Drizzles and Mizzles

It’s May now and I look at my window upwards at the nearly cloudless sky. I have always liked the summer. I guess maybe because I loved the warmth. The scorching heat, of course was a bummer at times, but I thanked the sun’s presence because I knew how I hated getting drenched while going outdoors in the monsoons. I have always had a love-hate relationship with the monsoons. It was very unpredictable. I myself couldn’t say when I would love the dark, cold and wet weather or when I would hate it with all my life so much so that I would want to run away to the equator! And yeah, I’ve had my fascination with the winter too. I kind of secretly wished to live in the snowy regions, up north, maybe somewhere in Siberia. Every time I listen to the song My December by Linkin Park, I get transported to my home in the snow, somewhere…




Monsoons haven’t etched good memories on the slate of my mind. Maybe that is why I always hated them. I always wanted to go away to a better place, a warmer place with the onset of monsoons, in just the same way as I always went away to a better corner of my mind, away from the unpleasant memories. Strange naa, how you associate certain moods with certain things (tangible and intangible) and of course people in your life… the times have gone, the people have moved on, but when I travel somewhere physically, I also go down memory lane in the same place with the person of the past. And this goes on till the time that I keep visiting the place mentally and physically. Then the old memory wears out, fades away and a new one takes its place, takes precedence…

…at such times, I feel minds are like permanent rewritable discs. Things come, stay for a while, serve their purpose and have to go, to make place for the new stuff.




The rains always bring a story along with them…either from the past or they create one, twirling in our lives. Pleasant and unpleasant. Of love and of heartbreaks. Of hope and of deaths. Of the novelty in life and its discovery, and of us discovering ourselves, again…

Rains are the time when I sit huddled up, cozily and gaze at the droplets forming on the glass windows and ponder, to my hearts content! I wait with eager anticipation for the monsoons this time. I know I am going to cherish the gusts of winds that prevail before the downpour begins. And I wish I that I would grow wings and take flight in that forceful breeze… there will be fresh memories this time and I am waiting with arms wide open. And before we know it, the rainy days go by…


Music: "Precious " by Depeche Mode!

The Glass of Wine Of Love...

A couple of days back I was traveling in the bus. Just me and my thoughts, I letting them wander aimlessly and explore aspects of everyday life that I take for granted and move hurriedly on to do my work. So, I was looking out the window and I realized that I had suddenly understood the meaning of something that I had read in a book 2 years back. I had been seeking answers all the while regarding love, sex and other desires… and my questions about all these things would be “How”.

Around 2-3 years back, I had read a book by Paulo Coelho called “Eleven Minutes”. It is a story of a young girl/woman from Brazil who consciously and somewhat reluctantly decides to be a part of the flesh trade in far off Switzerland to survive. She becomes a prostitute who does her job with dignity, not once feeling ashamed of herself. She maintains a diary/journal wherein she pens down her thoughts and experiences as she tries to discover the spiritual or intellectual side of this carnal desire. There was one particularly interesting idea or statement that stayed with me. And while I never really attempted to understand it, but always wondered about it, the meaning became suddenly clear during that bus ride.

Here is the passage from Maria’s diary: (the sentence in bold & bigger font is what I’m talking about and is what intrigued me.)

“We all have a clock inside us, and in order to make love, the hands on both clocks have to be pointing at the same hour at the same time. That doesn’t happen everyday. If you love another person, you don’t depend on the sex act in order to feel good. Two people who live together and love each other need to adjust the hands of the clocks, with patience and perseverance, games and ‘theatrical representations’, until they realize that making love is more than just an encounter, it is a ‘genital embrace’.

Everything is important. If you live your life intensely, you experience pleasure all the time and don’t feel the need of sex. When you have sex, it’s out of a sense of abundance, because the glass of wine is so full that it overflows naturally, because it is inevitable, because you are responding to the call of life, because at that moment, and only at that moment, you have allowed yourself to lose control.”
This is nothing too abstruse to understand, but knowing it like it’s your own thought, is what I’m referring to.

