Everyone has their own reasons. I finally know mine.
I just watched 'The spirit of the marathon' and realized my reasons are very different from others. I love the whole process of preparing for a marathon. The days of preparation, missing all the running days, deviating from the plan, feeling guilty about it. I perform best under pressure and training for long distance runs can't be crunched into a short period of time. So for me, it's a whole other performing experience.
Also, it's reaching a new physical feat. I find endurance in the human body to be amazing. The sense of pushing my body to it's limit, and overcoming a hurdle, adds a new dimension to who I am.
I particularly enjoy the day before. My two big long distance runs so far were 'my' days. Coincidentally or otherwise, I did not have a cheering squad, and I usually get the feeling of going into war :) I was left with my own thoughts, and my sole company before the big runs. So far, my pursuit of running long distances has been for myself. One day, when I am comfortable enough, I will fund-raise.
Considering how much I am moderating my rice intake, I carb-load like mad the night before, and am undoubtedly a happy person by the end of it.
Commuting to the race venue, I feel a sense of pride, because not everyone is a long distance runner. I knew I wasn't one until recently. Having joined the class of novice runners, I am pumped on the day of the run and usually beat all my training records. The nag to beat personal records never ends!
Then there is the race course and the city you run in. My runs so far have been in different cities, and I want to keep it that way. Each run is a new experience and you see the city in a different light.
You, of course, carry that sense of pride of having run a half-marathon or a marathon all your life.
Despite not knowing anyone, there is sense of kinship that you feel with the crowd that you just ran with, bound by achieving a common goal. Much similar to participating in a protest for a cause.
Thanks to the very cold east coast winter and my wonderful work-schedule, I haven't had the time to do my oddball runs (10:30 pm runs) very comfortably. I resorted to a gym membership and I realized how much more I enjoyed running outdoors. I have been reading a lot about barefoot running as well. That is something I am yet to get comfortable with. There is a big runners world out there!
My biggest lesson through the past few months is that you cannot convince someone to care about their fitness. The most you can do is to inspire them. My inspiration really came from cheering a close friend at his first half-marathon, and seeing the broad spectrum of runners (from two-leg amputees to 65+ year olds).
I remember asking myself, if such a variety of people can triumph over this adversity, why can't I?
Isn't that what is life is about anyway!
Carpe Diem! :)
Friday, December 23, 2011
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Memoir
You pick a day to commemorate old times.
You pick a moment.
An expression. A flicker.
It burns into the deepest part of your memory.
Actually, you don't pick. When the moment passes, you know this one will stay with you.
Somehow your brain chooses to immortalize it out of all others.
You just don't protest. Perhaps, you can't.
Sometimes it's a song you can't even understand. But the sound will remain powerful.
For eternity.
Which I needn't tell you, is a hell of a long time :P
..and now, it feels like another life. Much like the recollection of a novel that you experienced first hand. Adventurous. Some details too hazy, few rather vivid.
You pick a moment.
An expression. A flicker.
It burns into the deepest part of your memory.
Actually, you don't pick. When the moment passes, you know this one will stay with you.
Somehow your brain chooses to immortalize it out of all others.
You just don't protest. Perhaps, you can't.
Sometimes it's a song you can't even understand. But the sound will remain powerful.
For eternity.
Which I needn't tell you, is a hell of a long time :P
..and now, it feels like another life. Much like the recollection of a novel that you experienced first hand. Adventurous. Some details too hazy, few rather vivid.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
She & Him
First love is such sweet despair.
On one side of the world...
"I can write the saddest lines tonight.
Write for example: ‘The night is fractured
and they shiver, blue, those stars, in the distance’
The night wind turns in the sky and sings.
I can write the saddest lines tonight.
I loved her, sometimes she loved me too.
On nights like these I held her in my arms.
I kissed her greatly under the infinite sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could I not have loved her huge, still eyes.
I can write the saddest lines tonight.
To think I don’t have her, to feel I have lost her.
