I saw this quote the other day which I really liked.. It goes like this...
The skeptic tries to explain why belief in something is irrational. The observer asks the skeptic, “So then why should I believe you and not them?” The skeptic replies, “Don’t.”
Monday, December 26, 2005
Friday, December 23, 2005
UNROMANTIC BE DAMNED!!
My sister is currently in a rather worthwhile quest. She hunts every nook and cranny for her long remembered - less encountered friends to invite to her wedding which is in February. Her visit to Bangalore serves the dual purpose of spending time with her beloved younger sister and distributing invitations.
The other day I accompanied her when she met up with her friend and his wife. The four of us went out for a coffee and tiffin at a place called Brindavan Hotel at MG Road. One of those typically Southie restaurants with long acrylic wood tables and identical chairs with fans running high above in the ceiling and waiters with those funny caps on their heads, matching their uniforms and a small sized towel slung on one shoulder. Get the pitcure?
Well her friends were very nice. A very sweet, not long married couple who seemed to talk lots and laugh even more. There I was, unusually silent, observing thier conversation when something the husband said absolutely got my gall!@!@*!! My sister was telling them " I wont take much of your time. You guys can make it to a quiet and romantic dinner for two after this at some good restaurant" when the husband replied " chae!!chae!! We never go out like that and all Ramya. We both are very unromantic. We are not into such romantic outings ". I was quite tempted to at that moment hit him in the eye and say " Speak for yourself, dude!!!". I was quite stunned at the assumption he just made that his wife would not like any romantic gestures. Give me a break! I doubt there is any girl who would not like her guy to get just a tad bit romantic atleast on occasions. A girl who does not like to be taken out for dinner and to use the quite familiar phrase 'wined and dined'. Newly married at that!
At that instant, I couldn't help but wonder.Are there really a lot of guys who actually presume that a girl does not like to be wooed? That a little bit of caring would be too amiss?? If there are,all I can think of telling them is "How presumptious can you get in just assuming that a girl would like things to be completely prosaic as you do??"Doesn't it strike them that the girl might secretly long for ( yet never admit) a little bit of that extra hint of caring?
Unromantic Husbands be damned!!!
The other day I accompanied her when she met up with her friend and his wife. The four of us went out for a coffee and tiffin at a place called Brindavan Hotel at MG Road. One of those typically Southie restaurants with long acrylic wood tables and identical chairs with fans running high above in the ceiling and waiters with those funny caps on their heads, matching their uniforms and a small sized towel slung on one shoulder. Get the pitcure?
Well her friends were very nice. A very sweet, not long married couple who seemed to talk lots and laugh even more. There I was, unusually silent, observing thier conversation when something the husband said absolutely got my gall!@!@*!! My sister was telling them " I wont take much of your time. You guys can make it to a quiet and romantic dinner for two after this at some good restaurant" when the husband replied " chae!!chae!! We never go out like that and all Ramya. We both are very unromantic. We are not into such romantic outings ". I was quite tempted to at that moment hit him in the eye and say " Speak for yourself, dude!!!". I was quite stunned at the assumption he just made that his wife would not like any romantic gestures. Give me a break! I doubt there is any girl who would not like her guy to get just a tad bit romantic atleast on occasions. A girl who does not like to be taken out for dinner and to use the quite familiar phrase 'wined and dined'. Newly married at that!
At that instant, I couldn't help but wonder.Are there really a lot of guys who actually presume that a girl does not like to be wooed? That a little bit of caring would be too amiss?? If there are,all I can think of telling them is "How presumptious can you get in just assuming that a girl would like things to be completely prosaic as you do??"Doesn't it strike them that the girl might secretly long for ( yet never admit) a little bit of that extra hint of caring?
Unromantic Husbands be damned!!!
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
A VISIT TO TIRUPATI
On Saturday, my sister and I decided to make an impromptu visit to Tirumala. We boarded a volvo at Majestic at around 9.30 in the morning. We reached Tirupati at about 3.30. After buying tickets for a Darshan we started our climb. It took us about 4 hours to reach the top, but was absolutely worth it. The mountains in the dark were tinted red with the setting sun and cool breeze washed itself against our faces. It was beautiful.
On reaching we booked a room. When we went to collect the key, I made a rather terrible faux paus. The guy at the counter asked us " Are there men?" in telugu. Not to be proved any inferior, I decided to reply back in Telugu. I said "Odhu" ( No in my dictionary). He jerked his head upward stalling in whatever he was writing and said "What?". Deciding that he was rather deaf I repeated "Odhu". He looked rather stunned and my sister was suddenly jerking me back. I turned to her and said " Did I say anything wrong? What does Odhu mean?". With a very embarassed smile directed towards the counter guy she whispered to me "It means Dont Want". I was like "Oh" and then burst out into paroxyms of laughter. Luckily the guy at the counter seemed to have a decent sense of humour. He smiled and gave us the key.This was probably at around 9.00 in the night.
When we went to the room, much to our misfortune the loo was disgusting, the room not cleaned and the mattresses were damp. After much debating we decided that god would certainly forgive us if we didn't stay for a Darshan. We immediately returned the key where we had a lively argument with the counter guy, refusing to pay cash for cleaning the room. Saw no reason to. It had not been cleaned for us. We saw no reason to pay when we had not even occupied the rooms. We then went to the office to collect our caution deposit. The young punk at that counter actually demanded 10 bucks to give us back our CD. My sis was all set to pay it, when I just turned to her and was like " Forget it. There is no way we are paying a bribe in Tirumala!!!". Grabbed the money from the punk's hand and ran out of the place. We then boarded a bus to Tirupati and from there took another bus back to Bangalore at arount 11.30 in the night to reach at 5.30 in the morning.
We were feeling extremely guilty for not having had a Darshan so had a bath and left for a Balaji temple at Domlur to assauge our guilt. End of a trip which was a series of unfortunate/fortunate events!!!!!
On reaching we booked a room. When we went to collect the key, I made a rather terrible faux paus. The guy at the counter asked us " Are there men?" in telugu. Not to be proved any inferior, I decided to reply back in Telugu. I said "Odhu" ( No in my dictionary). He jerked his head upward stalling in whatever he was writing and said "What?". Deciding that he was rather deaf I repeated "Odhu". He looked rather stunned and my sister was suddenly jerking me back. I turned to her and said " Did I say anything wrong? What does Odhu mean?". With a very embarassed smile directed towards the counter guy she whispered to me "It means Dont Want". I was like "Oh" and then burst out into paroxyms of laughter. Luckily the guy at the counter seemed to have a decent sense of humour. He smiled and gave us the key.This was probably at around 9.00 in the night.
When we went to the room, much to our misfortune the loo was disgusting, the room not cleaned and the mattresses were damp. After much debating we decided that god would certainly forgive us if we didn't stay for a Darshan. We immediately returned the key where we had a lively argument with the counter guy, refusing to pay cash for cleaning the room. Saw no reason to. It had not been cleaned for us. We saw no reason to pay when we had not even occupied the rooms. We then went to the office to collect our caution deposit. The young punk at that counter actually demanded 10 bucks to give us back our CD. My sis was all set to pay it, when I just turned to her and was like " Forget it. There is no way we are paying a bribe in Tirumala!!!". Grabbed the money from the punk's hand and ran out of the place. We then boarded a bus to Tirupati and from there took another bus back to Bangalore at arount 11.30 in the night to reach at 5.30 in the morning.