The glass of wine - our life.
Love is the wine we all seek.

March 2007

Motion, Thoughts, Emotions...

Ain't got anything spectacular to say...
Though I was jus randomly thinking about certain things...completely irrelevant information, but it just intrigued me to know that docs in Belgium are going to amputate Mozart the Iguana's penis (maybe they already did. Stale news this is!) because of an erection that has lasted more than a week after a mating session. Luckily, iguanas have two penises.

Sidney Sheldon passed away.... Well, I dont really look upto his style of writing. He even has all the same masala for all of his novels but I admit I enjoyed reading most of them. But I was a crazy fan of "I Dream Of Genie"....Sigh....I was one crazy kid who would just get glued to the television way before the show started. I also had a crush on that Nelson guy! ;-)

Motion

Motion

1600 hours.
Really strong sun.

Kite
Motion

These Kites were quite close.
I didnt need to zoom in!
Motion

Thoughts, Emotions

Dinshaw Wachcha Road. Outside K.C College.
Guy selling the really popular raw mango slices with the usual masala to go with it.

Creation --->Maintenance --->Destruction

I was just thinking as to how fragile life is… everything is so delicate and we seldom do realise this. Be it love, relationships, friends, life, a thought or a strand of hair, it all is fragile...

Dams do overflow
And you do break mentally
After the volcano
Peaceful sobs persist
The satisfaction of letting go…
…letting go triumphs!
Life is perfect.

Lately, I have started to believe in the Universal Law three things. I lived in denial when my father explained the law to me and I said that some things are forever. But it’s not so. Everything ends and yes, not always on a good note! So the Law that I’m talking about is that of:

Creation -- Maintenance -- Destruction

The Trimūrti (English: ‘three forms’; Sanskrit: त्रिमूर्तिः trimūrti), Tri Murati or Trimurati, is a concept in Hinduism "in which the cosmic functions of creation, maintenance, and destruction are personified by the forms of Brahma the creator, Vishnu the maintainer or preserver and Shiva the destroyer or transformer." These three gods have been called "the Hindu triad" or the "Great Trinity", often addressed as "Brahma-Vishnu-Maheshwara." (Wikipedia)

The good ol' times...

I had been tagged by Sunrise a.k.a. O Anonymous Reader on my eight Happy and Sad Childhood Memories. So here I go albeit behind schedule. I am not tagging anyone, but whoever would like to take up this tag is welcome to do so!

The good ol’ times…

1. I loved being mischievous. I remember the time when I used to go to school in the winters, wearing a red button shirt sweater and red woolen pants over my uniform (I don’t quite remember the uniform color, though I loved my red sweater pair). I used to wreak havoc sitting on the inside of the desk and bench adjacent to the wall, three tiny children, anything but crammed on the bench. In the free periods, the teacher kept working on her register and minding the children from time to time, looking up from the big green book and asking us to keep our heads down. I would get my crayons and pencils out and boldly stand up on the desk, looking down on the curious heads timidly looking up at me, wanting to know what my antics were. So I would let the world know that I was there, sitting next to the wall, by making my own immature painting or mural or just a signature or full name with class and roll number under a nursery rhyme. And then, the teacher would have a hard time minding our lot because some other classmate would follow my example, making his own creation on the school wall.



2. I used to have many friends in the little building where I lived. A girl in particular, by the name of Deepa, elder to me, used to take care of me in a way that even sisters did not care for each other. She would call me to play, assure my mother that she would be responsible of my safety, so on and so forth… I just have a vague remembrance of the girl now; our friendship just faded away after my family shifted to a new place. Even Deepa’s brother, who disliked my presence for god knows what reason couldn’t break our companionship while I lived there. I think she was the first friend I made.

