Nature at play

There was a spot where the stairway took a turn, exactly where the sun chose to shine in through the window. That was where two young hearts pounded heavily each noon. The first day they met and every day then on. For a moment, when her hair glistened and her silhoutte was framed against the sunshine before she turned and continued down the stairs. She was seemingly oblivious to the blatant attention. She had been conscious of his presence behind her as she went down the stairs. Her outward poise and gait totally belied how she felt within. She knew he would be watching her closely as she turned . "Again today?" her bouncy eager friends would ask in the evening, as soon as she jumped onto their cots back in the hostel. And she would act out the moment that had seemed an hour to her. Coming to think of it, the reason she took an hour to decide her kurta, flicked her friend's earrings, added on the hint of rouge was all for that single moment. Each day she devised a little scheme to tease him. Once she had looked right into his eyes and just when his heart skipped a leap at this unusual turn of events, she looked away as if he was transparent. She enjoyed the attention. The power.
Signals were wired out through invisible antennas. Glances spead into bold looks. She smiled a 'hi' and he signalled his mobile number. Late night sms spree ran into months. While he struggled to cross the fine line that stopped the relationship from progressing, she playfully kept balancing it. Till one day, he could take no more fooling around. The words were spelt out. He was in love and She was done. She knew it was time to find her way back the famous rabbit hole. It was beggining to suffocate her. Suddenly the attention put her off. Sms count ran down. Her friends heard less of him. The magic was over to her. But the sun still shone down on a empty spot in the stairway where a lone heart ached each noon.

Chennai local

22Sep08

Tirusulam,Chennai

The sun at its peak , the gypsy lady gets off the train to relieve her body from the  embrace of combs, colourful bangles and stringed beads on to the steaming cement bench. Sweat glistening away on her wrinkled dark skin, she glances at me through the window without interest. As the local train sped me along with it, she  blurred into the white nebula of rays. Dimnishing to a speck that she must have matched the size of the smallest bead she had held.

Blinded by brightness, my eyes drift away into the packed chaos of the 'ladies' coach, which was an extension of the 'Ist class' coach, only physically separated by a 3feet high wall. I was travelling during the peak time. A time when office-goers checked watches hoping that it wasn't one of those days when their boss turned up earlier. A time when school kids struggled to balance themselves on their feet as their school bags, almost a huge extension on their slender backs got caught between impatient people. A time when kids who were lucky enough to find a seat pored through sheets of xeroxed chapters, mugging away calculus formulae, benzene reactions and scientific names of their favourite fruits for the papers they would have to sit for in less than an hour. A time when tiffin boxes were opened and the smell of freshly ground chutney filled the coach. My eyes hunted down the aroma. I had missed breakfast. It was 10.15 a.m.

In front of me, a lady who had been dictating reciepes in Tamil over the mobile ever since I got in, shifted her position to avoid the middle aged lady who was dozing away occasionally leaning to her sides. To my left there was a young girl studying intently. I peeked over her book and saw "haemostasis" in bold black letters. To my right, someone was shifting and I saw a girl of my age feeling her way next to me. She was hard of sight and I moved a bit for her to sit in comfortably. I wondered where she was off to unaccompanied. She wore a drab salwar and her hair was oiled into a neat plait.

Minambakkam,Chennai

The next halt. Sellers flocked into the over packed compartment. This time it was flowers and vegetables. Bannanas and bindis. Purses and salwar 'nadas'( the thread that secures salwars to your waist). Face towels and safety pins. Haggling and advertising. Raised eyebrows and approving smiles. Clatter of coins and grumbles. Pushing and swearing. Headache and interest.

I looked on in awe as the flower lady stopped beside my seat. The visually challenged girl held out her hand and the lady placed 2 'mozhams' of jasmine in it. I saw her cross checking the 'mozhams' by stretching it from the tip of her middle finger to the joint of her elbow. Twice. Satisfied, she laced it together and wore it behind her head, checking it consciously if it sat well. I could feel her body relax. I related to it. I knew she felt beautiful. I wished I could see her the way she saw herself in her mind then. Through her eyes.

