Not a post that I am very happy about, but I just cannot stop myself from posting this. Primarily because its a true expression of what was going through my mind at that point in time and secondarily because I believe my blog will not have any edited, 'good on English' content. It will have only heart-felt 'material'. And this post is a prime example of that. I wrote it inside a church where I spent close to 2 hours, first observing and then writing in my notebook whats reproduced below ( without any changes )
The sound of the buses, autos and scooters is something one cannot shut out from your ears in a city like Bangalore. Most of us have come to terms with it. But in this place of worship, all the sounds are turned into music. It just helps in accentuating the peaceful environment inside the hall.
St. Patrick’s Church is my refuge these days. A curious pattern of gongs emanating from the bell atop the church - 3 rings – 3 rings – 3 rings and then 12 consecutive rings indicate that it is 12 noon in this oasis of Bangalore. An old man walks in with his shirt’s front pocket looking like a gunny bag. So full is the pocket with “ god-only-knows-what and all” that its making him stoop forward even more than his actual stoop. The lovely looking man, has one week old stubble, tattered trousers that were once navy blue in colour but now resemble the colour of the water on Marina beach. He roams around the place touching the feet of each statue inside the church and then sits down in front of me. All I can now see is the tuft of hair sticking out of his ears. He is busy in his prayers with his rosary and so I shift my eyes away from him to another character that has walked in. The little lady as we will call her from now. She sits down on the benches diagonal to mine and immediately takes out a book to read. I thought I was the only person who reads in the church! But she seems to me a mystery.
There is a tremendous sense of calm and goodness on her face but still she seems restless and disturbed. Ironical!. She does not read for more than 20 seconds and looks up; here and there her eyes wander. She seems to contemplate, plays with her fingers, and then again gets back to her book. Is she thinking about what she is reading or is she pre-occupied with her thoughts that actually brought her to this wonderful place of peace. Why did she not pray? Is she also a non-Christian like me in search of some place where she will not feel like a lesser person. There is another woman, most probably in her late twenties or early thirties who has also come in. She too goes and sits but, I can’t see what she is doing as she is far away from me. This lady has a lot on her mind. Her face is like a mirror! But since I can’t see her anymore I return to our little lady who has her face buried inside her hands. Why my dear are you here? This place is for losers like me to come and ask for forgiveness. It is not for benevolent creatures like you to come and cut a sorry figure. She cries wipes her eyes and leaves. I feel sad at the fact that she has left so early.
I am a bit disappointed that I could not talk to her or have her interesting company for more time. I keep my eyes away from her so as to not embarrass her. I feel like telling her – “my little lady, I am even worse than you are. I too cry a lot. It’s ok to cry. We should never be afraid to show our feelings in whichever manner that it manifests in. For me tears are the only way I can express my pain, sorrow and happiness. Are all these people also coming here to share their sorrow with God, just like i have? Who are these people and how are they different from me? How are they different here inside the church from what they are outside? How is it that they are facing their sorrows bravely while I am not able to? What is courage in these circumstances - Is it running away from your troubles, moving on to different things, or facing your sorrow, thinking about them and trying to sort them out and find a solution to them?
Where is my self respect, if I cannot redeem myself by atoning for my sins? Is it possible for me to live peacefully without showing to my loved ones the true feelings that I have? The again the question arises that is it really necessary for love to be acknowledged? Is it necessary that your repentance of your sins must be realized by your loved ones? Is it not enough that you know that you have cleansed yourself of the impurities and that you have filtered your love and are now clean in your soul and body? Cleanse yourself; wash yourself of your sins. Then this new clean self will be able to shine with light. All will be transparent. Then the true souls with goodness and pity in their hearts will be able to see your pure self. Even if they do not, still you can be happy with the fact that you cleansed yourself and offered your self to them. Now if they take or not depends on how much this 'clean you'is visible to them.
An old couple comes and the lady is smiling looking at the God, happy on being close to God. The man is happy that he could make his mate happy. That’s what love is for and is all about. And that's what is and will always be my unfulfilled wish. :-)
Friday, October 26, 2007
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
She - The Woman & he - The Beast ?
“I called them Anna, Anna (Brother, brother) and all they did was pounce on me like beasts!” – a rape victim who is the wife of a priest, recounts in her testimonial to the media.
Rape is one crime that I personally deem to be the gravest of all crimes. I can never forgive a person who is guilty of rape. I understand that for murders, robberies, highjack, forgeries, fraudulent practices etc, there can be many compulsions and reasons. But I cannot fathom the reason for raping a woman who is a sister, a daughter, a wife and a lover for somebody. I cannot understand as to how one man can think of himself as so powerful to exercise his secret fantasies on the hapless body of a small girl. I can never stop shuddering at the reports of 2 year and 4 year old children getting raped. I have always felt strongly about this particular injustice meted out to the fairer sex, just because they happen to be physically the weaker sex.
Think about this – a woman who is in her teens or in her twenties - irrespective of whether she is beautiful or just ordinary looking, each girl will have her own ego as far as her body is concerned. A girl takes time to adjust to and become comfortable with her body. She observers, during her teens, the rapid and sometimes alarming changes that happen to her body. She is a bit apprehensive of how she will look like ( maybe for the first time in her life she gets bothered about her looks). She is also a bit apprehensive of how people around her will behave to her, a bit apprehensive of her own self. She slowly starts coming to terms with her physical appearance and start becoming more and more comfortable with what she looks and more importantly feels like. This can be seen in the way that she carries herself. But now starts her own admiration for her own body. She fiercely protects it from all kinds of intrusions from outside. The village girl might quickly cover up even a small glimpse of her legs whereas the city-girl might not be too bothered about her legs showing. But what binds both these women together is the sharp consciousness of the fact that some element of their countenance is on display. (I will write more on my thoughts about the greatest masterpiece of God – Woman, in a later post sometime. This was just a background to my thoughts, so that you can try and relate to this post like I do with these thoughts in mind. )
Recently I read in the newspaper, that the honourable high court has ruled that the victims of rape will be getting Rs. 20,000 as soon as the case is registered. This is primarily aimed at helping the victim to face the various processes, protocols and trials that she has to undergo while her case is heard and judged.
Now, is that really helpful to the victim? Can we really give her what she has lost? Do we even realize fully the ‘ real loss ‘ that she experiences? I being a male will never understand it but I doubt that even a woman who has not undergone this trauma will ever be able to truly understand the thoughts that cross through the victim’s mind?
My body to me is very sacred, very private and very very very my own. I have protected my body from all sorts of abuses and invasions all through the time that I can remember. I can never share my body with anybody whom I do not love. To me, my body is the extension of my soul and I will subject it into someone’s hands only if she is the one for whom I am ready to sacrifice anything and everything that I have, including my soul. It’s a way of my respecting her for what she means to me, by sharing with her my most private possession apart from my thoughts.
