A blog lost and found
Its been more than a year since my last post. What could have happened in between that I could not find half an hour or 5 minutes even to jot down some updates. Was I undergoing chemotherapy? Had I been kidnapped and locked in some colorless prison where I was fed the leftovers of a sultans dog? Had I lost my love for keyboarding and making up stupid excuses like above?
This is what happened:
I crossed over from being single to married.
I quit my job and was busier than ever before.
I got a husband who writes better than me and decided that one writer in the family is more than enough.
I came across the term Web 2.0 and realised that blogging was simply not about jotting down your feelings or thoughts, but about citizen journalism, Social media, marketing and ten other "buzz words"
I took time out to read other blogs and the more I read, the more I felt I could not write as well as others.
Writing 25+ essays for almost 9 schools hampered my ability to write a single sentence! I was too intent on fine tuning every sentence and when you are writing at random about your thoughts, that can choke you a wee bit.
I missed my cubicle and my work which had served to distract me into writing.
I got caught up with my OWN life in the US.
I started becoming more organized and planned which killed a little of the spontaneity that i claim to possess.
I was just plain busy!
Now that I have stumbled upon my own blog once again, read about my funny little episodes in college and how I love Bruce Springsteen, I shall take to it again! Soon!
Monday, June 09, 2008
Monday, April 09, 2007
Springsteen.
Remember when the music
Came from wooden boxes
Strung with silver wires
And as we sang
The words would set our hearts on fire
To believe in things
So we’d sing
Remember when the music
Brought us all together
To stand inside the rain
And as we’d join hands
We’d meet in the refrain
With dreams to live
And hope to give
Remember when the music
Was the best that we’d dream of
For our’s children’s time
And as we’d worked we’d sing
Cause we knew time
Was just a lie
A gift to say
A gift that future gave
Remember when the music
Was a rock we could cling to
So we would not despair
And as we sang we’d knew
We’d hear an echo in the air
And if we weren’t smiling then
We’d smile again
And all the times I listened
And all the times I heard
And all the melodies I’m missing
And all the magic words
All the beautiful words
All the beautiful voices
And all the choices we had then
i hope you find you got
Those kind of choices once again
Remember when the music
Brought the night
Across the valley
And as we hum the melody
We’d be safe within the sound
So we’d sleep
To awake with dreams
And promises to keep
- Bruce Springsteen (Tribute to Harry Chapin)
Friday, halfway through to noon, when my stomach is letting itself be heard, missing the breakfast that i didnt care for , I put on borrowed headphones and the only click I can perform are on the songs in which the artists column read as Bruce Springsteen. His low runmbles seep through me and soothes the emptiness in my brain and the growls in my stomach stop because they now can hear a sound which they cannot interrupt.They pay respect.The rumbles progress to a steady voice , filled with conviction and once again I spring on to the springsteen train.
Human touch - "I just want someone to talk to and a little of that human touch." He asks for it, but he also gives. A human touch to my starved senses.Every song of his is inescapable, theyre comfortable and familiar and there by your side in the background. Great artists can also make you chuckle even while you are listening with awe. Sometimes he does that too. Listen to "Remember when the music" (Harry Chapin tribute). Listen to "Sad eyes". Listen to "Secret garden" and bring back the picture of Rene Zelweger with her pout and swollen eyes. Atleast thats what I associate it to. Listen to Glory days and feel the thumping in you, the urge to look up at the sky and think of the Glory days which you cant identify with in reality, because its another time , another place. But when you hear him, you for some reason understand. He makes rock and roll sound like what it should sound like, a sound that gets to you with its honesty and his guitar alternatively tugs at your heart strings and instills a sense of the masses around you. Even though he is talking about America, it still reaches out far and beyond and you recognize traits inherent in every body, issues that have to do with the common man. His music is fulfilling and it has fed my present hunger.I close my eyes and imagine I am at a springsteen concert, being carried away by the sound of the music filling my bottomless well.
Remember when the music
Came from wooden boxes
Strung with silver wires
And as we sang
The words would set our hearts on fire
To believe in things
So we’d sing
Remember when the music
Brought us all together
To stand inside the rain
And as we’d join hands
We’d meet in the refrain
With dreams to live
And hope to give
Remember when the music
Was the best that we’d dream of
For our’s children’s time
And as we’d worked we’d sing
Cause we knew time
Was just a lie
A gift to say
A gift that future gave
Remember when the music
Was a rock we could cling to
So we would not despair
And as we sang we’d knew
We’d hear an echo in the air
And if we weren’t smiling then
We’d smile again
And all the times I listened
And all the times I heard
And all the melodies I’m missing
And all the magic words
All the beautiful words
All the beautiful voices
And all the choices we had then
i hope you find you got
Those kind of choices once again
Remember when the music
Brought the night
Across the valley
And as we hum the melody
We’d be safe within the sound
So we’d sleep
To awake with dreams
And promises to keep
- Bruce Springsteen (Tribute to Harry Chapin)
Friday, halfway through to noon, when my stomach is letting itself be heard, missing the breakfast that i didnt care for , I put on borrowed headphones and the only click I can perform are on the songs in which the artists column read as Bruce Springsteen. His low runmbles seep through me and soothes the emptiness in my brain and the growls in my stomach stop because they now can hear a sound which they cannot interrupt.They pay respect.The rumbles progress to a steady voice , filled with conviction and once again I spring on to the springsteen train.
