tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74645219452529634022024-03-08T17:23:08.196-06:00Piper...Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.comBlogger150125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-83695533013952333252021-07-13T16:13:00.001-05:002021-07-13T16:14:47.971-05:00Lavender Crocs<p> <span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(18, 18, 18); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #121212; font-family: Arial;">He was standing by the shelf when I first saw him, dressed in a pair of old gray shorts and a faded red tee with grease stains all over it. As I walked towards him, he moved his eyes around shiftily. It instantly caught my eye. What was he doing? He seemed familiar and I wondered if he was from the auto repair shop down the lane. He stood there, unfazed, even as my gaze fixed on him.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(18, 18, 18); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #121212; font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(18, 18, 18); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #121212; font-family: Arial;">It was then that I saw a pair of lavender toddler crocs in his hand. He picked up a yellow pair as well, looked it over, replaced it back on the shelf. Then continued to stare ahead, sometimes looking down at the lavender ones in his hand. I walked past, continuing to wonder.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(18, 18, 18); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #121212; font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(18, 18, 18); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #121212; font-family: Arial;">As I made my way over to the first open counter and laid down my groceries, I could still see him standing there, staring up ahead or looking around. For a wild moment, I wondered if I should notify someone.</span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(18, 18, 18); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #121212; font-family: Arial;">I finished paying for my groceries, loaded the cart, and turned around to leave. Just then, I saw a woman join him. Presumably his wife. She grabbed the pair of lavender shoes from his hand, turned it over to look at the price tag. She shook her head vigorously and walked away as his head hung low. As I stood there transfixed, I saw the man walking away empty handed, with one last glance at the lavender crocs he was looking over for his little one.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(18, 18, 18); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #121212; font-family: Arial;"> </span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(18, 18, 18); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #121212; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 24.1px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(18, 18, 18); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #121212; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 24.1px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(18, 18, 18); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #121212; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 24.1px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"></span></p><div><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><br /></span></div>Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-40540848548415749032020-03-27T06:02:00.000-05:002020-03-27T06:10:03.417-05:00End in Mind.. - Part I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I have been maintaining a log of some memorable patients and families - some I would be happy to never set eyes/ears on, and some I would love to see outside of the hospital under different circumstances! So here goes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">1. Mrs. K – 60 yo delightful lady from Ghana, suffering from widely metastatic cholangio-carcinoma. I had been taking care of her for 2 whole weeks, before she started slowly slipping away. It was challenging to navigate family dynamics between a jerk husband and her devastated sisters. Unfortunately, healthcare doesn’t recognize the power of the human heart; just a worthless signature on the dotted line. The husband was the legal surrogate healthcare decision maker. The one word of advice I kept getting from my supervising Attending was to not get involved in family dynamics. That wasn’t a part of my job. My job was to take care of Mrs. K. </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica;">What baffled me about this way of thinking was the underlying assumption that taking care of Mrs. K physically and emotionally, was mutually exclusive from enforcing that her dying wishes were honored by the surrogate decision maker. I will never make peace with the fact that I could not reassure her that her wallet and her diary, wrapped in a red plastic bag that she kept under her pillow, would not fall in her husband’s hands, but would be delivered to her 11 yo daughter. When she finally passed on and I was called to the bedside to pronounce her dead, I walked in with as much dignity as was expected of me and asked the husband to step out as I did a confirmatory exam. I finally pronounced her dead at 2:47 pm that afternoon, walked out the door as her husband stepped in, and promptly collapsed. Her sister, who was standing quietly by the door, walked over and tightly held my hands. For what seemed like an eternity, we could not speak, mutually connected in our shared angst at what had transpired these last few days. Finally, she helped me to my feet. And in that split second before her husband came barging out, I pushed the red plastic bag in her hands, as she looked me in the eye one last time and quickly walked away.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">2. Mr. Mandeerf – 77 yo gentleman also with metastatic cholangio-carcinoma, but presenting very differently from Mrs. K (I won’t go into the clinical details here of course). This guy came walking into the hospital. Very walky-talky for the first few days of his stay. And then it started. A slight ache here. A little bleed there. And so it went, until we all realized it was time for the dreaded family conference. Typically, this can take varied forms depending on how close or far apart you are on an emotional/intellectual scale with the family members. The tone of these meetings completely depend on the temperaments of the family members. I have witnessed several meetings where entitled families think it is their birthright to yell/kick chairs/ and in general behave like uncouth hooligans (“Dozy old bugger”, as Celia from the new Netflix drama might say). Anyhow, for Mr. Mandeerf, his family was his wife and 2 grown up sons. One living here but sometimes working out of Minneapolis! The other one on phone from New York. The nicest family I have interacted with by far! Not to mention that having a gorgeous son in the room never hurts! I have often wondered whether it was because of my fondness for Mr. M and his wife or the presence of their son that made me spend disproportionate amounts of time with this family! Countertransference <b><i>is</i></b> a thing, people! </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyhow, what I remember most is the family conference I had with his wife and sons. The Attending was happy to let me drive the conversation because I was the one who knew the family best. Prior to the meeting, the Attending went over the exact algorithm for breaking bad news to families. We had a signal planned out for when I needed him to intervene. I took a deep breath and walked in. Mrs. M was sitting on the couch by herself, so I sat next to her. Gorgeous son drew up a chair right up close and had his brother on speaker phone. For a moment I considered asking him to move back because I was having trouble catching my breath (no kidding). I didn't. My Attending sat in a corner. I looked down at my notes and then I looked at Mrs. M and took her hand, unsure where to begin; and the most wonderful thing happened. I had the near-perfect conversation with this family, helping them decide whether to switch their loved one to comfort cares or whether to continue pursuing aggressive measures. And I did it without actually following the algorithm that I had learned by rote. It just came so easily to me. I felt comfortable in that space, in my role, in my shoes. It just felt right. And I realized it wasn’t me. It was them. How a family meeting will go, completely and totally depends on the family we’re interacting with. Our role as physicians is not to enforce; not to project our opinions; but simply to listen and to provide enough information for the family to make an informed decision. That is all. That is as simple as it gets. Only not.. </span><br />
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Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-61422261037133568672020-03-24T17:02:00.000-05:002020-03-25T07:09:04.630-05:00It was the best o times, it was the worst of times...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; -webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;">Truer words couldn’t have described my first year at Duke. Oh, what a roller coaster ride this has been. I am finally at a good place in my head where I can sit back and reflect. Not get angry. Not feel disillusioned. Not lose hope.</span><span style="font-kerning: none;"> For sure, it has been a mixed bag of experiences. And at the end of long weeks and longer nights, overworked weekends, missed family dinners, 80+ hours of constant physical/emotional turmoil every week for the last 40 weeks for more, I am finally at a spot where I can stand back, take a deep breath, and finally begin to share my journey.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">An insane amount of time has passed since I last wrote down my thoughts. As some of my readers might be knowing, I am now training to be a Neurologist (this year I’m training in Internal Medicine). I have longed to be where I am today. I have worked so hard to be here. And I never for a moment stopped to wonder what I am giving up in the process, what I have or will sacrifice along the way. I only focused on getting here because this is what I wanted so very much! So, when I was recently asked this question, it startled me! It made me uncomfortable. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it ever since. I’m a little taken aback by how viscerally I reacted in that moment. Not as if I keep my acerbic wit all fueled up, just in case. So, I wasn’t able to slither out with the smug satisfaction of a handy repartee! But I cried to myself that night, something I can’t remember having done in many years! The truth is I started thinking of myself, of this endless journey I am on, of my own loss of self over different relationships (some completely worthless to begin with!), and of the loss of my Dad. I guess it might have been because after a stressful day at work, I broke my glasses earlier that evening without a spare one in store! Or perhaps, I was just feeling sorry for myself. Whatever it was, I realized that not talking about something doesn't necessarily mean it’s gone. So, here I am today. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">There is one particular moment from the tv show Scrubs that has always fascinated </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">me. JD bolts down the hallway to the jarring notes of his code pager. Two seconds l</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">ater he is seen vying for a safe space in a supply closet with his co-intern. It was only </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">during the recent ICU rotation that I realized how legitimate those feelings were. I could </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">finally relate to the despair, the urge to bolt, and yet being frozen to the ground in fear </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">of failing.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">Flashback to the med school years (which now seems a lifetime ago), I remember sitting through a cardiology small group meeting one afternoon. We were learning to </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">recognize ECG patterns and come up with differentials. At one point when we were </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">shown a ventricular fibrillation pattern, (as sinister as it gets), the resident asked what we would do. And I remembered that moment from Scrubs and thought we could run the other way of course! From where I stood at that moment in time, handling a hypothetical cardiac arrest situation seemed easy, even funny enough. I laughed to myself.