Another day another dream

Today, I dreamt in my afternoon nap. It was a surreal world, far away from mine. Let me narrate the event in the dream first. The dream was set in a camp of sorts. The tents which accommodated tens of people together, were set up near a sandy beach right next to a steep rock.
I dreamt that I was in the company of a person that I liked (say Phy). Phy was a fresh acquaintance. I was happy, smiling a lot and was confident in the way I behaved. It was probably because, I was enjoying the somewhat subtle yet poorly hidden attention from Phy. He was amidst some friends of his, and still watching me once in a while. I knew that. I had climbed up the rock to go up and gather some coins for the donation box (Please bear with me the nonsensical scenario of donation gathering on a beach beneath a rock; it was a dream for Pete's sake!). When it was time for me to go to the tent, suddenly, I was totally afraid to climb down the rock that I had so expertly conquered before. The idea of placing a foot in a crevice that I don't know if exists, was scary. I started fussing about, and eventually jumped down. It spilled all the coins on the sand. I gathered them and went about my business fully aware of the eyes that were following me.

Later in the day (I imagine), I went in to the tent to put the coins in the box next to which, Phy was laying down to nap. I guess he woke up due to the noise. When I bent down to put the coins in, he sat up resting on his elbow, and casually sat me down next to him. He made small talk and asked me why I was scared to come down that rock. I said, I was just scared, a momentary panic that is all. It was just a carefree conversation

I don't remember the rest of the dream. What I do remember rather vividly is the touch of his hand that held me down to sit next to him. The casualness of the gesture yet the conveyance of its intention, or what seemed liked the intention. Both of us pretending to be casually talking, while we knew that something was going on underneath. The tension was priceless. I landed in the situation partly because of my curiosity of where this will head, and partly because I did not want to care about repercussions. The world in front of me was inviting, open ended..... ripe with possibilities. The excitement, and the feeling of nascent love(?) brought back memories from far and wide..distant now in space, in time, in life.

I may be happy in my current life. I smile at least a few times a day. I could not live without the love and companionship that I have.

But the beginning of attraction my friend, ...now THAT is something else!

To Compromise or To compromise.

In all other fronts one can fight, strive, demand and get what one wants. Not love. Let me qualify that. Not love the way one wants to be loved.

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. There is a problem with that. "They" are "they".."they" are not you. They will only do what they perceive is a gesture of love. If you do not try to alter "them", your deed/love, when it comes back to you, may be camouflaged in an unrecognizable/unpalatable form. If you force them to change to your liking, then, you would be puppeteering a show of love towards yourself. Now that is pathetic, ridiculous, not to mention terribly lonely!

The alternative is to change yourself. To accept what you get as love. With a faith that what you give to others has to come back to you, even though you may not see it. It is a tough task to keep doing something without seeing any gratifying feedback. You are struggling to get something that you know you will not get because the giver does not know what you want. That one-sided single-minded giving of love is also lonely.

Either way, trying to snatch something you want out of a place where it does not exist is futile.

You may want to be the center of their world; their world may be donut-shaped!

Wish List for my birthday

1. Good health for my Anna ..
2. Peace of mind for Amma dearest..
3. Happiness with their beloved ones for Kanthi and Koochu ..
4. Enriched life full of opportunities for my son ..
5. A world that recognizes the truth and beauty of his soul.. for my husband ..
6. Unending Closeness to my family for me ..

Long live the Queen!!

Ajji went through the ordeal..

Amma and all her sisters pleaded her not to do it.. and cried with broken hearts.. in devastation.. Some people talked (in private) of how a revolution should happen against such rituals.. Some of the grandchildren whimpered mild protests.. All in all, each one of came face to face with the darkest of our fears..and saw how incapable we were.

All of us showed our support to Ajji..tried to comfort her by proclaiming our admiration, love and care for her. At the least, parts of our family came together in trying to help Ajji come out of this. We felt good about our plans to help Ajji deal with the misery.

But in truth, Ajji amazed all of us by her strength, grit and her spirits. We were only weaklings who were trying to hide our fears/inability under the scapegoat of our compassion towards her. Not only did she face the ugly eventuality, she slapped it in its face, and came out unscathed. She once again, proved to be the source of strength to all the family.

Amma told me the story in bits and pieces. At first, I thought I should not write this..exposing her private moments to the world.. But then, I hope that I and others who read this, can derive some inspiration from her story.. I hope that I can get at least a fraction of her strength in the face of adversities.. What she has, is not just strength... it is the unbelievable spirit of life! What a BRAVE, INVINCIBLE SPIRIT!! A spirit that REFUSES to feel down.. victimized... which can evaporate any sorrow by sheer denial!!

I tried to imagine myself in her shoes.. I would be feeling sad at my state, angry at fate, and bitter about the rest of the world. I would probably spend the rest of my life surrounding myself with that misery.. by allowing it to take over my thoughts and disposition. In the unspeakable cruelty of the misfortune and of the barbaric brahmin superstition, she is marching ahead with a courage, I can only dream of!

It breaks my heart to write this. Amma said, after the ritual, she asked for a pair of golden bangles, and a gold chain.. Apparently, simple jewelry is allowed in viduity. She told to her daughters, "I won't just give away all my silk sarees, I will keep them and wear them".. What a brave heart she has and an unrelenting soul! Our queen has once again staked claim to the throne as the rightful leader :-)...and we are ever so grateful for that.

Being a Brahmin..and his wife..

