Lavender Crocs

 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. 

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. 

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.

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. 

Let there be Peace..

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.

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.

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.

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..

Wordless Wednesday - 8

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.

"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."

Erma Bombeck

I do! :)

Happy Independence Day, America! :)

The persistence of Memory...(my own!)

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.

According to the contest rules by blogadda, 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 five places which have had the most profound impact on me. Each in its own different way. And I hope they touch a chord in you as they did in me.

Please click on the pictures for a better view.

1. Bridges of Madison County

No. This isn`t about the movie or the book. This is the story of our 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.We took to the road 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..

2. Lake Superior, Minnesota

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.

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.

3. Grasmere Village, Lake District, UK

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.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.

4. Poonch, J&K

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.

5. Disneyland, California

By far, the most radiant picture of the lot. The trip to Disneyland 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, we are all the same. 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?

Do pictures really speak a thousand words? You tell me..

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The thin ice..

Today afternoon, like most other afternoons, I walked into the coffee shop and saw my favorite table occupied. I almost always sit here because it has room for 6 people and I like to spread out my laptop, books, cell phone, iPod, coffee mug and what have you. Today there were two girls with colored hair(purple streaks, if I may add!) and layers of make-up instead of clothes (second generation Indian American undergrads(read wannabe) -I could tell from my previous experience).
* I normally never comment on appearances, but then again, I have my moments!*
I walked up and put my back-pack on a chair."Do you mind if I sit here?" I asked. They gave me the once-over. Exchanged looks(pbly because of the sindoor-shankha-pola).One of them thus spoke, "Err.. yes we do. We have someone joining us. If you want you can sit for 5 minutes," she cooed and then both of them burst of laughing (?!!).Allison,the girl at the counter, who was privy to the whole scene, insisted on buying me coffee to make up."Its on me," she said as she went around trying to find a seat for me. No one joined the two girls. They left after a while.
I am stunned. But more than that, I am terribly, terribly angry!
What is it with the Indians born and raised in the USA?
No really, what`s with all the cockiness huh?
What about my appearance was so lousy to warrant a filthy stance like that?
I am still fuming.
You can spot them from a mile - second generation Indian Americans(henceforth referred to as SGIA for convenience!), born and raised in the USA.
You can spot them by their outrageously inappropriate clothes(given a particular situation), their reckless attitudes, their strange loud ways and their stranger accents.Gross generalizations, I know( The G has a SGIA undergrad as a student, who is exceptionally brilliant and does excellent research!).But I am feeling mad enough to make an outrageous, sweeping statement like that! What is wrong with them?
The issue here, however, is not that simple. Far from it, in fact.
Yesterday, I was talking to a friend who`s doing research on second-generation Indian American children.She says that as a group, they are typically discriminated against in schools, by their peers. They are frequently referred to as 'Coconuts'(Brown on the outside, white on the inside(?!!). We all know that children can be ruthless that way. The incidence of such alienation, it seems, is alarmingly high! So the SGIA children, born and raised here, find themselves at war. They have to walk the thin line between 'Indian traditions'(their only reference being the occasional trips back home and the wisdom imparted by rigid/insistent parents) and unforgivably savage peers. They are literally at war. With themselves! Which can sometimes manifest in bizarre ways. The inner turmoil they must feel, sometimes get directed at the wrong people at the wrong times! And so, while I have had the good fortune of meeting warm, accepting Americans, my interactions with the Indian counterparts have been grim, at best.
I cant help feeling a little sorry. And I wonder if these children ever grow up to be healthy adults. At some point in life, do they grow up to be comfortable with their own identities as well as those of others? Or is this something that one cannot generalize at all?
Last night we went out for dinner with a bunch of friends. One was an Indian family with a two-year old daughter in tow. The wife is a good friend of mine. And every time I saw her pick up the child, talk to her and answer her myriad questions, I couldn't help but smile. Her was a woman who was content to stay at home and raise her child(as opposed to working, after graduating from a top engineering school in the USA). And what`s more - she is very happy. I cannot imagine the lil one growing up into the stereotype I just mentioned above. Same for my nephew,the little devil growing up here. I cannot imagine him turning into one of the children I just described!
When I was growing up, I didn't dare be disrespectful of anyone. I still remember my mother`s steely looks literally stabbing me to the core, when I made fun of a neighbor`s son who couldn't run as fast as I did. I will never forget the lecture she gave me that day.And then I also remember all those times when I was sassy,rude,impertinent to the point of being nasty - mostly when Ma wasn't around to drive home lessons with a brick bat! And I cant help wondering.
Does the growth of a child into a wholesome adult depend solely on the kind of parenting or are there serious social/environmental influences in the development chart? And if that be so, are the children back home in India really any different?

