Something from my life

Meet ups...and surprises

2011-10-14T22:10:00.000+04:00

Surprise for one of us...yeah, Joshna, the kid among the four of us. Well, there is something that cannot be defined, ie, the sheer pleasure of peeking into your childhood. We are bound to forget what were like when in school, but trust your buddies to remember every embarassing detail....that is exactly what happened when we met...KP, Sunil, Joshna and I. Seated around a table in a noisy food court in a mall, nothing mattered but the journey into the past, surprisingly everyone remembered more of the other than of themselves, but Sunil Shenoy took the cake, wonder what ememory pill he takes...and Krishna? Oh mi gosh, from being the shortest one in class standing first in any every assembly line to being over 85 kgs and touching six feet, he has come a long way (no pun intended!!) Joshna, the giggly pony tailed gal is much the same...from what I remembered of her, (Prasad and Sunil have stories to narrate!!).

But yeah...it was the mother of all surprises for Jo and a moment of unbridled joy for all of us...eating pizza and munching on fries, giggling and clapping when secrets were revealed...

Friends...gods way of reminding you that you are never alone.

Have you ever lied to your doctor???

2011-05-02T09:24:00.000+04:00

I don’t recall when I began enjoying having thyroid, but for three weeks now, I am over myself with joy. A week before that, I thought I would die, the emergency doc of Welcare hospital having scared me shitless. I am going to die, I thought, but what about the list of things-to-do-before-I die? I mean, I was nowhere close to the 100 things I had planned, and then there was this thyroid promising to spoil everything.

I was upset.

Then someone recommended Him. Dr ZG (no full names)

So to Dr ZG (specialist endocrinologist) I went on a Saturday morning, with a long face, hoping he would tell me that I wasn’t going to die in the next few months. I so wanted to finish trekking Kokoda in PNG and if I had to leave this world, I would do it in a blaze of glory etc.

ZG scanned my reports. No change of expression. He ordered me to sit down, checked my glands, reflexes, skin, asking me a thousand questions and promptly ordering another round of tests, I think there were at least a hundred.

And changed my medication right away.

Dr ZG was one of those docs you wish you have as your personal medic. You don’t want to share him with anyone. He is the kind of guy that makes you glad you are sick, because you know you are in good hands and if he told you that you would live to be a hundred, you believed him unconditionally. You wish he asks you a zillion questions so that you can stay a little longer, studying his face, his voice, measure the length of his fingers (meaning stealing glances at the ring finger!) the cut of his suit, the colour of his tie, (if possible his shoes), going over the reports, asking him the reasons for disorder_ understanding nothing, trying to look intelligent and innocently curious at the same time anything to engage his time.

Okay, so that was my first appointment. The next was 28 days later.

Cut to 28 days later

In the meantime, my health and my mood improved (I think closer to the appointment time!). The medicines were clearly working.

Dr ZG looked the same I suppose, but I appeared different. Result of chopping off my hair and losing some of the bloated, hippo look I had developed. Thank God for that, for one didn’t want to look unhealthy to a doc so determined to get you better.

When the nurse checked me, I was doing great, having lost weight and vital signs all rosy and nice, but that changed soon.

Having to wait 35 extra minutes (because the earlier patient too, I suppose, engaged the good doc in the ask-me-a zillion-question-routine) my mood changed, I was positively livid. The nurse disappeared after depositing me in the “treatment room” and I was ready to barge in to the doc’s room when he appeared.

Sorry to keep you waiting, he said like a good gentleman, letting me walk ahead of him into his room.

He hadn’t changed, I had. I felt anger dissipate, but what was I going to do with the heartbeat?

I suggested a blood pressure test. (The zillion-question-routine)

Something was wrong. In the last 35 minutes I had managed to get my BP soaring.

I suppose you were upset over waiting, he said with a smile that only doctors could manage.

I agreed. He walked me through the results. Nothing but a miracle, he said, studying them. Naturally, I couldn’t have done anything but get better, seeing that I was safely in ZG’s hands.

There was only one little worry and he soon addressed it, warning me about the immediate side effects.

Whatever you say, I thought happily. Ten minutes after our conversation on my job, trek, family, eating habits later, I suggested another BP check. Normal. I caught him smile. I looked at him sheepishly and all I could see was a medical curiosity in his eyes. ZG was playing it close to his heart.

The next day I woke up feeling very much in love! Okay, it’s not something I take seriously and no one should either, for ‘feeling-like-in-love’ is a frequent occurrence in my life, not lasting beyond a day or worse, two.

But I simply had to speak to him.

When I was connected to him, I repeated the symptoms he had warned me I would have (but didn’t) and played it up a little, hoping to be called in for an ‘emergency consultation’.

He suggested a different med. He would leave the prescription with the nurse, he said. I could collect it any time I wanted.

Never lie to your doc, I told myself severely. Your doc expects you to show some responsibility with explaining your symptoms, expect you to be intelligent enough to understand yourself and the limitation of your body, to treat your body with respect.

But seeing that I had no choice, I collected the prescription. Of course I changed my mind when I saw the enormous cost and wondered if I could “try out the original med for a few days, you know, sort of giving my body time to adjust etc, before switching. The pharmacist didn’t care one way or the other.

I am on the same med he gave me, with no symptoms of my body adjusting to the new drug. Oh, I suppose I am built like a horse, I could walk though jungles, climb mountains, but for my heart, I would even lie to my Doc.

I hope ZG doesn’t find out!

The End

2011-02-20T10:57:00.000+04:00

Sometimes you just know that the END is around the corner. I guess I feel the same...and so very strongly. Time to take stock of the situation around me. I need to make my WILL. Sounds wierd, but its true. I just know it.

Sometimes you just know.

Hill in the clouds

2011-01-11T14:01:00.000+04:00

Horsley Hills...a dream holiday. Seems like a long time ago...but the memories are green, just as the hill was then...green, abounding in love, awash with passions that never left the heart. Okay, passion never leaves the heart, no matter the time and distance. I wish Horsley Hills would happen all over again.

THE GRAND SAVING WEEK

2011-01-09T09:01:00.001+04:00

Well, last week has been a fne example I have set for myself, which I hope to follow strictly. Its called the 'GRAND SAVING WEEK.'

What I did was this...

Didnt eat any junk food. Instead ensured that I packed a light lunch daily.
What I saved: Dhs 15 a meal per day for 5 days.
What I gained: NO extra calories from junk food AND Dhs 75!!! (App USD 20)

Walked where I would usually get a taxi after handing in my Jeep for servicing.
What I saved: Dhs 15 and LOST many calories in return!!!

No Starbucks or Costa cofee either!! Used all the MacDonald coupons and saved on that as well.

Resolutions_ and how far I am sticking to it

2011-01-03T12:49:00.001+04:00

Yeah, I made a resolution. Save for a rainy day (read as TRAVEL).

And as mentioned earlier, this begin with evey dirham or dollar. I now have a box labelled TRAVEL and dirhams converted to dollars go into this. The resaon for converting into dollar is to ensure that I dont spend it. Heck, there is something comforting is seeing the dollars pile up but the sight of the Dirham sittng by itself makes me want to go shopping!

This year's travel budget is pegged at about 10,000 USD (It's the upper limit of course and I like the upper limit because it pushes me to save more) and if I didnt use all of it, then I have enough for the next year! This upper limit includes all airfare, visas, stay, spending money on each of the trip I would be on this year. Clearly not all of it is going on one trip!!!!!!

Happy saving and Happy traveling.

PS. On a happy note, I save USD 2.5 today. Here is how. I walk into MacDonalds for my favourite coffee and hash browns (which costs AED 9) and remembered in time that I had some copons left over from last year. I remember seeing that the date of expiry on the tickets was Dec 2010, however upon enquiring with the cashier, she seemed okay to let me use it!

Call it luck. So I got my coffee, hashbrowns and a sausage burger and a free Coffee Mug to boot. AED 9 (about 2.5 USD) goes into the kitty!

Shopping, Saving!

2010-12-31T10:58:00.000+04:00

Just back from Egypt. Another journey fulfilled. Walking by the Nile in the foggy morning was miraculous...there is little to compare with that feeling. But this blog is not about the Nile or Egypt and the Pyramids, this post is about something else. Something which I casually read in one of the blogs of some unknown person, but which stuck me as very important ane practical.

It was on saving_ so one could travel.

The blogger was absolutely right. For a traveller, a backpacker hoping to see as much of the world as possible and on as little as possible, the most important thing is to have the money to do so...and that money, taken out of our accounted means doesnt really go a long way, unless you have a plan of action. A plan that touches every aspect of your life, be it in shopping for clothes, groceries, doing away with the 5 STARBUCKS a week, the unnecessary drive around town etc.

And because I belong to the above category, I have decided to SAVE SAVE SAVE everywhere I can so I can make the dollar (or Dirham) an extra mile!

Lets say its my New Year Resolution to travel more, far and wide and in a way I havent done before. There fore I have firmly resorted to the following.

My tips for saving

1. I admit I havent been the best when it comes to saving, primarily because I always find a reason to buy slightly expensive or branded clothing (...because they go a long way, I tell myself) and end up with a huge bill on my hand. If am using my credit card, then the interest per month adds to the total cost and thus the actual cost of the garment shoots up.

My solution to this: No more using credit cards. Pay in cash. And since I have a no-carrying-too-much-cash policy, I save myself the temptatin to indulge.

2. Gocercy shopping: Here I tend to go over board. I like to see my huge refrigerator full. It makes me feel secure against any food crisis that may suddenly crop up the next day. Foolish, utterly foolish, I realise. So, no more buying for a rainy day, esp things such as fish (which usually gets thrown out within 2 days of purchase), too many veggies, esp greens (I never get arount to cooking any of them and am left with rotting veggie matter and a huge stink), eggs (several occasions they have been left unattended and had to be thrown away....15-20 at a time).

My solution to this: Buy as much as is necessary for a week or two. Food wont go out of stock in 2 weeks time, for sure. Make sure I know what I am going to cook (and eat!) and buy accordingly. No more being embarassed to arrive at the weighing counter with a quarter kilo of ldies finger...heck, that is all I need anyway!

Knowing what I eat. Very important I think, for someone like me. I can never eat beyond say, 3 eggs a week...also because I am avoiding the yolk. I am not an Egg-lover, so why stock eggs and let them go bad?
Same with fish (at best I can manage a piece per meal, once a week!!).

Okay, these days, the price of Indian onions have shot up dramatically and the onions avialable are frightfully expensive. So I have now resorted to buying onions procured from other parts of the world which are far cheaper...Eg, Egypt Onions cost nearly 2 Dhs less than Indian onions...and so long as the chicken has no idea that its been cooked with Egyptian onions, why should I care?

Buy the toiletries in bulk. Usually super markets have the buy 2 get 1 free offer. I now buy soaps and toothpaste in these offers. Smetimes during festive season, this offer applies to rice, cooking oil and other essentials. I now look for offers and make a list of absolutely essential items and buy them in bulk. Rice, lentils etc dont go bad easily.

Shopping fr clothes: I think I have enough Adidas, Nike and Northface to last me decade. Therefore yesterday I went window shopping (okay, deep down the instinct to buy something keeps nagging and am slowly overcoming it) and went straight to the absolute-bargain section. Okay, I loved a black top and a white and a read top...but held myself back severely when I reached the cash counter. Suddenly reminded that I was to save that money (I had alloted USD 10 for shopping...ouch!) and that USD 10 wouldnt cover my bill, I told the guy at the counter to keep aside two of them. The black top was well within the budget. To my surprise, it was on sale too...and instead of USD 9, I ended up paying only USD 6 for it!!!

Three dollars went into my travel kitty!! (Just to have you know USD 3 can get you a decent B&B in Phnom Penh. I stayed at one such place!)

Every dollar I save hence will go into a box. So I can travel.

I hope to add tips on how I am saving for my next BIG ADVENTURE.

Happy Travelling.

Pls share your tips for saving and help add to my kitty!!

A letter, a mystery and nightmares

2010-07-29T10:21:00.001+04:00

I wanted to know more. I suppose the only way to know was to dig into my memory bank and pull out whatever there was to pull out, dissect every bit of information and try to make sense. I hardly remembered the guy, meaning to say, his thoughts were lost in the everyday activites of life. I wanted to remember everything I could about him. Who was he?

It is a mystery how we slowly start remembering, reconstructing things that happened in the past...and how suddenly we begin to find meaning in events that held no significance back then...

He was, I think of average height, perhaps 5ft 9 inches or so, I couldnt be sure because I never really put my head on his shoulders any time. He didnt wear glasses, was wheatish in colour...wheatish or bordering on fairness, clean shaven (although I can swear that I once saw him with a moustache...), loved the gym, loved the good things in life, like branded clothes and good food, drove a Merc to work and a Wrangler to the desert and was much of what can be called a 'lady's dream man, for I remember seeing women turn around to give him a second look. Even my friend (a casual aquaintance really) felt a certain attraction towards him and many times, and not very subtly, told me she was waiting in the wings in case I decided to 'dump' him. I told her several times, and I meant it too, that I wasnt in the least interested in the guy and she could have him. For some reason, that had irritated me, the thought that someone was pairing me off with a guy I did not even remotely feel affectionate about.

I do hate to speak ill of the dead, but there something about him that I didnt quite like. I cannot put my finger on it, but it was an uneasy feeling. Even in a group of people, I chose to sit far away from him, deliberately avoiding any close contact...tried always to steer a conversation towards casual topics when, as is bound to happen, when a group of people sit around a coffee table, the conversation does tend to lean towards relationships and gossip, extra marital affairs, with few of them trying to out-speak the other by loud declarations of wealth and contacts and superior knowledge of everything under the sun. I dont think he ever lost his audience, mainly due to his charm, wealth and for the fact that he was, in every way, a man people wanted to know.

I guess, except for me.

A letter, a mystery, a nightmare - Part 2

2010-07-28T09:13:00.000+04:00

Yes, the writer was dead. The letter I held in my hand was a dying man's last written statement, a proclamation. Of love. Of his passion. Of his desires. His loss. His inability to proclaim undying love. It quoted verses of my poem...

"When you whisper

I will hold you close
And listen to you
Breath means nothing
Though it parts you from me
In spirit I will always be..."

I can't say I was flattered. On the other hand I felt some part of me wither. Why did this letter come to me? What did he think I would do with this letter? Did he think I would run around and go to him and say I loved him too? I couldnt, could I? He was no more. Was he trying to chain me to an emotion I didnt feel? Trying to achieve after death what he couldnt in life?

It wasnt right to feel so...not about someone who is no more. But I felt cheated in some ways. I am sure he didnt think that recieving the letter and the articles like this would make me swoon with pleasure, and am sure the thought may have crossed his mind that if nothing, the knowledge of his death and unrequited love would only make me feel...what, guilty? If he really did love me, would he wanted me to suffer in this memories?

I was loosing it I suppose. There was no rhyme or reason to what was happening...or why. It didnt make sense. The guy was no more, but I was alive and holding the pieces of stuff that he held precious. Sacred enough to appoint someone to bring it to me.

Suddenly, I wanted to know more.

A letter, a mystery and nightmare

2010-07-27T09:45:00.005+04:00

I am hoping to write this as a series...but knowing me, that effort would be given up mid way...but let me write as my mind and fingers will me to.

It began with the summons from the receptionist. I had a visitor, she said and I ran to the reception (ran because thats how I walk!). I had a strange feeling about this. I wasnt expecting anyone. A tall man rose to greet me. Greet, I say, for convenience, but in reality, he was not smiling. There was no look of recognition on his face. His eyes gave away what was in his mind. He had the look of a man forced to be where he didnt want to be, a man who laboured under the weight of a certain obligation assigned to him.

And I had never seen him before.

