and acceptance, no longer weighed down by sad memories or nostalgia. It is a relief to be free.</span></span></div>
<br />Moihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00199678373575102621noreply@blogger.com0Singapore1.352083 103.819836000000010.84410599999999991 103.174389 1.8600599999999998 104.46528300000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3527048382097855330.post-45682478241196306632013-01-20T13:28:00.002+08:002013-01-20T13:29:09.990+08:00It's Magic<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It’s magic that keeps me sane in the real world. </span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What gives me hope is the sheer possibility of carving out a small porthole in mid-air and looking through it to find a world of pixies and gnomes playing in a meadow on the other side, fairies sprinkling stardust on each other, birds tearing through the sky imprinting love messages your lover has sent to you, streams and brooks playfully meandering through the grassland, snow-capped mountains and hills in the distance. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There is something so tender about this kind of beauty, something so fragile that only a soft, gentle heart can understand it, feel it, experience it. My heart leaps with joy at the sight of dewdrop on a blade of grass, it seeks pleasure in the rustling of leaves, it takes delight in the crunching of dry twigs and branches under my feet. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In the smells of good food that waft from the kitchen. In the stillness of a warm, summer afternoon. In the beauty of lush, green fields. In the relentless onslaught of a thunderstorm. In the calm that follows. In the kind words of a stranger. In friendship. In the unlikely bonds we form with people we have only just met. In life. In love.</span></span></div>
Moihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00199678373575102621noreply@blogger.com0Singapore1.352083 103.819836000000010.84410599999999991 103.174389 1.8600599999999998 104.46528300000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3527048382097855330.post-64630541941021431982013-01-01T22:52:00.001+08:002013-01-01T22:54:26.964+08:00A New Year's Wish<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> As far as I can remember, I have always had new year resolutions. Promises I'd make to myself only to forget all about them a few days into the new year. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> But I have never had a new year wish, not really. It never struck me I could look up at a star and wish for something precious this year. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> There are three things I badly want for this year. One is to do with my writings. The second is to do with the big move. The third is to do with the health of a family member. Not necessarily in that order, each one is just as crucial as the other two. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> But above all, this year I only wish to be able to adapt to circumstances better without straying away too much from my dreams. That is all I ask for this year. 2012 taught me the importance of hard work, of the honest-to-goodness type. I only ask for the ability to keep at it this year, with a little more wisdom and a lot more faith. So when I look back, I will have the contentment of knowing that not a day was wasted, not an opportunity was lost, not a good deed was left undone, not a joy was forgotten, and that there was never a moment without love. </span>Moihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00199678373575102621noreply@blogger.com0Singapore1.352083 103.819836000000010.84410599999999991 103.174389 1.8600599999999998 104.46528300000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3527048382097855330.post-61709296472421407322013-01-01T16:27:00.000+08:002013-01-01T16:36:10.948+08:00It Is No Longer Not My Problem <span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">So the rapists ought to be castrated and butchered, ours is a nation of political eunuchs, and RIP The-Lass-Who-Died-Unnamed. And soon Monday morning dawns, we make our way to work, 2013 washes over us in the blink of an eye, and life moves on ruthlessly, so do people.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> But let us not fault them for it because what gives us hope this time is that our people spoke up against government inefficacies and societal hypocrisies, and that has made a difference. I have gone from saying “Fuck India” and “I am sorry/ashamed to be Indian” to being proud of all those who braved the tear gas and water cannons, and to questioning myself what we as individuals, whether in India or on foreign shores, could do in our little ways to keep the movement in progress.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> I had a moment of epiphany on these lines just last week. It so happened that my partner and I boarded a bus one evening in Singapore - where we live - to find it unusually noisy; a couple was blasting out music at full volume on their mobile phone. We glared at them to express our displeasure before we took our seats by the door, a little ahead of the noisy couple.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “I wish I had “Who let the dogs out?” on my phone,” my partner said. “I would have played that in response.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “Why?” I demanded to know. “So you could piss them off and end up brawling with them?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “This is not acceptable behaviour, and someone has to let them know,” my partner reasoned.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “It doesn’t have to be you,” I hissed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> The music grew louder at this point, and we turned back to glare at them. They stared back at us stonily. The man looked unquestionably like a brute, his face unpleasant and mean, his glare callous and menacing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “He seems to be the trigger-happy sort,” I said to my partner. “Don’t mess with him.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> My partner was not pleased.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Moments later, the twosome trundled past and stationed themselves by the door, right in front of us, the music from their mobile phone sounding more and more cacophonous. As the bus skidded to a halt at the stop, the man scowled at us, spat on the floor of the bus, and glowered at us some more before stepping off.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Now if you know anything at all about Singapore, you’d know spitting in public is a sacrilegious thing to do here. “What kind of a bastard was that?” I muttered.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “If you were so upset, you should have told him off,” my partner replied. “It is because people like you keep quiet and choose to ignore these things that people like him do as they please and get away with it.