My Ajja, grandfather passed away today. He was the imposing father of seven daughters and two sons, the respected grandfather of 23 grand children, and the mild great-grandpa of 16 children to date. He was a Vedic scholar, a man of strictest religious principles. He lived on very little. He lead his life studying vedas and scriptures and teaching them to people. He was well respected in Maadhwa brahmin community. He was 87 when he passed away. He suffered from diabetes for a long time. He spent most of his senior life eating less than a single meal a day which did not help his ailment. He has been delivered from his suffering by the Lord he so much was a devotee of.

My Ajji, grandma, has been taking care of Ajja's family for all these years. While he spent his life being the pious scholar and teacher, she has given birth to 12 (13 ?) of his offsprings, and raised the 9 survivors with the meager income that he would bring home. She has followed the infinitely many rituals, and strict guidelines of his brahmin life. She has cared for all the daughters through their pregnancies and deliveries. She has fussed over every one of her grand children's well being. Her journey steering a large family through poverty (with many daughters) and ruthless religious regulations is an epic on its own. So tough has been her struggle, that it is difficult for her to feel content and rested even today.

To me, she is a shining example of femininity. No matter how tough life has been to her, she has had the spirit to snatch her pleasures from life as well. In all our social events, beginning from cradling ceremonies, anna-praashanas, choulas, threading ceremonies, weddings, and numerous other festivities, for as long as I remember, my grandma has been on the forefront as the "hiri-muttaide".. a woman held in high respect for her age, her marriage, and her role as the wife, the mother and the grandmother. A fertile woman bearing a plentiful family full of children . Women seek her blessings in being able to be a good mother like she is. Young couples have sought Ajja's and her blessings to have a lasting marriage. People touch her feet and hope the richness of her life passes on to them. This has been the one pleasure that she has gotten to enjoy in all the different phases of her life.

Ajji was married off at 12, I believe, and she is 78 now. She has been a muttaide all her life.

When I imagine Ajji, the only image that appears, is that of her in a bright colored 9-yard silk saree, the broad crimson spot on her forehead, a glittering diamond on her thin nose, her grey hair (and an pitch black extension, chauree, made of yak's hair) tied in a bun ...sometimes with jasmine flower and an old golden brooch. Back when her back was still strong in her fragile frame, she had the most elegant style of walking. A brilliant smile, a frown, or a scornful roll of her eyes, whatever it was, it came from the truest of her feelings. She is grace personified.

From today, she is considered a widow. She is no longer the lioness that strolled with pride. I don't know if they will make her a "madi-hengasu", holy woman. I cannot even bring myself to think about it.

All the holy women I have seen, have shave their head, drape themselves in dull simple sarees (whose one end covers their heads), and spend their life in cooking and caring for the families that they live with, feeling like they are a burden on the earth..waiting for their time.

She will still be respected, and invited to social gatherings and ceremonies, but she will choose to be in a corner hiding in sadness and a sort of shame, as though it is her fault that Grandpa is no longer there. Perhaps, this is the reason why women of the previous generation wished to be dead before their husbands.

I hate this aspect of the brahmin life. I want to take her away from it.. I want to shield her from this part of life. But I believe that she won't want to go away. For a woman who has spent her entire life being the wife of a true brahmin, the only honorable ending would be that of a respected widow. Possibly a "madi hengasu"..I still cannot come to think of Ajji as that.

In a life of my own, that is far far away from the brahmin woman's struggle, all I can do is hope that she, with her infinite zest for life, will thrive through this.

On the way out of the bath room, here is a tidbit of my life...

I know one reason why any new mom (at least this new mom) puts up so many pictures of the little one ... the lil one is pretty much the definition of her life from day 0.

How would it be?

If every time I thought something about someone, the person I am thinking about knew what I was thinking?

Would Amma, Anna take comfort in the fact that I was thinking about them a lot? Or would they think , "what's in thinking ? thoughts are dime a dozen, why can't she be here?", Would they be disgusted by the dreadful thoughts that fill my mind when I panic how my life would be meaningless without them? and even in that, I am thinking about myself?

Would my husband know, how much or little I love him? and would that change anything in the way he feels about me? Or would he see the inseparable selfishness that comes with my love?

Would the people I care about, who don't care back, care any more ? or less?
I dare not imagine what happens when people I don't like, but tolerate, know how I feel!

More importantly, What would I think? knowing everyone can know what I am thinking? Would I train myself to go blank? Will I try to think only good things, so that I appear good to everyone? Will that altered version even be "me"?

What will I get to know if people are thinking bad things about me? How will I change then?

Where will my hypocrisy lead me in such a crisis?

My mind is getting overwhelmed by the repercussions, the possibilities, and the mysterious questions therein. I think there is a HELL lot to this question.. I need more time with it... but office hours are not the time to go chasing this line of thought.. :-)

Stripped off..

My house was broken into. They robbed us off of everything.. all my precious jewels full of memories..I had.. ring my husband gave me for my anniversary.. the earrings I got from my friend from Philips, the inexpensive trinkets that I bought from when my husband and I traveled across the world, everything is gone..

Our pictures.. of our home in Venezuela, and from India, our videos of Prince's Grandma, everything.. I don't even want to look at what is gone and what is left..

We have now, No TV, no video cam, no digital SLR, no lenses, no audio mixer, 2 laptops (the one I got after 2 others were stolen 2 years ago about the same time) ..no hard disks full of pictures, music.. memories..

everything is gone..

On top of this, I changed my passwords of an email account I have had since 1998.. my first email address,.. And now I don't remember what it is .. so I lost all the emails I have saved since then.. 11 years of my emails.. fond words, heart breaking messages, memories.. stories ..everything I had never thought I would have to part with..is gone..

