One year. One year of silence. One year of memories where smiles turned to tears and tears turned to smiles. One year of never being able to forget a single day. One year of passing through the same street and reliving the same pain over and over again.
There are certain people who walk into your life and you know right then, it's never going to be the same after that very instant. Every instance that made you feel like that was a larger than life moment, will make you cry a million times. It's so strange how "at peace" one looks on the face, when there is a storm within. How one can try and try but never successfully bury any portion of this surreal past life.
For one, when you know that you can try your best but never fall out of being one spirit, every attempt you make to disengage is unfruitful. You can teach yourself to hate, a lesson that will never be learnt, a desperate albeit futile process.
I wish I did not remember. The dates, the incidences, the laughs, the jokes, the tears, the moments of complete and absolute silence, the moments of incessant laughter. I wish I could somehow let go, in the true sense of the word. I am never away from the surreal. I am never departed from it. I have never really gotten over it, and I don't think I ever will.
One year. One year of silence. One year of moving ahead but never being able to move on.
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
Monday, July 06, 2009
My Hero
Aaah I jest you not. The past month has whizzed past like nothing else. I spent quality time with my father and see traits of him that only a die hard fan can.
There may be few people in this world who do not love their father to death. My emotion is hardly any different. And by no means do I feel that I could do any justice to my view of my procreator in these few paragraphs.
He is an absolute super star. An A1 personality. Bright, charming personality, strongly grounded to his roots, humble beginnings, star studded aspirations yet heavily conscious of his ground zero. That's what keeps him sane in an undoubtedly crazy world around him.
From where I see him, I see my hero. A man who can falter but never do any wrong, a man who wouldn't think twice before coming to the aid of the same person who may have stabbed him on the back.
From where I see him, its his imperfections that have made him a perfect son, a perfect brother, a perfect husband, a perfect father and a perfect human being.
From where I see him, he loves nothing more than seeing my mother smile, enjoys nothing more than seeing my sibling and me hug, prides nothing more than our small victories in life.
From where I see him, he is perfect. My father, with his short temper, with his insane necessity to be more than perfect, his need to be super super crazy clean, his zest for life, with his "never say die" attitude, is nothing short of perfect.
From where I see him, my hero has his head high, his ego low, his eyes on the stars, his feet firmly grounded. My hero sits high up that pedestal and I shall forever be grateful to have this beautiful person, to have and to hold, and to lovingly call, my father.
There may be few people in this world who do not love their father to death. My emotion is hardly any different. And by no means do I feel that I could do any justice to my view of my procreator in these few paragraphs.
He is an absolute super star. An A1 personality. Bright, charming personality, strongly grounded to his roots, humble beginnings, star studded aspirations yet heavily conscious of his ground zero. That's what keeps him sane in an undoubtedly crazy world around him.
From where I see him, I see my hero. A man who can falter but never do any wrong, a man who wouldn't think twice before coming to the aid of the same person who may have stabbed him on the back.
From where I see him, its his imperfections that have made him a perfect son, a perfect brother, a perfect husband, a perfect father and a perfect human being.
From where I see him, he loves nothing more than seeing my mother smile, enjoys nothing more than seeing my sibling and me hug, prides nothing more than our small victories in life.
From where I see him, he is perfect. My father, with his short temper, with his insane necessity to be more than perfect, his need to be super super crazy clean, his zest for life, with his "never say die" attitude, is nothing short of perfect.
From where I see him, my hero has his head high, his ego low, his eyes on the stars, his feet firmly grounded. My hero sits high up that pedestal and I shall forever be grateful to have this beautiful person, to have and to hold, and to lovingly call, my father.
Tears in heaven
I looked out of the flight window, thinking why is it that I have gotten so many signs of my past over and over. Past memories flood through my brain. Remind me of the lost. Things that I let go, things that let go of me. Nevertheless, they seem etched in my mind and soul.
