It’s cold and rainy here, so the familiarity of the Buick green car that I came across in two days was something I couldn't pass to mention.
The first time I saw it, I liked his bumper sticker, which subtly stands out to say…
“No one died
When Clinton lied”.
Way to go, Buick in green. Aren't we all living the verities of war in one way or the other.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Yaootza!
I wanted to say just that, before heading to india, so post my 3 weeks vacation, I'll say that again - yaootza with a bang. From the time, I caught my flight in New York to Hyderabad and back, all the series of events are imprinted in my memory as a string of bookmarks. Maybe i should change the title of this blog as tale of 3 cities, Philadelphia, Hyderabad and Rajahmundry. All three very close to my heart that i have a undying patriotism to them.
I thoroughly enjoyed the thought of direct flight to Hyderabad, since I had taken the route via Bombay the last few times and hated it. What amazed me most was the sight of a father traveling with his toddler sans the mother. An interesting thing about being an Indian is there is no guesswork necessary, by the time I came out of the immigration line in Hyderabad, I knew that his wife didn’t get the vacation since she’s a contractor in CA, and since his parents never saw the 3yr old kid, all the family, relatives everyone are waiting to see the toddler and are at the airport to receive him, so that’s why he’s changing the clothes of the child. The father was even keeping an eye on the other kids in the plane who were traveling only with their moms without their pops. One guy, I saw in the flight went to the extent of taking the liberty to leave his duty free bought liquor with me while he can go and do more shopping, in a state of dumbstruck I first accepted but later spotted him making a call in fursat, so I gave him a small gentle piece of my mind and got back.
The echo of sounds and sights of heavy traffic, the incessantly ring of phone at home, the brightness of the light switched on by the maid in the early hours, my mom and dad’s bright voice and face while I climb down the stairs, the sight of street lights with the back drop of vendor’s banners lining the walls of the big buildings in the dark of the night, all this was riotously surfing my heart. I’m unable to shake the feeling of that familiar eeriness that I so love, and though with my body I’m here, my heart seems to left behind in that very heavy traffic streets, and in the homes made of people.
The noise and people talking is so engaging that you don’t even need to say anything. I remember this one situation, I was asked to write something in the comments section for a school book, but then everyone was reading behind me what I was writing, of course they were kids, but in the echo of my very own words that they were reading aloud, I lost the flow of thought I wanted to convey. In other situations I felt the same way… In my brother’s living room, a friend and all of us were talking but I was just being washed with the words that were coming out of their minds. I didn’t say anything, I felt as if I was an onlooker. I compared all this to the deafening silence we all feel in our very living rooms in US. I’m not saying the life in US is not good, but the standards are high, the freedom in your cocoon is highly regarded that it isolates the core of our living. The non-sensical movies, the imitating kids, the prestige hungry wannabe people, I came across all of them in India. But what stuck to me most was the love and warmth of a mother, how she chose to perceive a same situation that, she and I, both witnessed at the same time. The love and affection of close friends, the family treasons, a TC’s amazement, the loneliness of a parents with kids abroad, sight of four kids going through rubble playfully with such innocence, the stark difference in highways to Eluru and Kakinada, a chef’s professionalism in River Bay in Rajahmundry, the face of the waiter who served us dinner in Priyadarshini late night, the drive thru OU to get biryani from Bawarchi to home and then not liking it, the comfort of making a quick turn instead of going through another exit, the palatial temple of Iskon in rjy, not to mention the food at Alex Kitchen, I believe bobby’s cousin in now the host, the guy at gujari’s who was dropping hints for us look around the store while he can start his lunch was utterly disappointed that we were done and we need to wrap up and go.
All I can say is this trip made me look at myself in closer, made me grow a bit more in my own skin. I met up with my old school friends at Zaafron, it felt so f*****g darn good, we all were chattering like there was no end. What I loved most was the fursat-ness in the daily life, really, nobody is in a hurry, there isn’t a drive to get things over with, when the 5 minutes of wait turns into 1/2n hour, u’ll never know. Now that I’m back, I cant come out of that fursat ness, I’ve slowed it down, but I know life here will catch up with me and shake it off of me. But until then I’ll enjoy it.
As I was standing at the immigration line in New York, I started to miss home terribly. The abundance of facilities in order, the plush wall to wall carpet in the airport, the non-chaotic lines, the orderliness seemed very odd to me. I felt like I was in different age and time. I dint seem to like it. While vamsi drove I slept in the car, as I reached home and removed shoes the very touch of my home’s carpet on my feet felt…I don’t know I cant describe it. With much deluge, I headed to work the next day, I felt like I was in another surreal world. The sight and touch of my cube, the same place I spend most of my time, felt pointless. All this felt like a world I can’t touch but somehow living through in small bits. I’ve always carried a thought that all our life we slowly discover a bit of who we are, we’ll never completely know who we are, since situations evolve a new personality in us that we aren’t aware of. This trip was one of them for me, nothing extraordinary happened, but many ordinaries came together.