We were feeling extremely guilty for not having had a Darshan so had a bath and left for a Balaji temple at Domlur to assauge our guilt. End of a trip which was a series of unfortunate/fortunate events!!!!!
Thursday, December 08, 2005
LADY SUSAN
I just finished reading this book.
Lady Susan is one of Jane Austen's rare unpublished works. It was written in an epistolary fashion ( letters of correspondence - I know!! I was like what???? too : ) ). Bibilomania claims that though Austen completed writing the novel , it was never published because the vogue of writing books in an epistolary fashion was long past.
I disagree.
One of Jane Austen's most famous masterpieces, Pride and Prejudice , was originally written in the form of letters and was titled 'First Impressions'. After her publisher declined to publish it, she re-wrote and transformed it into the ever famous, ever lasting and ever impressing 'Pride and Prejudice' which ranks as one of my favourite books. If she could rewrite 'Pride and Prejudice' why could she not 'Lady Susan'?
Probably because of the simplicity of the theme which would have been quite unremarkable in the regular tried and dried style of writing. I speculate. I do not judge.
But anyways, Lady Susan did deserve to be published. The self titled protagonist of this novel 'Lady Susan' is quite deliciously wicked. Not in the style of Scarlett in 'Gone with the Wind'( you end up Empathizing with her , never SYMPATHETIC-that would be the biggest insult to Scarlett!), but more malicious, more conniving and just as unconcerned with the results of her trifling with the lives of the people around her. A manipulative bitch in simple terms. : ) .
Her character,her actions are portrayed in a fantastic manner; unfortunately, to the exclusion of all other characters in the novel. Therein lies the weakness of this novel. Unlike her other novels where every character is clearly dilineated and given an individuality that could quite easily carry itself outside the lines of the novel , here, most of the characters are held firmly in place strictly by the storyline. They could never survive outside the book.The end too seemed a little abrupt. Expected, but abrupt.
Yet, Lady Susan is a book worth a read and a sigh of admiration as it's very language, description and predictable irony is so purely 'Jane Austen'.
Lady Susan is one of Jane Austen's rare unpublished works. It was written in an epistolary fashion ( letters of correspondence - I know!! I was like what???? too : ) ). Bibilomania claims that though Austen completed writing the novel , it was never published because the vogue of writing books in an epistolary fashion was long past.
I disagree.
One of Jane Austen's most famous masterpieces, Pride and Prejudice , was originally written in the form of letters and was titled 'First Impressions'. After her publisher declined to publish it, she re-wrote and transformed it into the ever famous, ever lasting and ever impressing 'Pride and Prejudice' which ranks as one of my favourite books. If she could rewrite 'Pride and Prejudice' why could she not 'Lady Susan'?
Probably because of the simplicity of the theme which would have been quite unremarkable in the regular tried and dried style of writing. I speculate. I do not judge.
But anyways, Lady Susan did deserve to be published. The self titled protagonist of this novel 'Lady Susan' is quite deliciously wicked. Not in the style of Scarlett in 'Gone with the Wind'( you end up Empathizing with her , never SYMPATHETIC-that would be the biggest insult to Scarlett!), but more malicious, more conniving and just as unconcerned with the results of her trifling with the lives of the people around her. A manipulative bitch in simple terms. : ) .
Her character,her actions are portrayed in a fantastic manner; unfortunately, to the exclusion of all other characters in the novel. Therein lies the weakness of this novel. Unlike her other novels where every character is clearly dilineated and given an individuality that could quite easily carry itself outside the lines of the novel , here, most of the characters are held firmly in place strictly by the storyline. They could never survive outside the book.The end too seemed a little abrupt. Expected, but abrupt.
Yet, Lady Susan is a book worth a read and a sigh of admiration as it's very language, description and predictable irony is so purely 'Jane Austen'.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
TO WHOMSOEVER IT MAY CONCERN...
To whomsoever it concerns
I hereby solemnly pledge that the below stated facts are true to the best of my knowledge -
1. I hereby reiterate that I have indeed completed by Bachelors of Engineering and am not a III std pass, leave alone a XIIth pass as you seem to presume me to be.
2. I also believe myself to have completed my Engineering degree in Computer Science.
3. Further more I do indeed know how to operate a computer and do NOT require a step by step manual on how to switch it on and be taught how to use a WORD document or how to fill in numbers in an Excel sheet.
4, Oh, I also do know my numbers of 1-9 and have indeed learn how to add, subtract, multiply and divide contrary to your inability to believe so.
4. I also declare myself to not have an IQ of -141.
5. In the certainty of your disbelief, I request you to approach the Human Resource Department and obtain a copy of my resume and photocopies of my original university and school certificates( oh, my!! they do exist!!) which attests to the afore mentioned facts.
Thanks and Regards,
Deepti
I hereby solemnly pledge that the below stated facts are true to the best of my knowledge -
1. I hereby reiterate that I have indeed completed by Bachelors of Engineering and am not a III std pass, leave alone a XIIth pass as you seem to presume me to be.
2. I also believe myself to have completed my Engineering degree in Computer Science.
3. Further more I do indeed know how to operate a computer and do NOT require a step by step manual on how to switch it on and be taught how to use a WORD document or how to fill in numbers in an Excel sheet.
4, Oh, I also do know my numbers of 1-9 and have indeed learn how to add, subtract, multiply and divide contrary to your inability to believe so.
4. I also declare myself to not have an IQ of -141.
5. In the certainty of your disbelief, I request you to approach the Human Resource Department and obtain a copy of my resume and photocopies of my original university and school certificates( oh, my!! they do exist!!) which attests to the afore mentioned facts.
Thanks and Regards,
Deepti
Monday, December 05, 2005
DEDICATED TO ALL BOOK LOVERS!
A friend of mine sent me a link to an article that expresses what i totally feel in words i could not even begin to frame! It's fantastic...
http://www.hindu.com/lr/2005/12/04/stories/2005120400270600.htm
http://www.hindu.com/lr/2005/12/04/stories/2005120400270600.htm
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
SAL DAY!!!! :)
The last day of the month is just like a Friday!! The excitement that you feel every Friday, when you know that the weekend is just around the corner is just amazing!It's the same delight that you get the last day of every month when you know that your salary is going to get credited to your account!
To be precise I have exactly Rs 65 in one account and Rs 74 in the other right now ( The amounts can't even be withdrawn at an ATM!!) . But I really could not give a damn. Because i know , I can feel the money that will be mine tomorrow! And that sure does leave me grinning away to glory already counting the many ways I will spend what will be mine!! I got this adorable forward today that quite describes my state!! It had two pitcures. One title TODAY BEFORE SALARY where there was this rather pathetic starved dog with a begging bowl in front of it . The other picture titled TOMORROW AFTER SALARY had a dog with a rather contented smirk across its face reclining on cushions hugging a pack of cup cakes. The minute I looked at these pictures I was struck with a profound sense of deja vu. A strange sense of affinity and kinship!! Ah.. to what extents the mighty do fall!! Living with my dad was easier on the pocket, definitely!!