3. I loved birthdays-mine as well as other peoples’. I would do anything to get a piece of cake. It didn’t matter whether the person was my friend or not, but I would definitely ask him/her to invite me to his birthday party as soon as I came to know that there’s a birthday in the building! :P

4. I loved sleeping and lazing around. I had this favourite bed sheet that I used to snuggle into at any time of the day. A bottle of milk would be there at the side most of the times… My mom still says I sleep like a Kumbhakaran…I was quite sad the day I realised my bed sheet was missing. It was torn and mom had to give it away… :(



5. I remember a Quincy Miss in school…after my Kindergarten ended. She was the most beautiful teacher I had ever seen. I do not remember what subject she taught us, but she had a kind face, with blue eyes, fair skin, and a somewhat gaunt cheek with high cheekbones. I always tried to vie for her attention. She was with my class for a short time, but I can still see her face clearly. In those days, I had heard in stories that Cleopatra was very beautiful. For me, her face was Cleopatra’s face.

6. I loved my Barbie dolls. I had many dolls. All gifted by someone. I had a blonde Barbie once. With boy cut hair. Maybe the style of Marilyn Monroe… I can’t remember vividly. I loved the time I spent with my dolls. Once the Blondie’s yellow shoes got lost and I was quite sure that I had kept them in a jute bag hanging at the door. I couldn’t find them and gave up the quest only when I was thoroughly tired. I do not know if this qualifies for a happy memory, but the loss of the doll’s shoes is still etched on my minds notebook.



7. A. I did not particularly like going to doctors. But I remember tagging along with my dad when he was ill and the doc would give me some yummy tablet (that resembled Hajmola, but tasted sweet) to keep in my mouth. I used to eagerly wait, looking expectantly at the bottle of the candy and looking equally expectantly back at the doc as if saying, “See, what a nice little girl I am! Won’t you give me those candies now?” Once I was so was hungry for my candies that while dad and doc were talking, I promptly went and opened the bottle, popping one in my mouth and keeping a few in my hand to eat on the way back home, with greed occupying my mind.

B. Mom once took me to her friend’s house. Her friend had two teenage daughters, around 18 or so… I decided to explore the house on my own after sitting quietly for sometime being a quiet child. I went to the inner bedroom and by the study lamp found some soft, squishy, imported chocolate that was, as I later found out a gift to them by someone. Without a second thought, I unwrapped them and in went the three candies, one by one. Later while I was savouring the third candy, in come the sisters and announce to their mom that I ate the goodies. I wasn’t rebuked or anything, though mom tried to explain to me to ask before I touch anything! Had fun, man!

8. I love drawing, painting, singing & music and used to be quite uninhibited and self-expressed in my childhood. (But studies were a dampener). I used to thoroughly enjoy those occasions, when I would spring up from the sofa and sing along with the singer as my favourite songs used to come on television. I used to try to copy their dance steps. My Music Sir, Mr. Salvador, placed me in almost all school singing functions and I was his favourite. I loved reading Champak and Tinkle and I still remember the day when mom brought champak for me from the station stall. I still remember the very first story I read. Thanks to my mom, I am a voracious reader now…that also explains my thick glasses!

My favourite yellow chair.
This too was given away like my bed sheet! :(

How I sometimes long for those days to come, when the pressures of having responsibilities seems too much. I used to yearn to grow up quickly and now that I am grown-up, I have rare pangs of becoming small again! Life’s strange and funny!

My moral science book used to say:

When it’s cold,
Man wants it hot.
When it’s hot,
Man wants it cold.
What does man want, after all?

Thank you, people for bearing this long post (for those who have read it till here :P). I don’t know what got into my fingers as I sat typing this post. Sunrise will be happy to read this lengthy post! Sad memories to come in a later post…
So long!

My Prayer & A Salute

After Terror Tuesday, life became normal for most of Mumbaikars except for a few who witnessed loss of lives, flying limbs and mangled bodies, up close.

Some slipped into a state of shock, some into a state of denial over their loved ones getting lost or maimed forever.

