Man (and woman) have this undying capacity to excuse themselves for every thing that goes awry and blame it all on something or someone else. Whether it exists or not. So it's the dog that ate the homework (don't matter if you can't be within a kilometre distance of a pooch - there's always one around when u're doing your assignments), or the uncle that suddenly pops it (so what if you only have a family full of unmarried gossipping aunts?!), the influenza virus that singled you out, the rains that flooded the street you live on with waist-deep water, the electricity board that has reduced you to candles and paper fans.

And we Indians in particular have this incredible ability to go one step further. We're in possession of this remarkable feel-good tool, that blesses us with an uncanny acceptance of all misfortune as a manifestation of the Lord's divine will. Or as the very fact of our existence itself. Haye, such is life. So, why bother blaming mere mortals?

In one swift motion, all anger, aggression, guilt, sorrow, fear swept away. Brilliant i say. My goldfish died coz my cat ate it. My cat ate it coz I wasn't feeding it enough. So do I get mad at the cat, shed buckets of tears for my fishies, and hit myself for being negligent. Ofcourse not. Haye, such is life. Sigh.

Look look mommy no one's unhappy! But am i careful abt feeding my hungry cat so that the new goldfish is safe? Ofcourse not. What will happen will happen. Human intervention is of no consequence. Haye, such is life.

So here we are. A superbly complacent bunch of people, shaking our heads at the world falling apart, as we sit resigned and placid. Haye, why waste energy over lost causes. Such is life.

May Kaliyug pass and give us better days.

Right. So I was talking to a friend a few minutes ago - he'd just spent an entire morning at the local hospital:( And hadn't receive any compensation for it either. Don't go haiii?! My point is simple. If everything in the universe is in equilibrium, and for every sorrow, a joy, then why must a visit to a doctor [which is a :( , coz no one visits a doctor unless something's wrong; unless ofcourse he's cute], not be made up for by a :) ? So what contributes to a :) ?A yummy snack. A surprise gift. A holiday package to the carribeans. ok ok will not get carried away. But seriously, i remember when i was little and had to get these regular shots (what a pity i say, that age is inversely proportional to the number and frequency of shots! And no one seems to care that the victim is a tender-as-a-petal innocent little chit of a girl. hmph!), I'd always come away with a lollipop or a plastic watch or a few balloons. When did it stop? And more importantly, WHY did it stop? There's something very funny about human logic. You've grown up now; you obviously won't be given gifts and sweets because you visited a doctor. You're supposed to be brave.

Arrey, very funny! Why should bravery come with age?! And besides, why should chocolates be reserved for the not-so-brave? I'm quite a fan of Shaw's chocolate cream soldier.

And i'm pretty certain 'grown-ups' dislike visiting hospitals just as much as little children. Perhaps more, because they know exactly what they're in for.

And if you think about it from an economic point of view (in this age of comsumerism and globalisation does one have a choice?), it's prospective patients who are the most in need of some cheer, and are therefore the most lucrative targets.

So, i say, surgeries, nursing homes, clinics and hospitals, pull your socks up. Throw in some compensation. There will be smiling patients and beaming suppliers. The last time i checked, happiness was good for one's health. :)

Of beanbags n books


23 years i have lived without the comfort of that bag of bliss. 23 years of seeking comfort against a wall, on the arm of a chair, on staircases, on grass, hanging off the edge of the bed, on the pot, planted on massive tree roots, on a swing, on a picnic chair underneath a bright picnic umbrella, on a barstool. The quest for that one comfortable spot. No, i speak not in sexual terms(despite the, as i notice now, glaring connotations!).

The beanbag. The wonder bag. And its close relationship with a book. sorry to disappoint you!

Right, so the trick is to throw yourself on it. And by throw i mean just that. No seating yourself down tenderly, no jumping onto it. You gotta loosen up, and let yourself fall. Yeah i'm free, free fallin. It's like sinking into a sack full of soft downy feathers. sigh. And the nicest nicest thing about a bean bag is how welcoming it is. It doesn't throw u back up (like that horrid bouncy castle! ok fine i adore the bouncy castle, but i really don't like being hurled about the universe at all times, u know.)The beanbag lets you snuggle in. Adjusts itself so you're comfortably cocooned. Lets you dig your own cubby hole.

A beanbag doesn't protest. And it most definitely doesn't have fun injuring you. Unlike the blasted wall that'll knock you on the head, or the silly chair that'll squeak like mad and then just break (just like that. one minute you're sitting on it peacefully, and the next, ur halfway to the floor). Or the swing that'll give you nausea and the grass that'll deviously produce a hundred ants. So tell me, if you're going to be so busy looking after your physical well-being, where's the time to read the book you sat down to?

