tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79280349467945930902024-03-08T13:43:39.020-08:00Books in my luggageThis blog is my attempt to keep a simple journal of my meanderings through a world of books, travel & experiences all around me...Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-195681091469342072016-07-21T14:37:00.001-07:002017-03-21T12:43:26.076-07:00Perceptions and its follies <p dir="ltr">They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder and that one man's trash is another's treasure. If this could be the loudest sentence you've ever read and this right after could be the quietest, then can we confirm that we all live in a prison of our own making? </p>
<p dir="ltr">We all have our own realities - facts that we know to be as true as the sun. Many of those realities are often based on other realities or what we would like to think of as realities. Like creationism and evolution - much debated though one is the scientific truth and the other mere religion. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I live in my own reality, one in which I play just a part. I am a performer that is putting on a show and acting like I think people want me to act. But apparently I do such a good job that nobody believes me when I tell them I'm an introvert who is most comfortable when alone. </p>
<p dir="ltr">So what's really real? Am I what I perceive or the impression others have of me? I'm sure others have the same problem and in some cases it may even be amplified. At least I don't have a third choice, that version of me that is expected of me.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I've tried my hardest to not have people around me who expected me to behave a certain way. I was spoilt by the fact that my parents let me get my way more often than not. And then an abusive relationship made me abhor being in situations where I wasn't in control. Now I live life on my own terms. I work as hard as I can and I make sure I don't have to ask anyone for permission for anything. </p>
<p dir="ltr">That's part of my reality. Just like my introversion and my occasional need to be social. So if you only see a part of the puzzle, do you even realise there is a puzzle at all? Your perception is your reality and none of us know more than we perceive. We may assume a lot or told about some more but linking it to the truth takes a lot of time. And time is always short in supply. </p>
Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-80901074458687923782016-04-24T13:59:00.001-07:002016-04-24T13:59:27.902-07:00Something about Marina<p dir="ltr">Watching this documentary about Marina Abramovich. Have never been a big fan because I don't understand performance art, or even modern art at all. But it amazes me how she started with nothing but a vision, living for years in cars without knowing what lies ahead.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I may not understand her art but I respect that <u>passion</u>. There is something to be said for that naked resilience and actually going after what you want without being encumbered by laziness. I have often longed for that zeal in my life, which would help me conquer my laziness and help me do the things that I think will make my life what it needs to be. </p>
<p dir="ltr">But here I am accepting that this is all ill ever be and maybe that's okay. Maybe my limitations don't need to stop me from achieving what I need to. My dreams are far fetched but then so was the concept of a double passport to a girl whose father went without seeing his family for 2 years to save money. </p>
<p dir="ltr">She ended this documentary talking about how her funeral would have 3 coffins. Each would represent a part of her that she was ashamed of at some point in her life, her brashness and ambition, her spiritual side and her fashion and pop culture loving side. She went on to say that nobody would ever know which coffin would really have her body. I think that's fitting. We are all a composite of our parts. </p>
<p dir="ltr">There are parts of ourselves that we like and those we don't. We hide parts of ourselves from others as per convenience. Sometimes we hide from ourselves too. We keep hoping for change or a miracle. But according to Marina, true magic came from accepting all her sides. Nothing has been truer about us. </p>
<p dir="ltr">This acceptance of all our sides can maybe help us accept the differences in others. Where colour, race, gender and sexual identity isn't the reason we love or hate something. Where like and dislike is based on interests and behaviour, not ignorance and apathy and intolerance. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Just learn to accept that we are all parts of a whole, in so many ways. All of our parts make us who we are and all of us, in our differences sum up the whole of this world. What's to hate?</p>
Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-9157506087323970472015-11-05T12:08:00.001-08:002015-11-05T12:08:05.615-08:00I am my own darkness<p dir="ltr">I heard this dialogue about how we should own up to our darknesses. But then I got to thinking... are we not our own darkness and our own light? I do want to own up to these facets of me. I cannot begrudge me having my highs if I cannot accept my lows. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I had a coworker tell me that she always knows when I'm in the office because I'm full of life and character. My desk is the one with postcards and bookmarks, papers and notes, books and magnets from my friends. It's messy, chaotic and full of the remains of a life being lived at its fullest. </p>
<p dir="ltr">But there are moments it all falls apart and the only light I see is through the cracks. These times are getting fewer because growing older seems to be bringing with it a sense of calmness. It also helps that I'm slowly achieving some of my life goals. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Travelling and writing both bring with it a sense of I'll-be-fineness that I've never had before. The more places I see make me realise how much more I want to see. When I'm travelling, I'm more ambitious and adventurous and push myself harder to get the most of my time there. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I have to see everything, experience everything because regrets would be an easy way for my depression to get in. And I cannot be the reason that the blackness gets to me again. I have owned up to my darkness but I know that my light will always be around too.</p>
Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-26615531641873972482015-10-29T05:00:00.001-07:002015-10-29T05:00:27.627-07:00Luck, blessing or hard work? <p dir="ltr">There was a time when my life was just a series of dreams but lately I have memories of the times I made those dreams come true. </p>