I thoroughly enjoyed the thought of direct flight to Hyderabad, since I had taken the route via Bombay the last few times and hated it. What amazed me most was the sight of a father traveling with his toddler sans the mother. An interesting thing about being an Indian is there is no guesswork necessary, by the time I came out of the immigration line in Hyderabad, I knew that his wife didn’t get the vacation since she’s a contractor in CA, and since his parents never saw the 3yr old kid, all the family, relatives everyone are waiting to see the toddler and are at the airport to receive him, so that’s why he’s changing the clothes of the child. The father was even keeping an eye on the other kids in the plane who were traveling only with their moms without their pops. One guy, I saw in the flight went to the extent of taking the liberty to leave his duty free bought liquor with me while he can go and do more shopping, in a state of dumbstruck I first accepted but later spotted him making a call in fursat, so I gave him a small gentle piece of my mind and got back.
The echo of sounds and sights of heavy traffic, the incessantly ring of phone at home, the brightness of the light switched on by the maid in the early hours, my mom and dad’s bright voice and face while I climb down the stairs, the sight of street lights with the back drop of vendor’s banners lining the walls of the big buildings in the dark of the night, all this was riotously surfing my heart. I’m unable to shake the feeling of that familiar eeriness that I so love, and though with my body I’m here, my heart seems to left behind in that very heavy traffic streets, and in the homes made of people.
The noise and people talking is so engaging that you don’t even need to say anything. I remember this one situation, I was asked to write something in the comments section for a school book, but then everyone was reading behind me what I was writing, of course they were kids, but in the echo of my very own words that they were reading aloud, I lost the flow of thought I wanted to convey. In other situations I felt the same way… In my brother’s living room, a friend and all of us were talking but I was just being washed with the words that were coming out of their minds. I didn’t say anything, I felt as if I was an onlooker. I compared all this to the deafening silence we all feel in our very living rooms in US. I’m not saying the life in US is not good, but the standards are high, the freedom in your cocoon is highly regarded that it isolates the core of our living. The non-sensical movies, the imitating kids, the prestige hungry wannabe people, I came across all of them in India. But what stuck to me most was the love and warmth of a mother, how she chose to perceive a same situation that, she and I, both witnessed at the same time. The love and affection of close friends, the family treasons, a TC’s amazement, the loneliness of a parents with kids abroad, sight of four kids going through rubble playfully with such innocence, the stark difference in highways to Eluru and Kakinada, a chef’s professionalism in River Bay in Rajahmundry, the face of the waiter who served us dinner in Priyadarshini late night, the drive thru OU to get biryani from Bawarchi to home and then not liking it, the comfort of making a quick turn instead of going through another exit, the palatial temple of Iskon in rjy, not to mention the food at Alex Kitchen, I believe bobby’s cousin in now the host, the guy at gujari’s who was dropping hints for us look around the store while he can start his lunch was utterly disappointed that we were done and we need to wrap up and go.
All I can say is this trip made me look at myself in closer, made me grow a bit more in my own skin. I met up with my old school friends at Zaafron, it felt so f*****g darn good, we all were chattering like there was no end. What I loved most was the fursat-ness in the daily life, really, nobody is in a hurry, there isn’t a drive to get things over with, when the 5 minutes of wait turns into 1/2n hour, u’ll never know. Now that I’m back, I cant come out of that fursat ness, I’ve slowed it down, but I know life here will catch up with me and shake it off of me. But until then I’ll enjoy it.
As I was standing at the immigration line in New York, I started to miss home terribly. The abundance of facilities in order, the plush wall to wall carpet in the airport, the non-chaotic lines, the orderliness seemed very odd to me. I felt like I was in different age and time. I dint seem to like it. While vamsi drove I slept in the car, as I reached home and removed shoes the very touch of my home’s carpet on my feet felt…I don’t know I cant describe it. With much deluge, I headed to work the next day, I felt like I was in another surreal world. The sight and touch of my cube, the same place I spend most of my time, felt pointless. All this felt like a world I can’t touch but somehow living through in small bits. I’ve always carried a thought that all our life we slowly discover a bit of who we are, we’ll never completely know who we are, since situations evolve a new personality in us that we aren’t aware of. This trip was one of them for me, nothing extraordinary happened, but many ordinaries came together.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
A what face ?
While being plopped on the couch and watching TV, I bumped into Reba on Lifetime.
Alright, alright, we know women like to watch Lifetime but so do men.
Anyway, there is this Barbara Jean character who in a gripping situation unveils that her husband has put on a lying face in-front of his ex-wife and other people.
For obvious reasons this bloke is disappointed that, his current wife gave away how his lying face looks like to the rest of the crowd. Now that he cant use that face anymore, he’s stumped. That right there got me thinking…darn ! I’m sure we all have faces, of different emotions, a surprising face, a sad face, and a happy one and on and on, but how does your face look like when u r stating something that is not completely true, well I mean when u lie!
Sure…we all lie…say white lies here and there that are completely harmless and inconsequential. Like the time you call in sick to work, just to relax at home and do a plenty of nothings, or the time u tell ur girlfriend / boyfriend/ husband/ wife that they don’t exactly look fat, it’s just the wrong outfit.
