Ah the bliss of curling up in your PJ's, listlessly sipping your morning tea, aimlessly flipping through TV channels, having absolutely no clue as to how the day is to be spent or what should be done next. That absolute wonderful feeling when your day hasn't even begun at 9.30 AM and neither are you thinking of beginning it any time soon. This is only to be experienced on weekends of course when the rest of the week just whizzes past in a constant vicious cycle.
But come to think of it, the lazy, drawling mornings stretched on forever with my cup of tea is just about the only thing I really miss since I started going out to work. This maybe because I enjoy the work I do, for writing has always been my one true passion. Oh and I also miss those spontaneous cooking and baking adventures of mine from time to time too. Oh well, all in good time.
Speaking of baking, felt like baking last evening and was in an intense debate with myself, trying to decide between brownies or pumpkin pie. Finally decided on baking brownies, but very, very predictably, as is always the case, we were out of butter. Sigh..... Why oh why is it that the exact thing that we need is the exact thing that is missing when you need it??? Sigh........... So *poof!* went the dreams of warm chocolate brownies with melting vanilla ice cream for tea in the afternoon, disappeared into thin, invisible air, gone down the gutter, gurgled down the drain and flushed down the toilet, so very heartlessly :(
After a week of being terribly sick, Lady Grouchalot is finally back in the scene. Although throwing up everything, including water that dared pass beyond the throat and then feeling all dizzy and light headed 24 hrs a day was more than what I had bargained for, being pushed around the hospital in a wheel chair by a total hunk (I'm serious, hospitals should follow the example of this particular hospital and hire good looking dudes to push you around in wheelchairs.....Sigh), I found myself thinking to myself, hmmm....I could get used to this! :P
Still feeling the remnants of the flu singing within though. Its this bug I've heard. It leaves you feeling haggard for weeks afterwards apparently.
All in all, a good weekend. Took the Parents out for lunch. Mother Dearest had been craving for Indian food for quite sometime so took her and a sour-faced Father Dearest (he doesn't like Indian food much) over to Agra for some fine Indian lovin'. Ambiance was lovely, all cozy and intimate, food was ok, not exceptional though. In short, I've had better and for cheaper too.
Amrith's used to be good. And then they came to suck and finally closed down. Pity though, I used to enjoy the food there.
Exhibitions at BMICH always holds the most curious of all tit bits on offer. Had mehendi applied all over my left hand for 200 bucks and now the lines have emerged out in this beautiful deep red that I have always loved. The smell of mehendi brought back many memories. Its strange how smells, much more than sights or sounds bring back the most intense of sensations. Or maybe its one of my very own endemic idiosyncrasies.
Speaking of smells, finally managed to get my hands on Rock and Dreams by Valentino, a perfume that I had been eyeing (or nosing) for a while ever since I received one of those tiny vials as a complimentary gift when I bought my last Hugo - Woman (which is now discontinued, sob sob :'( ) about a year ago. (Yes, perfumes ARE my Vice :S)
Rock n Dreams is, well....different. Its dreamy, its fragile and feminine and somehow very personal. Is it "Rock" you ask? Yes, I suppose it is. Not in the gritty, hardcore, leathery way as one would imagine, but in a more profound, intimate way that the music tends to grab hold of you by your most vulnerable depths. Yes, vulnerable would be the word to describe the scent and its so damn sexy in its vulnerability. However, it reminds me of those rare childhood mornings spent rolling out pastries with my mother. The scent from the sprawling, flowering vine that hung over the roof of the open indoor garden (which btw no longer exists) adjoining the pantry wafted indoors generously in the mornings. My mother was a working woman and her staying home was a very happy day for me and she would usually do so when somebody was coming over and she would always wear this light, frilly floral dress that I used to so love on those days. On such rare occasions, I would usually get to skip school or preschool (under the pretext of a tummy ache of course) and sit on a tall stool in the kitchen, my feet not even reaching the floor, and watch her hustling and bustling around the kitchen while the smell of stewing pineapples, baking smells and the like would mingle together and fill the entire house. This perfume somewhat reminds me of this entire experience. I suppose it is this factor that makes the fragrance so beautiful.
Guess I've always had an uber sensitive nose. Which can be quite annoying, specially when travelling by bus :S
Finally managed to get some brownies in the oven and that comfy baking smell is wafting up the stairs little by little. Father Dearest had been hovering around me while I chopped, melted, sifted and mixed and now he's hovering around the oven waiting for them to bake. He does not have much of a sweet tooth but he does have a whole set of teeth for anything that I may cook or bake. Must shoo him off the kitchen or else him constantly opening the oven will further delay the baking process. He's sort of our own personal cookie (cake, brownie or etc) monster. Chweet :)
Looking forward to a warm and cozy Sunday evening followed by a good night's sleep and a whole week of activity. Life's quite good these days, except for my still not back to normal physical strength and The Darling's new found obsession for planting trees and not having time for meeeeeeeeeeeeeee!! *sob sob* I'm worried that he may give up his job altogether and become a good ol farmer, loin cloth and all. Oh well...... never mind. However, a plan of revenge is called forth - Baking brownies (super chocolaty mind you) and not letting him have ANY! Mua ha ha ha!! *Evil, sinister laughter ensues* Let him plant and toil all he wants, he's missing out on brownies, conversation, random tickling, lubly, bubbly hugs and other very, very important things :/
Monday, July 30, 2012
Monday, July 23, 2012
Dealing with Death
It took me quite a while to put this post together. The emotional numbness finally gave way to a more confused state me thinks. Loku amma passed away. And I thought blogging would help me grasp the situation after all this time.
Was floating around in a dream-like state, partly aware that this is not a dream and partly feeling as if I'l wake up from this horrible dream soon. Who laid there in that coffin was not her. It was some random old lady that I did not know. My loku amma was elegant. She never drenched her hair in oil and she never combed it back. Her hair was always a joyful mess and she was so full of life. Neither did she dress in tacky old sarees. She had good taste, was graceful and majestic. Unlike the strange, serious-looking person who lay there surrounded by flowers, looking all limp and dead.