If you should go skating
On the thin ice of modern life
Dragging behind you the silent reproach
Of a million tear stained eyes
Don't be surprised, when a crack in the ice
Appears under your feet
You slip out of your depth and out of your mind
With your fear flowing out behind you
As you claw the thin ice
- Pink Floyd

Food for thought..

A question to all my blog buddies. You can answer anonymously, in case you`re uncomfortable. But do answer.

Has marriage killed the girl in you?
Are you more programed, more regulated in your thoughts and deeds?
Or are you simply calmer? Assuaged?
Are you still in love?
Or are you simply loving? Caring, fond and loyal..?

What does marriage do to you?

Announcements

There are two announcements here:

1. If anyone wants to write for Chicken Soup, please feel free to contact Raksha Bharadia at rakshabharadia@gmail.com

2. Here`s the recipe as promised.

And no, I`m not turning into a food blogger. This is just a stop-gap, for lack of interesting topics to blog about! So here goes!

Ingredients for the crust:
-2 cups chocolate cookie crumbs(just grind the cookies to a fine powder, in a grinder).
-2 tablespoons butter, melted
-1/4 cup packed brown sugar
-1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
For the filling:
- semi dark chocolate(I used Lindt 60% because that`s my favorite)
- 2 pounds cream cheese, softened( I used 4 8oz packs of Philadelphia cream cheese)
- 1 1/4 cups white sugar
- 1/3 cup heavy whipping cream
- 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
- 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
- 4 eggs
- 1 1/2 cups chocolate sandwich cookie crumbs
- 16 ounces sour cream(one pack roughly)
- 1/4 cup white sugar
- 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
For the topping:
- 1 cup heavy whipping cream
- 1 1/2 cups semisweet chocolate chips
- 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Directions
1. Combine 2 cups cookie crumbs, melted butter, brown sugar, and cinnamon in a medium bowl; firmly press mixture evenly onto bottom and 1 inch up sides of a 10-inch springform pan. Bake at 350 degrees F (175 degrees C) for 5 minutes; set aside.

# I used more than 2 cups because the thicker the crust, the more stable it is to handle the cake after it is done - or so I thought. It tastes good too.

2. In a large bowl, beat cream cheese until smooth. Gradually mix in 1 1/4 cups sugar, 1/3 cup whipping cream, flour, and 1 teaspoon vanilla. Beat in eggs, one at a time, beating after each addition.

3. Melt 8 ounces semisweet chocolate with 2 tablespoons whipping cream in a pan or bowl set over boiling water, stir until smooth. Add chocolate mixture to cream cheese mixture and blend well.

4. Pour 1/3 of batter into prepared pan. Top with chocolate chips thrown in evenly; pour in remaining batter.

5. Bake at 350 degrees F (175 degrees C) for 55 minutes. Remove cake from oven. Combine sour cream, 1/4 cup sugar, and 1 teaspoon vanilla; spread evenly on cheesecake. Continue baking for 7 minutes. Turn oven off and leave in oven 30 minutes. Remove cheesecake, and let cool completely on a wire rack.

# I used very little sour cream on top. You can infact skip it altogether. Especially if you use a 9inch pan instead of 10, you`ll not have enough space to pour the sour cream anyway.

6. Topping: Combine 1 cup whipping cream and chocolate chips in a saucepan; stir over low heat until chocolate melts, and then stir in 1 teaspoon vanilla. Pour mixture over cheesecake while still warm. Refrigerate until serving time. Should be at least 8 hours for refrigerator time, remove about 1/2 hour to 1 hour before serving, remove ring from springform pan, decorate to choice and get out your fork!

That`s the recipe, People. May be I should start a food blog after all! :)

Think Chocolate!

This isn't a regular post. That I shall do tomorrow. But I just wanted to share a couple of photographs with you guys.
The other day we had some guests over for dinner, to celebrate the beginning of this year`s spring break. And so I spent two whole days cooking up a feast. It all went great, I`m so relieved to say, what with the near hysterical planning and cooking that I did! But the clincher was the chocolate cheesecake I made from SCRATCH! Yes, no exaggerations really! So get your Oohs and Aahs out and check this out!

Tada!!




