Wednesday, June 2, 2010

I return after a long hiatus...

For those of you who were wondering, I wasn't in a coma or anything. A few people did ask why I'd stopped blogging, and my answer was this- because I didn't have anything good to say about the world. It didn't take long for one of them to point out that I hardly ever have anything good to say about the world, life, love, people etc. He went on to say that he prefers me when I'm at my bitter, sarcastic best. So I thought I'd do the honors and drop by Blurry pages.

There have been no drastic developments in my life that merit writing about. I hope the rekindling of blurry pages will in turn, rekindle my zest for life, and the ability to marvel at the most mundane of things.

My dogs, Cuddles and Pooch send their regards to all readers. I regret to announce that Cuddles has been categorized as a 'senior pet'(she is almost 8, which translates into 56 doggy years apparently), as well as being deemed grossly over-weight. I've tried my best to put her on some sort of diet, but whenever I'm not around, she manages to woo whoever is in the kitchen with her glassy stare and thumping tail and they (poor suckers) generally fall for it. Pooch, being of the same age is also a senior pet, though he is plagued by dental dilemmas rather than weight fluctuations. During his heydays, he used to prowl around the neighborhood garbage cans and needless to say, he's paying for it now. One can only sympathize and draw unkind parallels to philandering husbands who were sniffing at garbage in their heydays, only to settle into a (comfortable?) routine with their grossly over-weight female counterparts as soon as they trip and fall over the threshold into the 'senior citizen' category.

P.S: The sudden realization that my parents are of the same age as Cuddles and Pooch, (being in the vicinity of 56 themselves) has hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks. Am I doomed to spend the rest of my days being the care-taker to all things old and overweight at the Jeremiah household?

P.P.S: I forgot to mention my ancient grandmother. She isn't overweight though, au contraire, she's light as a feather in springtime weather.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Soul mate...

You are a name wound within my fist
I carry your destiny, your very soul
A prism of glass, where colors twist
And quiver, evolve to transparent gold

You're a force I reckon with, as I must
To hold your storm, and steer your flight
So your path is strewn with pretty stardust
So your hands will cup their full delight

You are a sliver of underwater, new
I lay down pebbles, and watch your swifts
You wash the wind, drink of grass's dew
I swallow the rain, the earth, I shift

You are a mountain goat that wants to play
I teach you to yearn after faraway moors
The sky is a knife, its blade of grey
I turn it to red, of evening lure

You are my wind-chased daffodil
I hasten to lift your sun-smile brow
I weep when you cradle my heart, until
We bury each other in the valley below

Saturday, November 14, 2009

A Children's Day Lesson

I spent the whole of yesterday in the company of little people who somehow managed to make me feel small.

Being Children's day, I was invited to be a guest at a grand competition for kids from all across India and the neighboring countries. Contrary to my usual practice of turning such things down, I agreed, and I'm glad I did.

Are kids just getting smarter with each passing decade? How can that be? The world is getting to be a worse place to live in, what with the global warming, and the holes in the sky, and excessive pollution, and the harmful pesticides in crops and blah blah blah...well, that should result in dumb, lethargic children who are doomed to fail or die early.

But happily, that is as far from the truth as is possible. Those kids were 'out there' to say the least. I remember myself at the age of 15- bashful, an introvert, terribly lacking in confidence despite the fact that I had some accomplishments in music and I was a very good student. Still, I could never bring myself to announce those facts to an audience of strangers. But oh, those kids seemed to have no such qualms.

'They are very confident, aren't they? Some of them, too confident even!' Thus spoke the judge on my left. I had to nod my head in agreement. Thankfully, there were a couple of bashful kids as well, who turned out to be extremely talented and smart, and that provided some comfort to my 15 yr old self's bruised ego.

Talent aside, what made some of them really special was their level of awareness and empathy. The work that some of them had done was truly amazing- raising funds for cancer, working with HIV+ children, sponsoring the education of Dalit girls in a remote Nepali tribe... The passion, the drive, the belief that they could, in their own way, change the world, all that seemed remotely familiar to me. And then I realized, with a pang of guilt, that all my awareness and empathy had dissipated with age.

Why is it that most of us morph into such self-obsessed adults? Why does the need to do something entirely unselfish for someone else gradually diminish as we grow older? Is it because we 'grow up' and realize that the world would only exploit such kindness? Or is it because we have failed to 'grow up' at all?