How can one ever stop loving, I asked aloud once. I finally did. I gave up. Gave up trying to fool myself. Gave up the girl in me who was the dreamer aka the "self-pain-inflicter". When hearts break, there is no noise. It feels like an explosion but if I were to describe it, it would be so.
Two people staring into each other's eyes fooling themselves and each other that the moment would last forever, that the pain would not, that there could be some sane way of making things work, that the insanity that lead to this moment is unreal, that the imagined happiness is fact, and the factual pain inflicted is fiction.
Why is it that happiness and joy are never as long lasting as pain and tears? Why then are memories of happy times recollected more than the reasons for which the present is in fact present? The smiles that used to be smiles thought of more?
Some of us have a very special gift. Of forgiving and forgetting. I seem to be able to forgive or at least try to but can never seem to forget. What is a very romantic quality to have when you are in the middle of a relationship becomes an extremely painstaking delusion when it ends. Works something like this: reflections and stories fly past my mind almost like a movie but with no reasonable starting or ending point. It's like a super sonic flow of happy and sad.
Today I ask... How can one ever forget? How do you shut off the images, erase the virtually endless reels running through your head?
How can one ever stop loving, I asked aloud once. I finally did. I gave up. Gave up trying to fool myself. Gave up the girl in me who was the dreamer aka the "self-pain-inflicter". When hearts break, there is no noise. It feels like an explosion but if I were to describe it, it would be so.
Two people staring into each other's eyes fooling themselves and each other that the moment would last forever, that the pain would not, that there could be some sane way of making things work, that the insanity that lead to this moment is unreal, that the imagined happiness is fact, and the factual pain inflicted is fiction.
Why is it that happiness and joy are never as long lasting as pain and tears? Why then are memories of happy times recollected more than the reasons for which the present is in fact present? The smiles that used to be smiles thought of more?
Some of us have a very special gift. Of forgiving and forgetting. I seem to be able to forgive or at least try to but can never seem to forget. What is a very romantic quality to have when you are in the middle of a relationship becomes an extremely painstaking delusion when it ends. Works something like this: reflections and stories fly past my mind almost like a movie but with no reasonable starting or ending point. It's like a super sonic flow of happy and sad.
Today I ask... How can one ever forget? How do you shut off the images, erase the virtually endless reels running through your head?
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
A dash of "faith", a dollop of "do"
The power of action versus the power of faith is such an old long standing battle. Is one bigger than the other? Who is to say? Does any of us have concrete evidence to declare one the winner? Can belief exist without action or vice versa? Is power of prayer interspersed with power of action, the sure shot to success, happiness etcetera?
Faith is such a powerful emotion. The ability to give in and surrender to a "greater" power. To be big enough in mind to accept that there is a stronger energy source who may be capable of doing more and be all pervasive.
While there may be more believers than atheists in the world, is it because we are all that humble or because we want to leave the decision/action as well as be able to blame an entity for our failures? Faith is seriously misundestood. Faith ought not be our answer for our shortcomings.
And it's this misuse that makes faith the obvious option for most of us. Defintely, pushing forth, trusting oneself and holding only oneself responsible for the downfall in addition to the sucesses seems very very hard to do. How can we ordinary mortals be sfrong enough to look at the man in the mirror and chide ourselves for failing? Isn't it much easier to blame it on fate, destiny and this is the best one of all...GOD.
If only we had the maturity to believe that while not all of our happiness is fed by us but all of our misery surely is. If only we had the guts to accept that we do possess a great deal of pathos and that while people who love us choose to ignore them and deal with them we most certainly should not. It all starts with us opening our eyes wide enough to even come close to this simple simple realization.
Oh my dear dear friend, you ain't any more perfect than me. And the sooner you wake up, and burst that bubble you are living in, the sooner you shall see meaning in my words. Till then, all I can do is hope that that day shall in fact arrive, if ever.
Faith is such a powerful emotion. The ability to give in and surrender to a "greater" power. To be big enough in mind to accept that there is a stronger energy source who may be capable of doing more and be all pervasive.
