If anyone were to ever ask me for a sure-fire cure to anything, I'd say 'WORK'!!
I kid you not, ever since I've gone back to work, life just seems like an endless day-dream... Every morning, while on my way, I cannot thank God enough for my oh-so-beautiful life. Of course, once at work, I'm dealt the usual dose of stress, performance-anxiety, dead-lines, fumbling with lines, untimely hunger pangs, post-lunch snooze cravings and so on. But oh, the sweet surrender of a hard day's night !
I suppose the age-old adage does hold sway- an idle mind is a devil's workshop. I wonder why no one from our generation comes up with little pearls of wisdom? Maybe it's because everything that needs to be thought through, analyzed and philosophized has already been through the grind, with the possible exception of euthanasia and the origins of homosexuality.
As a child, I wanted to do everything and be everyone, all at once. It could possibly be interpreted as an identity complex, but I'd like to dismiss it as a severe case of misplaced enthusiasm. That was of course before I came across another old gem- jack of trades and king of none. I'd be damned if I wasn't going to be the king/queen of something!
Still, I do sometimes wish life was narrowed down to just a few good choices, instead of our minds being constantly infiltrated by seemingly endless choices- a few good, some questionable, and a whole lot of unnecessary ones. Apparently, it's been proven that people make wiser and needless to say, quicker choices when faced with a limited number of them. And if we, as adults are facing a dilemma in this respect, I wonder what the average kid out there must feel like.
Although, what really intrigues me, is what a kid with the picture-perfect life must feel like. Take for example, someone who's been in the news lately- the adorable off-spring of the best looking couple in the world, Shiloh. I really do wonder what it must feel like to wake up to beautiful mom Jolie and big strong dad Pitt every single day and to be shielded from all that is ugly in this world. And as she grows up, will she become obsessed with the mirror on the wall, or will she blossom into one of those few blessed individuals who are so beautiful, it goes deeper than their level of awareness, while the rest of the world gapes on?
Does Shiloh ever feel like the world is a mean, unfair place? Does she ever wish she was someone else? Does she wish her hair wasn't so perfectly blonde? Has she ever needed to throw a tantrum to get what she wants? Will she ever need to worry about being judged by her peers?
Of course, I have the answers to none of the above questions. As for the rest of the not-so-obviously-lucky kids out there, I hope and pray that life doesn't turn out half bad. But really, it depends on just two things, whether or not you want to make a difference, and whether or not you want to do it right.
Ironic isn't it, that the intricacies of life can be boiled and simmered down to just that?
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
Lonely Cloud
Lonely cloud
Drifting in and out of blue sky
Say hello to me
I'm just as lonely as you
Drifting in and out
Of the hours
What's the secret
Of your complacence
No anxiety in your glide
Wish I could slide
To the same song you're singing
But it's so soft
I can hardly hear it
Lonely cloud
Playing hide-and-seek with night sky
I just saw you tumble over the moon
If I were granted a boon
I would ask
For just one moment
To feel as beautiful
As you.
Drifting in and out of blue sky
Say hello to me
I'm just as lonely as you
Drifting in and out
Of the hours
What's the secret
Of your complacence
No anxiety in your glide
Wish I could slide
To the same song you're singing
But it's so soft
I can hardly hear it
Lonely cloud
Playing hide-and-seek with night sky
I just saw you tumble over the moon
If I were granted a boon
I would ask
For just one moment
To feel as beautiful
As you.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Back in the Race!
O la !
This morning, I worked up the courage to re-join the gym for the nth time. I stayed on the treadmill through two power-cuts, each of which caused me to experience a sensation akin to those experienced during minor earthquakes. Still, I stayed, I fought it out when my tummy cramped, and only left when I noticed the streams of sweat oozing out of the man on my left. It just became too icky after that.
