A real gift..

                                                                  
This is not a blah

Winning yet another lucky draw.

Not a consolation this time

A real gift is what they claim!!

Postcards letters sms mails

Carrying drawings, puzzles, slogan trails.

This time I am going to be lucky

A real gift is always tricky!!

Broken autographed mugs

To torn pashmina rugs.

Not to forget the larger than life wrapping

A real gift is sometimes trapping!!

This time congratulations pour in

A gift voucher is a great thing.

Alas, the validity was long over,

A real gift, oh please never!!

The happiness remainder

Happiness is defined as a mental or emotional state of well-being characterized by positive or pleasant emotions. I always thought it is just that moment or state or time when you are happy by yourself, sometimes due to external factors and sometimes internal. It could be a walk on the beach, a cold coffee, a book, a call from a long lost friend, a hug from a loved one, a good old song on the FM, a happy sunrise, a new bud in a dried up favourite plant or just a feel, when something from inside makes you feel happy for n reasons under the sky.

Little did I know, happiness could be timed, sold and taught? From comedy shows at specific timings of the week to exclusive channels dedicated to telecast comedy shows 24X7. Surprisingly they fare a great TRP rating too. The superficial laughter that momentarily makes you “happy” is their claim. As a child, yes I did look forward to the Sunday Charlie Chaplin show on TV and the daily dose of Tom and Jerry after school. Somehow, as I grew up this timed happiness factor failed to keep me happy, real happy for starters.

As I grew up confused, I was told, happiness is an inner factor and I need to keep searching for it from within. Accompanying my mother to meditation and yoga classes and reading those books on self happiness and the inner search, I was lost than before, definitely sans happiness.

But to my surprise, the world around, told me, it is the happiness quotient that matters and the remainder hardly. Aren’t the remainders commercial targets to the stressed souls-television shows, humour stories; self help books and yoga classes that help us, rather teach us to find “happiness”? They are marketed, preached and forced on us rather in a natural way and as a social phenomenon.

But somehow, staring at the sky sitting on the terrace, with ice-cream dripping on one hand has made pouring out this realisation, a happy time; let me not forget the favourite Ilayaraja music in the background. My pursuit of happyness continues...

Anbe sivam

கோவிலுக்கும் மனதுக்கும் தாழ் போடுகிறோம்,
தரிசனத்துக்கும் திருமணத்துக்கும் நாள் தேடுகிறோம்,
கடவளயும் அன்பையும் பூட்டிவைக்க முடியுமா ??

This is what radio does to you, during long bus journeys in rainy evenings. The words kept lingering in my mind for the whole of two hours, poor RJ didn’t know that his on spot haiku had a fan following in me.

History classes taught me that these are places of worship, eternal symbols of love and were places of refuge during wars. Primitive man feared nature, its unpredictability and spontaneity that he worshipped their forces. Harvest festivals, monsoon festivals and spring festivals were celebrated thanking nature for not unleashing its furies. Soon we gave them human forms with extra ordinary powers. Now we have enclosed these forces in high security temples, churches and mosques least they become targets of crime and terror.

We call them supreme powers, metaphysical, believe are un perceivable to a human mind yet keep them enclosed, locked and decide on good timings to visit them and conduct pooja. Places of worship get vandalized  idols get stolen and in worse conditions are left unattended to a dilapidated state.   

Kings were known by the temples they built, kingdoms were conquered for the temples in their region, lands as big as a city were donated to temples. We grew up learning about the temple towns, seeing every village start with an “ellai kovil” with the guardian deity only to grow up and invent digital locks and remote sensing devices to guard temples.

Watch towers and high walls are just not enough. The CCTV is the modern day “dwara balakas” and machine gun clad security personnel do the job of “vahanas” like lions and nandis. We are content with live darshans on TV and visit temples on occasions to catch up on latest designs in sarees and jewellery for the fashionista in us just can’t help it.

