Jijima

                          Jiji.

Someone to talk to, and someone to laugh with,

Someone to fill the house with.

Someone to love, and someone to fight with,

And someone to give a good night kiss.

I wrote this on a paper napkin, about a year or two ago. It, I think, sums up me and jiji quite nicely.

Well, she's in Australia now, for good. Considering that I've been staying in campus since two and half years, it really doesn't make much of a difference. And I've been occupied with something or the other since she left, but I miss her at the oddest moments.

We exchange nice, long e-mails; the chance of us ending up bickering is the least there, and, oh, she writes the loveliest letters:

Dec 21st, 2010

Hows u? Me good. It's 6:00pm already! Ll. Day one is mel is almost over and I did nothing! Lol. It's COLD. Colder than our winter. Sun sets around 8:30 though.. that is a little weird..

Didn't go out yet.. still lazing around.. I can see the tram stop from the balcony. And a graffitied wall! Lol. The house is nice. But cold.. The old one was warmer..

It's all Christmassy here! :D 

..

I had a nescafe mocha [cappuccino] today. It was thicker than its Indian version. Or maybe the full cream milk made the difference. Lol. It was certainly better than the nescafe cappuccino we get in hyd. And it's not called cappuccino here.. It just says thick, creamy coffee... Hehe..

          ..

.         Dec 22nd, 2010

Hey!

Nice to see such a long reply! :D Nice to know you all doing good. Yeah, heard about the temperature being so low.. It's pretty much the same here.. 9C/22C min/max. Thankfully, we have heaters here.

We went to the Dandenong Temple today! Will share some pics of the peacocks there, later.. 8:30 pm sunset is really weird.. Will take some getting used to. We were out there till around 7:30-8:00 and it felt like 5:00.. And suddenly, you are talking dinner and it's not even dark yet! Dinner is like at least couple hours after sunset, not with the sunset. lol.

The tram tracks are right behind our home and we can hear trams passing by...

There's a street nearby called Rafa Court! [Random tid-bit I thought you might find interesting..]

          ..

 

 I'll end this with a Happy New Year to everyone who's reading. 

An extended Christmas

As far as celebrations go, there were none at home yesterday. But they say that Christmas is a time for family (or something like that), and if we go by that, it's been Christmas since Dec 10th, the day my vacation started.

Here's some Christmas laughs, if you care: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hSiWARyuD_I&feature=player_embedded#at=261

Epiphany

Here's Epiphany, my contribution to On The Rocks 2010 (the magazine of BITS Pilani, Hyderabad.)

Oh, and I've lost count of the number of times I've recited (much like a child answering her teacher, I'm afraid) that epiphany is a moment of sudden realization.

All I trust

19th Oct, 2010

Strength lies in nights of peaceful slumber

And when you wake up-Wake up!

It tells me all I trust I give my heart to

All I trust becomes my own

--from the lyrics of 'I Have Confidence' (The Sound Of Music)

Trust. How... oh, I can not find the right words, but how beautiful, how comforting it is, when there is trust, somewhere deep in your heart, and... oh, I do not know.

Live by the day

Anyone can carry his burden, however hard, until nightfall. Anyone can do his work, however hard, for one day. Anyone can live sweetly, patiently, lovingly, purely, till the sun goes down. And this is all life really means.

R L Stevenson.

Dear Nitika, you must learn some of Elizabeth Bennet's* philosophy: "Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.'' 






______________________________________________________________________________
*Jane Austen's heroine in Pride and Prejudice.

#tilts head#

Why does my Blogger text editor insist on underlining the word 'blog' in those red, curvy lines that say 'word not found in dictionary'?

Looking back...

Written in then end of July. Typed and edited on Oct 19th. Posted on the first day of my winter break.

The last one month of my summer break was --- unsolitary(if you'll allow me to invent words). Intoxicating, really. I remember warmth and laughter and sudden spells of despondency that were shooed away by some activity or the other. And ‘Cuz I am entirely too much a tactile person (and in no particular order),

Impressions of a summer break. In touch.

Daddy: I linger in his embrace longer than customary—I feel an intense comfort there, then an equally intense resentment when he pushes me away.

Ma: I find my way into the kitchen, and begin to wash the dishes. She reaches from behind and says, “I love you”. Again, she withdraws much sooner than I’d like.

Dadi: I offer her my hand in greeting, and she takes it, in a grip too tight for comfort, and yet comforting.

Jiji: We spend the morning in bed, snuggled against each other, and giggling over ridiculous nothings. We fight over one such nothing, then get out of bed.

Rafa Nadal: I feel inordinately happy as I go through his pictures, and suddenly wish to reach out and touch that smiling cheek.

Chacha: I try to nestle up to him, he looks at me questioningly. I smile uncertainly, then shrug and join in the general conversation.

Neha: (At the airport) she snuggles into a big, affectionate hug, “goodbye,” even as she whines that I do look good in T-shirts.

Kerul: His hand slips out of mine, as we walk down the street; he knows the way home, he says.

Daddy, again: His legs are warm, as I press them; they hurt, badly, and I feel that pain it in my bosom.

Pranita jiji: We exchange fond smiles and a light hug in greeting, then turn fonder smiles towards her daughter.

Sanchi: Her lips brush this darlingly against my cheek when I ask for a kiss, and then she returns to whatever has been amusing her.