<p dir="ltr">For example, I'm writing this post as I sit outside my room in a South African game reserve watching a herd of Zebra. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Is this me being incredibly lucky? Or is it a special blessing from my parents' gods? Or indeed an offshoot of my hard work?</p>
<p dir="ltr">It can't be mere coincidence that somehow things work out in my benefit. Is it because my mum prays to every god she knows? Or is it the universe balancing  out the good with the bad? </p>
<p dir="ltr">After all, I don't have many luxuries in my everyday life, I don't get to stay with my family and I don't have any savings. But I have a bank of experiences that I can draw from and I wonder if this can sustain me. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I haven't had a hard life but then it hasn't been easy being me. I've fought back through my share and I'm still not sure how I'll get my happy ever after.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I see people who work hard and save for a better day after tomorrow; and I see those who are content with comfort and the same everydayness of life. But my fear of missing out and losing out and not knowing when this luck/blessing might run out propels me towards the next travel dream. </p>
<p dir="ltr">So maybe it's a grand combination of it all, my hard work starts the foundation of a new travel dream and the luck/blessing combination ensures that every trip has a moment for which I need to step back and thank the world. </p>
<p dir="ltr">London - meeting Perina and the favours she did for me<br>
Paris - Anita's company and Sainte Chappelle <br>
Florence - the view from Santa Maria Majjore and the Latin <u>vespers</u><br>
Turkey - the <u>boy</u><br>
Cairo - the almost solitary visit to the pyramids<br>
Beirut - Mansour taking me on a trip from the hills to the beach<br>
Amsterdam - getting a ticket to Anne Frank's house without standing in a queue<br>
Oslo - seeing the snow unexpectedly<br>
Qatar - the Damien Hirst exhibition <br>
South Africa - the lion getting up just as I was looking at him through the binoculars <br>
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Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-42112530315964731822015-09-26T13:59:00.001-07:002015-09-26T13:59:46.908-07:00Beirut blogging<p dir="ltr">I'm sitting here in my gorgeous Beirut hotel room which has the most amazing view of the city. I'm tired and can't deal with the idea of having dinner in the restaurant and having to deal with all those people. So I order room service, post on FB and settle in for some TV. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The Fault in our Stars comes on from the dinner scene, "I'm in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we're all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we'll ever have, and I am in love with you."</p>
<p dir="ltr">This kind of timing when I'm in such a gorgeous room in such an amazing city blows my mind. This can't be just a coincidence. I can't just be this lucky. This life of mine feels like a series of random occurrences that never quite make sense. It reminds me of a giant puzzle that only makes sense from an aerial viewpoint.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Then this scene comes where they are listening to a classical music group busking at Rijksmuseum, and I suddenly realised I've stood there. I've stood there listening to music too. Me. The girl who grew up envious of everyone because all she had were dreams. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Dreams are hurtful to grow up with when you don't know how to make them come true. But then when you've given up on yourself and the world, somehow the world will find a way to surprise you. At least that's what keeps happening to me. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I'm surrounded by others who are travelling the world and they fuel my dreams. My passion to see the world is rivaled only by my love for my family. It is a strange balance but it is one that somehow sustains me. Now to see where my passion takes me next. </p>
Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-35755603121813089922015-09-05T13:13:00.001-07:002015-09-12T04:26:18.702-07:00Learning to open a door<p dir="ltr">Why is it that the first thing a heartbreak does is to help you shut the world out? Shouldn't a broken heart try to heal by finding love elsewhere? </p>
<p dir="ltr">Maybe it's just me but I have been shut away from the world of love for a long time now. I have my lovely job and some amazing friends and have never really felt the need to have more just because I should. And my heartbreak has kept me unable to trust in anybody without them having to prove themselves to me. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Most men don't think I'm worth the effort they will have to take, especially after they see me. An acquaintance once told me my expectations were too high for someone who didn't have too much to offer. Maybe that's true but I don't see it that way...</p>
<p dir="ltr">Yes my packaging isn't great. But I'm a good person with a great heart and great brains. That counts for something right? Even in this appearance-driven world? That's what I tell myself every time an online friend disappears after meeting me. </p>
<p dir="ltr">But I do a good job of keeping my guard up too. I push everyone away as much as I can, almost like a defense mechanism to cope with the eventual pushing away they will do. I do wonder however if this behaviour forces away someone who could have been interested. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Am I expecting too much from a world where I don't give enough in return? People say no one gets everything and I've been very lucky in terms of my family, my friends and my job: so maybe this is one thing that I'm left wanting for...</p>
Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-91322432409462272682015-09-04T09:16:00.001-07:002015-09-04T10:12:51.121-07:00Introversia<p dir="ltr">No one believes me when I say I'm an introvert. I don't like most people I meet & am convinced that most people who meet me must not like me either. I have to make a conscious effort to show up for social engagements. I have to prepare myself for social interactions & feel incredibly surprised when people invite me to or involve me in events.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I try not to let the world see this side because my job requires me to be more than I am. There is so much to be done & standing by isn't part of the job description. It is a good indication of how much I love my job that I push through all my psychoses for it.</p>
<p dir="ltr">There are also just a handful of people who truly know this side of me and thankfully most of them don't judge me for it. However, some just don't understand. My parents, for example, don't understand my need to shun society. They don't get why I can't be like other girls who love family events and dressing up for said events. </p>