She was a healthy person, had she been sick, we would all have understood. Of course she had the usual pains and aches of the old age, but other than that, she was a bundle of life, doing this, that and everything, bustling about the place with a purpose. Even the morning she passed away, she had been gardening in the morning with loku thaththa after which she had gone to take a bath. It was after the bath that she had been taken on by the wheeze. After trying two inhalers, she herself had walked to the car to go to the hospital and on the way, she had passed away. All this had happened within 10 minutes. A measly ten minutes and ALL the life that this frame contained for all this time had just evaporated in to thin air. And I do not understand how. Because there was SUCH a lot of life in there.
She had even prepared to cook lunch for the two of them that morning. We found a half scraped coconut, peeled and washed onions, chilly and tomatoes on the kitchen counters and two boiled potatoes, all prepped for lunch. Some washed and prepped Dambala from the garden (she rarely buys vegetables from the market, they grow their own, even tomatoes, cabbage, radish and etc in their own garden) alongside a chopping board all set with a hopeful looking knife. Some dry fish too has been washed and was kept separate in another pot, ready to cook. It was as if she walked out of the kitchen for a moment and would resume cooking any moment now.
We would usually go to her place looking forward to a scrumptious meal and being showered with lots and lots of love, attention, laughter and good, happy times. Going there for her funeral was a strange experience, at least for me for I had always associated Loku amma's place with joy, festivity and heaps and heaps of activity, all presided of course, by her. The place bustling with people, as we sat there in a group, I kept expecting her to come smiling towards us in her usual way, her lively voice resonating through the house. But she never came. But I kept expecting her to do so. It was all very strange. It felt like some stranger had died and we were all there to help out. Nothing more.
Not many people would understand the feeling if they had not been there, if they had not experienced it first hand. I have had close people react to me with aggression just because they are sad, yes, you are sad but you should also understand that aggression does not serve a purpose and that nobody is responsible for your grief, it is yours and yours alone. And just because you are sad, the whole world does not have to walk around you on tip toe because they do not know about our loss and neither do they have to know. Neither do they feel what you are going through and they are not to blame either. It took me the death of a close one to understand that death alone has no meaning and while the parting of a loved one is sad, it is the ones who are alive who must be taken care of. Because it is them who suffer more.
Death remains a puzzle but it is evident that death occurs when life leaves the body. Death in itself is not an entity. Death is a state of being. It should only be an adjective, it should not be a noun. You FEEL that once life leaves the body, what remains is just a worthless shell, empty, like a rambutan deprived of its seed or an empty pack of Pringles. The corpse is no longer the person that you used to know. The spirit that this body contained gets liberated. I think we should all be happy that this person is finally free. But as all lay persons do, we have our attachments, our own selfish motives. Isn't it for selfish reasons we weep when a person is dead? Isn't it because we shall miss the physical presence of that person, isn't it because we shall miss what that person used to be for us, used to do for us that we weep? Isn't it because you fear your own loneliness that you weep? If it isn't for selfish reasons that we weep, in this case we should not be sad because it was a relatively painless death. But still I am sad. And that is only because there were things that I wanted to do for her and yet could not manage to do so while she was alive. That is all. While her death did shock me in to numbness sprouting from pure disbelief, I did weep a little out of sheer selfishness because of all the ways in which I would miss her now that she is gone. But then I decided not to be so selfish. While grief remains, Life presents itself to me in a new light now. Take care of the ones who are alive, because once they are gone, there is absolutely nothing that you could do about it. Spend as much time as you can with them, do everything you can for those you care about. Hold no grudges, take no offense, do no wrong to anyone or any living thing. It is these things that matter, not how much you earn or who you hold grudges against, defeating an opponent or proving yourself right everytime. Life is precious and one should savour every moment of it, whether happy or painful. You feel all these things, whether it is grief, happiness, pain or loss because you are alive.
And it took me the death of a loved one to realize all that.
Was floating around in a dream-like state, partly aware that this is not a dream and partly feeling as if I'l wake up from this horrible dream soon. Who laid there in that coffin was not her. It was some random old lady that I did not know. My loku amma was elegant. She never drenched her hair in oil and she never combed it back. Her hair was always a joyful mess and she was so full of life. Neither did she dress in tacky old sarees. She had good taste, was graceful and majestic. Unlike the strange, serious-looking person who lay there surrounded by flowers, looking all limp and dead.
She was a healthy person, had she been sick, we would all have understood. Of course she had the usual pains and aches of the old age, but other than that, she was a bundle of life, doing this, that and everything, bustling about the place with a purpose. Even the morning she passed away, she had been gardening in the morning with loku thaththa after which she had gone to take a bath. It was after the bath that she had been taken on by the wheeze. After trying two inhalers, she herself had walked to the car to go to the hospital and on the way, she had passed away. All this had happened within 10 minutes. A measly ten minutes and ALL the life that this frame contained for all this time had just evaporated in to thin air. And I do not understand how. Because there was SUCH a lot of life in there.
She had even prepared to cook lunch for the two of them that morning. We found a half scraped coconut, peeled and washed onions, chilly and tomatoes on the kitchen counters and two boiled potatoes, all prepped for lunch. Some washed and prepped Dambala from the garden (she rarely buys vegetables from the market, they grow their own, even tomatoes, cabbage, radish and etc in their own garden) alongside a chopping board all set with a hopeful looking knife. Some dry fish too has been washed and was kept separate in another pot, ready to cook. It was as if she walked out of the kitchen for a moment and would resume cooking any moment now.
We would usually go to her place looking forward to a scrumptious meal and being showered with lots and lots of love, attention, laughter and good, happy times. Going there for her funeral was a strange experience, at least for me for I had always associated Loku amma's place with joy, festivity and heaps and heaps of activity, all presided of course, by her. The place bustling with people, as we sat there in a group, I kept expecting her to come smiling towards us in her usual way, her lively voice resonating through the house. But she never came. But I kept expecting her to do so. It was all very strange. It felt like some stranger had died and we were all there to help out. Nothing more.