I can recount an instance way back from school. One of the girls in my class happened to walk past me by wriggling through a narrow gap between where I was standing and the blackboard. She brushed herself against my posterior and this immediately inflamed me. I felt abused and my private space was invaded upon. In my fit, I grabbed her by her throat and threw her disdainfully away on to the blackboard, almost injuring her badly. But luckily she was unhurt and stormed away muttering all along about how crazy I was and how she felt that I was a pucca asshole. So true ! Why did I react so wildly? It’s an answer that I have been trying to figure out for many years now and that explains why I remember it still.
I had started this blog as a way of expressing my anguish for the poor women who are getting raped every 4 minutes in our country ( according some report that I happened to read). I am writing about my take on my personal self because that is how I relate to this issue. Only if I imagine what I feel about my body, will I be able to relate to those victims. There are lots of thoughts and views that I will write about this topic later on but for now I am just leaving you with what Tori Amos says in a website -
“Rape's not something where you just go, "Well, get over it" or "Believe in love and peace, my child, and it'll all be over." Well, fuck you, that isn't the answer. It's a great thought, OK, but you can go and stick crystals up your butt and get on with it. I'm all for love and peace, but that's not the side I work on. If somebody would talk about it, or worse, joke about it, I would be ready to kill. That's not healing. It was a very long time after that before I was able to be with anyone again. And it has never been the same as it was before”
My question is, dear readers – Does rape, make a woman have doubts about her faith in God?
P.S. : the title of this post has all caps except " he " . That shows my opinion.
Rape is one crime that I personally deem to be the gravest of all crimes. I can never forgive a person who is guilty of rape. I understand that for murders, robberies, highjack, forgeries, fraudulent practices etc, there can be many compulsions and reasons. But I cannot fathom the reason for raping a woman who is a sister, a daughter, a wife and a lover for somebody. I cannot understand as to how one man can think of himself as so powerful to exercise his secret fantasies on the hapless body of a small girl. I can never stop shuddering at the reports of 2 year and 4 year old children getting raped. I have always felt strongly about this particular injustice meted out to the fairer sex, just because they happen to be physically the weaker sex.
Think about this – a woman who is in her teens or in her twenties - irrespective of whether she is beautiful or just ordinary looking, each girl will have her own ego as far as her body is concerned. A girl takes time to adjust to and become comfortable with her body. She observers, during her teens, the rapid and sometimes alarming changes that happen to her body. She is a bit apprehensive of how she will look like ( maybe for the first time in her life she gets bothered about her looks). She is also a bit apprehensive of how people around her will behave to her, a bit apprehensive of her own self. She slowly starts coming to terms with her physical appearance and start becoming more and more comfortable with what she looks and more importantly feels like. This can be seen in the way that she carries herself. But now starts her own admiration for her own body. She fiercely protects it from all kinds of intrusions from outside. The village girl might quickly cover up even a small glimpse of her legs whereas the city-girl might not be too bothered about her legs showing. But what binds both these women together is the sharp consciousness of the fact that some element of their countenance is on display. (I will write more on my thoughts about the greatest masterpiece of God – Woman, in a later post sometime. This was just a background to my thoughts, so that you can try and relate to this post like I do with these thoughts in mind. )
Recently I read in the newspaper, that the honourable high court has ruled that the victims of rape will be getting Rs. 20,000 as soon as the case is registered. This is primarily aimed at helping the victim to face the various processes, protocols and trials that she has to undergo while her case is heard and judged.
Now, is that really helpful to the victim? Can we really give her what she has lost? Do we even realize fully the ‘ real loss ‘ that she experiences? I being a male will never understand it but I doubt that even a woman who has not undergone this trauma will ever be able to truly understand the thoughts that cross through the victim’s mind?
My body to me is very sacred, very private and very very very my own. I have protected my body from all sorts of abuses and invasions all through the time that I can remember. I can never share my body with anybody whom I do not love. To me, my body is the extension of my soul and I will subject it into someone’s hands only if she is the one for whom I am ready to sacrifice anything and everything that I have, including my soul. It’s a way of my respecting her for what she means to me, by sharing with her my most private possession apart from my thoughts.
I can recount an instance way back from school. One of the girls in my class happened to walk past me by wriggling through a narrow gap between where I was standing and the blackboard. She brushed herself against my posterior and this immediately inflamed me. I felt abused and my private space was invaded upon. In my fit, I grabbed her by her throat and threw her disdainfully away on to the blackboard, almost injuring her badly. But luckily she was unhurt and stormed away muttering all along about how crazy I was and how she felt that I was a pucca asshole. So true ! Why did I react so wildly? It’s an answer that I have been trying to figure out for many years now and that explains why I remember it still.
I had started this blog as a way of expressing my anguish for the poor women who are getting raped every 4 minutes in our country ( according some report that I happened to read). I am writing about my take on my personal self because that is how I relate to this issue. Only if I imagine what I feel about my body, will I be able to relate to those victims. There are lots of thoughts and views that I will write about this topic later on but for now I am just leaving you with what Tori Amos says in a website -
“Rape's not something where you just go, "Well, get over it" or "Believe in love and peace, my child, and it'll all be over." Well, fuck you, that isn't the answer. It's a great thought, OK, but you can go and stick crystals up your butt and get on with it. I'm all for love and peace, but that's not the side I work on. If somebody would talk about it, or worse, joke about it, I would be ready to kill. That's not healing. It was a very long time after that before I was able to be with anyone again. And it has never been the same as it was before”
My question is, dear readers – Does rape, make a woman have doubts about her faith in God?
P.S. : the title of this post has all caps except " he " . That shows my opinion.
Monday, October 15, 2007
For want of a few coins in my pocket !
I never like paying more than the product or service is worth. I have walked kilometers and kilometers just because the auto driver wanted more than the actual charge. I have refused to buy many clothes and food items just because the vendor was charging me very high for a product that was not worth that much.
Some months back I argued with a bus conductor who would not give me a proper ticket for my destination but instead just charged me half charge without a ticket. I was furious I created a racket inside the bus and insisted that the conductor take the full charge and give me the ticket. Conductor gave up on me and ultimately gave me the ticket. I was so happy at my civilized and responsible behaviour.!!
Yesterday, the same situation in another bus. This time maybe even a bit more serious in the sense that the conductor just took the full charge for the travel but did not give me a ticket. I would have let my good citizen mask take over and would have insisted on the ticket. But hey why did I just give the money and walk away to my seat without the ticket.? That is not the first time that I did it in the past few months. Have I lost my guts to fight against injustice?
There are ways of doing things and each one of us has different of these. What we do should be driven by our conviction and righteousness. But most of the times what we do is based out of instincts. There are a sizeable number of people who are more prone to act out of an instinctive feeling rather than a proper ‘pros & cons’ analysis. I often have told many of my friends, that I am more of an instinctive person than logical. I do many crazy things that are quite unexplainable to many. I am not saying I am a minority, because I know that there are many who will be taking many of their decisions out of their instincts/intuition.
That was just the introduction to set the background.