To be precise I have exactly Rs 65 in one account and Rs 74 in the other right now ( The amounts can't even be withdrawn at an ATM!!) . But I really could not give a damn. Because i know , I can feel the money that will be mine tomorrow! And that sure does leave me grinning away to glory already counting the many ways I will spend what will be mine!! I got this adorable forward today that quite describes my state!! It had two pitcures. One title TODAY BEFORE SALARY where there was this rather pathetic starved dog with a begging bowl in front of it . The other picture titled TOMORROW AFTER SALARY had a dog with a rather contented smirk across its face reclining on cushions hugging a pack of cup cakes. The minute I looked at these pictures I was struck with a profound sense of deja vu. A strange sense of affinity and kinship!! Ah.. to what extents the mighty do fall!! Living with my dad was easier on the pocket, definitely!!
Friday, November 18, 2005
THE DONKEY
When I was in a school, I had this amazing teacher called Nalini Parthiban. Most people found her incredibly boring. She was. She lived in a world of her own where every molecule surrounding her was fascinated by literature. When she would start talking about a particular writer, a book or a poem that fascinated her ,her eyes would light up, a delighted smile would settle on her face and she would start gesturing rapidly. The very sight of such passion made me love her. Love the depth to which she loved literature. Admired her ability to dissect any obscure piece of writing, analyse and hunt every single hidden meaning within what seemed quite cut and dried. I remember this one instance which happened probably when I was in the IXth. I had read a poem by G.K Chesterton which I had found quite enchanting. The language, the rhyme, the sheer descriptiveness of the poem captivated me. When I went up to Nalini and showed her the poem , she directed her delighted smile at me and said "Yes, this is an extremely good poem by Chesterton. But do you know what it means?". I was flumoxed. I had never thought about what the poem meant. When she explained it to me, from being enchanted, I fell deeply in love with the poem. It was such a simple poem but had such a sweet meaning behind it. I'll post the poem now and leave anyone reading this to guess the meaning.
THE DONKEY
G.K. Chesterton
When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood
Then surely I was born;
With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,
The devil's walking parody
On all four-footed things.
The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.
Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet.
G.K. Chesterton
When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood
Then surely I was born;
With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,
The devil's walking parody
On all four-footed things.
The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.
Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME !!
I'ts my Birthday today. I turn twenty two. But somehow the thought does not leave me one bit excited. Somehow I can't fathom anything special. To be honest I find the day quite depressing.
When i was a kid I had an obsession for birthdays. November 6th was always the most exciting day of my life. I used to adore the attention, the fun and most importantly the gifts. When the day passed and it turned November 7th , I would immediately start a countdown to my next birthday. My dad and brother always said that 'Deepti has 365 friends for 365 birthdyas'.I think as a kid I probably lived for birthdays. Especially mine.
I would have those traditional birthday parties with a cake, streamers and balloons decking the house, a new dress and lots of friends and relatives bearing gifts for me, :) I remember this one instance where I refused to allow a cousin of mine to my party because he had not brought any present for me. I was like 'Giri! Don't you know that you are supposed to bring the birthday girl a gift? I can't allow you to my party'. Quite the precocious one, wasn't I?
My brother would in the night take me for a walk and buy me a pack of phantom sweet cigarettes ( I adored that stuff!!) as a birthday gift. And I would be so thrilled!It would be the final icing to a wonderful day.
Once you grow older the way you celebrate them turns different. Now its more of going out for lunch and dinner with friends and family. Its still enjoyable but so much more sober. Lacks the adrenalin surge and the excitement that traditional birthday parties with gallons of presents would offer. That wonderful feeling of being the most important person in the world that day.
Anyway, Happy Birthday to me.
When i was a kid I had an obsession for birthdays. November 6th was always the most exciting day of my life. I used to adore the attention, the fun and most importantly the gifts. When the day passed and it turned November 7th , I would immediately start a countdown to my next birthday. My dad and brother always said that 'Deepti has 365 friends for 365 birthdyas'.I think as a kid I probably lived for birthdays. Especially mine.
I would have those traditional birthday parties with a cake, streamers and balloons decking the house, a new dress and lots of friends and relatives bearing gifts for me, :) I remember this one instance where I refused to allow a cousin of mine to my party because he had not brought any present for me. I was like 'Giri! Don't you know that you are supposed to bring the birthday girl a gift? I can't allow you to my party'. Quite the precocious one, wasn't I?
My brother would in the night take me for a walk and buy me a pack of phantom sweet cigarettes ( I adored that stuff!!) as a birthday gift. And I would be so thrilled!It would be the final icing to a wonderful day.
Once you grow older the way you celebrate them turns different. Now its more of going out for lunch and dinner with friends and family. Its still enjoyable but so much more sober. Lacks the adrenalin surge and the excitement that traditional birthday parties with gallons of presents would offer. That wonderful feeling of being the most important person in the world that day.
Anyway, Happy Birthday to me.
Monday, October 31, 2005
DRIVE SAFE..!!!
I left to Hyderabad from Bangalore on the 27th night.All set to enjoy my four day Diwali vacation. The season being a hectic one, and me having not booked my tickets two months in advance had to travel by bus. Fact is , I hate travelling by bus. Especially if it is an overnight journey. My bus which was supposed to leave at 9.30 dilly dallyed waiting for some passengers and finally left at 10.15. After a rather bumpy journey, at around 8.15 in the morning we were finally about 50 kms from Hyderabad when we got stuck in a traffic jam. The reason? A bus travelling from Bangalore had collided with a truck coming in the opposite direction.A headlong collision.End result?
Five people died instantaneously.
The bus had been trying to overtake the bus ahead of it when due to brake failure it collided against the lorry. The bus I was travelling on was about 10 buses behind the one that collided. A couple of people in my bus were completely spooked out. They could not help but keep repeating "Oh my god! I normally travel by that bus. It's just that this time I could not get tickets to come by that". The fear of disaster. The fear of death. The eeriest fear that one can come across. It is the only one unexplained, unexpected and irreversible.
And the only thing it can leave you saying is "If only.....".
Everyday in the papers we read about people dying in automobile accidents. Yes, I know. There have been more terrible disasters happening lately. The bomb blasts , the train in AP that derailed killing hundreds, the floods that have inundated our entire country.... the list goes on. But fact remains that there are certain things that are within our control.
You cannot say that you will not go to markets and thereby avoid bomb blasts. You cannot just lock yourself in your homes and say I will not travel by planes or by trains. But you definitely can drive a lot more safely.
About a year ago a friend of mine and me went speeding in the morning till tears were involuntarily dripping from my eyes. The thrill of it all was.... beyond fantastic! But in retrospective , I can't help but feel , was it necessary? What if we had skidded to deformity if not death? The oft used and tired slogan 'Speed thrills but kills' is more appropriate than it has been given credit for.
There is so much of tragedy in life that cannot be averted. So much of pain and suffering that we must need experience. Yet so much of tragedy we can avert just by driving safe. Just by deciding to not speed through life.
Drive Safe.
Five people died instantaneously.