Should we wonder how our face looks like in such situations.
Is this a grim reality we face for being adults or can we get by without a lying face. It’s a catch 22.
Alright, alright, we know women like to watch Lifetime but so do men.
Anyway, there is this Barbara Jean character who in a gripping situation unveils that her husband has put on a lying face in-front of his ex-wife and other people.
For obvious reasons this bloke is disappointed that, his current wife gave away how his lying face looks like to the rest of the crowd. Now that he cant use that face anymore, he’s stumped. That right there got me thinking…darn ! I’m sure we all have faces, of different emotions, a surprising face, a sad face, and a happy one and on and on, but how does your face look like when u r stating something that is not completely true, well I mean when u lie!
Sure…we all lie…say white lies here and there that are completely harmless and inconsequential. Like the time you call in sick to work, just to relax at home and do a plenty of nothings, or the time u tell ur girlfriend / boyfriend/ husband/ wife that they don’t exactly look fat, it’s just the wrong outfit.
Should we wonder how our face looks like in such situations.
Is this a grim reality we face for being adults or can we get by without a lying face. It’s a catch 22.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
I couldn’t eat!
Since Vamsi is in Chicago for the past 2 weeks, I was tired of my own hand cooked food and the sight of piled dishes in the sink wasn’t getting me anywhere near the frame of mind to cook. So, I dialed in to my fave or rather ex-fave restaurant, Wave Noodles for delivery of some Shrimp with Basil and hot & sour soup. I specifically told her, missy, I have no cash on me so charge the tip as well on my card.
Half hour later, after my shower and few minutes into channel swapping, the bell rang. I’ve heard or read somewhere that for a single girl, it’s always good to be on the phone with someone when u r answering the door. So, with my phone as a weapon, I opened the door, and the guy gave me the credit card bill to sign, I did and thanked him. Then he looks at the bill and with his typical Chinese accent he continues to say that he drove 6 miles to get here and deliver and I didn’t tip him enough. I was like “what!”, but I asked that girl to charge me and I went on to say that I had no cash what so ever, I had dimes and nickels for all he cares and few quarters in sight. He just nodded, and walked away, I doubt if he understood a thing I said. I was like helloooo! First a feeling of guilt washed me, cursing that I should always keep cash on me, then after few minutes a mysterious rage took over me, how could he just walk away like that, aren’t I the customer here. I had given good tips whenever I go for lunches there. So for the first time I asked them for delivery and the lady forgot to charge the tip on my card and I take the brunt of it. It seemed so unfair, so, I called them again, to tell her to charge it on my card again, well no, she just didn’t get it, get what I was trying to explain and it was well into my dinner time, so I hung up. By this time I lost my appetite to eat too and made a mental note to drop by tomorrow to withdraw cash then go to the restaurant and give that guy his tip.
All this for not making my own dinner! Next time, i should just make Maggie noodles, darn, I was pissed.
Half hour later, after my shower and few minutes into channel swapping, the bell rang. I’ve heard or read somewhere that for a single girl, it’s always good to be on the phone with someone when u r answering the door. So, with my phone as a weapon, I opened the door, and the guy gave me the credit card bill to sign, I did and thanked him. Then he looks at the bill and with his typical Chinese accent he continues to say that he drove 6 miles to get here and deliver and I didn’t tip him enough. I was like “what!”, but I asked that girl to charge me and I went on to say that I had no cash what so ever, I had dimes and nickels for all he cares and few quarters in sight. He just nodded, and walked away, I doubt if he understood a thing I said. I was like helloooo! First a feeling of guilt washed me, cursing that I should always keep cash on me, then after few minutes a mysterious rage took over me, how could he just walk away like that, aren’t I the customer here. I had given good tips whenever I go for lunches there. So for the first time I asked them for delivery and the lady forgot to charge the tip on my card and I take the brunt of it. It seemed so unfair, so, I called them again, to tell her to charge it on my card again, well no, she just didn’t get it, get what I was trying to explain and it was well into my dinner time, so I hung up. By this time I lost my appetite to eat too and made a mental note to drop by tomorrow to withdraw cash then go to the restaurant and give that guy his tip.
All this for not making my own dinner! Next time, i should just make Maggie noodles, darn, I was pissed.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
To all the Questions
the numbness of the mind drips like red
in the flames of life we find
the soulless faces
the sting of the needles
the dust of the wind
we stand bare searching
hoping the answers will find us
in the flames of life we find
the soulless faces
the sting of the needles
the dust of the wind
we stand bare searching
hoping the answers will find us
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Ripple effects….
An unknown face with his fate haunts me in the most unexpected moments…couple of months ago, a student in Sri Kakulam was "ragged" by his seniors, for sexual favors. He succumbed to their threats and gave in. After that horrific abuse he reported to the cops who realized that those god-forsaken seniors are absconding. Later in the progress of events, this guy with his father went to report this to human rights activist. By the time, they returned home, the mother of the abused boy, was found dead…she committed suicide !