I used to take pride in the fact that I bargain and save on my father’s hard earned money. That is when I happened to be traveling back to Hyderabad from Karimnagar with Preetham Kulkarni.. That was the first time when we both had had a long chat with each other on many personal things. He told me many things about true love, spirituality and social behaviour. I agreed to many of his beliefs and disagreed with many. That’s how a healthy discussion goes, right? Now there is one particular belief that he put across to me and I was blown away by it. He told me that he never bargains with any vendor. He goes to buy the vegetable and other groceries for their house and never even questions the prices of these. His mother used to chide him on this and he used to say a simple point to make her silent – “Do we bargain when we are giving hundreds of rupees more to the fancy shop of branded goods? Then why bargain and deprive the poor vendor of those 2 rupees more? “
Super argument, isn’t it readers? I was shaken from inside and felt a deep surge of guilt and shame. I realized how hypocritical my behaviour was. That changed my outlook towards all the small transactions that we undertake in our daily life.
We all have bargained with vendors at some point of time, right? Yes I feel. Anyways, why do we do that ? To save a few rupees of our hard earned money. Right? We feel that the vendor is cheating us and unnecessarily robbing us of our sweat and blood. We all want to somehow feel that we are actually giving value to the efforts that we or our parents have put in, to earn that few rupees. We want to show to others how good a bargain hunter we are and how we give importance to every single rupee that we would not allow anybody to rob us. All correct !!!
Now, tell me do we all not go to branded outlets to buy clothes, accessories, luxury goods, restaurants etc ? What do we do there when we are paying the same hard earned money? Do we bargain like we do with those poor vendors on the roadside or at the local market? No would be the most common answer. Why? Because we do not want to give the branded retail outlet personnel or the fellow shoppers that we are “cheap” and down market!! We think that we are not supposed to bargain in such big shops as they put such high prices in order to make up for the luxury and opulence that they are dishing out for us. Maybe true. I am not refuting the fact that we should not bargain in these big shops. All I am saying is that why this difference?
Why do we take pride in depriving the poor soul -starved for 3 full meals for himself and his family – of the 2 rupees or 20 rupees? What harm will it bring upon us even if we do spend that ten or twenty rupees more on the weekly veggies or the night pants? We pay 100% to even 800% more to get our branded stuff from fancy retail outlets. At that moment do we ever think of the hard earned money, the sweat and blood and such crap? No. We feel proud that we are part of the elite club that constitutes a minority of this country that has the privilege of actually buying such “superior” goods.
The extra ten rupees gained by the vegetable vendor or the roadside tea seller will not improve his life drastically but will give him that extra freedom to not feel utterly helpless when his produce goes bad due to some cow eating his veggies or some glass falling down and his tea being wasted. Do we really need to feel victorious at depriving the poor fellow of his one extra roti? Think about it dears. I thought about it and feel this:
Sometimes there are some instances when you just need to let the heart do the talking. And these are the times when you should not let some blanket ideology guide you. I feel much better these days… feel less agitated at the small inconveniences and “injustices” happening to me. I know I have found my peace with pettiness and hypocrisy and all credit goes to Preetham.
Today morning I bought the newspaper from a roadside vendor boy. The Sunday Express and the Sunday Times cost me Rs. 9.5 but the vendor just pocketed my 10 rupee note and carried on his business. I quizzed him about the cost and he shrugged his shoulders that he did not have change. I laughed and patted him on his back and walked off feeling like on the top of the world – I walked off – a man full of love for his woman, a man realizing his love out of helping others live a better life, a man trying to make up for his loss by not making others lose their love for lack of some coins in their pockets.
Some months back I argued with a bus conductor who would not give me a proper ticket for my destination but instead just charged me half charge without a ticket. I was furious I created a racket inside the bus and insisted that the conductor take the full charge and give me the ticket. Conductor gave up on me and ultimately gave me the ticket. I was so happy at my civilized and responsible behaviour.!!
Yesterday, the same situation in another bus. This time maybe even a bit more serious in the sense that the conductor just took the full charge for the travel but did not give me a ticket. I would have let my good citizen mask take over and would have insisted on the ticket. But hey why did I just give the money and walk away to my seat without the ticket.? That is not the first time that I did it in the past few months. Have I lost my guts to fight against injustice?
There are ways of doing things and each one of us has different of these. What we do should be driven by our conviction and righteousness. But most of the times what we do is based out of instincts. There are a sizeable number of people who are more prone to act out of an instinctive feeling rather than a proper ‘pros & cons’ analysis. I often have told many of my friends, that I am more of an instinctive person than logical. I do many crazy things that are quite unexplainable to many. I am not saying I am a minority, because I know that there are many who will be taking many of their decisions out of their instincts/intuition.
That was just the introduction to set the background.
I used to take pride in the fact that I bargain and save on my father’s hard earned money. That is when I happened to be traveling back to Hyderabad from Karimnagar with Preetham Kulkarni.. That was the first time when we both had had a long chat with each other on many personal things. He told me many things about true love, spirituality and social behaviour. I agreed to many of his beliefs and disagreed with many. That’s how a healthy discussion goes, right? Now there is one particular belief that he put across to me and I was blown away by it. He told me that he never bargains with any vendor. He goes to buy the vegetable and other groceries for their house and never even questions the prices of these. His mother used to chide him on this and he used to say a simple point to make her silent – “Do we bargain when we are giving hundreds of rupees more to the fancy shop of branded goods? Then why bargain and deprive the poor vendor of those 2 rupees more? “
Super argument, isn’t it readers? I was shaken from inside and felt a deep surge of guilt and shame. I realized how hypocritical my behaviour was. That changed my outlook towards all the small transactions that we undertake in our daily life.
We all have bargained with vendors at some point of time, right? Yes I feel. Anyways, why do we do that ? To save a few rupees of our hard earned money. Right? We feel that the vendor is cheating us and unnecessarily robbing us of our sweat and blood. We all want to somehow feel that we are actually giving value to the efforts that we or our parents have put in, to earn that few rupees. We want to show to others how good a bargain hunter we are and how we give importance to every single rupee that we would not allow anybody to rob us. All correct !!!
Now, tell me do we all not go to branded outlets to buy clothes, accessories, luxury goods, restaurants etc ? What do we do there when we are paying the same hard earned money? Do we bargain like we do with those poor vendors on the roadside or at the local market? No would be the most common answer. Why? Because we do not want to give the branded retail outlet personnel or the fellow shoppers that we are “cheap” and down market!! We think that we are not supposed to bargain in such big shops as they put such high prices in order to make up for the luxury and opulence that they are dishing out for us. Maybe true. I am not refuting the fact that we should not bargain in these big shops. All I am saying is that why this difference?
Why do we take pride in depriving the poor soul -starved for 3 full meals for himself and his family – of the 2 rupees or 20 rupees? What harm will it bring upon us even if we do spend that ten or twenty rupees more on the weekly veggies or the night pants? We pay 100% to even 800% more to get our branded stuff from fancy retail outlets. At that moment do we ever think of the hard earned money, the sweat and blood and such crap? No. We feel proud that we are part of the elite club that constitutes a minority of this country that has the privilege of actually buying such “superior” goods.