Soumya: We have a cheerful meal, and when it is time to say goodbye, I touch her cheek, “take care” and we exchange a light embrace.

Kartheik: It is a virtual world; fingers fly over the keyboard, and touch does not know to exist.

Birthday surprises (Dec 4th 2009)

I do not know if I shall ever have the patience to write about this year's birthday, but here's last year's:

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

My friends have a way of surprising me. Even when I'm expecting a surprise.

The general equation goes like this:

Hostel + b'day = midnite party

When it comes to our gang, it modifies a lil.

Hostel + bday = (midnite + 10 mins) party

And it's very convenient too. The 10 mins you can attend to all those 12 o clock phone calls.

And last nite, I spoke to jiji, and then, Ajita called. She asked if my friends wished me, etc, and I replied that I know they are up to something, though I'm not supposed to know that. I told, also, that I can talk to her till 12:10 or so. And we talked happily till 12: 15.

Then, I found everyone outside my room, and on my desk, was a small parcel addressed

TO

NITIKA MATHUR

RO. NO:- 149

MEERA BHAWAN

BITS PILANI HYDERABAD CAMPUS

PINCODE: 500076

:-)

(I later learned that no one knew who drew the smiley)

I opened the gift to everybody's "happy birthday to you.." It was a lovely showpiece that read "DEAR FRIEND", and had two figures smiling sweetly, and lots of flowers. And a birthday card that seemed tailor made for me. It was signed "From all who love you". I read aloud the card, we took photos, and played around in general, until one by one, all went back to their rooms to study for the Mech Sol exam (don't ask!)

This morning, I studied a lil' , took a head bath, and happy that it was my bday, that I looked pretty, went back to studying. The exam was - didn't I tell you not to ask? and then...

Soumya'd called, and Kedari while I was busy with my exam; and so I spoke to them*, cleaned my room**, took piccies, and whiled about the time with Shikki and Shravi, until Shravya declared at 7:20 that she was sleeeepy.

So Shravya sleepy translates somehow to Shravya and Shiksha and Nitika should sleep, and so she orders me off. "Nitzi, sleep." She lures me with an "sleep now, Nitzi and we'll wake u in half and hour and then we'll eat dinner at 8, sleep at 10, and wake up at 6 tomorrow morning and go walking.". Pray, how can I resist that? And so I went back very dutifully to my room, dutifully switched off the light, and very undutifully called home instead of sleeping.

I got out of my room at 8 20, and found everyone in priya's room. "Nitzi! Go comb your hair, we'll go to the mess". I figured that I wasn't allowed to enter. After "Nitzi, put a hair clip" and "Shavi, I put on two, now what?" and "put on one more!", I was (officially) called in. Lights off, and candles glowing. It could only mean cake. awww! how sweet of them. The expected surprise in an unexpected way- I'd thought the party was done with last night.

I don't know how we ended up in my room after that, but we did. And we found the thermocol packing of last night's gift. It began tentatively, the -ahh what do you call it? when we break and rub and in general separate each lil ball from the sheets? whatever! We soon lost any inhibitions about messing the room, and were - there, I'm stuck again!- we were blowing them on each others faces, sprinkling em on heads (It tickles!!). We laughed and played and messed around till all of it was finished, till everybody's hair was filled with tiny white balls, and my bed and blankets and floor looked as if they'd been hit by a storm.

And so, I had a luuuuvly time, and am gonna hav a luvlier time cleaning it all tomorrow**. Now? It's 1:36 am - will u compare with the 10 o clock dream time? and I'm sleeeeepy. Good night!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Discarded line: the poor thing couldn't find a place anywhere, but I luv it:

" My friends surprise me with their surprises, and I luv them for it. Thank you soooo much, pepl!"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

**I was bitten by the cleaning bug, about this time last year.

A song and a pic, to mark my 20th Birthday

Owl City: Fireflies 

Album: Ocean Eyes

My dreams--them dreams of liquid joy I dreamed when I was a child--are secreted away somewhere deep, away from conscious reach. Sometimes, only sometimes, I catch glimpses of them, and I am reassured that they are still alive, that that child has not given up. That the light in her eyes still shines. 

         "I'd like to make myself believe

That planet earth turns slowly."

                     (That's me n Jiji, and Dadi watching over us)

Borrowing verse

They might not need me; but they might. 
I'll let my head be just in sight; 
A smile as small as mine might be 
Precisely their necessity. 
- Emily Dickinson

Rafael Nadal's 2010

“It was difficult at the beginning but, after a tough time, probably because I had this difficult time, I was able to play with ambition all season. All the time I was trying to keep winning and keep playing well because when you spend 11 months without a victory, you really know how difficult it is to win tournaments.”

-- Rafa reflects on his 2010

Technically speaking...

Written on 14th Oct 2010

...We are all star-children, born of stardust.

Of assignments and pampered dogs and home

I missed my Tuesday Thanks yesterday, not that I had anything new to add, except that what kept me busy: our OS Assignment (thats Operating Systems, to the uninitiated).

Thank you to Supriti, Kiran, Divya, and Sruja for being a part of the 'we' that solved the assignment. Those two questions took up the entirety of Monday and Tuesday, but-- well, we got the output we were supposed to (I think) and I am inordinately pleased. I shall post the code here on Coppice Gate, for showing it off, if nothing else.