If anyone wants the recipe, I`ll be happy to oblidge! :)

Chimes of Freedom..

For the longest time, British filmmaker Zana Briski and Ross Kauffman tried to help several children born into the brothels of Sonagachi,just as several other NGOs did/do - placing children in group homes, enrolling them in schools, fighting byzantine bureaucracies, and parents(who saw their children as meal tickets) and helped them in their fight to survive. For a while, it made news. A Cinderella fairy tale wherein little girls(and boys) born into brothels are allowed a chance to get out of the muck and study in the USA; a chance to breathe free again.
What happened next?
Puja, now 18, ribbons in her well-oiled hair and grey ashes of burnt dreams smudged over her face, is back where she started. Her mother took her out of school.
Kochi, a quiet 17 year old now, got married to a pimp at 14, broke free and came to the USA, accepting Zana`s offer. She joined high school in Utah, opened a facebook account with over 500 friends, and decided to wrench the pain and transform in into something beautiful. Then she went back home again, back to where she started. Why, you ask? Because her grandmother passed away and her mother 'wanted her back to look after her', she said.
The only one who survived the cudgels of fate was a boy, now 20, who is a friend of mine now at New York and so shall remain unnamed.
"Didi," he says, "If Kochi was a boy, she wouldnt go back."
I dont know how much truth that statement carries, but I`m inclined to think there must be something to it really.

Quoting Nick Kristof:
"A girls’ education may be the single most cost-effective kind of aid work. It’s cheap, it opens minds, it gives girls new career opportunities and ways to generate cash, it leads them to have fewer children and invest more in those children, and it tends to bring women from the shadows into the formal economy and society."

A girl child`s education might not be a comprehensive panacea of course. But this is where we have to begin. Is this that difficult to understand really? Why then, is a girl child`s education not given its due importance?
I don’t need to go over the statistics,do I? In India alone, the numbers are unnerving. Despite a major improvement in literacy rates over the past decade, significant gender disparities in education persist. The national literacy rate of girls over 7 years of age is a staggering 33 - 50%(differing from state to state), as against 75% for boys. The self proclaimed moral custodians of our medieval society continue to propagate snow job theories under the garb of ancient traditions and culture. Impoverished parents actually believe that they are saving their honor as well as that of their daughters by marrying them off early (sometimes even at pre-menstrual ages). There is a clear preference for sons for continuation of clan and as bread earners.

I am not here to lecture you on glaring social issues. But it is necessary to point out the facts. So that someone, somewhere reading this might think of making a difference somehow.

For the last two months I have been obsessed with Anne Frank. I reread her diary 5 times. Absorbed every little bit written on the Holocaust ever!Watched all the movies I could on WW2. I tend to have these transient 'Anne Frank' phases often.
But what came as a startling revelation for the first time ever, is that there is an Anne Frank hidden in all the 'Kochis' and 'Pujas' of the world. We just dont care enough to see. Or understand. And even when we do, we rave and we rant. And then we do it some more. But in the end, we walk away, thanking our stars we werent born as one of them. Or simply brushing the thought under the bed so we never have to think of it again.
But hey, stop a moment, will you? It is important.
We are content to celebrate Womens' day today. Hold contests. Write blogs.
But is it helping any?
Now is when we should pause and recalibrate.
Am I doing my bit to make this a beautiful world? A free world?
Am I really?
Yes, as women we celebrate our independence today. But when will we be free?



"Tolling for the aching whose wounds cannot be nursed
For the countless confused, accused, misused, strung-out ones an' worse
An' for every hung-up person in the whole wide universe
An' we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing."
- Bob Dylan(Who else?!!)

Let there be Peace..

This post has been selected,People!! :):)
Disclaimer: One hell of a long post! Read at your own risk! :)