All this was accounted over a period of 2-3 days. This line of events brought a lot of questions to my mind, in such an unimaginable state of affairs of this guy, who’s lost more than he bargained for. This guy had shown sheer braveness to bring attention and possibly fight for justice, instead of suffering in silence.
But the mother chose the easy way out, instead of supporting him through his ordeal, she gave him more to grieve about. It’s established once again how the reputation and societal norms coerce a person to chose the extreme alternatives.
I can’t help but wonder what would this kid be hauling with him for the rest of his life. Would he be blaming himself for years to come for bringing the black and white starkness of life to such tragic reality, would anything be ever normal to him, will he ever be able to cope with the rage he would feel towards his “seniors” or understand his mother’s choice to die, to that matter.
Instead of trying to brush it off as a depressing matter to think about, please take a moment to think of how ‘we’ as a part of the society contribute to the thought process of sexually abused victims and their families.
How we voice our thoughts and imply situations, affect the delicate minds.
Maybe a kind thoughtful word from her spouse, neighbor might have made some difference to her and eventually to this kid too.
All this was accounted over a period of 2-3 days. This line of events brought a lot of questions to my mind, in such an unimaginable state of affairs of this guy, who’s lost more than he bargained for. This guy had shown sheer braveness to bring attention and possibly fight for justice, instead of suffering in silence.
But the mother chose the easy way out, instead of supporting him through his ordeal, she gave him more to grieve about. It’s established once again how the reputation and societal norms coerce a person to chose the extreme alternatives.
I can’t help but wonder what would this kid be hauling with him for the rest of his life. Would he be blaming himself for years to come for bringing the black and white starkness of life to such tragic reality, would anything be ever normal to him, will he ever be able to cope with the rage he would feel towards his “seniors” or understand his mother’s choice to die, to that matter.
Instead of trying to brush it off as a depressing matter to think about, please take a moment to think of how ‘we’ as a part of the society contribute to the thought process of sexually abused victims and their families.
How we voice our thoughts and imply situations, affect the delicate minds.
Maybe a kind thoughtful word from her spouse, neighbor might have made some difference to her and eventually to this kid too.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
WSID
Does it mean anything that twice within a time of 10 days you get a pang of strong feeling that you are not doing what you have always wanted to. Though you don’t know what exactly is it. But the people you are working with, the “mahol”, the pettiness in the rat race and everything just doesn’t seem to click and you are standing there alone in this huge room looking from up above at yourself from a third person’s view and see your thoughts fly, your shadow running away and a meaningless sigh depicts many burning illustrations.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Thick twice before u call
your kid “clever” !
BBC News : Teachers should stop calling bright pupils "clever" for fear they might not be considered "cool" by classmates, a union has been told.
Wow! I don’t have kids yet, but I know at some level of my conscience, it doesn’t seem right. No matter how u r considered by your classmates, roomies, u can never escape from being who you are, and what you turn out to be. If any, we deprive them of the recognizing that uniqueness each child carry within themselves.
The society seems to be evolving into this police of sorts in our schools, streets and living rooms. I’m all for the kids who need protection from the harm brought on by adults and rightfully so we should protect them.
But these idiosyncrasies turned regulations, to say “hey beware of being nice to your kid, you might just jeopardize his/her social life”. C’mon, I think we need these superficial crises to fret over our superficial problems at that tender age, so that when we grow up into complicated adults, we’ll know how we beg to differ.
BBC News : Teachers should stop calling bright pupils "clever" for fear they might not be considered "cool" by classmates, a union has been told.
Wow! I don’t have kids yet, but I know at some level of my conscience, it doesn’t seem right. No matter how u r considered by your classmates, roomies, u can never escape from being who you are, and what you turn out to be. If any, we deprive them of the recognizing that uniqueness each child carry within themselves.
The society seems to be evolving into this police of sorts in our schools, streets and living rooms. I’m all for the kids who need protection from the harm brought on by adults and rightfully so we should protect them.
But these idiosyncrasies turned regulations, to say “hey beware of being nice to your kid, you might just jeopardize his/her social life”. C’mon, I think we need these superficial crises to fret over our superficial problems at that tender age, so that when we grow up into complicated adults, we’ll know how we beg to differ.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
What are you ?
An interesting way of looking at things...just a story i came across
A young woman went to her mother and told her about her life and how things were so hard for her. She did not know how she was going to make it and wanted to give up. She was tired of fighting and struggling.
It seemed as one problem was solved, a new one arose. Her mother took her to the kitchen. She filled three pots with water and placed each on a high fire soon the pots came to boil. In the first she placed carrots, in the second she placed eggs, and in the last she placed ground coffee beans.
She let them sit and boil; without saying a word.
In about twenty minutes she turned off the burners. She fished the carrots out and placed them in a bowl. She pulled the eggs out and placed them in a bowl. Then she ladled the coffee out and placed it in a bowl.
Turning to her daughter, she asked, "Tell me what you see."
"Carrots, eggs, and coffee," she replied.