--

The dogs in our campus are certainly an over-indulged lot. I would know; this evening, one paused his fight(?) with its companion to demand affection from me. I am an affectionate creature, now, but I have none to spare for creatures that come growling and nipping at each other, and then approach me with their sharp teeth in full display. Next time, Mister Dog, if you do not frighten me with those teeth that appear so ready to bite me, perhaps I shall dare to pet you.

--

I haven't been home since Diwali. True I have been busy with exams and assignments, but I did not lack for opportunities. I feel incredibly selfish, 'cuz it is just ma and dad at home, and I know they like me there, but... home means richness and warmth, and coming back to find the campus rather empty. I feel settled here, light spirits and everything, and daren't risk that. --Well, I am to go home this Saturday, have got a whole list of things planned up. Let's see how that goes.

--

Oh, and Happy Birthday, to a very, very dear friend. Hope you had an lovely day, Ajita!

#tilts head#

Who/what is foo?

Sumedha and I: Our afternoon at Aalankrita Resorts

13th Oct, 2010

Light conversation trailed away, and we tacitly went back to our books...

Laughter gave way to a rhythmic creaking of the swings...

Little nothings melted into a bite off our brownie...

Thursday Thanks

Disclaimer: This exercise of thanking blank, for blank was done purely for amusement, and has all the therapeutic value that it is alleged to have. That, and I believe that these thank you's need to be said.

• All the people I hate, for one needs to have the satisfaction—the ego-boost—of hating someone in the world.
• The instruction division (or whoever schedules the exams at BPHC) and the Course IC’s, for the inter-discipline wars going on, over who has the worst exam schedule.
• Said exams and assignments, for keeping me away from home.
• Numerical Analysis. Period.
• The internet speed, for being so awesome (or NOT).
• The mess, because the cabbage was yummier than the aalu, which, in turn, was absolutely yummy –small concession I know, for all those Potatophiles #runs away from the pitchforks#.
• The I-don’t-know-what for giving me a bad dream the very evening after receiving thanks for keeping away the nightmares. To be fair, it wasn’t night. So yes,
• Said I-don’t-know-what, for having a sense of humour.
• Another I-don’t-know what, for making me wake up at 8 am to attend the DECO lecture. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that it screwed up the rest of the day.
• Sleep, for being whimsical and cranky.
• Time, for same reasons as Sleep.
• Anything else that ought to be in this list but titillates and flits away just beyond conscious grasp.
• Life, the Universe, and Everything.

Happy Birthday, to a remarkable woman

She could swim the entire length of the Hussain Sagar and back.

Her Gurukul education also had her well-versed in Sanskrit and the Martial arts.

Her beauty and grace rivalled Gayatri Devi or Leela Naidu.

She played the Harmonium, and sang beautifully and evocatively.

When circumstances worked against her, she worked hard to singlehandedly raise and educate her children; she wrote down  400 pages of a text book with her own hand so that her son could study, because she did not have money to buy the book.

She was called the ‘Iron Lady,’ for her never say die spirit.

Her name was ‘Shanti’, and indeed, she was the epitome of peace; she never raised her voice, disliked conflict in others, and came out of poverty and hardship retaining a benevolence towards the world.

She had the highest respect for every human being; she spoiled the servants, offering more biscuits for their tea, for example.

When her son fell ill, and his legs hurt, it was natural that she should press them, no matter that she herself was weak and suffering all the problems that come with age.

To me, she was just a beloved grandmother, who spoiled me, took care of me when my parents were at work, nagged me to eat when I refused, indulged me with stories, and loved me.

Tuesday Thanks

9/11 to 16/11/2010

• Ma and Dad, for being my ma and dad. 
• Jiji and jijaji, for loving me. 
• My friends, and everybody else who made me laugh. 
• Ajita, for a full thirty-nine minutes of laughter and understanding, and a bubbling affection. 
• Jagruti, for an evening spent entirely outdoors on the pavement, with nary a thought for Time or any of the World. 
• Dusk, for bringing Night with her. 
• Night, for bringing Darkness. 
• The night-sky, for sparkling so on Wednesday. 
• Arcturus, for being my friend. 
• Rafa Nadal, for being defiantly humble. 
• Diwali, for leaving me with yummy papdis and deewle and kaju barfi. 
• Our Mess, for food that is more than just edible, at times. 
• Ice-cream with this little bit of curd, for being tangy uhh--- ice-cream. 
• Honey, for the delightfully random patterns while trickling down my glass of water. 
• Exams, for keeping me busy and out of mischief. 
• Iron Maiden, for seven and a quarter glorious minutes of Blood Brothers. 
• Somewhere Over the Rainbow, for the dreams that you dare to dream. 
• Won’t you buy me pretty flow’rs, for being such a comfort. It's a song, in case you’re wondering. 
• Dear Blank please blank and Silent English: for amusing me so.
• The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, for the hole that is nothingth of a second long, a nothingth of an inch wide, and quite a lot of million light years from end to end. 
• I-don't-know-whom, for keeping away the nightmares.
• The one-who-will-not-be-named, for being there. 
• The World, for putting up with me.

Four Letters

Dear Gulab jamun,

    Please learn to self-replicate. I will be forever grateful.