The G and I saw 'Firaaq'(Nandita Das`s debut in direction) the other day. Apparently a work of fiction claimed to be inspired from a thousand true stories, 'Firaaq' tells the story of gruesome man-slaughtering, in a bid to rattle the conscience of the viewers and make them realize the horrendous crimes that took place in Gujarat in 2002. Now I am no film critic and
I`m not here to review the movie either. The reason I write this is because somewhere deep within, the fanatic in me stirs and I feel this overwhelming urge to connect.
I confess - it disturbs me - the fact that I am a Hindu fascist at heart(albeit in subtle forms). I confess that when Gujrat was burning, somewhere deep down, I did(even if for a micro second) have the thought that this wouldnt be happening if those 58 HIndu passengers on board the Sabarmati Express in Godhra werent roasted alive.
Am I in any way justifying this horrendous mass genocide? No way! Never ever! Such atrocities can never ever be condoned.
But In spite of rational thoughts and reasons, the thought did cross my mind, didnt it?
That`s how it is.
When I went to college, one of my closest pals was a boy called Adil. We were inseparable for a while. I was so completely smitten; he was the smartest guy I`d ever been with. My letters home were full of Adil and Adil and then some more.
"Dont you have any decent bengali boys in your class? How about Saikat?" my Mumma asked. She thought I was going overboard.
And so I made the first conscious turn of my life. Adil soon became history.
When I joined the Army, my closest pal was a boy named Jafar. He was my junior. But he was the only person I could relate to. He shared my passion of Ayn Rand, Che Guevara and the Pink Floyd. When he dumped his girl-friend of 5 years, a little voice inside me just wouldnt shut up. Outrageous as it sounds, I attributed his infidelity to his religious beliefs! The fact that I was in a war-torn zone where religious antipathy was overt, didnt help me any!
And so it went, little voices inside my head, grappling with what I thought I had to believe in and reaffirming time and again that those beliefs are right; those beliefs are justified.
One cant deny it. This feeling of antipathy against the other religion is mutual; lurking underneath; a thread so fine that all so often we might not even see it clearly. But it exists all the same. But you would expect one to rationalize one`s thought during the course of growing up.
I did not.
I allowed the thoughts of the previous generation, thoughts of a medieval society, thoughts of a degenerating democracy to be stashed into my brain.
Today when I see such darkness at noon, I realize that it is me and other people like me who are responsible for it. The chalice is poisoned and overflowing and we have allowed ourselves to sip from it,a hemorrhaging democracy laced with religious fascism. Like unadulterated Arsenic.
We have to stop before we kill ourselves.

'Firaaq' wasnt the only thing to have caught up with me this new year. When I was back home, I got addicted to the reality series of 'Big Boss'. The interplay of human nature is fascinating. But what got to me the most was how one of the contestants, in a fit of rage against another finalist, threw away food into the swimming pool. Everything - bread, milk,eggs, flour, vegetables, sugar, even tea. I dont know if the punishment(of going hungry for a day and preparing a meal for 15 children) was fit enough or whether the guy had the slightest regret for what he did. BUt it stunned me.
Did you know that 16,000 children die of hunger each day? One child every five seconds!!
In a world where morality in all its forms is slowly dying,we hide behind brittle carapaces where humanity itself seems mottled. Where and how do we even begin to make a change?

This time around when I was home, I realized that we had opened a new bank account for Mom(where Dad`s pension would be credited)in the month of May. It was November and she still hadnt received the Debit card for that account. I went to the bank and asked the authorized person about it. He handed me an enormous register and asked me to surf through the names in serial order to look for my mom`s name. And so I started. Going through numbers one to seven hundred and twenty seven(which took about 45 minutes because I had to decipher the hand-writing!), until I found Mom`s name. And yet I wasnt given the debit card, because the office runner was out for lunch and wouldnt be back for the next hour or so(he had the keys to the cupboard, I was told!).For a change, I wasnt fuming. I had expected something like this. Which set me thinking. Are we simply getting used to sloppiness? Have we become so used to inefficiency that nothing hurts our sensibilities anymore?

Yesterday, we completed nine whole months without Dad. Sometimes I wake up with a strange ache, longing to hear his voice just one more time. Oh! it`s been so long.. And sometimes it seems like yesterday; the pain still so raw, so fresh.
But I guess we`ll be fine. Sometimes when I hurt so bad, I think the pain will never end. It probably doesn't. And those are the times when I slash all the hurt inside me into tiny slivers of bitterness, scatter it all around my world and watch the people in it sear. And when I`m done, I`m on my knees collecting the charred remains. Smoldering fragments of past smiles and togetherness. Dying embers of burnt relationships. And ashes of past hope, now singed,dying.. And as I run around, trying to salvage the burnt remnants, I think of where I went wrong. And I think I`ll never get back my world again, the way it used to be. But I will learn to live with it. Someday I will. And then, I`ll be fine again. I`m sure I will.

Hello People,
I`m back.
And as I welcome the new year,I pledge to do my bit to make this world a better,happier,safer place.
And I start right now.
By leaving the past baggage behind. By forgiving people.
By being a better person. By being honest,sincere and happy.