I extended my hand. Hello, said I, giving that enough time for him to respond with an introduction. It didnt come. There was something wrong. He didnt seem inclined to shake my hands in the least, it was evident in the manner in which he merely touched my fingers lightly and withdrew abrubtly. He didnt give me a name. I didnt have the heart to ask him. Suddenly, I didnt want to know. At times like this, my strongest instinct kicks in. The instinct of withdrawing myself from everything and everyone and put on the indifferent mask. I did just that. I stood there facing him squarely, the smile wiped off my face.

It didnt affect him in the least, instead he thrust a packet under my nose. I pulled away.

"You are Anjaly,", he said, somehow making that sound like an accusation. "Take this."

I did.

"Whaat....." I began and he cut me off with a strange, hateful look.

'It's for you,' he said very rudely and was off.

I wasnt going to call out after him, not in full view of the people wandering about in the reception area. He didnt leave his name either, because I asked the security guy who let him in. The dear Nepali security fellow, a short, round, smiling man who looked like the downsized version of the Laughing Buddha, shook his head in bewilderment, and mumbled something in Nepali and went back to his book.

I carried the package to my desk. It was not very heavy, and it was clearly not a surprise gift from any fan or friend, for I dont recall having either who would go out of their way to send Mr Rude to me with an umkarked packet on a weekday.

I opened the brown packet and poured its contents on the table. I think, it took me a while to understand the significance of what I saw. At first, nothing made sense. A bill. No few bills, a paper cutting that was horribly familiar (a cutting of a story I wrote under the name of 'The Backpacker'), a chocolate wrapper, mobile phone pouch, dried flowers, a pen, and a letter.

Each of those articles brought back memories. I had a horrible feeling that something had just begun.
(I am leaving out the name of the guy who sent it, you will soon know why).

What was happening? Why did those bills staring at me feel like accusatory fingers? And why did my article I was so proud of suddenly make me feel vulnerable? Why? Why would he send me bills and pens and paper cuttings, which, at some time, years ago, I must have handled? The pen? An ordinary pen with a certain company name written on it, a mere something from a press conference I had attended? The flower?

Oh the flower. I remembered the flower. Why now for God's sake! I had a feeling that He had gone mad...no sane person would do things like this, would he? Had he finally flipped the lid?? Was he trying to tell me something? Was I being stalked?

I opened the letter. It was written on an ordinary paper, torn off a writing pad, like someone in a hurry wanted to get it done...someone who had no time to look for proper stationary...it didnt make sense. If the letter came the same guy, then clearly something was wrong. For someone who had painstakingly preserved all the odds and ends through the years, it didnt fit in with the nature of the paper...and the hastily written paragraphs.

I began to read. (Again, I cannot yet reveal the contents of the letter).

I felt as though I had been delivered a blow. It knocked life out of me. The writer was dead.

More KCL

2010-07-22T12:56:00.000+04:00

Looks like KCL is giving me sleepless nights! First day I dont sleep because we lose by ONE run and the second day I dont sleep because we have WON!!

The long and short is that, I havent slept two nights in a row, and many nights before that because I couldnt get rid of an idea related to a clothes hanger from my mind, then I had nightmares about missing trains, then, then, for two weeks now, the death of a friend is bothering me. No, its not so much the death that worries me, it is the manner in which everything after the incident happened that is the bummer. In all, a rather topsy-turvey sleep schedule without an obvious end in sight!!

Sigh!

KCL Season 3 - New beginings

2010-07-22T12:49:00.000+04:00

KCL Season 3 has come with many new surprises.

First of all, a new team! Last year, I had Idukki Icons and this year, Waynad Warriors.

Many things going for Waynad Warriors.

One, I belong to this district of Kerala, two, wonderful set of players, completely dedicated to winning the match or give the opponent a hard time...not make it easy to win.

Yes, I am indeed proud of this team of mine. We have yet played two matches and lost one, the oppenent beating us by only one measly run!! Till the Warriros shook up last years runners up, Kannur Royals, no one really paid heed to this Team from the Hills...but now, its in the eye...a team to reckon with. The silent killers.

The Warriors are determined to win...and be sure, we wont go down without a fight.

This year, I have learnt a lot more about Insportz cricket, I know why hitting a 6 isnt a great idea and what skin points mean.

My team: Jayprasad (Captain), Rasheed, Prashant, Biju, Jasir, Shafiq, Naushad, Kader, Shyam, Abilash, Vinoy and Aby

A special someone

2010-07-14T15:02:00.001+04:00

He is special. Yes, very much so. I think, on a hundred differnet occasions I have told him so. He knows it and in his own ways he tries not to show he knows...or cares! Well, I love him, pretty much like I love myself and a little more...yeah, he is special....I miss him like crazy...but just how the hell can I tell him that! How can I tell him the zillion times I have thought of him when he was away somewhere, far away from me? We live in the same city, but for almost two years now I havent seen him...I wish I could. Because I have never stopped loving him...

A gentleman HERO

2010-05-10T14:18:00.002+04:00

Two years ago, if someone asked me anything about any Malayalam actor, I would probably have said Mohanlal or Mammootty...seeing that these were the only two names I allowed myself to hear. Never watched a Malayalam film before that, unless there was no other channel to watch and if, if I was forced to sit long enough to watch it...and if someone translated for me!

But, two years hence, I think I adored Suresh Gopi. My first memorable film of his was Sasneham Sumitra in which he played the suspect husband. I watched it half in Cochin (while Bombay was being bombed 2 years ago) and was so stuck with his charecter that I looked around for the complete film. I simply had to watch it to the end. Strangely, I learnt later, that the particular film wasnt exactly his best. But in my mind, Suresh Gopi became a hero.

I havent watched many movies of his even after, save for the occasional Detective and some like that...dont think of me as fanaticaly obsessed hero-worshipper, I am not a fan of the hero, I wouldnt go out of my way to grab a DVD of his films and oogle over the muscled HERO.

But yes, if his films were a reflection of what he would be in real life, then hats off to him. He was a person I would have liked to meet.

My dear frind G Venugopal (yes, the singer!) on many occasions told me many nice things about his friend SG. That went a long way in appreciating SG's personality.

And then I met him. He thought I was a little crazy, for good reason. I was introduced to him as the one who had climbed Kilimanjaro all by msyelf and was crazy enough to take off on a trecherous trek into the Papua New Guine rainforests...

And then I had the good fortune of being his escort :-) Meaning, I got to drive him into the Dubai desert, yeah in my very own Jeep, hide him from the camera till he was ready to make the special appearence and yeah, generally be the escort-companion etc for the day!

Which brought me face to face with a special human being not seen on screen, a living breathing human, with love for the outdoors, books, cars...a person far removed from the fuming, angry, passionate officer on screen.

I dont know what it was about him, but right from the moment I spoke to him at the studio, I could only see him as a person. His celebrity status did not enter the scene, I never felt conscious in the presence of the man...it was like meeting a friend. I suppose he has matured to a stage where pretences dont matter anymore, that being a human, an approachable human matters more. Suresh was down to earth, humble and at the same time witty and intelligent. My Malayalam isnt what you can call Malayalam, but when we did try a conversation, he didnt laugh, I suppose, the fact that I made an effort to speak a language I didnt know much about was what mattered to him. Oh yes, even though I didnt get to belly dance in the camp, the time I spent with Suresh Gopi, getting lost looking for a petrol station to inflate our tyres, the very milky coffee at the petrol station, the munching of the potato chips, cookies, the easy conversation is something I will always remember.

He told me one important thing. Learn to say NO! He meant for the potato chips, of course, seeing that we were both dipping into the packet at alarming rate! I guess, that applies to more than just potato chips!!!

Early morning

2009-05-15T08:50:00.002+04:00

It has been very long since I woke up at 4.30, made a dash for my car without brushing my teeth or hair, sleep not yet out of my eyes, in my sleeping clothes....to welcome the morning in the desert....

Today, after long, I ended my daze! Woke up at 4.30 and grabbed my camera...and ran to my car before I changed my mind. Good chance to experiment with the manual functioning of my new Canon, I thought happily, as I drove, windows down, towards the Hatta Road. No traffic, no cops and no risk of beingf run over, I stopped over the bridge that connects Oud Mehta Road to the Business Bay and fiddled with my camera...well, the long and short is that I am still pretty bad with the manual shoots, so I made up with few auto-shots of cars racing on the Garhoud Road and the dim skyline of Dubai...the joy of being able to stop in the middle fo the road and being hauled up for it is enough adrenaline....so, the coffee I grabbed at the Emarat (along with a cheese croissant0 tasted YUM.

But, but...but then I realised there were others like me and had always been, early risers, rushing to the desert or a long drive, sleep forgotten, intent o grabbing a bit of activity before the sun came up and destroyed all hopes of a long drive...

At once I felt one with all....long ago, I was a part of this morning, every Friday and Saturday, greeted bikers all geared up for their mountain biking, off-roaders getting their act together for their for their dare-devilry on the sands...I was a glad to be of the morning again.....

Life is good.....

A gamble of fate?

2009-05-08T09:22:00.000+04:00

How often does it happen that a picture from the tube transforms into a human form and endears itself to you?

Always? Sometimes? Never?

If this were a gamble, the stakes would favour the last: But I am not a gambler, so I can only say that what happened to me was one of nature’s finest strokes!

But I am not averse to asking questions, to myself. So I asked. Why?Two strangers who would never have met…not by any stroke of luck; both being different from each other as chalk and cheese, each one not seemingly related to the other through language, or profession. One an Icon and the other The Wind. Icons are not made of lighter stuff, unlike the wind…Don’t know what drew them together. Did the wind seep through the perforations in the icon or was it the icon that wanted a breath of fresh air? Hard to say, but clearly something happened.

Was it the eyes that held my attention or was it something else? What was it that I first noticed?

Seatbelt

2009-05-08T09:16:00.000+04:00

Today, for the first time in years, I felt as though I was falling…even seated at my desk I wish I was wearing a seatbelt….

Sand in my hair

2009-04-29T13:44:00.000+04:00

Warm night, warm sands, stars peering through cloudy skies, a strange feeling mingled with a growing sense of excitement, fear…and silence…was this dream or was it real? The voice…the voice? Was it the voice that first held my attention? Or was it something else? No, it couldn’t have been anything else…it had to be the voice…soft, endearing, caressing, cajoling, demanding…it had everything needed to transform my life, forever.

It did.

Now, even darkness is not the same.

If I need a reminder, all I have to do is run my fingers through my hair. The sand tells a different story....

Hero worship

2009-04-19T15:18:00.003+04:00

Everyone has a hero they worship. An actor or singer, a player...I had one...now I have two.
The nicest thing about both of them are they belong to a section of the film industry I know nothing about. Malayalam.

My association with Malayalam is deep, but unexplored, so I can say NIL. Especially when it comes to Malayalam films and music. Lately, I can say, about 4 years ago, my association with Malayalam and Malayalees changed. But that's another story.

My first Malayalam hero was Mohanlal. I have tried to watch as many films of his as I can, understanding little, but enjoying seeing him on screen.

Then, one day, few moths ago, I first saw an episode of Idea Star Singer. It is a TV show (for those who dont know) on Asianet, a very popular Malayalam station. Its a bit like American Idol, searching for the perfect voice. The stakes are big, the singers talented and the judges...sharp, critical and FAIR.

There are four judges, three of them on the permanent panel and one, a guest. The permanent judges are singers par excellence, masters in their field, with their own massive fan following.

..................................

When I saw him on screen, sitting in judgement, I thought just what was going on in his mind when called upon to make a decision. I couldnt understand, because I am not an expert in music and Malayalam songs didnt mean too much. Yes, I liked the melody, I liked the rythm and over the days, I did get to like it a lot more, though I couldnt sing along as yet.

But, watching Idea Star Singer over the days, I did develop a special interest in the singers and soon I could put names to faces and recall which film they had sung for. Yes, I was getting there...slowly, steadily.

Then one day, I saw him.

He was a guest at the 4th Gulf Malayalees Music Awards. I was at the event for different reasons. I was doubling up as a photographer in the absense of one...

When I first saw him, what stuck me first was his simplicity. I surely must have sounded rather dumb when I walked up to him and said hello...I also remember making sure that I told him I wasnt familiar with the Malayalam music industry crowd and if made a mistake in identifying people correctly, I wanted to be excused.

His answer came in a smile. Here was a celebrity who was not really concerned that someone could get his name wrong! (I always thought celebrities had a halo)

Over the next few hours, through the show, I met him several times. We spoke. I dont know how, but our talks started off with books. He loved Shashi Tharoor, I hadnt read any of the books he mentioned. He loved traveling and didnt find time, and I was always looking for time to travel. He told me things about Indonesia I hadnt heard or seen when I was last there.

He was a bank of knowledge. He had a unique style, a poise I hadnt seen in many celebrities before. To me suddenly, more than a celebrity singer, he was a comrade. I was happy to ignore my duty just to sit and chat with him, share a thought, a joke, discuss books and places...In fact, for once, I was glad just to have attended the event.

For, there I found something special.

A friend. His name, as you may have guessed is Venugopal.

I dont mind that I had to stay hungry...dont usppose he knows this...and I suppose I would do it again if I had the chance...and am glad I gave him the last and the only remaining burger!!!

Calender

2009-03-24T09:58:00.001+04:00

10/04/2007

On my table is a picture of a Toy Train. In the background are the Himalayan Mountains with a brief stretch of snow reflecting the pale sunlight. The engine spews smoke, thick and black right into the cool air and a few trees alongside the narrow guage are just begining to look cheerful...that or it is a damned rotten picture.

But the month of April of 2007 has a picture on the calender that I cherish. The Himalayan Toy Train, with its three blue coaches and a cooing engine have just made their way past the Loop before descending into the valley of Darjeeling below. It brings back cheerful memories.

On the calender are dates and among my favourite pass-times is ticking off days. I cannot say why it is so important for me to tick off dates or when I started this habit, but of late it has begun to show. On one side of the neat rows of dates are the date of every Mondays of the month. That is circled for some reason. Then there are the Saturdays and Thursdays, each having their importance...

Then there is the big circle that encloses all these individual dates. Sometimes I am terribly thrilled when the month passes by and quietly slips into another...I get to change the picture on the calender with much expectations. Sometimes, that very act brings in a fear...time is passing. I guess all of us do feel that way. I feel that seeing into the calender and realising how fst time is flying, one wouldnt be caught by surprise. I would like to be cheerfully aware that am an year older when my brithday comes or that of my nephews or friends...I should hate to be left behind with the times...

Then again, it leaves me with a sense of brooding. Where is time going? Where is it leading to? Or will it lead to anything at all?

I marvel at the days, the dates, the picture, the time...its all part of a grand scheme of things one likes to call "LIFE".

Surely it will bring change? For that is about the only constant factor I have noticed in the passing of each month.

We lived...

2009-03-24T09:47:00.001+04:00

27/11/2007

We lived.....In the brief interval before we flipped over, when the Jeep hit its nose on the slope, I am sure a million thoughts crossed my mind. I remember only one, distinctly. “Oh, so this is it? When we go over completely, we will be dead. There is no pain”. Then another, more purposeful thought, almost as though I said it aloud, “It’s all right. I will die with him at my side.”

I wanted to tell him I loved him, but we went over just then and again before finally coming to a stop, the Jeep having come to rest on its side, my side. I was the passenger. When I opened my eyes, he was calling me, asking me if I was alright. I sure was, I could hear him, couldn’t I? Dead people don’t hear, do they?

He was alright. Before I undid the seat belt, I said a silent prayer. If N was alright, then everything was alright.Then I scrambled out. The jeep was damaged, but miraculously both of us were ok. No broken bones, nothing to show that we had toppled down a slope in the dead of the night, had a Jeep with its top and side ripped off! We lived.

“God,” I told silently, “You gave us life together and if I live long enough, this is the man I want to live with, for this is the man I have seen death with…and survived.”

