Saturday, November 28, 2009

All hail John Mayer

Why is it not my time?
What is there more to learn?
Shed this skin I've been tripping in
Never to quite return

Yes, I'm grounded
Got my wings clipped
I'm surrounded by
All this pavement
Guess I'll circle
While I'm waiting
For my fuse to dry

Someday I'll fly
Someday I'll soar
Someday I'll be so damn much more
Cause I'm bigger than my body gives me credit for

Friday, November 27, 2009

Bigger Belief

Irrational Belief can be a strange thing. I was first exposed to it in college, no, wait, first exposed to it when I was an infant, when I started believing in god. Why? Because mummy and daddy believe in god. Parents fold their children's hands in prayer, tell them to close their eyes, tell them to pray. Why? Because children don't know any better? Because that's the best way? Because that's the easiest way?
or because that's the accepted way?

Either way, that was my first irrational belief. No proof, no questions asked. God was everywhere, almighty, powerful. God was perennial Indian Santa- he always knew if you were good or bad. God, in that way was he and she, child and adult, good and bad karma- all rolled into one magnificent mural of wonderment and power. God was synonymous with destiny and fate. Praying to him was like praying to yourself, asking for you to find the strength to do the things you wanted to do, and let's face it, it's easier, at that age, to ask someone else for things than yourself. Right? Right.

This went on for a while, until life made me refine that belief. I don't believe in idol-worship, I think organized religion tends to lose its purpose, I don't believe that there is just one way to pray or one place to pray. I know I've prayed my lungs out in bathrooms, bed, at window sills and a LOT in moving vehicles. I hope when I climb stairs. I dream when I walk.
I wish when I sit. It's all the time. I wouldn't exist if I didn't believe that good things have a place in our lives.

But after college, I've started to believe in irrational belief not just because I'm used to it, but because I've actually seen it work. I've to thank a lot of people for this, but for all her never-say-die category effort, this is because of you, Silverstreak. There have been times when I've irrationally believed something to be possible. With absolutely no pointers, not even a breeze blowing in that direction.

When every little thing tells me it's the other thing, I've believed because I've wanted it. Truly, truly wanted it. And I've got it, too. How, you ask? hey, if I knew, I wouldn't just be writing a blog post, I'd be writing a book.

So yes, contrary to my previous ranting posts, I'm not stopping. Not now, anyway.

Everything happens for a reason, people say. Well, I've reasons to believe that everything happens. It has to. Not because of what I've done to deserve it, but because of the belief in what I will do, once I get it.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

My yin-yang

If you've never heard of the yin-yang, it is a symbol in chinese philosophy, that represents opposing forces being interconnected. The good and the bad, for example. The good's got a little bit of bad in it, and the bad's got a little bit of good. I've always liked this symbol; I even bought a Yin-Yang pendant almost a decade ago and wore it religiously.

I found an english equivalent to the Yin-Yang today, and that's Distraction. Distraction is a perfect blend of good and evil. Most people make distraction out to be something that's to be avoided at all costs- it takes away focus, stops you from concentrating, changes your priorities, yadda yadda yadda. Well, guess what? Distraction can be evil. It can mess you up, and this is something almost everyone has been exposed to.
But distraction can be a fabulous thing.

I guess that's the thing with bloggers..sometimes we write just to forget other things. It's not always about encapsulating our realities for the rest of the world- sometimes, it's about escaping them. I've always written most before exams, when I've been upset, moody, worried, scared, and sometimes, too happy to handle. Blogging is the BEST form of procrastination, and the worst. Best because it makes you feel fantastic. Worst because you've proof of your procrastination, up on the internet, for the world to see.

Hmm, what shall I write about? I don't quite know how to pronounce 'oeuvre' yet. I've tried, several times, looked at audio and IPA pronunciations, and, to no avail. I should be cooking dinner right now, but I'm contemplating making do with soup. Laziness is every sunday's middle name, I suppose. I played wii tennis to feel better, but this random hitting of keys is actually doing a better job. I feel distracted enough already. Calm. Breathing. Whew.

And, will you look at that. When I started this, I didn't know what I'd type about to get my mind off things, and now I've got a post way longer than intended (as usual, as always, for always). Some people tell me that the stuff I write is too long, and I agree with them. But when these keys feel this good to type on, you can't really stop very easily. Momentum takes a while to fizzle out.

Now that I'm feeling better, I'm going back to the real world. A world where I've no keys all the time, where a white screen isn't my canvas and where my mind isn't on a free-fall-spree, but a world I love anyway, because all of writing is a part of the world, and all of the world is a part of writing.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

For thatha


It all goes so far back that I don't know where to begin. There are long flashes, of course, of happy memories, of incidents. But I guess that's how you know someone's left their impact on you well and truly- you get this feeling when you think about them. It's a constant, fuzzy feeling, one that transcends events and memories. You feel like if they're around, you can handle anything, battle anything.
And that's how I felt about thatha.

Thatha was my grandfather, although it'd be impossible to condense everything he was in just that one word. He taught me things and he learnt things from me. At times he'd tell me what was good for me, and at times, he'd have to hear it. Happiest when I was happy, most upset when I was. My best friend, my mentor, my coach, my human diary, all rolled into one. He understood me and my strengths, and refused to let me think that I had weaknesses.

