This is a criticism I have been facing for a long time and from many people. About not being strong enough to stand up for what I believe in. And I heard it once again today.
That I did not stand up for someone I should have stood up for. I know I failed, and I don't know what I should have done.
The fear is I don't know if I shall pass the test the next time.
Friday, 30 April 2010
Plumbing delight!
Living alone has its pros and cons, moments of extreme frustration and others that make you feel liberated. And, there can be nothing more liberating than solving your plumbing problems on your own.
The last time I called the plumber, he took 700 bucks and left me with a cistern that worked for two days and then started giving me problems again. He dismantled the whole thing, spent two precious hours on it and still didn't do enough for me to want to summon him the next time there was a problem.
So this time around when my flush stopped working, I set the piston right, bought a lever (for rs 53) and also learnt about the float valve (thanx to an enterprising friend) and now am sorted :D
Raring to solve the next plumbing problem :D
The last time I called the plumber, he took 700 bucks and left me with a cistern that worked for two days and then started giving me problems again. He dismantled the whole thing, spent two precious hours on it and still didn't do enough for me to want to summon him the next time there was a problem.
So this time around when my flush stopped working, I set the piston right, bought a lever (for rs 53) and also learnt about the float valve (thanx to an enterprising friend) and now am sorted :D
Raring to solve the next plumbing problem :D
Thursday, 29 April 2010
God is in heaven and all's right with the world.
And I'm not gonna let some poor increments, disillusionments at the workplace, with people around me, the weather and so much more change that.
Yes, there are times to give vent to your frustrations and sometimes to take stock. Have given vent to frustrations. Now, is the time to take stock.
And I'm not gonna let some poor increments, disillusionments at the workplace, with people around me, the weather and so much more change that.
Yes, there are times to give vent to your frustrations and sometimes to take stock. Have given vent to frustrations. Now, is the time to take stock.
Tuesday, 27 April 2010
From my past
A thought is rushing into my hands. I used to have a friend who had a problem for the first few years of his life. His tongue was attached to the base of his mouth...it used to affect his speech. Later, it was surgically separated a bit...But it still bothered him. Not just in speech but in thought too. He used to tell me God probably didn't want him to talk...he was a very silent person you know. Dunno why I am writing about this. As I said, the thought is rushing to my fingers.
Another story, or was it an incident I heard about, comes to my mind. I think I read about it in the Readers' Digest. Something to do with a man, who got a call...picked up the phone (am talking about landlines, which were the only kinds of phones in those days) and said wrong number. Haha!!
What weird stories are coming to mind.
Just jotting em down. Will analyse them later.
When I was much younger and used to live at home, on the fourth day of the menstrual cycle, one was supposed to take an oil bath after applying turmeric all over the body. I remember my mother used to tell me not to sleep in the afternoon on those particular days. I think she used to say the dreams one had then would come true or something to the effect. What I do remember is the headaches that would follow if I slept without drying my hair properly. But I would still find an excuse to nod off on those hot summer afternoons on the cold polished floors of my house, pretending to read. Just so I could have some dreams that could be fulfilled.
Funny, I don't remember those dreams, nor if they ever got fulfilled.
Another story, or was it an incident I heard about, comes to my mind. I think I read about it in the Readers' Digest. Something to do with a man, who got a call...picked up the phone (am talking about landlines, which were the only kinds of phones in those days) and said wrong number. Haha!!
What weird stories are coming to mind.
Just jotting em down. Will analyse them later.
When I was much younger and used to live at home, on the fourth day of the menstrual cycle, one was supposed to take an oil bath after applying turmeric all over the body. I remember my mother used to tell me not to sleep in the afternoon on those particular days. I think she used to say the dreams one had then would come true or something to the effect. What I do remember is the headaches that would follow if I slept without drying my hair properly. But I would still find an excuse to nod off on those hot summer afternoons on the cold polished floors of my house, pretending to read. Just so I could have some dreams that could be fulfilled.
Funny, I don't remember those dreams, nor if they ever got fulfilled.
To silence...
You entered my soul like a gust of wind
Determined to blow a fresh breath of life into me
I opened the window unto you,
To make space for something new to me
You became a part of my being, a friend
Who stuck by me when everyone else was too busy
I leaned on your shoulder
And I felt myself like a climber wrapping around you
Slowly, you became a permanent guest
One I could no longer turn away at will or wont
You became a wall in my house
Only to become the roof over my head and hearth
Then you spread your roots within my spirit
Wrenching it from its foundations, alienating me
From who I thought I used to be
I initially embraced you, then submitted, then succumbed
Until I became a prisoner of your domineering affections
I lost my freedom to think and speak or speak and think
I forgot I used to have a voice at all
And you wrapped me in you arms, like a shroud and buried me.
Determined to blow a fresh breath of life into me
I opened the window unto you,
To make space for something new to me
You became a part of my being, a friend
Who stuck by me when everyone else was too busy
I leaned on your shoulder
And I felt myself like a climber wrapping around you
Slowly, you became a permanent guest
One I could no longer turn away at will or wont
You became a wall in my house
Only to become the roof over my head and hearth
Then you spread your roots within my spirit
Wrenching it from its foundations, alienating me
From who I thought I used to be
I initially embraced you, then submitted, then succumbed
Until I became a prisoner of your domineering affections
I lost my freedom to think and speak or speak and think
I forgot I used to have a voice at all
And you wrapped me in you arms, like a shroud and buried me.