Her mother brought her closer and asked her to feel the carrots. She did and noted that they were soft. The mother then asked the daughter to take an egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed the hard boiled egg.
Finally, the mother asked the daughter to sip the coffee. The daughter smiled as she tasted its rich aroma
The daughter then asked, "What does it mean, mother?"
Her mother explained that each of these objects had faced the same adversity: boiling water.
Each reacted differently. The carrot went in strong, hard, and unrelenting. However, after being subjected to the
Boiling water, it softened and became weak. The egg had been fragile. Its thin outer shell had protected its liquid interior, but after sitting through the boiling water, its inside became hardened. The ground coffee beans were
unique, however. After they were in the boiling water, they had changed the water.
"Which are you?" she asked her daughter.
"When adversity knocks on your door, how do you respond?
Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?
Think of this: Which am I?
Am I the carrot that seems strong, but with pain and adversity do I wilt and become soft and lose my strength?
Am I the egg that starts with a malleable heart, but changes with the heat? Did I have a fluid spirit, but after a death, a breakup, a financial hardship or some other trial, have I become hardened and stiff? Does my shell look the same, but on the inside am I bitter and tough with a stiff spirit and hardened heart?
Or am I like the coffee bean? The bean actually changes the hot water, the very circumstance that brings the pain. When the water gets hot, it releases the fragrance and flavor.
Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?
May you have enough happiness to make you sweet, enough trials to make you strong, enough sorrow to keep you human and enough hope to make you happy.
May we all be COFFEE.
- Maya Angelou
Pics courtesy of Google images
A young woman went to her mother and told her about her life and how things were so hard for her. She did not know how she was going to make it and wanted to give up. She was tired of fighting and struggling.
It seemed as one problem was solved, a new one arose. Her mother took her to the kitchen. She filled three pots with water and placed each on a high fire soon the pots came to boil. In the first she placed carrots, in the second she placed eggs, and in the last she placed ground coffee beans.
She let them sit and boil; without saying a word.
In about twenty minutes she turned off the burners. She fished the carrots out and placed them in a bowl. She pulled the eggs out and placed them in a bowl. Then she ladled the coffee out and placed it in a bowl.
Turning to her daughter, she asked, "Tell me what you see."
"Carrots, eggs, and coffee," she replied.
Her mother brought her closer and asked her to feel the carrots. She did and noted that they were soft. The mother then asked the daughter to take an egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed the hard boiled egg.
Finally, the mother asked the daughter to sip the coffee. The daughter smiled as she tasted its rich aroma
The daughter then asked, "What does it mean, mother?"
Her mother explained that each of these objects had faced the same adversity: boiling water.
Each reacted differently. The carrot went in strong, hard, and unrelenting. However, after being subjected to the
Boiling water, it softened and became weak. The egg had been fragile. Its thin outer shell had protected its liquid interior, but after sitting through the boiling water, its inside became hardened. The ground coffee beans were
unique, however. After they were in the boiling water, they had changed the water.
"Which are you?" she asked her daughter.
"When adversity knocks on your door, how do you respond?
Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?
Think of this: Which am I?
Am I the carrot that seems strong, but with pain and adversity do I wilt and become soft and lose my strength? Am I the egg that starts with a malleable heart, but changes with the heat? Did I have a fluid spirit, but after a death, a breakup, a financial hardship or some other trial, have I become hardened and stiff? Does my shell look the same, but on the inside am I bitter and tough with a stiff spirit and hardened heart?
Or am I like the coffee bean? The bean actually changes the hot water, the very circumstance that brings the pain. When the water gets hot, it releases the fragrance and flavor.
Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?
May you have enough happiness to make you sweet, enough trials to make you strong, enough sorrow to keep you human and enough hope to make you happy.
May we all be COFFEE.
- Maya Angelou
Pics courtesy of Google images
Monday, October 09, 2006
Cast Away
So last night, I had set auto tune for TNT's airing of "Cast Away"...I finished all my chores, dimmed the lights, had the volume set at right level and embarked with Tom Hanks on his journey of survival. I think I should preface all this by saying that the feeling of claustrophobia engulfs me when i think of being under water, but to seek peace with that fear I watch movies like Jaws, The perfect Storm, Cast Away and such. For the first time I was watching this movie in full. I know "where was I, huh". At the fear of sounding generic, I want to say that I loved the movie.
It slaps onto you the inherent fear we all subconsciously carry. We don't avoid oceans, planes and all that stuff for the benefit of avoiding an accident, but we all have come to accept it in the threads of our daily lives. But when we do face such tribulations, the daily demons we so ferociously face seem trivial and pointless. There are few scenes when there is absolute silence, the serenity of the time and the rattle of the moments leading up to there...is quite something. The blend of love, irony, nature and mostly the sanity tom finds in the most deafening moments on the island makes you wonder...what would you do ? who would be your "Wilson".