Everyone reflected the famous never-say-die-attitude, although a tired and wary expression clouded every single face. They didn’t know what they were exuding. I happened to notice the extreme emptiness and the effort of holding on getting to the Mumbaiites.

The blasts were something that I had always seen in the movies, and never believed. I was really shaken by the reality of the 1993 blasts (or any other blasts-the Madrid bombing, the London tube bombing) only after I saw Black Friday. A true account of what really occurred. The reality hit me hard then, and now, today, I was saddened by what I saw, as I ventured out of the house to relax and look around, the first time in a lot of weeks.

My home was never like this before. Mumbai was never like this. It was always lively, bubbly and its energy was infectious. Mumbai and its life seemed unusual and alien to me today. A discrepant silence hung over; there was no literal silence but spirits seemed low. Borivli, Andheri and Santacruz stations seemed like graveyards compared to what they were before. Activity was on all right. Trade worked its way into the shop accountants registers. Hawkers continued to sell their wares-cheap clothes, earrings, belts, footwear and a lot more for thrifty customers. Sandwich, Pav Bhaji and Dosa-Walas had their share of customers too. Just that the glowing enthusiasm that was so synonymous of Mumbai seemed to fade out.

Police lined every single nook and corner of Borivli station, in clusters and singly. They seemed tired too. But nobody gave the impression of giving up or giving in. The hawkers frequenting the footpaths had been evacuated. Police constables remained vigilant that no hawking space was occupied, trying as best as they could to take care and check for any sinister objects where crowds assembled. I found some shops shut down, and the ones that were functioning had just a trickle of customers. Who would want to buy, indulge or celebrate in such times? The roads were depressingly empty. For the first time, the traffic moved quickly and my rickshaw meter showed a lower fare than the usual one of traffic-congested days. People weren’t out in hoards like they used to be once upon a time, just a week back…

I know of people and acquaintances that have lost their loved ones. I used to rejoice when I was in school when we used to get a holiday owing to someone’s death. For the first time, I felt sad and ashamed of all those rejoicing times in school when I heard that a college staff member had expired due to the terrorists’ dastardly act. I know of people who escaped death by the skin of their teeth. I read accounts of helpful deeds by people who couldn’t sit at home watching and listening to news of the number of limbs carried in sacks at Bhayander station or the toll rise of the dead. I read of a 70 year women who served tea and coffee to the injured and their families, the doctors in hospitals and the media people. And every time I read this I felt chills running down my spine and I cried inwardly.

I don’t like this. My Media Studies professor was telling us political apathy is badly setting in, in Mumbai. And I realised that it is. Well so be it! At the rate the politicians are using this goldmine let the power be ours! What was the need for Sonia Gandhi and ManMohan Singh had to come down here? Were they here to bring the dead back alive or to catch the terrorists? And they pulled the police force from Ground Zero where they were really needed, for their own security! Kya ukhad liya idhar aake PM ne? Sheesh! We could’ve taken a lesson or two from London’s 7/7 bombing and evacuated all trains in the four minutes time gap between the blast at Jogeshwari and the next one.

People are tired. Please don’t bomb us anymore. We are resilient. Our shoulders are sagging but we will keep on fighting.
Mumbai will never die, listen you terrorists. I hope some of your clansmen and women are reading this and a lot more of the kind to know that your time will come soon.

Whoever said Mumbai is the rudest city in the world, eh? Reader’s Digest, you had better eat humble pie and take your words back!! Damn you! Go on. Now write more about us, write more about Mumbai and its people and our so-called going-to-the-dogs-etiquettes! Write about our acts of bravery and kindness. Do another survey, you suckers!!

I was being indifferent at first at all this. Next time, if this ever happens I will do my bit by helping. But I hope there never comes a next time. I love my home too much. My salute to all the brave ones out there.

Amen.

Thoughts Provoked!!