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">These last few months have been a lesson in humility. A reminder of my own inadequacy in this long path to finally becoming a doctor. I have had my fair share of hiding in metaphorical closets of course. I have often chosen simpler cases which required minimal effort on my side. Other times I have deferred opportunities to others who were more excited than me. I have struggled with a desire to impress versus an inherent fear of failing. And I have shamelessly exploited the privilege of my position in the larger scheme of things: I am a resident. Let me ask the Attending. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">I have learned to give up on the extra half hour of early morning sleep, to be able to </span>pour over patient charts. I’ve learned to juggle a million things in a way that also ensures steady state learning. I’ve learned to dress so as to accommodate any and all medical paraphernalia on self at all times. But most of all, I've learned to spend the last moments of a regular hospital shift, saying goodbye to my patients for the day. I did not know back then, as I do now, that I would soon learn to depend on <i>my patients</i> for a glimmer of hope. I did not know that the constant grueling reminders of one’s incapability and the long struggle that lies ahead, would instantly wash away in the comfort I would find in their words. That I would find my safe zone in their presence soon enough.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But, as I mentioned before, it’s been a mixed bag really. There were times when I was so angry and so ready to explode, and I did. There were times when I have cried over the loss of a patient and have had a family member console me! There were times when I have entered the hospital wishing someone was dead so I didn’t have to deal with his angry family! It has indeed been a crazy roller coaster of a ride. And now of course, here we are in the midst of a global pandemic! These are difficult times. These are scary times. Unprecedented. Once in a life-time kind of thing. I would like to think that I am making a difference by fighting the good fight. There are some who are hailing healthcare workers at the front lines as heroes. And there are some who are disgusted with everything and everyone healthcare, as always. To them I say, please come do our jobs for us if you think we are incapable. It’s easy to raise your voices from the comfort of home. Please try spending one day in my shoes. Just one fucking day..</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So, you see, I have come a long way. Slowly, piece by piece, I learned to maneuver my way around the maze with customary aplomb. Overnight, almost spectacularly, I found myself in a new terrain, where I was confidently admitting my own patients, proposing plans that went largely unedited, and discussing treatment choices with families at the bedside. Almost overnight, I found myself turning into the doctor, and the person I have worked so hard to be.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Of course, right now there are multiple layers of buffers in place to protect us from our </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">own ignorant fervor. But I </span><i style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">am </i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">the first contact for my patients; and I will/have felt the personal weight of my assessments in very intimate ways. I have been called upon to take decisions of unthinkable impacts and I did not know what to do. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But I always (mostly) tried to do what’s right.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And that, I imagine, is the force that has sustained me and all my friends through these years, and I hope, will continue to sustain us for a lifetime as physicians. Through all the long hours and missed holidays, through times of indecision and misjudgments, through petty resentments and frustration, through lost relationships - as we watch our lives pass us by - there has been this palpable certainty humming blithely underneath it all. We are still standing with our heads held high, because we believe we are here to do right by our patients. This is what inspires us, grounds us.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Of course it has been frightening, even blatantly miserable at times. We’ve witnessed </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">tremendous suffering, known vulnerability and helplessness, and been privy to human </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">frailty in its ugliest of forms. And not a single day has gone by when we have not been yelled at or walked all over by rogue family members in some form or the other. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But we have chosen this journey for a reason. Even when we have to stand by and be easy targets, even when we are over-worked and sleep-deprived as I am right now, even when I’m wondering if I can/should explode and I have. Even in those vulnerable moments in training, I hope we have the foresight to make good calls, the wisdom to seek out others when we need them, and the fortitude to always run in the right direction.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">P.S - Just a heads up - Since I now find myself with some free time on hand for a day or two (!!!), I will post stories of my hospital encounters here. So keep an eye out, for those few who're still interested! </span></span></div>
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Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-67646546099210593842015-05-23T11:11:00.006-05:002015-05-25T08:35:34.402-05:00Man in the realm of nature<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">There’s a mallard duck that visits my backyard every summer. It never ceases to amaze me - the fortitude with which she sits for 28 straight days, come rain or snow, until a batch of chicks arrive. And then she goes marching off to the lake with her parade. And each time, I am left feeling helpless at her plight - for each time she gets stuck, trying to maneuver her way out of the fenced yard, even though she has been doing this for a while. And each time I am left wondering at the evolution and origins of man. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We started pretty small too, didn't we? What is amazing is the fierce rapidity of brain size growth within a very short span of time. We started with simple tools made of stone, and we are now in the 21st century, in total and complete control of the universe that stretches ahead and around us. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I have always marveled at man’s ability to stay on top in the realm of nature. So, when I walked up to the rim of the grand canyon and saw this sight for myself, <b>at first sight, </b>never was I more certain of the power that man commands over nature, and the intensity with which he unleashes it around him. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But then again, never before have I been so uncertain either. <span style="font-size: 11px; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">In a fast paced world, where resources are being depleted by mankind at a rate never experienced before, this is as good a time as any other to stop and to think. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">How do we really fit in? Where is our place in the realm of nature?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">As long as mankind looks forward to a better life, there will never come a day when we decide we have done enough. We will always seek to improve. Research goes on and on endlessly, to make the world faster, better, and more efficient. It is this tenacity hardwired within the human psyche that pushes us in an inexorably upward trajectory. And the further it advances, the more humans expect from it - an endless vicious cycle of desires. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">So, as I stood on that rim, in search of the incredible, something caught my eye. An epiphany of sorts that engulfed me with such overpowering force that for a second, it took my breath away. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I believe that these two pictures together tell the complete story. While at first sight, man’s place in nature appears overwhelmingly unquestioned, the second one is in stark contrast. What I wanted to capture was not only the enormity of the landscape around me, but also man's place in it. How small, how inconspicuous mankind is; how majestic is nature! It does place mankind in its true perspective, doesn't it?</span></div>
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<b style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: left;">This post is a part of </b><a href="http://blog.blogadda.com/category/write-over-the-weekend-wow" style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #011a99; letter-spacing: 0px;"><b>Write Over the Weekend</b></span></a><b style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: left;">, an initiative for </b><a href="http://www.blogadda.com/" style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #011a99; letter-spacing: 0px;"><b>Indian Bloggers</b></span></a><b style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: left;"> by BlogAdda. </b></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b>And it won The Badge! :)</b></span></span></div>
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Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-75630234268266353782015-05-07T12:09:00.000-05:002015-05-07T12:23:33.570-05:00Back again :)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">To begin with, let me give you a status update that is long overdue. I bombed the MCAT but I still got in! Yes, I made it through! I’ll be starting medical school this August :) So, before I get back to the grind again, I’ve been traveling and trying to live out my dreams. I spent a good 2 months at India visiting family. I’m traveling within the U.S. over the next week. And then, I’ll be traveling to Europe for a month or so. It’s been great to finally have the time to breathe, to pause and take note of all that’s important to me. The last couple of years were a nightmare of sorts!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">And because I so crave attention all the time, I’m going to copy-paste an email that one of my interviewers sent me after the acceptance:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">“ Dear Ms. Roy,</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"Let me just say at the outset that this is the most motivated, most unique, most interesting, most qualified, and most delightful applicant that I have reviewed or interviewed in many, many years." These were my opening remarks following our interview and I am happy to see that the committee agreed with me. Congratulations and I hope you decide to join our class...I know you have much to contribute. Best of luck in all you do.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Da. Cu. M.D.”</span> </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11px; letter-spacing: 0px;">(I’m not including the entire name for privacy)</span></div>
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Interesting side note about the interview with this doctor: We discussed everything under the sun, - including: Shakespeare, WWII- asia pacific chapter, Rohington Mistry and ‘A Fine Balance’, Indira Gandhi (!), how children don’t get to write letters anymore, Henri Cartier Bresson, Indo-Pak relations, Ukraine-Russia etc etc. - in addition to a lot around ethical scenarios in medicine. His final question (which is apparently common in interviews but i had no clue!) was : "what do you want the epitaph on your grave to say about you?"</div>