Come join hands with me, as I pray for a better, happier and a more beautiful tomorrow. For you and for me.

Happy 2010, People! Let there be Peace!

Desolation Row??

For the longest time, I have been thinking about an incident that a close friend happened to narrate about someone she knew.
He is a 50 year old man, a German by birth; adopted by American parents; happily married for the last 20 years with grown-up children of his own; living the American Dream. For years and years,he had been trying to trace his biological parents. And about a year ago,when he finally did,they were gone. But he could still reunite with the rest of his family including a younger brother he never knew he had.
The whole episode has a bollywoodish tinge to it. Without the theatrics.
Such is reality. Such is life.
I just havent been able to stop thinking about it.
Imagine the joys and fears of finally having traced one`s parents after years and years of struggle and anticipation, only to find them dead. Imagine the horror. Imagine never learning why he was abandoned, while the rest of the family lived on to have normal lives. Imagine not knowing any of those answers at all.

Which brings me to an important issue I have been thinking about for ages now. I still havent found an answer.

Visualize this. You make a huge investment of trust in your parents for several years, only to realize that you dont know who they are at all. Imagine having to return back to the drawing board to restructure them again.
Which brings me to the question I have been asking myself for the longest time now.
Do you think it`s wise for a child to know that he is adopted?
At what age and under what circumstances should he be told?
At what age do you think, a mind develops enough tensile strength to stretch, but not break under the horror of this knowledge?

I, Me, Myself..

After almost a span of five years,I have again felt this need to read 'The Fountainhead'. For me, it is therapeutic at many levels. It has always been.
(For the uninitiated, Ayn Rand is a Russian-American Philosopher/Novelist who developed the theory of Objectivism.)

"My philosophy, in essence, is the concept of man as a heroic being, with his own happiness as the moral purpose of his life, with productive achievement as his noblest activity, and reason as his only absolute." -Ayn Rand

Ayn Rand's endorsement of self-interest before that of others,basically shows her rejection of the ethics of altruism,which all of us are taught since childhood - a moral obligation to live for the sake of others, to keep others` interests in mind before our own, to be thoughtful of others and not selfish.
She said that every individual's own life is his or her own highest value; rationality is every human being's highest virtue, and one's own happiness is the highest purpose of one's life.
That makes perfect sense, doesnt it?
There will be and has always been many to criticize her philosophy. They claim that her vigorous adherence to objectivism can have hazardous psychological effects. Some say that her theories are incomplete and sketchy.Most others claim that her theories are in black and white, with no scope for shades of grey.Whatever the criticism, Ayn Rand continues to influence my life in more ways than one.
Over the years, I have allowed myself to be pulled into the flow,to be dragged into a herd, standing in the line, conforming,bending,evading,pandering to the needs of others before my own,compromising. I can hardly think of a thing that I did for my own happiness and not because others wanted it/liked it/approved of it. And in doing so, I`ve lost track of who I was and what I had wanted to be.
Today I am so lost, that I cant spend 5 minutes of my life without wondering if what I do is going to be liked/approved or disapproved by others who surround me. I cannot think for myself. It could be anything really. Even a simple thing as wearing a pair of favorite shorts on a hot summer day, without the fear of being smirked/talked about by those close to me. A stamp of approval that is not my own,seems so important. Important enough to twist my life in a route such that I might never find my way back again.
There was a time when I had a hand-painted(by me ofcourse!) Ayn Rand quote up on my walls. It made me smile. It made me feel alive. Today, as I`m grappling to resurface, to break free from the rusted roots, I`ve put it up again.

"I swear — by my life and my love of it — that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine."

Pictures Worth a Thousand Words - Chicago 2009

I`m back,People.
And here are some pictures for you to enjoy, while I`m trying to think of something interesting to write! :)
Reflections

Dancing in the Rain


Muah!

Tangled up in Blue

You and I..


Buckingham Fountain


Sky HIgh

Man..

And Earth

Happiness

You and I..