Hear the vast night, vaster without her.
Lines fall on the soul like dew on the grass.
What does it matter that I couldn’t keep her.
The night is fractured and she is not with me.
That is all. Someone sings far off. Far off,
my soul is not content to have lost her.
As though to reach her, my sight looks for her.
My heart looks for her: she is not with me
The same night whitens, in the same branches.
We, from that time, we are not the same.
I don’t love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the breeze to reach her.
Another’s kisses on her, like my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body, infinite eyes.
I don’t love her, that’s certain, but perhaps I love her.
Love is brief: forgetting lasts so long.
Since, on these nights, I held her in my arms,
my soul is not content to have lost her.
Though this is the last pain she will make me suffer,
and these are the last lines I will write for her. "
~ Pablo Neruda
On another side of the world... http://abstrusegoose.com/313
khee khee.
On one side of the world...
"I can write the saddest lines tonight.
Write for example: ‘The night is fractured
and they shiver, blue, those stars, in the distance’
The night wind turns in the sky and sings.
I can write the saddest lines tonight.
I loved her, sometimes she loved me too.
On nights like these I held her in my arms.
I kissed her greatly under the infinite sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could I not have loved her huge, still eyes.
I can write the saddest lines tonight.
To think I don’t have her, to feel I have lost her.
Hear the vast night, vaster without her.
Lines fall on the soul like dew on the grass.
What does it matter that I couldn’t keep her.
The night is fractured and she is not with me.
That is all. Someone sings far off. Far off,
my soul is not content to have lost her.
As though to reach her, my sight looks for her.
My heart looks for her: she is not with me
The same night whitens, in the same branches.
We, from that time, we are not the same.
I don’t love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the breeze to reach her.
Another’s kisses on her, like my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body, infinite eyes.
I don’t love her, that’s certain, but perhaps I love her.
Love is brief: forgetting lasts so long.
Since, on these nights, I held her in my arms,
my soul is not content to have lost her.
Though this is the last pain she will make me suffer,
and these are the last lines I will write for her. "
~ Pablo Neruda
On another side of the world... http://abstrusegoose.com/313
khee khee.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
The dividing line
There are those who say 'life is not fair', and then there are those who add '..but I don't have to help it along'.
That is the only difference, and perhaps, the biggest difference between people.
That is the only difference, and perhaps, the biggest difference between people.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Happy Children's Day!
Here's a trippy video to commemorate the day. From my own backyard productions, so don't expect anything phenomenal.
There is a child in everyone. Not just Aishwarya Rai.
(Courtesy: sarcasan)
I am not implying anything! I just think it's absolutely hilarious.
Weee! from Alak Renu on Vimeo.
There is a child in everyone. Not just Aishwarya Rai.
(Courtesy: sarcasan)
I am not implying anything! I just think it's absolutely hilarious.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Music that moves you inside out
You may dispel the importance of dreams. They are only byproducts of hidden piecemeal thoughts stranded in your conscience.
But many great eureka moments were inspired by these dreams. These figments of involuntary imagination. I have been on either side of the fence when it comes to giving importance to my dreams. The ones that are too painful to believe in, I have conveniently tossed out of the memory registry. The ones that give me that extra nudge to push the boundary, I have allowed to impact me.
One such dream was the day when I had the revelation that I was stuck in a a place that was not only impacting me emotionally but was causing physical dagger-in-the-heart kind of pain, even in my sleep. In that moment, I knew I had to move on.
Another such dream was a more recent one.
I dreamt of running barefoot. Gracefully sprinting initially, being aware of the way my feet were touching the ground in every sprint, being aware of the motion of my legs. The pace turned into a fervent run over time...once I knew I had the perfect optimal motion and balance, once I was reassured that I wouldnt cause any damage to my legs. I was relishing the wind. I was breaking the wind with my streamlined posture. I had a deja vu moment in the dream - from the time when I used to compete in the 400 yard sprints in school. I never finished it first, invariably the tallest athletic girl would, but I was always in the first three. In the dream, not too far into the sprinting, I realized I ran past wolves. They were chasing me now. That realization pushed me to perspire and pant. Before I could come up with a game plan, the daylight broke, thanks to my rooster alarm.