I'd originally planned to re-join the gym last morning. But the day went by in a daze of indecision- which gym to join? Should I just do yoga? Do I need a personal trainer? Maybe I should go jogging on the beach instead... Tumultuous thoughts that lead to nowhere. Finally, when evening came, I felt particularly disgusted with my state of lethargy, which was only aggravated by my consumption of 3 mouth-watering and also fat-provoking Indian sweets. So I picked up my bag with my chequebook stowed away in it, and stepped out the door. When I informed my driver of the destination, he looked at me incredulously and asked why I would join the gym when I never ever go. This thoughtless (but true) remark of his broke my spirit and I trudged back upstairs, mumbling something about the traffic and half-heartedly promising myself that I'd accomplish what I'd set out to do on the morrow.
And voila! I actually did, despite the sniggers from my driver, and the long-standing joke of my mother's that I love donating money to gyms across the city. I returned home from my 45 minute expedition to the sweat factory feeling exhilarated with the endorphin rush. The rush lasted precisly 10 minutes, after which my limbs gave way, and rendered me handicapped.
I know I'm going to feel impossibly hungry owing to my mini-workout. I know my thighs are going to feel like God carved them out of lead. I know that no amount of stretching is going to soothe the ache in parts of my body that I tend to forget even exist when I'm not exercising. I know I'll chide myself for not switching to yoga and staying in shape the painless way. I know I'll curse my gene pool, my metabolism, my sweet tooth, my super-not-model body type, in short everything about me that's not perfect.
Someone recently told me that I don't know what I want, I only know what I don't want. It made me think that maybe I get around to doing things the roundabout way, but who cares, as long as things get done eventually.
But for now, I'm pretty sure of what I don't want- I don't want to be the one left behind while the rest of the world moves on to a better place. So I'm warming up and getting back in the race. I'm going to run my extra mile, even if it's only on a treadmill.
This morning, I worked up the courage to re-join the gym for the nth time. I stayed on the treadmill through two power-cuts, each of which caused me to experience a sensation akin to those experienced during minor earthquakes. Still, I stayed, I fought it out when my tummy cramped, and only left when I noticed the streams of sweat oozing out of the man on my left. It just became too icky after that.
I'd originally planned to re-join the gym last morning. But the day went by in a daze of indecision- which gym to join? Should I just do yoga? Do I need a personal trainer? Maybe I should go jogging on the beach instead... Tumultuous thoughts that lead to nowhere. Finally, when evening came, I felt particularly disgusted with my state of lethargy, which was only aggravated by my consumption of 3 mouth-watering and also fat-provoking Indian sweets. So I picked up my bag with my chequebook stowed away in it, and stepped out the door. When I informed my driver of the destination, he looked at me incredulously and asked why I would join the gym when I never ever go. This thoughtless (but true) remark of his broke my spirit and I trudged back upstairs, mumbling something about the traffic and half-heartedly promising myself that I'd accomplish what I'd set out to do on the morrow.
And voila! I actually did, despite the sniggers from my driver, and the long-standing joke of my mother's that I love donating money to gyms across the city. I returned home from my 45 minute expedition to the sweat factory feeling exhilarated with the endorphin rush. The rush lasted precisly 10 minutes, after which my limbs gave way, and rendered me handicapped.
I know I'm going to feel impossibly hungry owing to my mini-workout. I know my thighs are going to feel like God carved them out of lead. I know that no amount of stretching is going to soothe the ache in parts of my body that I tend to forget even exist when I'm not exercising. I know I'll chide myself for not switching to yoga and staying in shape the painless way. I know I'll curse my gene pool, my metabolism, my sweet tooth, my super-not-model body type, in short everything about me that's not perfect.
Someone recently told me that I don't know what I want, I only know what I don't want. It made me think that maybe I get around to doing things the roundabout way, but who cares, as long as things get done eventually.
But for now, I'm pretty sure of what I don't want- I don't want to be the one left behind while the rest of the world moves on to a better place. So I'm warming up and getting back in the race. I'm going to run my extra mile, even if it's only on a treadmill.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Swooper Trooper
I spent sunday evening with one of my oldest friends, slurping juice and laughing over nothing particularly funny. It felt so familiar and so damn good to not have to think before speaking, to not have to be afraid of being judged by what one says or does.