It slaps onto you the inherent fear we all subconsciously carry. We don't avoid oceans, planes and all that stuff for the benefit of avoiding an accident, but we all have come to accept it in the threads of our daily lives. But when we do face such tribulations, the daily demons we so ferociously face seem trivial and pointless. There are few scenes when there is absolute silence, the serenity of the time and the rattle of the moments leading up to there...is quite something. The blend of love, irony, nature and mostly the sanity tom finds in the most deafening moments on the island makes you wonder...what would you do ? who would be your "Wilson".
Friday, October 06, 2006
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Where were we...
My blog, sure does looks deserted for the past 2 weeks…my excuse is whenever I could sneak some time out I’d swing by and see if I could think of something to share. I did, I do…but my mind failed me and my fingers wouldn’t move, they declined! so I gave up…..and stared at the clean white ms doc which was filled up with my thoughts that I wanted to share…. In my head it looked like a hotchpotch of words, thoughts that were clashing as sentences, and stories crossing paths. While I’m untangling all those train of thoughts…read on these lines of poetry…ofcourse I didnt write it, but I came across.
* The Invitation *
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting
your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking
like a fool for love, for your dream,
for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow,
if you have been opened by life's betrayals or
have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain,
mine or your own,
without moving to hide it
or fade it or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy,
mine or your own,
if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us
to be careful, be realistic,
to remember the limitations of being a human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own
soul.
If you can be faithless and therefore be trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty
everyday.
And if you can source your own life from it's presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure,
yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or
how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after a night of grief and despair,
weary and bruised to the bone,
and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the
center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls
away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments
* The Invitation *
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting
your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking
like a fool for love, for your dream,
for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow,
if you have been opened by life's betrayals or
have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain,
mine or your own,
without moving to hide it
or fade it or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy,
mine or your own,
if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us
to be careful, be realistic,
to remember the limitations of being a human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own
soul.
If you can be faithless and therefore be trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty
everyday.
And if you can source your own life from it's presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure,
yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or
how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after a night of grief and despair,
weary and bruised to the bone,
and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the
center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls
away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Should I have gone anyway….how many aye and nay’s !
Past many many weeks, on a late saturday afternoon, the warmth of the sun was tad bit high, there wasn’t a soul on the street, just cars lined on the curb…the curtains of my windows were gently moving to the breeze from the fan and I’ve just finished zipping songs and almost was ready to doze off, listening to the songs. Then I hear my husband of 7 years hollering from downstairs… what are you doing !
Me: nothing much, why!
Him: What shall we get for Mr. K’s daughter for her b’day party?
Me: What party?
Him: Didn’t I tell you, must have skipped my mind. It’s at 7pm tonight.
I put my hand on chest and swear dear all, I live with a man who’s memory has failed him more than he’ll admit to. He shrugs with a simple devious smile, I forgot!
I refused to whip out off my lazy mind at the nth hour and made up my mind not to go.
But rumor has it that few such declinations later, “not so important” acquaintances have gone beyond repair, I’ve been labeled a snob, a “no-show” for selective parties. Maybe I’m, maybe I’m not, depends on who’s talking.
These state of affairs reminds me of a email tag a close friend of mine uses, “I do not have an ATTITUDE problem, people have a PERCEPTION problem”. Added to people’s perceptions, I’m a victim of an forgetful spouse. Blame me…for all the social crisis we are facing !
Me: nothing much, why!
Him: What shall we get for Mr. K’s daughter for her b’day party?
Me: What party?
Him: Didn’t I tell you, must have skipped my mind. It’s at 7pm tonight.
I put my hand on chest and swear dear all, I live with a man who’s memory has failed him more than he’ll admit to. He shrugs with a simple devious smile, I forgot!
I refused to whip out off my lazy mind at the nth hour and made up my mind not to go.
But rumor has it that few such declinations later, “not so important” acquaintances have gone beyond repair, I’ve been labeled a snob, a “no-show” for selective parties. Maybe I’m, maybe I’m not, depends on who’s talking.
These state of affairs reminds me of a email tag a close friend of mine uses, “I do not have an ATTITUDE problem, people have a PERCEPTION problem”. Added to people’s perceptions, I’m a victim of an forgetful spouse. Blame me…for all the social crisis we are facing !
Friday, September 08, 2006
Here we come, Talahassee
We have a tradition, once a year, a bunch of us meet to do a lot of nothings and laugh our cares away....
And this year, a gang of six mobbed a cozy place called home in Tallahassee, FL for the Labor day weekend. This home belongs to 2 very special friends, the poet and his inspiration ; ) So met the 8. The world was forgotten and time just bared some of the fun moments for the days to come.
I once read in a Paul Reiser’s book that u’ll know it’s the right person for you when u hold hands and your fingers are entwined in a perfect weave, which feels comfy - not too tight or loose. You’d know it feels just right.
It’s a metaphor that I’m implying that it was like holding hands comfortably for the rest of the days. The chronicles of our nothings began from our--
++ pit stop at Waffle House where the waitress didn’t bring Pavan’s “Just Coffee”, until the rest of us finished eating our hearty b’fast.
++ Our drive to Talahassee, when Pavan was driving and we were hoping he’d take a break from talking to Vamsi and listen to Veer’s directions.
