Runaway train

I sit here in my familiar room with the familiar smell of unpacked piles of clothes and books. My picture pastiche from a different time stuck jaded on the wall.Old photos with smiling faces and teenage high-school novels peer at me from a corner, drawing me back to the past. The air smells of confinement, yet of freedom.

I used to lock my room a lot while growing up. My mom used to squeal incessantly about why I don't roam in the garden instead, like other kids my age. I don't lock my room anymore. My mom still peeps in curiously, trying to gather as many pieces of me before I leave to London for study.

I give away snatches of thoughts to distinct people in my past who have helped craft me into who I am right now. I remember soft-brown eyes, toothy grins, tendrils of black hair, arched eyebrows, gurgling laughter and soft voices. I remember the words they said, the comfortable silences, plates of food brought-up, the care taken to make a cup of tea and the distant shouts of a thousand animated conversations. I remember wisps of smoke, the cold smell of winter just set-in and the sound of endless babble under the sheets through the night.

I hear the soft, consistent whistle of the train I'm on which plays in the background but does little to shake me from my reverie. It chugs on slowly and deliberately. I look out at the rain-soaked green and melancholic blue of the sky. I press my chin against the wet window rail and stare at the dull-red brick walls. Scene after scene unfold before my eyes, like an utopian world shot in black and white. I cannot tear my eyes away. The train has left the station some time back. And, I'm still looking back.

Freedom says to freedom

I felt a pang for the you in you
But not for the you in the infinite
The shades of colour you painted me
You just needed a paintbrush of a different size for company
They are fragile as a butterfly, yet mighty as a mountain
I saw innocence and warmth and a tender quality of love
And a hint of your past, your present and your future
Carefully measured and contained for the worthiest cause
Carefully poured into the vessel for the noblest of all causes.
Will the vessel slip through your fingers? And, blur the vision you so much adore?
Paint the world with the colour I see and not just coz of me
Empty the vessel to honour your passion and make the cause ring truer for you
I step by you, beside you, just to caress your hair and whisper in your ear
Just a shooting star on your starlit sky
One you can point at and remember
When I said: The you I see in you is the you in the infinite.

Dialogue

Hurtness:

How did you assume I would not understand?
Maybe you didn't understand me or care enough to understand me
But, it's fine-- I forgive you!

How did you assume I wouldn't know how much loving that someone special means to you?
Maybe you didn't think I would, but I do
So, hakuna matata and I forgive you

How did you think I would not know how irreplacable I am?
I would, coz I am good and you know
So, solpa chill madi, it's fine right? I forgive you

How did you think I would assume we value the same things,
You value love more, and friendship is more like me
Hopeless hopes, secret desires, I wish I was like you!
And there's no need to repeat, but I do forgive you.

But what went wrong, I must tell
Not to you, but to myself

What you didn't think about is how hurt I would be to hurt you
What you didn't think about is how bad I would feel to see you frown
What you didn't know was I care more or as much as you do
What you didnt know was for you, I wouldnt mind being the clown

I do pray for you, and I care I do
and on this note, let me forgive myself too!

It really doesn't matter if I'm right or you
as much as you matter, and mater you do

Just in case you thought I didn't, I forgive you!


Desperation:

Me and myself, we hope to become one someday
Don't listen to that which a rainy day may bring
But, with the sun in your heart
For the rain brings with it what the sun did not.
Don't let each truth stop your search for more
I seek to be as endless as you, but I'm not
With each step behind, I run along a lil' ahead
The tears I saw, tear at me too
For I hurt someone as beautiful as you
I write this for you to see me too
How much I yearn for myself to be closer to me
Coz through this, I want to be closer to you.