Sincerely,
Nitika.


Dear Room,

    Please learn to tidy up after yourself. I will be forever grateful.

Sincerely,
Nitika


Dear Wind,

    I dropped by to tell you that my wind-chimes are lonely.

Sincerely,
Nitika



Dear Arcturus,

    I missed you.

Love,
Nitika.

Deal.

http://www.joie-butter.com/2010/05/you-are-too.html

Tuesday Thanks

Disclaimer: This exercise  of thanking blank, for blank was done purely for amusement, and has no therapeutic value what-so-ever. That, and I believe that these thank you's need to be said.

Tuesday Thanks: 2/11 to 9/11/2010

• Ma and dad, for being my ma and dad.
• My friends, and everyone else who made me laugh.

• Sumedha and Jagruti, for taking me to Aalankrita resorts last Wednesday.
• Jagruti, for sharing a brownie with me.
• Said Brownie.
• Clouds, for raining on said Wednesday, and making said resort absolutely pretty.
• The jhoola outside a deluxe cottage in said resort

• Late nights and Divya and Lion King and salted apples (though this was rather long ago).
• Night, for the cool breeze it wraps 'round me.
• Dawn, for that lovely shade of blue when she arrives.

• Judy Garland, for Somewhere over the Rainbow.
• The Dreams that you dare to dream.
• Igoogle, for the virtual piano gadget.
• Sheetbox, for sheet music and Zebrakeys, for teaching me the basics of reading sheet music.

• My jiji and jijaji, for chocolate, and leggings, and a beautiful watch. And for being my jiji and jijaji.
• Said chocolate.
• Hand showers, for being awesome.

• Saanvi, for showing me how to be a child again.
• Saanvi, for being affectionate and sweet, and trusting and innocent.
• Saanvi, for giving me a carefree Diwali.
• Diwali, for the Diyas that light up the street.

• Milk, for being a life-saver.
• Home.
• Tomatoes and Potatoes, and Ridge Gourd and Eggs, for somehow being more 'home' than chicken.

• Audrey Hepburn, for Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and for Moon River.
• Tiffany’s, for being better than the library.
• Moon River.

• Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam Darcy, for being awesome.
• Elizabeth Burke, for awesome writing of said awesome characters.
• Douglas Adams, for The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.
• Said book, well the first 30 pages of it, at any rate.
• Earth, for being harmless. Or mostly harmless.

• A one-who-will-not-be-named, who recommended said book way back in July, for being there.

• Vanessa, for Joie Butter, and for inspiring me to write this.

Home is...

Home is ma, daddy, and jiji. And me.

Water

They call Earth the blue planet. Life began in its waters, and it is water which sustains life.

Do we need those lawns? I, personally, do not find them appealing—just an expanse of artificial green. For those who do, is it worth all the water and headache to maintain them?

Believe it or not, the earth had plants before we came along, and mollycoddled hand-chosen seeds with rich, fertile soil and daily watering. What I’m trying to say here is that we do not need carpet grass and exotic flowers. Why can’t we go with local flora that is adapted to the climate and soil?

This is rich!

Blog Action Day is an annual event that unites the world's bloggers in posting about an issue of global importance on the same day (Friday, October 15). It is an opportunity to witness the power of participatory journalism marshaled toward a common cause. The aim is to raise awareness and trigger a worldwide discussion. This year's issue is Water.


And I shall come out my hibernation for a lil' while, to write. 


That I cannot register for it is just plain amusing. 

This blog is on hiatus

Well, as one consequence of certain self-imposed 'restrictions,' I now declare #giggle# that this bog is officially on hiatus.

(Of course, it shall probably mean that I shall end up with more word files of what would have been blog posts, than the actual number of times I'd have posted to this blog had I not taken this step.)

I'm off!

Ambition

Written over September 2010

A year ago, we were 'forced' to attend this seminar--I was in need of sleep, and impatient to go home. I don't remember its topic, but this one incident is burned in my memory. You see, he began with descriptions of his glittering career, how he travels all over the world for this and that, stays in luxury hotels, and has 'world recognition' (what ever that is). And then, he turned to his audience; how many of us would like a routine 9 to 5 job, come home for coffee with your 'wife'*, play with your kids, and sleep? 

I was extremely sleep deprived, then, and did not care to look around for others' response. I simply raised my hand, for my honest answer is 'yes', and assumed that everyone would do the same. Only, they didn't. It drew me quite a lot of stares**, it did, and, I dare say, quite startled the speaker--I don't believe he'd had a raised hand in his script--"would I really be satisfied with so little?" he asked me.

But... is it really so little? To rise with the sun, to cook breakfast and lunch, to fuss over, then send off your kids to school, to come home every evening to delighted chatter of children, to relax with a cup of tea (I'll learn to drink tea, one day) with your spouse, to cook dinner for your family, to eat together, to help the kids with their studies, to clean up, and sleep knowing that it was a day well spent, and with the promise that the next day will be equally good.

About a month ago, as I told all of this to Divya, it hit me that I was describing my mother. Every little bit of it. Seriously, 'tis amazing how I went about picturing this idyll, making it my own, and not realizing it was exactly what had seen everyday at home, in my mother, as I grew up.