Human touch - "I just want someone to talk to and a little of that human touch." He asks for it, but he also gives. A human touch to my starved senses.Every song of his is inescapable, theyre comfortable and familiar and there by your side in the background. Great artists can also make you chuckle even while you are listening with awe. Sometimes he does that too. Listen to "Remember when the music" (Harry Chapin tribute). Listen to "Sad eyes". Listen to "Secret garden" and bring back the picture of Rene Zelweger with her pout and swollen eyes. Atleast thats what I associate it to. Listen to Glory days and feel the thumping in you, the urge to look up at the sky and think of the Glory days which you cant identify with in reality, because its another time , another place. But when you hear him, you for some reason understand. He makes rock and roll sound like what it should sound like, a sound that gets to you with its honesty and his guitar alternatively tugs at your heart strings and instills a sense of the masses around you. Even though he is talking about America, it still reaches out far and beyond and you recognize traits inherent in every body, issues that have to do with the common man. His music is fulfilling and it has fed my present hunger.I close my eyes and imagine I am at a springsteen concert, being carried away by the sound of the music filling my bottomless well.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
SULA
Today I heard the voice of Toni Morrison in my head for the first time. As she read out each line of her book “Sula” to me, a clear and flowing narration from the right distance, the exact line that divides the real from fiction, I felt the powerful connection to the world in which Sula lived and the lives she entered and destroyed through the sheer beauty of the words that Toni Morrison uses. Each word was so miraculously placed, it seemed like they were all holding hands with the right partners. Each line that she created was beautiful in so many aspects: the way in she describes a thought or a scene or an emotion. When I started reading, I was curious because something in which the way her name was written on the cover, maybe the font or maybe the name itself struck a chord. I knew she must be famous but I didn’t subject this book to the usual scanning of the fine print about the reviews and the summary at the back. I didn’t even read the note about the author. I turned to the page one and began to read as if I was in a hurry to get on with the reading.
Set in a town called Medallion, during the world war days ( first and second), the story is weaved around the lives of two black girls, Sula and Nell who became friends when they were mere girls. Both come from very different households and have personalities which doesn’t seem to be able to get along if you rip apart the personality from the person, but together the two personalities seem to make one beautiful relationship. Sula is the freebird, the wild one who stands out from the rest of the town girls with her curiosity and individuality. Nell is the typical sweet one on the exterior but with a mind of her own inside and the reason she loves Sula is because only she can bring out the real Nell who has thoughts as daring as those that shouldn’t be allowed. Nell is the person that Sula reaches out to when she wants tranquility the only person who means anything in her restless, bondless world. It starts with their lives as girls and later Sula leaves the town in search of freedom only to come back to Medallion after being unable to , find peace or that intangible substance of life that she was after. Her uncompromising, wild and seemingly evil ways make the townspeople brand her as a witch. The bond that she once shared with her best friend becomes hazy as their differences take over and soon they are left to themselves, their lives empty and ugly.
It is a typical story if you try to summarize it, but what makes the book enchanting is the compelling writing that sucks you into its depths of metaphors, wonderful moments and sadness. One moment you are free falling through Sulas mind and the next you are caught in Nells. Its like poetry came home disguised as a novel. Great writing is being able to make the reader abandon the environment she inhabits entirely to step into the book and smell the earth the walk on, be all the characters in it, lead their lives and take a while to come back to where you are. I felt that because I couldn’t bring myself to close the book and I kept hoping that I hadn’t read the last line.I couldn’t switch on the tv and expose myself to my ordinary life after such fine writing. More than Nell and Sula what I wanted was more of the words, the writing. That’s when I read about Toni Morisson on the first page. It was only right that she was a Nobel Prize winner with other awards in her bag such as the Pulitzer and the National Critics award. What I loved most about it is the irony of calling the town “The bottom” in spite of it being at the top of the hill and not the valley. That’s because it was inhabited by the blacks of the region and the whites lived in the valley. The Bottom of heaven is how she described it.
“It was a fine cry – loud and long – but it had no top and no bottom only circles and circles of sorrow”
Today I heard the voice of Toni Morrison in my head for the first time. As she read out each line of her book “Sula” to me, a clear and flowing narration from the right distance, the exact line that divides the real from fiction, I felt the powerful connection to the world in which Sula lived and the lives she entered and destroyed through the sheer beauty of the words that Toni Morrison uses. Each word was so miraculously placed, it seemed like they were all holding hands with the right partners. Each line that she created was beautiful in so many aspects: the way in she describes a thought or a scene or an emotion. When I started reading, I was curious because something in which the way her name was written on the cover, maybe the font or maybe the name itself struck a chord. I knew she must be famous but I didn’t subject this book to the usual scanning of the fine print about the reviews and the summary at the back. I didn’t even read the note about the author. I turned to the page one and began to read as if I was in a hurry to get on with the reading.