The thought process jolts me up as I realize it has been a long time since I visited a temple to just experience its sheer peace and harmony and it just crossed my mind, the RJ is playing “yaar yaar sivam from Anbe sivam” and I am lost again.

I am nobody's type.

Everyone talking to me these days is interested in knowing “who is my type?”; so that they could contribute their share to the whole process of match fixing, a thing more complicated than cracking the IPL fixing.

After a series of self talks, pep talks, swot analysis and a bout of arguments with parents, siblings and friends, I realized it has nothing to do with “who is my type” rather, “I am nobody’s type”. The unique me, happy being the independent myself one minute, craving for attention the next. Being content with the present for a minute, leaping to the future the next. Believing beauty is not skin deep, while reaching for my kohl. Hating the digital world, yet naming my phone, laptop and I pad. Waiting to brace the cyclone, without caring to open the windows to catch a breeze.

The “ME” that appears alright and sensible to the world, still longs to swing like a child. Can spell ambiguous right, but confuses with happyness. Everybody’s punch bag, but hate it when people read my mind. Can’t stand pets, but cares to check for - no animal testing, in all damn products. Can gulp endless cups of green tea but can also melt at the sight of an ice cream parlour. Loves to dress in muted colours, yet goes nuts over rainbows and butterflies. Cares to carry a hand sanitizer, but loves to lick the chocolate off the fingers. Isn't a movie buff, but doesn’t spare reviews of movies.

 Can’t stand mathematics, buts looks forward for solving the Sodoku corner in newspapers. Swears to be non ritualistic, but says silent thanks before every meal. Loves to cook, but can’t stand the thought of doing it 24X7. Follows the news, but loves to stay disconnected. Jewellery design is a passion, but wait the diamond is not my best friend. Looks forward to new experiences, but is scared of changes.  Loves to kill time, but dares not to look at the calendar.

Not a papa’s girl, but any day, dad is my hero. Not a mama’s girl but she is among my best friends. Can’t agree on a single thing with my brother, but he is my best buddy. Open hearted and talkative but I blurt out only to a few.

 So for all those, here is the typical me, who is a combination of opposites, unpredictable and unbelievable even to myself at times. Describing me isn’t even a distant possibility, because it is finite paper but infinite thoughts. How can I possibly find someone who is my type?? Thank god, I am nobody’s type!!

                                                                                                                                                            

“I love mankind, it's people I can't stand.” ― Charles M. Schulz

Having spent almost a short period of my life in common women’s hostels, I dreaded at the thought of having to stay there again. It is always swarmed with people busy with their lives and buried in their thoughts. You live below the same roof but stay out of reach. You make friends but not buddies.

But I this time I decided to open up, to read minds, to record silence and realized everything seemed simpler from a distance.

Ritu, the lone dog, the acting guardian to the hostel longed not for the sweet pie and pedigree in its kennel. It was happier without its sash, running around the vegetable garden, wagging at every inmate with those rolling eyes which talk about the longing hug and caress.  As I pat him, I recall – A dog doesn't care if you are rich or poor, educated or illiterate clever or dull. Give him your heart and he will give you his.-Marley and me.

After all he wasn’t the only one longing there. The watchman thatha and his wife, who is the new cook here, moved in recently after their children sent them off their home, to fend for themselves. I should say he is a lucky man, as aayama is an excellent cook. But today he eats her delicacies seated near the gate with thoughts flooded with memories of happier times. She serves me tomato rasam saying her coaxed her to make it every other day when young. They borrow my mobile to stay connected with their grandchildren stealthily. They live as strangers under the same roof, growing old and growing together, without growing apart.          

The gardener akka, who is a single parent brings along her three year old son, Aadhi. The boy jeers at all of us happily for he is too young to understand, his mother toils to make ends meet. He waters the plants along the gate and even over waters my pet cacti, sunshine. I fail to make him understand why some things don’t need the extra attention, the extra love, the nurturing. My sunshine decays, but he still wears his smile, I find my new sunshine.