The details of the dream keep coming back to every now and then, and I realized how much I have come to enjoy running. It is not about getting fit any more. It is about feeling that wind, as you break through it. It is about pushing the body to its limit. Testing its endurance levels. Feeling the power of those leg muscles in every stride.
My constant companion has been music. Music that pumps your heart even when you are sitting still. Here's one.
The shows is a testament to how awesome Indian music scene is getting as time passes by. I have got to attend the confluence in Leh next year, especially after the Lolla experience, I cant wait to groove to some Indie bands.
But many great eureka moments were inspired by these dreams. These figments of involuntary imagination. I have been on either side of the fence when it comes to giving importance to my dreams. The ones that are too painful to believe in, I have conveniently tossed out of the memory registry. The ones that give me that extra nudge to push the boundary, I have allowed to impact me.
One such dream was the day when I had the revelation that I was stuck in a a place that was not only impacting me emotionally but was causing physical dagger-in-the-heart kind of pain, even in my sleep. In that moment, I knew I had to move on.
Another such dream was a more recent one.
I dreamt of running barefoot. Gracefully sprinting initially, being aware of the way my feet were touching the ground in every sprint, being aware of the motion of my legs. The pace turned into a fervent run over time...once I knew I had the perfect optimal motion and balance, once I was reassured that I wouldnt cause any damage to my legs. I was relishing the wind. I was breaking the wind with my streamlined posture. I had a deja vu moment in the dream - from the time when I used to compete in the 400 yard sprints in school. I never finished it first, invariably the tallest athletic girl would, but I was always in the first three. In the dream, not too far into the sprinting, I realized I ran past wolves. They were chasing me now. That realization pushed me to perspire and pant. Before I could come up with a game plan, the daylight broke, thanks to my rooster alarm.
The details of the dream keep coming back to every now and then, and I realized how much I have come to enjoy running. It is not about getting fit any more. It is about feeling that wind, as you break through it. It is about pushing the body to its limit. Testing its endurance levels. Feeling the power of those leg muscles in every stride.
My constant companion has been music. Music that pumps your heart even when you are sitting still. Here's one.
The shows is a testament to how awesome Indian music scene is getting as time passes by. I have got to attend the confluence in Leh next year, especially after the Lolla experience, I cant wait to groove to some Indie bands.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Revival.
I am getting better at creating environments that activate my brain to it's maximum... CPU usage, if I may say. Showers for example.
(Eureka!)
Then there is darkness. I have been in a relationship with darkness since my teenage years. More so with moonlit darkness. I have resorted to it in my best moments and my worst. It amps my brain like no other.
Many a notes and poems have been written in the dark. I have made sure that I have writing aids within reach of my bed always. The more I think about it, the more I realize that for complete darkness to ensue, all shiny gadgets need to be turned off. Considering how many waking hours we spend with these electronics, it makes complete sense that I have my revelation-ary moments in darkness.
(Moon playing peek-a-book at the Hills)
"I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all.” - Richard Wright
...and I mean, quite literally also.
P.S: Absolutely FTW Viral link of the week - http://www.wired.com/wiredscience/2011/11/starling-flock/
(Eureka!)Then there is darkness. I have been in a relationship with darkness since my teenage years. More so with moonlit darkness. I have resorted to it in my best moments and my worst. It amps my brain like no other.
Many a notes and poems have been written in the dark. I have made sure that I have writing aids within reach of my bed always. The more I think about it, the more I realize that for complete darkness to ensue, all shiny gadgets need to be turned off. Considering how many waking hours we spend with these electronics, it makes complete sense that I have my revelation-ary moments in darkness.
(Moon playing peek-a-book at the Hills)"I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all.” - Richard Wright
...and I mean, quite literally also.