Anyways, the whole point of these stories is that all my dreams for the future are of my home, and family. Work shall be a part of my identity, but all I want on that front is a job I like, and which pays well enough. No ambition at all, of rising to the top of the ladder. No working late hours, no trips around the world, no world fame.

Am I conforming to stereotypes that women belong at home? Am being 'unfeminist'? I do not believe so; I am not advocating this for every woman. I am not saying that women should not be ambitious.

That I am unambitious is my choice, as an individual, as Nitika. Not as a woman who lives in a men's world, not as a woman who is forced to do acknowledge that men are simply better when it comes to career, not because I cannot do it.

There are plenty of examples of women who have achieved so much, career-wise. As we are reminded every now and then by forwarded mails, newspaper editorials, and blog posts. Feel proud of women, they say. Women power, they scream. And you know what, I get irritated by them. For I am a step ahead of them. To me, it's natural that these women have achieved so much. They have not done it despite being women, they have not done it precisely because they are women. It is as simple as 'they can, and they have', just as all the men who could. (Here, I will admit that most of them have succeeded against odds. Have, somewhere during their rise, battled men, perhaps even women, who placed obstacles just because they are women.)

Women are as 'homo sapien' as men are, women have it in them to succeed as much as the men do, women are in every way equal to the men. Of course some of them succeeded. It is another matter that I believe I do not belong to this sparkling corporate world, that my identity is tied up more with home, than with work.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

* oh yes, he said wife, not spouse: am I to assume that his association of men with career is entirely too strong, that his entire talk was for the guys? That we girls are present only in the domestic scene of having coffee with our husbands, the scene he so carelessly dismissed?

**Hota Sir (head of the comp. science dept.), in particular, looked at me like I was crazy.

Good Morning Sunshine

A drabble* I wrote last week...

Darkness closes in around you, as you curl up under soft blankets and wait for sleep, for the hurt in your bosom to go away. It doesn’t, and you give up.

You stare out your window; the first rays of Dawn quietly brush away the darkness of the night. Dew lingers on wild grasses, and a soft light—half blue, half silver—chases away the ghosts trapped inside your room, inside your mind, and tries to fill a void inside you—all that he left behind.

Something like hope flickers in your eyes, and you wish Sunshine a good morning.

*A drabble is an extremely short work of fiction exactly one hundred words in length

The Way to Room # 306

301:
I walk past the room, his name means nothing to me...

302:
I wonder what happened to her...

303:
Perhaps he shall be discharged tomorrow...

304:

Perhaps he, too, despairs of ever recovering entirely...

305:

She, too, must have loved ones anxious for her to get well...

306:
I enter, and smile for my father.

chuvvi!

चुव्वी!

I remember, when I was little, I would crawl under nana's bed, and hide.  Today I did so again (daddy's bed this time) though for far less nobler reasons than playing hide and seek with my cousins, or surprising my नाना--he would laugh when he found me there, and call me चुव्वी, a little female mouse, or something like that.


--I was mopping the hall in anticipation of my father's coming back from the hospital.

Simplicity

Evenfall

We sat by our lake,

Sumedha and I,

letting go thoughts 

in ripples rapidly moving away from us

towards the Sunset.

Five lines I'm immensely proud of. Because they taught me that I can capture a moment into words, without providing context or explanation or detail. And I wouldn't lose anything of value; it would, in fact, be much more powerful this way.

Here's what it originally was:

(I wouldn't call this first draft. A zeroth draft perhaps, a scrawl of what I wished to put into them poem.) 

Lake:
We found a lil' lake in our campus, Sumedha and I,
we walked around and inspected its (boundaries?) 
The water was greenish but clear
then sat down at its banks,
legs dangling into the water.


We softly splashed the waters,
In the silence letting go thoughts
and creating ripples moving away from us
creating thoughts and ripples 
rapidly moving away from us.


I concentrated(?) on one ripple
The lake was still
It was I that was 
moving away
somewhere serene and peaceful.


(when we headed back) to our hostel,
my companion smiled--
this shall be our secret.
Yes, I replied, this shall be our lake.

God is orthodox. Proof.

Okay. Here's the deal. US Open 2010. Semifinals on Sat. Rafa defeated Youzhny, no probs at all, and then Novak Djokovic fought 3 hrs, 44 mins to upset The Federer. Finals scheduled for Sunday--fresh Rafa vs tired Djoko. And it rained.

“You are lucky!  Seriously lucky!”

-- Nadia Petrova, to Djokovic in the locker room, once the match was postponed.

“Another day in New York,"

--The Djoker, grinning.

“For sure, it’s fairer like this. I think it’s better for both of us to have a day of rest.”

-- Rafa being Rafa.

“Obviously, Rafa would have preferred to play today, and Novak was praying for rain, so I suppose what I take out of things is that God is Orthodox.  He’s been listening to Novak.”

-- Benito Perez Barbadillo, Rafa and Novak's publicist.

What else can I say, except that the whole thing had me chuckling like a girl possessed?

Climb every mountain

Begun on 31st Aug, 2010
I have been watching The Sound Of Music. Tis a very cheerful, dear little movie, never fails to make me smile, no matter how many times I watch it. Only, this time, I registered the song 'Climb Every Mountain'.