This was in the early morning hours of November 24, 2007. The place: some place deep in the Sector 53, near Al Madam, the moon was shining bright that night. That was the night I learnt of the Ryans wand and how to judge the direction looking at the stars, when I learnt so much about the desert animals and satellites from N. I was so proud of him. He knew so much, had something witty to say. It was cold up there on the dunes and we huddled in one blue shawl and stared at the stars. By some instinct we reached here, scrambled up the high dune, enjoying the night air, the cold, the clear skies. He had that ability to enjoy these things. I was glad just to be with him and looking at him in the moonlight felt like the most natural thing in the world, totally unconnected from civilization. That night, there was not even the fluke quad-bike crawling up the high face of the dunes. Far far away in the distance, the strong of light that ran along the road to Hatta-Oman shone like a pale chain of golden droplets. I was happy, this was bliss! This was what life was all about. A complete moment with someone you loved. With N.

Then instead of returning, we decided to climb another dune. And that changed everything. I don’t mind that for hours after that the shock was too much to handle. I don’t know if he felt it too. But I did. I hoped that this wouldn’t leave a permanent mark on him, keep him away from his favourite place.

I was glad for one thing. That it was me who was with him. I can’t explain it even if I tried, but I asked myself why and came up with no answer. I had been praying to God to bridge the gap, the distance that existed between us and here we had taken a giant leap!I don’t know, even to this moment, if that leap took me closer to him or away from him.

But we lived through it and I continue to live through it, every waking hour I will b thankful for it and every chance I get, I wouldn’t hesitate to show him, to tell him that I love him and if I had to go back and do it again on purpose, I would.

Alternatives

2009-03-24T09:45:00.001+04:00

12/02/2008
For the first ever time, Life gave me no alternative. Three years ago, if I ever embarked upon something, I would have a backdoor open...two if I could. I would have called it Plan A and Plan B and a Plan C somewhere to come up as a surprise. Three years later, I havent got any.
The reason being, there is no alternative. Ayn Rand once said, "The only alternatives to life is death." That is hardly the alternative we want! So what is left? Life. And that is precisely the Life I am speaking about. Life, has given me no alternatives. I cant wake up in the morning and say to myself, heck, so what if I have no red shoes, I will wear black or brown and be done with it! Because I am not talking of shoes.

I cannot wake up each morning and find a different picture by my side and convince myself that its alright...so what...big deal...I dont care...

I cant do it, because it is a big deal, I care and I cant stand to see another picture in the place of the one that has been there for three years now...The picture is the reality and not Life's alternative given to someone to toy with.

This is the battlefield, there are no fences to sit upon, no backup, no alternative, everything to lose, myself the weapon to fight against, here I will lose, here will I gain...its myself that I am fighting for, fighting against...I am fighting here for my life...
For you it is a way of life, but for me, it is LIFE itself.

...and yet you tell me not to care?

Weekend

2009-03-24T09:44:00.000+04:00

02/03/2008
Well, a weekend passed. I have no words to describe it :-) Lets say, it was expensive, scary and fulfilling all at once!
Radar flashes in the tunnels, camels running into the car and mall hopping for a pair of shoes all in one day is enough to make life "Full". Darn, how did I miss the camel? How did I forget that airport tunnels allowed only 80kmph? How did I have the patience (after all this) to hop through malls looking for shoes of a particular size?
Can life get any more dangerous or exciting? I cant forget the camel...

What is worse?

2008-01-27T13:34:00.000+04:00

I dont know what is worse. Is it knowing or is it not knowing?
I havent been able to say. Of late, especially, I am plagued with emotions I cant handle. It just has to be love. Nothing can hurt like love does.
His birthday is coming up...its got to be special. How special? This would be his third birthday I will witness...wonder if he remembers? I am waiting...

Flip side of Thailand

2008-01-06T10:41:00.000+04:00

Ha, since consistency in writing is missing, I am merely trying to fill gaps and thereby trying to cover everything I possibly can.
Here is the flipside! Just for my records.....

1. Nissan Sunny cars......I absolutely hate them!
2. Public toilets...too low!
3. Excess meat and fish...thats all they seem to eat!
4. No decent TEA or Coffee....Ha, nothing in comparison to the "chai" or "kaapi" Indian style!

5. Rice.....three times a day!

5. Noodles....NOT an alternative to rice! Oh, for a simple roti :-)

There is a brigh side to this though:-)

1. Safety...no bag snatching (guess its because a backpack is too heavy for an average Thai to run away with!!)

2. Cleanliness

3. Reliable transport system

4. Cheap, affordable accomodation

5. Spicy food

6. Very open society...no hang ups.

7. Friendly people

On the train

2008-01-02T10:18:00.000+04:00

A peaceful countryside

The excitement builds as the rains picks up speed. The air rushes in through the big, open windows and the train, after passing the first few kilometers through the shanty that inevitably springs up on the side of the railways, moves into more open grounds. Its green. Its clean. The little stangnant pools of water you see in passing are pretty with water lilies and lotus merrily co existing with the fishes... More than anything else, you can see the temples from between the cluster of trees. Suddenly, twenty minutes into the journey, you feel sleepy. The seats are not designed to stretch out comfortably, they are hard, wooden and functional and if you really must sleep, stretch over on the facing seat, it can be managed if you know how. No one will bother you and if you are traveling with the occasional Thai, chances are that he/she would be inevitably eating something: rice with shredded meat cooked in Holy Basil, rice with fish cooked in chilly and Holy Basil, or rice with fried egg (yes, with basil again) and drinking from a plastic bag with the aid of narrow straw. That was something strange. Every where I went, I was given a glass of water (for that matter when you buy bottled water-Siam water is popular...costs 5THB and comes in a white plastic bottle.) and a narrow straw to drink from!!

If you dont fall asleep right away, stick your head out of the window for fantastic view of the countryside. In places, the sturdy shrubs press against the train and it feels as though the train is offending their home with its presence. They are quite purposeful, the shrubs and are not afraid of being ripped off by the speeding train. I made that one little mistake of standing by the door, quite unnecessary but out of habit, and got scratched by one such sturdy thing. It was then the whole new idea of the open window "opened". I wasnt missing much by looking out of the huge window and was probably safer there. Also the electric poles were very very close to the train so any attempt at sticking the leg out into the open space meant a collision with the poles, if the bushes didnt get you first.

The houses built around the coutnryside are very colourful with generous amounts of wood gone into its making. Many appear to be built on stilts for some odd reason, but perhaps due to the high ground water levels. Rivers meander through in gay abandon and paddy fields with merry farmers in pointed hats appear like a fairy tale. It was a good journey, rythmic and I didnt miss the chaos of the general compartments in Indian trains.

Just as the train approcaches Kanchanaburi, the geography changes. From the plain fields and ribbon rivers, it chanegs to undulating hills and gets more green. Suddenly there is a chill in the air, as though you have finally arrived. Its a good feeling to get off the train at this little place with much historic importance.

The train continued its journey to Nam Tok and I, along with 90 per cent of the BP's alighted at Kanchanaburi.

It was close to 12 pm. Hunger gnawed.

To Kanchanaburi

2008-01-02T09:27:00.000+04:00

I always thought, mornings were best begun early. There is much charecter about the place that is seen and felt in the absence of man and traffic. The night is making a great deal abotu going away and the light is just showing of its power of the dark and slips in with as much grace as it can muster, despite the stiff resistence from the dark.

This is how Tha Phra Chand looked first thing in the morning. There was life here, near the pier. The pier itself excerised its importance because of its place among the traveling public. Anyone attempting to reach the "wrong side of the river" (note, this is where the famous Wat Arun is situated too) must pass through its sacred corridors.

I was shooting the river when the ferry whistled and set sail. Thank God for my experiences in India and elsewhere I had learnt the art of jumping on to moving trains and buses and had no difficulty in leaping from the pier on to the ferry moving away rapidly. I saw the dark river between me the board of the ferry and without a thought jumped over. The few early morning passengers whooped in delight. Thai's are mild and friendly and not given to sudden leaps and anything that distracts them form their customary sedantry pose or shakes their concentration them from their food packets, is for them a "shock".
(Ticket cost...3THB)

I left the shores of the city for the slightly more old fashioned and business-like areas of Thonburi. If Thonburi could be described in one word, I should call it the "Market." For spread in front of me with the biggest fruit-veg-meat market I have seen...looked like the whole of Bangkok came here for their supplies. I noticed several things at once...

The number of women vendors was more than men, I didnt have to swat a single fly, I could hardly believe I was in the market (it didnt smell like one...no sotting meat or veg matter, no yucky piles of left over meat or fruit, no dogs scavenging for their morsel, no cats fighting over fish bones)...and it was right opposite the Thonburi railway station too!

It was when I reached the station past the market that I realised I was too early. No wonder I hadnt met any other BP on the ferry. I had managed to forget the correct time the train left for Kanchanaburi. I had an hour and a half to kill. I cant imagine how I thought 7.45 to be 6.30 but that gave me time to wander around the market. I got a ticket. 100 THB.

That was the standard fare for the tourists. But a local wanting to travel the same route to an even farther distance (Nam Tok which is past Kanchanaburi) is 39THB. Well, one cant argue over this, can one?

Had I been late, I should ave missed much of the early morning Thai ritual. Thais love dogs and many women can be found walking one. I cant recall the breed, but they got smaller and more colourful with each passing minutes. The Thai dogs, like their owners, were mild and they only fierce when their long curly hair fell over one of their eys and they bared their little white teeth at another more elegant dog. The station suddenly seemed too full, there was another train to another destiantion and the wave of people that appreaed suddenly, vanished with the train just as suddenly. It was quiet. Thonburi is a cute little station. Functional. Old. Has seen decades of tourists and locals alike, makes no bones about its importance. Its also clean. There are no papers on the tracks, no waste food, plastic as one is apt to find in some other developing countries. In fact the loo's (2THB) are also well kept. I had been told by someone before I left, that in Thailand I needed to carry a roll of or two of toilet paper, spread them in several layers over the toilet seat before use and do nothing short of sterlising myself after. All this was probably the imagination of someone who hadnt stepped into Thailand.

The first comparison was with India, for it is there that I have travelled far and wide on trains. That, I should say, is nightmarish. I can say that, because there is rarely any running water, loos are never washed, the carriage walls are lined with betel juice, beggars and fakirs travel ticketless, raise a stinking hell, food is sold uncovered, and there are fiar chances of losing your baggage if you are not too careful.

In Thailand, you could leave your BP unattended and come abck to find it sitting where you left it...even on trains...and these trains have no grills on the window either!!

When I was in Thailand, the nation was celebrating the 80th birthday of their beloved King Bhumibol and there was some election campaign going on. Neatly dressed men and women shouted into the mikes as their cars cruised past the market and the railway station, but luckily it wasnt followed by fire crackers or police men. Thais' were peaceful people. Even in their electoral campaigns, there was order.

The train left at 8 am. A little behind schedule, no doubt, but heck, this was mostly a "tourist" train and you would harld find any BP sticking the railway with complaints for not sending their trains off on time.

Fried food

2007-12-26T16:33:00.000+04:00

You find them everywhere. Before you eat it, check what it is you are eating. Thai's eat a lot of Pork and Chicken and Fish. If you dont eat any of these, make sure you ask first. (More on Thai food ... for the BP will be written seperately)

Thailand

2007-12-26T10:02:00.000+04:00

BangLumphu:

We returned to Bangkok when the evening had set in. I had saved myself the trouble of findind transport to Ayuthaya and back, made a friend in the process. Now Pari was worried about my hotel accomodation, but I wasnt. I mean, I was willing to spend the night at the railway station if required, it didnt really matter to me. However she dropped me off at soem point, i dont remember whihc, but from where I paid 8baht for a bus ride to Bang Lumphu. Ah, it was heaven! This is what is also known in the backpackers circles as the "mecca" of backpackers.
After seeking out a backpacking couple who pointed out the right way to the Mecca, I found the Star Dome, with free internet facility...for 350 THB. Fair deal, I thought and by then I was sort of tired...I would be, hadnt slept a wink for two nights straight!

A quick shower (works miracles for a tired body) and was soon out to explore the night in the streets of Bang Lumphu, look for something not found else where.

It is true what is said of the BP community. They are like the 'fly-by-night' shops, come up for a short time, make friends with their immideate environs and move on...exchange few words with other BPs, share a drink in of the many roadside bars, share the stories fo the trails and move on. They dont make friends, they dont attach emotions...they come and they go...some come back again.

I did the same. Walked the streets that come alive in the nights...No. Its not the same as Silom and its famous or rather infamous Paptong. This place is a world in itself. It caters solely to the BP's. There are money exchanges, hotels, internet cafes, massage parlous and food joints in a straight row...all for the visitors. You will hardly find "family" types here. Perhaps they stick to the better places and thus miss the pulse that essentially makes Bangkok a place BP's love to come back to. I loved the anonymity...and to my surprise I found that I was the only single Indian woman backapcker around...people I struck conversations with readily told me it was a change to see Indian women traveling alone! Either I didnt see any of my kind or they didnt, but whatever it was, I enjoyed the freedom adn the security in the unfamiliar streets....

Thai food is appealing, no doubt, when treated as a luxury. Perhaps a more affluent visitor opting for the stay-breakfast option at regular hotels would be happy to eat three common Thai meals during their stay in Thailand. But when you have decided, like I did, to eat only Thai food during my entire stay, (and i had only had three such meals), the smell of fried food coming from the stalls and hittign your nose quite strongly, can shaken the strongest resolve. However, not the one to give up easily, I sat down to a meal by the roadside...well, can harldy find a regular hotel where you order meals, for one, the night shops flood the streets and its hard to look behind the rows of clothes and the thick fumes of frying meat!

A Thai meal that cost me 20THB was one of the spiciest I had eaten. By comparison, the break fast at airport and lunch with Pari was mere nothing...

Served with rice was a curry of fish...no, I have no idea what the fish was, a as extra helping, another kind of fish was added and something else. Everything was spicy...but there is something that serves as a balm. The water. I dont know why, Thai's drink water through a narrow straw...I gulped of course, I couldnt sip milli liters of ice cold water when my tongue and throat was on fire, could i? There was a peculair taste to the fish...later I learnt it was courtesy the Holy Basil..Tulasi!

The night at Star Dome was more or less like a stop...sleep hardly came...bands kept playing through the night...it was a cheerful place, savouring every minute of their short life, making merry...I cursed, however...I needed rest.

I think I managed four hours before I woke up and realised I needed to hurry to the train station on the other side of the river.

I managed. When I left the key at the counter, the sky was just getting light. The early morning streets had the same cheer in them, although a bit empty, but there was determination to return to its happy self in a few hours!

I made it on time. I was back at Tha Phra Chand...and going someplace at last :-)

Ayuthaya

2007-12-24T13:07:00.000+04:00

Ayuthaya

Thailand's ancient capital city, now more or less like a remnant of its glorious past. When I drove into the city with Pari, it felt like I was going back in time...ignoring the modern building, the fast developments. A look at the countryside was a better way to see into its past...that and the temples rising out of cane fields and distant cluster of trees. Anyone having visited Ayuthaya may have felt this sense of glory. There were temples everywhere (Temples or Wats), each more grand and more beautiful than the other and taking pictures did not seem like a good idea. For one, it was distracting, second, I wanted to drink in all the beauty with naked eyes. Pari had a lot of information to offer.

We went around the crumbling city to the site of the Sleeping Budha, The Budha head in the tree and few other wats around...I think I have them all on video...so much easier than writing down the confusing names...come to think of it, I photographed most of the names too....and have postcards to look up names...just in case.

Elephants are fairly common here...probably comes from the jungles further north. Elephant rides are hot favourite among the tourists especially from the Eurpoean countries but for someone such as I coming from the Southern part of India bordering the Bandipur National Forest, elephants are but a common sight...and any such idea of riding one is ridiculed by everyone around....Actully when I saw people jump in glee to ride the beast, I felt that way too...however it did not stop me from riding one in Kanchanaburi two days later...but I will get to that.