The sun bursts through the darkness.
The sky,a downy, feathery mesh or such like..
The wind whistles through the distant pines.
Zinnias blossom.
Birds chirp. A teapot boils over. A baby smiles.
Children play with cutaway plastic tambourines.
Life goes on.
And then there`s You and I.
Not afraid of shadows. Not even of the dark anymore.
Sometimes flaky. Sometimes childlike.
But mostly slower. More programmed.
No tunnels of escape.
Comforted by the sound of music in hot cups of coffee;
And the smell of faraway lands.
Dewy nights. Quivering lips. And a blanket of stars.
Thirty two miles closer. Thirty five nights apart.
One teardrop meets another. A wilting smile slowly ebbs..
Words tumble in the mind like marbles in a game of rolley hole.
While some get cached in heartbeats.
Mist laden dreams dangle on a silver moonbeam.
While lonely shores are washed by fire.
A smothered wail. A torpid mind.
A wavering soul. A skittish laugh.
Lines of fate twirl around. A slow tango to the beat.
Blue skies. Deep eyes.
And then there`s You and I.
You.
Poised on a silver thread,ambling along. A peregrine. A peasant. Fostering your dreams under the moon. Spraying them with tears and sweat. Corralling the sunbeams in your fist lest they dry those dreams away.
And I.
Sifting junk from old memories that sit and smirk.Some stink. Some smile. While I pour myself a glass of red wine and wait for the sun to rise.

VOTE FOR EARTH!

Please excuse the rather weird way the picture has been masked. Didnt know how else to do it :)

Having grown up in an obscurity called Ranchi, 'load shedding' as it is referred to, is not strange or unfamiliar. Infact we have erratic day-time electricity hours there, while in the evenings, 6pm to 7pm and every alternate hour thereafter until 11pm. I believe the situation is pbly not much better than what it was 20 years back.
Hence, while in the Indian Army Medical Corps,when I was posted to Mendhar, Jammu & Kashmir, the concept of 'no lights after dark' didnt come across as alien.
The most beautiful memories of those times are of the underground shell-proof bunker that I would live in. A wooden cot with electrical generator wires spiraling down from the ceiling onto a 60W bulb. Two buckets of water in a makeshift bathroom. Spending the day watching raindrops slowly darken the hay on the roof and blue clouds assimilate into weird, inchoate shapes. Fingers itching with a desperate urge to grab the sun by its rays,yank it out of hiding and pull it over and across the black night. Strumming the guitar every now and then and listening to my own voice for inspiration.
Hurriedly finishing up dinner before the generators go out at 10. Walking out into the darkness to hear the distant roll of thunder. Marvel at the sensuous silhouettes of autumn trees heavy with copper leaves and the tiny lights in the distant villages, like stars carelessly strewn down and across the mountain slope. Dreaming of unknown places yet to be seen and a lifetime of existence and not just survival.. Cozy up inside the comforter and read 'Thornbirds' by candle light. Every now and then pick up the lifeless telephone set and let a tear drop float down. Soak up the heartache and wonder when you`ll get to hear Ma`s voice at the other end of the line. Sending a silent prayer up above for making it through yet another day. And falling asleep wishing there was someone to share the darkness with.
Looking back, it was gratifying. To be able to stretch the boundaries of self created constraints and pushing myself through yet another day.
Today, to prepare for an hour of darkness, I walked across the aisles at the grocery store, picking up scented candles and flowers for the evening.And I couldnt help but wonder at the contrast. There`s a smile in my heart and love in my eyes as I send a silent prayer to the Heavens Above. Because I shall spend an evening by candle light again. And I shall not be alone.
Sometimes wishes do come true.





An appeal to everybody who`s reading this. On March 28, between 8:30pm to 9:30pm, Please VOTE FOR EARTH by switching off your lights for one hour.

As I prepare to do so myself, my heart goes out to all those I`ve left behind in my journey of life, who continue to live in darkness. May God Bless them! Jai Hind!

Ode to A Woman

Long long ago in The Garden of Eden, God created A Man. He sat back to admire his creation. He looked and he looked.
"I can do much better than that," He said.
And then He created A Woman! :)

Happy Women`s Day, People.

Here`s hoping for Liberty,Justice and Equality For All!

Let me end on a bright note,with an all-time fav Billy Joel song - She`s Always a Woman to Me

This song is a true Ode to a Woman - There`s a kind of bitter-sweet tinge to the song. A delicious cynicism perfectly balanced with admiration.

This song makes me feel strong. It makes me feel beautiful. That is what womanhood should be all about, dont you think?

Erma Bombeck - On Motherhood

To all my Mommy-Blogger Friends, With Love.
You make me want to become one.. well almost! :)

And most of all, To my Little Sis-
Its ok to want to fling your Little Devil out of the window once in a while!