The movie, despite all its optimism, has an open ending-- Yes, they have escaped the Nazis. This time. How shall they fare, climbing that mountain? Will they reach Switzerland? What happens, once they reach that country? Do keep in mind that there's a war going on. Today, I heard the answer: Climb Every Mountain.

You see, there are but few certainties in life. You do not know how you'll fare, once you cross said mountain. Hell, you do not know whether you shall cross it. But... you can not stay this side of the mountain forever, for fear of the other. No, all you can do is prepare yourself as best as you can, and forge ahead.

Everyday of your life, for as long as you live

Climb every mountain, ford every stream

Follow every rainbow, till you find your dream

A dream that will need, all the love you can give

Everyday of your life, for as long as you live

Climb every mountain, ford every stream

Follow every rainbow, till you find your... dream...

All we need is trust, that one day, we shall find our dream; that dream that will need all the love we can give.

I would continue, but I fear I can not find words better than the song. Read it again, this darling song, and again, and... you'll find something precious in those words. 

I did.

Sounds Of Rain

It rained, early this evening; we were all in Jagruti's room, and the wind blew a fine spray into the room. #delighted smile#


written in April 2010 

Sounds Of Rain

Uninvited, a gust of wind wanders into my room, 

sending my chimes tinkling in Raga Malhar.

*According to the legend, Raga Malhar is so powerful that it begins to rain when sung.

Ode to Joy. Still?

Oh, I spoiled my exam quite nicely. Not the 'I did not prepare well, ob. I did bad.' No, I did not keep my 'calm' wile I wrote the exam, what I should have done with relative ease, I didn't.

I feel a sharp regret, when I am reminded of this, but, well... it ain't all-consuming, and... and again, the notes of Ode to Joy swell 'round me.

Ode to joy

Tis Jagruti's and Shiksha's birthday, today, and they are both so very dear to me.
Jiji finally got her visa.
The notes of Beethoven's Ode to joy swell in the background.

And amid the monotony and frustration of preparing for tomorrow's (how ridiculous it is, that their birthdays are today, and the exam is tomorrow) exam, amid fears that, perhaps, I shall spoil the exam, a sharp feeling arises inside me, valiantly pushing away the dullness, the doubt. It whispers that I can do well tomorrow, that I will.

For now, me needs to go back to me books. #smile#

Class is at Ten...

With due credit to Robert Browning's Pippa Passes...

The year's at the spring
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearled
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn;
My classes start at ten -
All's right with the world!

And that's how it's been since I woke up 7:30 this morning! Ridiculous, n'est pas?

Mother Teresa said...

A blog post, to mark the birth centenary of this remarkable woman. 

"If you judge people, you have no time to love them."

How true it is! You love someone not because they are good, kind, and generous (even if they are), but because they are themselves. And there's no need to complicate that love with judgement.

“Smiling Faces Do Not Mean That There Is Absence Of Sorrow!
But It Means That They Have The Ability To Deal With It”
- Anonymous.

Rafa Says...

Right now I don't think if I am No. 1 or I am No. 5.... I am Rafa, and I go to every tournament to try to play well and to try to be competitive and win as many matches as I can.  For me, important thing is that I feel that I play well, feel that I am competitive to try to win everybody.  And when we finish the season, we will see where I gonna be, no?

-Rafael Nadal

Substitute tennis with life, and it's the best philosophy you can find. Actually attempt to do so, finding exact parallels and all that, and you'll end with up with something that could be out of a crappy self-help book. And most self-help books are crappy, with tall claims, threadbare philosophies, rhetoric, and vague instructions of how to live your life that you wouldn't know how to translate into your day.

This, however... you see, it ain't a morsel thrown to us mortals from someone who has achieved inner peace, or what ever said book is preaching. It is a very real struggle, of a very real person, to try to play well, to give his all to his tennis, to each match, to each game, each point. To find satisfaction, to find life in that struggle. 

To me, Rafa is proof, that it can be done: that you can enjoy what you are doing, that every day deserves your best and that you can give that best every single day, even when it is not your day. That you can keep fighting when you are down, that a struggle need not be tedious, that you can win said struggle, if you persevere. 

That it doesn't matter, what the world labels you. You are yourself (oh, 'I am Rafa' sooo sounds better), and you decide what is truly important to you. You define your own victories and defeats, and you can be happy, as you go about reaching said victories.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
No, it doesn't come easy to me, this living by the day. My mind is clouded by fear of the future, by spectres of the past. But as my Rafa battles the hard-court season, I shall fight my own battle: to live my life, to push aside my demons--fear and guilt and laziness, to do what I love, to enjoy what I do.

'And when I finish this semester, we will see where I gonna be, no?'

Parding your beggon

Digs up happy, fun memories, this one. Enjoy!

The Muddle head from Petushkee

-Ogden Nash

I knew a man from Petushkee
As muddleheaded as could be.

He always got mixed up with clothes;
He wore his mittens on his toes,
Forgot his collar in his haste,
And tied his tie around his waist.

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!

They told him as he went about:
“You’ve got u’r coat on inside out!”
And when they saw his hat, they said:
“You’ve put a saucepan on your head!”

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!

At lunch he scratched a piece of bread,
And spread some butter on his head.
He put his walking stick to bed,
And he stood in the rack instead.

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!