While there may be more believers than atheists in the world, is it because we are all that humble or because we want to leave the decision/action as well as be able to blame an entity for our failures? Faith is seriously misundestood. Faith ought not be our answer for our shortcomings.
And it's this misuse that makes faith the obvious option for most of us. Defintely, pushing forth, trusting oneself and holding only oneself responsible for the downfall in addition to the sucesses seems very very hard to do. How can we ordinary mortals be sfrong enough to look at the man in the mirror and chide ourselves for failing? Isn't it much easier to blame it on fate, destiny and this is the best one of all...GOD.
If only we had the maturity to believe that while not all of our happiness is fed by us but all of our misery surely is. If only we had the guts to accept that we do possess a great deal of pathos and that while people who love us choose to ignore them and deal with them we most certainly should not. It all starts with us opening our eyes wide enough to even come close to this simple simple realization.
Oh my dear dear friend, you ain't any more perfect than me. And the sooner you wake up, and burst that bubble you are living in, the sooner you shall see meaning in my words. Till then, all I can do is hope that that day shall in fact arrive, if ever.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Get me?
It's strange really. How the same things, the same person seem totally different when your perspective in life changes. It's such a powerful thing, perspective. All you really do is put yourself in people's shoes. You will realize that it's much easier to let things go. Much easier to move on without the bickering, the arguments, the mess.
IMHO, there's no mantra to it. We just happen to love ourselves much more. We give ourselves more leway, way much more benefit of the doubt. And it's simply because of this that we find ourselves forgiving others more when we put things into perspective.
And why not? Surely it must make us better people, no? Just making an attempt shouldn't hurt? If it does help, we may just manage to make our already short life span somewhat simpler. And bring in more smiles. Now that seems worth a shot.
Almost appears to be a no-brainer to do the same for people on our speed dial. I mean these folks who you want to be able to reach at the touch of a button surely deserve that much, I would assume.
And somehow most of us fail, terribly. I by no means am any exception. And it really is a pity that we humans find understanding, adjusting, empathizing so incredibly difficult.
I have no sermons to give and most definitely no "life-experience" to add. But I do hope that this be your takeaway if you cared enough to read thus far. Each day as you complain about the weather, the long morning flight that finally got you to work that Monday morning as you got back from that vacation, broccoli for dinner, perhaps you will hold close to your mind and heart - one little almost magical word-perspective.
IMHO, there's no mantra to it. We just happen to love ourselves much more. We give ourselves more leway, way much more benefit of the doubt. And it's simply because of this that we find ourselves forgiving others more when we put things into perspective.
And why not? Surely it must make us better people, no? Just making an attempt shouldn't hurt? If it does help, we may just manage to make our already short life span somewhat simpler. And bring in more smiles. Now that seems worth a shot.
Almost appears to be a no-brainer to do the same for people on our speed dial. I mean these folks who you want to be able to reach at the touch of a button surely deserve that much, I would assume.
And somehow most of us fail, terribly. I by no means am any exception. And it really is a pity that we humans find understanding, adjusting, empathizing so incredibly difficult.
I have no sermons to give and most definitely no "life-experience" to add. But I do hope that this be your takeaway if you cared enough to read thus far. Each day as you complain about the weather, the long morning flight that finally got you to work that Monday morning as you got back from that vacation, broccoli for dinner, perhaps you will hold close to your mind and heart - one little almost magical word-perspective.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
One big bear hug away from happiness....
I don't feel a hundred percent today. He is not well. He reminds me of all the good times we shared. He is forever doting and extremely possessive. I remember him being a choosy eater. Since he walked into my life, it has never been the same. He is indeed an irreplaceable part of me.
My heart skips a beat when the telephone rings these days. I am worried that its going to be news I don't want to hear. I refuse to accept the fact that he is probably not going to feel any better any time soon. I think of him all day, all night. I shudder to think that he has not been eating, that he is in a lot of pain but unable to say it.
