A Fraction

A random conversation,

"So, you believe in life after a death ? a soul?"

"I like to. It's a possibility, one that I like."

"Heard of evolution? Believe in that?"

"Yes. But, what makes you think that, that is all? What if that is a sub-set?  What of beyond?"

It began. “How?” you ask..

“There must be a cause.”

But, now I ask that

If there was,

What brought that there?

What caused the cause?

The more I think,

The more I blink,

In confusion and in clarity

The more I know,

The more I grow,

The more I learn of my naiveté

 We learnt that one

Was where it begun

The smallest ever count could be

But, part by part

Later we learnt

That one was what

They yearn to be

What we know now

Is Less than one

A fraction of infinity

This poem seems incomplete... befitting I think. 

Why? Because.

Opinions are formed: Neither stolen nor borrowed, both ideally and grammatically.

When we are kids, we are taught things. Out of the inherent curiosity in a human being, we ask why. In an ideal world, that question should be answered. However, mostly it isn't. So we hear children parrot opinions, and proudly assert that they are true because:

• Mommy said it is.
• Daddy told me.  
• Miss told the class.

Cute.When a grown up does the some, not so much. 

Unfortunately, most kids are either told not to ask too many questions or fed the universal, "because that is what it is...because I am telling you..." You can either be curious or believe that, the latter seems the popular choice. Growing up is not limited to age or size. Growing up should ideally entail the ability to hone your judgment and form your opinions. I very specifically say, form. They either form out of your own experiences, or from thought you put into forming them. If it is borne out of a discussion with someone else, it should first be filtered through your intellect and judgment, and eventually, if satisfied, be added to your list of opinions. Without that process, you have just borrowed or stolen someone else’s opinion and repeated it.

I am generally a very opinionated person, and always have a lot to say about them, ref: blog and my incessant talking. Leads to many arguments at times too.. Oh well. Even so, I am very particular about saying; I don’t know when I don’t. Or, I have no clue, when I haven’t. I may sound a fool saying that, but I find it better off than being made a fool by pretending otherwise.

The quality to be able to answer the why following an assertion is rare, and personally very much appreciated. You might choose not to answer, for whatever reasons, but one shouldn't fail to.

Ignorance when admitted is knowledge, when pointed out, stupidity.

This is what it is

It might not be all stars or gazing from the balcony

 It isn’t what I knew or what I thought it ought to be

But now I know, this is what it is

What it feels like, what it should be

It might be a little tough

A little smooth, A little rough

But this is what it is

What is ours, what is meant to be

Marilyn Monroe

Sketchy

I recently rediscovered my love for doodling. Like most of the things I do, I'm not really good at it, but they give me joy, much greater than my talent for them. Figured could put them up here to have them for posterity, I'm not really good with saving hard copies, since I just draw anywhere and everywhere. I also have realised that I need a pencil. One shot attempts in ink do end up in some really scary sketches. Although, a part of me likes the fact that I get just one shot. Anyway, I'm not really much of an artist, so they might just offend aesthetics mostly. Also, hope to hunt for some old drawings when I go home, might find a few.

TerriblyTinyTales #3

What hurt was not the hand that pushed, but the shattered hope that pierced the heart

Took me long enough...

I was probably eleven or twelve when my entire school, both my closest friends included started going on and on about Harry Potter. They talked about muggles and you-know-who… scars and cloaks… about moony and prongs… it made no sense and I felt curious. But more than that I felt this strange detachment, this resolve that I would never read Harry Potter. I would feel left out, yet weirdly self-righteous. That it was somehow an insult to be one of the zillion kids reading Harry Potter.  

I think in the eighth or tenth standard, one of my most dearly loved teachers gave us an English project… we were divided into different groups and had to illustrate our group’s theme somehow.. with charts… skits…the works.  I was in the group of people who had either not read Harry Potter or hated it. It was a tiny group, who were clueless about what to do. We had to talk about the villains; I spoke about you-know-who, Lord Voldemort. Somebody wrote a page, and I read it out. Very consciously trying to just recite the text word by word and not understand a word of it. Some people came up to me and asked whether I had been in some sort of a trance. There was a group of my friends, who had enacted Snape and Lockhart’s duel.. and it had become an instant hit, re-enacted multiple times for different teachers and students. I thought they were hilarious, but most of it made no sense to me and I preferred it that way. I could neither understand my detachment from these books… nor explain it.