Not many people would understand the feeling if they had not been there, if they had not experienced it first hand. I have had close people react to me with aggression just because they are sad, yes, you are sad but you should also understand that aggression does not serve a purpose and that nobody is responsible for your grief, it is yours and yours alone. And just because you are sad, the whole world does not have to walk around you on tip toe because they do not know about our loss and neither do they have to know. Neither do they feel what you are going through and they are not to blame either. It took me the death of a close one to understand that death alone has no meaning and while the parting of a loved one is sad, it is the ones who are alive who must be taken care of. Because it is them who suffer more.
Death remains a puzzle but it is evident that death occurs when life leaves the body. Death in itself is not an entity. Death is a state of being. It should only be an adjective, it should not be a noun. You FEEL that once life leaves the body, what remains is just a worthless shell, empty, like a rambutan deprived of its seed or an empty pack of Pringles. The corpse is no longer the person that you used to know. The spirit that this body contained gets liberated. I think we should all be happy that this person is finally free. But as all lay persons do, we have our attachments, our own selfish motives. Isn't it for selfish reasons we weep when a person is dead? Isn't it because we shall miss the physical presence of that person, isn't it because we shall miss what that person used to be for us, used to do for us that we weep? Isn't it because you fear your own loneliness that you weep? If it isn't for selfish reasons that we weep, in this case we should not be sad because it was a relatively painless death. But still I am sad. And that is only because there were things that I wanted to do for her and yet could not manage to do so while she was alive. That is all. While her death did shock me in to numbness sprouting from pure disbelief, I did weep a little out of sheer selfishness because of all the ways in which I would miss her now that she is gone. But then I decided not to be so selfish. While grief remains, Life presents itself to me in a new light now. Take care of the ones who are alive, because once they are gone, there is absolutely nothing that you could do about it. Spend as much time as you can with them, do everything you can for those you care about. Hold no grudges, take no offense, do no wrong to anyone or any living thing. It is these things that matter, not how much you earn or who you hold grudges against, defeating an opponent or proving yourself right everytime. Life is precious and one should savour every moment of it, whether happy or painful. You feel all these things, whether it is grief, happiness, pain or loss because you are alive.
And it took me the death of a loved one to realize all that.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Ponderings
The Lady Grouch has not grouched in quite a long time, now has she?
And I'm wondering why that is. I suppose the Lady is quite happy with the way things are right now. The past couple of weeks have not been so good (not so good as in not wanting to even blog about it not-good) with regards to certain very necessary things but right now, after a weekend well spent and some long conversations, things are pretty much sparkly. The universe is in its rightful place again :)
Another reason for the upsy-perkiness must be because there are also a lot of new things in the Lady's life. I suppose the old Grouch is quite happy as long as there's always something new to keep her on her toes. Work is exciting and I believe that I'm quite blessed to run in to like-minded wackjobs wherever I set foot in, be it a workplace or a class I decide to take. Anyhooooooo, I've realized of late that life's pretty darn awesome when you learn to savor every moment as if it is your last whether it be good or bad.
I find travelling time relaxing. Although people find it irritating and end up getting frustrated when spending hour upon hour in traffic jams, I find it an enjoyable exercise. Everyday to work and from work, it is my thinking time and I do NOT appreciate being disturbed during that time. Even if the roads are crowded and vehicles are jam packed on the streets, I always go prepared. With a book and my music, I'm fully loaded and quite content to spend those cherished moments escaping in to my own mind where I take refuge.
Life has proved itself to be one adrenalin evoking adventure, I am quite excited to test my surfing skills on those intimidating tidal waves that life bashes against the shores from time to time. I suppose I define myself as well geared up to take up anything lanced at me and quite enthusiastic about it too. I'm not particularly fussy about things and go with the flow has always been my motto. It has worked very well so far *shrug*
I am learning everyday and I lap it all up with more eagerness than a hungry dog would lap up spilt milk. Its amazing though how quickly the mind and body gets used to routine and procedure. Well what do you know, we are highly obedient, program-able robots after all!
Planning to head for the Richmond Castle over the weekend. This is a long overdue trip that was intended to be made about one year ago when I first heard of the place. Suddenly remembered of it just yesterday. Stumbling across a few pictures of it on the web about a year ago aroused my curiosity and prompted me to find out more after which I came across fascinating stories, more pictures and many other tidbits that only added kerosene to the fire. I have a fetish for old places anyway, they have this aura bout them, this air of secrets concealed and lives spent between those slowly decaying walls. There is a beauty in decay that many people tend to overlook but which I find ever so fascinating. What with my trusty ol camera eagerly awaiting a snap or two at those grandiose colonial arcs, I have already spoken to a reluctant Darling about dragging his lazy behind down there. He better agree or it'l be a solitary ramble down there, which now that I think about it, doesn't sound so bad after all.
Apparently, the master bedroom of the Richmond Castle has a sound proofing device. The Mudaliyar old fellow must have seen some tree-wrenching action back in his days *eye brow wiggle* :D
All the positivism aside, I do have certain things to grouch about too. First and foremost there's this issue about messiness that Mother Dearest finds very irritating but which I find to be completely normal. I've always been a messy kid, its a part of my nature I suppose. So every now and then when I come home in the evening I find my room swept and organized and I find it really odd. I like my mess. Its my mess. I do not want anybody messing up my mess :/
Same applies to when I cook. I am a messy cook and Mother Dearest never ceases complaining. But then again, they say that a messy cook is a good cook, a clean house is a sign of wasted life and a messy room is a sign of a genius at work!!! My mother never understands any of my logic though. Sigh...................
And my poetry collection is quite passive these days too. Sigh...........Hoping that the pace would pick up and I would see some action soon. Been writing some new stuff too as inspiration comes in gasps and starts these days and spills on like a damaged oil vessel in the middle of the ocean, contaminating the clear blue waters of the mind. Searching for a publisher was done in a moment of such monolithic inspiration and I was at the point that if no one would accept it, I would publish it myself (I still would, oh I still SO would). I was really, REALLY excited about it when it started, but at the pace that things are going, I feel my enthusiasm laxing too. Sigh.....creativity has never been easy. Either you labor to invoke the muses or you labor to get published. I'm not the only one. Throughout history, it has always been a struggle for the artistically cursed. But, I do not intend on embracing the destiny of work being discovered only after death, no sir.
