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."

Most of the Time..

Wednesday April 8, 2009 5:03am
Apollo Hospital, Ranchi – Room no. 203
I sit here typing, while my father lies on the reclined hospital bed in front of me. Once in a while he looks towards me and I ask him if he wants a sip of water. He quietly looks on and I know he`s thirsty. I hold him up and try to force in a sip through his pursed lips. He chokes. I struggle to make him sit up. Tears roll down some more. And he`s found himself another breather. When does it all end, I wonder. Every once in a while he raises his fingers in a questioning gesture, reaching out for my mother`s hands. And I see her caress his chest and tell him that she`ll be fine. He should not worry about her anymore. She will be just fine. And tears roll down some more.
I sit and chant a prayer over and over again.
Om. Aanandmayi. Chaitanya mayi. Satyamayi. Paramay. Om. Aanandmayi. Chaitanyamayi. Satyamayi. Paramay.
It calms my mind. It gives me enough strength to wish for the end to come soon. It gives me the strength to let go.
I look at my parents together. I keep looking. I want to capture it all and bury it deep within my heart, so I never forget. The two of them together. Not like this. But during happy times.
When Dad could speak clearly, all that he asked of me is to make his going peaceful. That`s all he had wished for. And a chocolate cookie.
How does a person die, I wonder. Is it when the soul is satisfied that one`s work on this earth is done and one must now depart? What happens if the soul is not ready to give up just yet, not even when the body has?
I hear my father talking in his delirium. He reaches out his hand and asks for his mother. He shakes me and points towards the door. He asks me to let his mother in. He tells me he`s going home. To his mother.
And I sit here crying in relief. Because now I know that wherever he will be, he will be at peace. Because he will finally be with his mother.

Yet another morbid post,People. But this is something I just felt like sharing. Something I had written when I was with my Dad in the hospital. He left three days later.
Its been 4 months today.
And yet it seems like an eternity since I`ve heard him, seen him, hugged him close.
It still hurts as bad.
I know most of you must be tired of reading such morbid thoughts from my side all the time. BUt bear with me, my friends. This is the only outlet I have. Maybe I do it for sympathy. Maybe I think that some words of comfort might be therapeutic. Different people have different ways of coping with grief. Mine pbly is to fish for sympathy. Whatever the reasons, it helps me unburden. It helps me loosen up. So bear with me. Please do.

"Most of the time
I'm clear focused all around,
Most of the time
I can keep both feet on the ground,
I can follow the path, I can read the signs,
Stay right with it, when the road unwinds,
I can handle whatever I stumble upon,
I don't even notice she's gone,
Most of the time."
- Bob Dylan

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

A much needed Break

Hello People,
I`m off to Chicago for a 3-days trip. Lord knows,I do need a break(if I stay one more day at home cooking,I shall either kill those around me or die trying!). I shall not be reading my favorite blogs for a while. But needless to say, I shall be back. And soon. Until then, here`s something for all of you(the narcissist in me just couldnt resist this!) - its a picture of me on a pontoon. A fabulous afternoon. Just drifting along, as I always have. Shimmering waters. Casual banter. Some music playing in the distance somewhere. The sound of it all reaching my ears. But not quite. More pictures later. For now,I`m signing off. Shall be back soon.

That`s me sitting by myself at the edge of the pontoon

The Pontoon from where we took off

Past lives and other worlds..

