A tree which grows in the dark
Signs of sighs which failed to muteTime has weathered this tired life
Skin starting to crease an ickle
may be I hear you not too clear
hairs in the corners turning grey
sliver strands peeking out
From the edges of time so frayed and flayed
like an old portrait seeking sight
Of a roving eye – a connoisseur
but in all this I see this picture clear
embossed in the memories so frail
An image of mine a canvas plain
What have i become oh Dorian Gray
There again came the time to pen frivolousness to fill time. Here is something written while waiting in the airport…
The same feeling passed over me as I was packing my bags again. This time back to India for a pause defined by a period of deficit time and I would again be shuttling out. Felt like a modern day beduin. But lets ponder on that for a minute- just because we stay static in a part of the world does it change our basic need to keep moving. I doubt if our evolved imagination is a by product of this conflict of biology and social needs. The biological urge inspired by the code imprinted on the strands of the continuum of time which is in other words called DNA., to migrate … keep moving from one place to another in search of pastures fresher than the ones we left behind. The social need for stability – a shelter – a place to call your own, anchors which tie you to a geography to ensure that all the glory defined in you is localised to ensure a constant dearth of enlightened ones. The balance of these two conflicting priorities ensures that we always aspire for one and strive to get the other.
A movie about a paraplegic fighting to end his life legally. WoW what a movie. I know this blog is very late. But seriously this movie is one of the best movies made out of Sanjay Leela Bansali’s theatre/ Film production.
SLB has a knack of exaggerating sets and painting across every frame. The attempt is to bring out beauty in every single detail. Cross fading and using exaggerated filters to over beautify already excellent locations. Using strong colors to insinuate the mood of the frame, SLB got the mix right with Guzarish.
I felt this is one of the best acting which can be expected from every member of the cast. An actor like Hrithik transforming between the charming Maskeranus the magician and the frail paraplegic who helplessly has to endure the drops of water from his leaking house or impotently watch his object of appreciation being violated in front of him. Screenplay was exaggerated just enough to touch a chord with the intelligence audience who watch the movie for its story. This was theatre in the of a play.
I was taken through a whirlpool of emotions, from a smile from the flirtations to a tear at the desperations. I was Maskeranus, I was his friends and support group, I was his nemesis. There were a few frames like his interactions with his nurse Sophia, his mother’s funeral and the last scene with all his friends on his bed, which leave an effervescent residue in the mind after the movie.
I felt this was a great movie and would recommend it to all.
For the past 37 years I have been told I was very good and should aim at being very good at everything I do. I have been asked to confirm and not stand out. ‘Be accepted’ , ‘Blend in’, ‘Do not be a freak’, ‘ be safe’, were some of the guiding phrases. Taking the well defined path and then trying to race to the top was the norm.
For 37 years I have been doing just that. And I realise I would have continued doing the same and journeying on the same path, if I had not met guys like Malcom Gladwell and Seth Godin through their books. These guys goaded me for being safe. They sniggered at me for taking the path of being very good. They wanted me to be remarkable. They wanted me to stand out. They said safe is boring. Somewhere in the buried voices of time, I could hear people call me different, crazy, weird… and I felt like a left handed kid being forced to become right handed because the whole herd was right handed. Oh wait, yes this has also happened to me.
Well I could place myself on my extravagant derrière and brood about all the injustice that has come my way or I could slap myself silly and go on this new exciting path of being remarkable. It felt safer to choose the former and so I chose the latter. I am not sure of this journey and were it would lead me. But I am taking the first step in this irrevocable path. I am starting my journey to discover the remarkable Mr. Me.
So on this path of self discovery, I invite you to contribute. If I like your suggestions which will help discover me, I will adopt them, I might even reply back with a thank you. Come with me on this discovery of me.
It was just the beginning of the morn, the sun was beginning to yawn across the horizon. With Frank sinatra crooning to me I am caught in this dilemma of staying in bed or waking up and working out the sins of the previous night. Went for a jog after fighting off laziness. Came back and made a scrumptious breakfast for the family
Things are beginning to look good again
This was an attempt by three people in coming up with coherent thoughts. I started the first para, a friend chipped in the next, until in the end I just gave the whole story a twist
”
As he looked ahead the valley looked greener, he paused to smell the air, this was the first time he noticed the beauty of things around him. The mountains and the valleys, the flowers which carpeted them, the rivers and glaciers, the sweet smell of the air which was filled with the million medicinal herbs which were growing in the wild. The sounds of nature, a symphony orchestrated by an unseen hand, which synchronised the babble of the birds with the gushing of the streams and rivers. How he wondered did he not notice this before.
She stood next to him her hand almost touching his but he was unaware, she thought that physical nearness means nothing if minds are separated so far away in time and space, she closed her eyes and with a mild smile felt the crisp mountain air on her face and its freshness all around. Slowly her mind started retreating in past not so long ago, scenes of busy market streets, smell of freshly baked cookies, mixed sound of people talking laughing dressed in their morning best, noise of auto-rikshaw , blur of vibrant colours flashed through her being.The smile on her face deepened as she soaked herself in the pain of sweet memories, a pain that she wanted as that pain was somehow capable of strengthening her like none other.