Meanwhile, stations  crossed. Tracks heated up. A quick scan and I found two open Sidney Sheldons. Two woman in the far right of the coach talking in hushed whispers. It wasn't hard to guess from their expressions that they were bitching about someone . The other ladies had started comparing their little shopping purchases. Bindis and bannanas. Colourful and ripe. Just like the 'ladies'  coach, I was a part of. A couple of romeos hung out from the train that sped by my window.

Suddenly I noticed a woman in her mid-thirties. Her face yellow with turmeric. Open hair, curly and long, parted at the centre. A huge red round kumkum bindi in the middle of her forehead. But it was the angle that she held her head in and the way her mouth mumbled something that made me uneasy. I'm not proud to admit that I hoped I would not be left alone with her in the coach.

Park station, Chennai

Over ten stations had crossed me. I have been travelling for more than 30 minutes. The visually challenged girl was getting ready to leave. A few minutes earlier in response to my query to another woman as to how many stations far 'beach' was, she had replied it was next to 'Park' and the last stop. Suddenly I noticed, the coach was roomy and peaceful. I stretched my feet onto the seat across. Sunlight poured in and the fresh blue paint of the walls shone. It had escaped love proclamations and swearing scribbles that ususally ornate local train interiors. I could see till the end of the 'Ist class' coach. A gentleman, with dignified greys pored over the English daily. I got up as the next station approached. I saw the grey haired gentleman leering from his coach. In my girly head his respect fator did a stunning dive.

My backpack as I stood near the exit, held dear scribbles of my journey from Chromepet to Beach.

Beach Station, Chennai.

Goodbye rails.

s no..

As the mobile beeps away desperate to grab his attention, I attempt to be patient...not to be the victim of whimsical acts. In a bit,I could either be dancing with the daffodils or sinking with the sun .But atleast one way or the other, Life would resume.

'Follow your heart'. If only it were as simple as that, when many a times, in retrospect, I have been thankful for the good sense I had to follow my mind. Attimes the heart sends such weird messages which the mind vetoes after infinite scrutinies.

I have this heart and mind that play poker all the time. And any game wagered with a clear head ,a sane mind, focussed drive and a bit of luck is a tough gamble to lose. But as rare as they are true, there are these times when all those take a back seat paving way for magic.

A chaotic silence. My mobile has been mute for long. It was a 'no'. This particular time I had wanted a 's'. But I knew from experience that Wants could be very deceptive. Wants could turn around and make a mock of you tomorrow. But my mobile had made the sound of silence. This time apparently 'no' was the sensible thing to follow. 'no' was the truth I was refusing to accept. I had my answer and it was time to be happy.Then i got one missed call...Out of nowhere, the daffodils sprung and bloomed its way to the sky. It was a 's'.

For the past few years, times when foresight failed and tiny decisions and predictions had to be done, times when I had the courage to hand over control of my life , I would frame up a question for which the answer could be only 'yes' or 'no'. Miles away, my friend , with whom i was only occasionally in touch, who had no clue as to what my question was, what answer would make me happy( 's' is not what I always want)... made a decision for me. On no basis. Crazy as it sounds, I challenged destiny to prove me wrong and destiny accepted. I knew exactly what had to be done but refused to recognise it. But I must say, looking back am happy for all the choices I made.

If this has cocked up eyebrows, I have to add that I have found that not all random choices have been great. But with him, somehow it has always been magically right.

Gowtham...This post is dedicated to that split second which you take to pick a 's or no', inspite of me leaving you in the dark about what it was all about. They may not be life turning choices, but in its own little ways, your responses have reassured my faith in my own judgement and given me the strength to do what has to be done!!

Thanks natpu;)

P.S: Don't get biased with this post. The rules of the game will never change:)

Wisecrack 1

"So which hurts more: labor or getting kicked in the nuts?guess we'll never know..coz nobody gets to experience both.."

courtesy: Chandler from F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

:)hmmm..