I dont suppose I would have taken in Ayuthaya as a part of my travel plan had it not been for her. And thank God for the 7/11 convenience stores, I had my supply of coffee which, but which, I must add, was nearly 80% less than my usual consumption.

I cant say I didnt like the ruins of the ancient temples, its was sort of different and Pari was a well informed guide too...I particularly liked the Budha head in a tree and the hundreds of headless statues seated around the execution table!

Otherwise, the countryside is in itself a treat. Then there are the souvenier stores. Well, Thailand is a fairly artistic sort of country, and you can find some finely crafted peices to buy...some are of course a little hard to stomach, like the huge black penis, but otherwise you can find some decent stuff (The Budha, of course) to take home to your folks!

The Land of Smiles: Thailand

2007-12-24T09:54:00.000+04:00

Day 1: A simple matter of getting on to the flight, sitting still waiting for the smiling Thai air hostess to serve food and drinks, nap a bit, and finally hours after the flight has taken off from Dubai, land in another part of the world, some three hours ahead of my normal time. A place totally alien to me. Thailand, the Land of Smiles.

It was all simple, really. I mean, goin away is really simple. I went away to Thailand without a clue. I mean, I knew things about Thailand, as would every reader of google. But actually being there, alone, is another thing altogether.

I wasnt prepared for anything,. at the same time, prepared for everything. I cant explain that. When I got off the plane at Bangkok,(Suwarnabhumi pronounced Su-wana-poon) a singularly inspiring piece of engineering, I was faced with many different feelings. Euphoria, above everything. But all that had to wait till I actually got out of the airport. I needed my visa, needed a shower and change...rememebr I was going to backpack, had no time to waste, had to pack in as much as I could in five days and I wasnt going to check into a hotel to relax and change in leisure. A backpacker does not fancy hotels anyway, for them hotels are merely places to sleep the night if a railway station or a bus station is not in vicinity!! Oh alright, let me not get away from tracks.

A quick change at the airport, quicker steps to the visa counter, a thousand smiles, a thousand baht, one pic, and lo, my visa was stamped. I was officially in Thailand now. The airport itself is a mini-Budhist town and even before tourists in large groups exited the gates, their camera clicked and clicked, not missing anything. I had no time to lose.

First I need to eat. Well, I didnt know when my next meal would come from and what would be in store for me, so I decided to have breakfast at the airport. Google had suggested Magic Food Court as the cheapest option at the airport but a walk around the food courts threw up many surprises. There were far cheaper options, but I wasnt to know the comparison till I had eaten at the Magic Food Court. By the time I did, I was so full. The first ever meal in Thailand consited of rice noodles (the flat broad ones), with sweet and spicy sauce, tofu, pork, csprouts, herbs i had never seen or heard of (or tasted before). I never got the name of the dish but I cant say I particularly loved it...despite having made up my mind to enjoy the last grin of Thai rice in every meal.

Outside of the Magic Court is the exit. This is where you can get a bus to the City. Airport Express operates from ehre at regular intervals. The buses are named..AE 1, AE 2, AE3. My mind was fixed on getting out of the city as fast as I could and I knew (google) that a train left Thonburi station at 1.50 pm for Kanchanaburi, which is where I had wanted to go. However it was early. It was just about 8 am and I had plenty of time. I bought a ticket: 150 baht. Standar fare. There were options, of course, but taxis are very expensive and i saw no point in spending extra to go the same place I could go to in less.

The bus saw me off at Sanam Luang, its last stop, in close proximity to the TAT office, to the ferry that would take me across to Thonburi.

The ride from the airport was smooth, my first connection with the land. So totally different from my own familiar territory. The bus appeared to have been commisoned soley for the purpose of shuttling backpacker such as I. There wasnt any group of people, no tourists, no family-style visitors...just few backpackers, scattered over the bus, each with a map or a Lonely Planet guide book, looking as content as possible for the 75 minutes ride into the city. I enjoyed the feeling of not knowing where i was going, more than the Thai songs that played loudly, more than the Thainglish the driver spoke, eager to convey to me the suprises of his country. One curious backpacker with several tatoos (hence backpackers will be referred as BP. Baht as THB), asualted me with a barrage of questions, wanting to know why as a single Indian woman, I was on my own. Indians were many, holidaying of making money, but he had, he told me honestly, not come across a single Indian woman BP in Thailand....and he had been two months on the trails already. He came once in two years.

Well, hurrah to the new breed of Indian BP's. Keep pattaya off your itenarary, he told me with a serious face. If you like the treks, you are in the 'league of BPs that would not like the seedy beach." I took his word for it.

He left before I could say goodbye at Sanam Luang.

Sanam Luang is a quiet, cool and shady area and shows the city in good light. An eager tuk-tuk wallah fell on me with much force.

I smiled. He smiled even wider. Thonburi, I told him, gesturing at the tuk-tuk and asking him how much it would cost.

He had ideas...and he spoke a bit of English. He suggested going to the TAT office nearby, get myself an itenarary or probably even a ticket, and the correct information. He kindly hailed another tuk-tuk and spoke rapidly in Thai. In the end, it was agreed that I would pay the tuk-tuk wallah 10THB for a ride to the TAT office and if I didnt like their plans, I would be shown three sights nearby (all Budha of course) for an additional 10THB.

I suppose it was a good deal and tuk-tuks were the best way to see the city. They make a noise that can beat their Indian counterparts hands down, but it was more exciting to ride on a open tuk-tuk. The young driver put in all his energy, drove rapidly through the clean roads to the office, stopping enroute at 7/11 (the convenience stores all over Thailand) for coffee (bought him one too. The cost of coffee at 7/11 is 10 THB), and shot off to the office.

I drew a blank there. I didnt want their itenarary, didnt want to be stuck with their brood of boring family tourists. Refusing to visit the Sleeping Budha, i asked him to drive me to Tha Phra Chand where I could catch a ferry to Thonburi on the other side of the river. It was the most sensible thing to do anyway.

Tha Phra Chand is in close proximity to the Grand Palace, the university, the Supreme Court and the office of the attorney general, but has its own presence as the point of ferry-boarding. It is busy.

While looking for a washroom, I met Mrs Supawadee Maspong. I sought her out of the hundred of other people milling about, because she looked like she knew English. I had to make myself understood that I needed a loo.

Yes, She knew English. She was nice and friendly, in a deep maroon skirt and blouse, Thai style with a single strand of pearl necklace. She knew where to find a loo. We walked backwards, towards the pier and we got talking.

She was heading to Ayuthya, the former capital of Thailand, a temple town, and asked if i would like to come along. I hated to miss the train to kanchanaburi and ayuthya did not feature on my plans but heck, why not? I didnt have a destination, and here was a free ride (and back too maybe). I could always take the early morning train.

So to Ayutya I went with her. Mrs Supawadee Maspong (I called her Pari) happened to be the Chief Provincial Public Prosecutor of Ayuthya Province!

Meandering through the heavy traffic, we reached Ayuthya through the expressway after paying tolls at four different booths (total about 90THB). Thats how I reached Ayuthya.

UAE

2007-12-17T12:01:00.000+04:00

Hi all,

I have a ticket. Yup, in this season of holidays, there is nothing more precious than having a ticket to the place you have intended to go...So I have a ticket. The question is now, what next!
I am heading to Bangkok to trek through the northern province and throw in, for a good measure, sights and sounds of Kanchanaburi, the Death Railway, Hell Fire Pass etc...I have it all sorted out in my own mind.

But then I havent even a visa...that of course can be addressed without hitches. Even Indian citizens can get a visa on arrival. So thats one step ahead.

I havent got a baht to call my own, barely had time to pack, forget getting a hotel reservation.
So, am going to be on Thai airways, headed to Bangkok, without a baht, without hotel reservations, without a familiar palce in an unfamiliar land...but darn, I am going to enjoy every moment of it.

I have five days to figure out the lanes and coutnryside of Thailand, enjoy Thai hospitality and trek to waterfalls...lets see how it goes...

But how I wish Naveen was somewhere around...

The knife

2007-12-09T13:08:00.000+04:00

A long lonely journey,
covered in but a flash,
a leap of faith, a surge of hope,
it was, a brush with death,
then slowly, gently, a kiss of life…
Dreamlike days hence, but then a cloud comes by ... its not hope, a cloud devoid of rain, a mass of fear, and once again, after life danced a few minutes, death came calling again...

A gleaming knife, a veiled threat, fear for life…
his life, that hung from the knife tip,
an unspoken command,a blank refusal, life hung in balance…against my own,
I would have laid down my life,
in the same instant he made a move to remove his own…
a moment that could have passed without fear or anger,
but a moment that lay in between us,
overwrought with guilt and hatred and anger not our own,
not his, not mine but a shadow from his past,
I, the innocent victim, froze in fear for a life,
that was far precious than my own.

Universal test

2007-12-04T10:45:00.000+04:00

Suddenly everything is strange. I am not sure I understand much of what is happening. People say, everything that happens in life is for a purpose, it follows the …set out for us years ago, probably even in our previous birth. I can’t say if I have anything to support what I am saying, I don’t particularly know if I believe in it…or is my belief limited to what I want to hear, but whatever it is, there is a connection. There has to be a connection. Nothing is right without it.
Everything follows a sequence. Whether you apply the scientific mind about equal and opposite reactions or simply place faith in the ashes and shells of naked astrologers, a sequence is there. It is there because you are a part of the sequence and only when you sit back and think about it, it makes sense.
Something happened. Something always happens, of course but what happened is the part of that important sequence which I cannot name.
That day, I had only Dhs20 in my wallet that was placed in my hand bag which was zipped tight. I don’t usually zip any bag I have, but after a quick shopping at BHS in Al Ghurair City, for some odd reason I tucked the wallet into my bag, (usually I carry the wallet in the back pocket of my pants), zipped it, threw away the bill for purchase and had no paper so to speak of on my person or bag. Then I went hunting for an ATM. In Al Ghurair, when you go past the food court, the escalator takes you down to the floor level. Which is what I did. There was no one around when I placed my feet on the escalator. Before I reached halfway, a young Filipino male with earphones appeared out of nowhere. Thinking back, I realized he was behind the pillar by the ATM. I hailed him.
He pointed towards the ATM and proceeded.
“Excuse me, madam,” someone called out. I turned around to face a man some distance away near the escalator.
“Did you call me?” I asked. “Yes,” he said. “You dropped something.” With that he pointed at what looked like a piece of paper. A bit of paper. A mere slip. I could see from that distance that it wasn’t important. Could have been a piece torn off a bigger, complete paper. I was sure I didn’t carry anything like that with me. I stood there, unmoving. The escalator brought with it another person I have never seen before, who perhaps had witnessed this incident as he stepped on. The caller said to me… “It fell out of your pocket.”
I stayed where I was. The new arrival had by this time picked up the bit of paper and walked towards me, his hands extended. I reached out. When two people were insisting on giving me something, I assumed that it could, after all, be mine. I couldn’t be sure if the bit of paper wasn’t really mine. I took it. It was a folded dollar.
“A dollar?” I said. “No, this isn’t mine.” (There was no way I could fool myself into believing that it was mine. It was simply not possible). There was no one around. In the split second that it took me to inspect the piece of paper and come to a conclusion that the said item was not mine, both the people had disappeared. I opened the folded dollar and was mildly shocked to find that it was actually USD100. And it wasn’t mine.
I cannot explain why it felt like a weight in my hands, a weight I didn’t want to carry. Someone had dropped the money and for some reason it was forced upon me. Why?
These events have no explanations. I didn’t need the money. No. I didn’t need it. I wasn’t going to keep it. But just where was the person who lost it? How do you trace the owner that does not leave any trail?
I hailed the security. She was not interested, not in the money nor in answering my questions. I had a sneaky feeling that such money was left lying about deliberately to test the integrity of mall-shoppers and I wasn’t going to be a number in the statistics which said “9 out of 10 do not return the money they find.”
A brief walk down the corridor, couple of well placed questions with whoever I could find brought no results. All were residents of UAE and it was hardly likely that residents carried about dollars and not dirhams which was more sensible. I was uneasy. I don’t like being uneasy when it is forced on me. Just why must I be uneasy for no fault of mine? I had to find the person.
It wasn’t easy but I did something else. I hid behind the pillar for some time, watching people go up and down the escalator, looking out for someone who had the saddest face, traces of loss, panic and people who looked sharp and yet pleased that their ruse had worked. Nothing. The life in the mall was just the same, indifferent and tired shoppers walked past happily.
It was a waste of time. I supposed I had been given the money for some reason. Just had to find someone who needed it. I returned home.
The Church. That’s where people came when they needed help. Moral, emotional, financial…anything. The Church was a community.
It was another revelation. I have never seen the church priest (except when he is holding mass) outside the Church. But that morning I did. The first rush of relief passed over me. I walked up to him. He was standing just beside the statue of Mother Mary.
“Good morning Father,” said I. “I have something to tell you.”
I told him as briefly as I could. He had the strangest expression on his face. “Give it to someone who needs it,” he said, as I expected him to.
“I don’t know of anyone off hand and I am quite sure you have better chances of finding a needy than I do,” I told him handing him the money. ‘I simply don’t want what is not mine and I leave it with you.”
He made some quick calculations and arrived at the Dollar-dirham conversion. “Alright,” he said. “Maybe the Church would add up a few dirhams and total it to 500 and give it away.”
“Not the Church,” I said with relief. “Me.”
I gave him the difference. He thanked me and I thanked him in return. Several emotions raced through me that moment. Relief being the dominant one. Then another. Suddenly I felt clean. Like I had been bathed in Holy Water by the Maker himself. This was not meant to be mine…I was merely the messenger, the courier person…I had done my bit. Maybe someone really needed the money…someone would eventually get it, would never know where it came from. But I am glad to know that the money passed through without breaking the sequence that had been decided for me years ago. I had passed the test.

We lived

2007-11-27T15:29:00.000+04:00

In the brief interval before we flipped over, when the Jeep hit its nose on the slope, I am sure a million thoughts crossed my mind. I remember only one, distinctly. “Oh, so this is it? When we go over completely, we will be dead. There is no pain”. Then another, more purposeful thought, almost as though I said it aloud, “It’s all right. I will die with him at my side.”

I wanted to tell him I loved him, but we went over just then and again before finally coming to a stop, the Jeep having come to rest on its side, my side. I was the passenger. When I opened my eyes, he was calling me, asking me if I was alright. I sure was, I could hear him, couldn’t I? Dead people don’t hear, do they?

He was alright. Before I undid the seat belt, I said a silent prayer. If Naveen was alright, then everything was alright.

Then I scrambled out. The jeep was damaged, but miraculously both of us were ok. No broken bones, nothing to show that we had toppled down a slope in the dead of the night, had a Jeep with its top and side ripped off! We lived.

“God,” I told silently, “You gave us life together and if I live long enough, this is the man I want to live with, for this is the man I have seen death with…and survived.”

This was in the early morning hours of November 24, 2007. The place: some place deep in the Sector 53, near Al Madam, the moon was shining bright that night.

That was the night I learnt of the Ryans wand and how to judge the direction looking at the stars, when I learnt so much about the desert animals and satellites from Naveen. I was so proud of him. He knew so much, had something witty to say. It was cold up there on the dunes and we huddled in one blue shawl and stared at the stars. By some instinct we reached here, scrambled up the high dune, enjoying the night air, the cold, the clear skies. He had that ability to enjoy these things. I was glad just to be with him and looking at him in the moonlight felt like the most natural thing in the world, totally unconnected from civilization. That night, there was not even the fluke quad-bike crawling up the high face of the dunes.