Set in a town called Medallion, during the world war days ( first and second), the story is weaved around the lives of two black girls, Sula and Nell who became friends when they were mere girls. Both come from very different households and have personalities which doesn’t seem to be able to get along if you rip apart the personality from the person, but together the two personalities seem to make one beautiful relationship. Sula is the freebird, the wild one who stands out from the rest of the town girls with her curiosity and individuality. Nell is the typical sweet one on the exterior but with a mind of her own inside and the reason she loves Sula is because only she can bring out the real Nell who has thoughts as daring as those that shouldn’t be allowed. Nell is the person that Sula reaches out to when she wants tranquility the only person who means anything in her restless, bondless world. It starts with their lives as girls and later Sula leaves the town in search of freedom only to come back to Medallion after being unable to , find peace or that intangible substance of life that she was after. Her uncompromising, wild and seemingly evil ways make the townspeople brand her as a witch. The bond that she once shared with her best friend becomes hazy as their differences take over and soon they are left to themselves, their lives empty and ugly.
It is a typical story if you try to summarize it, but what makes the book enchanting is the compelling writing that sucks you into its depths of metaphors, wonderful moments and sadness. One moment you are free falling through Sulas mind and the next you are caught in Nells. Its like poetry came home disguised as a novel. Great writing is being able to make the reader abandon the environment she inhabits entirely to step into the book and smell the earth the walk on, be all the characters in it, lead their lives and take a while to come back to where you are. I felt that because I couldn’t bring myself to close the book and I kept hoping that I hadn’t read the last line.I couldn’t switch on the tv and expose myself to my ordinary life after such fine writing. More than Nell and Sula what I wanted was more of the words, the writing. That’s when I read about Toni Morisson on the first page. It was only right that she was a Nobel Prize winner with other awards in her bag such as the Pulitzer and the National Critics award. What I loved most about it is the irony of calling the town “The bottom” in spite of it being at the top of the hill and not the valley. That’s because it was inhabited by the blacks of the region and the whites lived in the valley. The Bottom of heaven is how she described it.
“It was a fine cry – loud and long – but it had no top and no bottom only circles and circles of sorrow”
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
My favorite haunt – Room No 211
The year 2000 was the year of transition in my life, when I graduated from the small space that was school and made an entry into the universe called college life.Dangling between the excitement of a new beginning and the apprehension of what was in store for me in the vast campus that I entered, I was determined I would make all the right adjustments. The hostel was a huge grey building, newly painted and the first years were put up on the first floor. The rooms smelt of fresh paint and were begging to be occupied at last.I glanced at my room – 204, musing over what kind of girls I had to share my first independent life with. There were three open shelves and three steel beds arranged in a haphazard manner across the room. I wearily sat down on one of them and pondered over how we could set up our room. Those were my first few minutes in my hostel, the place I would soon make my home. Everyone has a corner in their home that they keep going back to. A place where they settle down after a hard day or a place where they keep ending up for all that it provides. In some homes it is the TV room, in some, their own room.For me in those 2 years of hostel life, it was room no 211.
I met the Marscands within a day of joining the hostel. Then we hadn’t yet become the MARSCANDs. We were just random girls walking around, some hesitating to even smile, some adapting much quicker than a fish takes to water. The day I met them I knew these were the people I wanted to be with at all times in college and we have stuck since then. After college got over, we’d come back to the hostel mess, eat samosa and tea and then make our way to room 211, Ashwini, Candys and Madhus room. I would never even stop on my way to keep my bag in my room. There we would sit around and discuss the days events , going into splits over our little jokes which wouldn’t be funny to anyone else except us. It was a room that any girl would love. It had three beds arranged in between the three shelves and they were well made every morning with hardly anything in the shelf out of place except for the earring box that was taken out in the morning and put back hurriedly without closing. The top shelves in both Candys and Ashwinis shelf was filled with little boxes and bags of cosmetics and junk jewelry. There were a few photo frames of a young Candy and her parents in one of the shelves. Madhus had books and a little statue of a bronze ganapathi in her shelf sitting stoutly among the powder tin and the bangle stand. Ashwini had hung a little rope touching the two shelves, where they hung their hair clips. The room was a colourful sight and I would often smile and feel better after a bad day simply by looking at the duppattas that were hung like curtains on the shelves to cover the contents behind it , the posters on the walls and the little bandhini handkerchiefs that were stuck on the wall to give it a bright artistic feel. Ofcourse what made the room really special was the hours we spent in it, talking about life and our dreams, little things in class that seemed really important then and heated discussions on what we thought was right. There were those days when we would just gather there to whisper about some scandalous story we heard about the girls next door and then there were the days where we used to sit and study together making our own sense of the subjects that we were desperately trying to bring within our reach. We would have a bunch of us giggling over jokes that seem to multiply by exam times and end up eating a whole lot of biscuits and promising to be serious the next day.Sometimes we would step out of 211 and lean over the grey railings, hugging each other and enjoying the splendour of the the sunset sky on the moutains that we could see straight ahead of us, beyond the Kumaruguru campus, beyond Chinnavedampatti, the little town in which our college was situated. Things were not all rosy and pleasant all the time though. In this same room, we’ve had terrible arguments and walkouts, even cat fights, where Nithya almost slapped Annu for being presumptuous about her boyfriend.Ok so I was kidding bt that specifically , but other unmentionables have happened. Some of those conversations seem really silly now when I look back, but in room no 211, there was nothing that shouldn’t be talked about, nothing that shouldn’t be done. It was our very free space, to let us grow into ourselves, the people we have become.