I guess I am being.. neatly stripped off of things I used to feel homely with.. Things I identified myself with..

I am not OK.. Although, I am much less emotional about it now.. having told the template-story to everyone who called... I am not OK.. I feel very helpless... I don't want to think about it..but I have no choice!

Latent currents

Things have been going on so fast, I have not had time to catch my breath.. At the same time, things have been so stagnant, I have no motivation to breathe in... yup that is my regular life..

I had a dream again yesterday, one more of those things where I must have picked a small scab and it all came flooding out..

The dream went like this..

I was in some house.. In my dream it was ours. I don't know who else was there, and we went to the terrace. to look at something.. can't remember what it was.. I think the curiosity was that probably a neighbor Q, had set up a small junk yard up on their terrace, and we wanted to look at it. It was a exotic collection of things.. almost like a small world.. a pretty one.. on their terrace, in the sun and the sky..

And while I was looking, my mom (I think) started telling me about this other neighbor P, who had a monkey, and he used to play with it up there in his terrace. Neighbor P was there wearing a big gown of sorts, his back to us (the kind you see in Harry potter or Lord of the rings or such stuff).

The monkey was happy, it was finding ways to tease him, annoy him, seek his approval. It would fetch little nothings to Neighbor P just to get ruffled on its head. I think we watched it for a while to see the various antics and I felt like a kid watching a show, an innocent, lovely show.

Once when Neighbor P bent down to ruffle his pet, with a smile on his face, and he happened to look at us. His was a face I can never forget. His face made this a dream I can never forget. When he recognized who it was, It changed slightly.. from a congenial smile, to a little sad, that is still trying to smile, and fell short of either. But his eyes..there was the depth of emotions in it, that had no limit. There was care, (did I see a hint of joy..?) and a lot of pain.. There were millions of stories in the eyes, that I knew would never be told.. but wanted to be conveyed. It was like this one look, was going to be the one that summarizes everything, the millions of seconds of our histories that divided us, and every inch of the miles that had taken us in separate ways, every thought that had gone on in our minds in between. I felt the gap of the two terraces dividing us ever so badly..

When I saw who he was, and how he looked at me, I took one deep breath, and it never came back.. What came out was a deluge... and I burst out sobbing.. Not a sniffling sob with silences in between. But, one that just comes out in floods.. and never stops.. and I cannot control it.. and the more I shed tears, the more I want to drown in it.. and I wailed.. and loudly and uncontrollably.. on that terrace.. in the open sky..

Three girls are sitting here.. with their long-forgotten coffees,,
Talking about other girls.. other girls' brothers, and their families..
Sharing questions, answers, sharing gossip, stories..
Their phones, their calls, their homework, grades and parties..

All I hear is their laughs..Then I realize, why it is different..
Why this laughter strikes so close to heart but yet feels distant..
Over the time, I have been on a path that seeks a supposed betterment,
I have built my own time-space-thought capsule..minus the human element

Things that I spend my time on, are not the things that make it worthwhile..
Things that I deem important, do not cause a random smile..
A mobius strip within my mind has made my journey somewhat futile
It is no surprise that I have not laughed in quite a while..

It has been a while since I felt at home with my life, my way..
It has been a while since I woke up and grinned to greet the day..
I drain out slowly as time goes, no flash floods not even spontaneous spurts
It has been a while since I have laughed till it hurt... and it hurts

Addendum to the Worst Lyrics Songs

Jaane do na - Cheeni kum !

No rhymes.. no reason.. no friggin nothing!!

If you remove "na" and "do" and "tho" from the song.. There is NO FRIGGIN SONG!

garbled shabbily assembled badly metered dog-crap of a song!

I just feel real real sad.. Especially since the original song is so pretty.. and young...

The closest I ever came to quarter million dollars

2 days ago, when I went shopping with Prince, I wanted to buy a bag.. Prince said.. "why don't you check it online? perhaps you will get it cheaper?". "If only, I could check it right now..", I said to him.. "May be we can develop an application, to take a picture of the bar codes of products and do some basic image processing to get the UPC code and do a google product search.. won't that be cool?" He said "yeah.. but I bet, the shops will prohibit you from doing that.. bla bla" .. and we got lost in a digression..

Today, I got an email from Graduate Women in Computing (UT AUSTIN) , inviting all students to compete for a workshop.. When I browsed through the website, I saw the Google Android Challenge. I called up Prince immediately, and asked him, "why don't we participate with our idea of the bar-code scanner + google product search?" . He said "sure, sounds like fun!". Then, I went to see the details of the challenge..

It turns out, that my idea has already been thought.. and IT HAS FREAKING WON a $ 275,000 AWARD!! ..

Well....

Moral of the story: GO SHOPPING MORE OFTEN!

Quote from a Quote from a friend

"...Ivan Illych as he awaits the great leveler, contemplating a past which was throughly dominated by others, a life in which he had given up control of himself in order to fit into a system.

"What if my whole life has been wrong?"

It occurred to him that what had appeared perfectly impossible before, namely that he had not spent his life as he should have done, might after all be true. It occurred to him that his scarcely perceptible attempts to struggle against what was considered good by the most highly placed people, those scarcely noticeable impulses which he had immediately suppressed, might have been the real thing, and all the rest false. And his professional duties and the whole arrangement of his life and of his family, and all his social and official interests, might all have been false. He tried to defend all those things to himself and suddenly felt the weakness of what he was defending. There was nothing to defend.