The bus had been trying to overtake the bus ahead of it when due to brake failure it collided against the lorry. The bus I was travelling on was about 10 buses behind the one that collided. A couple of people in my bus were completely spooked out. They could not help but keep repeating "Oh my god! I normally travel by that bus. It's just that this time I could not get tickets to come by that". The fear of disaster. The fear of death. The eeriest fear that one can come across. It is the only one unexplained, unexpected and irreversible.
And the only thing it can leave you saying is "If only.....".
Everyday in the papers we read about people dying in automobile accidents. Yes, I know. There have been more terrible disasters happening lately. The bomb blasts , the train in AP that derailed killing hundreds, the floods that have inundated our entire country.... the list goes on. But fact remains that there are certain things that are within our control.
You cannot say that you will not go to markets and thereby avoid bomb blasts. You cannot just lock yourself in your homes and say I will not travel by planes or by trains. But you definitely can drive a lot more safely.
About a year ago a friend of mine and me went speeding in the morning till tears were involuntarily dripping from my eyes. The thrill of it all was.... beyond fantastic! But in retrospective , I can't help but feel , was it necessary? What if we had skidded to deformity if not death? The oft used and tired slogan 'Speed thrills but kills' is more appropriate than it has been given credit for.
There is so much of tragedy in life that cannot be averted. So much of pain and suffering that we must need experience. Yet so much of tragedy we can avert just by driving safe. Just by deciding to not speed through life.
Drive Safe.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
THE BATTLE OF CHANGE Vs CONSTANCY
Sometimes in life you take decisions that end up steering your ship in a completely different direction. I like that. For all my life I have always moved in whatever the direction the wind has taken me. Change they say is inevitable. But we always tend to resist it. The harmony of living with constancy in our life is something most of us yearn for. The unknown is something best undiscovered. I am no different. For all my life the only times I have not berated change is when it has been inevitable. Never have I actively sought for it. The one time I did was two months back when I opted to move to Bangalore. Most might regard it as nothing but a step as tiny as that of toddler.There are people who have dared to travel farther and plunge into the forbidden seas. But for someone like me moving out of home and living in a different city, away from family, friends and the known faces of unknown strangers was more close to being a leap. A giant leap. The first week was rather hard to take. I spent nearly every waking moment wondering if I had taken the wrong decision. Should I have opted to live in Chennai? Did I really have to leave all things familiar to plunge myself into the unknown, not pushed; but of my own free will? Its been three weeks now. And I'm slowly starting to settle down. Slowly but surely. The doubts will never be gone. But they stop to plague me. And the important part of it all is that I am proud of myself. Proud of the fact that I let things change. Proud that i let myself resist constancy . It might sound like something too paltry to be proud of . But for me it comes close to an achievement. For having finally dared to steer my own ship, suddently I dont want to let it go anymore.
Monday, August 15, 2005
THE INDIAN INDEPENDENCE
It’s been fifty eight year since we got our independence. Right now I am extremely busy with all the packing that I need to finish, ensuring that I am not leaving anything behind, and all that tiny last minute shopping that revolves around your head, screaming “Do it. Do it. Do it”. Nike... I’m sorry, Power shoes (let’s not get globalised today and remain rooted in India), would be thrilled by my advertisement of its catch phrase.
Anyway, the reason I mentioned my packing is that I have no time to either eulogise our country for all it has achieved or deride it for what it has not. Instead, decided to post a poem about India which I wrote 8 years ago when I was 13.Very immature but not bad for a 13year old.
THE BLOSSOMING TREE
All you people I ask you to see
Is it right to live in disunity
in a wonderful country like this
which tries providing nothing but bliss
Our forefathers have nurtured it from a seed
To a tree whom every one of us need
It's a lovely country we live in
To let it die now would be a sin
The flowers of this tree were always lovely
blossoming in all colours whatever they may be
With dew shimmering on it early in the morn
When no face lived who at this would scorn
The fruits of this tree were wonderful to eat
They were neither too bitter nor too sweet
Just enough to satisfy ones soul
'cause love it gave but never stole
The lilting melodies of the leaves were clear
And every ear in the world would turn to hear
Enthralled in a new light life would shine
And to hear it again every heart would pine
But now these leaves are drooping down
And the harshness of the water has made the flowers drown
Clouds filled with tears still do cry
Not of happiness but for those who die
In the 50th year of Indian independence
Let us make a vow of peace and keep it from hence
For the fruits have rot but seeds can be seen
Which when sown will reap an India;
blossoming; the tree it had been.......
By
Deepti Ravi
August'97
Anyway, the reason I mentioned my packing is that I have no time to either eulogise our country for all it has achieved or deride it for what it has not. Instead, decided to post a poem about India which I wrote 8 years ago when I was 13.Very immature but not bad for a 13year old.
THE BLOSSOMING TREE
All you people I ask you to see
Is it right to live in disunity
in a wonderful country like this
which tries providing nothing but bliss
Our forefathers have nurtured it from a seed
To a tree whom every one of us need
It's a lovely country we live in
To let it die now would be a sin
The flowers of this tree were always lovely
blossoming in all colours whatever they may be
With dew shimmering on it early in the morn
When no face lived who at this would scorn
The fruits of this tree were wonderful to eat
They were neither too bitter nor too sweet
Just enough to satisfy ones soul
'cause love it gave but never stole
The lilting melodies of the leaves were clear
And every ear in the world would turn to hear
Enthralled in a new light life would shine
And to hear it again every heart would pine
But now these leaves are drooping down
And the harshness of the water has made the flowers drown
Clouds filled with tears still do cry
Not of happiness but for those who die
In the 50th year of Indian independence
Let us make a vow of peace and keep it from hence
For the fruits have rot but seeds can be seen
Which when sown will reap an India;
blossoming; the tree it had been.......
By
Deepti Ravi
August'97
GIBBERISH FROM THE HALF DEAD
Have you ever tried to control yourself from sleeping? I don’t mean the heroic utterings of “ I shall keep awake all night!” but those moments be it night or day when your eyes start feeling heavy, a languor creeps over you and your lids begin to shut. And just as they do, you jerk awake and open them again. It’s more a losing battle, actually. You versus your eyelids. They succeed more often that you do. But then I guess you do know. Anyone who has had an education would vouch for having experienced this.
Take me for example. The reason I write this blog right now, is because I suffer from the self same malady. So please excuse any excess of mediocrity. Do not rush to your nearest police station or make frantic calls to my dad in an attempt to inform them/him that I have been abducted and all my passwords have been stolen. Shall I tell you a secret? It’s something that I should not be saying on the internet because hackers might take note of it and cause irrevocable harm to me. Don’t ask me “What irrevocable?”. I don’t know. I just used the word because it sounded real good there. Anyway, I was talking about controlling sleep the way I desperately am right now. It’s a good thing that I type very fast. The one satisfaction I derive from it is that were the IT boom to become a bomb I would at least have a back up career . The other I can type what I am typing with my eyes closed. Isn’t that nice?
Controlling sleep. When I was in the 10th std, I had a fantastic chemistry teacher. She was extremely knowledgeable and explained concepts exceedingly well. Still, that didn’t prevent my eyes from closing. The sad thing about your eyes closing is that opening them again is an arduous and seemingly Herculean task. On the other hand, were you to give into the temptation and close your eyes, your desire for sleep would either vanish or just as you would give up and succumb to the ‘Draught of Soporia’, you would be caught by your professor for sleeping. At least I was. Not once. Many times. I used to sometimes sleep during sleepovers when the conversation would start become interesting. I would be responding to whatever my friends would be saying ( sometimes utter irrelevant crap) when suddenly I would drop off. My friends would find it exhausting. But then the ability to control sleep requires either genius or some trick in the book. If it is a trick in the book, don’t loan it to me. Gift it.