The extra ten rupees gained by the vegetable vendor or the roadside tea seller will not improve his life drastically but will give him that extra freedom to not feel utterly helpless when his produce goes bad due to some cow eating his veggies or some glass falling down and his tea being wasted. Do we really need to feel victorious at depriving the poor fellow of his one extra roti? Think about it dears. I thought about it and feel this:
Sometimes there are some instances when you just need to let the heart do the talking. And these are the times when you should not let some blanket ideology guide you. I feel much better these days… feel less agitated at the small inconveniences and “injustices” happening to me. I know I have found my peace with pettiness and hypocrisy and all credit goes to Preetham.
Today morning I bought the newspaper from a roadside vendor boy. The Sunday Express and the Sunday Times cost me Rs. 9.5 but the vendor just pocketed my 10 rupee note and carried on his business. I quizzed him about the cost and he shrugged his shoulders that he did not have change. I laughed and patted him on his back and walked off feeling like on the top of the world – I walked off – a man full of love for his woman, a man realizing his love out of helping others live a better life, a man trying to make up for his loss by not making others lose their love for lack of some coins in their pockets.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Tanjavur, Temples & Nothingness
A few years back – maybe about 3 years - going to the temples for me became very serious after I happened to watch a soap on T.V. The father of the household was chiding his son for not attending the daily prayer done jointly by the family. He said, “Son, are you so busy that throughout the 24 hours of the day, you do not have 10 min for the Lord?”
This comment left a deep, very very deep impression on my psyche. From then on I started going to a nearby Hanuman temple everyday. I always had the habit of praying to the lord after my morning and evening baths. Thanks to my father’s elder sister, who inculcated this habit in me long back when I and my sister were kids.
Since that day, it has been my earnest effort to go to the temple everyday. Of course during my stay at Amrita I could not follow this as there was no temple nearby and also my classes were in the evenings when I usually used to prefer going to temple. I follow a strict rule that I will enter into a temple only after my bath, without having had anything to eat. I do not like an unclean body or an unclean mouth.
I have always liked History except for the dates part of it. Now you may argue that history is all about dates!!! Well, maybe for all of you, but for me history is about people and places. And when she sent me a beautiful mail outlining the description and history of the temples in Tanjavur, nobody can guess how I felt. What even she might not know is that I read the mail word by word, line by line, sentence by sentence, innumerable times. I felt so happy that there is such richness attached to these temples, especially the temples of Tamil Nadu and Kerala. I was completely enchanted by the pictures of the temples of ancient India. I have always never refused any visit to the temple and when I knew that my dear ones are going to this temple visiting spree, I cannot express in words how badly I wanted to be there with them. I bugged her to give all the details, so that I can myself go there along with them someday. Since that day I have been planning a visit to Tanjavur. Although at the cost of sounding silly, I would admit that I had even planned that my honeymoon would be spent visiting all the temples around the country !!! Now that plan goes for a toss , but then what the heck, I can always go alone. Lolz !!!
I still read the information on these temples over the net and also from the mail and make plans of going there at every small opportunity. God Willing, I will be able to make it to these places soon. I will not wait for HIM to call, I will go myself.
Our Ingress into this world is naked and bare,
Our Progress, unique and rare,
And our Egress, I dunno where.
Now after coming to Bangalore, its become more ardent. As I find myself all alone in this world, I have found more stronger solace in the lord’s presence. Everytime I see the lord on the roadside temple, or when ever I visit the temple inside HAL campus near our house, I feel a sense of happiness. I cry out of happiness and I cry out of sorrow. There are so many times when I have searched for a corner inside the temple and cried out loud. It made me tired, very tired. As if the life force is being sucked out of me…as if the toxins inside my body are being slowly released. I do not feel happy or contented as should have been the case, but I feel the presence of nothing. Nothingness envelopes me and there seems to be a huge vacuum inside of me and also outside.
Then as I continue living next day, the same sorrows come back, the same toxins seep back into my body. Then begins my everlasting fight against the demons inside my head.
This post is also a part of that fight. I have not been to the temple for 4 days now.!!! It shows in my writing too I think.
This comment left a deep, very very deep impression on my psyche. From then on I started going to a nearby Hanuman temple everyday. I always had the habit of praying to the lord after my morning and evening baths. Thanks to my father’s elder sister, who inculcated this habit in me long back when I and my sister were kids.
Since that day, it has been my earnest effort to go to the temple everyday. Of course during my stay at Amrita I could not follow this as there was no temple nearby and also my classes were in the evenings when I usually used to prefer going to temple. I follow a strict rule that I will enter into a temple only after my bath, without having had anything to eat. I do not like an unclean body or an unclean mouth.
I have always liked History except for the dates part of it. Now you may argue that history is all about dates!!! Well, maybe for all of you, but for me history is about people and places. And when she sent me a beautiful mail outlining the description and history of the temples in Tanjavur, nobody can guess how I felt. What even she might not know is that I read the mail word by word, line by line, sentence by sentence, innumerable times. I felt so happy that there is such richness attached to these temples, especially the temples of Tamil Nadu and Kerala. I was completely enchanted by the pictures of the temples of ancient India. I have always never refused any visit to the temple and when I knew that my dear ones are going to this temple visiting spree, I cannot express in words how badly I wanted to be there with them. I bugged her to give all the details, so that I can myself go there along with them someday. Since that day I have been planning a visit to Tanjavur. Although at the cost of sounding silly, I would admit that I had even planned that my honeymoon would be spent visiting all the temples around the country !!! Now that plan goes for a toss , but then what the heck, I can always go alone. Lolz !!!
I still read the information on these temples over the net and also from the mail and make plans of going there at every small opportunity. God Willing, I will be able to make it to these places soon. I will not wait for HIM to call, I will go myself.
Our Ingress into this world is naked and bare,
Our Progress, unique and rare,
And our Egress, I dunno where.
Now after coming to Bangalore, its become more ardent. As I find myself all alone in this world, I have found more stronger solace in the lord’s presence. Everytime I see the lord on the roadside temple, or when ever I visit the temple inside HAL campus near our house, I feel a sense of happiness. I cry out of happiness and I cry out of sorrow. There are so many times when I have searched for a corner inside the temple and cried out loud. It made me tired, very tired. As if the life force is being sucked out of me…as if the toxins inside my body are being slowly released. I do not feel happy or contented as should have been the case, but I feel the presence of nothing. Nothingness envelopes me and there seems to be a huge vacuum inside of me and also outside.
Then as I continue living next day, the same sorrows come back, the same toxins seep back into my body. Then begins my everlasting fight against the demons inside my head.
This post is also a part of that fight. I have not been to the temple for 4 days now.!!! It shows in my writing too I think.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Temple and me !!!
The doors were closed. A sharp panic attack gripped me. Did he turn his back on me? Does he not want to see me? Has he also deserted me? Mind went blank suddenly and there was silence all around. A strange silence – neither comforting nor disturbing. A silence I have occasionally felt envelope me when I get the feeling that I am alone and not wanted.