<p dir="ltr">On the other edge of this is my need to not completely be cut off from society. To that end, I will organise events with people I like and hope and pray that they will want to come. And then they do and all is good in the world. I have made some amazing friends as I've grown older and more comfortable with myself. </p>
<p dir="ltr">These friends have had varied lessons to teach me; some have shown me how to like myself while others have shown me that it's ok if everyone doesn't like me back. Yet others have shown me the importance of having values and passion while some others have helped me see the value of being single. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Having said that, now I feel that I'm getting to really like myself and understand what I want out of life. And I think the next step is to find someone who can hold on to me and make me want to let go of everything else. At least for a while. </p>
Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-77920576119510674542015-07-25T16:32:00.001-07:002015-07-25T16:32:11.367-07:00Who are you?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
People only see sides of us, 5 different people will see 5 different people in you. This is determined by either what they recognise of themselves in you or by how you have treated them. I am fascinated by the people we can be, the people we are and the degrees of separation between the two.<br />
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So who are you? How do you want to be seen? What's the story people make up when they see you walk by? Do you have a story you made up about someone? The girl sitting by the phone hoping for a message that never comes? She may seem desperate or maybe she's just addicted to her phone. The boy so hurt by the past that he shuns love completely? Is that the story you've given the chronic bachelor who's just busy living his drama-free life?<br />
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I love people watching... giving people back stories, giving them names, character profiles, reasons of behaviour. I'm convinced this is a normal activity that people do. If it isn't, just humour me here please. And that's why I wonder what impression do I give the world? What do you see when you see me? Do you see the pain of my past or the smile my present brings to my heart? Do you see my flashes of loneliness or do I give off a sense of happy singledom? Who am I to you? What am I to you?<br />
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But then comes the question of the people we can be. Can we truly change? Marriages around the world end because people get married to the version of their spouse they envision in their heads - whether that version exists or not. I don't think people can fundamentally change at all. At the most they can perhaps modify their behaviour; especially with a little Pavlovian conditioning. (It's a wonder what a bribe can achieve in relationships!)<br />
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I try to see the best in people, it works for about 5 minutes and then it all depends on how they've treated me. Being non-judgemental is the hardest, especially since I had a very sheltered upbringing that didn't really prepare me for the real world. So the emotional baggage I carry colours my perception of people. Dubai can force you to see the world differently, especially if you let the world in by making friends from everywhere - from Yemen to Australia.<br />
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That girl I see looking out the window? She's just came from Tanzania where she stays with her second-generation immigrant parents. She's got a job with a hotel consultancy and will be travelling around Africa as a part of her job. Now it's turn, who do you see? Make me a story... I'm waiting</div>
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Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-51413422567844822072015-01-14T03:54:00.000-08:002015-01-14T03:54:14.963-08:00Adieu mon amie, je t'aimais bien<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Its not something anyone wants to do, but saying goodbyes is undeniable & inevitable.<br />
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Some goodbyes are final and come with varying kinds of grief (or relief), while some goodbyes are temporary with a chance (however fleeting) of turning into a hello somewhere, someday.<br />
But what about the goodbyes that we stretch out, like goodbyes that signal end of relationships.<br />
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So many of us hang on to some slim hope that what we shared with someone else will survive. We hang on desperately in the hopes of recreating past highs together, while the ghosts of lows haunt us from the edge of memory.<br />
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We are addicts who are at the wrong end of the addiction - not riding high on a new buzz but trying every trick to get the buzz back.Love is an addiction at the best of times. This is true for the feeling itself or the idea of it & sometimes, the hope of the feeling is the high itself.<br />
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We have millions of songs, books and poems about the grief, loss and sometimes joy & freedom that goodbyes are often accompanied by. There is a bittersweet release in the act of letting go; whether welcome or otherwise. This is an universal phenomenon, wholly complete in its humanity.<br />
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But I am letting go of myself, the versions of myself that lived in the past. The girl who couldn't grow up fast enough, the girl who was bullied and abused. That is not to say I didn't have a happy childhood, my parents loved me as best they could, my sister gave me everything she could. But I was just not capable of being the person I wanted to be -- like many tweens and teens both before & after me. I have been many versions of that person, many I didn't like, many I am ashamed of. I guess they are right when they say that childhood is wasted on the young.<br />
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It is today as I look back on my mistakes, I am trying to let go of the person I used to be in order to really be what I can be. I am saying goodbye to the small infinities that made up my past and looking forward to the infinite infinities ahead.<br />
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I am doing it in part with the help of my job that I love, understanding how I feel about how I look & surrounding myself with people who accept me without judgement. I am also trying to feel less like an impostor who is waiting to get caught. I am learning to like myself and accept my drawbacks and grow on my strengths. Love is still elusive but I am hopeful that if I am lucky to find it, I will be ready for it.<br />
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So this is both a goodbye & a hello, a goodbye to the neurosis of the past and a hello to the insanity of the future. </div>
Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-73181065965293302882015-01-07T16:02:00.000-08:002015-01-07T16:02:22.322-08:00Miss Misunderstood<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I am often criticised for wearing my heart on my sleeve; for being vocal about my beliefs and thoughts. I feel strongly about a lot of things and have a lot of opinions. I am open & honest and don't have much of a censor either.<br />
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All of these things & more cause me to ruffle a few feathers. Today was the day people got shot down for having satirical views that made fun of a certain organised religion. What can you make of that? Do we blame religion or just someone's perception of it?<br />
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We're living in a world where we start the day not knowing if we're coming back home. People are getting murdered in schools, offices, homes, getting coffee and while travelling. Nowhere is safe and fundamentalists are twisting around in their seats to find ways & reasons to destroy the world's collective sanity.<br />
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I have often been asked to delete my status messages, posts & comments because people think I'm crossing the line. But just as often, I get messages from people who agree with what I am posting but don't want to support my views publicly. They don't want to start an argument but also don't want to be seen to have firm opinions.<br />
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Who is in the wrong then? Me for having an opinion, the hidden supporters for not being open, those who want me to be calmer about what I say or the people who get offended by a few words online? This is a very complicated world we live in; fueled by greed, money & religion. Out of those three, two are human constructs that were established to bring people together & help humanity. They are now what corrupts the world & are at the core of all that is wrong in the world.<br />
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Religion was just a tool to show people the right way to do things, which was then embellished by god who had the power to make things happen and the promise of a happily-ever-after. Now it supersedes anything else on what divides humanity. If following religion is supposed to save our souls, does that mean we've now lost all chance of redemption?<br />
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Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-91857958670259481212015-01-02T16:22:00.001-08:002015-01-02T16:22:39.068-08:00Words in Motion<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I went to the litfest last year and was surrounded by authors. They all have stories they want to tell. So many of them know what they want to write next and the ones that will come after. I wonder that's how I know I am not going to a good writer, or is that just another excuse I've found to not be all that I can be.<br />
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I like so many different kinds of writing, but I think the trait I admire most is the ability to weave a story. Being able to construct a story about fictional strangers that makes real strangers feel like you know their hearts. I tried writing a story once but got lost in the myriad ways I could treat my character. What would I have her do? What anguish would I make her go through?<br />
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I could base the heroine on me but how much? There are many small stories in my history, things that only I know, scars I have given & received -- would they make for an interesting yarn? There are small infinities in my life I haven't yet gone back to, they are just there, in the background, waiting for me to call on them and bring them back to life. But these infinities bring with them the pain of ghosts past, the mistakes I've made, the persons I was trying to be by lying to myself. So maybe they're better off where they are.<br />
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Then I could base the heroine in a situation I research about, bring a world to life in the only way I can. But then I have read so much, I keep fearing that I can never be good enough to write the way I would like to. More & more of the books I read lately are books that are derivative and want me to put a lot of work in to follow a story & I'm just not intelligent for that.<br />
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All I want to do is write a simple story that is all me & there is a part of me that wouldn't mind it if no one read it (somewhat like this blog). Which brings me back to the crux of this post, what would make for a good story? They say you should write what you know -- that cuts out so many genres or maybe I'm just making excuses for not being creative enough.<br />
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Maybe I maxed out my creativity making up the very many lies I told incessantly as a kid. Do liars grow up to be fiction writers? Or are fiction-writers just liars who are being paid for lying?</div>
Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-40986235310020192332014-07-20T05:06:00.000-07:002014-07-20T05:06:04.357-07:00Emotional scratching posts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Do we all have these? Emotional scratching posts - moments in time you go back to remind you of your biggest smile, or to an epiphany that made your world clearer. In my case, these are the lifelines that stave off attacks of depression or pull me through my lowest points of self doubt. Also in my case, some of these might involve situations that were miserable for others. Yes I do delight in the misery of others; especially if those people have at some time contributed to my misery.<br />
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I like the idea of holding on to these high points instead of holding on to grudges. Getting an emotionally uplifting scratch is so much more satisfying than a vengeful stirring of all that has gone wrong.<br />
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There are these moments where you need to pause, get off the roller coaster that our lives become. Moments where the world gets too much with us, so much so that all we see of life is a blur where we only see what we want to see. These emotional scratching posts are also great for moments of self-discovery.<br />
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Unless you know what truly makes you happy, can you know what kind of person you are? Do you exult at the small moments or the moments you fulfilled a long-held dream? The times where you saw Karma in action or when someone got what they deserved (good or bad)? Or is your ultimate high that minute you heard your little niece's cry for the very first time as she was born?<br />