I came across this quote of Elizabeth Taylor's recently, in an old issue of the Reader's Digest, and her words rang so true to my ears - you know who your friends are when you're involved in a scandal.
Now a lot of people might never have the opportunity to star in a scandal. And perhaps, they lose out on the true test of friendship, but what the hell, nothing is worth being involved in a scandal. And then some people might say that money is the true test of friendship. But I beg to differ on that, because I know a lot of people who don't mind having friends who are poorer. And I know some people who thrive on being around friends who aren't as 'loaded' as they are, maybe because it boosts their own sense of self-worth. And of course, when a friend is in the doldrums financially, it must make a person feel so good to be able to swoop in with a cheque to the rescue.
But how or what does one do to help someone who is knee-deep in scandal? How does one support a friend when the whole of society, or the city, or the nation, or even the whole world is damning the person in question?
There is a beautiful story narrated in the bible, where Jesus addresses an angry mob thus- let he who has committed no sin cast the first stone. That line speaks for itself, really, no explanation required. Of course, Jesus was one hell of a public speaker.
I've noticed that a lot of people don't like to get their hands dirty, unless it's mud-slinging someone else. Which is fair enough. But that only applies to the REST of the world, not to YOUR OWN world a.k.a immediate family and friends.
In a perfect world, family and friends would swoop in like eagles, their well-tended feathers shielding your defenseless, weather-beaten self, until the rest of the big bad ugly world found something else to distract itself with. And then of course, that warm cozy circle could take the liberty of tearing you to shreds with their opinions, and shake you silly till you wake up and smell the coffee. But that's okay, because you'll need to hear it from someone anyway.
But those 'friends' who stay on the other side of the cliff, who refuse to swoop in and prefer instead to watch from a safe distance while you struggle to overcome the demons at your door-step, well, you're better off without them.
And to think I had this bolt of enlightenment while chatting with my friend over a tall glass of pomegranate juice sans sucre, well, I guess it says a lot about which side of the cliff he's perched on.
He qualifies as a Grade A Swooper in my book.
I came across this quote of Elizabeth Taylor's recently, in an old issue of the Reader's Digest, and her words rang so true to my ears - you know who your friends are when you're involved in a scandal.
Now a lot of people might never have the opportunity to star in a scandal. And perhaps, they lose out on the true test of friendship, but what the hell, nothing is worth being involved in a scandal. And then some people might say that money is the true test of friendship. But I beg to differ on that, because I know a lot of people who don't mind having friends who are poorer. And I know some people who thrive on being around friends who aren't as 'loaded' as they are, maybe because it boosts their own sense of self-worth. And of course, when a friend is in the doldrums financially, it must make a person feel so good to be able to swoop in with a cheque to the rescue.
But how or what does one do to help someone who is knee-deep in scandal? How does one support a friend when the whole of society, or the city, or the nation, or even the whole world is damning the person in question?
There is a beautiful story narrated in the bible, where Jesus addresses an angry mob thus- let he who has committed no sin cast the first stone. That line speaks for itself, really, no explanation required. Of course, Jesus was one hell of a public speaker.
I've noticed that a lot of people don't like to get their hands dirty, unless it's mud-slinging someone else. Which is fair enough. But that only applies to the REST of the world, not to YOUR OWN world a.k.a immediate family and friends.
In a perfect world, family and friends would swoop in like eagles, their well-tended feathers shielding your defenseless, weather-beaten self, until the rest of the big bad ugly world found something else to distract itself with. And then of course, that warm cozy circle could take the liberty of tearing you to shreds with their opinions, and shake you silly till you wake up and smell the coffee. But that's okay, because you'll need to hear it from someone anyway.
But those 'friends' who stay on the other side of the cliff, who refuse to swoop in and prefer instead to watch from a safe distance while you struggle to overcome the demons at your door-step, well, you're better off without them.
And to think I had this bolt of enlightenment while chatting with my friend over a tall glass of pomegranate juice sans sucre, well, I guess it says a lot about which side of the cliff he's perched on.
He qualifies as a Grade A Swooper in my book.
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