1.All of us have moments in our lives that test our courage. Taking children into a house with a white carpet is one of them.
2.A child who is left at home alone, during school holidays, knows its a high-risk occupation. If you call your mother at work thirteen times an hour, she can hurt you.
3.Do you know what you call those who use towels and never wash them, eat meals and never do the dishes, sit in rooms they never clean, and are entertained till they drop? If you have just answered, "A house guest," you're wrong because I have just described my kids.
4.Housework, if you do it right, will kill you.
5.In general my children refuse to eat anything that hasn't danced in television.
6.It goes without saying that you should never have more children than you have car windows.
7.It is advisable to put off entertaining until the kids are grown.
8.My teenage kids always perceived the bathroom as a place where you wait it out until all the groceries are unloaded from the car.
9.My second favorite household chore is ironing. My first being hitting my head on the top bunk bed until I faint.
10.My theory on housework is, if the item doesn't multiply, smell, catch fire, or block the refrigerator door, let it be. No one else cares. Why should you?
11.Never lend your car to anyone to whom you have given birth.
12.No one ever died from sleeping in an unmade bed.
13.Somewhere it is written that parents who are critical of other people's children and publicly admit they can do a far better job - are really asking for it.
14.When a child is locked in the bathroom with water running and he says he's doing nothing but the dog is barking, call 911.
15.When your mother asks, "Do you want a piece of advice?" it is a mere formality. It doesn't matter if you answer yes or no. You're going to get it anyway.
16.Who in their infinite wisdom decreed that PT uniforms be white? Certainly not a mother.
17.Youngsters of the age of two and three are endowed with extraordinary strength. They can lift a dog twice their own weight and dump him into the bathtub.
18.Everyone is guilty at one time or another of throwing out questions that beg to be ignored, but mothers seem to have a market on the supply. "Do you want a spanking or do you want to go to bed?" Don't you want to save some of the pizza for your brother?" Wasn't there any change?"
19.The age of your children is a key factor in how quickly you a re served in a restaurant. We once had a waiter in Canada who said, "Could I get you your check?" and we answered, "How about the menu first?"

And finally

20. When mothers talk about the depression of the empty nest, they're not mourning the passing of all those wet towels on the floor, or the music that numbs your teeth, or even the bottle of capless shampoo dribbling down the shower drain. They're upset because they've gone from supervisor of a child's life to a spectator. It's like being the vice president of the United States.

The reason I love to read Erma Bombeck is because I can identify a part of myself in every piece that she has ever written!
I hope you guys loved this as much as I did!

Happy Valentine`s Day, People! We did it! :)

Ok Guys, I really should be studying for tomorrow`s test. But then again, Its Valentine`s Day! I need to raise a toast now, more than ever(even if its only 4 in the afternoon!)!!
Here`s Why:
For days I have been reading various debates about the efficacy of the Pink Chaddi Campaign. I am very excited about it, just like scores of women from all across the globe. However,there have been times when I confess, I have doubted the efficacy of such a campaign.
But today, when I heard the news on NPR on my way to The U, I knew for certain what a perfect thing this was.
We succeeded!
We, The Women of India, have managed to reduce The Moron(Pink Moron should I say?) to an object of ridicule GLOBALLY!!
I`m glad people didnt waste their precious time trying to think of more 'appropriate' ways to react to unscrupulous SOBs like Mr. Muthalik. I`m glad they retaliated in the language the SOBs would understand.
The following, I believe, define the true success of the campaign:

1. Mr. Muthalik has been reduced to an object of utter ridicule. Henceforth people across the world will know him as Mr. Pink Muthalik.

2. Other major religious fundamentalist groups have backed off. They`ve washed their hands off the Ram Sena, seeing the public outrage.

3. The campaign has managed to unite Thousands of men and women across the globe under one common cause. Liberty for All.
I do believe this is the biggest success of all.
(Since the last thousands of years,injustice to women has often been meted out at various levels. Some in more subtle forms than others. The reason why fighting against it is a herculean task is because its impossible to unite people on a common ground, before one can start fighting the war. Now that this job is done, I think we should make efforts to take this one step further. What do we next? Do we wait for a repetition of the Mangalore incident, to take our next step forward? Or do we plan to start making a difference now?

Anyway, here`s a link of all the news channels in the USA talking about the campaign.
I believe this to be the true marker of success.

1. BBC News
2. NPR
3. Fox News
4. NewYork Times

And before I raise a toast, here the clincher YOU MUST READ!

5. CNN IBN

Happy Valentine`s Day, India! We are the Change we have been waiting for! :)
Here`s to Indian Women all over the World!
We rock, dont we?
*Piper flings the jacket on the bed and shoes in the air, while she does an excited jig around the room, shouting "We Did It! We Really Did It!!*

STOP Moral Policing. Liberty For All.