Pepsi became part of our family 13 years ago. I remember picking him up as a little bundle and hugging him tight as he wondered what was it that was taking him away from his biological mother. He whined all of that autumn September night. None of us slept either. The next morning, he seemed to feel much more at home and has been ever since.
Today, 13 years later, he knows the smell of me, even though I have been away from him 7 of those 13 years. He knows that I was one of the 2 pesky people who nagged him no end so he learned how to bring forth his paw and shake it. Pepsi has always inherently been a scared dog (even though he did everything in his power not to make that obvious, barking incessantly for one). If he could read, he would hate me for writing this and letting the cat, ahem dog out of the bag. He masks his fear by displaying rage.
He is as picky with his food as a teenage girl. He wont eat bread as it is, unless it has a hint of egg on it. He would rather that you let go of all the food in your hand than making him feel like a dog begging for it. Oh, he has ego, that mutt. He has always been obsessively possessive of my father. He pretends to like us all equally but I know what goes in the mind of that fly-fighter. He could forget the world if my dad was around.
A piece of me seems to be going farther and farther away. I wish I could have hugged him longer before I said bye the last time over. I wish I took more pictures. I wish I got one do-over at all these things.
My heart skips a beat when the telephone rings these days. I am worried that its going to be news I don't want to hear. I refuse to accept the fact that he is probably not going to feel any better any time soon. I think of him all day, all night. I shudder to think that he has not been eating, that he is in a lot of pain but unable to say it.
Pepsi became part of our family 13 years ago. I remember picking him up as a little bundle and hugging him tight as he wondered what was it that was taking him away from his biological mother. He whined all of that autumn September night. None of us slept either. The next morning, he seemed to feel much more at home and has been ever since.
Today, 13 years later, he knows the smell of me, even though I have been away from him 7 of those 13 years. He knows that I was one of the 2 pesky people who nagged him no end so he learned how to bring forth his paw and shake it. Pepsi has always inherently been a scared dog (even though he did everything in his power not to make that obvious, barking incessantly for one). If he could read, he would hate me for writing this and letting the cat, ahem dog out of the bag. He masks his fear by displaying rage.
He is as picky with his food as a teenage girl. He wont eat bread as it is, unless it has a hint of egg on it. He would rather that you let go of all the food in your hand than making him feel like a dog begging for it. Oh, he has ego, that mutt. He has always been obsessively possessive of my father. He pretends to like us all equally but I know what goes in the mind of that fly-fighter. He could forget the world if my dad was around.
A piece of me seems to be going farther and farther away. I wish I could have hugged him longer before I said bye the last time over. I wish I took more pictures. I wish I got one do-over at all these things.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Rashmi Chitrakar, anyone?
I am late. It was only last week that I finally came upon the blog of Mr. Amitabh Bachchan. Inspite of being a huge fan, this site somehow eluded me thus far. I am impressed. How does a guy in his late sixties, shuttling between multiple cities in one day keep this going? He is probably making big bucks in the process but that got me thinking about what he is really achieving in this process. I call it the "secret perk".
What the Gaylord of Indian cinema is doing is what each and every one of us have ingrained within us. How people leave trails of their life for others who care to find out. How we humans, have the inherent need to be known, however insignificant our lives may be. Each one of us has the desire that someone somewhere knows what we did, thought about, desired, feared, admired, hated when we walked the earth. Some of us will express impeccably while some of us will leave no traces behind.
There are days when I am really sad or ecstatic. Those are the days when my creative juices are to the brim and a blog is usually one of the outcomes. Today is not one of those days. What's special about today is that its one of those "revelation" kind of days where things suddenly seem clearer.
One thing that is definitely clear to me after reading Mr. Bachchan's blogs is that he is SO normal. He has the same set of insecurities, the same need to "justify" himself, the same craving to correct a wrong statement, a incorrect judgment, a false accusation. Luckily for him, there are millions of people willing to listen to and see his side of the story. How many of us are given that chance? One chance to justify our stand, to not have people judge us without hearing our side of the story, to just let us be? I shudder to think that one day, I will fade away and so many, that knew nothing about me, have built an image that is not remotely close to the real me.