Wednesday, 21 April 2010
Hazaron Khwaishen Aisi
Hazaron Khwaishen Aisi...
Some people will be very hurt if I say I was disappointed after all I had heard about it. At many layers, the movie seemed to be superficial...The story was written and everything had to be fit in. Characters interchanging, ideals wishy-washy, resting on 'revolution'. Was it my current state of mind that contributes to the disappointment?
What was not there? It was jumpy...Am still working on it...trying to figure out what is was that was bugging me through the film.
Maybe it was the convenience of it all. Everybody making 'convenient' choices to suit the narrative. Am not talking about the choices made by the characters, but the swinging nature of the characters...Something didn't fit in.
Siddharth being so passionate about one thing that he chooses his ideology over his love more than once. Siddharth, who has put his life on the line for the 'revolution' abandoning it once he's given up for dead, letting go of the same people who saved his life. At least he's constant about saying 'Sorry Geeta' for abandoning her at every corner.
Geeta Rao, educated abroad, who joins the movement to be with Sidharth, to please him and impress him, ends up working in remote villages. She gives up a husband who loves her, a lover who comes to her resuce every time and goes back to the villages leaving behind the man for whom she took up the cause in the first place.
Vikram Malhotra, a 'fixer' who also tries fixing his Lady Love's life until his own life is rendered lifeless. Who makes fun of the revolution throughout...
Am I just too sleepy or not drunk enough or watching it alone...what is contributing to the disillusionment?
Imagine, the only shot repeatedly coming to mind is the one where the camera moves through the grass to a bleeding and badly beaten up Vikram lying in the fields. And I remember this for such a silly reason too...Not too long ago, someone I know shot a similar scene with my cell phone. Memories - how they tease me at times and elude me at others.
How I wish I could share the passion others share for this film...But then I guess, as Chacha said ages ago and people have repeated ever since,
'Hazaron Khwaishen Aisi...'
Some people will be very hurt if I say I was disappointed after all I had heard about it. At many layers, the movie seemed to be superficial...The story was written and everything had to be fit in. Characters interchanging, ideals wishy-washy, resting on 'revolution'. Was it my current state of mind that contributes to the disappointment?
What was not there? It was jumpy...Am still working on it...trying to figure out what is was that was bugging me through the film.
Maybe it was the convenience of it all. Everybody making 'convenient' choices to suit the narrative. Am not talking about the choices made by the characters, but the swinging nature of the characters...Something didn't fit in.
Siddharth being so passionate about one thing that he chooses his ideology over his love more than once. Siddharth, who has put his life on the line for the 'revolution' abandoning it once he's given up for dead, letting go of the same people who saved his life. At least he's constant about saying 'Sorry Geeta' for abandoning her at every corner.
Geeta Rao, educated abroad, who joins the movement to be with Sidharth, to please him and impress him, ends up working in remote villages. She gives up a husband who loves her, a lover who comes to her resuce every time and goes back to the villages leaving behind the man for whom she took up the cause in the first place.
Vikram Malhotra, a 'fixer' who also tries fixing his Lady Love's life until his own life is rendered lifeless. Who makes fun of the revolution throughout...
Am I just too sleepy or not drunk enough or watching it alone...what is contributing to the disillusionment?
Imagine, the only shot repeatedly coming to mind is the one where the camera moves through the grass to a bleeding and badly beaten up Vikram lying in the fields. And I remember this for such a silly reason too...Not too long ago, someone I know shot a similar scene with my cell phone. Memories - how they tease me at times and elude me at others.
How I wish I could share the passion others share for this film...But then I guess, as Chacha said ages ago and people have repeated ever since,
'Hazaron Khwaishen Aisi...'
Tuesday, 20 April 2010
Life cycle
As I sit mulling many things happening in my life right now, my memory takes me back to days in my childhood.
I can see my father running behind me as I learnt to cycle on empty roads in bandh-stranded Kolkata some time in the Eighties. He never let me know when he let go of the cycle. I always thought he was right there to hold me if I fell. Well, I did fall a number of times. But I always got up and rode on. Or so I choose to believe now. My memory, as family and friends will tell you, is phenomenally weak. I should check with him I did actually ride on or mourned over my bruises weighting for some saviour to pick me up and take me home.
I am not sure anymore.
I always thought I was independent. Maybe it wasn't independence, but being carefree to the extent of being careless about everything, including people. Never realised just how careless.
I want to ride that bicycle again. I want to know what my instinct made me do when I fell — did I cry or did I pick my cycle and ride on.
I want to go back in time and see how far away from myself I have come.
I can see my father running behind me as I learnt to cycle on empty roads in bandh-stranded Kolkata some time in the Eighties. He never let me know when he let go of the cycle. I always thought he was right there to hold me if I fell. Well, I did fall a number of times. But I always got up and rode on. Or so I choose to believe now. My memory, as family and friends will tell you, is phenomenally weak. I should check with him I did actually ride on or mourned over my bruises weighting for some saviour to pick me up and take me home.
I am not sure anymore.
I always thought I was independent. Maybe it wasn't independence, but being carefree to the extent of being careless about everything, including people. Never realised just how careless.
I want to ride that bicycle again. I want to know what my instinct made me do when I fell — did I cry or did I pick my cycle and ride on.
I want to go back in time and see how far away from myself I have come.
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