Far far away in the distance, the strong of light that ran along the road to Hatta-Oman shone like a pale chain of golden droplets. I was happy, this was bliss! This was what life was all about. A complete moment with someone you loved. With Naveen.

Then instead of returning, we decided to climb another dune. And that changed everything. I don’t mind that for hours after that the shock was too much to handle. I don’t know if he felt it too. But I did. I hoped that this wouldn’t leave a permanent mark on him, keep him away from his favourite place.

I was glad for one thing. That it was me who was with him. I can’t explain it even if I tried, but I asked myself why and came up with no answer. I had been praying to God to bridge the gap, the distance that existed between us and here we had taken a giant leap!

I don’t know, even to this moment, if that leap took me closer to him or away from him. But we lived through it and I continue to live through it, every waking hour I will b thankful for it and every chance I get, I wouldn’t hesitate to show him, to tell him that I love him and if I had to go back and do it again on purpose, I would.

Give

2007-11-18T12:16:00.000+04:00

There is something I want to give. It’s called a dream. In that dream I shower you with love, drown you in kisses, hold you close to me, whisper sweet nothings, watch you sleep…then I have a wish…a wish that goes beyond my own reasoning, a wish that has you in it…you as the beginning and you as my end.

Then I have faith which makes me believe, that you will be mine, that you are mine…from the day I saw you, across the crowded tables, I nurse this faith, how can I not love you! I have a prayer to give, it is for you, that you may get all your heart desires…the prayer also asks the lord, may your desire be me…

Visa, UAE

2007-11-11T14:49:00.001+04:00

In life, you do hear of strange things. I have heard many in my time and hope, I will continue to hear. but today, I had an experience of a different kind.

Anyone living in the UAE would know and agree with me that, barring the traffic, visa is the most spoken of subject. People love to surmise, opine, rave and rant over the visa. There is the constant talk of cancellation, being blacklisted, ban etc. I haven’t met many who are eager to get their visa cancelled, except very few who have the backing of a larger organization and don’t care a damn. Currently I am in one of the above category, however that did not prepare me for the shock of knowing the Media City, the benevolent body did not want to cancel my visa. Now, they have their reasons. They do not know me personally. To them I am a number, a passport, an expat. They go by the rules they apply for everyone. They mean to first make sure that the person who is having his/her visa cancelled is in the country. So they did.

My ex-PR person tells me my visa cancellation has been rejected. Wonder of wonders! I ask why. He says, “They want to make sure you are here, have not sponsored anyone else.”
I am present and not sponsored anyone ….Not yet anyway.

He says, OK. I will re apply and let you know morrow.

But that is not all. I cannot rest, can I, knowing that I share the status of the mythological “Trishanku’. So I proceed to the media city immigration. I hail the officer…err, official. I tell her my plight. She looks at me as though such things happen everyday and if anybody is to be blamed it is the person himself because he has not advertised the fact that he is IN the country. (It doesn’t matter that they are sitting on my passport. Of course, how do I leave the country without passport and still manage to have passport with them etc….).
I meet another official. I like the officials, really, they look…. Well, sufficiently impressive as officials…they look serious, straight, clean, and purposeful and carry with them an air of importance not seen in other government departments in the UAE.

I was satisfied. Here is an official, I thought, who was going to sort out the mess. I was encouraged. I repeated my story, showed him the paper. He looked at me carefully, nodded in understanding. I even saw a flicker of sympathy in his eyes. “Poor thing,” it seemed to say. What lot of mess this young lady finds herself in! Here let me help her in all ways I can.

I was reading his mind, suddenly joyous that this ordeal would soon come to an end and that I would finally hold a passport with a visa cancelled!

The kind official punched into his computer. Peered into it carefully, punched in more alphabets. From where I stood, I couldn’t see what the computer threw up. I waited. He continued to make clicking noises. Then he raised his head. There was a trace of doubt on his otherwise impassive face.

He spoke.

“The system needed to know if you were in the country….” Before I could react, he continued, casting a quick look at my face and downward.

“Are you in the country?”

Child

2007-11-05T14:03:00.000+04:00

My face is much the same,
So is the mirror on the wall,
But there is a change
In the image I see,
It does not belong to me.
What I see is a drop of light,
Same as it used to be,
When I dreamed of him beside me
I see whispers of breeze
As it flows across fragrant hills.
Oh, I ask myself, am I dreaming…
But reflections don’t lie,
They are a part of your being.
My mirror smiles
I see my unborn child
Giggling in my arms
He is a tiny image of you
You, who I see in the mirror,
Do I dare to name you?

Tea

2007-11-04T14:41:00.000+04:00

Tea: In my second book that is nearly complete, there is a mention of Tea. I dont mean, just a mention, in fact there are several. I have drawn inspiration from the tea in Kerala, in Karnataka and through the central India and further on in the North and even Far East. Every cup of tea in each of these places have, at one time or the other, buckled my sagging spirits, shown me a new world, sealed frienship with strangers, kept me awake, helped me sleep...The Tea is indeed the best thing anyone can hope for, first thing in the morning, last thing before going to bed.

I am a Tea Lover. Many will tell you that and you can also see the evidence in the empty cups on my table. Mind, while I am a Tea Lover, I am also a caffeine addict and cannot do without coffee in gallons through the day (the Tea is in between coffee :-) I am nearly as bad as anyone with such an inclination for the brew can be.

I have been chided for having too much Tea. But, but, belive it or not, I DONT MAKE MY OWN TEA! If you looked in my kitchen (yes, an often unused one) you will not find anything that could link me to tea...I drink tea outside my house, when at home, it is coffee. This naturally means that am no good with tea-making, whether the tea has to be made from the 'dip' thing or the leaf-to-be-boiled, am absolutely lost. Any tea I have made, is from memory (of several years and montha ago) and experimented on people who agree to be poisened by the brew.

So, under the cirumstance, what could i do if I feel strongly about some some guy with a special ability to make tea? Isnt this what you call 'serindipity absolute'? The special someone who loves tea as much as I do? But who has no qualms about making tea? Rather, who makes the world's most fabulous tea? (Wait, am not about to share his address, no way, so you cant get any of his tea).

The best thing under the circumstance would be to keep him! Naturally, not just for his tea, but for being the most wonderful person on earth, for being that sweetest angel, for being the dearest friend, for being my own love (wonder if he knows that!), for being the best tea-maker in the world I have had the occasion to meet, for being what he is....for waking me up to cup of the best tea in the world...

This is a day I wouldnt like to forget. For someone whose tea comes from cafeterias, restaurants or the neighbours cup, someone who has always lived out of suitcases, for me who rises before everyone in the world, to have the dearest person wake me up with TEA is a blessing. Life is indeed strange and unexpected...for all these years I have woken up to the sound of birds and train whistles....but very first time to "Dear Tea" in a blue cup...

I am out of words. I cant thank him enough, I cant ever tell him what difference it has made to me...Probably I can never ever tell him what I feel, but I can say 'Thank You'. It was not the Tea, it was the thought of waking up and suddenly thinking of making an extra cup for some one who is alseep...

Thank You.

First time-Last time

2007-10-31T17:19:00.000+04:00

It happens, life meets life and everything stops. See, it so happened in my case too. My life was in the form of a man, well naturally, and ever since I met him, 25 months and 8 days ago, I dont remember having another constant factor in my life...except that of his name! I cant imagine that I have, through various season and reasons survied what I would call the test of love. Couldnt have believed it had someone told me two years ago that I would meet someone who would shut me up with a word and I would be really glad to, well, shut up! Feel like a bumbling, fumbling fool, tie up in knots, become breathelss from fear, awe, admiration and pride...yes, these things do happen and Mills & Boon do not have the copyright on these feelings! I know for a fact, I would lose an argument on the very subject I specialise in and would only be too willing to, also!

Yes, yes, these things do happen and the process, though painful at times, is just what seals your belief that you are indeed in love! For it is only in love that does not react offendingly...because in love, the will, desire, of the other is far more important than a silly self-ego stoking...I would, any day, any time be willing to call the sky brown if he told me so...

Laughter

2007-10-28T15:33:00.001+04:00

It is cloudy, the sky
Usually so blue
Rain clouds appear
In heavy grey curls
Waiting to unfurl
Long tresses onto the world
Winds are low,
Sun lies in breathless wait
Wondering where light has gone
Nothing moves,
Nothing breathes
The world is still
An eerie calm prevails
Over cheery blue hills…
I shudder to think
Of the moment ahead
I don’t know where to hide
Must I laugh or must I cry

When suddenly…
A smile touches
The edge of your voice
And turns into laughter
Everything is all right
In the world again…

Will you?

2007-10-24T16:13:00.000+04:00

So near, yet, so far
Miles of emptiness
Between our hearts
I wonder then, will you
Cover the distance between us
Or wait for me to come close
Will you say something?
Or is silence enough
Will you see love in my eyes
Or wait for me to scream the truth
Between us, we know why
And you, more than I do
It is not distrust
Or anger or pain,
Or fear for identities lost
It is what eyes can’t see
But hearts can feel
The constraints of love
Not spoken of
Would you be mine?
If I told you
I am merely the flame
That burns for you
Could we put our heads
Together on a pillow
And dream of things to come
Or would you rather dream alone
And wish for me to follow you?

Another face

2007-10-21T12:52:00.001+04:00

Indeed the trials of life…one never knows where to turn, what to do, where to go and what to look for and sometimes, it is all there and yet you don’t know even if stares you in the face, what to do with it! Take me for example. (Looks like I am an example for everything in this world!) Me, if I do look at myself in the mirror, I look like a question mark. Its not my face I am looking at….it could be fancy, but I see on my face, the face of another, a stranger…who is the stranger? It feels, sometimes, that unanswered questions have the taken the identity of another, but who? Will that face go away when I get my answers? Will I get my answers, are answers there to find? Oh, but questions are aplenty. I am wondering if I am prepared for the answers….the inevitability of it all is that a huge chasm still exists between me and the other, a chasm created perhaps due to my own inability to project the depth of the feelings, the inability to forgive myself for a crime I did not commit, or perhaps a perceived crime for which I risked everything, my love, my hopes and my dreams just so that someone else, someday would be free of the burden he unknowingly carried with him.
I am still a stranger to myself. I don’t recognize this self of mine because in this ‘self’ is someone who is loved more than my very own self, a voice, a face, a body, a being who lives in my mind more than I do! I don’t recognize myself because it is that ‘other’ that lives in me, seen by many, but felt only by me. Someone, sometime ago, held me in her arms, expressing a desire to kiss me because in me she saw another face. The kiss of Judas, a kiss that was more her hatred for situations she could not control yet wanting to through me, a medium, because she recognized in me a certain other face…
You see, I am not me. I am the shadow of my other self, content even to be able to see, briefly the face on my own face in the reflection, eager, like the tears that rise, to roll down those cheeks, leaving a watery trail…a tear drop that which erupts in my eyes, but flows down his cheeks…..

Kill Me

2007-10-18T15:28:00.001+04:00

It will, someday
Kill me, this love
I have for you
Why then, does life
Thrust upon me
This something called love
Never a burden it was
No, pray hear what I say
A joy it is, a pain even
Your indifference
A pleasure personified
Time does not
From this moment move
At times moves too soon
Hurt grips the heart
And stabs like
Nothing else can
Yet I think of you
Even when am broken
A smile plays on my lips
At nights, when dreams play
Somewhere between the folds
Of a troubled mind
I wake up to see you
By my side
Nothing is more agonizing
Than your absence from thought
And from my sight…
Oh life,
Will my very own love
Destroy me in the end?

Sometimes

2007-10-17T11:32:00.000+04:00

There are times I feel
All water has flown from my eyes
I wish I could squeeze a drop
From somewhere within
Just so I could cry…
So I could drown myself
In its depths
And shake myself alive
Uncover a drop that would
Soothe the fire
That burns my soul
Why is a drop so hard to find?
When did the river run dry?
Questions stare me in the eye
That is now parched
But the answers stir
And bubble like a stream
Waiting to overflow
But somewhere along
Run into themselves
Like words do
Remain there unmoving,
Like the eyes themselves
Not knowing where to go…

A journey

2007-10-16T13:11:00.000+04:00

Now, the thing about a journey, any journey, is the company. So what if you are travelling with yourself? Here is the catch. "Yourself" is not to be read as "single, alone". Yourself could be read (here) as being with someone exactly like yourself, you could go as far as saying, a photocopy!

This can be explained in many ways. But I will stick to the conventional ways of explaining the long winded way in words...

It was not the first time I was going to Khassab, the step-child of Oman, cut away from the rest of the brood by the pretty Mussandam Range. The only thing that changed was who I was with. Here is the catch...I was, I felt, with myself, despite being with two people, who, in themselves are inseperable, but who, in relation to me, is my carbon copy. I have wondered many times, had I been a guy, would I have been him? I have wondered many times during that long, amazing drive, how it is so I knew they would enjoy the exact same thing I do? Is that what knowing someone means? Does it take a journey to complete that understanding?

You could find two people with similar likes or dislikes, but two people with the same instinct?
Is that what being friends mean? Is that what is meant by being a soul-mate? Souls are hard to define, arent they? Are souls guided by instinct?

I could tell, on that drive, whether he would like the same spot that I did in my earlier journey and that he was NOT going on that dhow cruise! I could tell we were not going to sit inside a restaurant for lunch, but find a place under a rock to eat! You bet, I could even say he wasnt going to jump in to the water simply by looking at his socks! Thats wierd, isnt it? But thats what makes me say what I did. Its not about knowing a person's habits, its about knowing a PERSON as he is! Never for a moment did I feel as though I had wanted to do something else, but do what we did exactly!!

I have done Khassab quite thoroughly...at least what within my reasonable limits and to push those limits required the instincts of another! Life is so eternally funny, so intense, so oppurtunistic and wierd. I will never remember Khassab for the extremely rich marine life, snorkeling or the rocks and the sea or off roading to the end of the mountains...I will remember Khassab as a place that was guided by instinct, by the unsaid, untold understanding of the self's deep desire for the new, for the little incidents as admiring a tree grow out of the solid grey rock, for the laughter over a radio station that had no right to be, for the worst chicken biriyani that was cooked, for the flies around the breakfast table, for the misspelt names and lost trails...for that one person who laughed with the sun and found that wasps hated tobacco, for one who felt that in the 15 gm of Oman chips, you got half of that weight as 'Oman air', for the dearest friend who could ignore the blue sea and explain the make of the engine, someone who complaied excessively about me being over weight!!

Someone who loved Khassab for the simple fact that we were visiting it for no reason but the sheer love of living and driving over unfamiliar rocks...For the Naveen who was just as I always knew him. Himself.

That is how Khassab will remain in memory.
Khassab: Revisited on Oct 13, 2007.

Your name...

2007-09-26T14:58:00.000+04:00

I love you,
Yet, you will never hear me
Call your name again
You are no more a mystery,
What I seek, I will find
You are my destiny
And yet, towards you
No step will I take
Never will I see you
When I cry, nor touch you
As I hold you close
If you must see me
Or feel me around you
It will be in time
When I am far from you
At once then, you will know
Where, for me to look
In my nights there will be
No dreams of you
Nor my mornings will light up
With thoughts of you
If my dreams you must share
With your eyes you must see
What I have dreamed of you
In my sighs, your name
Will never rise
For, with time, your name
Is the very air I breathe
In my breath hence,
You must find life of your own...
My heart will never overflow
With love for you
You are precious
And I will save every drop of you
But if love you must know
With your heart you must find
Like in you, I found my own.

With you...always

2007-09-24T15:01:00.001+04:00

If, far away I go
Into a world unknown
While you are still here
Remember, somewhere
I will live on...
Though you may not see
Nor hear me
I will always be
Where I can see you
Though a veil, touch you
I will feel your pain
More than you do...