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I might have seemed rattled as I mumbled something about me never being in a grave but if I did, it would say, "she walked the talk." And I couldn't stop having nightmares after this horrifying answer! But in the end, one silly answer didn't matter, I suppose :)</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The entire experience has been surreal. I came to know sometime last November of course - but the reality of it is only now sinking in. As I browse through student forums and find the applicants still struggling to get a foothold, most having been rejected this cycle, I cannot help being overcome by such gratitude as I have never felt before! This was a difficult journey. The uncertainty of it all was deeply overwhelming. But I made it. Oh thank God I made it!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But my success came at the cost of losing a lot of ‘friends’. I’ve never been good at making friends. It doesn't come easy to me. I’m not the most ‘likeable’ person. Never have been. So, whatever bridges that I did manage to build in the years that I have been here, now seem to be under water! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There were some who would regularly call/meet with me every week to find out the results of my interviews. And finally when I got through, they all vanished! Just like that, all gone! Were they rooting for me to fail? Why?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then there’s the other category of people who have gone out of their way to ‘celebrate’ my success. And at each such gathering, have made it a point to ask me how many interviews I got because anything less than 5 screams mediocrity (?!!); they tell me how they know of people who have made it through Harvard and the top med schools; how Minnesota wasn't in the elite league at all! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And finally, there’s the third category of people who congratulate me and then go on a rant about how the medical profession is littered with corrupt practices, how I shall never be accepted by the ‘white’ fraternity, and how terribly wrong this decision was! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It astounds me - not one person genuinely happy or proud of me. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Except for the people who matter to me, of course. But they don't count, do they? :) I already know how they feel. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I know I shouldn't bother with the random population of the world, the herd of mediocres and how they feel about it. But sadly enough, as always, I do..Anyhow, as I have been grappling with this, I have come to the realization that it is not ‘them’; it’s me. It has always been me. I have been so insecure about my relationships, that somehow or the other, and mostly inadvertently, I end up butchering them. Either in the way I talk or behave. Something about me puts people off. I have, of late, been thinking seriously about it. And I realize there’s something so black inside of my heart. I want to turn it inside-out and wash the mud off. And even as I do, it starts building up again. So much bitterness inside of me. How will I ever be cleansed?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Anyhow, let me end on a better note by attaching some pictures from the India trip. They make me smile. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">So long! I’ll be back soon!</span></div>
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Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-25235885779728768072014-06-23T12:28:00.001-05:002014-09-16T12:16:55.245-05:00Pieces of me..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">One more week before D-Day. It’s astounding, how the outcomes of a 5 hour test determines what I will or will not be doing for the rest of my life! It is frustrating at so many levels, I have lost count now. It’s one thing competing with millions at a national level when one is a starry eyed 18 year old. But I am way past that age, am I not? Over time, the rosy idealism of the 18 year old has slowly given way to real-world considerations. And fear of the unknown now prevails. All pervading. Nauseas. Because you truly understand what’s at stake here. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Anyhow, with the G away for 2 weeks, it was getting lonesome. So I took off with my camera last evening. And I figured I’d post a few pictures of what I saw. I guess the beauty of these pictures lie, not in technique, but simply the fact that they were all taken at home (except the railway tracks - 1 block from home). That’s what I love about the camera. It takes seemingly mundane objects and transforms them into something magical.. Not to sound narcissistic or anything :):) but I do hope you love them as much as I do :) Enjoy! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Note: These were taken as part of a class assignment. We had to take pictures of everything that we saw, things that define us etc. There are many more. But I'm just posting some of my favorites ones here. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This one's special. The red and gold jewelry signifies my 'Indian-ness' and the fact that I am married. Plus, these earrings are from my grand mother's wedding (passed on to me)..</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One block away from home. I love this picture. It reminds me of the long journey ahead. </td></tr>
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Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-61865741781873363372014-06-10T18:51:00.000-05:002014-06-10T18:57:31.483-05:00Dreams....and then some! <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As I begin to write today, I cannot help wondering who all will be reading this post. I have allowed my space here in the blog world to be so completely obliterated, and I have no one to blame but myself. I would have said that I missed being here. But the only reason I can miss being here is because I chose, every day, not to be here, right? So, I’m not complaining. But really, if there’s anyone still around, I have to say that it has been one hell of a long, uphill climb since I was last here. So let’s begin at the very beginning.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Back in 2011, when I last wrote, I was in the process of getting a masters degree in healthcare administration and hating every moment of it. Thereafter, I joined a hospital here in the Twin Cities as an Administrative Fellow, in the quality assurance and clinical effectiveness department. This was a much coveted position and I was happy to join. But then…ah! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I had to leave. It was killing me, the mediocrity. It was becoming too miserable for godforsaken reasons. I quit a very well paying job with nothing lined up but the hope that someday I’ll come through again.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Oh I could continue this way; come in day after day, work like crazy, be driven by fear not passion, and go back home unhappy (having a weird boss didn't help much!). And I could kid myself into believing that I am doing a fantastic job; that the results I produce are outstanding; that I am creating value in spite of never being appreciated for it. And I could continue doing this day after day after day without giving a rat’s ass, just to be able to collect my pay check at the end of the week. But that’s not who I am. That is just not who I am. I left because I refused to treat myself this way; I left because I deserve better.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But I was scared. Oh I was so scared. To become a dependent again.. To not know what’s in store. But I am grateful for the support that I have. Without it, I would be lost.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">You know, for years I have been wandering around, trying to figure out what is it that I really want. And yet again as I shake free from the ties that hold me down, I cannot help thinking that it’s about time I found some that simply bind and not gag…</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> You see, starting afresh is not easy. It means an uphill climb from the bottom of the hill. I am no longer eligible to apply for a clinical residency, due to the time gap. So, if I want to practice medicine here in the U.S., I will have to go through the entire process again. In other words, <i>repeat med school once again!</i> </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Some people laughed in disbelief. Some thought I had gone crazy (with grief, at not having children!). Most, however, thought it was a very brave thing to do! To them, I say - there’s a very fine line between being foolhardy and being brave. This is neither. I hope this is neither (we'll find out soon enough!). This is simply being true to oneself. This is simply being able to follow my dreams. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The G and some close friends have cautioned me about the uphill climb ahead. To quote a very dear friend (from his email):</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>“One word though, following dreams is indeed important, but be sure not to get blinded by your projection of the self. Visions of the self are usually distorted, dramatic and then they can be destructive. Growing up is to learn the balance between (i) privilege:following your dreams and (ii) doing what needs to be done even though there is no pleasure in it. These two things are hardly ever the same. All the best for this new endeavor, follow your dreams, do what needs to be done, have a perception of what is more important than others, <span style="background-color: #fff2cc;">keep the self and the drama in check, and i am not speaking to you if you still smoke.”</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">:) :) ;) ;)</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I realize that there is no fear in ascent. The only real fear lies in remaining where you are. So, here I am today. After 2 years of </span>quitting<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> my job and working like a dog, I am proud to say that I just submitted my application to med school. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11px;">More on the journey thus far in later posts. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"</span><span style="color: #666666; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It’s time to trust my instincts, close my eyes, and leap!</span><span style="color: black; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br />
</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I'm through accepting limits ''cause someone says they're so..<br />
Some things I cannot change; But till I try, I'll never know!<br />
It's time to try Defying gravity<br />
I think I'll try Defying gravity<br />
And you wont bring me down!”</span></div>