++ Our warm welcome at the Vijay’s home with hot steamy food waiting for us after a drive of 2 hours. Pallavi gave us a quick tour of the beautiful home, it’s an open space planned home in contemporary style, which would make Vern Yip pat his shoulder in pride.
++ While, the people with tired old bones ate and relaxed, Tillu and I went to her office, she had to submit her timesheet. Since it was after 5pm on Friday, we thought it would be ok for her to give me a tour of her office too. She works at DEP. Not knowing one of her super’s was around, she went on mention how she hated “wash parties”. We doubted later if he heard it : ) Before u wonder what wash parties are, let me explain – this happens when a few scientists, gather in union to wash all the delicate glass equipment, which are used to analyze algae’s and other pollutants from the precious lakes and water resources of FL. I just loved that term – wash parties, aieh!
++ We barbequed chicken & corn that night and went on talking into wee hours of the am. Since Rama was new kid on the block, it was her time to pay the dues and swear into fraternity and sorority club. We “teased” (to mildly put it ) and asked embarrassing questions, but she did good. First impressions were revealed, some came out with flying colors and some on shaky grounds. Aaanh ! First impressions have many chances, right ! In my opinion, I think Pavan was completely misread…
++ We moved on to waking up late, lunching mexican food and heading to Wakulla Springs to do some bird watching.
++ I loved it. In the balmy heat, we fanned with brochures and took the boat. We spotted Alligators, Manatee’s, Spanish moss on the trees, fishes of zillion kinds in that clear deep water, the sea weeds swaying in the water, birds and ducks, (names that I cant even pronounce), but that I took pics of, the boat moving ahead in the shadow of the old trees with long limbs for branches hanging loose in the sweet breeze. We said “aye aye Captain” and stepped out of the boat.
++ We headed to FSU, which brought back memories of my days at university.
++ After shopping for gifts for the new home buyers and newly weds, we headed to ….yup…Panama City. Though we reached late and made Vamsi run...and after lounging lazily at beach restaurant we played beach volley ball. After a slow start of missed serve’s and ball volleyed out of the court, we gave the amreekan’s and Brazilians a good run, took a long walk on the beach, then few of us got drunk like sailors, blared music from the car and sang loud, and headed home.
++ Then Channing Tatum happened to us in “Step Up”. He is …well check it out yourself. To put it in the best way without hurting anyone's feeling's..he's got some moves to show and darn cute and ...never mind. Just see the movie.
++ The reference of "Dost"....
++Finally, I got to record on camera only the last bit, of our conversations, Vamsi asked the newbie about her first crush and then everyone followed. Jeez, that did it, everyone was on a roll...to tell thier share of stories. It was memorable, everyone telling secrets in the dark, under the moon, with a dim soft light, and the fan blowing to keep the few mosquitos at bay, the sound of laughters followed with silent heart breaks which were all put out and made fun of…ha ha ha. Poor thing, the guys didn’t have much to say :) Vj would reveal all the secrets and Vamsi would try to cover up with masala's and Pavan would break the bubble for them.
Did I tell that Pallavi is an awesome chef ! She did a fine job of displaying her recently acquired talents ; ) Amongst all this, the highlights were the impromptu poetry of Vj, the quick witted jokes of Vamsi, the fave prey for guys and girls – Pavan and Veer the nicest guy in the room. The shared common hyderabadi language was like honey to the ears. Pallavi and I were branded as badmash's, Shalini as "reserved only at first", and ofcourse Rama the "nice, friendly gal".
It’s hard to forget the faces of these four friends stepping back into the airport after one last cigarette together. We girls chimed at the same time, how long and cloudy their faces looked like.
It's always hard to say "good-bye", so in our own ways we hugged and for few a tear escaped our eyes.
While in a small corner of the world, 8 friends lost track of time and were taking one day at a time, the FSU was cheering to have Seminoles win , which they did for the first time in six years, Steve Irwin passed away while doing what he loved best and Bush came out of the closet! nah not that closet but to “acknowledge the existence of secret CIA prisons and said 14 key terrorist suspects have now been sent to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba” (quote bbc.com)
These are just few of the many things that were unraveling for those 5 days. If the mob is reading dont feel shy to add what was the best part for you.
And this year, a gang of six mobbed a cozy place called home in Tallahassee, FL for the Labor day weekend. This home belongs to 2 very special friends, the poet and his inspiration ; ) So met the 8. The world was forgotten and time just bared some of the fun moments for the days to come.
I once read in a Paul Reiser’s book that u’ll know it’s the right person for you when u hold hands and your fingers are entwined in a perfect weave, which feels comfy - not too tight or loose. You’d know it feels just right.
It’s a metaphor that I’m implying that it was like holding hands comfortably for the rest of the days. The chronicles of our nothings began from our--
++ pit stop at Waffle House where the waitress didn’t bring Pavan’s “Just Coffee”, until the rest of us finished eating our hearty b’fast.
++ Our drive to Talahassee, when Pavan was driving and we were hoping he’d take a break from talking to Vamsi and listen to Veer’s directions.