The year 2000 was the year of transition in my life, when I graduated from the small space that was school and made an entry into the universe called college life.Dangling between the excitement of a new beginning and the apprehension of what was in store for me in the vast campus that I entered, I was determined I would make all the right adjustments. The hostel was a huge grey building, newly painted and the first years were put up on the first floor. The rooms smelt of fresh paint and were begging to be occupied at last.I glanced at my room – 204, musing over what kind of girls I had to share my first independent life with. There were three open shelves and three steel beds arranged in a haphazard manner across the room. I wearily sat down on one of them and pondered over how we could set up our room. Those were my first few minutes in my hostel, the place I would soon make my home. Everyone has a corner in their home that they keep going back to. A place where they settle down after a hard day or a place where they keep ending up for all that it provides. In some homes it is the TV room, in some, their own room.For me in those 2 years of hostel life, it was room no 211.
I met the Marscands within a day of joining the hostel. Then we hadn’t yet become the MARSCANDs. We were just random girls walking around, some hesitating to even smile, some adapting much quicker than a fish takes to water. The day I met them I knew these were the people I wanted to be with at all times in college and we have stuck since then. After college got over, we’d come back to the hostel mess, eat samosa and tea and then make our way to room 211, Ashwini, Candys and Madhus room. I would never even stop on my way to keep my bag in my room. There we would sit around and discuss the days events , going into splits over our little jokes which wouldn’t be funny to anyone else except us. It was a room that any girl would love. It had three beds arranged in between the three shelves and they were well made every morning with hardly anything in the shelf out of place except for the earring box that was taken out in the morning and put back hurriedly without closing. The top shelves in both Candys and Ashwinis shelf was filled with little boxes and bags of cosmetics and junk jewelry. There were a few photo frames of a young Candy and her parents in one of the shelves. Madhus had books and a little statue of a bronze ganapathi in her shelf sitting stoutly among the powder tin and the bangle stand. Ashwini had hung a little rope touching the two shelves, where they hung their hair clips. The room was a colourful sight and I would often smile and feel better after a bad day simply by looking at the duppattas that were hung like curtains on the shelves to cover the contents behind it , the posters on the walls and the little bandhini handkerchiefs that were stuck on the wall to give it a bright artistic feel. Ofcourse what made the room really special was the hours we spent in it, talking about life and our dreams, little things in class that seemed really important then and heated discussions on what we thought was right. There were those days when we would just gather there to whisper about some scandalous story we heard about the girls next door and then there were the days where we used to sit and study together making our own sense of the subjects that we were desperately trying to bring within our reach. We would have a bunch of us giggling over jokes that seem to multiply by exam times and end up eating a whole lot of biscuits and promising to be serious the next day.Sometimes we would step out of 211 and lean over the grey railings, hugging each other and enjoying the splendour of the the sunset sky on the moutains that we could see straight ahead of us, beyond the Kumaruguru campus, beyond Chinnavedampatti, the little town in which our college was situated. Things were not all rosy and pleasant all the time though. In this same room, we’ve had terrible arguments and walkouts, even cat fights, where Nithya almost slapped Annu for being presumptuous about her boyfriend.Ok so I was kidding bt that specifically , but other unmentionables have happened. Some of those conversations seem really silly now when I look back, but in room no 211, there was nothing that shouldn’t be talked about, nothing that shouldn’t be done. It was our very free space, to let us grow into ourselves, the people we have become.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Growing bubbles of nothingness
There was once a young girl who wanted some warmth. She lived in a land where there was pleasant weather throughout the year. The sun never glared and the clouds flirted with the land below in the form of light droplets that wet her cheeks as she rode towards work on her red scooty. The nights were chilly forcing her to remember always to take her jacket and more importantly not leave it around in the city.The weekdays were studded with intermittent events of pleasures like movies and friends, a chocolate cake or two and a little bit excitement in the place she called work.The excitement tended to stress her out though forcing her to break at weekends that seemed to rush in and out making her waqit for them ever more longingly. Shed try filling her weekends with as much activity and inactivity she could manage in two days, leaving her tired on monday and only more anxious for the cycle to repeat.There was enough laughter in her life to make her feel loved and enough tears to jolt her back to reality, all exquisitely timed so as to create the perfect balance. But nothing ever is perfect. Not for long enough anyway.In fact she noticed that she was as normal as anyone else as her sense of balance arrived quite sporadically. She was perfect alright but only in those rare moments which are not quite so rare because the occasion of being perfect happens to everyone at some point.She realised she was normal. As normal as normal can be. She didnt like it much. Would it have been perfect to not be normal at all? She wondered what she wanted. The time had come to wonder. She knew what it was. She wanted warmth. A fire will have to be lit. How? Should she rub the stones together like the stone age man? Or should she borrow her friends zippo for the first spark?She was worried if a cold northern wind would come and extinguish it.She dreaded the thought of cleaning up the ashes. Or maybe she didnt want the kind of fire that she thought she would. Maybe she should go to the store and get a heater.Winter would soon get over.She shrugged and put the zippo aside.While she was pondering over these matters of great consequence, she felt a yawn creep up and in a little while the young girl was sound asleep.