This a comment that I put on Shama's post. I recommend you read her post first before moving onto reading mine.

"this reminds me a similar quote that a heard a few days back by one of my professors. i cant place it in verbatim here, though.
it goes something like, "we are ourselves' greatest friend or the greatest foe. we hav to decide whether to hinder the self or let it grow." (hey its rhyming. im sure it wasnt rhyming wen prof. put it.) it isnt exact but kinda relates to the first and last line of ur quote.

but i think ur quote is true. ours is always a conflict between the mind and the heart, between practicality and emotions, between individual freedom and societal norms. and the one body, that is ours, gets clashed in the conflict.
and then realisation leads to efforts of breaking free.
:-) "

I have come to realise this lately; why don't we become aware that we are harming ourselves at time. Of course self-destructive thoughts and going as far as self-destruction are human thoughts, it's natural that we have them running through our minds. I have been subjecting myself to a lot of self-destructive thoughst lately, but then as Alter Abhishek puts it, what really matters how fast and efficiently we can get back to being the normal selves with our survival instincts.

My post and thoughts on this space are way different from what Shama might have been suggesting, it could be looked at as an off shoot what she is saying. I find a lot of things discussed these days on my fellow boggies blogs to be hitting me straight home. Right now, I'm in such a state of mind that I cant really think clearly and I find talk about varied topics overlapping onto each other. For example, Aditi's post & her comments kind of makes me think that how sometimes one doesnt have much choice (no offence to Aditi). I hate to think that way but looking at certain things in my own life I have conclude its true. Do we get to decide which country we are going to take birth into, who our parents are going to be or our siblings. We have a choice in the area of making friends but do we have a choice in meeting people that we do and how they come and go and change our lives for better or for worse. Okay, I'm veering off the topic, but all I'm saying is if pressure from other people to do certain things in our life is not enough, even we ourselves in a fuzzy state of mind or in anger or sadness make some choices. peer pressure, familial pressure, societal pressure, restrictions due to age, restrictions due to sex....why?!?!?!!

I hate societal pressure. Especially in a country like India. Sometimes I hate being a girl for the amount of restrictions that are laden on me not only by family but but society as a whole. Girls cant do certain derring-do's, girls cant stay out late at nights, girls have to conform to a certain image, women cant do crime reporting (okay, there are women who do brave deeds like war-zone reporting or crime reporting, but how many?? The number of women doing that can be counted on the fingers of your hands!). We have to explain about our actions and account for our time and money spent, with whom and on whom! Fuck society, I hate the patriarchal system, I hate being told to do certain things in a certain way! And when under pressure I do listen to society and people and not to myself, I become my greatest foe just like the quote Shama put. Why cant people let one be??

It becomes such a fucked up state of mind listening to people who say they are your well-wishers. And then one gets tired of listening to the same rant by the same people, and eventually all rationality, creativity to solve one's problem to get the best deal flies out of the window!

My post might sound very incoherent and something's getting linked to something else which dont really have a connection. Forgive my fuzzy state of mind. Seems like I lost track....

Dazed

Hmmm….

Here I am posting a new post after many, many days. Sure I had felt the urge to write and published and deleted three of those. Even though this blog is my personal space and I can post whatever I feel like here, I somehow was overcome by the thought of what the reader will think about me, that maybe am some sort of a depressed Meena Kumari (maybe I am!! Who cares?!?!) And that I didn’t want my mental weariness finding its way over here…it’s a space I love!! Why should I cloud it over…!! Here I am, sharing a piece of my mind, and not venting out a steam of frustration…I don’t want this space to be violent!!