Suddenly from the depth of her thoughts she realised that someone was calling her name..
He couldn’t understand how he felt it but yes it seemed like she was intruding into his memories. Her presence almost felt real. But he had gone through all those emotions not long back. He was there to distance himself further from the thoughts. How much ever he tried burying the past how could he just wish away the moments they had spent together. Her thoughts invaded him like a tsunami and overwhelmed by the wave of thoughts he braced himself against a rock. He knew that the only thing which was fresh about her was the memories. She was gone, dead, her body turning into a putrefying mass six feet under. His hands trembled and he put them up and covered his face in a vain attempt to physically block the pain of the memories. The conscience is a bitch for it knows the truth…
Pulled out of her thoughts she looked helplessly at him ..his eyes longed for her, his fingers were trembling as if his mind and soul had willed them to touch her like earlier, a lifetime ago, when one touch of his could bring light to her eyes, when his voice had healing powers on her battered soul, when a single word of encouragement from him gave her the powers to win over this world. They were so close, so together as if destiny had conspired in making them one. Their love was beyond the barriers of society and now she could see that it was beyond mortality as well. Her eyes became wet and with all the love on her face she looked at him trying to say that darling I am living in forever, waiting for you…
He smiled at himself in ridicule just to realise how guilty the “ bitch” deep inside him is. He once again attempted to teach his mind one simple lesson in life which these days he kind of attempts too often . Again he repeated the same sentence, “Past is past, I cant get it back But, Ananya, I am sorry…” Sorry is one word which he in his past 5 years hardly used but in last 3 month have chanted enough and more times. As he closed his eyes, he hear a voice from far calling him. Turned back to see Jai was trying to spot where he was. He waived at Jai. He cursed Jai within to come uninvited between he and his solitude. Jai lifted his brows as to wondering where he got lost amidst their party, but decided not to put it in words. He knows Jai needs no explanation. He has been there right from the dawn to the dusk of matters sometimes as spectator, but most of the times as a friend. Jai patted his back, held his cold hand and started walking toward the path from which he came.
He wondered what an amazing thing the human mind is , I am talking and meeting people, indulging in mindless chatter which constitutes most of my life, while my mind is free to indulge in more lucrative thoughts. I am able to compartmentalise my mind at the same time and have different compartments work on different aspects. The brain in its physical format is assimilating all the information it is being fed by the senses, while a part of it was gesticulating and being active in the real world, while another was still thinking about her. Without her everything around lost meaning… Friends, relatives and every other social extensions, seemed like necessities to have to keep up the pretense of sanity.
She knew that he could sense her, Darling, I am waiting for you and am going to take you away and this time sweet-heart, it would be my pleasure to see life drain out of you. As the evening faded into the night, everyone was clinking glasses. He had drunk a little more than usual, his mind was fuzzy and so was his movement. he needed to clear himself, shake out the wooziness. he excused himself into the room, the lights kept flickering and there was this constant buzz from the nearby transformer indicating that it might just fall apart any time. The splash of cold water on his face brought him to his senses temporarily.he looked at his own reflection in the mirror, stared at himself smirked and bent down to wash his face once more.
The reflection just stayed on with the smirk as he had left it. he looked up again and could not notice anything amiss. the lights flickered once again and in the corner he felt he saw something. He turned around to see and empty wall, the reflection again stayed smirking at him.
The lights flicked once again.
The alcohol induced high was replaced by a cold draught of fear. he turned again and faced the mirror, his throat parched. he could feel the bile rising and he vomited into the sink. the lights kept flickering. he could again feel the sourness building inside and his stomach clenching. he vomited again and as he stood up he saw her in the mirror with the same smirk. he wanted to scream but voice was beyond him. he seemed rooted to the place. Like a nightmare which had turned true. her hand seemed to move out of the mirror. he could smell the rotting flesh and the the clamyness of her skin on his face. she was caressing him lovingly, he could see the dead lifeless eyes look at him. her fingers traced the outline of his face and moved slowly over his lips. he was retching emptiness and slowly but steadily her fingers moved into his throat hooked in and pulled him nearer. She kissed him and drew his face closer. the mirror seemed to envelop him now it was cutting deeper into his skull and with his last dying breath he could see the love in her eyes as she looked on…”
Was it my drink
Or was it the rain
Was it the buddha
Sitting comfortable
And wet. So peaceful
So immersed in himself
The water drops traversing him
Looked like people scuttling about
Trying hard to discover themselves
I still can’t understand why the verses
Jumped at me
The rain grew stronger
The candle light flickered on
Braving the breeze
Which was more than caressing me
Pitter patter the drops went on drenching everything they could find
And for some reason I still feel so good
I feel so peaceful
In this loneliness
Sitting in a crowd
In the midst of noise
I hear silence
I can feel the beat of my heart
I can feel the flutter of my eyes
I can feel myself alive
I want to loose myself
I want to let go
I want to get drenched
I want to cry
I want to laugh
I feel elated
Euphoric but then
I realize I am alone
Sitting here all alone
I notice the rain
I notice the drops
I see the people sitting around
Everyone seeking waiting
My candle blows out
I am in darkness
Am I in or am I out
This was something I wrote for a colleague for his wedding
A meeting of hearts
A banter of thoughts
Ideas that matched
Many unresolved
Two thoughts collided
Two lives were twined
A promise was made
To be there for each other
Time spent together
Furthered the bond
The two now stand
In an altar blessed
To be wedded together
For now and forever …
Blessed are these two
In this mad world who found
Peace together
Happiness in each other
One of the most inspiring stories I have heard is from a friend during my stint in the Middle East.