Didn’t watch the movies either, was forced to watch one when I was about sixteen… Harry Potter and the Goblet of fire. Again, consciously ignored most of the movie, paid attention only to Cedric Diggory.

Over the years however, I understood my antagonism towards the world… I realise I have this weird thing… some sort of possessiveness or jealousy over the books that I read.. I understand now that I did not want to read those books then because my friends spoke of them with such familiarity that it instantly made me shut them out.

So, last year I decided out of the blue, that I would read Harry Potter. Most of my generation, and the previous and the next had already read them, watched the movies and moved on. Those who didn’t, show a similar detachment as mine. I felt maybe I could now indulge my curiosity.  I just finished the seventh book. Deliberately taking breaks and reading other books, to prolong reading the final book. The journey has been incomparable and inexplicable.

As I devoured the pages I had bits and pieces of my school-life fall into place. Pallavi and Aanchal… Moony, Padfoot, Prongs suddenly made sense. Zoya as Lockhart and Palak as Snape played out that very duel in my mind.

I could not count if I tried to, the number of books I have read; but although quite different, the best of them could not compare to the world that I became a part of.

I cannot help but wonder whether I would have found the world more magical as a twelve-year old, less touched by reality or do I appreciate the magic a little more now… as the world grows more real ?

Although I might be a little late in saying this, Thank You J.K. Rowling

Budday ka budday :D

A tiny bundle, full of joy

In my arms, a little toy

The smile so sweet

The chin so long

Eyes that twinkle

Your laughter a song

As we grew together

In fights and play

Over the years

I never really did say,

How much you are to me

And so much more

My tiny baby brother

All crazy and mature

A friend like no other

The best for sure

Today, as you turn twenty-two

I pray to the heavens

That all your dreams come true

All that you wish for

Is yours to take

Happy and successful

The life you make

Wish you all the best

May you forever be blest

With loads of love, hugs and kisses

Here are my birthday wishes

Wish you a very Happy Twenty-two

And a fifty five zillion more too!

TerriblyTinyTales #2

She knelt down, wiped my streaming tears, made me sit at her desk and opened my tiffin box for me. My first day at nursery.

TerriblyTinyTales #1

A tiny little hand grasped mine and I needed neither my walking stick nor my glasses, the world seemed safer and more beautiful this way 

By My Window Pane

I sit by the window, and look at the rustling leaves, the swaying trees. The wind blows as if with a purpose, a purpose to stir up all that sleeps, all that lays dormant, all that lays forgotten. I look out and think how different it all seems, how strange it all feels as compared to the mundane, purposeless rush of traffic every day. When the few trees look bored, look dead, just standing as the slow traffic trudges by. Strange it is, how the rush of people looks so lifeless on some days and how a lone walker, fighting against the headstrong wind, clutching at his jacket moves forward with all his might, how alive he looks, how alive the wind is. As I think of this, I think of dreams, of feelings that are most alive in utmost calm, in utmost silence… in times like today. Like, when I read, when I walk alone sometimes… when I look out of my car window… when I am just about to fall asleep in his arms…  and suddenly a piece of paper flies in… brown and worn.. I catch it as it flies in through my window. Slightly crumpled, slightly torn yet preserving the story it tells. No name… just a poem.. a night… a lifetime…

The wind calms down, having fulfilled it’s purpose, awakening hope in me that their story is true, awakening joy at knowing their secret and awakening a desire to share it with the world…

A cup of coffee, warm and strong            

A warm pullover, tad too long                    

Rain drenched moonlight                             

Droplets on my window pane                    

A half-read book, by my side                      

The road lays bare, empty and wide        

Lost in memories, a dream in sight   

Our hands entwined, walking in the rain 

I hum that song 

As we walk along

In that magical night                                        

Blessed by the stars, the moon, the rain           

I look up at you, my prince by my side                    

A smile, a blush, eyes twinkling with pride            

You turn and hold me, close and tight                     

A memory, a dream, the truth: simple and plain 

Then we said so long

But we couldn't have been more wrong

For, in that magical night

My heart felt a piercing pain

Even though I tried

My love for you I couldn’t hide

And I knew it was right

My love, my dream, blessed by the rain

With me you walk, proud and strong,

A life lived together, happy and long

Hands still held, eyes twinkling bright

I hum a song, of love that didn't wane

I still look up and swell with pride

I’m old and wrinkly; still you’re by my side

I remember that dream, that magical night

When I dreamt of this, by my window pane 

-         Anonymous

हिन्दी लिखनी याद है भी या नही ?