"But if that is so," he said to himself, "and i am leaving this life with the consciousness that I have lost all that was given me and it is impossible to rectify it — what then?". . ."

I think I faked a shit load of emotion today..I am pretty sure..

How do you know you honestly feel something? Why does anyone want their emotions to be known, if there is nothing can be / needs to be *done* about it? Is it because, you just want to be known for having had that emotion?

When you say something out loud how do you know you are not modifying your feeling to be more expressible? to fit the need of the audience?

Suppose, someone expected you to be proud, and you are talking of your achievement, if you pump it up a notch to make the impact? isn't that not pathetic and hypocritical?

Suppose, someone expected you to be guilty, and you started talking about your guilt, and if you end up repeating some sentences about your guilt that you had said before, how screwed up is that?

Why do I notice in myself, a constant need to be perceived as someone of this or that quality?
Why can't I just be ?

Where do you go when you have no where to go?

A few days ago, I watched the "Last Lecture". The guy is smart and he had some good things to say..He said, "when you are making mistakes and no one cares enough to tell you, then you are *really* are in a bad state". I thought about myself and my pursuits and my lack of direction.. and it felt right.. what he said felt right.. that perhaps, i am going on a track to ruins and no one will tell me i am being wrong.. either because they don't want to hurt me.. or because they don't care..

Today, another friend of mine told me, something interesting. We were talking about two great people say, A and B. A does not allow people to get away with mediocre quality work.. He grills them until they turn up right.

B on the other hand, thinks that if some X is doing mediocre work, it is not his job to tell him. X deserves to find his own direction and can go to hell if he wants.. B will even facilitate this ignorant journey towards mediocrity.. because he does not believe in interfering.. He believes that every one deserves to struggle, make their mistakes and find their place.. He knows what their place is, but he wont tell them.

So perhaps my universe, my B, is watching, amused at my miserable attempts to win over an invincible fate.. Perhaps I am sitting on this high-and-mighty pile of sand of my ego , and the universe is just laughing its a** off as to how by the end of my life, this BIG MOTHER deluge of a wave is to going to wash me away like a twig.. and how then it would be too late..

My friend told me, not in so many words, but in essence, that I was one of the idiots on the ignorant band-wagon on my way to mediocrity.. who was not being told so by my B.

It is strange.. this feeling.. There is a deep sadness and there is a sense of calmness that comes with confronting truth. I ask myself at this point, where would I go now.. I don't know any other way.. but to do what I am doing.. I would rather be a failure at this than a success at something else, I guess, .... so I go on.

Some times it is just too good to know there are good people around!

I have often feared idealistic people. They make me feel insufficient, uncomfortable and in summary, miserable. It is because, they make me realize where I need to improve, how I have been too lazy to get off my butt and put in the effort and see how far I can go. I have always taken shortcuts..I have always leaned on supports, always forgiven myself with fake reasons. I have never kept my words, never resolved my resolutions, never ever been happy with my results. It is ridiculous to even say "I" and "Idealism" in the same sentence unless it has "am-not-remotely-associated-to" in the middle.

But once in a while, when I am not full of myself, I get a rare vision of perfection for its own sake distanced from my banal comparisons. I see people around me, intelligent, talented, saintly in their existences, some what, yogis in their karmas.
They exceed their own limitations by the simple rule of giving-everything-they-possess-for-the -cause. They lose their boundaries from their skills. They lose them selves in their pursuits. Greed, vanity, conceit, have vaporized in melting out this pure gold. Whatever was superficial and carnal in their existence has burnt in the friction of them accelerating towards excellence.

To watch them do the things they do, is a pleasure so pure, that it is hard to be selfish, to compete, or compare, or even recognize your trivial existence in the presence of such perfection. I am glad that at least once in my self-obsessed while, I get to see a vision so sacred. Thank god for them. Above all, thank them.

Inner lies

There are some things, (I won't call them facts or thoughts or beliefs) in my life that I hold so dearly close, that it will shatter my very foundations, if I were even to question their veracity.

For some people, it is THE truth. These are the people who just know things.. they are perfect colors, be it black or white or even beige. They live and die happily.

Then, there are some other people like yours truly, just do not identify with anything of a definite shade. They are just floating clouds of grey in the plasma of indecision. They desperately seek things to give them shape, color, meaning, identity.

For example, I can never question that there is hope. I can never question that there can be change. I cannot help but think that people can rise from their worst and improve. But you already can see, even as I write it, I would not have had to cling to these thoughts unless I had not already feared (perhaps even accepted) defeat.

I can see this in many other people around me too. People spend lifetimes clinging to things that they wont question for a moment because it is the dearest thing that they have. A self image that is closest to what they would want to be. Sheltering themselves from whatever the reality (whatever that means) is. Remarkable is the power of self delusion.
Is it worth a try to wipe this mirror clean? Why do we lie to ourselves? Why is truth so ugly?

30 today!

I am 30 today, it may as well have been 40, 50, or anything like that.. or even zero years old for that matter. Nothing has changed really. Nothing ever seems to change. I am as helpless as the day as I was born. Unable to change myself or anything around me. Misery and Suffering are everywhere around me. I dont even have to turn and yo! it is grinning in my face. The only way I can handle them is by forgetting about them temporarily. I can understand why people need to get high, like never before.

If there is anyone called God, it is high time he showed some grace. Should it be really my helplessness and sorrow, that should make me start believing in such a thing? The other option being, have to face my utter pathos and inability to help anything or anyone. It is at these times.. that I wish there were a god.. and he would listen to me praying. I mean, the God, the creator of the Universe, shouldn't he have a more pleasing way to make people look towards him?