I was not sure if the doors would open as the time was 10 a.m and I knew that it was time that they closed the temple after the morning rites and poojas. Still I stood there unsure if I wanted to leave without seeing him. Nobody was around for me to make sure but still I stood there and as fate always does to play around with my feelings, I saw the carvings of some god-like figures on the wooden door. And guess what…. the ever powerful and ever so close to me lord Ganesha was there sitting prominently. Our eyes were locked in a mortifying stare – it always happens when I see Ganesha…. We stare at each other, eye to eye, each thought in my mind I feel being read and analyzed by him. I could not leave after seeing him. I resolved to stand there till I could get in. Maybe I would have to wait till evening … maybe….. I dare not think what I would have done.
I stood there and then a couple with their one year old came and joined me outside the door waiting for the darshan. And slowly slowly there were more. Strange the faith and belief of yours truly even inspired others to believe that they would be getting to see the lord. I felt good and also a bit guilty – what if we are all standing in vain and if the temple has really closed. I did not want to leave the piece of the sacred piece of floor that I was standing on , to go and see the notice board to find out the timings….
Neverthless as it invariably happens with anyone who has faith, the doors opened and what a reception was given to all of us devotees waiting for our communion with the Supreme. A thundering sound emanated from the insides of the sanctum sanctorum and my heart skipped a beat. I entered and saw the door of the lord’s chamber closed. Meanwhile the “thuds” continued to resound in the hall and the soon there was s more shriller sound weaving a patter in the atmosphere with the “thuds”. “Chenda” – the ancient traditional musical instrument was being played by two priests inside the temple and as is the case with all such musical offerings to the almighty, they were starting at a low note. There I stood in front of the closed doors, waiting and thinking. Thinking ? Not really thinking. I could see all the memories flooding back into my mind. But that is what usually happens when I come to see the Lord. Each and every moment spent with her clearly play in front of my eyes and then I cannot just control my tears. The slow beats of the drums had been slowly propping themselves to a faster beat – esp the shriller drum whose music was piercing like a sliver into the nervous passageways of the brain and somehow managing to find stimulate a ‘tear-gland’ on its way up.
There I stood utterly standstill, mind, body and soul all in one sync, each muscle contorted yet strangely relaxed at the prospect of seeing the lord. Each cell in my body praying with single minded devotion for that someone. The music slowly reached a crescendo and then at that moment, the most beautiful sound of the bell in the main priest’s hand rang and I saw Him ! HE was in my favourite make-up – the sandalwood paste smeared across his face with the eyes, nose and lips showing. There were red coloured small flowers and tulsi garland around his black body. The sandalwood paste, the red flowers and the black body – all added to the effect and he for a change was not really mocking me.
My eyes were finding it hard to cope with the conflicting commands coming from the heart and the brain. For a change I heard my brain’s command and continued soaking in all that I could of the god instead of closing my eyes. ( Wonder why we instinctively close our eyes whenever we see the lord after waiting for such a long time to get a single glimpse) I stood there, stood all alone in the crowd, a steady streams of salty water running down my cheeks. A small girl was making a spectacle out of me by pointing out to her mother, as to how I was crying. I just smiled at her and continued staring at the lord. Nothing could move my legs that were weighing some 100 tonnes.
Then the music stopped and I closed my eyes…. A calm descended upon me and I concentrated on making my prayers to the lord. But then I had decided that I will not ask for anything from him and I will just pay my respects to him and come away with a lighter heart. So I just smiled at him.
Thereafter it was the turn of the one and only Ganesh !!! I was again locked in a stare with him . My eyes peering only at his eyes and asking him questions. He calmly stares back saying, “ run along boy, I have other more serious tasks to take care of !! I again smile. That is one good thing that hopelessness has taught me. To smile at adversity and move on with my tasks without expectations. Anyone who mocks me just gets a smile in return because my faith in goodness still stands unshakeable. I know god is just mocking me so that he can do good to me when the time arrives. Its this realization that is my biggest gain from today’s prayers. Another lesson learnt from the experience – the experience of praying everyday, every hour, every minute. Yes, hard to believe !! Never been more closer to god than this in my life I must say.
I was not sure if the doors would open as the time was 10 a.m and I knew that it was time that they closed the temple after the morning rites and poojas. Still I stood there unsure if I wanted to leave without seeing him. Nobody was around for me to make sure but still I stood there and as fate always does to play around with my feelings, I saw the carvings of some god-like figures on the wooden door. And guess what…. the ever powerful and ever so close to me lord Ganesha was there sitting prominently. Our eyes were locked in a mortifying stare – it always happens when I see Ganesha…. We stare at each other, eye to eye, each thought in my mind I feel being read and analyzed by him. I could not leave after seeing him. I resolved to stand there till I could get in. Maybe I would have to wait till evening … maybe….. I dare not think what I would have done.
I stood there and then a couple with their one year old came and joined me outside the door waiting for the darshan. And slowly slowly there were more. Strange the faith and belief of yours truly even inspired others to believe that they would be getting to see the lord. I felt good and also a bit guilty – what if we are all standing in vain and if the temple has really closed. I did not want to leave the piece of the sacred piece of floor that I was standing on , to go and see the notice board to find out the timings….
Neverthless as it invariably happens with anyone who has faith, the doors opened and what a reception was given to all of us devotees waiting for our communion with the Supreme. A thundering sound emanated from the insides of the sanctum sanctorum and my heart skipped a beat. I entered and saw the door of the lord’s chamber closed. Meanwhile the “thuds” continued to resound in the hall and the soon there was s more shriller sound weaving a patter in the atmosphere with the “thuds”. “Chenda” – the ancient traditional musical instrument was being played by two priests inside the temple and as is the case with all such musical offerings to the almighty, they were starting at a low note. There I stood in front of the closed doors, waiting and thinking. Thinking ? Not really thinking. I could see all the memories flooding back into my mind. But that is what usually happens when I come to see the Lord. Each and every moment spent with her clearly play in front of my eyes and then I cannot just control my tears. The slow beats of the drums had been slowly propping themselves to a faster beat – esp the shriller drum whose music was piercing like a sliver into the nervous passageways of the brain and somehow managing to find stimulate a ‘tear-gland’ on its way up.
There I stood utterly standstill, mind, body and soul all in one sync, each muscle contorted yet strangely relaxed at the prospect of seeing the lord. Each cell in my body praying with single minded devotion for that someone. The music slowly reached a crescendo and then at that moment, the most beautiful sound of the bell in the main priest’s hand rang and I saw Him ! HE was in my favourite make-up – the sandalwood paste smeared across his face with the eyes, nose and lips showing. There were red coloured small flowers and tulsi garland around his black body. The sandalwood paste, the red flowers and the black body – all added to the effect and he for a change was not really mocking me.