: D

I have seen the past few days give me a hard time. There are some things that I have to do but I don’t like doing them…putting up a façade in front of people so that they wont know the troubling thoughts wearing me out inside. Wearing false smiles when I am aware of how badly it hurts deep inside. I just so wish to be myself. I don’t very much get a chance to be myself. And when I do, all I see is anger billowing out of my voice through my words hurting people who I do not want to, those very people who are benevolent to not say anything to me and bear the brunt of my frustrations (the reason for which they do not know). So I decide it best to keep away from people…

After a long time, I heard saying to myself that I do not want to live. That was quite surprising to me, because I have always disproved of those words…saying those are meant for weak people. Maybe I am weak willed. But am quite challenged to take on life. Gives a high! But when you can’t take the pain anymore and the bottled up frustration and longing for companionship is killing you, this is what happens. Moreover, it all seems so roller coaster-like. I have these sad bouts and feel like a heavy burden has been placed on my chest. I feel so muddled up and incoherent and now when I felt a bit clearer and rational, I acted upon putting all my thoughts down. Am feeling calm right now, but then there’s no saying when I’ll be accosted by feelings of immense hate, repulsion, anger and love. Its unbearable when all come down on you together.

Some things are so unforgettable.

I am taking every effort not to blurt out some really hurtful words to some people. Taking every effort to keep it all bottled inside me. It’s wearing me out.

Right now I find solace in words said by someone forgotten…. Time Heals and This Too Shall Pass…

:-)

It had been quite a beautiful day, but my spirits were low.

Have you ever had this feeling or something going through your mind and body and you’re not conscious (being conscious yet dazed?) enough to exactly place what it is…? Something that has no name, a feeling that can only be understood when described but even the description can’t match the feeling…? I’m so hoping that I’m making sense! Here I was sitting all day long reading and hoping that THIS feeling would creep away. Couldn’t help feeling this feeling…aaarrgghhhh!!

Sometimes keeping the music levels to their highest decibels helps! I hate doing that, a pain to my eardrums and being subject to yelling’s from whoever’s in the house with me! But anything to drive this feeling away…I mean today was such a beautiful day, and yet this forlornness, a feeling like I have lost whatever good I had and won’t, in the future find anything close to the things that I once had…I don’t even know what I am talking about. Feels like keeping from bursting at the seams inside!

I had wanted to talk to myself (aloud) and to someone who’d understand me and tell me what is going on…but how can anyone know when I myself do not!

I suddenly feel like doing all those things that I got to do as a child; nagging my loving elders to let me do this or that, buy me whatever I wished for, going on fancy rides….the list is endless. Unfortunately I cant do those. And after reading Aditi’s tag-post, that craving has increased. I have always wanted to lie under the clear blue skies and count the clouds and feel the winds. That seemed an impossible dream, especially when I used to see ‘Heidi,’ the cartoon series. Every time I’d watch that, I’d long to be in the hills feeling the winds breeze against my body, feel my hair blowing. I have wanted to gaze at the full moon, at an extremely cold night and snow with open spaces where I’d skate. Ice-skate. Just like in ‘Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind.’ I want to go to Stonehenge. That’s another land of vast open space and with mysticism attached to it.

But since I can’t do that, I went to the terrace of my eighteen-storey building and literally danced and skipped, taking in the view of the world below and feeling the small winds. I listened to my favourite songs with the volume full on. Listening to ‘All The People In The World’ by ‘Safri Duo’ and ‘Clark Anderson’ brought me some energy from sagging further than I already had in the entire day. I had been searching for the magical essence that ‘Daft Punk’s’ ‘Digital Love’ had, something that I revered, but that seems lost. ‘Electrical Storm’ by ‘U2’ still relates to that fogginess that the rains bring along and so do circumstances in life. I feel like seeing a reflection of mine in those line coupled with well-composed music…

And finally, the unexpected. A talk with mom shook away all the dizziness of mind that I had been carrying along all day. I realized I had so wanted to talk to someone, but didn’t know about what. There are so many issues unresolved beneath the exterior and talking just about anything instead of nothing made me somewhat aware of what seemed to be troubling me. Not fully though. Well, such moments don’t come everyday. It’s very rare for such talks to happen. I’m thankful today that it happened. Made me realise a few subtle truths.