What do you know!

I miss Kannada. I don't speak enough and I want to keep in touch with it. I am not a chest beating lobbyist. It has a unique vocabulary, that is insufficient in some aspects but has a most beautiful collection of words in some other aspects. I like my mother-tongue.

So, once in a while, I read a blog called churumuri. What is Churumuri? Well, the name is known to all Mysoreans. It is a delightfully light, crispy, spicy (read salty, tangy, hot), mouthwatering, closest-your-tongue-can-get-to-heaven evening snack. To me, that is how home would taste, if it were edible. It is exactly what I crave for. That is exactly, what you cannot make even with the finest ingredients from the US of A. Sorry, it is hard not to get distracted with a thought of churumuri.

Coming back to Kannada and the blog, I ended up noticing this song:

The lyrics are SO lovely, I haven't come across such original poetry in movie songs for a long while. I am happy I am in touch with Kannada! I tried to translate it, but English is not just sufficient.. dark-clouds can never sound and feel like "kaarmugilu", turmoil can never sound like "miditha" .. but for what it is worth, here it the translation:

The endless silence that my breath whispers in a monotone,
The colors of my dreams dissolve on the brim of eyes that overflow,

killing me, is a love that won't step into my heart's abode,
Lining the dark clouds of my mind is agony's rainbow..
A perennial solitude,that's what is love..


The endless silence that my breath whispers in a monotone,
The colors of my dreams dissolve on the brim of eyes that overflow,


The nectar that takes your life, Can you name it Love?
The disease that saves your soul, can you call it Love?
In the sheets of a golden dream, sleeping on a bed of thorns,
When a smile emerges at pain, when the tears in my eyes dry in vain,
chanting her name, that's what is love..

The nectar that chokes your soul, Can you name it Love?
The disease that saves your life, can you call it Love?

In the four words of a poem, can you describe the throes?
In the three notes of a sonnet, how do you let your heart flow?
A passionate song moans in a flooded throat,
A dead poem laughs in the sobs of an aching heart..
The master of loneliness, that's what is love..

Rewind: The revelation called New Delhi Railway Station.

I am back from India. It was a hectic, unfinished trip. I was in pain, ill, tired most of the time. During the rest of the time, I was upset I was all that. I was with my family, with my father, and mother, and my sisters. I am happy I went. I will write about the things I felt strongly about whenever I find time.

We went on a lovely trip in Northern India. The trip took us from New Delhi to Haridwar, Rishikesh, JoshiMath and Auli. I got to see a tiny glimpse of the unbelievably magnificent Himalayas. I saw heart-stopping gut wrenching, car wrecking dangerous roads, and brave people cruising them elegantly. What I remember most is some unbelievable glimpses into human nature.

We began with a very traumatic escape from the Hyena-looking, very desperate taxi drivers. It seems like such a ridiculous thing looking back, but even then, I wouldn't wish it upon anyone to reach Delhi Railway Station without your cousin to pick you up from the platform. I hated New Delhi Railway Station. There is not a more dirty under-maintained over-abused place in the world. Beginning from the police, everyone looked like crooks, who wake up in the morning and decide that they will cheat anyone who will take it. Their hovering around you, their following you silently from one dirty corner to another, tens of them surrounding you, when you are just figuring out what you want to do, it is scary. We were begging them, asking them, yelling at them to leave us alone and then running away from them. It affected our psyche so much, we fought amongst ourself for silly reasons after that. My sisters, probably they anticipated such a deluge, dealt with it better than I did. But, still, I bet it left a scar on all our minds. I am not kidding you. We ended up being cheated by a taxi-crook anyway.

I was so overcome with my disgust for this aspect of human behavior, that I failed to protect my family from its trauma and just withdrew in to a silent hateful bitterness. I was disappointed to see myself transform from a earthy i-can-take-it desi to a scared-clueless prey. Well, it is not like I don't know that the desperation of seeking a livelihood can make people break down all norms of privacy and dignity. I guess I was secretly wishing it would not be divulged to me in such a ghastly fashion. I am scared now that I have been away from India for too long.....

One Perfect Sight

On my way back from school today, I was walking up the hill to reach my apartment. My back was hurting due to my heavy backpack and I started walking slowly ..close to the play ground where kids of the community play. Just when I was passing it, one of the kids playing inside the fenced area, came running.. He had seen his mom park her car behind me. He yelled with the purest delight "mama! mama! mama!". He then talked excitedly about some thing in chinese.. she was answering him with equally loving voice. The boy was pulling the plastic bag she had in her hand to look what she brought for him. And the mom started talking with the grandma of the kid and so on..

But, what I wanted to record is, what I do not want to forget is, when the boy who was sufficiently occupied in playing, turned around and saw his mom, and came running, and was shouting "mama mama" and was eagerly banging the fence with his palms.. I just cannot write down how it felt. The happiness shined through his eyes.. the smile was so pure..and perfect..
This is by far, the happiest face I have seen.