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Then there are the times where I self medicate and look for emotional scratching posts through travelling, shopping and/or sleep. Sometimes looking outward is what the inside needs. To turn towards something unfamiliar can be the diversion our brain needs so that they can go on timeout. Coming back to the familiarity of the real world can feel so much better after a meandering through the unknown.<br />
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Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-23900304842348436472014-07-17T17:34:00.001-07:002014-07-17T17:34:44.658-07:00Dancing with monsters through the night<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I've met many of the demons of the past. Some I live with everyday, some are part of me. There are others I struggle to forget and yet others that I struggle to bury in the recesses of my cluttered brain. I mostly succeed & living in denial of these demons works on almost all days.<div>
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But every once in a while, they refuse to be pushed down & I have to face them head on. And invariably, I become the person I was when those demons first overwhelmed me. Its like a unwanted surprise trip back in time. I remember my vulnerabilities & become my insecurities & fold into myself. Its not something I have any choice or will power over; because if I did, trust me I'd choose any other mental disease over the threat of these demons.</div>
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Its easy to judge me; I wear my heart on my sleeve. I will do anything for you if I like you & I will gently excuse myself from your life if I don't like you. I am open, honest to the point of rude & straight forward. But that also means I can't maintain a charade of things being right when they're not. I will still be smiling but I will have no idea who the smile is aimed for. </div>
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Even today, I know the world is still spinning as it should with everyone trying to kill everyone else. But in my head, I'm back in college as an insecure girl with ambition but no plans or goals. Being taken advantage of, being lied to, being naive and not caring about how easy it is to get your heart broken. I'm battling my demons of the time I was in an abusive relationship because I thought that was what I deserved. </div>
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But we're all older & wiser now, or atleast we pretend we are. Imagination is a tool that comes in handy when you're trying to rewind & play & fast forward the video tape that is your life. </div>
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Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-25305875256325038702014-03-04T14:31:00.001-08:002014-03-06T01:25:46.017-08:00Enough is a Feast<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A conversation I had recently got me thinking of excess and how very intrinsic that idea is to Dubai. But what if 'enough is a feast'? What if this constant search for more is the reason why the world is so much lesser happier nowadays? Was it a simpler time because we accepted the spouses we were arranged to marry weren't going to be perfect and that compromises would be necessary? Or because we used to accept that love wasn't going to be all doves and unicorns and rainbows.<br />
<br />
Its easier to lose yourself in the quest of wanting more. The rat races, the dog fights, the constant up-manship, the games of control just seem to come so easily to so many of us. And isn't that how love stories work today?<br />
<br />
"Never meaning what they say, yeah never saying what they mean."<br />
<br />
Everybody is always trying to get the upper hand in a relationship; as if emotion can ever be played around with. Everyone is so scared of getting hurt and losing everything that the only currency they can deal in is fear.<br />
<br />
We're all on this huge Monopoly board but we're playing the game blind. We're hoping against hope to land on Mayfair or Park Lane before someone else does but knowing in our hearts that we'll probably get Old Kent Road instead. Or, as in my case, get stuck in Jail. We see others buy up the properties we want, but we keep playing, wanting to see how much we can win... or if we can win at all.<br />
<br />
But can enough ever be a feast? At what point does a person feel content? Or is contentment just a myth like other myths perpetuated by the fairy tale industry? I come close to that feeling very often but then a small glimpse of love between parents, children and lovers can push me back into the abyss of wanting more. That I suppose is more a glimpse of my humanity than my faults.<br />
<br />
I have a lot to be thankful for, but I think it is time I wake up to my reality, the reality that I will always be the person who will keep looking and hoping for more. I will always be glancing around the corner and expecting love to just show up someday. And I've heard hope floats... which is good because I can't swim.<br />
<br /></div>
Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-27614282637349516262014-01-19T07:40:00.001-08:002014-01-19T07:42:37.951-08:00Onwards towards regrets<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div>
Heat waves</div>
<div>
Spiral in the sun</div>
<div>
Red clouds</div>
<div>
Come undone</div>
<div>
Sea of sand</div>
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Oceans in still life</div>
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Change without changing</div>
<div>
Move in all directions</div>
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The past in your head </div>
<div>
The future in your hands</div>
<div>
The life you left behind </div>
<div>
Pushing you onward </div>
<div>
-- Jason Eisenmenger <i>'Mojave'</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
Whether it is the fear of history repeating itself that drives you, or running away from the past or even the determination to 'never go hungry again'; the past is always present in our future. Take That sang about never forgetting where they're coming from and Beyonce sang what goes around, comes back around. Whatever genre of music tickles your fancy, the past is always too much with us.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There are these constant struggles within when my memories threaten to become my reality and I have to shake my head in an attempt to reboot. Sometimes this works, the other times I have to shake some more or shut down for a while. I don't want to be the irresponsible girl anymore. I want to grow up, have consequences, be answerable, take control and have regrets because of the decisions I have made.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