P.S: Absolutely FTW Viral link of the week - http://www.wired.com/wiredscience/2011/11/starling-flock/
Monday, May 23, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Tagore
"There are many paradoxes in the world and one of them is this, that wherever the landscape is immense, the sky unlimited, clouds intimately dense, feelings unfathomable - that is to say where infinitude is manifest - its fit companion is one solitary person, a multitude there seems so petty, so distracting."
I havent managed to completely read a book since I traveled back to Sam's land. Until, last week that is. Thanks to the new gadget that I spend most of awake hours with, I am finishing free classics from project Gutenberg. They had a couple of Tagore's books. One I am reading now is called 'Glimpses of Bengal'. As I read the book, modified scenes of Parineeta project themselves at the back of my mind. The over-crowded streets, the bustle, cheap public transport in the form of trams, the sweet smell of...well, sweets by the road side, the fuchkas(!), people blabbering away in a language that puts the sound of 'o' to best use, banks of Ganga-Brahmaputra, women in extra large gorgeous red bindis.
Apparently everything Bengali is clearly very idyllic in my head, so it is in Tagore's. His love for poetic prose (and poetry in general) draws you into even the most substance-less accounts of his day-to-day life. This particular book is just that, random musings put together. It made me realize how much of me I have forgotten. My new project is to compile everything memorable that I have ever written (addressed to someone or otherwise) into one document and saving it on portals like dropbox, hoping I will never lose it.
When I am seventy (and hopefully alive and healthy), I can sit in my library room, with the sunshowers making their way through. Grand teakwood decor, with magnificent shelves of every book that I ever read or attempted to read, and open this printed annal of my life - with sagas about events that I glorified in my teenage frenzy, tragedies of lost love, stories of self-pity, written accounts of attempted inspirational and motivational soliloquies, my darkest and brightest moments trapped in ink, poems written in the moonlight, whole poems conceived during eureka moments, bursts of rhymes due to lack of sleep (which by the way work very much like puking after drinking, in that, they are very relieving once out. Alright, so I could've picked a better metaphor there) - and re-live it all over again, and hopefully be content at a life well dramatized!
So this shiny new gadget allows for -wait for it- highlighting and notes, when reading. It's my favourite feature, I have the tendency to quote and save sentences from books I read.
Brace yourself for some magnificent prose --
"The quiet floating away of a boat on the stream seems to add to the pathos of a separation - it is so like death - the departing one lost to sight, those left behind returning to their daily life, wiping their eyes. True, the pang lasts but a while, and is perhaps already wearing off both in those who have gone and those who remain, - pain being temporary, oblivion permanent. But none the less it is not the forgetting, but the pain which is true; and every now and then, in separation or in death, we realise how terribly true."
[A very amusing one, his choice of conjunctions especially]
"One girl in particular attracts my attention. She must be about eleven or twelve; but, buxom and sturdy, she might pass for fourteen or fifteen. She has a winsome face - very dark, but very pretty. Her hair is cut short like a boy's, which well becomes her simple, frank and alert expression. She has a child in her arms and is staring at me with unabashed curiosity, and certainly no lack of straightforwardness, or intelligence in her glance. Her half-boyish, half-girlish manner is singularly attractive - a novel blend of masculine nonchalance and feminine charm. I had no idea there were such types among our village women in Bengal."
[Part of the Introduction]
"This is a form of literary extravagance only possible when a surplus of thought and emotion accumulates."..."It has been rightly conjectured that they [letters written in the past] would delight me by bringing to mind the memory of days when, under the shelter of obscurity, I enjoyed the greatest freedom my life has ever known".
...and thus began my admiration for Tagore's sheer ease of translating emotions to words :)
Life is good.