When you whisper
I will hold you close
And listen to you
Breath means nothing
Though it parts you from me
In spirit I will always be
Around to love you
At nights if you are lonely
I will pray for you
And wish someone would
Come to love you
As in your need I would...

If, am gone and leave you here
Let your imaginations
Fill in all the blanks
Of what could have been
Till time intervened
From life, I have no desire
It gave me you
Even in death, I smile
Wishing someday, somewhere
We would be together again
But, my love, if I could stay
I would, I swear.

Because I killed you...

2007-09-10T10:07:00.000+04:00

I killed you with my words,
Someday I will be called
To explain why...and I know
I will have no answers
But I hope you know
In the days in between
today and reckoning
how many times I will die
knowing that I made you cry...
Writhe in pain

and drink in guilty tears

your eyes will dry
but my wound will be green
as a reminder of what I lost
My words pierced your heart
like a knife, and
anger reduced you to a pile
I saw you right then
Wounded due to my cruelty
But a brave man you are
Who will rise and shine,

forgive me, if you will

to make life a little easier

I will burn less violently

and hope to live longer

But my love,
I will suffer in silence
Till death does my breath part...

Fear of Heights

2007-07-19T09:42:00.000+04:00

I am afraid of heights, but that is exactly why I jump from heights, so as to convince myself that height is not my foe. And going by that same principle I want to scale Mt Everest. And why not? After Mt Everest, I guess I will never have to fear 40 ft drops into the ocean, right?

Wrong. I will still have to fear 40 ft drops into the ocean if am not wearing a life jacket but that would not keep from jumping into the ocean if I have set my mind to, fear or no fear, life jacket or not! Because as I look down into the water from high above it is not just the fear that dominates the mind, it is compounded by something deeper, a feeling of exaltation that is achieved in the one second my feet leave the ground and before I hit water. Again that feeling is quickly replaced when the whole of the body is deep under, going further down before reaching the dead end where reverse force takes effect and the process of surfacing begins...then, more than fear of the water it is the fear of the lack of oxygen that takes over....and when I have finally broken surface, another fear takes over...probably I cant last till I reach the shore? What if?

I am fascinated with the process. Because this entire episode takes less than two minutes and falls largely under one word: Diving. But essentially diving is divided and sub-divided into smaller time frames, each with distinct characters, here being the reaction and feeling, at different stages of one act. Can I get through another frame without going through the first? No. although I did try to rush through the second act but to no avail. Every act is a perfectly coordinated move, following its own rules, its own rhythm and nothing can prepare you for the ultimate joy of having survived turbulent seas.

Diving is a lot like living. If I don’t wake up in the morning, how would I enjoy my breakfast? Only the time to eat is too far apart! Diving is a lot faster. I am afraid of heights, that’s why I like to dive...it sort of bridges the big difference in heights and I get closer to the ground.

The Mind

2007-07-19T09:40:00.000+04:00

It is indeed supreme, this thing we call The Mind. For, how do you explain the flurry of thoughts and emotions that it handles through the hours over the years and yet not loose its capacity of clear judgment and action? I am sure, if one could see it, it would look like a science laboratory on a micro chip but with equal or more competence than a thousand such micro-chips put together.

I have close brushes with The Mind. My Mind. We play hide and seek with each other often. Sometimes, I win, some times, The Mind wins, but it is nearly always a game. A game in which I am the helpless board. The only participation I can offer myself for the Mind to roll the dice and move the pawns. He is the ruler. A mini-God. The decision maker overruling the heart’s desire, never allowing it to want or receive. The Mind is a trickster because it makes me behave in the exact manner as it desires. Like now. I know I don’t understand what I am feeling this minute because The Mind has decided not to explain, but relented enough to let the heart accommodate feelings of different kinds for future torture. Oh, just why it couldn’t have shut out reasoning?

I also think The Mind is a gutter, but a clever, thinking gutter. It has all kinds of feelings mixed with much hurt yet never mixes one with the other, each feeling defined, distinct, just overlapping each other but never taking on the colour or characteristic of the other. It has defined space for joy, pain, hurt, fear, anxiety, sometimes all of them appear as one, in one moment but I still cannot act upon any of them because the mind does not will it. Only the heart takes an objection, but to no avail. So it remains there, heaving and heavy, crying and laughing all at once, unsure and the Mind supremely commands all exits closed.
How can I control my mind? I suspect my heart also: sometimes it becomes its ally, aiding many outbursts, giving rise to unexplained, instinctive desires, then going back into a writhing, miserable emptiness...No. The Mind and The Heart is my supreme enemy. Enemy? Whose? But again I wonder would I be ME without the two of them?

Chotu

2007-06-23T15:56:00.001+04:00

....and we call him Chotu!!

Two Pathans and a Greek

2007-06-16T09:15:00.000+04:00

Come Friday and life suddenly changes course, even for a day. More so when you have the whole day at your disposal and do not have to worry about going to work in formal clothing and a deceptive smile.

This Friday, was like many Fridays before, an example of what a free mind and body can achive if fear is not ruling.

So it happened that at 5.30 am (who ever wakes up on 5.30 am on a holiday? Oh, I do), the sun streaked in to my room and before i knew it, i was ready and rearing to go. First the gym which mercifully opens at 6 am. Treadmill, strecthing and a little vigorous swimming later, I was on the roads.

No plan there. Just a deep desire to leave the tall buildings and escape into another territory. Fujeirah 130 km, the board read. I knew that. I had been there just a week ago on a similar drive (also inspired by the Cyclone Gonu which swept the area rather mercilessly).

At 7.15 am the roads are empty, stretching endless through harsh deserts. It was hot too, something to be expected because we were in the middle of a cloudless, summer day. Suddenly I felt in the need of tea and breakfast. None forthcoming becasue on this particluar stretch on road (Kalba Road) gas stations are non-existant. But Lo and Behold, there, in front of me was a restaurant standing by itself below the mountains and gleefully I pulled up. (see pic). "No breakfast", said the man. "We are inaugurating the hotel today, after Jumma prayers". Fair enough. One cannot rush an opening ceremony however hungry, right? So I content myself with free milky tea and proceeded to my destination which by this time had become Kalba (the starting point, a brief visit to Khor Kalba and thereon to Khor Fakkan for some activity and if time permitted (12-4 pm not counting due to the heat) some carpet buying and back to Dubai.

Some distance away, a hand covered in white waved. I stopped. Of course I knew who it was but heck, why not? It was a Pathan (Pakistanis here are usually called so)......contd

How true is it

2007-06-10T10:45:00.000+04:00

A hypothethical situation with roots in reality

This is a question I have asked myself. Is it possible? Is it believeable that love, that supreme catalyst of hurt, survive fifteen years, marriage, long distances? I have found that it can.

Picture this: A meets J through a "pen friends" column (yes, pen friends did exist ages ago). A and J are young, one just getting through college and the other through medical school. They write to each other with alarming regularity, never once failing, always regular. It is understandable in that age. The fascination for the other sex. Nothing wrong. It is the distance that is their greatest enemy. Time flies. One day, three years after they have begun to write to each other, they meet...at the railway station, in a city unfamiliar to J.

The meeting goes through successfully. A and J are euphoric, A more so...being the female and thus more euphoric and all that. They never stop writing. Time shortens the wait and they meet again. This time, they are few years older. J is completing his medical term and A her chosen subject. They meet and this time there is more than just a casual kiss. There is the hunger of two young people who need each other. A stolen, passionate hug in the parking lot, a half finished kiss, and promise of "friends forever" later, they part ways. No, parting ways has not stopped them from being in touch.

J wants to go to US for further studies and A, unsure goes her way. They are still in touch. A never admits her feelings and J, never knowing A's reaction, keeps mum anyway. Sigh. The best of friends and one does not have the courage to admit.

One day J calls A (yes, from letter it is the phone now...e-mails were just catching on) and tells him he is getting married. Of course, its all good, thinks A, because there is someone in her life, at least temperorily anyway. One does not think of marriage at 22 and just out of law school. But suddenly there is a vacuum.

It is then A realises that all this time, whatever they shared was, Love after all. But who is to tell? And it was already too late, wasnt it? No point in telling J and thereby ruining his future. Heck, if the woman he chose to marry was his destiny, who was A to change it? And there was her boyfriend to consider too, right?

E-mails:

Neither A nor J took to the pen and paper again. It was telephone calls or emails now. They were in touch, yes. J's wedding pictures did certainly bring tears into A's eyes....the lovely white wedding gown.....

Time flies and when one is far away from one's friend life does seem a bit tough. Not to say there had been no 'in betweens' but nothing that felt so complete. J had been the first love and one des not easily forget one's first love, right?

They were in touch always, though each of them missed the other's birthday ther was always a belated wish, always a prayer, always the easy comfort of knowing the other was there. For A, it was slightly painful to ask about J's wife, because some restraint, despite everything, had crept in.

Cant say if A was overjoyed or not, when finally she knew he was single again...but the fact that he was 'interested' in another woman was a dampener alright.

Should she tell him or should she not? The she decided to. Heck, why not? They had now known each other for over 15 years and once can take liberties with someone one knows fifteen years, right?

But heck, how does you tell your 'pen pal' that all these years, unknown to you, you have nursed a deep affection? Something that cannot be just called love? Something that was more than just a fleeting attraction? Something that was deep rooted, with roots reaching into one's youth?

The years did not weaken the bond, nothing changed A's feeling because when she looked into herself, she found J, like she had first...as a photograph in black and white. The same euphoria swept through her each time she thought of J, of what could have been had she the courage to admit her feelings. Perhaps this was the time?

Should she?

In the end, she did.

E-mails make the job easier. There is no question of facing a rejection, disappointments can be hidden easily and the person who disappoints you is not around to see your tear...so it is alright.

A did tell J, after all these years of knowing him, seeing him through his medical school, marriage, accolades in a far away country, through depleting number of mails and phone calls....
that she did love him...

There is a thing about e-mails. They take their own sweet time in returning. And heck, there is the difference in time zone across the world to consider too, right?

So A waits. What is a mere day when fiftenn years have gone by?

Evening sky

2007-06-09T11:09:00.000+04:00

Brothers

2007-06-09T10:06:00.001+04:00

My elder brother is extremely funny. Funny because he has a way of holding on to childhood dreams. He does not let go. You may ask, what is funny about holding on to childhood dreams? Nothing. It is not the dream that is funny, it is the execution of that dream that is.

Now, my brother was very specific with what he wanted. He told me once, he wanted Rayban glasses. Aviator. Everyone has a Rayban, and it is not big deal, I said. Buy one. But he would not. Through the years he saw himself through Police and many others I dont remember and even a Rayban (but not Aviator). He had no reason for not bying what he wanted, but he would not. Thus years went by. I never underestood why he always went to shops that sold Rayban and came out not buying it at all! For some reason he would have an excuse for not buying Aviator (expensive, he would say) and buy something else costing more! He also has a thing for garden scissors and has a few in the shed and I have never seen him use one, but that is another matter.)

There is one other thing he fancies. His aim is to 'restore' a totaly washed out music system. That he has another new set is another thing, but he must have an old system (preferably Technics) that he wants to restore. He found himself a Technics system weighing half a tonne, with speakers intact. But that did not elate him like the faulty insides. The man who sold the set to him at a ridiculously low price (happy to be rid of the monstrous system), wished him luck many times and said, he hoped someone somewhere in the world would be able to give him the specific replacement part someday.

But my brother was not to be deterred. He brought the system home, pulled it apart, sighed with pleasure and proceed to note what was missing...in other words, everything.
My second brother, (they make a pair, they do) aided him in the quest. They listed many things none of which made any sense and I saw why the man who sold the junk was so happy to give it away.

In the coming few years, he went through college and then on to engineering and I from school to college and law school, the Technics remained in the tool shed. During the vacations we would troop to the shed and uncover the sheets covering the 'precious system' and gaze at it lovingly and he would go through the motions of explaining how it would sound when it had been 'restored' and we would get back home and listen to Abba on the Hitachi or Sony (later) and dream of Technics.

In the meantime, the duo had managed to dig out missing parts from many places. More years later employment took them places and when they returned home, it would always be with 'something' for the 'system'.

The years disappeared and the Technics took shape (still no sound) and continues to remain in the shed, looking better than before and we listen to music from various sources.

So I was really shocked when he called me and said he had finally "bought" his Aviator! Really, I thought it was more to do with dreaming than anything else. Heck, someone brought his childhood dream to light!

Breeze

2007-06-05T16:03:00.000+04:00

Today was wrapped in mysterious beauty. I watched this sudden and rather dramatic change in delight. Why did everything appear so different? So beautiful? So haunting? Why? Why? Why? Was it the wind? Was it the trees? Was it the whispering sands? Or was it the sky?

Maybe, just maybe, it was all this nicely rolled into one? The elements of nature had never looked so well merged to create this illusion of beauty! Oh, it must have been an illusion alright, because the attraction was perfect. The trees swayed to the gentle breeze and the sands, taking on where the flowers stopped, continued to murmer among themselves, joyously as the sun poured through the sparkling blue skies...

It was indeed a beautiful day! A day that inspired hope and gave me millions of seconds of freedom, the choice to live and dream. A day that changed, even for a second, the weeks and months of brooding.

A day, perfect to live in...

Secret music

2007-05-30T16:17:00.000+04:00

There are things and some more. Now, ‘things’ really don’t mean ‘stuff’ we must have to live on Mother Earth. But, these things are around us and grow with passion everyday till you start believing in their importance over your own.

Look carefully around you. The ‘things’ the world is made of today is technology personified. When electricity was invented years ago and subsequent master thinkers designed computers and technology little did they know that their innovative idea would be put on chips the size of a marble that would eat into decent peoples’ savings and give rise to feelings of inferiority complex among those who have never heard of the ‘chips’.

Sigh, gone are the days when the mention of ‘chips’ brought smiles on our faces and raised in our hearts and mind immense possibilities of an evening well spent. But mention ‘chips’ today and you will at once find youngsters launch into animated, garbled conversations that in our time was achieved as a result of mixing sounds in studios for voice-overs. Times have changed and for no good reason.

Take the iPod, or even the iRiver. For one, they even don’t stand the Basic English grammar test and come up with red lines under them. What good is a ‘thing’ that is not even qualified to fit into a scheme of English grammar? No good of course. But they have been given a use, for Gods sake. They have been designed in a manner as to aid you in your musical quest.

Now, in our times we swayed and danced to music just as well as people do today. Only we knew where the music came from, we saw a source more than feeling it on our shirt sleeve or as a bulge in the tie and we were not ashamed to display giant boxes that belted out sounds through even bigger speakers placed strategically around the room. Heck, music, we believed, was for everyone to listen. We did not skimp on music and never kept it to ourselves. Can you say that about the iPods and the even tinier products of today’s technology? Why, music suddenly has become everyone’s secret affair.

Heck it’s not even that easy. Take me. I can write till my blood ran dry but give me an iPod and I am lost, completely and totally lost. It does not help that it comes with an instruction manual or an even smaller installation CD which if you don’t look disappears in the palm of your hand. I must admit that I have technologically assaulted. First I was gifted an iRiver and close on hand, an iPod. People have, I suppose, keenly misunderstood my love for music and handed me complicated gadgets to pamper myself with. But, pray how do you indulge in something the eyes can barely see or the mind comprehend? How do I get to listen to all my favorite songs from a 1.6 inches piece of metal? No, the manual does not say that, however even without having said it, it has made me feel quite inadequate because I have been unable to find (after reading the manual), an easy way to put music into it!

Life is a long drawn process of living and the iPods (read technology) have made that process a tad bit more complicated. The more technology gets fashionable the more it gives rise to shudders. One cannot, at least it applies to me, run abreast of technology however fast you run. It is, I have decided, a thousand headed hydra.