Home away from home

I moved away from home sometime back. More than a physical change of place..
I'm feel an explicable sense of moving on-ness. I already feel the distance.
I know i will love life there. crossed fingers.
where u can do whatever and be watever.. without nobody caring.
wrapped in a comfortable cocoon of anonymousness.
I really love my independence here.
n i've become a different person after here.
not so confused anymore.
and all the things which were fun.
All the things i always wanted to do
have ceased to be that.
Its like i want to know more and experience more
and i know thats why UK happened
I'm not happy with a mediocre life
I want to rise above the ordinary and discover that which moves me from the core of my heart.
I'm more grounded now.
n I'm wondering if I stopped being fun. But, thats just for everybody else.
It just doesn't matter like it used to
It's almost like I'm becoming a loner.
More self-involved.
and as for people
I'm convinced that
they wont stay no matter what.
you just meet em, they change u
and thats that.
u meet more ppl..
im just rambling on
...
Feels like im moving on
leaving something special behind
a lot of things
memories people
a part of me.
it has to happen for me to know more. Of me.
but I still haven't got used to leaving people behind
but I know for a person like me
I need to get used to that at like every step.

Thoughts from Whines, Grumble, Bitch & Cry

June 29, 2008

Its been a year.

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It hits you hard when 4 years and more of togetherness apparently don't mean the world to the same people who you believed to have 4 years and more of togetherness mean the world to them. As a working woman who chose to live far away from the pillars of support she always needed - her boyfriend and family, independence came with a price tag she couldn't quite afford. It is the reinstatement of a philosophy torn by time. Love to her was always such a safe and secure haven that she completely ignored any feelings of in-adequateness that tagged along like a puppy over the years.

To give you some background, she had found a man many years ago, perfect in all his imperfectness. Everything, all the history, the music and the magic, was wiped clean in a second. Sometimes, permanent marker ink fades away easier than you think it. Doesn't the world require you to let bygones be bygones? Shouldn't everybody always listen to the world who dictates what is right and whats not.

She loved working and living in Delhi. She was always one for experiences, any kind of experience. She always looked to learn from even those which were not ideally her type of experiences. This was subtly instilled in her by many a bored forced bonding session with her dad which she grew to value and treasure over the years. She was happy, she was doing well in her career, she was optimistic for the future. She had money to spend on pretty things for herself. She had a so called caring boyfriend whom she could always take care of all the while denying the universal truth of the opposite. All neatly wrapped in a plastic ornamental cover. All set forever. Happiness is a warm gun they say. Happiness can also be shot through the heart, real quick.

Anyway, all plastic covers have to come off you know. Have you ever coaxed and cajoled all the imperfection into perfectness for somebody even if it meant neglecting your own needs? She did this in all earnestness and completely happy to. Why do you think she was capable of what you can call human-like selfless love. You know, those wet tissues handed to you on a flight? The kind you use to freshen your face and throw away. She felt like a used wet tissue at the end of the evening when the sun set on 4 years and more of togetherness.

All the wet tissue wanted was to be stored away in a pocket perhaps and used on another hot day. Instead, she was given the identity of a used wet tissue stained with a kind of a screwed up insecurity that just don't refreshen the same anymore. "You used to fresh me up in the past, but not now," the wet tissue was told. The worst bout her new found status was that it made her question herself. Did I not make the right decision? Should I have done something when I sensed it? What did I do really to deserve this? Have I not known only to love and give? All questions left answered. Isn't it funny how people always look to substitute something when they forget how they got there in the first place?

She realized that human beings do this. Human beings are fickle. Human beings always care less than they say they do. Human beings are capable of humiliating you like no other. She felt bad for God coz she believed in him. He must be a hopelessly disturbed God. She grew to understand God.

Falling out of love still seems an extremely western concept to her. It always amused her when celebrities calmly claim to fall 'out of love' weeks into their marriage. I'm not quite sure what it entails. Boredom to compromise? Heightened fixation or obsession with present happiness? Lack of recognizing whats really good for themselves due to a vision of extremely tunneled self-interest? Being Indian, she was definitely not used to it. She always thought that she and her now very not-so-significant other shared the same values. She retained Indian values as much as she was a product of new-age urban Indian mindset. Maybe that was the problem. Foreign lands always mess with your values. Its a pretty unstable trend. Which leave you very confused at the end of the day. Or, maybe the 'foreign lands mess with your values' bit is a huge farce. An excuse. Part of a massive chunk of denial she lived through all the years of her relationship. Values evolve according to your needs, don't they?