I have always admired people who can run on a treadmill. Because I never can. Normally I walk on the treadmill. And I almost always listen to 'Brothers in Arms' while doing so. No other music album holds my interest long enough for me to burn a few hundred calories on the treadmill. I get bored easily.
So today,there I was listening to my favorite songs and panting away.And suddenly came the song 'Why Worry'. It made my heart stop just for a minute.
I was 10 when my Dad introduced me to Dire Straits. This song was a personal favorite then. It continues to remain so.
That was the beginning. And then there was no looking back.
My best pal had once gifted me a cassette back in school(yeah we had magnetic tapes with two brown spools back then! Hmmphh! Am I getting old?!!) with all our favorite songs recorded.
> Crying in the Rain
> Its yesterday Once more
> Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow polka dot Bikini
> Top of the World
> Johnny Get Angry
> California Dreaming
> Cherish
> Bridge over Troubled Water
> And the best one : That`s what Friends are for..
The tape`s old now, its reels cachectic over time. But I still have it. I still cherish it. I still listen to the songs(on youtube now).
Over the years, my taste in music has grown. From Dire Straits to The Beatles to Rabindra Sangeet to Lata`s melodies to Floyd and Led Zep to Dylan and Baez and back to good ol` country music. And then again, to some beautiful songs from unnamed bands and vocalists. But the songs I liked as a little girl, I still do.
Same for books. I could still spend an entire afternoon reading 'Anne of Green Gables', Noddy books or 'Trixie Beldon'. We never had Harry Potter back then. I still havent found the inclination to read or see any.
I still like the same food. Home made Indian meal. We never had Thai/Mexican/Greek restaurants in Ranchi. We still dont. I never knew what any other food tasted like. I still dont find much interest(though I sometimes do try out newer stuff). I disliked fruits and veggies. I still do.
I have a collection of things from the past which I cherish. Old letters. Cards. Photographs(some damaging ones too!). Crafts which I made in school. Old diaries. A paper doll house. A miniature tea set from childhood. A dried jacaranda leaf which a close pal once gave me. Old posters that once brightened up my room(one of Sachin Tendulkar too! Geez!). An old scrap book from the first years at school and a Geography project on Volcanoes done years later. Some 50-year old slender aluminum boxes for storing syringes(this one from grandpa`s collection). Zippo lighters(from dad`s). And thanks to Mom, a couple of dresses from when I was a year old and a crochet lampshade she had once made.
I still like the same people. I still dislike the same ones. I still have a couple of close friends from school. NONE from college. And a couple of recent friends who have almost become family. It`s difficult for me to go out and make new friends.
I`m still the same. Fond of dogs and radio shows. Still dislike the concept of a circus and a zoo. Still mortally scared of birds. Childishly excited at times. Opinionated. Stubborn. Angry. Never letting myself forget. Or forgive.

I sometimes wonder if it`s healthy for the human psyche to roam around with the past clinging around one`s neck like rosary beads. Gagging at times.
But then again, I feel content. Sheathed in the old dreams. Vivid. Happy. Fascinated.Sad.Scared. Roaming around the world aimlessly. Like a lost soul.
For all I know, I may have just become one...
I sometimes wonder if this is normal. If it is okay to never allow myself to grow up. Never open up to new ideas, new people, new horizons.
Is there anyone who feels the same way? Or is it just me?


All my best memories come back clearly to me.
Some can even make me cry. Just like before.
Its yesterday once more.
- Carpenters

A Lesson Learnt - Part 4

Ranchi
April 21,2009

It was the hottest day this summer, or so it seemed. The heat was killing me. The sun was burning my soul. It was the day we had arranged a prayer service at home, for Dad.
I stood by the door, mind of stone, watching the priest recite prayers for Dad. Every once in a while I looked over at Dad`s picture and smiled. He smiled back. Dad wasnt religious. Neither am I. I knew how amused he must be, at all the dramatics going on. More on this at a later post.
Just then, I saw a rickshaw pull up by the door and a little girl, all of four, hop off with a bottle of Pepsi in her hands. Before her mum could realize what was happening, she held it out to the rickshaw puller and said," Here. Arent you hot?"
The mother yanked her away and bent down to talk to her. She was fuming.
"Now that you`ve given your bottle away, don't come crying to me when you`re thirsty!"

I was stunned. For several reasons.
Here was a four year old teaching us one of life`s most valuable lessons.
The need to be perceptive. The need to be a little more sensitive. And yet, was being reprimanded for being 'naughty'.
I glared at the mother. You have the power to shape up your child, I thought. Go on, make a devil out of her, so she never thinks of sharing a cold drink with a tired rickshaw puller ever again.

It is true that children are more sensitive. Because children are simple. Children are not 'objective', so to say.
We as adults fight wars all around, all the time. And it has become a question of who breaks whom. It is spartan. It is all-consuming and frenzied. It is a paradox. This desperate urge to conquer. To covet. And the urge to please. To conform. To follow suit.
Children dont understand such complexities of life. They live uncomplicated ones.
We dont understand the complexities of life as well. Hence we think we live uncomplicated ones too.
But you and I know that I am not seeing uncomplicated any more. When exactly we parted ways is difficult to pin point...somewhere between my first date and getting married, I guess.
You were on the same bus,remember?
The obliviousness of the next turn of life has just become so increasingly fuzzy. For both you and me.
Is that why our minds are so blurred?
Is that why the sensitivity of our souls has simply gone up in smoke?

This particular episode brought back memories I had long forgotten.
A long, long time ago, I was standing at the door and fighting over the five extra rupees that a rickshaw puller was demanding one such hot afternoon. And Dad came out and quietly asked,"What do you propose to do with the five bucks you manage to save today?"
Lesson learnt. For Life. The value of empathy. The need to be sensitive. The need to let go of pettiness.
And as I looked backed at the picture and thought of the man who had taught me to live, I knew it was Dad. That he was around. Showing me the way yet again.


Not that I`m a fan of Mahatma Gandhi, but there`s one quote of his that makes sense to me.
"Be the change you want to see in this world."