Bad mood bitching

My back is hurting. All the driving is taking its toll I guess. So, I take this unique opportunity to bitch against people who take me for granted. I hope I am mistaken, and there are genuine reasons for people behaving like they do, but the bottom line is I am pissed by people who take me for granted. Be it my time, my acceptance of mediocre behaviour, my patience, my help and things like that.
Case 1:
I don't like waiting. Irrespective of what pathetic a use I put my time to (when I am not waiting), I don't want to spend it waiting. Today, at 12:30 in the noon, I waited for a student who made an appointment with me to discuss some homework assignment, and did not show up. Not only did he not show up, he did not apologize when I met him in the class later. The cheek really!
It makes me think.....Was he so self-obsessed that it did not occur to him at all? I am pretty self obsessed myself but, I try to control the damages of my self-obsession affect very few people. Okay one people. My husband. So, I wonder.. what was he thinking.. Did he really think that he did me a favor by asking for my help? Just because I grin more often than necessary in the class, does it mean I will lap up any offer of contact with my oh-so-precious students? Did he think that he can get away with it, since I am so distant that I will not be forthright in expressing my discontent?What is it?
Case 2:
Also, I do not like people who think that since, I am generally nice, I will be quiet to any unfairness. One of my acquaintances just made a decision on my behalf and refused to acknowledge that I was left holding the sack and that what was done was unfair. So much so that I had to nudge, then ask and then fight about it. Since I have an inertia against raising hell in confrontational situations, people think I can be herded to any damn cowshed. Is it that people think any unfairness is OK as long as some one does not pull the corpse into the sun?
What is it?
Case 3, 4, 5,,, STOP:
I also hate people who basically expect help without even making the slightest of efforts to do things themselves. Add to that, people who will just assume that you are going to listen to hours of how bad their life is because they have only a 35 K and fully loaded BMW 3 series is above their reach. Worst are the people who think they are being cute when they ask help.. oh let us not even go there... My head is going to explode and the fountain of plasma will burn through my couch... We don't want that when our backs are hurting and our butts weep at the mention of hard-backed chairs... do we?

Although, at more level headed times, I tell myself that I should give people the benefit of doubt. I cannot possibly be objective in judging people, since I cannot really get inside their heads and read their preoccupations. Also, most of the times, I cannot tell off people because,... I don't know.. May be I am a chicken, or perhaps, I think I should not jeopardize my relations due to petty incidents. But, at the same time, I also wonder, how is it that such things as courtesy, fairness, and responsibility to commitments, etc. do not occur to people by nature. I don't know!! I am angry! I am angry because people are screwing with me.. and I am angry at myself at being so angry!

where did it all go?

It is close to 1 AM. I am laying down on my stomach.. reading a paper while madhursangeet.com plays the sweet melody of "neend na mujhko aayein..".

I suddenly recall the cold nights that I used to spend on the terrace in our mysore home under the yellow light that dimly lit the terrace and pouring over my 10th (all the way to 2nd year Pre University) class notes. I remember the radio beginning my post dinner study at Chhayageet at 10 on vividh-bhaarati, to go to a national public radio kind of station that went on until 4 AM. I would wander among random morse-codes like things sometimes playing on short-wave. All kinds of news, classical music, western, chinese even turkish and russian music some times.. whatever the waves spilt on my shores were welcome in those lonely silent hours.

I would look at various neighbor's lights going on and off .. watch strangers' silhouettes going to bathrooms, getting a drink of water, smoking..and turning the lights off again. I remember some odd guy riding the bicycle on the street, I can hear the goorkha's eerie whistling and beating sticks at the stone-walk-in's of different front yards.. And mesmerizing tunes of Rafi... aasha bhonsle's sweet voice.. Hemant Kumar's melancholic calls.. and some times Karachi-radio's kawwalis.. I would immerse myself in their music.. digress.. but eventually, I would return to my notes looking yellow in the 60-watt bulb light in the dark night..
I miss the yellowish dark nights, I miss my terrace and my notes.. I miss me back then.
Where is all that gone?

I can drive between the two ends now!

Although it is delayed information, I am delighted to share with the reader, that I can drive the car now. I carry a TX driver's license with me.. and I am not afraid to use it. Here are the perks:

I can drive without going on unstable transient oscillations of the steering wheel at every lane-change, (they are quasi-stable nowadays).
I can drive without shooting over to the oncoming traffic at every right turn.
I can drive now without having my white-hot nerves burst out of my skin.
I can drive without needing a psychiatric evaluation at the end of every point-A-to-point-B.

I ride the motorbike to school everyday, and drive every weekend to Houston for my conjugal visits :-). As you may know.. I lead a double life in every way. In Austin, I am a semi-hippie motorcyclist, In Houston, I sit on the passenger seat checking my hair and makeup. In Austin, I wake up in the morning or early afternoons to gulp cereal and speed to school. In Houston, I make sure the previous night that the dosa-dough dish has a plate underneath it so that it does not spill over on the counter! In Austin, I don't eat or I eat ice-cold-the-only-veggie-option-left-from-last-year greek wraps. In Houston, I discover new exotic spices and recipes to please my husbands gastrointestinal tract. I am a jobless-lazy-superficially-intelligent grad student on weekdays. On weekends, I am a narcissistic-insecure-possessive-extremely-house-wife-y spouse of my caring husband. On the wheels of my cooper, I love both the ends of my spectrum!!

Old mails..

It scalds me from inside.. I am writhing on the floor..
I try to rub it off..The acid seeps in more..
If Macbeth saw my state, she would thank her good fortune..
Arabian perfumes can't hide the fleshy fumes..

Read old mails to relive, .. what my life has been..
Only this time, I know, what was really happening..
I don't have the coziness of what I believed..
All I have is how I had myself and the world deceived..

I don't have the warmth of self illusion and conscience fakes..
I don't have a chance in the world to undo my mistakes..
Not a single possibility of reinvesting my stakes..
There is no forgiveness, There are no second takes..

Your words leave no refuge.. I simply can't escape
Even now, poetry apart, your mails make me suffocate..
How I wish I had read your mails then, the way I read them today..
All I can do, is stare in hatred at my own dark silhouette..