ट्रेनिंग में बैठे बैठे..

सोच रही हूँ..

हिन्दी लिखनी याद है भी या नही ?

अ‍ॅफीस में फलाना डिंका सीख के क्या करना

जब सिर्फ़ अंग्रेज़ी में है Google पर जाके भरना ?

इतने सालो में जो सिखाया,

समझाया, रटाया..

पता नही कब कैसे भूल गई

डर लगता है सोच के..

क्या हर पुरानी चीज मिट जाती है

जब होती है कुछ बात नई?

  मम्मी की मार, टीचर की डांट..

"ढंग से लिख.."

"इतना नहीं काट.."

"स्पेलिंग ग़लत है, लिखाई खराब.."

बस यही रह गया..

बाकी सब बचपन का ख्वाब..

आज अगर मम्मी यह देखेंगी..

हँसेंगी.. शायद नाराज होंगी..

पर बात बदल गई है,

 मम्मी को लिखाई-स्पेलिंग की चिंता नही

जिसकी है... वह भी मेरे बस की नहीं |

बड़ी हो गई; पर मैं नही बदली

जो चीज जब करनी है नही करती;

परेशान होके ... रोके...

किसी तरह.. हो जाती है ठीक

डर है मम्मी समझेंगी या नही

स्पेलिंग, लिखाई वही रह गई

यह बात भी यूही रहेगी

शायद गलत, शायद सही |

Today and Tomorrow

Fast forwarding the time

To one without any tether

I see them both

Happy and together

Laughing and playing

Walking hand in hand

A life stretched out before them

Forever that spans

A life that they dreamt

A life that they wished

All theirs to share

All theirs to cherish

Free from the mind

Which binds, destroys

Amongst kin and kind

Blessed with joy

They learn and grow

With time on their side

Every moment a gift that

They were denied

Forever and beyond

With joy and sorrow

Together they walk

Today and tomorrow

What if or Why not ?

They ask,

“How can you be happy about something knowing that it is not yours to keep?

You know things will not last, you know things will end. Why would you want to experience that? Eventually you would miss it, you might regret it. What good will it do to you to attach yourself to something knowing it will be taken away from you? Why choose to feel its absence by accepting its presence? Why not avoid momentary happiness and ensure safety from eventual misery? Don’t say you won’t be sad, you might. Why take that chance?”

I ask,

  

“Should I not enjoy weekends because Monday would eventually come? Should I not take a holiday in some beautiful place because it cannot be my home? Should I not eat that chocolate knowing it will cease to exist the moment I do so? What good would it do to me if I avoid knowing every moment of happiness, goodness that life has to offer me knowing it might not be forever?

With the definite knowledge of Death, do I embrace life or avoid it?

I know it will end. So, should I not live? Should I simply exist till I do not? Should I not enjoy the momentary happiness that life provides me before my life and I go our separate ways, wherever that would be?

Neither the good things last nor the bad ones. We usually, voluntarily do not choose the bad, and mostly we need to put efforts to choose the good, shouldn’t we make full use of every chance that we get to experience it all? Shouldn’t we go that extra mile to make every instant of whatever we have worthwhile? Nothing lasts forever, but then, what would be the point if none of it was worth lasting?

Given a choice, I would prefer asking ‘Why not?’ instead of ‘What if?’ ”

I made mine. Did you ?

“I knew it like destiny, and at the same time, I knew it as choice.”