No, I can do without the reducing size of music players that insist on converting everything into a pre-determined format? Now, what is an MP3? And how many actually know that another devious format is making the rounds? MP4! Cannot music simply be ‘La la la’ and not MP3? Why must they be compressed and pressed or burned onto a micro-chip? Why must they not be shared? I think technology is isolating one from the other. Besides being a fashion statement (remember fashion changes fast), it is becoming a nuisance for normal people who cannot afford to spare time on ‘downloads’ and ‘uploads’ on unseeing objects.

Till the next in the ‘i’ series does more harm, I must get this one going.

Naveen

2007-04-21T10:44:00.000+04:00

There is something wonderful the good created. Forgiveness and Love. Both of which only play hide and seek with me though! He filled the world with love, yet forgot to give me some of it. He filled hearts with forgiveness and forgot to give Naveen some of it. No wonder why Naveen does not forgive me. But for me, he is still the life's truth. My truth. I cannot pretend to feel anything else for him except love. I will go on loving him till I die. And after I die, I will pray to be born again so that I will able to love him again.

Oh God, why did you put so much pain in this heart? Everything reminds me of him. I cant breathe without thinking of him. Take my life away, dear God, I dont want to choke to death...I cant do the ordinary, everyday things...all I want, all I ask is Naveen. Oh please dear God, just keep him happy and when he is a little free, ask him to forgive me. I dont know why, but I feel guilty and I dont know yet what I am guilty of.

Am I guilty because I love him? Then hang me, because I will always love him.

2007-04-08T16:07:00.000+04:00

It is a joke...well almost. It is funny the way people hide, reminds me of the ostrich I had once seen, trying to hide his horribly huge body under an inch of sand. He remined me of someone I knew...the village parallel as Ms Jane Marple would say, someone I knew quite closely.

Thats why it dosent surpirse me when he actually tries to pretend to be safely out of sight from the public eye.

What surprises me is my own reaction to his reaction. I am horribly annoyed, for, fortunately or not, I belong to a group of people who do not sit on the fence. I never fight with my back to the wall. I dont promise things I dont mean to do.

There is only one way I have learnt to live. Completely. And that is the only way I will live....love and die.

The only way I know how to love is completely. I have been asked not once, but many times by well meaning people.

Why? Why is that you have no alternative?

I reply, unoriginally of course, that life has no alternatives. If you remember the good Ayn Rand in her Fountainhead, she says, quite rightly, that the only alternative to life is death.

And death, is usually not considered to be an alternative!!!!

So what we have left, is a life meant to be lived, and loved in the process.

I am glad, I am not like the ostrich that tried unsuccessfully to hide.

I am glad, I have jumped right into the battle field,with the least thought about protecting my back, to fight (read as live) till I have a beating heart, wishing that if in the process I were to perish, I would still be glad that I loved.

Just the truth

2007-04-04T15:47:00.000+04:00

I embrace every part of his life
The good, the bad
The totaly ugly
I love his indifference to me
Why, asks the world
Why cant you hate
Or learn to remain
Unaffected?
Why, they say, why
And how can you love him so?
Why do you wait,
and for what?
It is because you have learnt
To love being hurt?

Oh, dear world
Leave me in peace
Leave me to my grief,
For, nothing you say
Nothing you do
Will make me go away
I love his world
and everything within it
I say again
What I said before
He lives in me,
He is my world
How can I hate me so?

Never before

2007-03-05T13:41:00.000+04:00

Never before had I cried so

And never before loved

An instant changed my world

Today is alien

Tommorow more so

In this moment I live

I die the next

Praying for respite

From this lonley life

Where have all the loved ones gone?

I ask myself then

Were they ever mine?

Those words, those moments

Those lovely spirited nights

When of them I think

Something dances before my eyes

A glistening droplet

That quickly swells

Then I wonder, then I sigh

Then when the winds die

As I lie under the yellow moon

I realise, never before

So I have cried...

A camel that was...

2007-02-17T15:40:00.000+04:00

(Camels roaming free)

Tracing the camel life in the harsh desert...

(Dead some time...)

(Gone some time, I think)

Life is tough, scarcity of water and food, some die, some survive and years later...along comes someone to prove it!!!

(Me holding up camel-bones for the camera. I have a small one as a souvenier)

FOR YOU

2007-02-17T14:43:00.000+04:00

It is finally out.

For You is my first ever published book, a dedication to a friend, a belief, a purpose, a dream, a desire, a destination. It wouldnt have been possible without the moral support of that friend, a fellow being who means everything beautiful in this world to me.

Today, if I am free or riding on the wings of praises, it is all thanks to that one person. I dont know how to say this, I shall make no pretence, but there is only one word I would like to say.

Thank You

Flowers

2007-01-21T15:40:00.000+04:00

Dreaming of Naveen! Well, tell me, when am I not! In the lap of the mountains now erupting into a riot of colours...it is beautiful to lie on the gentle flowers and dream of the one u love...

On driving

2006-10-21T08:25:00.000+04:00

Driving, it struck me this morning, is surprisingly like LIFE. I drew one simple comparision between life and driving: They always moved ahead.

Life goes forward, so do people. No one drives backward, do they? Life does not turn to look back, except perhaps for brief glimpses into the past which helps bolster the future. Life, rarely lingers on the side, its focus being to see and move forward alone. When you compare it with driving, voila, they are exactly the same. You look back to ensure your tail is safe and sideways so that no one knocks into you and you do not knock into the other because you do not want to be distracted from your sole purpose of wanting to move ahead.

It is an altogether different question whether life is comparable to driving or the other way round. Life came first, following a stipulated pace and has never died. Driving is a modern creation and quite prone to being left out.

Speed is another matter. It is a contradiction to life.

Maya

2006-10-18T13:33:00.000+04:00

This is Maya. This is the woman who gave me a pen. Now, what is surprising about a woman who gives anyone a pen? Nothing. It was just that-- a pen. Mya also wrote on my blogs, regularly...as an unknown Cloud9. Many have before her writen on my blog under various names, and loaned me pens.

But they were not Maya.

Maya is special because along with the pen, she gave me an unending supply of ink, and with it, the will to write.

For a short while we worked together, but lived togather a little longer. The number of days can be counted, but what cannot be counted is the inexplicable joy, the moment of togetherness, the love and sharing. The rough patches she smoothed for me by just being there. The midnight treats of cold biscuits and cold milk, the everyday putting me to sleep, the long showers when she scrubbed my back, the fondness with which I cuddled up to her, before falling into deep sleep.

She says I am her unborn first born. I know I have behaved like that. I never ventured to name that relationship. We are not too far apart in age, we are, if anything, very near to being sisters. But I like being the kid better. I demand from her. Yes, I do. With her, am the child always whining to be given something.

To think, it all began with a pen at lunchtime... and if I recall correctly, I never did offer her any of my lunch either.

Mysore

2006-09-24T12:22:00.000+04:00

The catacombs at St Philomena's Church, Mysore

The "N"s of Onam

2006-09-04T15:47:00.000+04:00

There was a time when I could not rightly spell ‘Onam,’ despite partly belonging to that part of India which celebrated Onam with great enthusiasm. Onam was always “the others’ festival. As far as I was concerned, festivals of any kind celebrated in whichever part of India, were not for me. Not even Christmas, or Diwali or Ramzan. My participation was restricted to partaking of any goodies that came my way or simply wishing friends. I stayed clear from celebrations, merry-making, cake cutting, sweet distributions, staying up late, busting balloons, or reveling in colours.

It was quite a task to change my schedule to fit in anything that I did not like. As far as Onam went, all I knew about it was the fabulous discounts that every shop in Kerala offered, that people visited family and friends and ate several varieties of vegetable preparations and sweets.

I remember how the people of Kerala went about with a smile on their faces, in honour of the upcoming Onam. They bought flowers, and discussed menus. Children looked forward to getting new clothes or small gifts. The general air of light-hearted spirit was felt.

It was a time when I could not even spell Onam. Whenever I tried, it was all wrong. I separated the ‘O’ from the ‘nam’ and while the people of Kerala could not understand what I was trying to say, I am sure a Britisher would have found it easy to understand. He would interpret is as my heartfelt sympathy for a country that lost many lives in war…Oh, ‘Nam! Sigh.

I wondered how the Malayalees put so much of meaning in those four words. There was so much ‘metal’ in the ‘N’ that sort of sealed the essence of the season. Their tongue easily flowed over the four harmless words, not hesitating anywhere in their short journey beginning with a vowel and ending with a word so easily uttered even with the mouth closed. I was always shocked at how much they could pack into a simple four lettered word. Every one of them spelt it the same way. It must be something to do with the festival itself I guess, that no one digresses from the pronunciation or the commitment to the occasion.

This is the first time I am taking ‘Onam’ into my hands. I don’t see it as a way of connecting to half my roots (the other half is free-floating), but as a way of bonding. There is much pleasure in hunting for flowers in a city that has sprung out of sands, the smell of Indian flowers mixed with the spirit of the occasion, the lamps, little thoughtful gifts for the young, the idea of arranging flowers, wishing all of those away from home, missing home…I guess today I know a lot more of Onam than I did before. The pronunciation is still nothing to boast of, but the joy is endless. The hope for a new season grows stronger.

I wish, I only wish, next year, I will be able to get the “N” right!

Life and Death

2006-08-30T11:10:00.000+04:00

Rarely does the human mind reaches that point where it can see or sense death. The mind does not want to go that extent. Seeing or feeling death is not the same thing as wanting to commit suicide. Of dying. Suicide is going against the conscious mind seeking something that will rid the body and heart of misery. Feeling death is different. It is more powerful, stronger than life itself. You can feel it with your eyes, lips, hands, cheeks, and feet. You can smell it, you can hear it. When you do, you pause to analyze. Because then your mind begins to think. Death acts as a powerful stimulus. A suicidal person does not sense death. He rushes to death not fully understanding the concept. He wants to die. Just like that.

By dying one does not experience death. To experience it, you must be alive.

I did not believe it until I faced it. It had a lot to do with myself, my beliefs, my vanity, insecurities. I saw death when something inside me died. My power of reasoning. Along with the ability to feel, care, love, sympathize, understand. When these are dead, is when death takes over. The death of the spirit. The death of hope and love...all which are essential to keep one alive.

I know this because I stepped on death. Under the trees. It appeared in the dried leaves. It crushed under my feet. Dried leaves had no life in them, yet I felt rooted. My knees melted. A chill ran through. Death has no form but I saw it clearly. I reached out to touch. I held a handful of crushed leaves. They stared back at me.

Again it was in the car. Sitting on my steering wheel. It had no form. I touched it. I saw it. It was not dark; it was in the patch of light the fell on my dashboard. I felt it again in the breeze. In my shadow. Yes, I have seen death. I have sensed it. It was a strange feeling. It was not like I wanted to die. It is not about dying. Of leaving your physical body, of ebbing spirit. Of leaving behind the mortal remains. It is not about shedding tears of blood.

It is not an escape. It is a part of life.

We carried death with us. Like life. One always dominated depending on what we prioritized. It was the constant battle of goodness against the bad that kept us moving. Goodness is again not about being kind and generous; it is about fulfillment of the self. It is divine. It is the power of love, understanding and reasoning. It is a miracle.

I am glad I saw death because life becomes easier to accept.

Life does not turn your knees into jelly. Life allows you enjoy the breeze, the sound of crunching leaves.

Man and mountains

2006-08-26T11:52:00.000+04:00

Driving between the mountains, I was hit by an interesting thought. I could say ‘Naveen’ and ‘mountains’ in the same breath. Why, I wondered, did mountains remind me of him? I looked hard the jagged surface of the rocks rising all around me. They were two different elements of nature. One animate, another inanimate. Yet, one reminded me of the other.

Why?

Towards evening, I found the answer. As I had stood below a particular mountain, gazing at its might, yearning to lean against its hard surface, away from the sun and wind, feeling secure in its embrace, I realised that I have always wanted to look up to something, someone. Someone strong. Stronger than I was when my world shattered at my feet. Stronger than I felt when I realised someone else had the claim to my affections, my dreams. I don’t know why, my focus was the strength, to be able to go on, one moment at a time. I did, I survived. The mountains seemed to be just that, standing there unmoved, content just being there.

Like Nav. And I loved the two of them dearly. One a personal goal, the other an example given to me by nature. A symbol.

Apples at midnight

2006-08-23T16:13:00.000+04:00

Have anyone of you, ever (cross your heart and dont lie), woken up at 2 am on a normal day, craving for apples and orange drink?

So what, you may ask. Craving is normal. But 2 am? Apples?

Well, my friend will tell you it is quite normal for me to wake up at night and demand cold milk and biscuits. Or even encourage ruffling of the hair to put me back to sleep. But apples? and orange drink?

I am not a fruit person. No. I will not be forced to eat fruit except when I am in the forest and I find my own fruit. Fruit drink? I once poisoned my friend with the fruit drink I had left in my refrigerator for over 6 months. See what I mean? I hate fruits, all varieties, mango and jackfruit more than the others, and will not be caught dead eating fruit. Especially banana or apple. Never will I allow myself to skin oranges or pomogranate. If I am dying of starvation, maybe I will eat a piece of papaya or watermelon (deseeded), but never peaches or plums. Grapes? The less said the better.

Apples are a curse. Have been since the time of Eve. Had it not been for the nasty apple, I would not have had this craving. I am sure it is Gods way of showing us how wrong Eve was in seducing the good Adam with an apple.

Same with fruit drinks. After all, they come from fruits, including apple, right? Coffee, Tea? You bet. Gallons (though it is strictly not the right measure).

So when I woke up craving for apples and a particular variety of orange drink (complete with large chunks of orange in it...Rani Float), I knew the end had come.

I rushed to the nearest petrol station to buy apples and Rani Float. I wanted red apples, not green ones, thank you. No, not peach flavoured drink, I must have orange. The night supervisor of the Star Mart was a good man and he opened a fresh cartoon of apples. Deep red.

The craving, my friends, can kill. Imagine running to a fuel station in the middle of the night for apples. I wonder what the guy thought. Wait, I forgot to add that, when the craving gripped me hard, I called a friend in US appraising him of the fact. If he was shocked, he did not show it. I have asked him the price of elephants one night. It was 2 am.

He had a simple solution for me. Go buy them.

I hate 2 am's. Why can the clock not jump from 1.59 am to 2.01 am? I hate apples. But I am biting into one right now...

Love's labour--Khor Fakkan

2006-08-20T09:16:00.000+04:00

Some bloke has put in quite a bit of effort to create that one up there. A huge heart, facing the world boldly while the deep blue sea stands guard against any element that would dare to destroy it. Khor Fakkan is truly gallant.

Movie

2006-08-19T11:49:00.000+04:00

That woman with the camera spoilt the show. Well, nearly. The rest of it was majorly screwed up by Karan Johar, Shah Rukh Khan and Rani Mukherji. Sure I met them, fortunately for them they were on a screen, had it been otehrwise they would not have left unscathed.

Just when I was getting ready to enter the theatres, there came a lady with a cameraman in tow, wanting to know which movie I had watched last week. For a while I have been wanting someone to ask me that question. I told her, with much enthusiasm what I thought about Miami Vice. I did not add that the quality of the movie directly depends on the availability of nachos and that, that fateful day when I watched Miami Vice, I had very little of the said delicacy, because of a pilfering hand perched next to mine.

She went away quite satisfied.

Then began the disaster.

I knew from the very first scene that I had landed myself in the blue. But so long as there was nachos to dip into and the chance of an occasional conversation with my friend, I told myself, I would be okay. But can nachos save a film that has no life in it?

Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna made me laugh. Even when the "loving couples" seperated, I laughed, I laughed when the Big B died (poor sod...killed before his time!). I laughed at myself because I had criticised Miami Vice. I laughed till I soaked the remaining nachos.