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> It is as simple as that. Looking at the state of affairs in India, and in any troubled society in general, we must be fools to believe that our government would hand us a safe society on a silver platter. Sure enough, stricter laws and regulations would be announced but with no guarantees of effective implementation. Why else are we dealing with dowry deaths in this day and age, half a century after the legislation was enforced? Changes in societal mind-sets will take a couple of generations or even longer to come about.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> A safe society is something we now have to earn, create and nurture for ourselves by refusing to tolerate misdeeds of any sort.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> If someone gropes you in a crowded bus or train, yell for help. Don’t keep quiet just because you don’t want to create a scene. Keeping mum is passive assent. You may need to do a knee-to-the-groin manoeuvre to get the message across, but don’t let that stop you. Reach out for help. Keep looking until you can find someone willing and able to help.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> And you, if you see someone being harassed, don’t be a mute spectator. You can no longer afford to say, “It’s not my problem” and turn a blind eye to the scene or walk away with a shrug. Don’t just slink past. Don’t become a hostile witness. You could very well be the next victim.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Of course, there is a significant element of risk. <a href="http://www.ndtv.com/article/cities/keenan-s-girlfriend-describes-how-he-was-killed-146488" target="_blank">Risk</a> of bodily harm to you, your partner, your friends, to anyone who dares get involved, either at the hands of goons or the government. But that is the price we are going to have to pay, sooner or later. Our freedom fighters did it all those decades ago; it is our turn now.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Not all of us may want to be front line soldiers. And if bodily combat is not up your alley, there are countless roles to choose from. If you are a blogger, blog about it. Tweet about it. Facebook it. If you are witness to a misdeed, take a photo, post it online. Don’t keep mum. Make noise. One miscreant caught and condemned is another discouraged. Create works of art to spread the word. Take those raw emotions and convert them to art like <a href="http://ibnlive.in.com/photogallery/8200-2.html" target="_blank">this</a> and <a href="http://ibnlive.in.com/photogallery/8200-4.html" target="_blank">this</a>. Volunteer towards social causes - not because the deed will boost your resume but because it is good for the society and for your soul. Or donate; fund those who are willing to help. Do your bit instead of throwing up your hands and saying “What can I do?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> But whatever you choose, keep at it for the long run. Because what ails the society is now your problem too. And there are no quick fixes to this one.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Author's Note: I first had this put up <a href="http://amreekandesi.com/2012/12/31/it-is-no-longer-not-my-problem/" target="_blank">here</a> and also posted it as a note on my personal Facebook account. </span><br />
<br />Moihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00199678373575102621noreply@blogger.com0Singapore1.352083 103.819836000000010.84410599999999991 103.174389 1.8600599999999998 104.46528300000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3527048382097855330.post-70175762663494391862012-12-28T22:04:00.000+08:002012-12-28T22:04:36.606+08:00Falling Into You ...<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Oh my dreamland.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I won't take your name, not for now, not in a public forum. But all I can think of these days is getting to you, coming to you fast enough. I have no plans for New Year's eve, and here I am, spinning dreams of spending 31 December, 2013, in you. </span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I visualize time in my mind, especially the period of my life from now until the moment I land on your shores, all I can see is a black nothingness. As if the dates have been plucked out of the calendar and hurled into a gaping void. And all becomes unusually magical after I have reached you.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I pine for you. But I also want to make the most of today, so when I look back I can let go of Singapore with no regrets. And join you, to embrace my future in you, knowing well I have made the most of the opportunities I have had in the past.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And now it is time for bed. Time for dreams, for bed-time stories that I will pen down during the day.</span></span></div>
Moihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00199678373575102621noreply@blogger.com0Singapore1.352083 103.819836000000010.84410599999999991 103.174389 1.8600599999999998 104.46528300000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3527048382097855330.post-1010549727426524452012-12-25T14:48:00.000+08:002012-12-25T17:52:05.095+08:00Evening Breeze<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I listen to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2_kKFjwpwqc&feature=g-vrec" target="_blank">this composition</a>, I lose myself in the moment. I usually have this playing in the background when I am writing. It helps me imagine.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I may be sitting in my living room on the sofa but in my mind I am in some sort of a fantasy tale. Mostly <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2_kKFjwpwqc&feature=g-vrec" target="_blank">this melody</a> transports me to the outdoors, where I lie under the shade of a tree in a large tract of forest, birds twittering, my heart leaping with joy at the sight of sun rays beaming through the leaves of the tall trees, sunshine keeping my bones warm and my skin radiant. All the wood creatures are my friends and we have several adventures together, and I write tales of our adventures and of magic and of fantasy, and children and adults in all corners of the world read these stories, and like me, they are transported to a different world even if only for a brief period of time. </span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am a dreamer. My dreams are so vast that my heart often gasps in pain trying to contain all the thrill and zest that dreams bring along with them. </span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And I am also a wee bit scared. There, I said it. Not a wee bit, but actually quite scared. The sensation is overwhelming. When I write, I feel as if I am consumed by some sort of paradisiacal bliss. <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">That is the only real world for me, the only one that has any meaning. The world conjured up by words. Where everything is only as real as you believe them to be. </span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"> </span></div>
Moihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00199678373575102621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3527048382097855330.post-87243570785503668762012-12-23T21:00:00.003+08:002012-12-25T17:52:23.996+08:00The Wait ...<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I am waiting for the big move to happen in 2013. I won’t reveal details now, but the anticipation is killing me. But I am also beginning to understand that I must take this time that I have and use it wisely. </span><br />
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There is some sort of surreal beauty in waiting. It is filled with so much hope and faith, the belief that our dreams will come true is so strong it eventually manifests itself as reality. I have seen this happen before in my life, I have no doubt as to where we are headed in coming months, the signs are all there, the Universe is on our side, there is no reason for anxiety, I keep telling myself this over and over again. Faith grows elusive with the cynicism of age. Ironically, that is when we need faith the most. </span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I must seek solace in the innocence and blind faith I had, all those years ago. I must now prepare myself for the move. There is so much to be done, so many stories to be written, so many more to be read, so many more to breathe life into. </span></span></div>
Moihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00199678373575102621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3527048382097855330.post-8538995693111482922012-10-03T21:06:00.001+08:002012-12-25T17:54:54.150+08:00My Muse is a whimsical lass <div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The car turns around the bend</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I throw my head back<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">To catch a glimpse of her by the window<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We have an intense resemblance,<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I know we do,<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She is me </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">From long ago,<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">From a forgotten era<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">From another world<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I dare not bring her along to work<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She is awfully naughty, you see<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Peddling dreams, spouting poetry,<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And what a boisterous laugh she has<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’m afraid she’ll ruffle some feathers here<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And leave me to do all the explaining<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">(And oh! I am so terrible at that)<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And so I leave her at home<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I bet she is not pleased with that<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But she is a naughty one I know<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For when I return<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I can see her eyes are brimming<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">With her adventures of the day<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But the stories are not to be told, she says,<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You have not the heart to listen,<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And I have my secrets to keep</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
Moihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00199678373575102621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3527048382097855330.post-88947149948477835602012-10-02T18:12:00.000+08:002012-12-25T17:53:14.601+08:00Move over, London! Sydney is my new love.<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For a long time now I have been wanting to stage my life in London. And because I haven't been able to so far, I have been pining for the city with the kind of longing and unquestionable admiration I have for all things nineteenth-century English. This is something I have never been able to rationalize or explain, even to my self. The language, the accent, the mannerisms, images of the beautiful English countryside that Enid Blyton and other authors have filled up in my head over the years, anything even remotely English comes across as tantalizingly charming. Even the horrific insights into the iniquitous minds of wicked characters appearing in fictional murder mysteries and thrillers set in the English village have done little to dissuade me from pining for life in London. I have devoured Sherlock Holmes and Agatha Christie, watched the television adaptations of these stories, watched The Inspector Barnaby series, Jonathan Creek, now glued on to Ruth Rendell, as much for the thrill of watching a mystery unravel as for the descriptions of the English people and their ways of life, seeking some sort of voyeuristic pleasure through a mental transportation to their land, even if only for a brief spell.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But the devotion has always been one-sided. And this kind of blind unrequited love is honestly quite depressing. I lived for a few months in London way back in 2007. It was the first time I had gone to live abroad on my own and the move ended up being an utter disaster. I have godawful memories of being mugged in Islington, of being cheated of 200 pounds by a property agent when I was looking to rent an apartment in Telegraph Place near Mudchute in the Docklands, of discovering how cruel and wicked kids can be, of beginning to fear the sound of approaching footsteps, of being homesick, of finding myself absolutely inept at navigating corporate politics, of bursting into tears in the Tube one morning on my way to work, of beginning to be terrified of big black men (which is a pity really because their deep voices have always made me go weak in the knees for good reason), of being scared and cold and lonely, of standing alone on the pavement, smoking a cigarette and gazing longingly at people and their friends making merry inside the warmth of pubs, of wondering why everything was going so utterly and horribly wrong for me. I returned to India less than four months later, not wanting to leave London but too overwhelmed and browbeaten to persist.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But even after the few unpleasant months I had spent there, my love for England only intensified. I had foolishly pinned all hopes of happiness on the city, I believed I would never be happy anywhere else. And I wasn't, for a very very long time. It makes me so sad, writing all this down does. Sigh... It now appears to me as some sort of a romantic tragedy. Me being the jilted lover, London being courted by too many beautiful men and women to heed my affections. Many of my friends made their way to London in the months that followed and have now made the city their home. Either the city has been kind enough to them or they were able to muster more courage than I had been capable of all those years ago.