There comes a time
When we heed a certain call
When the world must come together as one.
There are people dying
And it's time to lend a hand to life,
The greatest gift of all

We can't go on
Pretending day by day
That someone, somewhere will soon make a change
We are all a part of
God's great big family
And the truth, you know love is all we need

We are the world
We are the children
We are the ones who make a brighter day
So let's start giving
There's a choice we're making
We're saving our own lives
It's true we'll make a better day
Just you and me


For a very long time, I have been a mute spectator to the horror that continues to unfold in front of us. But I realized that keeping quiet about it probably gives encouragement to the defaulters.
So here it is today - a petition to the President of India.
Do go over it and please,please sign it.
I dont know if it`s going to be of any help. But that uncertainty cannot prevent us from NOT voicing our opinions and dissent.
Staying so far away from home, this is the least we can do.

SO, PLEASE GO AHEAD AND SIGN IT HERE.

Married or just happy? :-))

A few days back, The G and I saw 'Revolutionary Road'. I wont spoil it for you guys by giving away too much, though I dont really think its worth a watch.
The movie`s dark. It left us both with ambivalent feelings.Depressed. Grateful to have each other(so far!). And scared.
Of late, I have been watching too many movies on suburban lives and it comes as a surprising revelation - they all portray the average suburban wife as oppressed under the drudgery of routine and dying to break free.
I am a suburban wife. Do I ever see myself in that light?
Well, to be very honest, sometimes. It can get pretty depressing when one has to sit at home all day - because one doesnt have a permit to go to work. More so if the one in question was a working, independant woman all her life and suddenly finds herself wholly dependant on another human being. Financially. And in every other way thinkable.
But would that be sufficient reason to drive one into the arms of any random bloke who offers a reasonable alternative?
Apparantly, going by these movies, Yes!
What,then, are the reasons that working men have, for flinging themselves at the 20-something chicks, who roam around naked, as if clothing is out of fashion?
I`m wondering here, if a decaying relationship is all it takes.
If that be so, how then, would one explain such acts of indiscretion, by people who are in seemingly loving relationships?
I know of a friend whose 6 years of marriage broke down because she found herself crazily attracted to a younger guy at work. All this while, I thought they had the perfect marriage. They did.
I have been thinking about this. Why is it considered a sacrilege for anyone to be in multiple relationships? What is so wrong? Why is it considered aberrant behaviour for one to go elsewhere in search of love, physical or intellectual stimulation of sorts, if one is not satisfied with one`s partner?
For centuries now, man has been conditioned to think of the institution of marriage as a sacrament,rather than a contract between two interested parties(though I personally believe that to be the reverse).If I were to go back in history and see where it all begun, I would know that if man was to be given a free reign, the fabric of society would fall apart. The institution of marriage was needed to create a system of rules to handle the granting of property and other rights and the protection of bloodlines.
But now, the times, they are changing.And yet,the sanctity of marriage still holds true. We continue to see it as a supreme institution, in spite of a whole lot of corrupt practices creeping in(but that`s for another post).Why?
Is it because, we as human beings have conditioned ourselves to stick to a certain set of moral values.And a breach of those would constitute aberrant behaviour on our parts? Is it because, as human beings with a functional(and overtly so!) brain, we realize that it is 'wrong' to violate the trust of another human being? In that case, what exactly is wrong and what is right? Who decides these rules for us? And why exactly?
What do you think,would happen if the institution of marriage was to be dissolved once and for all? What is the purpose of marriage?
Or do you think that it is important to honour the age-old practices(No questions asked), to stand in line, to follow, to conform, without pausing to think why?
On a different note, do you think that being in multiple relationships, married or not, is for people of a different league? That 'such' people have some inherently different qualities in them, that pushes them across the moral line? No, I`m not talking of different circumstances under which such affairs happen - Just the inherent natures of people it happens to - because then again, would it not be an inherent quality of man to choose the way he would react to Life`s circumstances?
I, for one, think that I am capable of falling in love with someone outside of the relationship I share with The G, IF my life`s circumstances were to change. My inherent nature is such.
Shocking?
Not that I will. Not that I think I ever will go elsewhere in search of love.
But I think I`m capable of it.
Some would not be. Are you?

p.s - Revolutionary Road wasnt about extra marital affairs, in case anyone`s wondering :-))