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Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-31573397820903643382011-08-07T10:51:00.007-05:002011-08-07T11:04:20.869-05:00The ties that bind....and gag!<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">It is the hour of the day I most look forward to. Here I stand, behind an old, discarded building that is nearly falling apart, amidst 3 women I know just from those 5 shared minutes each day. They are strangers to me, these women. And yet I know the pattern so clearly. Four of us, each lost in our own thoughts, sharing a coveted moment of peace; a drag or two of a cigarette, undiscovered, undisturbed by the world. Four women, partners in crime, stand here amidst the debris and the muddy snow, sharing a false sense of peace, a moment of respite, without which the day snails along. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">One is a middle aged woman, about 50 I`d guess, always dressed in a pair of maroon corduroys and a pink fleece jacket. I see her in the university cafeteria often, picking up after the students. The other is a woman in her 40s, dressed in a pair of janitor scrubs and a flashy rainbow colored jacket. She wears glasses too. I see her every day in the hospital corridors. The third woman is a healthcare executive, in her 30s, always formally dressed. I counted up to 13 different pairs of shoes and then lost count. And interest too. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">I share a nod with them. Often times a smile. And sometimes if I`m feeling chatty enough, a four-word conversation too. But I think about them often. Who are these women? Are they like me? Who do they go back home to? What keeps them awake at night? Have they lost a dear one like I have? Do they grapple with those invisible threads of peace that come within grasp once in a while and then as quickly slither away? What makes them smile? What makes them tick? </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">It`s strange, how often I come across them in the corridors, in the elevator, in the cafeteria..everywhere you know, going about their daily work. And yet, there are no knowing glances that reek of familiarity. But here.. here it is different. Here, standing amidst the building remains and the slush, we are no strangers here. A momentary truth of a connection..that`s all. No knowing smiles, nor expectations that weigh down on you. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>No judgments passed. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Sometimes the magic goes away if you look at the pieces too closely. And perhaps, I`m better off by simply letting it go at that. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Much has changed since the last time I wrote.. Just as it should, I suppose. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">A year since I started going to the U and a year left to go. Life, however, continues to drift. Not as smoothly as I would expect, but drifting along all the same. I met new people, saw new places, and learnt new things about myself. Some that I was aware of as small underlying ripples beneath the surface and some that completely took me by surprise. Like how I absolutely love doing geeky stuff! The painful awareness that this may be one of the very, very few things I might have in common with The G. That even though I might sometimes feel embarrassed by fellow ‘desis’ by the overtly flamboyant moves,<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I have no patience, nor any level of understanding of people who are embarrassed about being ‘Indian’. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">That there was a time in my life when I craved for company..some human touch; when solitude made me uncomfortable. And the realization that those times have changed. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>That now I long to be alone. I long to get away from people who judge me for not being ‘normal’. I long to understand what ‘being normal’ really means.. I can go for days without talking to people; without the weight of emails that need responses and phone calls that need returns. I long to be myself and not who others think I should be. And I wonder if friendship is overrated. And why being ‘social’ is touted as a virtue. And wanting to remain a loner is value-judged..</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">This perhaps is not the most appropriate of posts on ‘Friendship Day’, I realize.. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Just that of late I have been feeling pretty unsettled and I needed to get the thoughts out of my system. However, to the very few ‘friends’ that I have remaining, who understand my need for some breathing room, and who would be reading this post even if no one else in the world does, I’d like to add that I love you and that I would not have made it through without you. Here`s to you and here`s to our friendship..<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><o:p> </o:p></p><p></p>Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-16403310873482682462010-08-13T14:13:00.005-05:002013-04-10T15:59:17.943-05:00Let there be Peace..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>Note: Thank you to everyone who sent in emails and comments. It means a lot to me. However, I have decided not to hold any discussions on this post. I hope you understand. </i></div>
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Not sure anyone visits me anymore. I haven't given anybody a reason to, I suppose. But today I feel this overwhelming urge to write only for myself. Nothing makes much sense to me anymore. Life as I know it, is so unpredictable. We are nothing but marionettes in the hands of The Almighty or Whoever is up there. May be there isn't anybody. Maybe it`s just our destiny. And that`s why all prayers go unheeded almost always.</div>
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I prayed every single day for IHM`s daughter. I don't know why, but I did. May be it was the vision of a mother sitting by a loved one near a hospital bed and praying for mercy. May be it was this vision that reminded me of my own mother and what she is going through. Whatever the reason, I prayed for her religiously, without fail. And today as I read IHM`s post, I am stunned beyond words. I sit here crying, helpless and scared - as I realize that prayers don't have the power to protect. Mine never do. </div>
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Death to me is baffling. The uncertainty of it all is scary. But what is even scarier is the absolute certainty. I still go around touching familiar photographs and memorabilia from the past, listening to familiar songs. Sometimes I fiddle around with a discarded fishing rod and sometimes with a decaying spool tape. And I smile at the memory of a 10 year old, skipping alongside her Dad on a warm summer afternoon, excited about her very first fishing trip. Have I mentioned that part of my Dad before? And I think of telling my Dad about the new pond I discovered in the woods just around our house. And the song I just picked up on the guitar. And that is when it punches me so hard in the gut that I crumble up on the floor. Unable to breathe. Unable to move in. Or move on. Yes, Death can be very baffling. One would think it is easy to think of happy memories about the person who means the most in the world and smile. But what does one really know..</div>
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Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-38156900294877651852010-07-07T09:36:00.007-05:002010-07-07T10:02:28.570-05:00Wordless Wednesday - 8<div><div>People, my very first attempt at shooting fireworks! Of course, there are several faults in the pictures and it would have been better with a nice, well lit back drop. But on the whole, I have to admit I`m very proud of these pictures! Over the last few months, I have spent hours reading up about various technical details and camera accessories as well as studying the pictures taken by professionals. And the hard work paid off, I guess :):) Here`s a collage of a few from my maiden attempt! Do click on it for a better view.</div></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TDSWcMolxPI/AAAAAAAAD4E/0lSVhS6rF_4/s1600/2010-07-04+fireworks+4th+july+2010.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TDSWcMolxPI/AAAAAAAAD4E/0lSVhS6rF_4/s400/2010-07-04+fireworks+4th+july+2010.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491179256843453682" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;color:#005690;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, serif;color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; line-height: normal;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "><div style="text-align: center; ">"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; line-height: 17px; ">You have to love a nation that celebrates its independence every July 4, not with a parade of guns, tanks, and soldiers who file by the White House in a show of strength and muscle, but with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees, the potato salad gets iffy, the flies die from happiness and the sky explodes in fireworks. You may think you have overeaten, but it is patriotism."</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px; "><em style="color: rgb(0, 86, 144); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Erma Bombeck</span></span></em></span></span></u></div><div><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px; "><em style="color: rgb(0, 86, 144); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></em></span></span></u></div></span></span></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#005690;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#005690;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I do! :)</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></i></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px; "><em style="color: rgb(0, 86, 144); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></em></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px; "><em style="color: rgb(0, 86, 144); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Happy Independence Day, America! :)</span></span></em></span></div></div>Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-32752186047766133092010-07-02T13:01:00.003-05:002010-07-03T13:13:41.479-05:00Sinner or Sinned against???<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;">Disclaimer: </span></b><span style=" font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;">Thought for the day<b> - </b>I am NOT a gender stereotype (read a 'regular' female!), as many 'expect' me to be! Does that make me a sinner? Or simply 'the Sinned against' (given the multitude of unfair expectations of many) ??</span><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/writerzblock.wordpress.com/"><span style="color:blue;">Pal</span></a></span><span style=" font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;">, <b><a href="http://www.blogger.com/thesongoflife.wordpress.com/"><span style="font-weight:normal;color:blue;">Swaram</span></a></b> and <b><a href="http://umsreflections.wordpress.com/"><span style="font-weight: normal;color:blue;">UmaS</span></a></b> (unofficially!) tagged me to do this post on 'Sins on Gender stereotypes!" started by<b><a href="http://indianhomemaker.wordpress.com/"><span style=" font-weight:normal;color:blue;"> IHM </span></a></b>(trust her to come up with something as interesting as this!)</span><b><span style=" font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;">To</span><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:#333333;"> list at least ten things you have ever wanted to do or done which your gender is not 'supposed' to.</span><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:#333333;">I thought this was a splendid way to break the mental block I was going through in terms of writing. And so here`s my list. I know this is a long, long read and so if you want to skip ahead, just read the footnote! :)</span><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;">1. I whistle tunes perfectly.</span><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;">2. I own more books and music cds than clothes and shoes. In fact I hardly go shopping for clothes, jewelery, shoes, make up.</span><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;">3. I dont wear make up. Never have. No lipstick. No nail paint. No mascara or what have you! Not even a lip gloss.</span><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;">4. I have never owned a stiletto, nor do I wish to.</span><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;">5. I tune my own guitar without a tuner (not sure if this qualifies! Somehow I thought this was a pretty cool thing to be able to do!) :):)</span><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;">6. I can climb trees or pipes on a building. I once climbed three stories up a water pipe, only to have my mom frantically shout at the caretaker of the building to pull me down. He was scared to climb up in the first place! So after much cajoling, I made my way down, only to be yanked up again by my mom (this time up the staircase!).</span><b><span style=" font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;">7. I love motor bikes. The best times I`ve had are the ones on my bike, riding out into the horizon on a warm summer evening all by myself. I miss those times. I miss them desperately. And right now, I`m saving to buy a Harley.</span><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;">8. I detest doing house hold chores. The G does it all! :) He actually does! :)</span><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;">9. I can spend hours in front of the t.v, watching sports. I spent a major part of the year watching NBA religiously. Now it`s the FIFA of course (I still cant believe Brazil just got kicked out!) And after this, I`m waiting eagerly for the National Football League season to begin. I`m a hard core <b><a href="http://www.vikings.com/"><span style="font-weight:normal;color:blue;">Vikings</span></a></b> fan (more so with Brett Favre in the team now!). For the uninitiated, he`s the quarterback in the National Football League for the Minnesota Vikings.