Do you know why really old men/women win prizes late? Only because it took them the time, the pain and frustration to get there. Quick time solutions are poor friends of the lonely, the attention-seeking and the talented. And leave you terribly guilty at the end of it too. In one words its - cowardice.

Until it happened to her. She fell out of love too. But for entirely different reasons. In fact, she claims that these are the only reasons you can really fall out of love for. Loss of respect was a huge factor. Loss of naivety was another. Always proclaimed naive by her family - uncertain of the ways of the world, unsure of life and all its twisted ways, too innocent and trusting of all people.
Loss of trust and care - its the easiest to guess. When your so sure of something, you become arrogant. Love can make you arrogant and proud. She was arrogant. But, like one of those stupid sayings you wish never came true just becoz they're so godammn pretentiously wise, it fell.

In a nutshell, you see a very fragmented soul. You can see how they directly correlate with lost values. Losing everything you believe in sounds impossible; but in reality is a death spell. Especially, when such a huge part of self is concerned. It was all brought on by giving too much to a relationship.

She and I start again. From scratch. After all, wisdom grows an extra tooth only after all the other teeth are done growing.

Why Eternal Sunshine?

I have this bad habit of making any blog of mine a personal one coz I tend to post too much of my soul in here. Why is that a bad thing? I dunno, prob coz there all kinds of weirdos who are reading this. And, also coz I've learnt to double-think mundane stuff I never really cared about.

Long days have passed between posts. I hesitated before listening to Cat Power today. Her music is way too soul-stirring for me. The kind that clasps around your heart and knocks the breath out of you coz her voice is so incredibly moving. Or maybe it's me. I know that that's the best ways music changes me, its just that it continues to remind me of very fragile times. I usually quickly jump her songs on my playlist. It something I consciously did and now it comes to me naturally. Kinda like all the things in my life I've learnt to control now.

It brought back all the murkyness I associated with those songs. Before, I would succumb headlong into the oh-so-familiar emotions of dread. Until I thought of eternal sunshine. I find that I'm now able to keep those at bay with a comfortable sense of detachment which leaves me feeling strangely, lighter.

Eternal sunshine are all those moments which told me that there's something special coming up, just for me. That everythings going to be okay. That the past is gone and I'm free to find my way home. That I'm new and un-tainted. It's the warm re-assurance of inexplicable secureness. Of beauty and mystery and magic. Of comforting discoveries from within. Of knowing exactly what to do while setting sail in the tempest..

Faith in unknown and unforeseen goodness can be frustrating if you have never experienced the overpowering goodness floating around. I can say that I am blessed to have seen it and to know just how much it can transform everything.

I guess I made this blog as a tribute to all those moments of surprising sunshine. And, however personal, felt like it's worth blogging bout.. as a reminder of sorts. Of how far I have come and how far there is to go..

Plastic Bubble Land

Fairy girl lit her fairy wand
And sailed through plastic bubble land
Rigid girl full of sweet sunshine
Fluttered through, while her rigidness made benign

Closed she was, inter mingled with subtle disdain
For she never bothered to hear a word
To her, she was all and so was he
She was the sea, the book, the bird

Bubbling over, blinding joy unconstrained
A plastic kind of smile
Unknown to her then.
A mirage it was, she gladly swam in it.
Till all the water dried up.

All rigidness lost, head held high
Learning to fly down a lonely road.
Joy contained, dreams contained
Perhaps to be opened for another day

Life went on, in a shade less pink
Life lived almost for the other's sake
Money was spent for her pretty pink dress
She grew to trust it less and less

Pandora's box, was waiting to break free
Shaking with lust and lies and hypocrisy
Charmed was she by the choice of fate
Of love which wailed with misery
Of a broken promise of a trusted friend
Of cold winds and hollow faces and images snatched from plastic bubble land
Of scattered music notes flying away in the wind.

