“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 .

Bustle in a bus

The daily bus trip to office is a true blessing in disguise. Though it is a 10 min drive, everyday it a new experience, other than the pushing, rushing and crushing process. I am deliberately erasing the ticket passing procedure from end to end which requires the skilful tucking of the ticket and coins with two fingers.

Few days are extra special when I meet a long lost friend from school after 10 years and make up for the missed years in a 10 minute drive.

Some days are nostalgic when I smile to the child which recites a nursery rhyme to his mom and nudges the toddler sister in her lap to recite along. When I see the excitement in a child’s face when it sneaks into its lunch box to check the food that is been packed, I rewind back to the old hot pack owned during school days. Then is the nerdy chap with glasses whose twists at weird angles to see the time in my watch worried about being late, but turns red and looks away when I tell him the time, doesn’t realise I was just preventing a neck sprain.

The septuagenarian couple who board the bus with shaking hands and yet offer each other the only seat available are sure to mend all broken hearts. I am left wondering at a mother rushing to office balancing a kid and an oversize tote bag and still wading through the bus at ease. I am more shocked when I see her in the evening with an additional bag full of groceries and a tired mind planning the dinner meal. Kudos to the woman!!

Let me not forget the BPO men at the footboard, laptop bags slinging to the shoulder, i phones secure in their pockets which are already bulging because of the in numerous credit cards but are clinging to their dear.

The journey doesn’t always show me the brighter side. There are people with this lost look and remind to every second to alert them at their stop which I invariably forget busy watching another drama in bus. There are school children screaming at me when I break the miniature model of their science project in a hurry to get into the bus and are equally shocked when I mend it for them with the cutter and fewibond ready in my bag. (They gave a final stare that meant thank your stars for being an architect that carried a stationery supply handy, else you were dead.)

There are d days when the bus will break down as per written norms and I will have empty my wallet to the autowallah, what would have been my entire monthly bus allowance. Another unpleasant experience was the day when my new branded rimless glasses got crushed in the unexpected sudden break from the driver and I smashed my face right into the handle bar, I swore never ever to wear glasses during my bus travel.

In spite of all this, the 10 minute is most exciting moment I eagerly wait for everyday and at times wished I lived far from work. Tickets anyone?!?

The gift of tears

A cry of a just born baby brings joy to a whole family, the first cry being the signal of a new beginning, a life. But its a human instinct to suppress tears, failing many of us to realize the peace and magic that true tears can give.

As toddlers we are stuffed with chocolates, toys and goodies to not cry. Growing up we are advised to be strong hearted and not fuss over things with tears. In a way women are lucky as they have the  freedom to express their tears, probably  the only way many women emote.

But on the contrary there goes a saying-When you are holding back your tears, you are drowning your heart.
Every person experiences this magic of tears, which could either be on happy notes or fades away one's sadness,  the real smile that struggles through tears. It is a moment of relief, a moment of peace, a moment of silence, a moment of love, a moment of being, the moment of surrender, that magical moment of life.

I first came across this phrase during a conversation with a friend, which she said is a term to describe the moment you feel god in your prayers, when there is a sudden outburst involuntarily and people who experience this are blessed. It was then I realized that tears mean a lot more, they are words spoken by the eyes when our lips fail.

Memories relived can make one cry. When we relive that moment in past, recalling those exact words, that very smell, that touch, it can bring tears, entangling emotions with tears. Looking back on those laughters that can actually make us cry, aaah memories.

The magic created by music can move you to tears. The lonely nights spent with the company of music playing to your ears with earphones making every beat a beat of the heart, the moment you melt away, surrendering yourself with the rhythm, the lyrics and the soul of the song makes one forget the time and place. I have to  bow to all the musicians around the world and  those beautiful sounds of nature that make my life.

Books, I am so thankful that god made men who could express their thoughts through words. A book has a stronger impact  you because it doesn't restrict your thoughts and visualizations. Words expressed in the right way tear through you that a scene enacted in reality can't.  I have a very personal experience with this book "infinithoughts", initially called the "frozen thoughts". Every time I read it, I am moved to tears, I am yet to figure out whether it is because it hits me straight, or if it is because that I am happy I am me everytime I read it or simply because it full of energy.

It is such a irony that I am trying to express what gift of tears are to me and still justifying that they are what we experience when we are crippled in all other forms of expression. But there is always a good reason to shed tears otherwise too-

  கண்ணே உன் விழியால் பிரரகழுதால்
  கண்ணீரும் ஆனதம் ஆனந்தம்.

wah taj!!

In spite of being a hardcore Indian which I am and a student of architecture, it was only mid way through my course that i got to visit the Taj and experience the mystical magical moment, the moment.

Growing up in an era where tea brands to TV commercials portrayed Taj mahal much more than a world wonder, I failed to to realize the charm it carried and lived in. I dont remember if it was my indifference or ignorance that made me waste 20 fruitful years of my life..Errr

I couldn't help recalling the moment after the TV played songs from Mouna Raagam and Thandavam back to back, featuring the TAJ. Here goes the story.The college trip part of our curriculum in 2008 gave our batch two unforgettable experiences, the Taj hotel in Mumbai was bombed a couple of days after we had visited the place and had happily photographed ourselves right in front of it. We had chills when we saw the place being telecasted live for close to 24 hrs  the day of hostage.

The better half of the trip was more than a soother. We woke up to the chilly December morning in Delhi to be told by our coordinator that the D Day at Delhi has come and it was the Taj, amid confusions if to wear a black or a white, Oh yes the wardrobe decisions are never easy to make, I settled for a black, mentally I just wanted to standout at Taj and not realizing it was more than a backdrop any day.

After a good deal of bargain at the gates for a thread bangle and cleaning of camera lens, I followed the herd along the path that led to the memorial. I feel a chill run down even now as I recall that moment, the moment I got the glimpse of the marvel in front of me, the euphoric moment to be true. It was beyond the white marble, more than the intricacy, not even the symmetry or the architecture. It was Taj , completely, yes the whole is always greater than the sum of the parts, even if every part is a delight by itself.It made me go bi polar(discovered the word recently, didn't know it was that then), the moment where your vision goes hazy, mouth goes dry, hands numb, legs fail to move, the surrounding go mute but the mind is ecstatic. The moment I cant express through words, that just was understood by my heart more than my mind.

Every time after this transcendental awakening, whenever I see a painting or an image of the Taj, I cant help thinking how it makes me feel so small. A wonder made by man to represent the best of feeling s of mankind, that which makes you fall in love with it, again and again, endlessly.

Wah Taj!!
( I am sure a second trip to here will be better because,
Everything that happens once can never happen again. But everything that happens twice will surely happen a third time.-Paulo Coelho)