</span><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;">I am also addicted to watching the news all the time! </span><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><i><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;">Which explains why The G and I never fight over the tv remote :)</span></i><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;">10. I can pitch up a tent, make a fire and sit around all night singing. There was a time when I could do all of this alone. Not anymore though.</span><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;">And now for the best part :) I, hereby tag:</span><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/02585808654856582998"><span style="font-weight:normal;color:blue;">Newmumontheblock</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/mysticmargarita.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-weight:normal;color:blue;">Mystic Margarita</span></a></span></b><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/ramblingsbybones.wordpress.com/"><span style="font-weight:normal;color:blue;">Sraboney</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;"><a href="http://minisblog.blogspot.com/"><span style=" font-weight:normal;color:blue;">MRC</span></a></span></b><b><span style=" font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;"><a href="http://www.dialoguewithyou.org/"><span style=" font-weight:normal;color:blue;">Chatterbox</span></a></span></b><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;"><a href="http://shonawrites.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-weight:normal;color:blue;">Shilpa</span></a></span></b><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;"><span style="font-weight:normal;color:blue;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/endowed-with-metis.blogspot.com/">Sagarika</a></span></span></b><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;"><a href="http://taraebby.blogspot.com/">Tara</a></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;">Is there anyone who`s not been tagged yet? Please feel free to take it up! :)</span><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;">Footnote:</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><i><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;">There are several other things I have done (and still do..) which are totally 'unfeminine'. But I do not want to mention them on a public forum and scandalize unsuspecting readers (read spying relatives and 'friends'!) into a state of shock! And so here is where I stop! But even </span></i><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><i><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:black;">as I write this post, I realize that I have changed. I have changed so much and I`m not even sure if all of it was for the better. Over the years, there has been a mold I was cast into. I was the son my parents never had. Independent. Opinionated. And mostly free. I biked to the neighborhood corner store to fetch eggs or bread for Mom. I took tattered shoes to the cobbler`s for repair. I wore my hair very short and played cricket with the neighborhood kids. I bullied them into submission and led them to discarded wells (to throw in buckets and see the water splash) or dilapidated, crumbly houses to search for a witch(?!!). I seriously did that! And while I was busy doing all of this, life passed me by. I went on to join a medical school and then the army. And there was no looking back. Not until I met The G. And over the years of our togetherness, he has managed to unfold that part of me I never even knew, existed! There was a time when I was content to survive (and make him too!) on subway foot-longers and maggie noodles. Now, I take pride in preparing elaborate meals for him occasionally. Last year (on our vacation to Clearwater,Florida), I booked us a 3 hour long cruise into the Atlantic, where there would be a candle light dinner for two and some dancing into the night. And I even went so far as to buy myself a beautiful black dress :) Definitely a first timer for me! :) I`ve started keeping monthly appointments at the salon to do up my hair! I religiously wear the mandatory 'sindoor, shnakha pola' a married woman is supposed to wear back in my state of West Bengal and I do it because I like doing it! I`ve even started giving up on the bigger bite or saving the last bit for The G! And even though I still detest the color pink, I still dont do household chores, I still nurture the dream of owning a Harley someday and I go by my maiden name (and forever shall); He has managed to smoothen out the rough edges and turn me into the woman I was forever destined to be.. :)</span></i><b><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-Times New Roman";font-family:";font-size:12.0pt;color:blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-78898138469147747912010-06-30T10:04:00.002-05:002010-06-30T11:11:59.059-05:00Wordless Wednesday - 7<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TCtdSN7MnII/AAAAAAAADiA/EbZP-emZ4m8/s1600/602-3.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TCtdSN7MnII/AAAAAAAADiA/EbZP-emZ4m8/s400/602-3.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488583138438061186" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "></span></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TCtdSN7MnII/AAAAAAAADiA/EbZP-emZ4m8/s1600/602-3.JPG"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; ">The answer my friend, is blowing in the wind.</span></a><div>The answer is blowing in the wind..</div><div><br /></div><div>People, I wonder if anyone`s noticed. I havent written a single decent post in a long time. Yes, I have been caught up in the run of things, some I never thought was possible. But that has nothing to do with my silence. I sit religiously everyday with the blogger page opened. I type, read back and delete. Bear with me until I find my voice back again. Until then, I will stick to these picture posts. And I hope you will enjoy them as much as I enjoy doing them! :)</div>Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-17382427650872725152010-06-23T10:28:00.005-05:002010-06-30T11:11:59.060-05:00Wordless Wednesday - 6<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TCIoSYBvJKI/AAAAAAAADdo/4mY2dRoJfOw/s1600/rintu+our+house++chotu+in+puddles-1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TCIoSYBvJKI/AAAAAAAADdo/4mY2dRoJfOw/s400/rintu+our+house++chotu+in+puddles-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485991592243176610" /></a>Little things. Magic things... <div>( My three year old nephew! <i>A 'MUST-CLICK-FOR-ENLARGED-VIEW', THIS ONE!!</i>)</div>Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-39151818326928702062010-06-16T10:18:00.001-05:002010-06-30T11:11:59.061-05:00Wordless Wednesday - 5 (Tulips at home!)<div>From this..</div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TBjqOpzPXNI/AAAAAAAADHs/Oou3TRHSOR4/s1600/025.JPG"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TBjqOpzPXNI/AAAAAAAADHs/Oou3TRHSOR4/s400/025.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483390083783417042" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px; " /></a><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TBjqOpzPXNI/AAAAAAAADHs/Oou3TRHSOR4/s1600/025.JPG"></a><div style="text-align: center; "><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TBej1xqOl2I/AAAAAAAADA4/J0f3o-z8JY8/s1600/spring+from+a+window(Mia)+2010-04-06.jpg"><br /></a></div>To This...!!<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TBejw4iBhlI/AAAAAAAADAw/rwC2iau712Q/s1600/TULIPS+AT+HOME+2010-05-151.jpg"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TBejw4iBhlI/AAAAAAAADAw/rwC2iau712Q/s400/TULIPS+AT+HOME+2010-05-151.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483031131551008338" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px; " /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center; ">A Journey called Life...</div></div></div><div><br /></div>Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-86959218570365673092010-06-14T12:06:00.016-05:002010-06-14T16:24:11.692-05:00Those were the days, my friend..Life, they say, is a strange place. Shuffling along, alone and a little weary, I came to a crossroad and there he was, walking towards me one August afternoon. Time stood still just for a moment as I found myself hurtling down an endless tunnel. And I knew that very instant that the falling would be slow, dark and abiding.<div> S was our neighbor`s son, all of 22, who was visiting home for summer and who would soon be my Maths tutor. He happened when I was all of 15, had braces on my teeth and sparkling dreams in my eyes. High school board exams were around the corner and Ma decided she seriously had enough with my poor grades. Much to her relief, S`s mom came to her rescue.</div><div>"Of course he can help her," she squeaked with obvious pride, " He`s in engineering school now. What`s high school level Maths for him!" I protested animatedly just to throw Ma off track, all the while reveling in the warmth of the distant possibilities my mind had already conjured up.</div><div> Fast forward to the first lesson that was to begin in 10 minutes and I was already there in the community room of our apartment complex in eager anticipation. Wonder of wonders, so was he! For a while, not knowing what to do, I sat there absentmindedly shredding a tissue into flakes that settled on my black school bag. Soon it was time to begin. I hurriedly shoved my bag aside and tried hard to focus on the Maths textbook, all the time trying to avert my eyes as I sat across him in that room. The rest of the afternoon is a big blur. All that I remember from that afternoon is the way his lips curled at the corners as he spoke. And how startled I was at how tall he seemed from such close quarters. That, and how from certain angles and in certain lights, he resembled his crazy mother! But I brushed those thoughts aside.</div><div>" You did great!" he said finally.</div><div> I flashed him what I hoped was an alluring smile.</div><div>"I`ll see you on Tuesday. 4 o clock."</div><div>"You will?" I grunted, taken aback by my own display of immense dimwittedness.. </div><div>"Hmm..well, see you around then." And he was gone. A wave of relief washed over me as I saw him quickly disappear. It was slowly getting difficult to breathe.</div><div> And so it went on. Glorious days of waiting for those Maths lessons. And two hours into them, two long hours in which I flitted from one textbook to the next, my attempts at cheery banter so edgy and stiff that at moments I felt almost foolish. There were days when we sipped on chilled cola drinks in plastic cups and let the conversation drift to topics outside our permitted domain. Graduate school life. His friends and mine. Family ties and how he was grappling with the expectations thrust upon him by demanding parents. And as we spoke, I watched his eyes glued to the skin of my hands in a long, fixed stare and I remember quickly moving my eyes to the bubbles of the drink rushing madly to the rim of the plastic cup. Oh I was in love. I was so in love! Now is the time I should speak up,I remember thinking. Instead, I found myself staring at an invisible screen separating us, the kind that glided smoothly into place whenever I approached anything intimate. </div><div> I reckoned I was going through a second childhood or maybe catching up on all the youthful rebellion in the name of love(!!) that I never had, given that mine was an all girls` school. I gave it some thought before I realized that it was true. I was showing all the classic symptoms. I put unnatural colors in my hair (much to Ma`s consternation!). I spent hours in the bathroom getting dressed! I was going out a lot in the hope of catching a much coveted glance and coming back late, reeking of forbidden desires. I had ever-growing phases in the day when I forgot that the high school board exams were near. I danced longer and wilder than anyone else in the community dinner hosted by all the residents of our apartment complex, until Ma dragged me away with firm arms and a steely look that threatened to tear me apart, while all others quickly moved aside, appalled. Yes, I was in love.