This time I realize, there is so much around me, which I love. Ritu, Aadhi, watchman thatha, akka and the new me, for I know-Attraction, is not an option.

Chor Bizzare

The tenaliraman tales by patti, the comic strips and the bollywood movies I saw up growing, depicted all possible thieves, dacoits and criminals as lonely lads, with a big mole on the cheek or forehead and single eyed. The imagibility of a thief is deep set in the mind as an easily identifiable figure in a crowd and we look out for these features when in suspicion.

The image list of lookouts in all police stations also invariably features people with at least one of the above characteristics. My intellect in my patti, the rave director, the thoughtful writer or the alert policemen ever did think that a thief and a criminal could me one among them, actually one among us.

Isn’t it shocking to know that your best friend can strangle you for your jewellery, your boyfriend can throw acid on your face, your tenant living downstairs can rape our three our daughter, a student can murder his teacher for advising him to concentrate in class. Homo sapiens, the most civilised beings with the sixth sense who have the highest degree of communication skills commit the most barbaric acts. Little did we ever realise that we would wake up every day realizing every other person in our life is a threat. We can neither trust words nor can trust actions.

Today a denim clad man with aviators and a porshe car living in a posh locality is a hyper qualified engineer with loads of devil in those hidden angel eyes. Gone are those days when people would steal to satisfy their hunger, today we steal, cheat and kill for greed, stress, revenge and anger.

“I think the key indicator for wealth is not good grades, work ethic, or IQ. I believe it's relationships. Ask yourself two questions: How many people do I know, and how much ransom money could I get for each one?” 

― Jarod Kintz

This time everyday

Between my day and night
amidst the chaos and fight;
the setting sun winks with a smile,
saying- It is time to stop for a while.

All it takes is to log off and sign out,
to grab my bag and step out,
to catch the bus in time
the window seat is just fine.

Suddenly all is set to the sepia mode
with the trees and building catching up the mood;
This is that magical time,
beyond the mystic dark and bright lime.

The cool breeze travels from the sea,
touches cheeks, blows hair and sets me free.
I swiftly relax, rejoice and retreat;
for the night, engulfs this feat.

The sepia turns black,
As the sun looses its track.
I blow a kiss to the moon,
which is ready to swoon.

For it competes hard in vain
with the CFL-LED rain.
unlike the showers from the sky,
these rise bidding the earth good bye.

Then my magical moment is lost
setting me mechanical at last.
Get down, swap place, changes roles;
there is cooking, eating and domestic chores.

This is all what is for a break,
for a woman who is at stake.
Keeping busy day and night,
I wait  for the time of twilight.

This journey eases my taxing,
in spite of destinations at the crossing.

Keeping busy day and night,
I wait  for the time of twilight.

Broken toys

Broken toys

Unwrapping a present gives us profound joy. As a child a new toy was all that we needed to make our day.  Unwrapping the cover, the first touch, the smell of something new when we open it, the scratch free surface, are great moments that can only be experienced. More magical and true is the when a broken toy is better than the original.

Fitting back the broken wheel of the toy car, fixing back the eye of the doll and see it flutter its eye lids, stitching the worn out teddy and giving it a new shape, made us happy and content as children. It made us stronger, mentally, emotionally and mechanically and also creative.  All the broken parts where assembled to form a new toy, recycled and reused. We have cherished till date the first toy car; the most priced only Barbie we had, the broken lucky pencil and so on. We love them for what they were and for what they are. They remind us that beauty lies in the flaws.

What would have happened had we thrown away every broken toy for a new one like the way we look at things us adults? The search for perfection has only taught us about updating and upgrading than reusing and recycling and we follow the same trend right from updating mobile phones to breaking up on relationships.

Peace is not, when all is perfect and safe, rather, when we are in control and calm in midst of chaos and confusion.  We better learn to resolve things than run away from it. A broken toy, repaired by us is more special than a new perfect toy. For everything in the world is ours forever and we better not let anything expire early .