The worst part about feeling sleepy is that you end up writing gibberish in your answer papers.I had a civil exam to write.. And I wrote the lyrics of Hindi songs in my answer sheet. I know people have been known to have written their life story in their answer sheets. But that they do when they don’t know the answer at all. This I did when I knew the answer but my mind was quite detached from my fingers. Anyway, need to sign out so as to write some better stuff next for which I have a ‘requiem for sleep’. If it weren’t for the delete button I don’t know where this article would have gone. Forgive me for this piece of trash.
Take me for example. The reason I write this blog right now, is because I suffer from the self same malady. So please excuse any excess of mediocrity. Do not rush to your nearest police station or make frantic calls to my dad in an attempt to inform them/him that I have been abducted and all my passwords have been stolen. Shall I tell you a secret? It’s something that I should not be saying on the internet because hackers might take note of it and cause irrevocable harm to me. Don’t ask me “What irrevocable?”. I don’t know. I just used the word because it sounded real good there. Anyway, I was talking about controlling sleep the way I desperately am right now. It’s a good thing that I type very fast. The one satisfaction I derive from it is that were the IT boom to become a bomb I would at least have a back up career . The other I can type what I am typing with my eyes closed. Isn’t that nice?
Controlling sleep. When I was in the 10th std, I had a fantastic chemistry teacher. She was extremely knowledgeable and explained concepts exceedingly well. Still, that didn’t prevent my eyes from closing. The sad thing about your eyes closing is that opening them again is an arduous and seemingly Herculean task. On the other hand, were you to give into the temptation and close your eyes, your desire for sleep would either vanish or just as you would give up and succumb to the ‘Draught of Soporia’, you would be caught by your professor for sleeping. At least I was. Not once. Many times. I used to sometimes sleep during sleepovers when the conversation would start become interesting. I would be responding to whatever my friends would be saying ( sometimes utter irrelevant crap) when suddenly I would drop off. My friends would find it exhausting. But then the ability to control sleep requires either genius or some trick in the book. If it is a trick in the book, don’t loan it to me. Gift it.
The worst part about feeling sleepy is that you end up writing gibberish in your answer papers.I had a civil exam to write.. And I wrote the lyrics of Hindi songs in my answer sheet. I know people have been known to have written their life story in their answer sheets. But that they do when they don’t know the answer at all. This I did when I knew the answer but my mind was quite detached from my fingers. Anyway, need to sign out so as to write some better stuff next for which I have a ‘requiem for sleep’. If it weren’t for the delete button I don’t know where this article would have gone. Forgive me for this piece of trash.
Saturday, August 13, 2005
THE CRACK ON MY WALL
There is a crack on my wall. It’s not a small crack and it’s not the only one. But this particular crack seldom fails to get on my nerves. I had it painted once. But it would not be deterred. Within a couple of months the paint on it flaked and it appeared again. What makes it even more irksome is that it has some gibberish scrawled across it. I did not scribble on that wall. It was my nephew. A boy, I think, who fancies himself to be Pablo Picasso creating ‘Guernica’. It was four years ago, when in a burst of inspiration he decided to decorate (or was that desecrate?) the wall. I was sorely tempted to box his ears. Unfortunately, the fact that my cousin sister, his mother was also staying with us then made me desist. I was not too keen to have my ears boxed, which is what would have happened if I had succumbed to temptation.
I deviate. I was talking about the crack on the wall, not about the scribbling on it. Remember the earthquake that hit Chennai some years ago? No one died. No buildings fell. Actually, nothing happened. It was more the novelty, of being an earthquake in Chennai that made it hit the news. Well, that day I was lying on my bed reading a novel when suddenly my bed started to shake. For a second I thought I was hallucinating. Then I sat up and stared at the walls. Realized that the walls were trembling too! My reflex action is not too reflexive. It behaves more like an afterthought. After a few seconds of contemplating whether or not to crawl under the bed, I remembered that my grandmother was in the house too. So I went to her room and there she was, sitting on the bed, her fists clenched together, white as a sheet. When she saw me, she immediately asked “Is it just me? Or do you feel it too?” She was petrified that this was the sign of impending death. My grandmother was 92 back then. So I can’t really blame her for thinking so. I said “No Patti, It’s an earthquake”. She said “Oh, ok. Fine. “. I could see the colour seeping back into her face.
Once the tremors stopped and I decided it was quite safe I went to my balcony. I live in the second floor. I could see almost every person from my apartments standing on the road. I could hear them discussing the earthquake each one interjecting the other. Exclamations of horror, secretly tinged with excitement. I watched them for a few seconds wondering what they found so fascinating about the earthquake that they had to; en masse gather to discuss it for so long (It was more than an hour that they stood there for). Later I would rue my stupidity. Aren’t everyone supposed to get out of high rise buildings the microsecond they feel an earthquake?
Anyway, I deviate. The reason I mentioned (Didn’t it seem longer than mentioning?) the earthquake was that I believe that it was this earthquake that caused the crack to form on the wall. The crack I so detest.
I deviate. I was talking about the crack on the wall, not about the scribbling on it. Remember the earthquake that hit Chennai some years ago? No one died. No buildings fell. Actually, nothing happened. It was more the novelty, of being an earthquake in Chennai that made it hit the news. Well, that day I was lying on my bed reading a novel when suddenly my bed started to shake. For a second I thought I was hallucinating. Then I sat up and stared at the walls. Realized that the walls were trembling too! My reflex action is not too reflexive. It behaves more like an afterthought. After a few seconds of contemplating whether or not to crawl under the bed, I remembered that my grandmother was in the house too. So I went to her room and there she was, sitting on the bed, her fists clenched together, white as a sheet. When she saw me, she immediately asked “Is it just me? Or do you feel it too?” She was petrified that this was the sign of impending death. My grandmother was 92 back then. So I can’t really blame her for thinking so. I said “No Patti, It’s an earthquake”. She said “Oh, ok. Fine. “. I could see the colour seeping back into her face.
Once the tremors stopped and I decided it was quite safe I went to my balcony. I live in the second floor. I could see almost every person from my apartments standing on the road. I could hear them discussing the earthquake each one interjecting the other. Exclamations of horror, secretly tinged with excitement. I watched them for a few seconds wondering what they found so fascinating about the earthquake that they had to; en masse gather to discuss it for so long (It was more than an hour that they stood there for). Later I would rue my stupidity. Aren’t everyone supposed to get out of high rise buildings the microsecond they feel an earthquake?
Anyway, I deviate. The reason I mentioned (Didn’t it seem longer than mentioning?) the earthquake was that I believe that it was this earthquake that caused the crack to form on the wall. The crack I so detest.
Monday, August 08, 2005
THE SUDOKU CRAZE!!