Note to self- Must bug publisher :P
Yes, yes I be rambling for quite sometime now. Sleep calleth and I shalt to my chambers. Nitey nite you beautiful people! Keep smiling and be happy always :)
And I'm wondering why that is. I suppose the Lady is quite happy with the way things are right now. The past couple of weeks have not been so good (not so good as in not wanting to even blog about it not-good) with regards to certain very necessary things but right now, after a weekend well spent and some long conversations, things are pretty much sparkly. The universe is in its rightful place again :)
Another reason for the upsy-perkiness must be because there are also a lot of new things in the Lady's life. I suppose the old Grouch is quite happy as long as there's always something new to keep her on her toes. Work is exciting and I believe that I'm quite blessed to run in to like-minded wackjobs wherever I set foot in, be it a workplace or a class I decide to take. Anyhooooooo, I've realized of late that life's pretty darn awesome when you learn to savor every moment as if it is your last whether it be good or bad.
I find travelling time relaxing. Although people find it irritating and end up getting frustrated when spending hour upon hour in traffic jams, I find it an enjoyable exercise. Everyday to work and from work, it is my thinking time and I do NOT appreciate being disturbed during that time. Even if the roads are crowded and vehicles are jam packed on the streets, I always go prepared. With a book and my music, I'm fully loaded and quite content to spend those cherished moments escaping in to my own mind where I take refuge.
Life has proved itself to be one adrenalin evoking adventure, I am quite excited to test my surfing skills on those intimidating tidal waves that life bashes against the shores from time to time. I suppose I define myself as well geared up to take up anything lanced at me and quite enthusiastic about it too. I'm not particularly fussy about things and go with the flow has always been my motto. It has worked very well so far *shrug*
I am learning everyday and I lap it all up with more eagerness than a hungry dog would lap up spilt milk. Its amazing though how quickly the mind and body gets used to routine and procedure. Well what do you know, we are highly obedient, program-able robots after all!
Planning to head for the Richmond Castle over the weekend. This is a long overdue trip that was intended to be made about one year ago when I first heard of the place. Suddenly remembered of it just yesterday. Stumbling across a few pictures of it on the web about a year ago aroused my curiosity and prompted me to find out more after which I came across fascinating stories, more pictures and many other tidbits that only added kerosene to the fire. I have a fetish for old places anyway, they have this aura bout them, this air of secrets concealed and lives spent between those slowly decaying walls. There is a beauty in decay that many people tend to overlook but which I find ever so fascinating. What with my trusty ol camera eagerly awaiting a snap or two at those grandiose colonial arcs, I have already spoken to a reluctant Darling about dragging his lazy behind down there. He better agree or it'l be a solitary ramble down there, which now that I think about it, doesn't sound so bad after all.
Apparently, the master bedroom of the Richmond Castle has a sound proofing device. The Mudaliyar old fellow must have seen some tree-wrenching action back in his days *eye brow wiggle* :D
All the positivism aside, I do have certain things to grouch about too. First and foremost there's this issue about messiness that Mother Dearest finds very irritating but which I find to be completely normal. I've always been a messy kid, its a part of my nature I suppose. So every now and then when I come home in the evening I find my room swept and organized and I find it really odd. I like my mess. Its my mess. I do not want anybody messing up my mess :/
Same applies to when I cook. I am a messy cook and Mother Dearest never ceases complaining. But then again, they say that a messy cook is a good cook, a clean house is a sign of wasted life and a messy room is a sign of a genius at work!!! My mother never understands any of my logic though. Sigh...................
And my poetry collection is quite passive these days too. Sigh...........Hoping that the pace would pick up and I would see some action soon. Been writing some new stuff too as inspiration comes in gasps and starts these days and spills on like a damaged oil vessel in the middle of the ocean, contaminating the clear blue waters of the mind. Searching for a publisher was done in a moment of such monolithic inspiration and I was at the point that if no one would accept it, I would publish it myself (I still would, oh I still SO would). I was really, REALLY excited about it when it started, but at the pace that things are going, I feel my enthusiasm laxing too. Sigh.....creativity has never been easy. Either you labor to invoke the muses or you labor to get published. I'm not the only one. Throughout history, it has always been a struggle for the artistically cursed. But, I do not intend on embracing the destiny of work being discovered only after death, no sir.
Note to self- Must bug publisher :P
Yes, yes I be rambling for quite sometime now. Sleep calleth and I shalt to my chambers. Nitey nite you beautiful people! Keep smiling and be happy always :)
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Birthday and other things
Birthday. It came and it went. And I'm twenty five today.
Getting up early morning only to be swept up in a gigantic hug by both the parents. That alone is enough to put a beaming smile on my face. Then the morning is spent in the temple, unraveling petal after petal of white lotuses. There were twenty five of them this time.
Its so very peaceful in the temple and under the rustling bo leaves and the wind peacefully swish swishing through the trees, I could have spent forever in that shade. It's ever so peaceful there, ever so tranquil. The slightly damp sand is soothing under the feet and upon the feet as well when it scatters all over you as you walk. Its a great feeling to be able to dig your feet in to the sand, bury your toes in there, sit down and contemplate. So much to think, so much to ponder over.
Made gift packs for all the little girls in the orphanage and I handpicked every little thing in that gift pack this time. Little girls like nice, dainty things and I being a little girl once knew exactly what I'd like to have. Sure enough, the girls really loved it. And I was glad.
We had been preparing meals, giving these girls gifts, spending time with those children on every birthday ever since I can remember. When I was very small, I remember being fascinated by the thought of sharing a house, a room with all these girls my age and I remember wishing that I was one of them. They seemed so happy those little girls. I wanted to be part of the group, to learn together, to sleep together, to do my homework together with them. Having a brother much much older than me and therefore having grown up pretty much a loner, I suppose I craved for company of my own age, to share my thoughts, my dreams and aspirations. That is why I turned to writing I suppose. Because I had a lot of dreams and had not many people to share them with.
I started volunteering at the orphanage later on and taught the girls English, helped them with their homework and even gave them French lessons whenever I could. My favorite memory with them has to be sitting down on the highest step of the front porch and reading and explaining stories to the youngest of the lot. But now, I barely have time to do that and I regret that very very much. I wish I could spend hour upon hour, watching the amazement turn to smiles and smiles turn to wonderment and wonderment turn to curiosity on those young and tender faces.
