Eh, so I should be luvin' it?

I do not like discussing work-oriented subjects here. But it has been a couple of months of an amazing peep into human nature.

Everytime I wrote earlier too there would be a horde descending on me, but at least even the personal attacks then were because they did not like my views. Now...I don't think you need to do much psychological research to figure out motives.

Was meeting D after years. It wasn't even a meeting. Bumped into him on my way to the doc the other day. He stopped the car, looked uncertain, and then broke into the familiar grin. He was as always well-dressed, but he had decided to do away with the "corporate shit". This one was a biggie in one of those agencies that figure out where to position what. He lived mostly overseas.

There was no time to talk, so he called today.

I was telling him about what I was doing...and since he is not into my kind of thing, I had to explain. The website,. the plans, the writing, the reactions.

"Aha," he said...

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you come in as something and people start discussing it?"

"Yes...I mean it is strange..."

"Are you sure it is not being managed?"

"By whom?"

"By your website?"

"You are crazy! These are independent voices, often just making a noise...doing it on their own."

"So you are getting all this mileage for nothing? Without shelling out a single penny?"

"Mileage? This is plain stupid..."

"Woman, do you know how much agencies pay to get themselves written about? Do you know they use strategy to create envy, anger, competitiveness, possessiveness because these get reactions? And you are getting them for free!"

"But work does not mean..."

"Is this stopping your work? Are you not managing? Are you not doing what you like? Are you not having fun?"

"Oh, all that is happening.."

"Then lie back and enjoy."

I am not the lying back and enjoy kind. I am a risky-rider.

If we listened to our intellect, we'd never have a love affair. We'd never have a friendship. We'd never go into business, because we'd be too cynical. Well, that's nonsense. You've got to jump off cliffs all the time and build wings on the way down.
Annie Dillard


Silent Night

I looked at the Pieta again. A small replica in white stone, chiselled almost to perfection. When I had seen the original, alien emotions had overtaken me and I unashamedly wept. Spires, stained glass windows and frescoes just lost all relevance for me then.

One is accustomed to seeing the Virgin Mother with a baby Jesus, but this one is with a dead Christ, an adult in the lap of a woman, who seems ageless. We know of the woman as nurturer, but here what could she nurture?

Is it possible to nurture another's death? Or to project one's life onto the dying? Isn't dying for the living a kind of life?

I still do not know why I cried. Today as I watch the statue I just experience a little pain...a pain I do not wish to explain even to myself.
- - -
They say this is the time for giving (forgiving?). It is easy. But accepting?

Accepting anything is always left to us. I accept gifts (material, emotional, intellectual) with grace and if I can I do try to return the gesture, but the returning is not a hisaab-kitaab thing. It is like being embraced...one's arms naturally encircle the one hugging you.

For me getting even disappointments and grief from those I care about are 'gifts', for they show me what I would have failed to see otherwise...

I accept...it is my acceptance of anything that enriches me.

By that same token, there are things I do not accept: gaalis, curses, innuendo. The people giving them to me remain burdened, for since I have not taken their 'gifts' to me, they stay with them. They will have to live with their own conclusions.

I do not become what they call me, I am not what they think me to be and I have not done what they assume I have done.
- - -
I looked at the Pieta again...


Wanna come along?

"Please take someone along with you," he said.

"I will manage on my own, I always do."

"What is the opposite of martyr, that is you."

I used a saucy phrase...may as well be called something interesting. But can I really manage on my own? This burden of 'self-contained' can be disconcerting...frightening. If I am so much in control, why is my universe in such turmoil always? Do I bring this upon myself? Only because I like being alone sometimes does not mean that I "would be happy all by yourself".

I did not ask to fall, so if I manage to get up on my own why is it considered a move towards being alone?

I do reach out...perhaps my hands are not long enough...
A happy moment: An acquaintance said he was reading an old column of mine on the bus from Goa. This column is from a few years ago, it is not on a website, so he could not have downloaded it. "Oh, I have a register with the print version, a scrapbook of your works." He is from the media world, a more glamorous one...I wondered how he connected and to what...Of course, I was happy. Who wouldn't be?