2 weeks back, as usual in the morning my dad woke up and rushed to the balcony with his steaming hot coffee in one hand and the morning newspaper clutched in the other.I,just as any other day,had to wait till he finished. In the evening, when having dinner I remarked to him about the bombing in Egypt killing 80 odd people.With a striken look on his face, he leapt from the table,exclaiming "Is it?" and rushed to pick the paper and read the headlines.I was like "Dad,you monopolised the paper for so long this morning.How in the world did you miss the headlines?". For which he said with a very sheepish look on his face "I am getting so addicted to Sudoko that i forgot to read the paper.Directly skipped to the last page to solve it..".All for the love of Sudoku!
Sunday, August 07, 2005
PARSLEY IS GHARSLEY ! ( Part Two)
Read Part One ..Candy is Dandy first...
Didn’t have the heart to cut Ogden Nash short. Decided to keep you rolling on the floor with laughter, by adding on some extracts from his most hilarious poems and limericks.
This one which is one of his best is can you believe it , about standing without purpose on the road?
One of the hardest explanations to be found
Is an explanation for just standing around.
Anyone just standing around looks pretty sinister,
Even a minister;
………………………………..
Well, should any official ask you why you are just standing around,
………………………………..
Well, should any official ask you why you are just standing around,
Do you wish you could simply sink into the ground?
My dear sir, do not embarrassed, do not reach for your gun or your knife,
Remember the password, which, uttered in a tone of quiet despair,
is the explanation of anyone's standing around anywhere
at any hour for any length of time: "I'm waiting for my wife."
A few of his limericks about animals.
The cow is of bovine ilk;
at any hour for any length of time: "I'm waiting for my wife."
A few of his limericks about animals.
The cow is of bovine ilk;
One end is moo, the other is milk
The ant has made himself illustrious
So what?
Would you be calm and placid,
If you were full of formic acid?
Ogden Nash also gets credit to having written the shortest poem ever.
Purity is obscurity.
On parents. This is a high five to all kids.
Children aren't happy with nothing to ignore,
And that's what parents were created for.
But my favourite of all is his poem on visiting the dentist. This is what initiated my fascination towards Ogden Nash. I remember having it as a text back when I was in school.
This Is Going To Hurt Just A Little Bit
One thing I like less than most things is sitting in a dentist chair withmy mouth wide open.
And that I will never have to do it again is a hope that I am againsthope hopen.
Because some tortures are physical and some are mental,
But the one that is both is dental.
It is hard to be self-possessed
With your jaw digging into your chest.
So hard to retain your calm
When your fingernails are making serious alterations in your life line or love line or some other important line in your palm;
So hard to give your usual effect of cheery benignity
When you know your position is one of the two or three in lifemost lacking in dignity.
And your mouth is like a section of road that is being worked on.
And it is all cluttered up with stone crushers and concrete mixers and drills and steam rollers and there isn't a nerve in your head thatyou aren't being irked on.
Oh, some people are unfortunate enough to be strung up by thumbs.
And others have things done to their gums,
And your teeth are supposed to be being polished,
But you have reason to believe they are being demolished.
And the circumstance that adds most to your terror
Is that it's all done with a mirror,
Because the dentist may be a bear, or as the Romans used to say, onlythey were referring to a feminine bear when they said it, an ursa,
But all the same how can you be sure when he takes his crowbar in onehand and mirror in the other he won't get mixed up, the way youdo when you try to tie a bow tie with the aid of a mirror, and forgetthat left is right and vice versa?
And then at last he says That will be all; but it isn't because he thencoats your mouth from cellar to roof
With something that I suspect is generally used to put a shine on a horse's hoof.
And you totter to your feet and think. Well it's all over now and afterall it was only this once.
And he says come back in three monce.
And this, O Fate, is I think the most vicious circle that thou ever sentest,
That Man has to go continually to the dentist to keep his teeth in good condition when the chief reason he wants his teeth in good condition is so that he won't have to go to the dentist.
Classy, aint it?
CANDY IS DANDY,BUT LIQUOR IS QUICKER! (Part One)
The British always believed they had the monopoly to humor. This belief lasted right until Ogden Nash appeared as a tiny blip that grew into a massive blot on the literary radar. An American writer and poet( with a city Nashville already named after an ancestor of his) ,who first started his career as a journalist, Ogden Nash took the world by storm with his writings which were at first read hilarious-second,insightful about the vagaries of daily life.
Take for example this,
The Lord in His wisdom made the fly,
And then forgot to tell us why.
Celebrating Leos. Nash was born on August 19, 1902.
One day radio director Tom Carlson found to his dismay that his dog had destroyed an autographed copy of one of Ogden Nash's books. Although the book was out of print, Carlson managed to find another, which he duly sent to Nash with an explanation - and a request for another autograph.
The book was soon returned, with an inscription from the author: "To Tom Carlson or his dog, depending on whose taste it best suits."
Ogden Nash never got to graduate from college. His first published work was a pretty good poem titled ‘Spring comes to Murray Hill’ which was published in the ‘New Yorker’.
Enough about his life story. Let me get onto why I find Ogden Nash so fascinating. Apart from the humor in his writings, what is really quite remarkable is the way he managed to make a parody out of the most mundane things in life. From Christmas, to wealth, to husbands and wives, to animals, visits to the doctor, children standing on his feet, he succeeded in deriving amusement out of the simplest instances in life. And if you scraped below the surfaces of humor, you would find that his writings had hidden depths. A unique perception to all things mundane.
Any poet would admit that getting those words to rhyme is one of the most difficult tasks unless one is quite practiced at it. The most enviable trait in Nash is that he never broke his head over getting his words to rhyme! He simply created new words or altered the spelling, pronunciation,- the everything of existing words to make them fit his sentences.
And I think he must be one of the only poets who not just got away with it, but was also appreciated for it! A classic example of this would be a poem which he wrote about ‘rhyming his poetry’.
English is a language than which none is sublimer,
But it presents certain difficulties for the rhymer.
There are no rhymes for orange or silver
Unless liberties you pilfer.
I was once slapped by a young lady named Miss Goringe,
And the only reason I was looking at her that way,she represented a rhyme for orange.
I suggest that some painter do a tormented mural
On the perversity of the English plural
Take for example this,
The Lord in His wisdom made the fly,
And then forgot to tell us why.
Celebrating Leos. Nash was born on August 19, 1902.
One day radio director Tom Carlson found to his dismay that his dog had destroyed an autographed copy of one of Ogden Nash's books. Although the book was out of print, Carlson managed to find another, which he duly sent to Nash with an explanation - and a request for another autograph.
The book was soon returned, with an inscription from the author: "To Tom Carlson or his dog, depending on whose taste it best suits."
Ogden Nash never got to graduate from college. His first published work was a pretty good poem titled ‘Spring comes to Murray Hill’ which was published in the ‘New Yorker’.
Nash, not just wrote amazing poetry, but also wrote books for children. Famous among these are ‘Cricket of Caradon’ (his first) and ‘Custard the Dragon’. Children loved his books because it addresses them as equal to adults. Quite an appeal isn’t that? I can remember when I was young; I used to find it extremely irritating when adults would take that sing song tone and utter quite nonsensical nothings when speaking to me. Did you find that as irritating as I did?