It was a peaceful day yesterday. Birthdays remind you how blessed you are and how lucky indeed you are to have the things that life bestowed you with. I am blessed with the best parents a girl can ever dream of having. My mother is the most courageous and the most brave and talented woman that I have ever seen, never backing away from a challenge and loving us, rearing us single handedly and balancing a career too at the same time with no help from anyone at all. My father is the most noble and the most honorable man that I have ever seen, unflinching in his ways and possessing the strongest sense of integrity and honesty than any man that I have ever met in my life. If I am lucky, I could only wish that I inherited some of those qualities from them to cherish forever and for always with me.
I've always been a lucky child I guess. I guess I've always gotten what I've wanted or I persevered till I did. But then, I've always had luck on my side and I suppose this life chose me instead the other way round. When I was born I was not breathing and it was a while after I had revived and started breathing my mother says. Thus, I chose not to breath, but life chose to give me breath it seems. However, love found me before I've even had a chance to wonder about it and happiness too has this way of creeping upon me when I least expect it. Of course I've endured pain, gamuts and gamuts of it too but I like to think that I did it quite well to be standing on my feet strong and steady today. But then they say that a stone shall only be polished and be shiny if it was bashed around quite a lot now, don't they? And then comes other more tangible aspects. I ventured on to the field of creative and corporate writing with no prior experience and no idea at all whatsoever with regards to what I am doing and within even less than a year, here I am a "writer" in the much modern and commercialized sense of the word, earning substantial amounts that no person my own age could even dream of and handling more projects than I would have liked to. Beginners luck I'd say. I've made my parents and all those who love me proud. And that is really all I want. I consider myself truly blessed to have been able to do all that as well.
A birthday passed reminding of all the things that I'm grateful for in this life. It was a twenty five years well spent I guess :)
Getting up early morning only to be swept up in a gigantic hug by both the parents. That alone is enough to put a beaming smile on my face. Then the morning is spent in the temple, unraveling petal after petal of white lotuses. There were twenty five of them this time.
Its so very peaceful in the temple and under the rustling bo leaves and the wind peacefully swish swishing through the trees, I could have spent forever in that shade. It's ever so peaceful there, ever so tranquil. The slightly damp sand is soothing under the feet and upon the feet as well when it scatters all over you as you walk. Its a great feeling to be able to dig your feet in to the sand, bury your toes in there, sit down and contemplate. So much to think, so much to ponder over.
Made gift packs for all the little girls in the orphanage and I handpicked every little thing in that gift pack this time. Little girls like nice, dainty things and I being a little girl once knew exactly what I'd like to have. Sure enough, the girls really loved it. And I was glad.
We had been preparing meals, giving these girls gifts, spending time with those children on every birthday ever since I can remember. When I was very small, I remember being fascinated by the thought of sharing a house, a room with all these girls my age and I remember wishing that I was one of them. They seemed so happy those little girls. I wanted to be part of the group, to learn together, to sleep together, to do my homework together with them. Having a brother much much older than me and therefore having grown up pretty much a loner, I suppose I craved for company of my own age, to share my thoughts, my dreams and aspirations. That is why I turned to writing I suppose. Because I had a lot of dreams and had not many people to share them with.
I started volunteering at the orphanage later on and taught the girls English, helped them with their homework and even gave them French lessons whenever I could. My favorite memory with them has to be sitting down on the highest step of the front porch and reading and explaining stories to the youngest of the lot. But now, I barely have time to do that and I regret that very very much. I wish I could spend hour upon hour, watching the amazement turn to smiles and smiles turn to wonderment and wonderment turn to curiosity on those young and tender faces.
It was a peaceful day yesterday. Birthdays remind you how blessed you are and how lucky indeed you are to have the things that life bestowed you with. I am blessed with the best parents a girl can ever dream of having. My mother is the most courageous and the most brave and talented woman that I have ever seen, never backing away from a challenge and loving us, rearing us single handedly and balancing a career too at the same time with no help from anyone at all. My father is the most noble and the most honorable man that I have ever seen, unflinching in his ways and possessing the strongest sense of integrity and honesty than any man that I have ever met in my life. If I am lucky, I could only wish that I inherited some of those qualities from them to cherish forever and for always with me.
I've always been a lucky child I guess. I guess I've always gotten what I've wanted or I persevered till I did. But then, I've always had luck on my side and I suppose this life chose me instead the other way round. When I was born I was not breathing and it was a while after I had revived and started breathing my mother says. Thus, I chose not to breath, but life chose to give me breath it seems. However, love found me before I've even had a chance to wonder about it and happiness too has this way of creeping upon me when I least expect it. Of course I've endured pain, gamuts and gamuts of it too but I like to think that I did it quite well to be standing on my feet strong and steady today. But then they say that a stone shall only be polished and be shiny if it was bashed around quite a lot now, don't they? And then comes other more tangible aspects. I ventured on to the field of creative and corporate writing with no prior experience and no idea at all whatsoever with regards to what I am doing and within even less than a year, here I am a "writer" in the much modern and commercialized sense of the word, earning substantial amounts that no person my own age could even dream of and handling more projects than I would have liked to. Beginners luck I'd say. I've made my parents and all those who love me proud. And that is really all I want. I consider myself truly blessed to have been able to do all that as well.
A birthday passed reminding of all the things that I'm grateful for in this life. It was a twenty five years well spent I guess :)
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Bus ride and thoughts
Was taking a bus ride today, in the morning, still groggy from last night's sleep and quite unwillingly woken up from a bed that had somehow decided to not let me go at any cost this particular morning. However, I find bus rides refreshing. These bumpy travel sessions give you a sense of enlightenment and a wisdom regarding life that one just could not get anywhere else. I'm not kidding.