++ Our warm welcome at the Vijay’s home with hot steamy food waiting for us after a drive of 2 hours. Pallavi gave us a quick tour of the beautiful home, it’s an open space planned home in contemporary style, which would make Vern Yip pat his shoulder in pride.
++ While, the people with tired old bones ate and relaxed, Tillu and I went to her office, she had to submit her timesheet. Since it was after 5pm on Friday, we thought it would be ok for her to give me a tour of her office too. She works at DEP. Not knowing one of her super’s was around, she went on mention how she hated “wash parties”. We doubted later if he heard it : ) Before u wonder what wash parties are, let me explain – this happens when a few scientists, gather in union to wash all the delicate glass equipment, which are used to analyze algae’s and other pollutants from the precious lakes and water resources of FL. I just loved that term – wash parties, aieh!
++ We barbequed chicken & corn that night and went on talking into wee hours of the am. Since Rama was new kid on the block, it was her time to pay the dues and swear into fraternity and sorority club. We “teased” (to mildly put it ) and asked embarrassing questions, but she did good. First impressions were revealed, some came out with flying colors and some on shaky grounds. Aaanh ! First impressions have many chances, right ! In my opinion, I think Pavan was completely misread…
++ We moved on to waking up late, lunching mexican food and heading to Wakulla Springs to do some bird watching.
++ I loved it. In the balmy heat, we fanned with brochures and took the boat. We spotted Alligators, Manatee’s, Spanish moss on the trees, fishes of zillion kinds in that clear deep water, the sea weeds swaying in the water, birds and ducks, (names that I cant even pronounce), but that I took pics of, the boat moving ahead in the shadow of the old trees with long limbs for branches hanging loose in the sweet breeze. We said “aye aye Captain” and stepped out of the boat.
++ We headed to FSU, which brought back memories of my days at university.
++ After shopping for gifts for the new home buyers and newly weds, we headed to ….yup…Panama City. Though we reached late and made Vamsi run...and after lounging lazily at beach restaurant we played beach volley ball. After a slow start of missed serve’s and ball volleyed out of the court, we gave the amreekan’s and Brazilians a good run, took a long walk on the beach, then few of us got drunk like sailors, blared music from the car and sang loud, and headed home.
++ Then Channing Tatum happened to us in “Step Up”. He is …well check it out yourself. To put it in the best way without hurting anyone's feeling's..he's got some moves to show and darn cute and ...never mind. Just see the movie.
++ The reference of "Dost"....
++Finally, I got to record on camera only the last bit, of our conversations, Vamsi asked the newbie about her first crush and then everyone followed. Jeez, that did it, everyone was on a roll...to tell thier share of stories. It was memorable, everyone telling secrets in the dark, under the moon, with a dim soft light, and the fan blowing to keep the few mosquitos at bay, the sound of laughters followed with silent heart breaks which were all put out and made fun of…ha ha ha. Poor thing, the guys didn’t have much to say :) Vj would reveal all the secrets and Vamsi would try to cover up with masala's and Pavan would break the bubble for them.
Did I tell that Pallavi is an awesome chef ! She did a fine job of displaying her recently acquired talents ; ) Amongst all this, the highlights were the impromptu poetry of Vj, the quick witted jokes of Vamsi, the fave prey for guys and girls – Pavan and Veer the nicest guy in the room. The shared common hyderabadi language was like honey to the ears. Pallavi and I were branded as badmash's, Shalini as "reserved only at first", and ofcourse Rama the "nice, friendly gal".
It’s hard to forget the faces of these four friends stepping back into the airport after one last cigarette together. We girls chimed at the same time, how long and cloudy their faces looked like.
It's always hard to say "good-bye", so in our own ways we hugged and for few a tear escaped our eyes.
While in a small corner of the world, 8 friends lost track of time and were taking one day at a time, the FSU was cheering to have Seminoles win , which they did for the first time in six years, Steve Irwin passed away while doing what he loved best and Bush came out of the closet! nah not that closet but to “acknowledge the existence of secret CIA prisons and said 14 key terrorist suspects have now been sent to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba” (quote bbc.com)
These are just few of the many things that were unraveling for those 5 days. If the mob is reading dont feel shy to add what was the best part for you.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Is it good to be back !
Wow! Our vacation to Tallahassee was a blast, with a capital B. I’ve so much to say, so much to share, I don’t know where to begin, who to start with and where to finish. Right now, in a numb state of mind, I yawn…looking at my lifeless monitor, a cold foam cuppa tea, and an empty creased wrap of my breakfast bar are all staring back at me, wondering if I could be any more humdrum… woof! see now I’m imagining things talking back to me…..all I wish is some more of all that we had and have.
As we speak, I think the helpdesk is working on my SAP login issues. They can take their time, coz I’m in no hurry…tune back for more, y’all, I ain’t done even beginning.
As we speak, I think the helpdesk is working on my SAP login issues. They can take their time, coz I’m in no hurry…tune back for more, y’all, I ain’t done even beginning.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
LinkWithin