Enough about his life story. Let me get onto why I find Ogden Nash so fascinating. Apart from the humor in his writings, what is really quite remarkable is the way he managed to make a parody out of the most mundane things in life. From Christmas, to wealth, to husbands and wives, to animals, visits to the doctor, children standing on his feet, he succeeded in deriving amusement out of the simplest instances in life. And if you scraped below the surfaces of humor, you would find that his writings had hidden depths. A unique perception to all things mundane.
Any poet would admit that getting those words to rhyme is one of the most difficult tasks unless one is quite practiced at it. The most enviable trait in Nash is that he never broke his head over getting his words to rhyme! He simply created new words or altered the spelling, pronunciation,- the everything of existing words to make them fit his sentences.
And I think he must be one of the only poets who not just got away with it, but was also appreciated for it! A classic example of this would be a poem which he wrote about ‘rhyming his poetry’.
English is a language than which none is sublimer,
But it presents certain difficulties for the rhymer.
There are no rhymes for orange or silver
Unless liberties you pilfer.
I was once slapped by a young lady named Miss Goringe,
And the only reason I was looking at her that way,she represented a rhyme for orange.
I suggest that some painter do a tormented mural
On the perversity of the English plural
Isn’t that atrocious, yet at the same time marvelous?
Friday, August 05, 2005
I FIND YOU BORING -PART TWO
Read part one before attempting this...
What would you do
if you were looked in the eye
and told “Girl! I find you boring!”
with a hurt and desperate cry
would you rush into the room
bang the door on the way
and sob hearty fits 99
or would you stand up and say
in a rather sneering way
in a voice loud and clear
“I only wish you’d told me this before
you see, the feelings are mutual, my dear!”
Deepti
What would you do
if you were looked in the eye
and told “Girl! I find you boring!”
with a hurt and desperate cry
would you rush into the room
bang the door on the way
and sob hearty fits 99
or would you stand up and say
in a rather sneering way
in a voice loud and clear
“I only wish you’d told me this before
you see, the feelings are mutual, my dear!”
Deepti
I FIND YOU BORING - PART ONE
Sometimes in life you end up meeting people whom you long to have a conversation with. Long to smile at, laugh with and share ideas and beliefs. So first you start with those ‘looks’ along corridors, canteens or bus-stops. Once you know for sure that the other person knows you exist, you proceed to tentative smiles, quickly look aside turning to the person next to you as if absorbed into some deep conversation that you are apparently carrying out with them. Yet, mostly abstracted, you pay scant attention to the conversation and through the corner of your eye watch the person as they pass by. After this routine gets established you accompany the smile with a ‘hi’. That would be the point where you know you could start to call the person an acquaintance and probably a friend.
Slowly as weeks drift by, you start to exchange pleasantries and then phone numbers. On reaching this juncture, you feel a dart of pleasure go through you. You say to yourself, at last we can be friends. (This Para comes with the statutory warning that until here you come from a rather cloistered environment where ready smiles and speeches in the absence of introduction would in all likelihood brand you a flirt even though all you desired was friendship! If you directly reached the final stage please skip to the second Para treating the first as quite invisible.)
After such a promising beginning, where the seeds of friendship were well planted and nurtured by you, you would expect the friendship to blossom into something –special. But have you noticed that not all friendships which start exceedingly well proceed with all the smoothness you expect of it. I do not refer to rough rides. Friendship without argument would be like eating nothing but sweets for your meal. Beyond a point it makes you want to puke. I refer to 'conversation'. The connection between minds. The sharing of ideals, beliefs or probably even the most mundane occurrences in your daily life ( irrespective of whether you agree or disagree). They portray the signs of a good friendship, if not superlative.
Yet there are a few friendships in which you struggle for conversation. You desperately hunt in the deepest crevices of your mind, hoping to find things to say, cover those blanks that enter in the conversation. Deep inside you wonder, ‘Am I boring the other person? Does she/he think I am tedious?’. Stop. The overused cliché states ‘It takes two hands to clap’. Reality states that it takes two people to make an interesting conversation. Start thinking. Does not the fact that you struggle for words to fill the occasion suggest that the other person is filling it no better? Does not the fact that you find the conversation unsatisfying imply that neither is the other person succeeding in keeping YOU riveted? So ask yourself when you face this.
Slowly as weeks drift by, you start to exchange pleasantries and then phone numbers. On reaching this juncture, you feel a dart of pleasure go through you. You say to yourself, at last we can be friends. (This Para comes with the statutory warning that until here you come from a rather cloistered environment where ready smiles and speeches in the absence of introduction would in all likelihood brand you a flirt even though all you desired was friendship! If you directly reached the final stage please skip to the second Para treating the first as quite invisible.)
After such a promising beginning, where the seeds of friendship were well planted and nurtured by you, you would expect the friendship to blossom into something –special. But have you noticed that not all friendships which start exceedingly well proceed with all the smoothness you expect of it. I do not refer to rough rides. Friendship without argument would be like eating nothing but sweets for your meal. Beyond a point it makes you want to puke. I refer to 'conversation'. The connection between minds. The sharing of ideals, beliefs or probably even the most mundane occurrences in your daily life ( irrespective of whether you agree or disagree). They portray the signs of a good friendship, if not superlative.
Yet there are a few friendships in which you struggle for conversation. You desperately hunt in the deepest crevices of your mind, hoping to find things to say, cover those blanks that enter in the conversation. Deep inside you wonder, ‘Am I boring the other person? Does she/he think I am tedious?’. Stop. The overused cliché states ‘It takes two hands to clap’. Reality states that it takes two people to make an interesting conversation. Start thinking. Does not the fact that you struggle for words to fill the occasion suggest that the other person is filling it no better? Does not the fact that you find the conversation unsatisfying imply that neither is the other person succeeding in keeping YOU riveted? So ask yourself when you face this.
Am I really boring or is the other person boring me?
Thursday, August 04, 2005
WHEN FRIENDS LEAVE....
Last night, a very close friend of mine- Anu, left to do her M.S in the U.S. A frequently occurring phenomenon, nothing unusual about it, I know. Yet I can’t help but feel a little bit lost. No more when I am bored can I just pick up the phone, dial her number and talk endlessly, just meaningful nothings. Gone are the sleep-overs, theatre visits, restaurants, gang get tog ethers, private conversations, laughter and tears. It’s all going to be purely virtual. She and I have known each other for sixteen years. We studied in the same school right from Ist standard and continued our entwined lives in the same college.
What makes her leaving more painful is that those twelve years together in school, did nothing to make us close. Yeah, we were friends. I do not deny it. But, were yesterday a reflection of four years ago, when she was leaving for her boarding and we said our last byes, I could easily have said,” Bye! Have a good time the next few years”, turned away and walked off unaffected. Instead, as she left, when we said our last byes my heart could not but will her as she walked away to turn around and wave again hoping for one last bye and a wave. And when she did, hope again for another last bye right until she disappeared from all our sights.
I shall miss her. Miss all the things we did together. But what truly makes me feel low is a fear. A fear of whether things will really be the same when she comes back. In those last few moments when we all exchanged those last statements of ‘promise you will mail regularly, don’t dare forget, scan all photos you take there” all that kept running in my mind was “What if she slowly forgets to mail back? What if the new friends she makes might not be too nice? What if distance in miles leads to a distance in our minds? What if she changes and will no more be that amazing mixture of wise beyond her years, yet charmingly innocent?” .A thousand ‘Ifs’ that were running through my head, a thousand ‘Ifs’ unanswered. Only time can answer these questions. And time is a cruel mate who makes you wait and at the end of it all wont necessarily give you the answers you would want from it.