I havent managed to completely read a book since I traveled back to Sam's land. Until, last week that is. Thanks to the new gadget that I spend most of awake hours with, I am finishing free classics from project Gutenberg. They had a couple of Tagore's books. One I am reading now is called 'Glimpses of Bengal'. As I read the book, modified scenes of Parineeta project themselves at the back of my mind. The over-crowded streets, the bustle, cheap public transport in the form of trams, the sweet smell of...well, sweets by the road side, the fuchkas(!), people blabbering away in a language that puts the sound of 'o' to best use, banks of Ganga-Brahmaputra, women in extra large gorgeous red bindis.
Apparently everything Bengali is clearly very idyllic in my head, so it is in Tagore's. His love for poetic prose (and poetry in general) draws you into even the most substance-less accounts of his day-to-day life. This particular book is just that, random musings put together. It made me realize how much of me I have forgotten. My new project is to compile everything memorable that I have ever written (addressed to someone or otherwise) into one document and saving it on portals like dropbox, hoping I will never lose it.
When I am seventy (and hopefully alive and healthy), I can sit in my library room, with the sunshowers making their way through. Grand teakwood decor, with magnificent shelves of every book that I ever read or attempted to read, and open this printed annal of my life - with sagas about events that I glorified in my teenage frenzy, tragedies of lost love, stories of self-pity, written accounts of attempted inspirational and motivational soliloquies, my darkest and brightest moments trapped in ink, poems written in the moonlight, whole poems conceived during eureka moments, bursts of rhymes due to lack of sleep (which by the way work very much like puking after drinking, in that, they are very relieving once out. Alright, so I could've picked a better metaphor there) - and re-live it all over again, and hopefully be content at a life well dramatized!
So this shiny new gadget allows for -wait for it- highlighting and notes, when reading. It's my favourite feature, I have the tendency to quote and save sentences from books I read.
Brace yourself for some magnificent prose --
"The quiet floating away of a boat on the stream seems to add to the pathos of a separation - it is so like death - the departing one lost to sight, those left behind returning to their daily life, wiping their eyes. True, the pang lasts but a while, and is perhaps already wearing off both in those who have gone and those who remain, - pain being temporary, oblivion permanent. But none the less it is not the forgetting, but the pain which is true; and every now and then, in separation or in death, we realise how terribly true."
[A very amusing one, his choice of conjunctions especially]
"One girl in particular attracts my attention. She must be about eleven or twelve; but, buxom and sturdy, she might pass for fourteen or fifteen. She has a winsome face - very dark, but very pretty. Her hair is cut short like a boy's, which well becomes her simple, frank and alert expression. She has a child in her arms and is staring at me with unabashed curiosity, and certainly no lack of straightforwardness, or intelligence in her glance. Her half-boyish, half-girlish manner is singularly attractive - a novel blend of masculine nonchalance and feminine charm. I had no idea there were such types among our village women in Bengal."
[Part of the Introduction]
"This is a form of literary extravagance only possible when a surplus of thought and emotion accumulates."..."It has been rightly conjectured that they [letters written in the past] would delight me by bringing to mind the memory of days when, under the shelter of obscurity, I enjoyed the greatest freedom my life has ever known".
...and thus began my admiration for Tagore's sheer ease of translating emotions to words :)
Life is good.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Pursuits
Lately I have been coming across articles that talk about 'lifelong learning' (i.e., going back to school when they are 60). What with my itch to get a million degrees and love for being in school, coming across such articles fills me with a newfound zeal for life! :)
I especially love today's article on WSJ on this. Here's a list of top cities in the US where doing this would be fun! What more, it features Austin. I wouldn't mind retiring into this gorgeous hill-country town. Aah, I miss hills, that's one feature Chicago missed.
All the travel is making me love money a little more every day. Does money lose value when you are this rich though? Only one way to find out :D
I especially love today's article on WSJ on this. Here's a list of top cities in the US where doing this would be fun! What more, it features Austin. I wouldn't mind retiring into this gorgeous hill-country town. Aah, I miss hills, that's one feature Chicago missed.
All the travel is making me love money a little more every day. Does money lose value when you are this rich though? Only one way to find out :D
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Year 23 (Damn!)