He played multiple roles with ease- dad, buddy, teacher. I had to remind myself of the fact that he was so much older than I was, because it really didn't seem so. You see, my thatha was way cool. He was very active, and so he'd go for a walk twice in the day- mornings and evenings. He'd put on these amazing sunglasses, a cap, and sparkling sneakers and practically sprint. We'd have these races when I was small, and you know what? He won, most of the time. And believe me, i tried. He was fast. That's what was so amazing about him- he wouldn't try and go slowly just so I'd win. He wouldn't turn any odds in my favour- simply because he didn't think that I needed that. He believed that I already had what it takes, and I didn't need handicap points- and that only made winning those races truly worth it- because I knew that I'd truly won.

It's easier to buy you your first watch than to teach you to tell the time, and thatha did both. It's easier to buy you your first bike than to teach you to ride it, and thatha did both. It's easier to give you money than to teach you how to handle it, and thatha did both. I really don't know how, but he managed to find time to be actively involved in the lives of people around him. He was a an amazing orator- Barack Obama, you have company. Storytelling was his forte. He'd truly seen life, through years of unbelievable hardship, and he had amazing anecdotes every single time- all filled with so many unbelievable events that I'd keep telling him that he had enough experiences for a book. I guess I got my love for writing from him- he wrote diaries like I did, fiercely guarded them like I did, believed in simple writing- just like I do.

Incredibly open-minded for his generation, thatha was the quintessential post-independence indian- both british and indian in his ways. Unbelievably comfortable in english, tea-drinking, and cricket loving. I could write a whole post on his love for cricket. If india won, he'd bring the house down in joy. Sachin tendulkar could not have had a bigger fan.

He had an amazing outlook towards education, being self educated and well read. It was lifelong and of primary importance, he'd say. He was scholarly, and knew more about indian scripture than most people- and he'd never try to persuade us to follow it like he did. No questions asked, and I was always given the benefit of the doubt. "Am I right?", he'd ask, after practically every thing he'd say to me. No one else has ever taught me things that way- and I've learnt best from him. I can't remember a single instance where he even firmly spoke to me, let alone shouted or scolded. He taught me by sheer example. It was his je ne sais quoi. I learnt what mutual love and respect means, because of him. I wasn't just his granddaughter for him to mould and grow with- I was his confidante, his buddy. Thanks to him, I know what it's like to be the apple of someone's eye. We were each other's biggest fan.

To the man who defended me always, to the man who taught me how to fail, how to cry, how to walk, how to smile. To the man who taught me about faith. To the man who's taught me to believe in myself. To the man who believed in me more than I believe in myself. To the man who taught me almost everything I know, and made me what I am, today. To the man who has celebrated my happiness like no one else ever has. To the man who practically picked me up when I'd fallen down in life, not knowing how to get up. To the man who taught me how to pick myself up when he wasn't there. To alpenliebe's biggest fan. To the first person I'd tell good news to. Good news just isn't the same without him.

To one of the finest father figures ever. To the man who has seen all my light, and still loved my dark.

To the man who taught me to never run away from expressing myself, I sure hope heaven has amazing internet, thatha, because this, is for you.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Lunch date

I wish this was about me (actually, maybe not). It isn't.

So, today, I went out for lunch. With friends from college and it was great, but that's not what this is about. The weirdest thing happened today.

At the table next to us, there was a boy and a girl, both seemed to be in their mid twenties, and the girl looked very familiar. Both were quite good looking and it even seemed like they'd look together. For some reason, it seemed like they were on a lunch date.

I've seen a LOT of people on dinner dates, and I'll tell you how it normally goes. At dinner dates, people tend to sit next to each other rather than across the table from each other. They're usually whispering and drinking and being obviously in love. They're usually dressed up and flirty.

At lunch dates, I don't know how it goes. But these two people were both dressed normally, casual, even. They were sitting across the table, and it seemed to me like they were either meeting after very long, or for the first time. Heck, it seemed like they were meeting for arranged marriage purposes.

I'd always had such a negative opinion of that, but today, it didn't seem bad at all. It seemed FUN! They were talking, a lot, and really well! From what I saw (Ok, so I listened in a lot. I know it's creepy, but it was a really interesting thing to see- a lot of us couldn't help ourselves). They were talking about their interests, just getting to know each other, and it didn't seem like anything was weird or awkward. It just seemed like honest, relaxed conversation. The kind you have with a perfect stranger, and walk away knowing each other.

I was impressed. I don't know why, but it made me very happy to see a simple, basic date go so well for two people, in this weird, complicated world. Now if that wasn't a date, well, those two are going to be / already are really great friends.

I hope they never read this.

Monday, November 2, 2009

My shortest post ever.

*Rant alert*

You know the eternal truth about life? Well, I, all of twenty-two years of age and experience, have finally, finally figured it out. It was, indeed, a very kumbayaah moment. Here it is:

the most important things never go according to plan.

Go on, life!!
If I'm wrong, go on and prove me wrong! I'd love that.

I have tried being positive, I really have. Now it seems about time for Plan B. Hmm, where did I put that punching bag?

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