In the end, during those final hugs and farewells unable to contain myself, I burst out and told her, “Just one thing I want from you. Please don’t ever change. Come back the same person”. And when we all walked off, everyone of us were silent and had no words to say. Yet, we knew exactly what the other was thinking about. ’Anu’.
What makes her leaving more painful is that those twelve years together in school, did nothing to make us close. Yeah, we were friends. I do not deny it. But, were yesterday a reflection of four years ago, when she was leaving for her boarding and we said our last byes, I could easily have said,” Bye! Have a good time the next few years”, turned away and walked off unaffected. Instead, as she left, when we said our last byes my heart could not but will her as she walked away to turn around and wave again hoping for one last bye and a wave. And when she did, hope again for another last bye right until she disappeared from all our sights.
I shall miss her. Miss all the things we did together. But what truly makes me feel low is a fear. A fear of whether things will really be the same when she comes back. In those last few moments when we all exchanged those last statements of ‘promise you will mail regularly, don’t dare forget, scan all photos you take there” all that kept running in my mind was “What if she slowly forgets to mail back? What if the new friends she makes might not be too nice? What if distance in miles leads to a distance in our minds? What if she changes and will no more be that amazing mixture of wise beyond her years, yet charmingly innocent?” .A thousand ‘Ifs’ that were running through my head, a thousand ‘Ifs’ unanswered. Only time can answer these questions. And time is a cruel mate who makes you wait and at the end of it all wont necessarily give you the answers you would want from it.
In the end, during those final hugs and farewells unable to contain myself, I burst out and told her, “Just one thing I want from you. Please don’t ever change. Come back the same person”. And when we all walked off, everyone of us were silent and had no words to say. Yet, we knew exactly what the other was thinking about. ’Anu’.
Monday, August 01, 2005
FLAWED.. ?
You would think that at the end of two thousand years after Christ was born, leaving alone all those thousands of years that we lived through before, we would all have become enlightened souls. My soul which would remain long after I have departed from this mortal existence of mine would have learnt several lessons from the mistakes I have made and strive to be a better 'being' (notice I do not mention human. The likelihood of being born human cannot be too high if you were to apply the rules of probability to the total number of species existing in the world which is supposed to be at the least 5 million so 1/(5*10^6) is a number so unfathomable that I could be quite justified in assuming ‘I will not be human’).
If you were to take into account the number of years that have elapsed since I probably first made my appearance( me and the 6 billion odd humans alone) on the face of earth, I should have by now have become ‘ne plus ultra’, for the lack of any word that could fit the occasion better. The dictionary defines it to be ‘the state of being without any flaw or defect’. Yet, somehow, no amount of soul searching allows me to accept myself as being perfect, if not infinitesimally close to it. To be honest I would sooner concede to the blatant fact that I am in all likelihood as flawed as the preposterous theory which suggested the world as being flat. I lose my temper, I tend to be impatient, I can be quite prejudiced, I lack consistency… the list can go on and on.
But what made me what I so distinctly am today? If my soul in its eternal quest for knowledge had learnt a great deal in the thousands of years preceding my current existence, then why do I not show a superiority of thinking( superior to what??), greater perception and understanding, kindness and a million other traits that personify an ‘Ideal Being’? Why are you no closer to being an ‘Ideal Being’? In the unlikely eventuality that you don’t believe that you possess any imperfections I think it is time you look up the meaning of ‘narcissism’.
The society I have lived in, the people who surround me, the education I have received and so many other factors have played a deciding role in what I am today.
Innate nature? Do you notice that I neglected to mention it? Probably because I don’t accept that you exist when you are born. A child is just a desert, parched, ready to accept and greedily swallow anything offered to it in the way of knowledge. This naturally means that the adult you end up being is the end result of societal influences on you. The goodness and the flaws in you are the result of the way your intelligence was directed to interpret every incident that has occurred since the day you were born. If that were the case, would I not also be justified in absolving myself from all responsibility that dictates to me the unending list of all my imperfections, since all blame lies on society that misguided me? The society that did not teach me right, when the wrong around me could have been used as illustrations for what could have been made right? Could every single defect that exists in me be attributed to society that did not strive to set the world right? Do you agree that it rightly leads me to the conclusion that society in its entirety is flawed? If a teacher who taught you, taught you wrong, then definitely what you learn will not be right. Similarly, if the society in its entirety is indeed flawed and who you are, is the by product of societal influences, who can your soul learn right from? What enrichment of knowledge does the soul gain? How can it achieve enlightenment and thereby liberate itself? Is it no wonder that evolution has dictated us to have existed for thousand and thousands of years?
Does our liberation therefore lie solely in our destruction?
If you were to take into account the number of years that have elapsed since I probably first made my appearance( me and the 6 billion odd humans alone) on the face of earth, I should have by now have become ‘ne plus ultra’, for the lack of any word that could fit the occasion better. The dictionary defines it to be ‘the state of being without any flaw or defect’. Yet, somehow, no amount of soul searching allows me to accept myself as being perfect, if not infinitesimally close to it. To be honest I would sooner concede to the blatant fact that I am in all likelihood as flawed as the preposterous theory which suggested the world as being flat. I lose my temper, I tend to be impatient, I can be quite prejudiced, I lack consistency… the list can go on and on.
But what made me what I so distinctly am today? If my soul in its eternal quest for knowledge had learnt a great deal in the thousands of years preceding my current existence, then why do I not show a superiority of thinking( superior to what??), greater perception and understanding, kindness and a million other traits that personify an ‘Ideal Being’? Why are you no closer to being an ‘Ideal Being’? In the unlikely eventuality that you don’t believe that you possess any imperfections I think it is time you look up the meaning of ‘narcissism’.
The society I have lived in, the people who surround me, the education I have received and so many other factors have played a deciding role in what I am today.
Innate nature? Do you notice that I neglected to mention it? Probably because I don’t accept that you exist when you are born. A child is just a desert, parched, ready to accept and greedily swallow anything offered to it in the way of knowledge. This naturally means that the adult you end up being is the end result of societal influences on you. The goodness and the flaws in you are the result of the way your intelligence was directed to interpret every incident that has occurred since the day you were born. If that were the case, would I not also be justified in absolving myself from all responsibility that dictates to me the unending list of all my imperfections, since all blame lies on society that misguided me? The society that did not teach me right, when the wrong around me could have been used as illustrations for what could have been made right? Could every single defect that exists in me be attributed to society that did not strive to set the world right? Do you agree that it rightly leads me to the conclusion that society in its entirety is flawed? If a teacher who taught you, taught you wrong, then definitely what you learn will not be right. Similarly, if the society in its entirety is indeed flawed and who you are, is the by product of societal influences, who can your soul learn right from? What enrichment of knowledge does the soul gain? How can it achieve enlightenment and thereby liberate itself? Is it no wonder that evolution has dictated us to have existed for thousand and thousands of years?
Does our liberation therefore lie solely in our destruction?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)