Anyway, the person in the seat in front of me, an elderly man of about 50 years old was starring out of the bus intently while it was parked at one spot and was waiting for passengers to load. I followed his gaze and found that they rested upon an elderly lady of about 75 or so, the kind of aachchi ammas that you find in the Sunday Fair in cloth and blouse selling beetle leaves, jack fruit and what-not. Anyways, she had on a cloth which she had taken off and was retying it around her waste this 75-80 year old woman, bent and hunched-backed with age and it was this that this man in the bus was watching intently. It was quite puzzling because that lady had another long skirt-like thing covering her whole body well, not showing even a millimeter of skin so I found it confusing as to why anyone would stare at such an old lady who was almost bent double with age and tying the cloth which had come loose that she had worn over another two or more cloths. I was perplexed.
It struck me at that moment that maybe, just maybe, women were created in such a fascinating way that one would stare at even the most oldest of the kind, even the most unattractive of the lot with so much of interest and awe. Maybe. It IS possible. I mean, when a man passes by, hardly anyone glances at that direction whereas when a woman walks by, no matter the age, no matter the kind of dress she had worn, no matter the kind of person she is, people would stare, at least look up from whatever they were doing, not only men, but women as well. Maybe its because God created the woman to be so interesting that no matter what the mankind knows of this fairer sex, no matter how well they know these beguiling creatures inside out, they are always ever so curious and imagine the woman to be hiding something precious beneath all those layers of cloth. I mean, as children, we are all given an education regarding reproductive health and so we all know what internal organs the two genders hold. Plus all the erotica out there serves this purpose too now, doesn't it? But still, are women as intrigued by what a man hides beneath his cloths as the men are by what a woman hides beneath her cloths? I don't think so, not so much anyway. I mean, a woman would not stare at a seventy year old man if he was retying his sarong and even if certain skin happens to be visible in the process as well. Maybe it is because that the womankind is blessed with a better imagination that allows them to know what to expect without opening the parcel whereas the man is ever so curious about what is covered up with all that wrapping paper even though they have seen and been told over and over again about what it holds? Or maybe its simply the way our biological clocks tick that the sex drive of men is "said" to be much more active than that of the woman? But then again, that is a downright myth. A woman I think, is naturally and biologically more disciplined than a man because, one little mistake on their part and they will be the ones carrying two-three kilos in their belly for nine months whereas for the man, no such conditions apply. So I suppose that this psychological fact applies to women, this responsibility factor of bearing life. Otherwise, if a woman doesn't want sex, that's because she's not getting good sex and is not all that enthusiastic about it while it sure as hell is not because she isn't interested.
Or maybe its because we as human beings are naturally interested in what is hidden and is rarely interested in what is out there in the open. Hmmm........
And I find myself thinking...........things I think inside a bus! :D
Anyways, I think the fact that the woman was created as the most interesting and the intriguing of the two genders is why women are being subjected to sexual assaults every so often. Not really complaining that she was made interesting, but is kind of dismayed that the woman was also created as the biologically weaker sex which makes them easy prey to the much stronger male animal. To ward off those prying eyes, groping hands and violent assaults, the woman should have been created a bit more sturdier, a bit more stronger than the opposite sex so that she would have been able to put up a fight against unwanted attention. But then again, why not build for ourselves what the nature has not blessed us with anyways? So ladies, tie your hair up and kick off those martial arts classes. Men today are such unhealthy slobs who don't bother about fitness at all anyway so, putting down a pervert or two would only be a piece of cake ;)
Also, I've found out that the best way to stop that annoying kid who makes faces at you from the front row is to roll back your eyes, open your mouth and make a demon face back at him so that it would scare the living daylights out of the little brat. Tried and tested. Works! :D
Anyway, the person in the seat in front of me, an elderly man of about 50 years old was starring out of the bus intently while it was parked at one spot and was waiting for passengers to load. I followed his gaze and found that they rested upon an elderly lady of about 75 or so, the kind of aachchi ammas that you find in the Sunday Fair in cloth and blouse selling beetle leaves, jack fruit and what-not. Anyways, she had on a cloth which she had taken off and was retying it around her waste this 75-80 year old woman, bent and hunched-backed with age and it was this that this man in the bus was watching intently. It was quite puzzling because that lady had another long skirt-like thing covering her whole body well, not showing even a millimeter of skin so I found it confusing as to why anyone would stare at such an old lady who was almost bent double with age and tying the cloth which had come loose that she had worn over another two or more cloths. I was perplexed.
It struck me at that moment that maybe, just maybe, women were created in such a fascinating way that one would stare at even the most oldest of the kind, even the most unattractive of the lot with so much of interest and awe. Maybe. It IS possible. I mean, when a man passes by, hardly anyone glances at that direction whereas when a woman walks by, no matter the age, no matter the kind of dress she had worn, no matter the kind of person she is, people would stare, at least look up from whatever they were doing, not only men, but women as well. Maybe its because God created the woman to be so interesting that no matter what the mankind knows of this fairer sex, no matter how well they know these beguiling creatures inside out, they are always ever so curious and imagine the woman to be hiding something precious beneath all those layers of cloth. I mean, as children, we are all given an education regarding reproductive health and so we all know what internal organs the two genders hold. Plus all the erotica out there serves this purpose too now, doesn't it? But still, are women as intrigued by what a man hides beneath his cloths as the men are by what a woman hides beneath her cloths? I don't think so, not so much anyway. I mean, a woman would not stare at a seventy year old man if he was retying his sarong and even if certain skin happens to be visible in the process as well. Maybe it is because that the womankind is blessed with a better imagination that allows them to know what to expect without opening the parcel whereas the man is ever so curious about what is covered up with all that wrapping paper even though they have seen and been told over and over again about what it holds? Or maybe its simply the way our biological clocks tick that the sex drive of men is "said" to be much more active than that of the woman? But then again, that is a downright myth. A woman I think, is naturally and biologically more disciplined than a man because, one little mistake on their part and they will be the ones carrying two-three kilos in their belly for nine months whereas for the man, no such conditions apply. So I suppose that this psychological fact applies to women, this responsibility factor of bearing life. Otherwise, if a woman doesn't want sex, that's because she's not getting good sex and is not all that enthusiastic about it while it sure as hell is not because she isn't interested.
Or maybe its because we as human beings are naturally interested in what is hidden and is rarely interested in what is out there in the open. Hmmm........