From a very early stage in her life she was taught the importance of choices. From a difficult time during a civil war, were surviving to the next day was the most important factor to everyday crisis she knew there was a choice she could make. Either to sit back and mourn with the currents and ebbs of time or to take control of the rudder of life and decide to face adversity with a charming smile. In almost all her life she chose the later, which is why i am inspired to write her story. I donot have her permission to do so and I would not want to risk rejection. So I am cloaking her in anonymity and will call her -She.
She was born in a city of Georgia which was seeped with history from the times of Alexander and beyond, The scenic beauty and ancestry of the place was something the family of four took for granted as they had other things in priority like the business of living each day. Her dad, mom and her sister stole time from the everyday hardships to find joy in small little things with her. Growing up was a usual business, until a civil war broke out.
She was at the cusp of her teenage and her sister was already blossoming into a beautiful young lady. It was a very bad time for two beautiful girls to be in. The world around was filled with stories of abuse, rape and murder. The family on run disguised the girls as best as they could as boys sacrificing their beautiful tresses and binding their growing bodies. The physical trauma was not as bad as having to see their loved ones being lost to acts of war, a grandma perishing in a bomb attack, shifting from one place to another living in a car with only the family sofa as a heirloom which could be saved from the fire. (Though tragic at this point I pause to wonder why save the sofa when the house is on fire). The war ended, who won nobody cared, what people lost not many cared, but the most important aspect was that it was over. The family started picking up pieces of the shattered life’s to start rebuilding a new one.
A good education and a college degree still could not guarantee a good job due to the socioeconomic conditions prevailing. Like many others she went to neighboring Russia in search of a career. Even though there were sympathetic relatives, there was not a day spent when she didnot miss her family and not a day spent when she was not made aware that her stay was not an added burden. Having overstayed the visa period to avoid a ban she had to choose to return to her county using the paths taken by the illegals. A long bus journey through the unforgiving Siberian winter. It was not the cold she was scared of but her fellow passengers. She was one among only three women. One was over 60 years old accompanying the casket of her dead son. The other was in the later side of 40s accompanying her very ill father and she was in her late teens accompanied by none. In a bus filled with convicts trying to escape the country for the fear of the judgement for the crimes committed to rebels escaping persecution and smugglers trying to get their wares across the border, it was a motley crew of passengers with whom she was forced to spend the next seven days with. Not once could she loosen her grip on reality cos she was aware of the unwanted glances or the unwanted hand creeping up her body. It was her wit which helped her through and the choice to make survive this journey even though each second seemed stretched in time. She reached to the safety of her country and her home.
The earning to make a career drew her away soon to the far shores of the middle east. She landed a job with a firm who had to send her away to the island of Kish for getting the Visa changed. East European women in some of these places are looked upon as commodities. She was herded into a hotel along with a few others and had to share a room where the privacy of each bed was only ensured by the flimsy curtain which separated them. This place unfortunately was run by a madam, who was using the hotel as a harlem. Sleepless nights with the sheet separating her from the girls who chose to make a quick buck by selling their bodies for the pleasure of men and women who were ready to meet the price. Her visa came through and finally she was back in Dubai with a decent job and a semblance of normalcy in her life.
I met her not long back and her pleasant demeanor, the warm smile and her unending thirst to find happiness in even the darkest of the times would have never prepared me for what she actually had gone through. It is true that the strongest steel is forged in the hottest furnaces. It was by chance that she told me her life story.
We were sitting by the sea shore with the waves lapping at the beach, the star lit sky and the moon in all its glory, the wind lazily caressing us throwing a wisp of hair on her face. her eyes twinkled with a hint of tear not of sadness but of relief, she had purged out her soul for the first time laid it bare in front of me. The moon was not so distracting, her hair which kept falling on her face was not taking my eyes away from hers and her voice embedded those words into my soul as she said that at every step we are faced with a choice of either blaming fate and going on with the flow of being sad and complain or of trying to be cheerful and happy and boosting the morale of your own self and those around you. In all her life she chose the latter and that has made her stronger and her smile sweeter.
This is an ode to respect you my dear friend…
I am What I am 