So, fairy girl lost her pretty pink dress
Lost her cold calculated rigidness
Lost her zest for all things pink and pretty
Lonely was she, too tired to be.
But, this was just the beginning.

Unknown to her, nothing was lost
For what was lost was gain, and nothing else
For with the loss of self, she grew strong
Until there was little left of the pain

Fairy girl saw life less scary
Fairy girl saw hope blossom like a new sunrise
She laughed and loved and felt deep joy
The kind that came un-tainted with what people brought

Much she thought about her old plastic bubble land
Which she felt to hold on like a treasure, dear
But with serenity she let go
Because over time and change, she felt no fear.

The river goes on like an endless train
Of endless people, faces and memories bold
Happiness unbridled, crippling sorrow followed by bittersweet calm
All turned into one at the end of life's day.

This is the story of the fairy girl and her old, worn wand
In her precious, plastic bubble land.

Singin' in the Rain

January 26, 08'

The image of Madras when it rains will always be etched in my mind..

Its not just the rain. It so much more really. I hardly knew it then, but these will go on the becoming part of some of the happiest and most cherished moments in my life. Today all of these flashed through my mind with nostalgia and wistfulness. For the first time since I came here, I desperately missed Madras. Here's a random collection of glimpses into the sounds, the smells and the memories..

The gradual graying of the skies before the heavens burst open.
The intoxicating-ly damp smell of the earth as the first raindrops hit the dusty earth.
The overpowering lethargy of not wanting to go to school/college.
Listening to the sound of hard hitting rain on the asbestos roof above my courtyard.
Wearing bathroom chappals to school/college coz ur feet are gonna get wet anyway.
The small joys of not wearing socks n shoes to school that day.
Slushy roads I had to walk thru to get to my bus for college.
Being annoyed at dirt being splashed on the back of my jeans.
How the Anna Nagar roads looked flooded with water and people wading through them.
The lazy empty-ness of the classroom on a rainy day.
The rows of umbrellas I see lined up outside class.
The rumbling thunder in a distance while I daydream my way thru Macro class.
Getting my feet soaked in water puddles while walking from my classroom to where the bus is parked.
Avoiding all wet surfaces in the college canteen.
Wearing some ugly baggy clothes to college coz I just couldn't bother to wear something decent.
The sound of the rain splattering against my window.
Wearing socks to bed when it gets too cold at night.
Listening to loud croaking (really loud) of frogs ringing thru the night before i fall asleep.
Getting pleasantly half-drenched while walking back home after the bus drops me home and my mom's voice comfortingly barking at me soon after.
The touch of the wet door gate before I step in.
The neem tree just outside my house which pelts me with raindrops every time it sways.
The way the plants look in my garden just after it rains.
Untidy piles of garbage gently rotting in the rain.
Jumping over muddy brown puddles.
The freshly scrubbed green leaves on the trees after it rains.
The view from my kitchen window being a blur of green, brown and grey when I go for an afternoon snack.
Being pleasantly woken up to know that there's a holiday coz of floods and more heavy rains.
Hurrying (forcibly by mom) upstairs to get the clothes off the terrace before it gets wet and getting slightly rained on in the process.
Pretending to be Revathy n do that film song in the rain dance.
Walking barefoot on the ground when it rains.
Hearing the drains outside go drip-drip-drip after when it rains.
Curling up with a love-story when it rains.
Hot bajjis when it rains. Yum.
Watching that funny Mohanlal movie when it rains.
A power cut when it rains.
Hearing a transformer burst in a distance when it rains.
Being under an umbrella when it rains or under a blanket.
Sleeping when it rains, dreaming when it rains..

This is a nutshell is what I love about rainy days in madras.

The city of lights - My journey

American writer Mark Twain wrote: "Benares is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together."