There was once a young girl who wanted some warmth. She lived in a land where there was pleasant weather throughout the year. The sun never glared and the clouds flirted with the land below in the form of light droplets that wet her cheeks as she rode towards work on her red scooty. The nights were chilly forcing her to remember always to take her jacket and more importantly not leave it around in the city.The weekdays were studded with intermittent events of pleasures like movies and friends, a chocolate cake or two and a little bit excitement in the place she called work.The excitement tended to stress her out though forcing her to break at weekends that seemed to rush in and out making her waqit for them ever more longingly. Shed try filling her weekends with as much activity and inactivity she could manage in two days, leaving her tired on monday and only more anxious for the cycle to repeat.There was enough laughter in her life to make her feel loved and enough tears to jolt her back to reality, all exquisitely timed so as to create the perfect balance. But nothing ever is perfect. Not for long enough anyway.In fact she noticed that she was as normal as anyone else as her sense of balance arrived quite sporadically. She was perfect alright but only in those rare moments which are not quite so rare because the occasion of being perfect happens to everyone at some point.She realised she was normal. As normal as normal can be. She didnt like it much. Would it have been perfect to not be normal at all? She wondered what she wanted. The time had come to wonder. She knew what it was. She wanted warmth. A fire will have to be lit. How? Should she rub the stones together like the stone age man? Or should she borrow her friends zippo for the first spark?She was worried if a cold northern wind would come and extinguish it.She dreaded the thought of cleaning up the ashes. Or maybe she didnt want the kind of fire that she thought she would. Maybe she should go to the store and get a heater.Winter would soon get over.She shrugged and put the zippo aside.While she was pondering over these matters of great consequence, she felt a yawn creep up and in a little while the young girl was sound asleep.
Friday, November 03, 2006
A DAY LIKE TODAY
Some days seem like a crawl.Every inch seems to be an effort at maintaining your cool. You are afraid that each movement forward on this mine ridden land might either blow you up or take you a step towards the wrong direction... towards another mine. A part of me feels like maybe the best thing to happen is to get blown off.Atleast I dont have to be careful.
I want to tear away the feeling of irritation from my brain. Just pluck it out and hide it where even I wont be able to find it. But it will persist, stubborn and unbeatable unless it decides to just slip away without myself noticing it. Fooling me again. Maybe it is justified for occupying the position it has.After all, it isnt its fault that everything that was happpening in my day turned sour.The events of my day invited the irritation in and how can it not come where it is called.The thing about irritation is that not much needs to happen for it to appear....
A movie that youve been waiting for days to watch got deleted. You cleared up a little spare time to watch it and uv set up the speakers and propped up the laptop on a pile of pillows so that u dont have to strain your neck watching your long awaited movie!Only to find out no amount of running searches MY COMPUTER yields what you were looking for.
youve been waiting the whole day to get out of office cos ur so sick of seeing the yellow cubicles and ur dirty keyboard. At 5 you get enough work to last the night. You still hold on and race through it click the last bloody click for the day at 8 and sigh in relief and look at your cab mate.Hes drowning in his own work and you realise that youll have to wait "just a sec" which lasts for another hour.Im hanging in there... I search for my bright artificial understanding smile and wearily put it on. Raining outside.Hosur road clogged and rumours of people dying of claustrophobia. The jealous ones who are still working try to discourage us by telling tales of how people made it from the company gate to the Electronic city gate in WONLY 45 minutes."We're planning to leave at 12!(SNICKER SNICKER SNORT SNORT)You better stay back with us!" Haha, I laugh along. Theyre patting their backs for the joke they cracked.If they ever cracked a real one, theyd never understand it Im sure.
I wannnna go hooooome!I feel like throwing a tantrum.Before I just break my restraint and actually get into it, D gets up and we're off to the cab. The cab guy has gone for dinner!Ofcourse!Only now I seem to get the hang of how the rest of the night is going to be!Late flickers of enlightenment.