</div><div> "This cant go on much longer," he said to me one day and I almost dropped the biscuit I was chewing on. I calmly dusted off the biscuit, soaked it in the tea cup and watched half of it dissolve to the bottom in lumps. I pretended this had been my plan all along and sipped the tea (which now had biscuit scum floating on the surface) with as dignified a look as I could muster. Then I coughed loudly for about 10 seconds and only then did I say, "Pardon?" He let it go and we chatted about the dinner he was attending that weekend with some old friends. I bit my lip so hard that I may have left a scar, but I did not ask for further clarification. I wanted it that way. That was where I wanted to be, pregnant with possibilities, full of hope. Nothing was defined between us. Nothing was overstated. By some tacit understanding, we were just the two of us and I felt safe that way. </div><div> Up until then, that room with its grimy blinds, worn out leather chairs and chipped off wall paint was the most perfect place to be. Every time I walked into it and shut the door behind me, I imagined that all around me the hands on the clocks stopped, the sand in hourglasses halted mid-trickle, the universe skidded to a halt - a frozen world outside and in here, the two of us. Every day I knew there was one less day of us together. Once the tests were over, there would be no reason for me to come here again. The waiting would be over. A new life awaited.</div><div>But God, I was besotted. </div><div> Even now when I get a flashback to those days, I smell the familiar smell of those blinds and the leather chairs and I`m back there, 15 again, stupid, skinny and in love. My spine springs up, I feel layers of dimpled flesh peel off my being, my cheekbones come back alive and I find myself running down the road towards him, like there is no tomorrow. But there always is. There was.</div><div> Three years back when I was visiting home, happily married to The G and the past indiscretions all forgotten, I bumped into him again. As we exchanged pleasantries and polite introductions to our better halves, I smiled to myself. He looked more and more like his mother and as I shared a knowing smile with someone who had held my heart for a while, I couldn't help sending a quiet prayer of thanks to the Heavens up above. The old times were good times, I said. But Thank You God, for now is so much better. And then I turned back and walked away.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This is my entry for this week`s <a href="http://blog.blogadda.com/2010/06/09/first-crush-stories-blogs">Blog Adda Contest</a> in collaboration with <a href="http://www.pringoo.com/">Pringoo.</a></div><div><div style="width:113.5px;text-align:center;color:#000000;font-size:12px;background-color:#FFFFFF;padding:10px;margin:10px;border-style: solid;border-width: 1px 1px 1px 1px;border-color:#cccccc;"><a target="_blank" href="http://www.pringoo.com/custom-designs/did-12413/ppid-19"><img src="http://www.pringoo.com/resample?or=http://www.pringoo.com/image/user/5187889be6a693f74bdbe4bcb173acf4/designs/12413/16_f_1f5b4752dbba3fa60a8be1c822656501.png&w=113.5&h=113.5" border="0" height="80.5" width="113.5" alt="Within you I lose myself..." title="Within you I lose myself..." /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Myself</span><br />Within you I lose myself...</div></div>Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-30359694142853046102010-06-09T06:24:00.003-05:002010-06-30T11:11:59.062-05:00Wordless Wednesday - 4<div style="text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; ">Shamu, The Killer Whale performing at Sea World, San Diego!</span></i></b></div><div style="text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; ">(</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; ">please click on it for a better view</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; ">!)</span></i></b></div><div style="text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TA96Ddh_RLI/AAAAAAAACxo/BQvAgRrkCv4/s1600/2010-05-28+San+Diego++L.jpg"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TA96Ddh_RLI/AAAAAAAACxo/BQvAgRrkCv4/s400/2010-05-28+San+Diego++L.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><div style="text-align: center; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; "><b><i>He was Born Free..</i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><b><i><br /></i></b></div>Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-25522719226658814822010-06-04T16:36:00.009-05:002010-07-02T13:00:09.152-05:00The Good of Small things..<div><div>I have always been very excited about celebrating birthdays. Mostly my own. I love feeling special. I love the fact that one day of the year is just to celebrate me, my very being :) When I was a kid, I never really had big birthday parties with a theme and a designer cake and lots of friends over. Mine were mostly simple affairs, with Mom baking a simple cake and a lavish dinner, a few balloons and the neighborhood kids and cousins. But I always attended some of my classmates` birthday parties. Most were lavish affairs that I secretly wished I could host. And it was pretty mortifying, not be invited to someone`s party, especially when your best friend was! In the later years of school, I remember 'going out' for lunch with friends. Mom would give me money to pay the check and I remember feeling so important! But <i>nothing</i> could quell the secret longing for a swanky birthday bash(the kind I never had!). And so over the years as I grew up, celebrating birthdays became more and more of a child-like obsession (like the 8 year old ones I once had and never grew out of!)!<div>This year I had the perfect birthday. I woke up to a bright morning and a flood of emails and birthday messages! From friends, from people I was not in touch with, from people I`ve never met too! I cannot explain why this was so moving, but it was! And one of the high points of the day was a surprise card by <a href="http://endowed-with-metis.blogspot.com/">Sagarika</a>, which completely blew my mind off (in the nicest way possible!). I couldnt imagine doing the same - making special efforts for someone I hardly know, just to make the other person`s day a little brighter. I am so touched by this gesture and very, very humbled too! It brought back several fond memories.</div><div>My best friend since school always took special care to prepare birthday cards for me. She once gifted me an assorted collection of all our favorite songs(including our all time favorite '<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wTcHT4zpAGs&feature=related">That`s what friends are for</a>'! Check this out, J!), having made special efforts to look around for the songs and record them herself! I have cherished all those cards and much more over the years. </div><div>Which is what set me thinking. </div><div><span style="font-style:italic;">I dont remember a single thing I may have gifted or done, not a single gesture that someone might have cherished over the years. But then, I think about all the times when I`ve just been around, heard someone out, cried together, whined and complained or simply laughed together. And I wonder if that is ever enough.</span> I wonder, because <i>sometimes it isnt with me</i>. Sometimes I need to be pampered, made to be felt special just because. And I`m not talking of gifts that one can buy by <i>throwing money at them</i>. Expensive jewelery or clothes or perfumes or what have you! I`m not even talking of everyday things like waking up 10 minutes early to pack a fancy lunch for the kids (though there is something fascinating about the immense love hidden behind such diurnal monotony too). I`m simply talking of simple heartfelt gestures which show that you care and how! A thank you note. A hand-made card. Flowers. A surprise dessert date after dinner. An assorted collection of favorite songs. Surprise concert tickets. You know, <span style="font-style:italic;">little things like that, which touch a single chord and the notes resound forever..</span></div><div>I realize that I have truly never done anything like that for anybody! And so I step back, alarmed! Am I always taking and <i>never giving</i>? And more importantly, <span style="font-style:italic;">is the '<i>Art of Giving</i>' something that one has to cultivate or does it come naturally to people</span>(and sometimes not at all to others!)? Here`s the time to pause and think. Have you ever made an extra effort to show someone you care? Have you ever surprised anyone with a <b><i>thoughtful</i></b> gift??<br /><br /></div><div></div><div></div><div>And now for the cards I was talking about.</div><div>This one is by Sagarika : Album covers of The Gods(Pink Floyd!). I especially love the bday cake with my name on it!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TAmKO7vQbCI/AAAAAAAACjk/33l8Pyf_QFA/s1600/Happy+B%27day.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 269px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TAmKO7vQbCI/AAAAAAAACjk/33l8Pyf_QFA/s400/Happy+B%27day.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479062410831621154" /></a><br />And this one is a collection of old bday cards especially made for me! (This one`s for you, J!). Please click on the individual snippets in the collage for a better view.</div><div><table cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" border="0" bgcolor="#ffffff"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://www.smilebox.com/play/4d5463784d6a6b794d54593d0d0a&blogview=true&campaign=blog_playback_link" target="_blank"><img width="386" height="303" alt="Click to play this Smilebox collage: Piper`s Bday cards!" src="http://www.smilebox.com/snap/4d5463784d6a6b794d54593d0d0a.jpg" style="border: medium none ;" /></a></td></tr><tr><td><div></div></td></tr><tr><td align="center"><span style="font-weight:bold;">Sometimes, I see magic in little things.. Do you?<span style="font-style:italic;"></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div></div></div><div></div></div>Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-13423941680324585902010-06-02T09:04:00.006-05:002010-06-02T09:22:00.609-05:00Wordless Wednesday - 3<div>Winged Wonders.. (<i>Please click for a better view!)</i></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TAZolbDPITI/AAAAAAAACik/UySGtEOARdE/s1600/2010-06-2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TAZolbDPITI/AAAAAAAACik/UySGtEOARdE/s400/2010-06-2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478180988868567346" /></a>Spotted: Blue Damselflies!Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-32151862812263134052010-05-28T16:12:00.029-05:002010-06-01T11:57:08.247-05:00The persistence of Memory...(my own!)<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Back in the past when digital cameras were a dream, I owned a good old Kodak 500. The pictures were on negative photo films! I remember the excitement of planning out each picture carefully and the endless wait till the film was developed! I miss that part of my life sometimes.. Technology has made all of that antiquated now. And life a tad boring (if I may so add!). However, it is in this age of digital photography that I find myself fascinated by what a camera can do. It is amazing how one can transform a seemingly ordinary place or an object into something remarkable. And so I go, in search of the incredible - an alchemy of sorts - in my venture to touch the commonality of things and cast them into gold.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">According to the </span></span><a href="http://blog.blogadda.com/2010/05/26/travel-photos-contest-indian-bloggers-photographers"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">contest rules by blogadda</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, I need to put up only FIVE of my best travel pictures. Since it is near impossible to pick just five, I will dedicate this post to the </span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">five places which have had the most profound impact on me</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">. Each in its own different way. And I hope they touch a chord in you as they did in me.</span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Please click on the pictures for a better view</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">.</span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">1.</span></span><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> Bridges of Madison County</span></span></i></b></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TAE7JPvE-dI/AAAAAAAACQg/x01qcUOxDHw/s1600/522.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TAE7JPvE-dI/AAAAAAAACQg/x01qcUOxDHw/s400/522.