1. Skydive - check
2. Teach science in a primary school - failed trial
3. Be a visiting professor in a university/have a highly-opinionated (popular) blog on world economics
4. Bungee jump (would 'from the top of macau tower' be pushing it?)
5. Learn to swim - check
6. Finish learning carnatic music
7. Sing a self-composed (preferably in Urdu) song while playing the guitar to it
8. Live in London and Africa for a while
9. Backpack across the length and breadth of Peru and Chile
10. Go on a vacation to the Amazon Rainforest
11. Win a quiz competition in India (I owe it to my past. It might be the toughest on the list too)
12. Make a 5ft X 5ft oil painting - work in progress
13. Get a cat/dog - check
14. Get an MBA and/or a PhD
15. Write a column for a newspaper
16. Become a published photographer
17. Backpack across India
18. Go to Europe with family
19. Finish reading 500 books
20. Do something for my high school
21. Build the dream house
22. Learn pottery - check
23. Get a tattoo - check
24. Backpack across Europe - check
25. Find my passion in life - check
26. Go to all National Forest Reserves/Parks in India
27. Run a half-marathon - failed trial.
28. Startup in India
29. Learn Tamil. Watch a Rajnikanth's movie and all Maniratnam's and understand every word :D
30. Learn a European language - check
Year 23 - Score - 8.5/30
It just gets tougher and tougher from here.
I am knocking out all the easy ones :P
I just realized I am making growing old tougher with this list. Oh well.
I should've added easy stuff like 'Go to a strip club with a bunch of male friends' :P
Growing old was never glamorous. At least my list attempts to make it fun.
Here's to year 23! (and trying not to feel very old!)
2. Teach science in a primary school - failed trial
3. Be a visiting professor in a university/have a highly-opinionated (popular) blog on world economics
4. Bungee jump (would 'from the top of macau tower' be pushing it?)
5. Learn to swim - check
6. Finish learning carnatic music
7. Sing a self-composed (preferably in Urdu) song while playing the guitar to it
8. Live in London and Africa for a while
9. Backpack across the length and breadth of Peru and Chile
10. Go on a vacation to the Amazon Rainforest
11. Win a quiz competition in India (I owe it to my past. It might be the toughest on the list too)
12. Make a 5ft X 5ft oil painting - work in progress
13. Get a cat/dog - check
14. Get an MBA and/or a PhD
15. Write a column for a newspaper
16. Become a published photographer
17. Backpack across India
18. Go to Europe with family
19. Finish reading 500 books
20. Do something for my high school
21. Build the dream house
22. Learn pottery - check
23. Get a tattoo - check
24. Backpack across Europe - check
25. Find my passion in life - check
26. Go to all National Forest Reserves/Parks in India
27. Run a half-marathon - failed trial.
28. Startup in India
29. Learn Tamil. Watch a Rajnikanth's movie and all Maniratnam's and understand every word :D
30. Learn a European language - check
Year 23 - Score - 8.5/30
It just gets tougher and tougher from here.
I am knocking out all the easy ones :P
I just realized I am making growing old tougher with this list. Oh well.
I should've added easy stuff like 'Go to a strip club with a bunch of male friends' :P
Growing old was never glamorous. At least my list attempts to make it fun.
Here's to year 23! (and trying not to feel very old!)
Thursday, April 21, 2011
April
It is usually my month. I am in the best of spirits all month. Somehow not this time. Being part of the workforce kind of sucks, forces you to be pre-occupied. There is no time to go and sit at the turtle pond, or listen to that water fountain, or watch fat squirrels waddle and do yoga stretches (Austin squirrels are amazing like that) or pigeons walk.
But summer is here; I swim to eat and eat to swim!