And I find myself thinking...........things I think inside a bus! :D
Anyways, I think the fact that the woman was created as the most interesting and the intriguing of the two genders is why women are being subjected to sexual assaults every so often. Not really complaining that she was made interesting, but is kind of dismayed that the woman was also created as the biologically weaker sex which makes them easy prey to the much stronger male animal. To ward off those prying eyes, groping hands and violent assaults, the woman should have been created a bit more sturdier, a bit more stronger than the opposite sex so that she would have been able to put up a fight against unwanted attention. But then again, why not build for ourselves what the nature has not blessed us with anyways? So ladies, tie your hair up and kick off those martial arts classes. Men today are such unhealthy slobs who don't bother about fitness at all anyway so, putting down a pervert or two would only be a piece of cake ;)
Also, I've found out that the best way to stop that annoying kid who makes faces at you from the front row is to roll back your eyes, open your mouth and make a demon face back at him so that it would scare the living daylights out of the little brat. Tried and tested. Works! :D
Friday, May 25, 2012
Dream blog
I had the strangest dream last night.
I dreamt that I was a child of the soil, smelling of wet sand, broken flower petals and sprouting kernels, embedded deep within the rich soils of the earth. My hair was knotted in clay and my cloths....well, I barely had any on. My parents were the earth, they took every blow that was dealt to them, took all the insults, the attacks but still stood solid and supporting beneath my feet. My ancestors were the trees. They spread their branches over my head, kept me well rooted and nourished me with their fruits. My friends and relations were the wind. They brought the sun and the rain, they made the flowers bloom, they made the trees pregnant with fruit, they brought pleasant fragrances and along with that, happiness, a happiness that is pure and raw in its very form. The open skies spread out above me, the clouds were reflected in a nearby lake and it looked as if they had come down for a leisurely swim. The grounds were open for me to run free, I was elated, I was light, both in body and mind. It felt peaceful. I felt free.
Maybe it had something to do with my recent urge to break free and flee from all this, leave everything behind, liberate myself from all that is keeping me weighed down and unhappy. Yes, this impending sense of doom, a disintegration that is very painful and unexpected had been quite an issue lately as it just saddens me to see something so beautiful go to the gutter because of absolute indifference. My constant need to salvage this integration has wrought me miserable I suppose and I think in a way, that the dream was symbolic of me letting go finally, letting go of this weighty responsibility of salvaging what is left. It must be a reflection of me finally accepting the fickle ways of life and realizing that I alone must not bear this weight and my intense desire to reconnect with nature which I had been feeling quite strongly since of late. Nevertheless, I had been having quite a lot of strange dreams lately. Some very pleasant, some not so pleasant.
Maybe I should start a dream blog.....................Hmmmm.............
I dreamt that I was a child of the soil, smelling of wet sand, broken flower petals and sprouting kernels, embedded deep within the rich soils of the earth. My hair was knotted in clay and my cloths....well, I barely had any on. My parents were the earth, they took every blow that was dealt to them, took all the insults, the attacks but still stood solid and supporting beneath my feet. My ancestors were the trees. They spread their branches over my head, kept me well rooted and nourished me with their fruits. My friends and relations were the wind. They brought the sun and the rain, they made the flowers bloom, they made the trees pregnant with fruit, they brought pleasant fragrances and along with that, happiness, a happiness that is pure and raw in its very form. The open skies spread out above me, the clouds were reflected in a nearby lake and it looked as if they had come down for a leisurely swim. The grounds were open for me to run free, I was elated, I was light, both in body and mind. It felt peaceful. I felt free.
Maybe it had something to do with my recent urge to break free and flee from all this, leave everything behind, liberate myself from all that is keeping me weighed down and unhappy. Yes, this impending sense of doom, a disintegration that is very painful and unexpected had been quite an issue lately as it just saddens me to see something so beautiful go to the gutter because of absolute indifference. My constant need to salvage this integration has wrought me miserable I suppose and I think in a way, that the dream was symbolic of me letting go finally, letting go of this weighty responsibility of salvaging what is left. It must be a reflection of me finally accepting the fickle ways of life and realizing that I alone must not bear this weight and my intense desire to reconnect with nature which I had been feeling quite strongly since of late. Nevertheless, I had been having quite a lot of strange dreams lately. Some very pleasant, some not so pleasant.
Maybe I should start a dream blog.....................Hmmmm.............
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Horrors at the post office
Lady Grouchalot had the misfortune of going to the post office twice for the past two weeks. The first time she suffered through the incident, she put it down to mere coincidence and her luck. However, it was during the second time that things were confirmed.
Its official, post offices are run by evil, evil people. With eternally constipated looks upon their faces, these individuals are forever armed with the necessary bile and venom to spit at anybody who would disturb their indifferent slumbers in the corners of these dingy offices. Its true, these tiny, almost invisible, untidy places that are called post offices are located in extremely hard to reach corners of the earth (these places are probably off the maps too) where parking is nonexistent and individuals are required to wage through forests and swim through puddles of muddy, muddy water (literary) in order to get to one.
The first time (in a long time) that the Lady had to confront a post office troll wearing a human skin was last week when the university results finally arrived (oh btw, First Class Honors baby! Woot Woot! Oh yeah, this girl had braved violent, humongous storms, went to exams after spending whole days and nights crying in excruciating emotional pain, suffered through the dire lack of lecturers, ridiculous antiques of university officials, wrote a whole thesis without any guidance OR a supervisor and still, here she is, holding her head high as she emerges alive, battle scars and all). Anyways with the gloating aside, the convocation letters needed to be sent to the university by registered post and when finally at the post office (at Wattala) suffering through an incredible amount of indifference from a male individual at the counter who was gossiping over the phone about some Jayawardena's son's niece having an illicit affair with a married man, this man finally managed to majorly eff up writing the receipt (while the receiver remained embedded between the chin and the ear while the mouth still jabbered away) and claimed that the Rs 100/= that I have placed on the counter as his own as I argued with him that it was me who had put it there on the counter. After much convincing, the man (still on the phone) screwed up a second receipt and finally managed to tag the registered post stamp on the letter and hand over a barely readable receipt to me. He was still on the phone when we left. I do not know whether the university received my letter or not.