They say the best life is one without regrets & I've always been proud of never having a single one. But on the flip side is the fact that regrets happen because you took firm control of your life and dictated terms. Don't regret usually stem from the fact that you stood up for your convictions and didn't get the best outcome? Atleast you stood for something, even if it was during a movie and everyone was yelling at you to sit down again.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have always made decisions thinking that if I don't do this or that, I will regret it in the future. But now, I am beginning to see the idea of short-term regrets and long-term payoffs. I refuse to just let go of my past, I want to carry those experiences and regrets with me as I try and mould my own future. I know in the bigger scheme of things, one human life is hardly worth a footnote, but it is the story of my life. I want to make sure that I do the very best with it, because who else will? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I know these foot prints I leave behind are in a sea of sand but atleast I will always knew they existed.</div>
</div>
Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-70058323633945698292013-11-06T15:49:00.002-08:002013-11-06T15:50:53.665-08:00Plus size or plus one<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I think I'm a good catch. I'm intelligent, well-read, interesting with a good job and am even mildly well-adjusted. And I know the answer to the most inane and arcane trivia. I mean I would be the friend everyone calls during the phone-a-friend hint of who wants to be a millionaire. But what I'm not is happy with the way I look. I say that with an air of not caring when I distinctly do care.<br />
<br />
What am I doing about it? Nothing. And as I continue doing nothing, I also continue to feel that my real life (as it could be) may be passing me by. But reality seems to be just out of reach. I feel like I'm a toxic and potent combination of pickiness, high standards & low will power. I also have a lot of second hand experience with relationships all around me that go nowhere really fast.<br />
<br />
Everyone around me is having babies or getting married or crying about how horrible it is to be single or going out with just anyone because they really don't want to be alone. This is my every day. I see the death of hope and the rise of cynicism all around me. But there is always a kernel of hope that stays alive somewhere in the depths of every heart. I know there is one in mine.<br />
<br />
I see the world move around me as I stand still like in a video montage. Going out and actually being a part of life feels insurmountable and sometimes it doesn't even feel like its worth the trouble. I see the drama, the misery, the constant pull and tug of people who want more but won't give enough; the hurt of broken expectations and the despair of not being able to let go.<br />
<br />
But then there is the rare occasion where I see the magic that sparks into life when you see two people who are everything that people write songs and poetry about. Everything that people look for in the eyes of their casual date or - in my case - in the eyes of anyone interesting who can hold up a sustained and intelligent conversation. Yes, that's how low (or high) my bar is; but as I grow up I notice that intelligent men are a very rare species. Also, men get intimidated by super women or slightly intelligent women and the ones who don't, get snapped up immediately by women who (wisely) refuse to let go.<br />
<br />
Is love worth all this trouble & strife? But is that really a question at all considering I am writing about it at 3.49 am?</div>
Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-55146527702031969072013-10-29T11:50:00.000-07:002013-10-29T11:50:07.207-07:00Games Children Play<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
You can only know your future when you can see where you've come from. My road to here hasn't been an arduous one in the truest sense & not many books would sell off of it. But it has been interesting.<br />
<br />
At home, I was the little girl who was never quite as good as my sister, this was true of school too. I was regularly looked down upon in school until I made my first friend. One of my first memories of school is getting friendly with one little girl who was kinda left out because she was the smartest while I was being left out for being new. That was it.<br />
<br />
Another girl then joined in to this duo followed by another making it a quartet. This is the story of two of those girls : they were beautiful, intelligent girls who I always felt slightly dumb around. They were girly with hopes and dreams & fun parents who treasured them. I always felt 'lesser than' but was amazed that they still liked me. They never made fun of me or my shabbiness or my not-so-great grades.<br />
<br />
They were good girls, the best kind. They had the true smiles and the genuine hearts. Smiles that didn't stop unless in a hospital bed, hearts that accepted my every flaw. Even when I made other friends, it was the first two that were always home for me. All through my rebellious phase & my weird stunts, they always had a spot next to them for me during lunch.<br />
<br />
Their lives moved on and those beautiful ducklings turned into even prettier swans. As I write this, I am aware of how much of me is shaped by them. They were such a big reason I made it through school without a completely broken head and heart. I have blocked so many memories from school because I felt tiny & insignificant (inspite of my girth). Most of the memories I have today is of sharing my lunch with those girls and playing weird lunchtime games, sitting with them during assembly and talking about hating one teacher and loving another.<br />
<br />
That life seems a different person ago, a girl who was so determined to never be made fun of again. A girl who was more than just a sum of her parts, a girl who was so inspired by her two best friends that she knew she'd be more than just another girl from Wadala. There are people who inspire you without them knowing why & sometimes you don't really know the reasons either. All I know is that two little girls held on tightly to this little girl's heart & refused to let go. And somehow, that just saved my life.<br />
<br />
Both of them are married now and never tell me any of the things people say married people say to single girls. One of them is a mother and I wish everyday her mom was around to see the wonderful woman she's turned out to be. The other remains my shining light, who somehow knows to reach out to me at my lowest & bring me back. I am no longer a big part in their lives but for me, they are my childhood.<br />
<br />
PS: Dedicated to Asha Krishnan Bhojani and Smita Sridharan Somani</div>
Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-11289434317686513232013-10-01T14:47:00.004-07:002013-10-01T14:50:18.100-07:00Do I make you smile?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I see you stopping by. Stay a while, won't you?<br />
<br />