He walked upto a tram one day
And climbed in very sprightly;
Conductor thought that he would pay,
Instead he said politely:

“Parding your beggon,
Kister Monductor,
I’m off for a week’s vacation;
I stop you to beg your cramway tar
As soon as we reach the station.”
Conductor got a fright
And didn’t sleep that nite.

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!

He rushed into the first café:
“A railway ticket please, One way.”
And at the ticket office said:
“A slice of tea and a cup of bread.”

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!

He passed the man collecting the fares,
And entered a carriage awaiting repairs,
That stood on a siding, all by itself.
Half of his luggage, he put on a shelf,
The rest on the floor, his coat on his lap
And settled himself for a bit of a nap.

All at once he raised his head,
“I must have been asleep”- he said.
“Hey, what stop is this?” he cried
“Petushkee,” a voice replied.

Once again he closed his eyes
And dreamt he was in Paradise.
When he woke, he looked about,
Raised the window and leaned out.

“I’ve seen this place before, I believe,
Is it Kharkov or is it Kiev?
Tell me where I am,” he cried.
“In Petushkee”, a voice replied.

And so again he settled down
And dreamt the world was upside down
When he woke, he looked about,
Raised the window and looked out.

“I seem to know this station too,
Is it Nalchik or Baku?
Tell me what its called,” he cried.
“Petushkee’ a voice replied.

Up he jumped: “It’s a crime!
I’ve been riding all this time,
And here I am where I began!
That’s no way to treat a man!’

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!

PS: Will find a fun pic to go with it, one day. For now, me off to sleep.

#tilts head#

Why do I insist on spelling 'em busses?

And I've had no practice at all...

"There is no use trying," said Alice; "one can't believe impossible things." "I dare say you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."

 - Lewis Carrol                                           

Break, Break, Break

Break, break, break

 -Alfred, Lord Tennyson                                    

Break, break, break,

On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!

And I would that my tongue could utter

The thoughts that arise in me.

O, well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O, well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay!

And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill;
But O for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.



I will not dare to explain the poem; no, I'll only repeat:

 'But O for the touch of a vanished hand,
 And the sound of a voice that is still! '

mmm...

“Finish every day and be done with it. You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

How comforting a feeling it is, when I am so ordered to take care of myself, to be happy!

#hugs#

http://pois-rouge.blogspot.com/2010/07/meeting-your-quota.html:


“We need 4 hugs a
day for survival. We need 8 hugs a day for maintenance. We need 12 hugs
a day for growth.”

I don't think I'm meeting my quota.




Me neither.

Stumbling upon

I found this via http://www.stumbleupon.com/home/. Its a lil fantastic, but here goes. Your Thoughts Program Your Cells | High Existence su.pr/1BGjpL Some “Basic” Cellular Biology There are thousands upon thousands of receptors on each cell in our body. Each receptor is specific to one peptide, or protein. When we have feelings of anger, sadness, guilt, excitement, happiness or nervousness, each separate emotion releases its own flurry of neuropeptides. Those peptides surge through the body and connect with those receptors which change the structure of each cell as a whole. Where this gets interesting is when the cells actually divide. If a cell has been exposed to a certain peptide more than others, the new cell that is produced through its division will have more of the receptor that matches with that specific peptide. Likewise, the cell will also have less receptors for peptides that its mother/sister cell was not exposed to as often. Thus if you have been bombarding your cells with peptides from a negative attitude, you are literally programming your cells to receive more of those peptides in the future. Even worse, you are lessening the number of receptors of positive-attitude peptides, making yourself inclined towards negativity. This is why it takes more than a few days of positive thinking to make a significant impact on your long-term attitude patterns. Every cell in your body is replaced every 2 months. So if you have a history of negative thinking, depression, pessimism or perpetual frustration, plan on working on yourself for longer than a few days before you see more permanent results. Start today. Start reshaping the biological structure of your cells and become inclined to happiness and optimism instead of whatever emotion your are physically addicted to right now.

Sindhara

सिंधारा, celebrated on the second day of the Shukla Paksha (waxing phase of moon) of Shravan, is essentially a women's festival. I know not, exactly, the rituals and ceremonies that go with it- mehendi, new clothes, swinging on झूला s, and gifts of fruit and corn and a token amount of money.


To me and jiji, it brings back memories of... oh, when we were little girls, the evening of the festival, दादीमा would sit us on the rocking chair ('twas a difficult task, to be sure, getting us both to sit still), sing us a lovely song--we couldn't make out the words, but she had a beautiful voice, and the song wrapped itself around us, notes hanging in the air in perfect pitch and no melody at all, just rhythm of her breathing... oh, I do believe I make no sense at all--while rocking the chair back and forth, and give us a rupee (or two, or five, as the years went by) each. We'd run off to the shop as soon as she was done to buy eclairs. 


We did not realize it then, but, you see, this was our world- mine, jiji's and dadima's: free spirits, indulgence, and a beautiful song. 'tis sindhara tomorrow: to me, it is simply another reason to go back to that little world, for a while... to feel my dadi's presence- warm, rich, and loving- wrapping itself around me.  

Writing, Briefly. By Paul Graham

http://www.paulgraham.com/writing44.html


(In the process of answering an email, I accidentally wrote a tiny essay about writing. I usually spend weeks on an essay. This one took 67 minutes—23 of writing, and 44 of rewriting.)