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476723651888085458" /></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 18px; "><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">No. </span></span></span><span style="line-height: 18px; color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">This isn`t about the movie or the book. This is the story of</span></span></span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="line-height: 18px; color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><b><i><span style="line-height: 18px; color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">our</span></span></span></i></b></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="line-height: 18px; color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 18px; color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">visit to the covered bridges of Madison County. Yes, The G and I drove down 300 miles to Des Moines and from there, to the small village of Winterset,Iowa to create what will remain one of the most special memories we`ll ever have in our togetherness.Endless rambling pastures. Slow,sensual rhythm of the wind-mills,unmindful to the passage of time. Absolutely nothing for miles except grey overcast skies, the covered bridges and the two of us.</span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">We took to the road</span></span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> in search of something undefined, yet so clear.We went there looking for Francesca Johnson and everything that she stood for - the lonely existence of a suburban wife; the passions that stirred in her soul briefly and with such power; the everyday struggles of love, hope and loneliness here in the middle of no-where . We ended up finding ourselves. All over again..</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">2</span></span><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">. Lake Superior, Minnesota</span></span></i></b></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TAE7Dgxh6DI/AAAAAAAACQY/ChKXedBazqQ/s1600/Lake+superior.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TAE7Dgxh6DI/AAAAAAAACQY/ChKXedBazqQ/s400/Lake+superior.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476723553382557746" /></a></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 18px; "><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 18px; color:#333333;"><span class="apple-style-span"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Sometimes when I flip through old family albums, I see big sad eyes and a resistant smile of a 9 year old stare into the camera. Or clenched fists of a gawky 15 year old.Or drooping shoulders of a 20-something caught unawares. That`s who I was. And then I gingerly turn the pages of the album, the edges now yellowed over time. And I see bright, happy faces and a fiery smile lighting up the frame. No more clawing fists, bleeding lips and bruised souls. Pictures taken here in Minnesota, which I have grown to love as my new home. That is what Minnesota does to you. It makes you happy.</span></span></span></i></b></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 18px; "><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 18px; color:#333333;"><span class="apple-style-span"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The G and I have a wacky ritual - one amongst many - we drive up north every Christmas in a raging snow storm to usher in a new year. There is something intriguing about the white wilderness of the great lake. It is peaceful. It is untouched. And it does not freeze. This picture was taken along one such sugar-dusted, icy shoreline and it continues to remain a personal favorite.</span></span></span></i></b></span></span></span></span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">3.</span></span><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> Grasmere Village, Lake District, UK</span></span></i></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 18px; "><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: normal; "><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TAFPnropzPI/AAAAAAAACQ4/bwf96fWxzsU/s1600/750-1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TAFPnropzPI/AAAAAAAACQ4/bwf96fWxzsU/s400/750-1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476746165005962482" /></a></span></span></span></i></b><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The unspoilt English countryside. Just as I had imagined it would be. The pints of cider just taste better out here and the smiles seem more genuine. The Sun more guarded. The moors greener. The air more crisp. The sheep look up startled, while the ducks mock at tourists in wooden punts.</span></span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">An endless patchwork of fields and rambling hills with an occasional break for a tiny little wooden fence.Rustic footpaths and wooden bridges where you look over your shoulders every now and then, expecting to see a horse-drawn buggy. And you almost do. Rose bushes creeping up on the moss-covered stony walls in unexpected warmth. And bushy hedges fiercely guarding little cottages. Farmers still building wood and stone pasture walls by hand, years of history in each perfectly placed rounded rock. Here time runs a little slow and the pace is relaxed. It felt strangely liberating. Like I was free to breathe again.</span></span></span></span></span></i></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 18px; "><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">4. Poonch, J&K</span></span></i></b></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TAE64c8Vh4I/AAAAAAAACQI/bgmNCrxZ8YQ/s1600/14+JAT+PIC1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 248px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TAE64c8Vh4I/AAAAAAAACQI/bgmNCrxZ8YQ/s400/14+JAT+PIC1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476723363375581058" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Those three years I spent at Poonch, J&K, by far have had the deepest impact on my life so far. Not the Kashmir that most people know of, but life under the most primitive living conditions. Shell proofed bunkers. No running water. No electricity. Generators going off at 10 in the night. Writing letters in candle light and willing my adamant mind to play dead and fall asleep. Having to wait for hours before getting a call through to Mom Dad and barely managing to hold back tears and not choke up. Hating every moment of the dark sleepless night and yet feeling proud at having survived the day. A few lonely tears over the people I`ve lost every now and then, those who shall never return back home; and silent prayers for mercy. Locked up in my room and listening to my own voice for inspiration. Pushing my limits and knowing that I can move a step forward yet again. Looking back, those were jolly good times. Not something I`d like to repeat. But a profound experience all the same.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 14px; "><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">5. Disneyland, California</span></span></i></b></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TAE6y9iLn2I/AAAAAAAACQA/Pven7JQCPVQ/s1600/San+Diego++L.A+258.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 238px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TAE6y9iLn2I/AAAAAAAACQA/Pven7JQCPVQ/s400/San+Diego++L.A+258.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476723269045034850" /></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 18px; "><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 18px; color:#333333;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span style="color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span style="color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">By far, the most radiant picture of the lot. The trip to Disneyland</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> was a dream come true. Amidst all the colors and the dancing and the smiles, I felt a tear drop landing softly somewhere deep inside. We are all the same, I thought. We, who come from varied nations, across varied cultures and religions; We, who stand here in our togetherness, clapping and dancing to the same tunes and the same happy parade, </span></span><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">we are all the same</span></span></b></i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">. </span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">We breathe the same air, sleep under the same sky which carries the same old moon on the same silken thread. The same things make us happy - yes, all the hundreds of us who stand here celebrating a vibrant Disney parade in unison. And yet we will go our separate ways, back to our own circumscribed spaces and hide behind phony carapaces of religion, caste, skin color or nationality. We will no longer be the same crowd that stood together to enjoy a happy parade. Ironical, isn't it? We, who are all the same but for self-created barriers, seek to destroy that which we have helped create?</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 18px; "><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Do pictures really speak a thousand words? You tell me..</span></span></i></b></span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Sponsors: </span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TAFE2jN20rI/AAAAAAAACQo/GRGpwlKRGdE/s1600/pringoo.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 163px; height: 49px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TAFE2jN20rI/AAAAAAAACQo/GRGpwlKRGdE/s200/pringoo.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476734325816218290" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TAFF2Izam7I/AAAAAAAACQw/9Hu54-kP_jc/s1600/blogadda.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 84px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/TAFF2Izam7I/AAAAAAAACQw/9Hu54-kP_jc/s200/blogadda.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476735418237623218" /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"></span></div></span></div>Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-88099631461527933212010-05-26T19:17:00.003-05:002010-06-01T11:55:06.247-05:00Wordless Wednesday postponed!Am on travel, with no Internet or laptop! Can't type in a post either!! However,I'll be back day after. So wait on..!!Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-48725540146021939822010-05-19T13:52:00.001-05:002010-06-01T11:55:06.247-05:00Wordless Wednesday - 2<div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#003300;">Of Raindrops and green whispers..</span></i></b></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/S_Qznk8S8AI/AAAAAAAACBM/HHKi0ODpkko/s1600/Collages.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/S_Qznk8S8AI/AAAAAAAACBM/HHKi0ODpkko/s400/Collages.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473056202186485762" /></a><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#003300;"><br /></span></i></b><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#003300;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal;">Please click on the picture for a better view.</span></span><br /></i></b></span><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#003300;"><br /></span></i></b></div></div>Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-9540445611564151892010-05-18T14:26:00.021-05:002010-06-01T11:58:34.143-05:00Catharsis of Insoluble thoughts..I have a problem. I am a person who must have an opinion on everything. <div>That`s not the problem. The problem is that I feel the need to voice them.<div>There was a point in my life when I was proud of who I was. Proud of the fact that I could speak my mind loud and clear. I was honest and upright about things. Not any more. No, I havent stopped being candid. Just that I have stopped feeling proud of it. </div><div>People dont necessarily like candid people. I dont understand the dichotomy. People appreciate honest deeds but not honest words. And it leaves me confused. If I disagree with you and give you reasons for it, you dislike me. If I say the same thing under the guise of smiles and cotton fluffs and such like, I may stand a chance. Better still, if I acquiesce! People seek out audiences that reflect their own perceptions of themselves. They do not care if I actually believe in them and their ideologies. They simply want me to convince them that I do. They want complex and braided acts, all garnish and frills and words.