Mr. Bachchan has it easier in that sense. Today he has another person listening to his side of the story, another person giving him the benefit of the doubt, another person being inspired by the demigod that is Amitabh Bachchan.
What the Gaylord of Indian cinema is doing is what each and every one of us have ingrained within us. How people leave trails of their life for others who care to find out. How we humans, have the inherent need to be known, however insignificant our lives may be. Each one of us has the desire that someone somewhere knows what we did, thought about, desired, feared, admired, hated when we walked the earth. Some of us will express impeccably while some of us will leave no traces behind.
There are days when I am really sad or ecstatic. Those are the days when my creative juices are to the brim and a blog is usually one of the outcomes. Today is not one of those days. What's special about today is that its one of those "revelation" kind of days where things suddenly seem clearer.
One thing that is definitely clear to me after reading Mr. Bachchan's blogs is that he is SO normal. He has the same set of insecurities, the same need to "justify" himself, the same craving to correct a wrong statement, a incorrect judgment, a false accusation. Luckily for him, there are millions of people willing to listen to and see his side of the story. How many of us are given that chance? One chance to justify our stand, to not have people judge us without hearing our side of the story, to just let us be? I shudder to think that one day, I will fade away and so many, that knew nothing about me, have built an image that is not remotely close to the real me.
Mr. Bachchan has it easier in that sense. Today he has another person listening to his side of the story, another person giving him the benefit of the doubt, another person being inspired by the demigod that is Amitabh Bachchan.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Alone in a dark room
I've not written for about a year now. And I find that I am most reflective when I am sad. Well, not sad per se. I would call it a state of silence. Where you feel like you are in a dark room. Alone.
I will not say that my life is empty. I am in fact, making an attempt to make it, the opposite of that. But it is very important to put oneself in that "alone in a dark room" state every once in a while to really connect with ourselves.
Mistakes. We all make them, don't we? But sometimes our mistakes get pushed so far away that we lose out on things. Important things. Important people. Important relationships. And in dearth of these relationships, you realize that there is a portion of you that just doesn't exist anymore. And if you really look hard in the mirror, you've turned into this person whom you don't recognize much. Neither recognize nor like.
To what extent should you permit a person to influence your thoughts? At the end of the day, there is that person inside of you begging to differ, forcing you not to change your way of thinking. When you hear such a voice, it really makes sense to shut off every other influence and listen to that inner voice. Who knows you better than that "little-person" inside of you? Why do you have to listen or get influenced by someone judging you or your actions?
When you let yourself be brainwashed enough to stop listening to that "little-person" and start believing this "influence", what do you have to justify to the people who believed in you being a good person, just the way you were? People who loved you regardless of your flaws? How does one pick up the shreds that are left of those relationships and move on?
I will not say that my life is empty. I am in fact, making an attempt to make it, the opposite of that. But it is very important to put oneself in that "alone in a dark room" state every once in a while to really connect with ourselves.
Mistakes. We all make them, don't we? But sometimes our mistakes get pushed so far away that we lose out on things. Important things. Important people. Important relationships. And in dearth of these relationships, you realize that there is a portion of you that just doesn't exist anymore. And if you really look hard in the mirror, you've turned into this person whom you don't recognize much. Neither recognize nor like.
To what extent should you permit a person to influence your thoughts? At the end of the day, there is that person inside of you begging to differ, forcing you not to change your way of thinking. When you hear such a voice, it really makes sense to shut off every other influence and listen to that inner voice. Who knows you better than that "little-person" inside of you? Why do you have to listen or get influenced by someone judging you or your actions?
When you let yourself be brainwashed enough to stop listening to that "little-person" and start believing this "influence", what do you have to justify to the people who believed in you being a good person, just the way you were? People who loved you regardless of your flaws? How does one pick up the shreds that are left of those relationships and move on?
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