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I visited London again in February 2011 and enjoyed myself so much that all my yearning for the city came back to deal me a swift blow in the gut and knock the wind out of me. I started to look for London in every city I subsequently visited. In the shallow materialism of Singapore, in the familiar environs of Bangalore, in the relentless but heartwarming chaos of Mumbai, even in the insipid metropolis of Houston.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Briefly I thought Manhattan would fill the void. I was up there for three days this May. The city was segueing from spring into summer. The air was crisp, the leaves wet every morning from the showers of the previous night. Walking through Central Park and later along Park Avenue, always a Starbucks takeaway in one hand and an umbrella in the other, I remember saying out loud, "Move over, London! New York is my new love." I am still very fond of New York but I have admitted to myself the dirt and grime of Manhattan barely merit any comparison to the charm of London.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And so I have carried through most of the past five years like a jilted lover, looking for my long lost love in every new relationship, unable to savour each new association as it were.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Until we travelled to Australia this month.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One part of me wants to put words to every sight and smell and sound of the places we visited there. Tell you how beautiful and special it is. But the other part, the writerly one, tells me it will be a futile exercise. Suffice to say, what can be more delightful than clear blue skies stretched out as far as the eye can see, the ocean filling out the expanse underneath, just as blue or bluer, green in some patches, turquoise in others, surfers teasing the waves under their surfboards in graceful dance moves, the sun warm, and the ambience filled with joie de vivre? </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">London, I will remember you sometimes. Like one remembers ex-lovers long after. With a strange fondness, having grown wiser and capable of more affection after a broken relationship. Knowing I have moved on. This time, without a shred of doubt.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
Moihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00199678373575102621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3527048382097855330.post-30496737676033209612012-09-24T21:49:00.000+08:002012-12-25T17:54:17.894+08:00Grandma, I will always have a fond memory of you.<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Grandma died today.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My paternal Grandma.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She was 85. Or 86. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She would have turned a year older tomorrow, if one were to consult the Hindu calendar.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">They say she was bedridden for a month, slowly losing her faculties. Incapable of speech, unable to eat, barely able to move by herself. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The tears did not flow at first, not when Mom broke the news to me this evening. I shed them when Dad came to the phone later. <i>My mother has died</i>, he said simply.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My last memory of her is at the time of my cousin’s engagement ceremony in Madras. As is wont to happen in occasions such as these, there was the plethora of uncles and aunts and distant and not-so-distant cousins and their families and friends and <i>their</i> families and friends and <i>their</i> families and friends. I don’t believe that the cousin, whose engagement was being celebrated, was anything close to a celebrity to have warranted such a crowd. All the adults there had come to see Grandma. All the kids were being introduced by said adults to Grandma. She was the popular one. She always had been. They were all queuing up to greet her. I remember saying to her, “Look at these people queuing up to see you like devotees in a temple waiting to catch a glimpse of God.” My remark pleased her immensely and she did not let go of my hand for a long time that evening.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">That will always be a fond memory. I remember little else about her. I wish I had known her well enough to feel the pain of loss. I only have some vague remembrances of brief visits to her house. In some other era. In my childhood.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I miss her. In some odd way. The way you miss the halcyon days of childhood and youth after they are long gone. You know it is lost forever, but you don’t halt there. Life moves on. And so do you.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I hope Dad is not hurting too much.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Death of a loved one always makes us confront our own inescapable mortality.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Take care of her, dear Cosmos. I hope you have taken her to some happier place.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It happened sometime this morning. At 8:45 am. I hope she slept well last night.</span></div>
Moihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00199678373575102621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3527048382097855330.post-22128068015190131362012-08-21T22:30:00.001+08:002012-12-25T17:54:32.982+08:00In which I say to you "Hello, again"<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />God, or whoever created the Universe, must have had a fetish for rotundity. Why else would the earth be round or life come full circle? </span><br />
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So let the Creator be blamed and tormented in Hell for driving me back to the handle ‘Impulsively Me’, which, I had first laid claim to more than five years ago. Or was it six? Doesn’t matter, not very much anyway now that I am back here and it feels as if I had never left.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />On second thoughts, let me take that back. It does feel all new and familiar at the same time, much like trying to seduce a forgotten lover all over again. I try the same old tricks at first but damn, they won’t work anymore. And so we go in circles, you and me, round and round again. Eyes locked, lips quivering, hands on our hips, sweat on our brows, marking our territories on each other. Only this time I am wiser and I make no promises.</span></div>
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Moihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00199678373575102621noreply@blogger.com0