As I watched those kids strut their stuff, I suddenly grew anxious. I wanted to tell them, don't let the world get to you! It's a cold, hard, cynical place, but don't let that change you! People you love will hurt you, friends you trust will desert you, money will evade you when you most need it, courage will be inaccessible when you most require it... but don't let that kill your beautiful spirit!

Then I remembered, that kind of thing happened to me all the time. And I used to be so scornful of those preachy adults, who tried to teach me about the world. Because in my mind, I could do no wrong, the world was mine for the taking. I had everything on my side- youth, ambition, dreams, talent. How could I possibly fail at anything that I set my mind on doing?

I hadn't counted on the fact that maybe those adults weren't just preaching after all. I hadn't counted on the fact that being good at what you do and having a good heart, is nowhere near good enough. I hadn't counted on the fact that the world doesn't give a damn about good intentions. And I hadn't counted on the fact that the world really doesn't give a damn about anyone, including me.

But how can you say all that to a child, bright-eyed and glowing with success after having won the competition?

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

The rain that falls...

The world has been scrubbed clean today. Everything green stands out in defiance to the blanket of gray-dominated sky.

There is still the after-math to deal with - over-flowing potholes, flooded lanes, rain-sodden clothes that couldn't be saved in time, the occasional accidental electrocution, tell-tale mud splatters, spells of darkness, televisions blanking out, roofs that cave in, doors that can't keep the water out, mosquito colonies reinstating their supreme power, spineless umbrellas, truant school-kids sailing their ill-fated paper boats while determinedly dodging their over-worked mothers' repeated calls to come in...

It's poignant somehow, this ritual of rain. The way it falls, regardless of who or what it might be drenching, as oblivious to the spurts of joie de vivre as to the desecration of things, places, people...

It makes us fall in love, it makes us long for comfort in cocoa, it turns us into children again, it erodes our sense of permanence...

And it always, always makes me yearn... for what, I don't yet know.

Saturday, October 31, 2009

When Time stands still

It's amazing how heavy one feels when one has a lot of time on one's hands. As if Time itself were a physical burden to bear, like a large, uncomfortable stack of iron rods, poking and protruding and generally causing one a great state of distress.

Alright. I'll quit being deliberately obtuse about it and grudgingly admit that the 'one' in question is none other than yours truly.

I hate it. I absolutely hate it. Either I've suddenly been possessed by an alien form of maniac energy, or I simply have too many hours to do too little. And if that weren't bad enough, I'm also turning into a borderline insomniac.

If anyone out there is taking the effort to be concerned, don't be. It's just one of my many phases, like the waxing and waning of the moon. I must be 'this' in order to also be 'that' at some later point in time.

So then, if I know all of this already, why am I so perturbed? Because it's typical of me. Any other saner person would find pleasurable activities to occupy themselves with. But no, I couldn't possibly do that. It's probably a remnant of some homework-related guilt-complex I've been harboring since my childhood.

Sigh...And I'm supposed to be having the time of my life, since I'm an unattached twenty-something and what not. Whatever.

Moral of the story- when Time stands still, don't try to keep up with it.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

In search of quiet

Last evening, I made the effort of trudging up the stairs to my terrace, with Cuddles and Pooch hot on my heels in pursuit. I wandered around aimlessly, while they lounged in contentment, sniffing occasionally at whichever scents the night breeze carried in its wake.

The world was lit up in a haze of neon signs, humble tube lights and the glow of a half-moon. Alas, there was no silence. The hum of distant traffic made it clear that however hard I tried to escape the reality of my city-bred life, it was, in effect, impossible.

We stayed there a while, the three of us, each contemplative, lost in thought, they, with their tongues moist and lolling, I, with my heart hanging out.

It was nice while it lasted.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Man from Galilee

Wisdom is its own enemy
Courage has much to fear
And I, helpless stranger
Grope along my way

A pose of self-righteousness
Never did become me
I watch the buds of my flaws
Flourish in their flower-bed

There is much to be ashamed of
So little time to repent
I wish I had a melting heart
To carry me away

There are aliens in silence
Whispers in mist and dew
And yet, so very few
That know my name

Call to me now, I beg you
Shroud my face, and how
Will you count the silver
When I’m gone?

There is strength in weakness
And so I fall, again
If only to show you
I’m human too.