My eyes were finding it hard to cope with the conflicting commands coming from the heart and the brain. For a change I heard my brain’s command and continued soaking in all that I could of the god instead of closing my eyes. ( Wonder why we instinctively close our eyes whenever we see the lord after waiting for such a long time to get a single glimpse) I stood there, stood all alone in the crowd, a steady streams of salty water running down my cheeks. A small girl was making a spectacle out of me by pointing out to her mother, as to how I was crying. I just smiled at her and continued staring at the lord. Nothing could move my legs that were weighing some 100 tonnes.
Then the music stopped and I closed my eyes…. A calm descended upon me and I concentrated on making my prayers to the lord. But then I had decided that I will not ask for anything from him and I will just pay my respects to him and come away with a lighter heart. So I just smiled at him.
Thereafter it was the turn of the one and only Ganesh !!! I was again locked in a stare with him . My eyes peering only at his eyes and asking him questions. He calmly stares back saying, “ run along boy, I have other more serious tasks to take care of !! I again smile. That is one good thing that hopelessness has taught me. To smile at adversity and move on with my tasks without expectations. Anyone who mocks me just gets a smile in return because my faith in goodness still stands unshakeable. I know god is just mocking me so that he can do good to me when the time arrives. Its this realization that is my biggest gain from today’s prayers. Another lesson learnt from the experience – the experience of praying everyday, every hour, every minute. Yes, hard to believe !! Never been more closer to god than this in my life I must say.
BETTER HALF
Am reproducing Uma Girish's short story - worth a read
Six blue china mugs, each with an ivory rim. I pick one up and twirl it. As I cradle it, a rush of memories wallops me. Dev and I spotted the set in a tiny shop in Ranikhet. Six blue mugs sitting prim and proper, on a top shelf. We locked our eyes and smiled: we had it all worked out – even where it would go in our kitchen cabinet.
I spread an old Saturday Times supplement on the floor. I place the mug in the centre and smother it in newsprint. Sitting in our Delhi home, surrounded by cardboard boxes, markers, photo albums, Scotch tape and time, I wonder how I got here. I, who always saw marriage as a safe port from the turbulent storms of life. Maybe my parents’ good marriage had set a bad example.
When Dev stepped into my life one sultry July afternoon and took possession of my heart, it seemed perfectly natural. All my teen life, mother warned me against men she called “silver-tongued devils” and I’d believed I had developed sufficient immunity against the species. Until Dev.
It took me twelve years to catch up, to learn that he was one of them. I can’t put a finger on what drew me to him. His brown eyes, dark hair, intellectual air, natural charm, or the combination? I, who tossed my hair and laughed at typical male compliments, started to feel sexy when Dev spouted poetry about everything, from the shape of my nose to the silk of my tresses. From first encounter to engagement to wedding had taken a mere five weeks. But what weeks they were!! I’d swung between the highest highs and the lowest lows, and Dev was my emotional barometer. I breathed and lived and walked and slept for Dev.
Books and music stitched us together when the magic of first love, became worn with time, like faded denim.
I shake my head free of thoughts and stare at the mess around me. At the debris of a twelve-year marriage; of the task of trying to divide – to separate two lives that lived as one for all these years. The furniture is all his, except the wrought-iron garden benches and the teak bureau with its cubby-holes. He once tucked little love notes into those for me to discover. That was a long time ago, when our love was as magical as something that came out of gift-wrapping, when every day brought a new discovery about each other.
How time slips away. And, a twelve-year-old marriage that kept a man and woman together dies in the fifteen seconds he takes to tell you that he hoped it wouldn’t come to this, that he never meant to hurt you, but he’s found himself a younger someone to share his life with. And slowly it begins to unravel, the love and respect and trust and intimacy you thought were as safe as pearls in their oysters.
But it’s over.
Was I foolish to believe it would never come to this? Our love changed over the years. It grew mellow and calm, free of the rush and desperation of its early form. I never asked why, when my stomach didn’t lurch every time I looked at him, or my heart stopped thudding when I heard the low growl of his car. That is the nature of love.
We started out with two sets of dreams – his dreams and my dreams, which entwined to become our dreams. How do you unravel dreams made together?
Six blue mugs. The cloudless blue of empty skies. Three for him, three for me.
The books. Kafka, A.. J Cronin, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, the Jane Eyre classics and Ernest Hemingway are mine. Tom Clancy, Sidney Sheldon, James Patterson, Stephen King and Paulo Coelho go into his box.
The photo-frames are all now mine. You can keep them, he said. To him, they are memories past their expiry date. A souvenir from a past life, that’s what I have become.
We always shared closet space. The wooden shelves are strangely empty today. His formal shirts, motley collection of ties, Jockey shorts and socks have fled from their restricting confines. As if they couldn’t wait to move to a new shelf, to the smell of fresh paint, sharing space with lacy lingerie.
A lone toothbrush lolls in the mug on the bathroom countertop. Mine. On closer inspection, I see it’s pink. Mine is a crimson red. And then I realize: it is the stringy one he discarded. He has left it for me to pick up and throw away. I can’t believe I’m still picking up and cleaning after the man. Slivers of smell hang about. And then a cloud of smells attack me. His smells, his many, many smells. You can run across continents or try to hide in the anonymity of small-town life but a smell will always search you out. One strong whiff of the past is all it takes to knock you over. Maybe it is rice and fish curry – his favourite meal. Or the hot smell of burning rubber as a motorbike whizzes by and reminds you of the long rides hugging hairpin bends. It could be the smell of the first rains that nudege a memory – of how he led you to the verandah and touched you.
I’m jolted by the doorbell. It is a courier for Dev. Am I still allowed to sign as Mrs Dev Chatterjee? My fingers scrawl something unintelligible. I shut the door and walk to the dining room. Two plates. Two mugs. Two bowls with leftover blobs of mango. I still server two out of habit and eat from both.
I stare around me, uncomprehending. I am packing away a twelve-year-marriage int two boxes – HIS and HERS. The irony grabs me by the throat. How do I even begin to divide? Is it possible to split a life into a perfect 50:50? I place three mugs in his box, and three remain. Ditto for the plates, cutlery and crockery, even the masks from our Thailand trip. And that sets me thinking about how we’d have divided the kids. Luckily, we have none.
My mind travels back to the evening in the gynecologist’s office. Blocked tubes, she said. “Hey, it’s no big deal. You’ll be my baby and I’ll be yours,” Dev had crooned, flicking a teardrop with his thumb. “Just think about it. We have all our lives ahead of us and we have each other. Isn’t that a blessing?”
I should’ve known that promise would go the way all promises do.
I look around the room. I’m almost done but I can’t tear the smell of him from my skin. Nor can I split and sieve the memories in my head.
The ringing telephone interrupts my rambling nostalgia.
“Hello…”
“Hi…it’s me.” It is he.
“Hi…”
“I was just … um … wondering if you’d finished with the papers. My lawyer needs them tomorrow.”
The cordless feels like a dead weight in my hands.
“So …,” he fumbles on, “could you have them ready? I’ll send the driver around.”
“Sure.” I whisper.
I place the phone in its cradle and walk across to the desk. I pick up the form, the one that requests a divorce via Mutual Consent. I rip it neatly into two, right down the middle.