A friend of mine recently said, “Stupidity is a choice.” True that. But, then so is intelligence. So is control, and so is letting go. The problem is that, in real time, you can just make the choice; the categories are always decided in retrospect. Right now, at this moment, the choice that I have made could be both a mark of my control, or my desire to just let go. The thing is that, right now, it doesn’t matter. It will later, and then we could categorize it.

Imagine someone holding you, and asking you to fall back, to let your hair down. You are scared that you’ll fall and they assure you that you won’t. You trust and let go, but it is their control that holds you from falling. So in that moment, what was the choice? One of letting go or one of control?

So, maybe the choice isn’t always that clear, or maybe it is a matter of perspective. Which would be the case either ways. So I guess, after a point, you should stop mulling it over, make a choice and then own up to it eventually.

“There are no safe choices. Only other choices.”

To The Other Side ...

“Howzzzzzzaaaatttt?!?”

Okay, here I was trying to code my brains off on a date with Hugh Jackman in Hogwarts…..and I start playing cricket with kids? No, something was not right. I try to bury myself in my pillows and cushions, but I cannot sleep anymore. The kids are loud, beyond loud. So, I wake up and within minutes I am busy preparing lunch with my flatmates. Well, breakfast time was long gone. Again the yelling, screeching starts, “ Auntyyyyyyyy… Auntyyyyyyyyeeeeeeee….”

“Who is this God-forsaken woman who isn’t listening to them, why can’t she just answer them and get them to calm down???”  I go out, all determined to talk to the deaf woman. Turns out, the loud-speakers, I mean, the kids were calling us. Their ball was in our balcony, and WE WERE THE DEAF AUNTIES. One of the cons of shifting to a ground floor flat with a balcony is that you have listen to these kids scream all day long, while their parents happily sleep through the weekend. So here I am, with flour on my hands and face, trying to digest the fact that I might have gone to the other side. I might have become the neurotic woman who gets irritated with all the noise of cricket on a Sunday morning instead of the one making it.

“Did you just call me aunty ?”

“Ok. Dadiji?” said the loudest kid of the lot.

“Ok, so you don’t want the ball. Fine I’ll just lock it in my cupboard.”

“Fine, fine. Didi can we please have it?”

I handed it over.

“Thanks, dadiji.”

Kind of expected. Anyhow, I stay irritated and continue with Mission Flour. Once I am done, I decide to go out and buy some stuff. Grocery, rent slips, the works. Wow, I reallly am becoming an aunty I think. As soon as I step out, loudest kid of the lot starts with his screeching. “Dadiji is here.” I really wouldn’t have liked him 10 years back, right now, I just say, “Right. I’ll be back, you bowl and I’ll bat, we’ll talk then.”

“Please don’t insult cricket.”

Ok this kid is not just getting on, but jumping on my nerves.

“We’ll see, try to learn how to bowl till then, all I’ve seen are either wides or balls that end up in our balcony.”

The other kids seem to like me, so they cheer me on. Turns out loudest kid of the lot isn’t too popular with his friends.

I come back with a pepsi for all the kids. Ask them their names, Loudest kid of the lot is as cheeky as ever, and replies, “My name is Khan. Saif Ali Khan.” On noticing the pepsi, he tells me his name finally and we start playing. First ball four runs. Second, six. Third ball, I get hit on the face with a bouncer, and yell, “Oh ****!” Unfortunately, all kids are very amused by my lack of control on my mouth and the guy I thought was someone’s elder brother turns out to be the father of two of the kids, he just smiles back and I am beyond embarrassed. Anyhow, putting that major slip of tongue aside, I play surprisingly well by my standards and end up scoring 18 runs. One six and three fours, and then I get out because I lose the ball, hit it over the boundary wall and it gets stuck in a tree. That is so unfair. It would have sent Navjot Singh Siddhu and Geoffrey Boycott on a hyper-fast-roobbish-commentary fit.  Anyhow, loudest kid of the lot just takes the Pepsi I bought for all of them and goes back home, while I am invited by the rest of the lot to play in the evening. 

While going back, this tiny kid, who kept calling himself Darth Vader, comes up to me all shy and cute, “Didi, you will play with us, right?” And I realise, that there is a very fine line between didi and aunty once you start working and cooking on your own. Luckily, it just took a little bit of cricket to bring me back to the side I wanted to be on.