I couldn't agree with the writer more. The first thing that struck me about the city was its misty antiquity. It had the aura of having experienced the ravages of time, people and civilization itself. The buildings look ancient and jaded. The people crude, rugged and real. It had a soul about it that held together the collective faith of humanity as a religion.

For a little background, legend says that the city was founded by Hindu deity, Lord Shiva around 5000 years ago. Many Hindu scriptures, like the Rigveda, Skanda Purana, Ramayana, and the Mahabharata have mentioned the city and it is one of the 7 most sacred Hindu cities in India.

Sitting on the train back to Delhi after a stimulating trip to Benares, I felt enriched and touched by the experience of having visited, what now is to me, the heart and soul of India.

We traveled in the local, second class train compartment - which carries all the normal folks who were traveling from Delhi - Benares. I felt spoilt as I shuddered at the grime of sweat, dirt and dust on the train seat. My feet wading in patterns of watery dirt which my co-travelers and I somewhat managed to soak up with old newspapers. A young woman sat with her squealing baby opposite me. Her eyes had the vacant look of a soul who is in terms with the drudgery of her daily life. I watched the foggy darkness engulf the crowds of houses, people and shadowed trees.

On the journey back, I feel enlightened at having experienced a world so stupendously different from mine, that my life back home seems to be a far away alternate universe. I compared and contrast my life the people, whose lives I peeped into over the last couple of days.

The poorest of the poor, who pick at garbage for leftover food, gathering it in their hands to sort out what can actually be eaten. This is not a rare sight, even in urban areas, which re-reinforced in me - However miserable the poor man's life seems to be, they are still happier in their routine "misery" than many of us rich, comfortable folks.

The middle class Indian, who visits Benares on a pilgrimage. He hopes that a dip in the Ganga will cleanse him from his sins but I strongly suspect that he will go back to doing the same sins the very next day.

Ancient looking sadhus - the ones you thought existed only in childhood stories of the Panchathantra- clad in pieces of cloth of bright saffron, hair impossibly entangled and filthy- roll their prayer beads in their hand.. and rest in temple corners.

Bindi-wearing tourists dressed in funky Khadi pants and Ganesh T- shirts strolling through the markets - Some high on dope, still others who visit India on a break trying to experience their so called "spirituality. "

Music pandits - playing the flute & Veena, ordinary men and women who bustle around the streets- selling, buying and immersed in their little businesses - be it devotional hymns, diyas, bangles, sweets and so on.

We stayed at a modest, little guesthouse called "Hotel Ganapathy" which overlooked the Ganges. It was cold and the sun could hardly penetrate over the thick fog that crept over the flowing water. It was serene and pure until your eyes moved to the where the water reached the edge. Here, you can see people bathing, people washing their clothes, buffaloes, little kids diving, garbage being dumped, people drinking the same water, performing pujas and all kinds of other imaginable activities.

Benares has many exciting little markets of contradictions where you would get to experience a heady mix of sensually stimulating sights, sounds, smells and flavors. You would see the numerous tiny gulleys and filthy streets swarming with people, animals, garbage all at the same time. Tiny colorful shops - selling touristy trinkets, plastic cups and spoons, hanuman idols, jewelry and scores of bangles of every rainbow colour. Women dressed in shiny colors of silk, merchants screaming their goods, selling hot samosas and chai, while some harmless looking cows quietly drops its gold dangerously near your foot. You would find Phillipino tourists bump into creepy yogis looking to make a quick buck. And, small beggar children pestering you for food and money as a part of the larger crowds of people calmly strolling through the filth. You would find religious sadhus in a trance and hot Aloo poori being sold on the next corner.

One highlight of the trip was the evening boat ride on the Ganges. Our boat floated along on the now, quiet waters- the seemingly calm, endless water before us, the crimson setting sun painting a riot of colour behind us and alongside numerous, ancient-looking ghats (nearly 100 in number, one ghat for every temple, so around hundred temples- these are a series of steps which lead from temples to the river)

The wind was chilly, but did not take our interest away from the many eye catching sights along the way. We saw a funeral and cremation taking place on the river-bank, and 2 saffron-red clad foreigners getting married on a boat! When I tried to take a photo of the latter, another foreigner lady got up in the boat and held the pallu of her sari to hide thew newly weds!!