Balaji and I

I was in LA 2 weeks ago. My in-laws, their family, Prince, and I were in a car going to Universal studios and my friend Nagendra called me (or I returned his call perhaps) and he told me, "Of course you know Balaji right? He is no more. He committed suicide".  I yelled at an appropriately 
shocked tone (I suppose) "WHAT ?". I think I kept saying "ayyo.. ayyo.. shit..., anyaaya" and other appropriate exclamations for about 10-15 minutes.

I called a friend of mine to get me the number of Vamshi (a friend of me and Balaji from NIE). She searched through my mail and gave me his 2003 number . I tried in vain. I called her again.. she, this time, realized her mistake and gave me the 2007 number..
 I called him.. Until then, I had not cried.. I cried a couple of drops..when i told him the news. 
Vamshi said, "Shit, why did he do that?". I could only speculate about what the reasons could be
from our chat conversations a month ago.

He asked me, "How are you holding up?". I said (I think, ), "I am OK. Nagen told me just now, and I am in the f***ing  Universal Studios, it is ridiculous".  He said, "Dont beat yourself up
about it. It is done, nothing can be done about it now". The day went on amidst special effects
of Universal Studios, among rantings about which house featured in which Desperate
Housewives' episode, fire, flood and earthquake effects. 
The blow was not bad. you know? I occasionally forgot about it.
I even laughed a bunch of times I think. 

In the evening, when the show was over, it came back again.. I called Nagen and we talked
about Balaji and why he could have done this, and that, how he might have felt, etc etc etc.
The typical (I suppose) postmortem (no pun intended) of a disaster. I said to him, 
"Nagen, it is such a shame, I feel so weird talking about him and his stuff with you.. 
what is even more embarassing is that such a close friend is gone, and I have not cried.. 
and it worries me that I am not affected by it as much as I thought I would be.
Not only that, I am even more ashamed that he is gone and all I can think about is,
how I am feeling, and how I am not feeling.. how self-centered does it get? ". 
He like a good friend, annointed my self-doubt saying it was natural to question yourself
and it is sometimes not possible to cry for friends whom you have lost touch with ..
but it is not self-centered.

The thoughts came in and went out occasionally.. I tried to remember how he laughed..
I got some other laugh.. it was not his.. I tried to remember things about him..
I was and I still think I am strangely distant from his going away. 

Once we came back from California.. one night, I sat and talked for hours about things Balaji did. when we were in college together.  He was an brilliant mind,
a confident person, excellent singer.. among many other things.
I sat on the floor, and sang that evening the song that he sang so perfectly,
still i did not feel much, but just a bit of sadness thinking that he is gone.

Yesterday, I had a dream.. it was actually a dream within a dream.
I dreamt that I was asleep and in my sleep, I dreamt that I was in Mysore.
I wanted to go to his house perhaps to offer my condolences to his parents.
when I went to his home, he was there.. I knew it was his spirits perhaps. he talked to me..
I dont remember for the world what he said to me. He made me go to the terrace of his house.
He patted to a corner on the parapet wall of the terrace, and asked me in his style, "kootko keerthi,". 
 I sat there balancing myself and feeling scared that I might fall. He talked a lot..
I dont remember anything.. but I do remember that he was peaceful.. may be even happy.
He pulled out from the attic a beaten up guitar. He started playing it ( I dont think he played any instrument other than occasional mridangam in his real life).
It was a strange guitar.. the moment he touched it, pleasant music started pouring out of it.
 He talked for a long while.. he showed me from where he had a view of  girls hostel..
we laughed.. I knew he was OK. He was not sad.. he was content.
I don't know what made me feel it, but I felt in my dream that everything was OK.
 I climbed down the stairs of his ancient looking house, ( I have never been to his house in reality)..
 and I came out without saying any condolences in his parents. 

It was already midnight in my dream-within-dream, and I was clutching my heart like I had something precious in my hands
 and I did not want to lose it and I was running among slums.. 
I saw some old-tired lady asking for help and another working-woman returning home refuse to help her.. and me making my way through clothes 
hanging on lines and walking briskly to make it to safety. 

Then I woke up from my dream-within-dream. I was still in the other dream mind you. Then suddenly, there was an avalanche of memories in my head. 
I remembered how he used to hold his first two fingers opposing his thumb 
and make scoops in air to prove an intricate point in his conversations. 
I remembered how the words at the end of his funny sentences would float over his nasal voice. 
Finally, at last, I remembered his laugh. 
I remembered how his brows would knit and there would be a vertical wrinkle on his forehead
 when he was  rejecting an idea for its stupidity. 
I remembered how he would add the name of the person he was addressing at the end of his sentence.
Some times, he would say "hangallamma" or something like that like a typical kannadiga.
I remembered how he had the most perfect set of teeth when he laughed.
And a straight nose capable of many emotions on its own.
How he rarely wore t-shirts, mostly stuck to shoes+half-sleeve-shirts+belt (Oh yeah,  he did have a dark-green plain round-neck t-shirt).
I remembered how he would blush when people called him Tommy and
teased him about a girl in the class.
How he would offer occassional loopholes for people to tease him. 
I cant recall all the things now, but in my dream, It was a deluge of memories. 
In my dream, I thought, OH SHIT.. I am going to be awake in a while and forget all this..
and I need to remember this .. this is his true memorial. I need to write it down. I remembered Balaji in all my honesty, and I missed him.

Then I woke up..