</div><div>But I cannot give that to you, I say. I cannot be what you want me to be. I cannot live life in a reactive mode<i> for long</i>. Because after a while, something snaps and I find myself rebelling. A ball of fire slowly rises and bursts forth. So much so, that many who stand close, have to move aside so as not to get torn in the blast. Not worth it, I say. Definitely not worth it. And so I go about as I normally do; annoying the people who demand conformity and twisted acts in return for frivolous banter over home cooked dinner. I refuse to be 'politically correct'.</div><div>But then comes a time when I get scared. </div><div>Imagine being caged up with someone whose brains have been eaten away by disease. Imagine being unarmed, with nothing but your words and your thoughts. You scream at the creature to stop. You shout out reasons why it should not attack you. You see blazing eyes and a moving tongue that doesnt know when to stop. And you know that the thing cant see, nor hear you. It cannot be reached. Not in any way. Never through your words. And yet there it is, breathing and moving around in front of you with an agenda of its own. Now that is horror, I say. That is what scares me. That there are several such creatures hovering in and around.. And my words are not enough to make them stop. </div><div>The only conclusion I can draw therefore, is to simply keep quiet and ignore till I am harmed. To keep my words to myself. Because, for people who decided to leave their brains behind as they were growing up, my words wont make a difference anyway..</div><div><br /></div><div><div><i>"People want nothing but mirrors around them, to reflect while they are reflecting too. Like the senseless infinity you get from two mirrors facing each other along a narrow passage. Reflection of reflections. Echo of echoes. No beginning and no end. No center and no purpose. That is what people want."</i></div><div><i>Dominique Francon</i></div><div><i>The Fountainhead</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>*The example quoted is from The Fountainhead too*</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div></div></div>Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-76968516560311989522010-05-12T17:44:00.012-05:002010-06-01T11:58:34.144-05:00Wordless Wednesday - 1I confess - I didnt have the faintest clue about 'wordless Wednesday'. I thought it was something started by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/thesongoflife.wordpress.com/">Swaram</a>! But of late, I have noticed some spectacular pictures during random blog hopping and realized how beautiful a concept it is, to be able to speak to your readers through pictures. And so, without getting too 'wordy', let me begin a new trend on my blog too.<div><b><i>I promise that the subsequent wordless posts shall all truly be wordless!</i></b> :):)</div>For now, allow me to explain why I have chosen these pictures to be the first ones of the series.These two pictures are actually a patchwork of a few letters that Dad had written to me, when I was away at college. Each one of his letters have been a guiding light in my life. Some are even funny (like 'dont quarrel'(!!). I cannot accommodate them all. But here`s a glimpse of a few.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/S-s0TQpog6I/AAAAAAAABpA/HrooGQpVGQs/s1600/2010-05-11+Baba%60s+letters1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/S-s0TQpog6I/AAAAAAAABpA/HrooGQpVGQs/s400/2010-05-11+Baba%60s+letters1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470523677863347106" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/S-s0u-Lx73I/AAAAAAAABpI/ZWvZ36nDQ9I/s1600/2010-05-11+Baba%60s+letters+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HvoigH6INO4/S-s0u-Lx73I/AAAAAAAABpI/ZWvZ36nDQ9I/s400/2010-05-11+Baba%60s+letters+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470524153942634354" /></a><br />It has been a little over a year since Dad went away. And even though sometimes I still hurt so bad, I have been able to look at these letters and smile. And so, here I am, sharing my most precious possessions with you. Letters from my Dad.<br />As I mentioned earlier, all subsequent wordless posts will be just that - wordless! :):)<br />*In case you cant read the hand writing, I`ll be happy to oblige*Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-51093165976454398852010-04-21T21:50:00.000-05:002010-06-01T11:58:34.144-05:00Status Updates..The G is away and wont be back until the weekend. So I have been driving myself crazy, wondering how I will spend the nights. As sundown approaches, the fear is slowly beginning to border on paranoia. But for now I will think of happy things.There are several things on my mind, mostly unrelated and hence this is going to be a bullet post.<br />
<b>#1.</b> Strange, how subservient we become to human companionship. There was a time when I would go for days without talking to anyone and never even realize. I was happy. I was content. But marriage has impaired that part of me. I thought I was looking forward to some lone time by myself but really, it feels pretty dismal. And as the sun goes down, I`m beginning to feel a little tingle in my heart. I`m making mental notes..you know..lock the back door, keep the front lights on, close the kitchen window, pull down the shades of the den, remember to take the knife to bed etc etc. Last time when The G was away, I had decided to hole up in a motel. Some found it strange..even weird. But trust me, I was comfortable. But this time we are having The G`s friends over for 3 days during the weekend and I have tons of work to do. And moreover, at some point I have to grow up. So here I am, by myself. I guess I`ll be just fine.. hmm..<br />
<b>#2.</b> The D.C trip was great, the high point being a visit to the Holocaust Museum. It deserves an entire post and so I wont mention much - except that it was a very solemn, overwhelming experience. After a four-hours sojourn inside the museum, I sat there by myself at the Hall of Remembrance and heard an old woman recite the names of the victims one by one and saw the flame burning. And then I thought of all the hate and the alienation in today`s world and the gruesome aftermath of it all (be it the Middle East or Darfur or be it my own country), and I realized that <i>nothing has changed</i>. We have learnt nothing from History. I sat there for a moment to reflect. I said a silent prayer and called out their names, all those who disappeared and never came back. And I thought, I will still keep my faith and I will keep my flame burning. In spite of everything, Oh please let us all keep the flame burning..<br />
<b>#3</b>. Spring is here, People! And it is just so beautiful! The sky is so blue. The flowers are blooming. Bright colored children flock together under the April sun and I want to sing out aloud. One look at these pictures and you`ll know why.<br />
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<b>#4</b>. Simon & Garfunkel have a reunion Spring tour and they`ll be here in the Twin cities on the 8th of May! The G got us tickets for the concert. It was supposed to be a birthday surprise(4rth May, if anyone wants to wish!!), but I found out somehow! :):) I`m still so, so excited about it. Imagine! I grew up listening to these guys. I share so many fond memories. And now I will be listening to them live!! :):) Not only them, <b>Joan Baez<i></i></b> in July and tada!!(For Sagarika especially) <b>ROGER WATERS (The Wall Tour - and his last) </b>on Oct27th!! <b>Yes!! LIVE!!!! </b><br />
(For the uninitiated, Roger Waters is The God I worship. Of Pink Floyd fame)<br />
<b>#5. </b>Lastly, I wish to thank each one of you who sent in best wishes before the grad school interview. Looks like I made it through this time :):) I received an acceptance letter and I`ll be starting school this fall, after all :) Life suddenly seems to have taken a start!Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com44tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464521945252963402.post-47367898025650566472010-04-11T23:12:00.000-05:002010-08-13T14:22:40.251-05:0011 April, 2010 - Remembering Dad..It`s been one whole year since I lost my Dad.<br />
But sometimes it feels just like yesterday..<br />
April 11th, last year at this time, I was with Dad.<br />
I remember staring straight ahead at the cardiac monitor. Steady. Cold. Unflinching. I remember looking long and hard at Dad. And praying for the end to come..It didn't matter that I wouldn't see him anymore..death didn't scare me anymore. But the suffering did. As I watched the doctors in their last attempt at CPR, I sat tying my shoe laces, while my mother went around packing our things. There was no space for anything other than immense relief.Dad was at peace.We were finally going home.Pain didn't scare us anymore. The worst was over, I thought.<br />
Little did I know that I would be learning about pain soon enough. That it would forever lurk in ordinary things. In the lonely moon. Or the strum of a wooden guitar. In the laugh of a two year old. Or an old, discarded record player. Little did I know that the surreality of it all would come back in waves, to haunt me forever.Destiny whiplashing again and again, until I would be on my knees and begging. While other people my age learn to live their lives and not just exist, I learn how Destiny negotiates it terms and collects its dues. And I shall never forget. The smell of Destiny. Like the distant rain on a breeze. Elusive. Slippery. A harbinger of dark clouds and thunderstorms. And then some easy rain.<br />
Death is baffling. I roam around, touching familiar objects and photographs, listening to familiar songs and I smile.I think of picking up the phone to talk to Dad.And then I remember I cant do it anymore. And that is when it hits me. It hits me so bad, I want to crumble up and die. And then I think of Dad and all that he would want me to be. And I go about, making him proud. Like I always did.<br />
One hot afternoon a week ago, the doorbell rang. Standing outside our home in Ranchi was a rickshaw puller with a bouquet of white flowers in his hands. As Ma stood there in perplexed silence, he extended the flowers towards her and said," I know you have a prayer service for 'Sahab'(Dad) today. I came by to pay my respects. 'Sahab' gave me dignity. Today I respect myself and the job that I do because he always respected me."<br />
When Ma narrated this to me over the phone, suddenly it all became clear. <br />
The presence of that one rickshaw puller <i>who cared</i>, is far, far more worthwhile than the <i>coerced phone calls</i> or plastic presence of extended family who dont.But it doesn't matter to me anymore. I no longer feel bitter or angry. I have learnt to calibrate people and level my expectations accordingly. And sometimes not at all. In other words, I have grown up. And even though I`m still grappling to come to terms, I am trying. Trust me People, I am.<br />
- I joined a music club, because I had a compelling urge to be near people who shared the same passion, people who made beautiful music, just like Dad did. <br />
- I started guitar lessons.<br />
- I got a few stories published.<br />
- I made a couple of friends(and lost a potential one too!).<br />
- I worked hard towards joining grad school.<br />
- I worked hard on myself. I still do.<br />
When Dad left, I kept his wrist watch with me. Time stopped at 3:19pm that April afternoon. And I wore it on my wrist as a reminder of all that I have lost. Today as I celebrate Dad`s life and the hundreds of ways he touched mine and so many others`, I decided to wind up the watch. It will not bring back lost time, I know. But it will herald in brighter ones.<br />
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This will be my last post for a while, People. I will be flying to Washington D.C tomorrow.<br />
Any readers from D.C? I hear this is the busiest time of the year in terms of tourists. But all that I hope to cover in two days is the Holocaust museum. I`ll be back soon. But before I leave, I want to convey my heartfelt gratitude to all you people who have been there for me during the most traumatic times of my life. You have been my most loyal supporters, my well wishers. You have been there with a warm word or a hug or a smile, just when I thought I would die. And you have helped me stand up and dance once again. Thank You People. Thank you very much..<br />
So long! I`ll be back soon.Piper ..http://www.blogger.com/profile/02315500028808314079noreply@blogger.com24