Which half would you like, Mr. Dev Chatterjee? I ask, and hear my laughter echo off the walls.
Six blue china mugs, each with an ivory rim. I pick one up and twirl it. As I cradle it, a rush of memories wallops me. Dev and I spotted the set in a tiny shop in Ranikhet. Six blue mugs sitting prim and proper, on a top shelf. We locked our eyes and smiled: we had it all worked out – even where it would go in our kitchen cabinet.
I spread an old Saturday Times supplement on the floor. I place the mug in the centre and smother it in newsprint. Sitting in our Delhi home, surrounded by cardboard boxes, markers, photo albums, Scotch tape and time, I wonder how I got here. I, who always saw marriage as a safe port from the turbulent storms of life. Maybe my parents’ good marriage had set a bad example.
When Dev stepped into my life one sultry July afternoon and took possession of my heart, it seemed perfectly natural. All my teen life, mother warned me against men she called “silver-tongued devils” and I’d believed I had developed sufficient immunity against the species. Until Dev.
It took me twelve years to catch up, to learn that he was one of them. I can’t put a finger on what drew me to him. His brown eyes, dark hair, intellectual air, natural charm, or the combination? I, who tossed my hair and laughed at typical male compliments, started to feel sexy when Dev spouted poetry about everything, from the shape of my nose to the silk of my tresses. From first encounter to engagement to wedding had taken a mere five weeks. But what weeks they were!! I’d swung between the highest highs and the lowest lows, and Dev was my emotional barometer. I breathed and lived and walked and slept for Dev.
Books and music stitched us together when the magic of first love, became worn with time, like faded denim.
I shake my head free of thoughts and stare at the mess around me. At the debris of a twelve-year marriage; of the task of trying to divide – to separate two lives that lived as one for all these years. The furniture is all his, except the wrought-iron garden benches and the teak bureau with its cubby-holes. He once tucked little love notes into those for me to discover. That was a long time ago, when our love was as magical as something that came out of gift-wrapping, when every day brought a new discovery about each other.
How time slips away. And, a twelve-year-old marriage that kept a man and woman together dies in the fifteen seconds he takes to tell you that he hoped it wouldn’t come to this, that he never meant to hurt you, but he’s found himself a younger someone to share his life with. And slowly it begins to unravel, the love and respect and trust and intimacy you thought were as safe as pearls in their oysters.
But it’s over.
Was I foolish to believe it would never come to this? Our love changed over the years. It grew mellow and calm, free of the rush and desperation of its early form. I never asked why, when my stomach didn’t lurch every time I looked at him, or my heart stopped thudding when I heard the low growl of his car. That is the nature of love.
We started out with two sets of dreams – his dreams and my dreams, which entwined to become our dreams. How do you unravel dreams made together?
Six blue mugs. The cloudless blue of empty skies. Three for him, three for me.
The books. Kafka, A.. J Cronin, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, the Jane Eyre classics and Ernest Hemingway are mine. Tom Clancy, Sidney Sheldon, James Patterson, Stephen King and Paulo Coelho go into his box.
The photo-frames are all now mine. You can keep them, he said. To him, they are memories past their expiry date. A souvenir from a past life, that’s what I have become.
We always shared closet space. The wooden shelves are strangely empty today. His formal shirts, motley collection of ties, Jockey shorts and socks have fled from their restricting confines. As if they couldn’t wait to move to a new shelf, to the smell of fresh paint, sharing space with lacy lingerie.
A lone toothbrush lolls in the mug on the bathroom countertop. Mine. On closer inspection, I see it’s pink. Mine is a crimson red. And then I realize: it is the stringy one he discarded. He has left it for me to pick up and throw away. I can’t believe I’m still picking up and cleaning after the man. Slivers of smell hang about. And then a cloud of smells attack me. His smells, his many, many smells. You can run across continents or try to hide in the anonymity of small-town life but a smell will always search you out. One strong whiff of the past is all it takes to knock you over. Maybe it is rice and fish curry – his favourite meal. Or the hot smell of burning rubber as a motorbike whizzes by and reminds you of the long rides hugging hairpin bends. It could be the smell of the first rains that nudege a memory – of how he led you to the verandah and touched you.
I’m jolted by the doorbell. It is a courier for Dev. Am I still allowed to sign as Mrs Dev Chatterjee? My fingers scrawl something unintelligible. I shut the door and walk to the dining room. Two plates. Two mugs. Two bowls with leftover blobs of mango. I still server two out of habit and eat from both.
I stare around me, uncomprehending. I am packing away a twelve-year-marriage int two boxes – HIS and HERS. The irony grabs me by the throat. How do I even begin to divide? Is it possible to split a life into a perfect 50:50? I place three mugs in his box, and three remain. Ditto for the plates, cutlery and crockery, even the masks from our Thailand trip. And that sets me thinking about how we’d have divided the kids. Luckily, we have none.
My mind travels back to the evening in the gynecologist’s office. Blocked tubes, she said. “Hey, it’s no big deal. You’ll be my baby and I’ll be yours,” Dev had crooned, flicking a teardrop with his thumb. “Just think about it. We have all our lives ahead of us and we have each other. Isn’t that a blessing?”
I should’ve known that promise would go the way all promises do.
I look around the room. I’m almost done but I can’t tear the smell of him from my skin. Nor can I split and sieve the memories in my head.
The ringing telephone interrupts my rambling nostalgia.
“Hello…”
“Hi…it’s me.” It is he.
“Hi…”
“I was just … um … wondering if you’d finished with the papers. My lawyer needs them tomorrow.”
The cordless feels like a dead weight in my hands.
“So …,” he fumbles on, “could you have them ready? I’ll send the driver around.”
“Sure.” I whisper.
I place the phone in its cradle and walk across to the desk. I pick up the form, the one that requests a divorce via Mutual Consent. I rip it neatly into two, right down the middle.
Which half would you like, Mr. Dev Chatterjee? I ask, and hear my laughter echo off the walls.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
My Life !!!
| This Is My Life, Rated | |
| Life: |  5.2 |
| Mind: |  4.5 |
| Body: |  7.6 |
| Spirit: |  5.8 |
| Friends/Family: |  2.3 |
| Love: |  0 |
| Finance: | 5.5 |
| Take the Rate My Life Quiz | |
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Sleep and Me
Sleep. Sleep is important they say. But I like the typical b-school grad never took that piece of advice seriously and used to think, “ what the heck, just a few hours of sleep is enough for a man. People just indulge themselves by sleeping so much.” True that a few hours are enough, but what about getting quality sleep in those 4-5 hours?
Till this age, I never had a problem of not being able to sleep well or had lack of sound sleep. Till this age I never realized that its possible to sleep for 6 hours and still wake up as if you are tired and awake for eternity. Till this age I never realized that even dreams without monsters, deaths etc can be nightmares. Till this age I never thought that I will be not able to wake up and feel happy about last night.