I regret: Not spending enough time with my cousins and nieces. All I have is a 'card' drawn on a piece of paper -- a house with a chimney taking up a quarter of the space, the rest is the sky with a huge sun...behind are the words, "To bg (big) khaala with lots of love." I cannot frame it for if the picture shows, the words will be hidden; if the words are visible the picture won't be seen.

Why can we not have both? Why can we not get everything? And where are the cards that came every day? Why do we stop valuing what we have only to seek what we don't?

Someone wanted to know if I was dead or alive.

Somewhere in between. My sleep is fitful these days and the wakeful moments are as thick as velvet clinging to me.


'Strangers' in the light

I am not too sure what friends really mean…I think a passing smile, a fraction of a glance, a polite voice over the phone by strangers is less cumbersome to deal with.

At least there is no exchange of unspoken guarantees and promises of no expiry dates like all sturdy friendships demand.

I have resisted several friendships because I was not sure the person was genuine or if I felt that I would not be able to give my time and space. I am happy enough with those fleeting moments connecting with strangers who do not even have to say goodbye.

A friend who comes and goes is as much a stranger...a friend who takes another for granted is behaving in a strange fashion...a friend who has to keep several considerations in mind to keep up the friendship is a stranger...a friend who you are close to physically but cannot share things with is a stranger...a friend who inhabits your mind but not your heart is a stranger...a friend you feel for but can do nothing about is a stranger...

There is a world of friends and there is a world of strangers...and there is a world of choices we have to make and those that others make for us.

Often we get hurt because we cannot tell the two apart. Sometimes, one takes time out to sort out the confusion. For example, I know I am committed to certain things...I am willing to go half way. The question gets complicated when after reaching the halfway mark you find you have either lost your way or the point you are at is the same where you started.

Nothing can exist in isolation. From now on, I will let life do the talking for me... it always did, making me pretend that it was my voice. I shall go where Destiny takes me. It is anyway a better judge than I am.


Cheese is just another cheez

A friend, gauging the state of my mind, sent me a link where it says, "Roll mouse over the letters and say cheese". The letters move around and the mouse stays stuck to a smiling face wherever you move.

Strangely, I was looking for words in those letters, sentences with those words.

I was looking for a forest when I should have been sitting beneath the shade of a tree.

I suppose the earlier blog of today could be the reason. Perhaps, I just feel trapped by my own smiles that crawl like long branches that cover the roots, the essence of me.

Is what is visible always happiness?

Tomorrow never comes?

Melancholia. It suddenly takes over my entire being. Every pore in the body seems to cry out in pain and in vain.

One bit of trivia I read says that if the stomach did not produce a mucous lining everyday, it would eat itself. I see an analogy here. I see it when I watch myself looking calm and composed. I hear it in the words that some people I meet and know use to describe me: Vivacious. Effervescent. Lively.

Where do these come from? The other day a friend asked me whether I was attending positive thinking classes. With so much negativity around, I think it is that mucous lining in my system that prevents total self-destruction.

But, am I safe? I know that the first opportunity I get to be lost in a maze, I will use it. I find in those endless dead-ends the only way to test my stamina and my desire to live. Or die.

And live for what? Die for what? Tomorrow?

I want to know my future. But wouldn’t that be boring?

No. Not anymore. I have had too many surprises and shocks to last me a couple of lifetimes. Now I want to know what tomorrow holds, and even if it holds nothing, I want to be aware of the emptiness that awaits me.

Besides, what is so boring about awareness? Why would the knowledge that at the end of the road there is a gate/a park/a dragon/a friend/a bookstore/a musician/a beggar/a stranger/a haunted house/a warm home/an unknown hamlet/a felled tree/a blooming flower/a bench/a blind alley fill one with ennui? Each of these carry within them the potential to challenge us, make us, unmake us … and we would react to them not as we do today but as we would feel about them tomorrow. So where is the boredom?

It isn’t what we get that adds excitement to our lives, but what we do with them. Sometimes people treat unusual happenings with disdain for they have not been able to understand fully the immensity of their extraordinariness. And sometimes, we can take the most mundane events and make them seem like such a wonderful boon.

I want to know about tomorrow. I need to touch something more tangible than the sky.