TVs got nothing on. The movie is deleted. Roomies fighting with phone friends. Radios got metallic bullshit playing and no one online wants to talk to you. You just paid a staggering phone bill the day before so youre not too deperate to throw away more of your HARD EARNED money on friends who dont call you back.The chocolate sauce that looked very tempting becomes hard before you can lick it.
The day was bad. I got to catch the sleep thats sitting somewhere around, hiding , mocking me. Some kind of kick!
There was one pleasant thing that happened today though....
In the cab I was trying to amuse myself by making patterns on the fog covered windows.Every drawing seemed to get enhanced when the drops of water trickled down the window. Im an artist!I can draw flowers and mountains and hearts and snowmen and tall trees with birds!I wait for a few minutes and the window slate gets cleared again for me to draw more. The ride felt like a discovery. I bet the colleague in the cab thought I was a retard though!
Some days seem like a crawl.Every inch seems to be an effort at maintaining your cool. You are afraid that each movement forward on this mine ridden land might either blow you up or take you a step towards the wrong direction... towards another mine. A part of me feels like maybe the best thing to happen is to get blown off.Atleast I dont have to be careful.
I want to tear away the feeling of irritation from my brain. Just pluck it out and hide it where even I wont be able to find it. But it will persist, stubborn and unbeatable unless it decides to just slip away without myself noticing it. Fooling me again. Maybe it is justified for occupying the position it has.After all, it isnt its fault that everything that was happpening in my day turned sour.The events of my day invited the irritation in and how can it not come where it is called.The thing about irritation is that not much needs to happen for it to appear....
A movie that youve been waiting for days to watch got deleted. You cleared up a little spare time to watch it and uv set up the speakers and propped up the laptop on a pile of pillows so that u dont have to strain your neck watching your long awaited movie!Only to find out no amount of running searches MY COMPUTER yields what you were looking for.
youve been waiting the whole day to get out of office cos ur so sick of seeing the yellow cubicles and ur dirty keyboard. At 5 you get enough work to last the night. You still hold on and race through it click the last bloody click for the day at 8 and sigh in relief and look at your cab mate.Hes drowning in his own work and you realise that youll have to wait "just a sec" which lasts for another hour.Im hanging in there... I search for my bright artificial understanding smile and wearily put it on. Raining outside.Hosur road clogged and rumours of people dying of claustrophobia. The jealous ones who are still working try to discourage us by telling tales of how people made it from the company gate to the Electronic city gate in WONLY 45 minutes."We're planning to leave at 12!(SNICKER SNICKER SNORT SNORT)You better stay back with us!" Haha, I laugh along. Theyre patting their backs for the joke they cracked.If they ever cracked a real one, theyd never understand it Im sure.
I wannnna go hooooome!I feel like throwing a tantrum.Before I just break my restraint and actually get into it, D gets up and we're off to the cab. The cab guy has gone for dinner!Ofcourse!Only now I seem to get the hang of how the rest of the night is going to be!Late flickers of enlightenment.
TVs got nothing on. The movie is deleted. Roomies fighting with phone friends. Radios got metallic bullshit playing and no one online wants to talk to you. You just paid a staggering phone bill the day before so youre not too deperate to throw away more of your HARD EARNED money on friends who dont call you back.The chocolate sauce that looked very tempting becomes hard before you can lick it.
The day was bad. I got to catch the sleep thats sitting somewhere around, hiding , mocking me. Some kind of kick!
There was one pleasant thing that happened today though....
In the cab I was trying to amuse myself by making patterns on the fog covered windows.Every drawing seemed to get enhanced when the drops of water trickled down the window. Im an artist!I can draw flowers and mountains and hearts and snowmen and tall trees with birds!I wait for a few minutes and the window slate gets cleared again for me to draw more. The ride felt like a discovery. I bet the colleague in the cab thought I was a retard though!
Thursday, October 12, 2006
The road to salvaltion
It was decided after some consideration that I would take atleast 25 fasts this month. It was part ego and partly my sudden need to get as close as possible to the Almighty. I figured also that if I didn eat much I would lose the extra fat and probably join a modelling contest and display the trophy in my new house. House warming next week. My room could look good with the Miss best figure cup next to the multicoloured pots and vases that i splurged on one fine day in Home Stop.Its already been 15 days and iv taken a measly 7. Atleast if I had carried them off with some style and dignity, it would have been worth while, but here I am at 4 o clock, my eyes rolling in my head counting every damn minute of the system clock.I keep thinking I should just get up and go sleep in the dorm which is always full thanks to the trainees that my company recruits in alarming numbers and the tagged employees who are trying to make proper use of being in the free pool. So I slowly pick myself up and Im about to lock my system and disappear when I hear a call that sounds dangerously like my name. "Yes?".. very very hesitant...(Um U see im fasting and im tired and I was just about to leave for the dorm... the resting place??? Havent heard theres one in our company.. Oh you workaholics.. these are the finer aspects of our company!!). But instead - "Oh yes I know that file. Il get it. And Il do this also and that and that and this and that and that that that that...(tempo increases....sounding like the old arrow shirts ad that I used to love in fifth std--- Hey Hey Hey Hey look at that!)