What is a storyteller without someone to tell the stories to? I want to make you smile, that kind of smile that bursts across your face when you have a mental A-HA. When you hear something that's so very you that every part of your self identifies with it. All storytellers want to captivate you in, bring you into their parlours, but I want more, I want you to stay a while. Won't you?<br />
<br />
Ben Okri once told me, "Once you take away all the fillers, what remains in your writing is your voice." (if you can start off your writing with a Ben Okri quotation, you cannot go wrong. All you have to do after that is hope people read it in a James Earl Jones voice.)<br />
<br />
I don't know if my writing has a voice; but I know I have something to say. I have a few war stories of my own, though I usually like to hide them. I'm an introvert at the best of times but more often than not, I'm the most social in a conversation where people are trading experiences. It's simple. I'll show you mine if you show me yours, our stories are our currency. They are the measure of our worth. Most of my closest friends are the ones who inspire me with the rich and varied lives they lead.<br />
<br />
Stories are entertainment for those who have longer attention spans than 140 characters. Stories are for those who have a curiosity for the world. There is so much to absorb out there, no one person can do it all. That's why we have books and that's why a storyteller's job is never done. We all want to write our books, have someone play us in a movie. We all want our story told & there are so many stories that deserve to be told.<br />
<br />
You cannot sell anything without telling its story. The whole world of business is based on that premise. Everyone needs a human connection, between people, between products, however diluted it may be. There is a reason why everybody checks out reviews before trying out a movie or play or restaurant or even a book. This is why people want to be famous, all they want is to be seen, to be heard, for their stories to be told.<br />
<br />
Hear my story. I want you to stay a while. Won't you?</div>
Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-87865788728540401362013-08-06T19:19:00.000-07:002013-08-07T01:31:44.983-07:00Hindsight canonizes the demons of my past<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ever had a conversation with someone who is delving into your shared past but somehow you're thinking, "That's not how I remember it!"? In my personal opinion, while fact may be stranger than fiction, memories are always so much stranger. They stick around like unreliable & unwanted acquaintances who always seem to be right there, in the periphery of your subconscious.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Neurologically speaking, memories are nothing but a shoot of energy and chemicals. But man, do they hold power over us. A simple scent or a reflection in the corner can take you back decades in a single instant. The trick is being able to know that you can't stay there -- how much ever you may want to. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That's the marvelous part of hind sight; somehow like magic, you only remember the reasons you wanted to stay & not the reasons you wanted to leave. You remember the funny things they did but not how much they annoyed you. In fact, if you're lucky, you remember the smiles so clearly that maybe, just for a minute, you forget the tears. Sometimes its just so easy to hold on to the best parts of our history & use them to canonize the demons of the past. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We can easily remember the castles of sand but not how long it took to make them or how they were swept away in the first wave. Isn't that so much easier than reliving the heartbreak & the sadness (which is usually locked away in a different corner of the heart)?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Somehow, for me, the most interesting part of it all is how people seem to remember us. As I grow older I see that people don't necessarily hang on to the last or the best memory of a person. Its usually just a random moment, something said without much thought, something the sub-conscious didn't really register as a landmark at all.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">People remember me by something I said to them in school, or by something I did in college or by a weird little remark I made about life. So many times, these examples have not even stuck around in my mind & the fact that they define me for someone else is, in equal parts, unnerving & humbling. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The memories I hold on to dearly are all about people that have come to my life & touched it in some way or the other. But the best memories aren't always the most elaborate or the most well-planned. It could be a smile, a simple touch or a kind word. As I wrote in a long-forgotten poem once, "Its not about the money, its not about the fame. It is about how many people smile when they remember your name."</span></div>
</div>
Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-15401830450694902292013-07-18T05:44:00.000-07:002013-07-18T05:44:26.628-07:00No one I know<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Celebrities are not really important right? We're considered spaced out TV idiots or sorority chicks if we indulge in checking out celebrity magazines. But many more of us do it than we'd admit. Having said that, I'm not one of the crazy fans that idolizes people but I do like following up on what they do.<br />
<br />
I also love TV shows; they're the only thing that keep me company on nights when I can't fall asleep, or when the dark clouds come a-calling. One of the shows that always cheered me up was Glee. Maybe I wasn't a complete G(l)eek but I did love the music, the characters, the storylines & the actors.<br />
<br />
All of this has been changed forever though with the death of Glee's biggest star, Cory Monteith. He was just a month older than me with a great & amazing life ahead of him (or so it seemed.) His life story just seems so sad & frayed because of his addictions & stints in rehab. He's been through so much & seemed so brave about it, but its all over now.<br />
<br />
Now the fan videos & the remembrance videos & the tweets & slideshows just serve as a reminder of what a beautiful life he had & will never be a part of it anymore. His relationships with his girlfriend & friends seem real & bittersweet in hind sight. Its all gone, just like that.<br />
<br />
But things like this don't really happen to anyone we know, right? How many of us are struggling with life everyday? Aren't we all at some point faced with a turn in our life where just a simple "The End" tagline is all we need? I know I have been, more times than I'd like to remember; thankfully having my friends & family around has always shamed me into trying to fight away the darkness.<br />