Which is where the beanbag fits in (pun intended). Big ass, small ass, top heavy, bottom heavy, lopsided, disproportiate, beanpole or midget, slouched or convented (oh thank you, ye matrimonials, for this glorious word. I use it specifically in reference to posture, here), this miracle will never mock you.

The boon of the bean. And yes, there's the book too.:)

You are guilty unless u can prove your innocence. I read 'Vernon God Little' a month ago, and am reading 'Arthur and George' these days; am struck by a certain similarity in the system of justice portrayed.

Vernon and George. Ordinary people. Yet one fine day they find themselves at the centre of a nation's attention. Charged with committing heinous crimes, they are persecuted simply because they cannot prove their innocence before a criminal court.

Reinforces my belief that there is in this world, no single truth. And justice, then, is nothing more than the truth that is the most convincing. Lady Justice; blindfolded, tricked by mischievous logic.

Noticed how people always have advice up their sleeve? How they always think they know better how you should live your life than you do yourself? How what you want is of no consequence, in the face of 'what is right' (or atleast what they think is right, and that but naturally translates to the universal truth)?

You ought to be enrolling for a PhD. It's what you're made for. You were born to be a lawyer. I'm telling you, get into designing. I can just see you becoming a famous writer. You're only going to be happy if you work for a newspaper. Arrey, why can't you do everything together? Work and enrol for a PhD and freelance and take up some short-term course somewhere.

ARRRRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!What if I don't want to do anything huh? What if i just want to bake cookies for the rest of my life because that's what keeps me happy?!

That, ofcourse, is also brushed aside with a 'of course not, no one wants to do that kinda thing. you're just going through a phase'! Arrey bhai, but i want to. I want to make heart-shaped, house shaped, smiley shaped, pink-blue-green-yellow-orange-red frosted cookies.

And then the pity. Haye haye, what you could have done, but what you're ending up doing.

Yes, go ahead, indulge yourself; there ain't no better ego-booster than doling out compassion. Besides, you seem to know just what every cell of my being beats for.

Perhaps it's the eternal quest for the good ole security n stability. Baking cookies don't give you that. For starters, no one might like your cookies. Unless ofcourse you take your cookie baking idea to one of these young-entrepreneur schemes, and then have it giftwrapped in mega publicity stunts, tasting sessions, door-to-door delivery, international accreditation. So when you finally discover the cookie beneath the bows n ribbons n sparkling packing, you see a little pink sugar heart curled up in the corner, all shy and wide-eyed. I just wanted to be me, you know.

Leave maah cookies alone.

And so the decision is made. Have not the faintest idea how long it will survive. Knowing my restless-forever-craving-for-adventure spirit, I'd give it a month. Two. 3 max. A 9:30 to 6 , tappity-tap, bleary eyed, white light, compartmentalised sorta existence. sigh. I exaggerate for sure. What would life be without some drama?

And what comes to mind is a certain black-eyed-peas number.

After a long hiatus, I turn to myself again. I search for the feeling that lies beneath all the mayhem that is me. Am I to be defined by uncertainty alone? Do I want to be defined otherwise? Do I want to be defined?

Perhaps not. Enigma is must too appealing a sensation. But I wonder if there indeed be such a thing as enigma? Perhaps it takes off from where confusion refuses to disentangle itself. The silence of the mind too misunderstood to explain itself. The voice of a silence that speaks in riddles for fear of accepting vulnerability.

Innocence tentatively placing itself in the centre of a palm; given flight in the gentle breath of words.

Still I search. Reach my hand for that elusive child.

Reminiscence


At the back of my mind
In the pleasure of memory
Is the abandon of novelty.

Ink on pages
Scribbled in passion

Pearls flung into waters
Gleaming in anticipation

A recklessness of dream

My Friend

My heart is but a fiddle
On which my friend plays a tune.

But sadly I’m not in it.

My breath is just a whisper
With which my friend sings a tune.

But as it turns it, I can’t hear it.

On my arms hangs a fantasy
In my hair is wound a dream.
My fingertips drip happiness
That you gave to me.

But in the hollow of my feet
In the cup of my palm
In the parting of my lips
Is the emptiness,

you left in me.

Who are you?

The Coward

In every drop
A smile
That tells a lie

Words that echo silence

Thoughts that please
Feelings that respond
Emotions that heal

So far deep
So soon lost
A twitch. No more.

I know.
Yet I die.