I think it's far more important to write well than most people realize. Writing doesn't just communicate ideas; it generates them. If you're bad at writing and don't like to do it, you'll miss out on most of the ideas writing would have generated.

As for how to write well, here's the short version: Write a bad version 1 as fast as you can; rewrite it over and over; cut outeverything unnecessary; write in a conversational tone; develop a nose for bad writing, so you can see and fix it in yours; imitate writers you like; if you can't get started, tell someone what you plan to write about, then write down what you said; expect 80% of the ideas in an essay to happen after you start writing it, and 50% of those you start with to be wrong; be confident enough to cut; have friends you trust read your stuff and tell you which bits are confusing or drag; don't (always) make detailed outlines; mull ideas over for a few days before writing; carry a small notebook or scrap paper with you; start writing when you think of the first sentence; if a deadline forces you to start before that, just say the most important sentence first; write about stuff you like; don't try to sound impressive; don't hesitate to change the topic on the fly; use footnotes to contain digressions; use anaphora to knit sentences together; read your essays out loud to see (a) where you stumble over awkward phrases and (b) which bits are boring (the paragraphs you dread reading); try to tell the reader something new and useful; work in fairly big quanta of time; when you restart, begin by rereading what you have so far; when you finish, leave yourself something easy to start with; accumulate notes for topics you plan to cover at the bottom of the file; don't feel obliged to cover any of them; write for a reader who won't read the essay as carefully as you do, just as pop songs are designed to sound ok on crappy car radios; if you say anything mistaken, fix it immediately; ask friends which sentence you'll regret most; go back and tone down harsh remarks; publish stuff online, because an audience makes you write more, and thus generate more ideas; print out drafts instead of just looking at them on the screen; use simple, germanic words; learn to distinguish surprises from digressions; learn to recognize the approach of an ending, and when one appears, grab it.

The sense of touch: Part 2/2

Nature is not always a gentle goddess. Sometimes, she is cold, sweeps us all in her apathy. When it rains, the raindrops, so gentle on tender leaves, sometimes turn traitors. They pound the earth, like drumsticks, only infinitely sharper, as he who has ventured out would tell. I am drenched, soaked, and strong gusts of wind bring chills. It is the worst, when she is angry, and scorching hot. The expanse before me is now covered in gloom, and what binds me to it are the sun rays that sear all in their path, and the hot wind that imprisons my spirits.

- *- * -

 People can be cold too, and their tongues sharp. How easy it is, to forget to be kind, to snap at others! Oh! None of this is touch, is it? Touch is, forgive me the paradox, intangible here. And yet it is there, somewhere. In the shards of sarcasm that hit you with so much force, in the waves of humiliation that wash over you. In the steady, unrelenting hold of regret, in the dead weight of boredom. It is the worst, that stab of fear, it goes away, soon enough, but leaves behind gripping anxiety and dread to imprison my spirits.

Dickinson, again.

I know not, but I felt that I must post this today.

It's All I Have to Bring Today

by Emily Dickinson

It's all I have to bring today –
This, and my heart beside –
This, and my heart, and all the fields –
And all the meadows wide –
Be sure you count – should I forget
Some one the sum could tell –
This, and my heart, and all the Bees
Which in the Clover dwell.

 It is a darling little poem, ain't it? I feel all warm and fuzzy when I read it.

This afternoon

Here's my attempt at a novel topic, some three years ago. I never got round to writing it properly.

This afternoon, as I walked home from school
- I passed a bicycle repair shop, a lad poked his tongue out at the owner in triumph, and danced a victory jig. I wondered what had happened.
- I caught the eye of the man, he looked at me strangely.


This afternoon, as I walked home from school
- I turned into the little shortcut, a bullock cart approached from the opp. direction. The bell tinkled, and as it approached, I also heard the rhythmic toc toc toc of the wheels of the rustic blue cart. The driver hit his whip lazily.
- I caught the eye of the man, he looked at me strangely.

This afternoon, as I walked home from school
- a man was painting a little statuette (plaster of paris) of Mother India, by him were several more: some prettily coloured and other figurines equally graceful waiting for their turn.
- He caught me staring, and as he looked askance at me. I shrugged and continued my way


This afternoon, as I walked home from school
- A little warbler began a song, I stared at it. Beak parted, throat swelling, creating little notes woven together with joy.
- It caught me at it, no, it did not look at me strangely. Merely tossed its golden head and flew off.

This afternoon, as I walked home from school
- My own soft melody was interrupted by more jovial tunes, they were quickly established as from a loudspeaker on a little cart. I got no glimpse of its driver; I was distracted by the girl who rode it. Her faded ‘lehenga’ sharply in contrast with the bright flower in her hair, indeed, the bright smile on her face.
- She looked at me that instant. I beamed and quickly averted my face. When I looked up again, there seemed to be a problem, the cart wouldn’t move. She got down, pushed it over the pothole, then with the same effortless grace, swung herself back up into the cart.
- I stared until it took a turn, then continued my way

This afternoon, as I walked home from school
- I saw three girls grouped over a book, under the freckled shade of the old pepal tree. They were struggling over it, probably a piece of homework, the pencil moved uncertainly from one line to another.
- I felt an urge to approach them, to help them with it. Then ruefully wondered what they would think of my attempts- I was not very good with their language.
- I walked on.