Most of my free time goes in basking in the intellectual creativity of a beast by the name David Simon. There is so much room for introspection after each episode, that I am loving it. It takes my mind off a lot of things. After finishing the fourth season of The Wire (which delves into the broken inner-city school system of Baltimore and all other socio-political players involved. and oh this show stars TheYum #2), I was reminded of all the articles I read for my TFA application, and the reasons why I wanted to be part of the school system. I was reminded of the kids I met through SEEK. The number of documentaries I watched to understand the school system were countless. The nag to re-apply is back again. I will probably wait it out to see where the nag goes anyways. The first deadline is not until August.
Bleargh. 2011 is going to be the year of lots of travel and figuring out what-next with life. And thus adulthood prevails.
But summer is here; I swim to eat and eat to swim!
Most of my free time goes in basking in the intellectual creativity of a beast by the name David Simon. There is so much room for introspection after each episode, that I am loving it. It takes my mind off a lot of things. After finishing the fourth season of The Wire (which delves into the broken inner-city school system of Baltimore and all other socio-political players involved. and oh this show stars TheYum #2), I was reminded of all the articles I read for my TFA application, and the reasons why I wanted to be part of the school system. I was reminded of the kids I met through SEEK. The number of documentaries I watched to understand the school system were countless. The nag to re-apply is back again. I will probably wait it out to see where the nag goes anyways. The first deadline is not until August.
Bleargh. 2011 is going to be the year of lots of travel and figuring out what-next with life. And thus adulthood prevails.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Not so spring-like
Three months now. I still go through all the cycles of utter despair, unending affection, cold distant apathy, and seething anger with such predictable frequency that I have become immune to these feelings. I have learned to turn a blind eye. But there are days I want to give in to these intense emotions and not put a brave face on. Today is one of those. To be alone in this is probably what makes it worse. Even good music fails to muffle the sounds.
I need a vacation.
I need a recluse.
I need memory loss.
One fine day I will stop staring at the horizon, see the sun rise, and close my eyes to bask in the first rays? or will I?
I need a vacation.
I need a recluse.
I need memory loss.
One fine day I will stop staring at the horizon, see the sun rise, and close my eyes to bask in the first rays? or will I?
Friday, March 11, 2011
The apple never falls far from the apple tree
Most always kids are a spitting reflection of their mothers. Whether they like it or not. Accepting this or not is a whole other question. It explains all sorts of relationships. Especially the ones you take on later in life (the in-laws).
What with women's day and all, everyone seems to be celebrating their womanhood [no pun intended]. This is by far my favourite open letter yet.
Parts that totally rocked the boat:
1. Be nice to people as much as you can. It's better to be gullible and nice than selfish and shrewd.
2. So make sure you spend your years (while you're still young) looking for this thing (aka passion). And make sure you find it before the prince comes along. Otherwise, you will invest all your energy in the prince and he will most surely let you down. Or you and your prince will both end up like those boring, unhappy, co-dependent couples that no one wants to make friends with.
3. Honesty makes you endearing, authentic and touchable. Not stupid. So don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Marry a man who loves animals. He is most likely to be a strong, emotionally-evolved man who is capable of caring for someone other than himself. Don't settle for love. Marry someone who celebrates you. Everyday. If you find him easily, don't take him for granted.
4. 'Don't be reckless with anyone's heart. Don't put up with anyone who's reckless with yours.'
and lastly hearing from someone that you'll make a great mom is by far the best compliment any young woman can fetch :)
Here's to how awesome moms make us and our lives!
What with women's day and all, everyone seems to be celebrating their womanhood [no pun intended]. This is by far my favourite open letter yet.
Parts that totally rocked the boat:
1. Be nice to people as much as you can. It's better to be gullible and nice than selfish and shrewd.
2. So make sure you spend your years (while you're still young) looking for this thing (aka passion). And make sure you find it before the prince comes along. Otherwise, you will invest all your energy in the prince and he will most surely let you down. Or you and your prince will both end up like those boring, unhappy, co-dependent couples that no one wants to make friends with.
3. Honesty makes you endearing, authentic and touchable. Not stupid. So don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Marry a man who loves animals. He is most likely to be a strong, emotionally-evolved man who is capable of caring for someone other than himself. Don't settle for love. Marry someone who celebrates you. Everyday. If you find him easily, don't take him for granted.