The good thing is that work keeps me occupied and hence 5:50 comes sooner than expected considering that I was expecting it a minute before I grow old and wasted!I keep thinking I shouldnt be complaining and every muslim is in the world... well almost ... ok half.... are suffering hunger pangs along with me and the less I whine, even if its in my head, the closer I get to my prayers getting answered.
The first day I remember I couldn take my eyes off even a hint of food. They ordered pizza in office and the smell engulfed my senses., I found myself wondering y it is im fasting in the first place.To find my space in heaven??? But doesnt look like I will die soon although you never can say about THAT.I drove the pizza guy out of my cubicle lest i commit the ultimate sin. I gave composed looks and discussed the performance of our application while the others hogged away. I even amused myself thinking whats the least that could happen if I did a little bit of a karate sequence and knocked everyone down and deposited the slices in my stomach and gave a nice long burp. So i might be slapped with harrassment of employees for a slice of pizza case or i might lose more than a point on the team player column in my appraisal list. So?
The subsequent days turned out to be a little better. It should have been as I would decide to just take breaks in between and fast "day after tomorrow"!!Strange things started happening. I would end up in the pantry instead of going to the bathroom and give hard stares at the ASSAM tea bag boxes. Everywhere I looked I saw food. On the Google logo I saw a cup cake inside the 'O'. Did I imagine that?I noticed crumbs of buscuits on the floor carpet in my office and picked it and put it in the dustbin.This was not done because I had a high sense of hygene. I just didnt want to get distracted. By 4 Id start planning what all Im going to eat after 6 o clock. Mango , Pine apple and musambi juice. Veg puff. Samosas. Mousse cake. Doughnuts. Fruit & Nut. Halidirams Katta Meeta. French fries.Appam and Stew.Rice, sambar, curd, caramel custard...............My mouth is flooding!What happens after the sun goes down though. The sad truth is that I have a veg puff and Im full. The gas in my stomach mixes with the puff and stops further appetite for a while. SO i dont get gorge away as in my dreams.
Food. It is only in the month of Ramadan that I remember how precious it is. Every morsel is an investment into my feeling of well being and tomorrows health. There is simply no point not eating today after 6 cos if you dont u are gonna suffer tomorrow.You have to make sure you eat what you think is healthy. I bet people decided what food is healthy and what is not based on how their stomach and body felt after a fast. I know for sure that Lays isnt healthy cos I can hear my body whine and go a little sick. An apple feels like a disinfecting river through my system.The best part about the period is that you learn to avoid junk food as you have no choice. Junk food is relegated to your daydreams.Thats lesson no 1
Lesson 2 is about not wasting food. Yesterday I was having an omlette in cake corner to break my fast and there was a bit of it left when the lady over there came to take away the plates.I practically snatched it back to finish the last bit. In normal circumstance no matter how tasty, its my style to leave the last bit uneaten. I get rid of this wasteful style every fasting day.
Lesson 3 is about being hungry enough to spare a thought for other people who go through this throughout the year. The children on the streets begging you to buy their cottonbud packets or roses. Some of them are even righteous enough to not take the money unless you take the packet in return.Its easy to feel sorry for them. But how sorry can you feel unless youve felt an inkling of what they go through?
Lesson 4 is about getting the feeling that youre sacrificing the pleasure of food and other equally pleasurable but forbidden things for attaining a sense of hope. That your prayers will be answered.They say God cant be deaf to a hungry soul.
Lesson 5 is about learning to manage your headaches and get on with work and being cheerful.
Lesson 6 is about making your fast fruitful by accompanying it with good thoughts and restraining yourself from bitching about everyone around you. Atleast for a while. Break your fast and do it, if you still have the interest.I dont.
Hmmm.... Im sounding like a mullah im sure.. A mullah who blogs!
Its funny how most people around you wont give it a second thought while your fast is mostly the uppermost thought in your head throughout the day.What I like best about the whole month is that eid becomes all the more grander and meaningful.Ofcourse for a lot of muslims none of this a big deal sinc they would have been fasting every day of the holy month ever since their mom stuck a feeding bottle in their mouth. But for a person like me, who used to fast 1 one day in a month and claim that it was three, who used to go to school and hide and eat my doughnuts never being able to understand the significance or the fuss behind all this, its quite a big deal.