The second time was at the Kiribathgoda post office to which I went with Mother Dearest to do some more registered posting. The woman behind the counter (a veritable troll in a saree that looked almost human but not quite) had her nose deep in a newspaper, hardly taking any notice of us while we stood there at the counter right in front of her frowning mug, making VERY loud sounds. It was a good ten minutes after my mother had made her requirement known (loudly) that the woman put down the paper with a frown that scrunched up her nose so much that she looked like she had just bitten in to an extra sour lime, grabbed the envelop out of my mother's hand (I'm surprised that it did not tear in two) and barked out something about the address being wrong. My mother being overtly familiar with the address said so to her while this saree clad heap of fury gave a smoldering look to both of us and ordered us to look it up in the directory. Defeated, mother took up the directory and shoved it under her over sized nose as proof of our verity after which she accepted the letter with a grunt (I SWEAR she grunted) hastily wrote the receipt which she flung to us from under the counter without even giving us a glance. Lady Grouchalot was furious. So was Mother Dearest who usually does not get ruffled by the rudeness of people in government services as much as the Lady does. That was wayyy too much. Even Mother Dearest agreed.
I don't get it. Maybe these untidy, foul smelling post offices are stowed away in the furthest corners of the earth so that no human being shall never set foot upon them to witness the horrors that take place within those glue smeared, dust encrusted walls? Maybe those cage-like barriers made of glass are set up between the public and the officials behind the counters because they jump at us and bite off our necks? I don't know. Maybe. Its a very high probability.
Anyways with the horrors at the post office well behind her, it seems like the Lady's humble poetry collection is finally going to see the light of the day. This is of course, thanks to a very generous individual that the Lady has gotten to know of late who is very kindly assisting her through the intricate labyrinth of publishing step by tiny little step. The Lady is excited and overjoyed as a long awaited dream is finally seeing the light. Her babies are finally going to see the world! What is more, there will be well experienced, veteran writers and poets who will offer her guidance, suggestions and will hold her hand throughout the whole painful procedure. Sigh.....I cannot ask for more.
All said and done, currently swamped with work and several articles whose deadlines hang above me like ominous guillotines await, sharpening their glistening edges. Better get them done as soon as possible. Sigh.......... Its 1.15 AM, coffee flows free but words seem constipated. What a life!
Its official, post offices are run by evil, evil people. With eternally constipated looks upon their faces, these individuals are forever armed with the necessary bile and venom to spit at anybody who would disturb their indifferent slumbers in the corners of these dingy offices. Its true, these tiny, almost invisible, untidy places that are called post offices are located in extremely hard to reach corners of the earth (these places are probably off the maps too) where parking is nonexistent and individuals are required to wage through forests and swim through puddles of muddy, muddy water (literary) in order to get to one.
The first time (in a long time) that the Lady had to confront a post office troll wearing a human skin was last week when the university results finally arrived (oh btw, First Class Honors baby! Woot Woot! Oh yeah, this girl had braved violent, humongous storms, went to exams after spending whole days and nights crying in excruciating emotional pain, suffered through the dire lack of lecturers, ridiculous antiques of university officials, wrote a whole thesis without any guidance OR a supervisor and still, here she is, holding her head high as she emerges alive, battle scars and all). Anyways with the gloating aside, the convocation letters needed to be sent to the university by registered post and when finally at the post office (at Wattala) suffering through an incredible amount of indifference from a male individual at the counter who was gossiping over the phone about some Jayawardena's son's niece having an illicit affair with a married man, this man finally managed to majorly eff up writing the receipt (while the receiver remained embedded between the chin and the ear while the mouth still jabbered away) and claimed that the Rs 100/= that I have placed on the counter as his own as I argued with him that it was me who had put it there on the counter. After much convincing, the man (still on the phone) screwed up a second receipt and finally managed to tag the registered post stamp on the letter and hand over a barely readable receipt to me. He was still on the phone when we left. I do not know whether the university received my letter or not.
The second time was at the Kiribathgoda post office to which I went with Mother Dearest to do some more registered posting. The woman behind the counter (a veritable troll in a saree that looked almost human but not quite) had her nose deep in a newspaper, hardly taking any notice of us while we stood there at the counter right in front of her frowning mug, making VERY loud sounds. It was a good ten minutes after my mother had made her requirement known (loudly) that the woman put down the paper with a frown that scrunched up her nose so much that she looked like she had just bitten in to an extra sour lime, grabbed the envelop out of my mother's hand (I'm surprised that it did not tear in two) and barked out something about the address being wrong. My mother being overtly familiar with the address said so to her while this saree clad heap of fury gave a smoldering look to both of us and ordered us to look it up in the directory. Defeated, mother took up the directory and shoved it under her over sized nose as proof of our verity after which she accepted the letter with a grunt (I SWEAR she grunted) hastily wrote the receipt which she flung to us from under the counter without even giving us a glance. Lady Grouchalot was furious. So was Mother Dearest who usually does not get ruffled by the rudeness of people in government services as much as the Lady does. That was wayyy too much. Even Mother Dearest agreed.
I don't get it. Maybe these untidy, foul smelling post offices are stowed away in the furthest corners of the earth so that no human being shall never set foot upon them to witness the horrors that take place within those glue smeared, dust encrusted walls? Maybe those cage-like barriers made of glass are set up between the public and the officials behind the counters because they jump at us and bite off our necks? I don't know. Maybe. Its a very high probability.
Anyways with the horrors at the post office well behind her, it seems like the Lady's humble poetry collection is finally going to see the light of the day. This is of course, thanks to a very generous individual that the Lady has gotten to know of late who is very kindly assisting her through the intricate labyrinth of publishing step by tiny little step. The Lady is excited and overjoyed as a long awaited dream is finally seeing the light. Her babies are finally going to see the world! What is more, there will be well experienced, veteran writers and poets who will offer her guidance, suggestions and will hold her hand throughout the whole painful procedure. Sigh.....I cannot ask for more.
All said and done, currently swamped with work and several articles whose deadlines hang above me like ominous guillotines await, sharpening their glistening edges. Better get them done as soon as possible. Sigh.......... Its 1.15 AM, coffee flows free but words seem constipated. What a life!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)