Strings in the wind

7.14 pm..end of a groggy lazy Tuesday, I again have one of those attacks. The sort that tells you something is lurking around the corner, waiting to strike.. create magic. Magic like the final brushstroke that makes all the difference between a painting and a masterpiece…and you see the transformation happening right before your eyes...that you are glued to it..so glued you forget how it felt like waiting behind the corner,full of anticipation only moments ago.The surge of creativity…the energy prior to creation…

I wonder if God felt this before he conceived all that our senses acknowledge today…and d exhilaration once he witnessed the miracle he had done.. I guess it has got to do a lot with how you feel when you say “I felt like God”…
I wonder if God..a supernatural power had feelings. Was it even possible for power to have emotions and a mind of its own..

There I dwell comfy in my world of abstracts…random thoughts that tumble into each other..sliding back into a string....swaying in the wind....

okay..That is how I felt , a sudden need to blog.I had no clue as to what I wanted to write and I didn't even want to find out. I just wanted to let it flow.I had to write ,no matter what.

And here I am forming strings.
And there you are. .wondering.:)
Scoot before one more hits you;)

adios,
God bless you;)

Pink roots

Yesterday I peeled my first beetroot.
Today, I probably am the biggest fan of peeling them.

Long ago, days when my lunches were packed into boxes and opened under shady trees ,beetroot was the only vegetable I studied mentally for a period worth mentioning . It made my rice Pink, the magical colour ever. But, me not being a great fan of the taste , other childhood fantasies took over pushing my dear friend into a dark, forgotten tunnel of time as I sped merrily..obliviously.. into childhood..early teens..late ones and adulthood till there was a stilling lightning inside the tunnel, the same moment I had carelessly picked up the most boring looking object barely glancing at wht looked like a ball of sand...and peeled it.

It was an unbelievable brilliance under the drab brown blanket. It was royalty. The kind that is owned by the family of Pink.

Excerpts from Fireflies : Tagore

My fancies are fireflies, —
Specks of living light
twinkling in the dark.

Your careless gifts of a moment,
like the meteors of an autumn night,
catch fire in the depth of my being.

The faith waiting in the heart of a seed
promises a miracle of life
which it cannot prove at once.

These paper boats of mine are meant to dance
on the ripples of hours,
and not to reach any destination.

You leave your memory as a flame
to my lonely lamp of separation.

Your flitting love lightly brushed with its wings
my sun-flower
and never asked if it was ready to surrender its honey.

Between the shores of Me and Thee
there is the loud ocean, my own surging self,
which I long to cross.

Before the end of my journey
may I reach within myself
the one which is the all,
leaving the outer shell
to float away with the drifting multitude
upon the current of chance and change.

The Window dressing

Swinging my feet off the bed, I welcomed the biting chill of granite against my toes. I was wrong...I had managed to sleep.Rising in the morning for office wasn't as gruelling a task as every other day. I opened my eyes and I was up. I looked into the mirror. The reflection I fell in love with everyday was that of a strangers today. I stared at it for longer than I could afford to.My overflowing wardrobe that always seemed it could take in more looked just fine today. Today,I would not have the abandoned clothes strewn on my cot till evening waiting to be shelved back into my wardrobe. Today, I would not have to try on ten different suits to decide my pick for the day. I knew what I wanted to wear and I pulled it out. I heard my mobile ring to warn me that my pick up cab was approaching. Any other day, this would have been the time when the dogs and drivers in my neighbourhood witnessed me racing down the street.But today I had chosen to blow dry my hair. I had risked being hated..being misunderstood. I knew I had to take up either violin classes or guitar or art. The stove was turned off so was the geyser.The milk jar was covered. The night lamp was off. Today, I had forgotten nothing. I was ready to start the day. I was ready to glue on the smile. I was ready to play my part and to do my role. I checked myself in the mirror.She looked back at me.

It was not death, for I stood up,
And all the dead lie down.
-Emily Dickinson