My friends who were traveling with me visited a few temples but I was a silent spectator as I neither knew much about their religion and faith nor did it appeal to me greatly. By this time, dusk had forced the night to bring out its umbrella of darkness. The ride back to our hotel was beautiful. From a distance I could see a sea of light and dark, numerous diyas being floated on the water like dots of fire in a distance. I could hear the distant hum and bells of bhajans being sung with fervor. The air smelt cold and of camphor. We parked our boats on the side of one of the ghats to witness one of the major pujas being performed at one of the temples. Hundreds of visitors gathered prayerfully. I heard the opening strains of "Om Jai jagadeeshwa hare.. " being sung in unity along with the clanging of temple bells. Suddenly, it didn't matter what religion I belonged to. In that moment, I was touched as I felt a bubble of warmth and joy exploding inside. The faith of the people and the presence of God was so real and palpable, that it was hard not to believe that God was right there!

This trip was an eye-opener for a number of reasons.

I was somewhat disturbed to find myself a complete foreigner to this land. A country I had never attempted to understand - whose values, ethos and social systems were quickly typecast against the values of the western world always appealed more to my urban upbringing. It revealed how little I know about India, its culture and its people and its role in shaping my identity.

Next, it left me feeling slightly unsettled about the perceived unkindness or injustice of the stark inequalities of existence. The poverty in the city constantly slapped you in the face and left you uncomfortable. At the same time, it was soothing to know that it never stops people from losing hope or living their lives happily. I was born in this life and circumstances which to me now looks so perfect, its almost unreal. I grapple with knowing that millions of others did not get such a good deal.

Last, it made me realize that I most of the time either never notice or take for granted the distinct beauty of incredible India. The ethnic, cultural, religious, racial divide continues to break down barriers to give soul and light to the diverse potpourri, that is India.

Bridge over troubled water

People walk in and out
I drink the juice and then the tea
I see smiling faces in fotos
everything feels inadequate to me

The past haunts me by
Spurts of happy amidst a sea of sad
The music crashes over the shore
everything feels inadequate to me

I wonder at people working fast
I wonder at the sadness they hold within but say not a word
I wonder at pride and ego and weak
everything still feels inadequate to me

When someone leaves a mark so dark
I try so hard to erase, slow and deliberate
The mind has to let go as much as the heart
everything still feels inadequate to me

I see pastel crayons of red and orange bold
I see a song about a little red corvette
I imagine the twang of a guitar sounds
everything starts to feel a little less inadequate to me

I find comfort in the truth the triumphs
I seek solace in multi-hued meaning of art
I break it down, from wood into splinters
Everything feels a little less inadequate to me

I look at the smiles of my babies i know
trapped in joy and innocence
I read a verse about a trapped bird let free
the mirror shows me beauty and soul which knows no restraint
the first tune of a jazzy ensemble trembles by
I touch the beads, roll them in my hand
soft and warm and comforting
everything stops feeling inadequate to me

The tale of the rose.

A heart got caught
in the throes of young love
It blossomed and bloomed and blushed all the way
It fueled dreams like no other, it took her breath away

Young love turned deep and intense
Sprinkled profusely with soul
It stumbled but rose, as red as a rose
Passion bubbled over and didn't leave it astray

It simmered, it burned
steady for a long while
It embraced forever
Even across miles

Until the fire burned down to a spark
the same spark that made the bushfire roar
It burnt and spit and settled in a pit
the same spark whose heart it lit

The soul wept and died for the rose now dry
The garden is empty, devoid all beauty
Barren replaced it
never to return?

Now, it yearns for a flutter of a breeze
Which can revive the soul in her.
The soul on fire, the soul dancing with desire.

All because
A heart got caught
in the throes of young love.