Oh how foolish and ignorant was I. These days sound sleep is an invaluable jewel that I do not possess. Nightmares after nightmares, jolts after jolts, shivers after shivers, all are a part and parcel of my sleep. Thank god I do not wake up shouting in my sleep. Do not mistake it, I do still wake up about 5 times on an average in my sleep but atleast I keep my bloody mouth shut.!
A person who even as a child was never afraid to sleep alone, without any teddy bears and pillows to keep company, I now need the small statue of God Ayyappan to be kept right near my bosom in order to feel a bit at ease for the long night ahead. He keeps me company during the tumultuous nights. He smiles, with a faith hint of mockery everytime that I look at him in the middle of the night and makes me feel even more pathetic at my emotional state. God has a strange way of being with you and still acting so detached from you that sometimes you wonder if there is really someone with you? Is there anyone who will support you and not cheat you? Is there anyone who will stick to their word? Is there anyone who has the guts to support you and love you, no matter what all mistakes you make in life? God will always be with me, I know, and his way of mocking at me is to show me how foolish I am and how I must not continue like this. But irony of all ironies is that, if I stop feeling the way I am feeling then maybe I will be cheating the same God whom I pledged to and promised to about a few things in my life. Just because I do not have things going my way, should I break the promises I made with a sincere heart in front of the holy dieties in Eachanari, guruvayoor, chalissery, sama, r s puram, peelamedu, the roadside temple, and the list goes on and on…
Why do I get these dreams? Whats in these dreams anyways? These are nightmares wherein only your loved ones torment you. Yes, my mom torments me! my dad torments me! my sister torments me! my friends torment me! my relative torments me! and above all my love torments me!!! My love for all of the above and my love for myself torments me. What do I do, I have no clue? This post I am writing in the morning, just after another night full of torment, full of tears and full of perspiration. I try to gulp my fears and sorrow down with a cup of morning tea, but does it really help? I open my comp and try and write it all down, but does it really help. Well maybe it helped because I just have ran out of time and also the urge to do a foolish thing. Really a foolish thing? Time will tell someday ……
Till this age, I never had a problem of not being able to sleep well or had lack of sound sleep. Till this age I never realized that its possible to sleep for 6 hours and still wake up as if you are tired and awake for eternity. Till this age I never realized that even dreams without monsters, deaths etc can be nightmares. Till this age I never thought that I will be not able to wake up and feel happy about last night.
Oh how foolish and ignorant was I. These days sound sleep is an invaluable jewel that I do not possess. Nightmares after nightmares, jolts after jolts, shivers after shivers, all are a part and parcel of my sleep. Thank god I do not wake up shouting in my sleep. Do not mistake it, I do still wake up about 5 times on an average in my sleep but atleast I keep my bloody mouth shut.!
A person who even as a child was never afraid to sleep alone, without any teddy bears and pillows to keep company, I now need the small statue of God Ayyappan to be kept right near my bosom in order to feel a bit at ease for the long night ahead. He keeps me company during the tumultuous nights. He smiles, with a faith hint of mockery everytime that I look at him in the middle of the night and makes me feel even more pathetic at my emotional state. God has a strange way of being with you and still acting so detached from you that sometimes you wonder if there is really someone with you? Is there anyone who will support you and not cheat you? Is there anyone who will stick to their word? Is there anyone who has the guts to support you and love you, no matter what all mistakes you make in life? God will always be with me, I know, and his way of mocking at me is to show me how foolish I am and how I must not continue like this. But irony of all ironies is that, if I stop feeling the way I am feeling then maybe I will be cheating the same God whom I pledged to and promised to about a few things in my life. Just because I do not have things going my way, should I break the promises I made with a sincere heart in front of the holy dieties in Eachanari, guruvayoor, chalissery, sama, r s puram, peelamedu, the roadside temple, and the list goes on and on…
Why do I get these dreams? Whats in these dreams anyways? These are nightmares wherein only your loved ones torment you. Yes, my mom torments me! my dad torments me! my sister torments me! my friends torment me! my relative torments me! and above all my love torments me!!! My love for all of the above and my love for myself torments me. What do I do, I have no clue? This post I am writing in the morning, just after another night full of torment, full of tears and full of perspiration. I try to gulp my fears and sorrow down with a cup of morning tea, but does it really help? I open my comp and try and write it all down, but does it really help. Well maybe it helped because I just have ran out of time and also the urge to do a foolish thing. Really a foolish thing? Time will tell someday ……
Monday, October 1, 2007
I can't see nobody !
This is a song by my fav band, the one and only Bee Gees ! This song sums up my personal life till now esp the last paragraph. I had promised myself long long back that I will put this as a post on my blog someday and now I am keeping my promise. But trust me you gotta listen to the song with the smooth music in order to appreciate the beauty of the song. The chorus is amazing in this song. Please listen to it sometime if you can. ok? But do not write it for some girl if you trying to woo her. I tried and she was so enchanted that she dumped me in the next 20 days. Lolz !!! On the lighter side, just enjoy this recommendation coming from ChutKut World. Here it goes..... my fav song from the one and only Gibb brothers
I walk the lonely streets; I watch the people passing by.
I used to smile and say hello. Guess I was just a happy guy.
Then you happened, girl, this feeling that possesses me.
I just can't move myself. I guess it all just had to be.
I can't see nobody...no, I can't see nobody.
Mine eyes can only look at you...you.
I used to have a brain; I used to think of many things.
I watched the falling rain and listened to the sweet birds sing.
Don't ask me why, little girl. I love you and that's all I can say.
You're ev'ry ,ev'ry breath I take. You are my nights; my night and day.
I can't see nobody...no, I can't see nobody.
Mine eyes can only look at you...you.
Every single word you hear...is coming from this heart of mine.
I never felt like this before...a love like yours so young and fine.
And now as I try to forget you...it doesn't work out any way.
I loved you such a long time ago...but in my eyes you'll always be.
Every single word you hear...is coming from this heart of mine.
I loved you such a long time ago...don't know why...
And I don't know why...baby...
I can't see nobody...no, I can't see nobody.
Mine eyes can only look at you...you.
- BEE GEES :-)
I walk the lonely streets; I watch the people passing by.
I used to smile and say hello. Guess I was just a happy guy.
Then you happened, girl, this feeling that possesses me.
I just can't move myself. I guess it all just had to be.
I can't see nobody...no, I can't see nobody.
Mine eyes can only look at you...you.
I used to have a brain; I used to think of many things.
I watched the falling rain and listened to the sweet birds sing.
Don't ask me why, little girl. I love you and that's all I can say.
You're ev'ry ,ev'ry breath I take. You are my nights; my night and day.
I can't see nobody...no, I can't see nobody.
Mine eyes can only look at you...you.
Every single word you hear...is coming from this heart of mine.
I never felt like this before...a love like yours so young and fine.
And now as I try to forget you...it doesn't work out any way.
I loved you such a long time ago...but in my eyes you'll always be.
Every single word you hear...is coming from this heart of mine.
I loved you such a long time ago...don't know why...
And I don't know why...baby...
I can't see nobody...no, I can't see nobody.
Mine eyes can only look at you...you.
- BEE GEES :-)
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