It was decided after some consideration that I would take atleast 25 fasts this month. It was part ego and partly my sudden need to get as close as possible to the Almighty. I figured also that if I didn eat much I would lose the extra fat and probably join a modelling contest and display the trophy in my new house. House warming next week. My room could look good with the Miss best figure cup next to the multicoloured pots and vases that i splurged on one fine day in Home Stop.Its already been 15 days and iv taken a measly 7. Atleast if I had carried them off with some style and dignity, it would have been worth while, but here I am at 4 o clock, my eyes rolling in my head counting every damn minute of the system clock.I keep thinking I should just get up and go sleep in the dorm which is always full thanks to the trainees that my company recruits in alarming numbers and the tagged employees who are trying to make proper use of being in the free pool. So I slowly pick myself up and Im about to lock my system and disappear when I hear a call that sounds dangerously like my name. "Yes?".. very very hesitant...(Um U see im fasting and im tired and I was just about to leave for the dorm... the resting place??? Havent heard theres one in our company.. Oh you workaholics.. these are the finer aspects of our company!!). But instead - "Oh yes I know that file. Il get it. And Il do this also and that and that and this and that and that that that that...(tempo increases....sounding like the old arrow shirts ad that I used to love in fifth std--- Hey Hey Hey Hey look at that!)
The good thing is that work keeps me occupied and hence 5:50 comes sooner than expected considering that I was expecting it a minute before I grow old and wasted!I keep thinking I shouldnt be complaining and every muslim is in the world... well almost ... ok half.... are suffering hunger pangs along with me and the less I whine, even if its in my head, the closer I get to my prayers getting answered.
The first day I remember I couldn take my eyes off even a hint of food. They ordered pizza in office and the smell engulfed my senses., I found myself wondering y it is im fasting in the first place.To find my space in heaven??? But doesnt look like I will die soon although you never can say about THAT.I drove the pizza guy out of my cubicle lest i commit the ultimate sin. I gave composed looks and discussed the performance of our application while the others hogged away. I even amused myself thinking whats the least that could happen if I did a little bit of a karate sequence and knocked everyone down and deposited the slices in my stomach and gave a nice long burp. So i might be slapped with harrassment of employees for a slice of pizza case or i might lose more than a point on the team player column in my appraisal list. So?
The subsequent days turned out to be a little better. It should have been as I would decide to just take breaks in between and fast "day after tomorrow"!!Strange things started happening. I would end up in the pantry instead of going to the bathroom and give hard stares at the ASSAM tea bag boxes. Everywhere I looked I saw food. On the Google logo I saw a cup cake inside the 'O'. Did I imagine that?I noticed crumbs of buscuits on the floor carpet in my office and picked it and put it in the dustbin.This was not done because I had a high sense of hygene. I just didnt want to get distracted. By 4 Id start planning what all Im going to eat after 6 o clock. Mango , Pine apple and musambi juice. Veg puff. Samosas. Mousse cake. Doughnuts. Fruit & Nut. Halidirams Katta Meeta. French fries.Appam and Stew.Rice, sambar, curd, caramel custard...............My mouth is flooding!What happens after the sun goes down though. The sad truth is that I have a veg puff and Im full. The gas in my stomach mixes with the puff and stops further appetite for a while. SO i dont get gorge away as in my dreams.
Food. It is only in the month of Ramadan that I remember how precious it is. Every morsel is an investment into my feeling of well being and tomorrows health. There is simply no point not eating today after 6 cos if you dont u are gonna suffer tomorrow.You have to make sure you eat what you think is healthy. I bet people decided what food is healthy and what is not based on how their stomach and body felt after a fast. I know for sure that Lays isnt healthy cos I can hear my body whine and go a little sick. An apple feels like a disinfecting river through my system.The best part about the period is that you learn to avoid junk food as you have no choice. Junk food is relegated to your daydreams.Thats lesson no 1
Lesson 2 is about not wasting food. Yesterday I was having an omlette in cake corner to break my fast and there was a bit of it left when the lady over there came to take away the plates.I practically snatched it back to finish the last bit. In normal circumstance no matter how tasty, its my style to leave the last bit uneaten. I get rid of this wasteful style every fasting day.
Lesson 3 is about being hungry enough to spare a thought for other people who go through this throughout the year. The children on the streets begging you to buy their cottonbud packets or roses. Some of them are even righteous enough to not take the money unless you take the packet in return.Its easy to feel sorry for them. But how sorry can you feel unless youve felt an inkling of what they go through?
Lesson 4 is about getting the feeling that youre sacrificing the pleasure of food and other equally pleasurable but forbidden things for attaining a sense of hope. That your prayers will be answered.They say God cant be deaf to a hungry soul.
Lesson 5 is about learning to manage your headaches and get on with work and being cheerful.
Lesson 6 is about making your fast fruitful by accompanying it with good thoughts and restraining yourself from bitching about everyone around you. Atleast for a while. Break your fast and do it, if you still have the interest.I dont.
Hmmm.... Im sounding like a mullah im sure.. A mullah who blogs!
Its funny how most people around you wont give it a second thought while your fast is mostly the uppermost thought in your head throughout the day.What I like best about the whole month is that eid becomes all the more grander and meaningful.Ofcourse for a lot of muslims none of this a big deal sinc they would have been fasting every day of the holy month ever since their mom stuck a feeding bottle in their mouth. But for a person like me, who used to fast 1 one day in a month and claim that it was three, who used to go to school and hide and eat my doughnuts never being able to understand the significance or the fuss behind all this, its quite a big deal.
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