4. 'Don't be reckless with anyone's heart. Don't put up with anyone who's reckless with yours.'
and lastly hearing from someone that you'll make a great mom is by far the best compliment any young woman can fetch :)
Here's to how awesome moms make us and our lives!
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Muhaha
Current Mood:
If I can't do it, who can?
:)
Context:
Over 500 lines of SAS code. Errorless, seamless data processing in under 48 hours. After having hated programming all my life, and avoiding it!
Hail logic! :D
If I can't do it, who can?
:)
Context:
Over 500 lines of SAS code. Errorless, seamless data processing in under 48 hours. After having hated programming all my life, and avoiding it!
Hail logic! :D
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Snow Diaries - Part 2
Weather forecast in Chicago for the day is 22 inches of snow dump in one night. 40 mph winds. Blizzard.
Again, I love windows. I feel like a 3 year old sitting by the pane. Today's view is wonderful. The snow is hazy and the flakes are literally dancing to the winds. Being swayed in every other direction in swift movements, with the grace and finesse of a figure skater.
The first month I was in Austin, the only bus I used to board was the Forty Acres. That was the only one whose route I knew. I knew all buses that looked like the FA went only in one direction and had circular routes. All of first semester, I was exploring myself, my loneliness and my gaping hollows. I remember bursting into tears one day when a friend was in my room. I had no concrete reason except for my gaping hollowness.
One day as I walked down 21st street, during the night, I had this urge to get on one of the buses and just sit. Go on an aimless journey, and I did. I went on the IF. The bus driver looked at me all through the bus ride waiting for me to pull the chain so I could get off. I got off at the same place I got on. One another day I went on the WC bus. That day I remember falling in love with 27th street where the Scottish Rite Dormitory is. It still remained my most favourite street three years later. I loved walking to CPE from my apartment on 28th. I have experienced this one street through all seasons and I remember small details about the road, the hustle and the bustle, very vividly. It's amazing how much you can trap in your memory.
The other day out of sheer boredom, I drew a whole map of Austin between 28th and 21st, every street, every bylane, remembering every intersection. So many moments, so many walks. So many domiciles.
Its funny. This life thing.
On another note. The Yum (Isiah Mustafa) will not like this.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Rinse. Repeat.
Crevices in the body.
Gaping hollows.
Long aimless walks.
Silences.
Conversations into the dawn.
Gripping gazes. Winks.
Silences.
Laughter. Tickles.
Endless laughter.
Silences.
Bundling bodies. Embraces.
Wishes. Future.
Silences.
Sultry summers.
Nippy winters.
Colourful Autumns.
Fresh Springs.
Questions. Complaints.
Pain. Longing.
Silences.
Crevices in the body.
Gaping hollows.
Haunting Silences.
Gaping hollows.
Long aimless walks.
Silences.
Conversations into the dawn.
Gripping gazes. Winks.
Silences.
Laughter. Tickles.
Endless laughter.
Silences.
Bundling bodies. Embraces.
Wishes. Future.
Silences.
Sultry summers.
Nippy winters.
Colourful Autumns.
Fresh Springs.
Questions. Complaints.
Pain. Longing.
Silences.
Crevices in the body.
Gaping hollows.
Haunting Silences.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
One Art
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.
~ by Elizabeth Bishop
One of my all-time favourite poems. I have read it from time to time since the first time I came across it some six years ago. Each time, I see a different shade of mood. I see a lot of sarcasm right now. The poem definitely grounds me to the reality of life. Sometimes a reality that's been entrusted upon you by others. But a reality nevertheless.
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.
~ by Elizabeth Bishop
One of my all-time favourite poems. I have read it from time to time since the first time I came across it some six years ago. Each time, I see a different shade of mood. I see a lot of sarcasm right now. The poem definitely grounds me to the reality of life. Sometimes a reality that's been entrusted upon you by others. But a reality nevertheless.
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