 

The story of a wave

No! It is not enough that the waves pass by the shore..
The open arms of my surf forever come back for more..
I don't want to see what the blue horizon has in store..
My realm seems to end, right here, at your door..

Deafening roar I may, But, I cant speak out a word..
The tempest in my mind.. has my speech slurred..
The sigh in every storm..is still echoing unheard..
The Life in waiting of death..the gap is all too blurred..

Perhaps this time, My Shore, the tide wont pull us apart..
Perhaps this time, My Earth, I won't trample your heart..
May be If I hold on to you..I can redo from the start..
I cling to your loose sands... while once again, I depart..

Is it wrong?

I was listening to Mehndi Hassan today.. while working on my term project.. I heard the verses
"mere zindagee ke maalik, mere dil pe haath rakhnaa.. , tere aaney ke khushee mein, meira dum nikal na jaayein! Mein nazar se pee rahaa hoon yeh samaa badal na jaayein..Na uthaao tum nigaahein, kaheen raath dhal na jaayein".. such beautiful words full of love..I agree it is not the soul-to-soul deep-emotional-bonding that he is talking about, the poet. He is talking about romance in typical urdu poetic style.. One can almost say it is cheesy.. But, that is not what I was thinking about.. I was thinking about what happens in peoples' mind when they are in love.. when they feel so strongly.. when the cheesy cliched words *feel* like the perfect things to say..I thought about how it felt to fall in love.. It is really intoxicating..It is probably the strongest emotion I have ever felt.. and believe me, I am capable of some strong emotions.. I wonder if others feel like this too.. when you settle down.. but you miss the unsettledness.. when you are blissfully satisfied.. but silently crave for ecstasy.. I wonder..

I want to go back... to the days of my first romance..
To the slow-breathing, heart-racing, trance..
Sweet caressing,with no-hands-touching dance..
when worlds were made or shattered with a fleeting glance..

I remember of times when I would float in the clouds
when your look, I imagined, undressed me in the crowds..
I remember how I sank in to the dark deep abyss
and when you went past me not knowing any of this..

When I searched for private messages in any common phrase..
When bumping in to you set my skin and thoughts ablaze..
When you and I, and I and you, were in our own secret maze..
Running, yet chasing, hiding yet seeking, oh! our never-ending race

Back when every rain made rainbows with colors in perfect blends..
Back when me and my ideal self were still good friends..
Back when world was full of purity, possibilities, and happy ends..
Dreams didn't compromise.. and expectations didn't make amends..

My days, nowadays are relentless what-ifs
My nights toss and turn in unanswerable whys
Is walking on a plain better than a fall off the cliffs,
When you have had that one blissful soar to the skies?

Well, I had lost, and I am even, what now, do I expect to gain?
Why do I want the roller coaster of pleasure and pain?
Is the wait beyond contentment, for exhilaration in vain?
Is it wrong to wish to fall in love again?

Gone!

My Toshiba Laptop and my Apple Powerbook are both gone..
Stolen from my apartment..
I hate it.. I have cried the whole of yesterday night..
I dont know what to do.. I have all my memories in it.. I have all kinds of pictures .. and documents in it.. I HATE to lose it..

I dont know what to do .. I am miserable and dont know how to get back.. There is no relief..

Another day in Project work.... another treasure hunt

Well... you know those times? when you are supposed to be doing something else? and you are doing something else? (like reading this stuff when you could come up with at-least 20 things that you would be better off doing?).. I had one of those times.. and I went on hunting for ghazals.. and I ran in to ..rather clicked in to (Gee, I wish there was a smart-ass word to rephrase that) this site for urdu lovers: http://www.aligarians.com . I loved the site and I am going to be visiting them often. Here is a gem of a ghazal I found there... written by Jigar Muradabadi, and here is a rendition by Begum Akhtar

In case you are too lazy to go to that site, here is the ghazal:

tabiiyat in dinoN be-gaana-e-Gham hotii jaatii hai
mere hisse ki goyaa har Khushii kam hotii jaatii hai

qayaamat kyaa! ye ai husn-e-do-aalam hotii jaatii hai
ke mehfil to vohii hai, dilkashi kam hotii jaati hai

vohii mai-Khaana-o-sahbaa, vohi saaghar, vohii shiishaa
magar aavaaz-e-nushaanosh maddham hotii jaatii hai

(mai-Khaana-o-sahbaa : tavern and the wine; saaghar : goblet; shiishaa : glass; nushaanosh : ?)

vohii hai shaahid-o-saaqii magar dil bujhtaa jaataa hai
vohii hai shammaa lekin raushnii kam hotii jaatii hai

(shaahid : witness; saaqii : cup-bearer)

vohii hai zindagii lekin “Jigar” yeh haal hai apnaa
ke jaise zindagii se zindagii kam hotii jaatii hai

Here is what I think this poem intends to say:

My spirits, is benumbed to sadness little by little, of late..
It feels like my share of every bliss is shrinking, little by little , of late.. .

Apocalypse? To me, this seems like the beauty of both worlds..
Although the crowd is the same, i feel the charm withering little by little, of late..

It is the same tavern, the wine and the very same glass..
But the murmur of splash seems muffled little by little, of late..

It is my same old cohort, serving me, but my heart suffocates..
It is the same old candle by the light seems to dull little by little, of late,

Life is still the same, but Jigar, My state has come to this..
that, the very life in my life seems to diminish little by little of late..

It is hard for me to even bring out a small fraction of the gradual and painful decline of the spirit of life that he is describing.. English simply fails me.. I wish that I was equipped with better faculty than translation to share the feelings I get when I read these verses..