If you have not watched this three-and-a-half hour of colours and tears, then you should...it is quite educating. You can learn how to make a movie and in the process realise how easy it all is. You will see what one can do when in possession of glycerine, paint, designer clothes and little sense. You do not need rhyme or reason and pray, what possible reason could one want to make a movie when all you want to do is present so-called actors on one platform?

Should'nt the actors be acting? I could not, even till the end why nobody seemed to be doing what they were meant to do? Why was the painted heroine or the injured hero sleepwalking? And will anybody tell me the cause of rift between Maya and her delightful hubby? I mean, one can actually 'try' before giving up on a cause, right? Maya had, even while decked in wedding finery, decided she would fall in love after marriage (laying the ground beforehand mind you), that she would be unhappy in her current marriage. Get the message? Justifying adultry.

If the "serial kisser" Emran Hashimi and his lady were to be Maya and her beloved, would the movie have been more watchable? Yes, of course. At least a 'scene' would look like a scene...hot and tempered with passion. People would speak of adultry and its vices etc. But what do star performers like the duo give us? Cold moments of love (lust) and even colder justification of one act of indiscretion. I can tell you of five people right now who would not think twice before commiting adultry, leave alone confessing to their respective spouses of their behaviour. Why spoil a good show?

Have I mentioned the songs? Quite unnecessarily colourful, especially the one in which the hero duo are celebrating their lust...the background and the foreground, all change colours according to the clothes. I counted five different colours, there could have been more. (People, add in designer backgrounds as well. Makes up for what acting lacks). The saving grace was Rhea and Rishi and even to an extent Kiron Kher (Chandigarh), but I wonder what they were doing in a film that had little scope to show off their immense talents. The mighty SRK, in my opinion, should wind up his career and leave the floor to more talented, hard working actors. One really gets tired of his glycerine-induced tearful scenes.

I really would like to meet Karan Johar. I have a few things to tell him. Maybe I will after all.

BTW, where is the camera lady?

Budhiya--India's dream

2006-08-16T14:15:00.000+04:00

Budhiya Singh, India's dream runner. Feels strange, this tiny little boy, no more older than my little nephew, is actually the hope of a million people in India. Feels strange also to think that this little boy is beig subjected to so much pressure...(from people like myself included) because all we want is a byline. The little fellow is not even aware of what is happening to him. As far as he is concerned he loves to run and anyway that comes between him and his tracks is 'bad'. He touched our feets when he came into the room. Why? Is that the great Indian tradition? I could not help but gather him in my arms and plant a kiss on his innocent cheeks. Would I encourage my nephew or my own child if I ever have one, to touch my feet as a mark of respect for me? What am I that deserves feet-touching? Nothing. I am doing my job. The little kid does not even know that had it not been for him, I would be looking for another story to finish my quota for the month, week, whatever.

I am glad for the oppurtunity to meet him. I am glad I treated him not like a celebrity, but as a child deserves to be treated. With love. I am not his mother, but I hope that a little gesture of love will someday translate into a rush of encouragement for the young runner. God bless him.

Hatta

2006-08-12T12:47:00.000+04:00

(Hatta-UAE) From the moment my eyes and lens captured this sight, I have been wondering. A few lines come to mind: Water lies by its side, yet the roots are not long enough to reach, why this cruelty? Why let this lovely tree die?

It makes a pretty picture though. I guess when the rains do come, it will erupt in green and look lovlier.

A trip into the mountains have been, apart from being exhausting and enlightening, an eye opener. I am humbled by the huge mountains which I can only aspire to conquer. The tip of the rocky mountains is defnitely out of reach, as humans we cannot, by our own industry climb every one of them. Need we climb every mountain? Is that cowardice speaking? Can we live peacefuly with the mountains intimidating us? Why do we feel intimidated? Do the mountain goats and donkeys feel that way about it? Why do we always put ourselves on equal footing with natures larger, lifeless creation and set about ways to diminsh the meek objects?

As I stood on a rather smallish mountain, having reached there after much straining my limbs and lungs, I realised how important my dream of climbing Mt Everest was.

Dreams keep you on the move. I have to move. So I dream...Of beautiful mountians and pretty streams, I dream of kissing the moon, Of a home in the eyes of one I love, Of stealing colours from heavens above...

Branches and Trees

2006-08-10T09:07:00.000+04:00

I dont like the trees that grow in a straight line, I dont like the plants that are packed into neat rows or fountains that work on machines. I hate the water that gushes from the artificial springs, I hate the grass that is trimmed to fit inside a ring.

I hate the long, staright pathways that forces the trees away...

But I love the trees that grow wild, with gay abandon, which have shades of brown, which linger lovingly on the grounds to kiss the crawling ants, which embraces the leaves from the neighbouring trees, which lets sunlight through, I love the tree where the leaves sing and sway at their will...I love the trees that shed their leaves on the ground and flowers that gladly smile at the passers by...I love the smell of flowers that grow as they please.

I love the sound of water that plays in the natural springs, heck, I even love the smell of stagnant water and raw earth. I love the pavements litered with dead brown leaves.

Who says perfection is what we need?
and man can control all he sees?

Thats why even the neatly manicured gardens in the DMC seems so old, lifeless. The palm trees have no will of their own. They cannot even put out a branch at their will. The grass is afraid to grow out of place...sigh! What people will do i the name of perfection!

Faith

2006-08-09T14:00:00.000+04:00

A university student was home for summer. She had been visiting friends one evening and time passed quickly. She ended up staying longer than planned, and had to walk home alone. She wasn't afraid because it was a small town and she lived only a few blocks away. As she walked along under the tall elm trees, Diane asked God to keep her safe from harm and danger. When she reached the alley, which was a shortcut to her house, she decided to take it.

However, halfway down the alley she noticed a man standing as though he were waiting for her. She became uneasy and began to pray, asking for God's protection. Instantly a comforting feeling of quietness and security wrapped around her, she felt as though someone was walking with her. When she reached the end of the alley, she walked right past the man and arrived home safely. The following day, she read in the newspaper that a young girl had been raped in the same alley twenty minutes after she had been there.

Thanking the Lord and to help the woman, she went to the police station. She felt she could recognise the man, so she told them her story. The police asked her if she would be willing to look at a line-up to see if she could identify him. She agreed and immediately pointed out the man she had seen in the alley the night before. When the man was told he had been identified, he broke down and confessed. The officer thanked Diane for her bravery and asked if there was anything they could do for her. She asked if they would ask the man one question? Diane was curious as to why he had not attacked her. When the policeman asked him, he answered, "Because she wasn't alone. She had two tall men walking on either side of her."

Moral: Don't underestimate the power of Prayer!

This was sent to me by a friend. What is the first thought that comes to mind upon reading this? Why did God refuse to save this other woman from the rapist? Yes, to us it seems that while protecting one, the other was sacrificed. I thought of this too. I cannot explain it and if the story is true, I have every sympathy for the victim. What we believe is perhaps limited by our understanding of the subject. Surely there was a reason? We may ask, what reason to let a perfectly innocent girl walk straight to the rapist? I have no answer. I will not try to attmpt to answer, I could be wrong. My reasoning could be unreasonable to the superior power.

So then what is Faith? Is Faith partial? Blind? Does the above story change my Faith?

My Faith is unchanged. Instead of the girl above, it could have been me, my sister, my friend. Would that shake the foundations of my Faith? I have my own concept of Faith. I live by Faith. To me Faith is...

smelling the flower and knowing that I have not sniffed up all the scent
going to sleep knowing that morning will bring light
walking on the road and knowing I would not be knocked into
weeping and yet knowing there are in the least, walls to hear you...
knwoing that my wish will be granted
knowing what to wish for
letting silence take over without killing myself
laughing, wishing, praying and hoping
knowing that your loved one know what you feel
feeling for your loved one..
knowing there is a light at the end of the tunnel
knowing that you are alive
knowing you can fall in love, can wipe the hurt
knowing you can forgive
knowing you can share laughter or sorrow
knowing someone loves you the way you are
knowing you cannot hate the person who hates you
tempting death and knowing it cannot touch you
knowing there is someone who has the answers to all your questions

Everything else that happens is for a reason. You may agree or you may not.

Light

2006-08-09T11:16:00.000+04:00

Yesterday, I saw a light. What am I saying, you wonder. You wonder right.

It was close to 10 pm. I was in bed. The curtains were drawn. It was dark. No light from anywhere sneaks into a room on the sixth floor, not even the from the string of street lights from below.

I was alone.

I pray. I believe in God. I believe in miracles. I asked God for N. I always do. Yesterday was no different. Except that, yesterday I realised that if I told God to keep him happy always (meaning if he were to get married to someone else), I would be lying. True, his happiness is my foremost concern but who am I kidding when I say "Its okay if he finds someone else who will keep him happy". It would be a lie. I cannot think of him with anyone else. Yes, I love him. I have asked God for him. Why confuse the Almighty by being so self-sacrificing? I cannot give him up to any other woman, and if he does get hooked with another, I certainly would not be happy even if he is. See what I mean? So I am not going to pray that he find joy in the arms of another.

I will never lie to God.

Coming back to the light.

I had drifted into a tear-induced sleep. A few minutes later I woke up. Looked at the ceiling. I could vaguely see the outlines of the stationary fan. I was wide awake then. I dont know why the fan looked so interesting? What had woken me up?

Two spots of white light appeared. One big and the other small. The smaller spot of light followed the bigger one from one end of the ceiling to the other. It was white, bright. Then it disappeared. I blinked. I saw another spot in the ceiling light up in a dazzling light.

It was dark again.

I went back to sleep, peacefully. The heavyness in my heart was gone.

Was it God speaking to me? Had I finally rid myself of all the deciet, hatred, anger and selfishness, lies?

My love affair

2006-08-08T16:22:00.000+04:00

I cannot resist him. No. It would be a blatant lie to suggest such a thing. Why, I ask myself often, why is that I am so much into him? What is it about him that drives me crazy? Loose my mind? My friend once told me that she has never seen any sensible woman such as I, loose her bearings on the mention of the name. N. He is so deliciously tempting and I cannot resist him. I miss him when he is not there and when he is, I can wait to jump right into him. He has me completely smitten.

Gosh, he even tastes heavenly. When he sensoulsy crackles on my tongue, the delicious juices that leaves my senses crying for more...Funnily, I miss him most when I am watching a movie. When he is not around, even the best movie loses appeal. I cannot concentrate. I am edgy. I think of him, my hands stry over to where he should be...

Oh, heavenly Nachos,
complete with chillies
and sauce and cheese,
wonder who created thee?
And why?

I have two loves now. Both begin with the alphabet N.
Nachos is one.
Naveen another!!

Mis-prounouciations and Nancy Drews

2006-08-07T10:41:00.000+04:00

I was very young and was just begining to grasp the English language when I read my very first book. It is not the book that I remember, but the incident that lead me to that book and the subsequent decision that took shape as a result of that venture.

I lived in a small town back then, Belthangady, an agricultural town 60 kms from Mangalore, a city on the Arabian coast. My school (Anugraha English Medium School) was defnitely not the best, it offered English as the medium of instruction, but for a school struggling to survive (I was the second batch because those days people did not care enough for the medium of instruction and English was a novelty few people enjoyed), they had their own limitations in the said language. It was up to us to master the language the best way possible.

Ours was perhaps one of the few families in the town who subscribed for English newspapers, although sometimes we recieved it a day later. Thus I gre uo hearing of "The Hindu". TV had not yet made an appearance. But there was a library in the town, but I will come to that later.

I struggled over big English words often. One day, my dad decided to help me sharpen my limited vocabualry. He is certainly not of those people gifted with patience and when I mis-pronounced a word as short and innocent as "star-wars" (I stressed the 'a.' Instead of a crisp and proper 'war' I said 'waar'), I remember scrambling for cover when the business end of a very flexible stick hastily broken from a hibiscus plant made contact with me.

The hurt erased subsequently but the determination to read, to write, to excel, gripped me. So I read Dogs of War, understanding nothing, yet determined to read every word of the novel till the end. It was the begining of many things.

Then I decided to write. From hastily scrawled poems on birds and river, I progressed to writing what I called 'novels' on notebooks. It was the season of Nancy Drews (my first being Silver Cobweb which my good buddy Aparna had lent me) and I fancied myelf as the detective. I called myself Mirabel and Aparna became Greta (after Bess for she was plump) and Sushama, another of my friend became Georgina, same as George because she had curly hair.

One day when I was absorbed in solving the Mystery of the Thousand Steps my dad in one of his worse moods commented that I was 'copying from the original'.

"I knew you would do that" he sneered.

Mirabel, Greta and Georgina never solved whatever mystery I had willed them to, but another ME was born. After I cried my heart out in agony of rejection, my inner voice willed me to keep writing. I did.

Today I am glad I followed my heart. I write for a living. I may not be the best, but I am content that I follow my heart. I have the freedom to express myself in words. People pay to read what I write. I broke free of that negative influence which had I succumbed, would have been the end of my career in words. I would have probably turned into a receptionist or a secretary or by some miracle an engineer or a doctor and would writhed in agony everytime someone mentioned a book, an article or a poem.

For me..this is home!

2006-08-06T17:29:00.000+04:00

The various directions in life!! Where to go?

For me...this is home

2006-08-06T17:26:00.000+04:00

With my nephew. Have two, the other is (or was) too tiny when this was shot!!

For me...this is home!

2006-08-06T17:10:00.000+04:00

Through Mananthvady forest. The tress are blissfully unaware of the turmoils of the lonely traveller.

The stream

2006-08-06T15:12:00.000+04:00

There was something about the empty hills that reminded me of him. As a matter of fact that feeling grew acute when I looked into a dry stream from the bridge wondering where all the water had disappeared. Everything reminded me of him, but the fact that the stream was so lonely was in some way reflecting my state of mind, my being.

Had the stream, like me, cried itself dry? Had it been in love? Had it been hurt or cheated? Nature had cheated the stream, isn’t it? Nature had robbed the stream of the gurgling waters that flowed over the rocks in is bed? Why? What good was the stream now? Just a depression between two imposing hills, devoid of any life or passion? Was I headed the same way?

Did I dare for the miraculous rains to bring me back to life?

The moment

2006-08-03T13:29:00.000+04:00

The moment that is yet to come is already slipping away. Why do I stand here, wondering what it will bring? I am scared, am apprehensive an curious. What could it be? Why do I feel as though the end has come? That there is no turning around and no further to go? When did I become a stranger to myself? Perhaps the day I stepped outside of myself to let someone else in my place?Naveen.Naveen is the moment that is, the moment that is to come. Naveen is the sky above, the direction I seek to find. Its just a name, a representation of life. A purpose. And end.It is the journey that is hard. Am scared.

Death

2006-08-03T13:18:00.000+04:00

I see death. He is standing close. He could be mistaken for my shadow. He could be my shadow. Generally he comes unannounced, but this time he is making his presence felt. Why would he be doing so? I see him. I feel him. He has robbed me of my sanity.

I pray.

My faith can shun him but like goodness, he is powerful too. He holds on. It is easy to feel him, his presence is defined. He is negatives personified.Even though I have reached the shores of faith, he clings, waiting for my energy to drain. Why is he waiting for me? I don’t know if I will be glad to succumb to any presence, faith or evil, because I have little energy left. Every minute of the hour I am getting weak, close to death.

It is easy to come by, because I feel him.

Time

2006-08-03T11:36:00.000+04:00

Time provided transportation into another world, for me, for them, for him. We only drifted along on the winds of time floating away into nothingness… without turbulent storms to check its flow. No dams could hold it, no cans could store it. Time took away everything. It would take me into its arms and envelope me in its timeless glory and it would go away.

Time

We depended on time but it did not know how it came to be called so. All of us were vulnerable to this concept called time. Its effect was felt on lifeless objects along with animate objects. Hardened rocks changed shape, continents added land masses and……its map and what could a human heat withstand?

Yet it was an event of the future. We hoped to be present, immune from….and memories….it was our security against fate, hurt and pain.