<br />
What of those of us who don't have that? There are too many of us just holding on to the hope of tomorrow; as if that magical word will make it all better; when all it could have are darker storms. We keep turning away from the demons we see around us, pretending that we aren't affected, much like ostriches with their heads in the (Dubai?) sand.<br />
<br />
It's easier to pretend all is ok; that all is good. It's always nicer to think that true love is just around the corner & that hope is all we need. All of us want that, don't we? An easy road to happiness, of any kind. But what we actually get is a headful of sand & the ability to just do the best we can & leave the rest up to chance.<br />
<br />
I keep feeling that's all life is; a game of luck where true gifts are given to (sometimes) least deserving & all we can do is watch in envy as someone else lives our life. And sometimes, all we can do is stare in shock as someone truly good & noble is the one whose life is being played with.<br />
<br />
There has to be some pattern to this madness; or is wishing for that to be true, pure madness too?</div>
Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-51349601124690545132013-06-29T18:28:00.000-07:002013-06-29T18:28:22.202-07:00London -- where I leave my heart & my money<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We all have these places that feel like home even though you're not born there. For me, that's London. I do love the magic that is Paris, but London... that's where I feel the most alive.<br />
<br />
I could never afford to live there; unless I had Jon Makinson's job I suppose. But the sheer love for history, the openness of the people, the plays, the shopping & the street markets & the sense of humour all comes together to ensure that this city is where its at.<br />
<br />
I've never been able to actually take some time & see the city from a tourist-y angle; so this time that's exactly what I did! While I was still there for work; I managed to go on a bookstore tour around the major stores in London. I feel so humbled seeing where the book retail industry really began and where its almost ending...<br />
<br />
I finally got some time to myself & the first thing I did was to go off to the Portobello street market near Notting Hill Gate. The beautiful vintage shops (authentic or not) make me go off throwing my money in people's faces! The Covent street market is another place I give my money away happily; not to forget the life-sapping Harrods! I also got to experience the British Museum & the British Library & of course their gift shops. A Pride & Prejudice bracelet is now my pride & joy. The changing of the guard left me unimpressed; but the Evensong at Westminster Abbey left me in tears. I have never been able to give full justice to the West End plays; but its good that I have something to look forward to I guess. Maybe next time I'll even be able to catch a show at the Royal Opera House?<br />
<br />
I also LOVE the food in London, the Spanish, the Mexican, the pastas, Jamie Oliver, the soups, the English breakfasts, not to forget the amazing Chinese! Every meal is a chance for me to try a new explosion of flavour!<br />
<br />
Don't neglect to observe the fact that all the other experiences cost money too. But I don't mind, because every part of London is special to me. Everything feels like a memory in the making. Every experience feels like a story that needs to be told. I want to take it all in; brand it on my memory. This ability to travel to my dream city once a year without paying for it feels like a dream that could disappear in a puff of smoke anyday. Till that day comes, I will have to work extra hard to lock away as many memories as possible. Memories that will help me get through lonely days in the future where my books just don't fit the bill.</div>
Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-18578935736913209272013-06-10T06:29:00.001-07:002013-06-10T06:29:24.078-07:00Certain Chaos<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
An Ikea catalogue once asked me, "If nobody sees chaos, does it really exist?" and since there was no one who'd hear my answer, I thought I'd write about it here.<br />
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I live in a constant state of chaos & I enjoy it. It is caused by a combination of laziness, pack-rattiness & hoarding-ness that I'm loath to change anything about (note I already talked about the laziness.) And while the former statement is about the physical nature of things; I have noticed this about my mental state as well.<br />
<br />
I tend to sit by & watch while my head accumulates piles of things that need to be done, things that need thinking about & even reactions that need to be made. This chaos builds up around me & just when the pile feels like its just about to keel over; that's when my survival instinct kicks in & saves my ass.<br />
<br />
My sister says I can only work under deadlines. I think that is just an extension of this behaviour. I also don't think I'd be very good at being my own boss; because I'd never be able to push myself to be self motivated. This is also why I am not good at getting things done before they really really need to be. I also think that's why I am horrible at following healthy habits, even though being fat dooms me to a future where I am 'forever alone'.<br />
<br />
But if it is my chaos & I accept its certainity; is it truly chaos anymore? Isn't it true after all, that the center is the calmest part of a storm?<br />
<br />
So I am the eye of the hurricane, the mastermind of this giant vortex of chaos that consumes everything around me but leaves me virtually unscathed. What has it cost me? A chance at love, two relationships (which may have been doomed from the start) & my self confidence. What am I doing about it? As I write this, almost next to nothing.<br />
<br />
But everytime I start thinking that I may be failing at life, I remember that I have this... that I'm writing again. That there is something I'm doing which I never used to do before. And that there will be a way I will be able to relive my past. And that makes me feel like atleast I've started to leave a mark out there in the world.<br />
<br />
Chaos notwithstanding, I have been able to clear out my head & put forward my thoughts. Thoughts that have risen to the top of the clutter, worthy or not. I have been able to wring out the meaning out of the darkness & shine a thin, spidery line of light on them. For that, more than anything, I give thanks.</div>
Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-9754761123605055332013-06-02T06:10:00.000-07:002013-06-02T06:20:57.794-07:00Travelling: the Oopsies & the Daisies<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm back from a vacation and I feel like I need another one.<br />
<br />
Isn't that always the case? I love my job, I would be very ungrateful if I didn't. There is however always the thrill of the unseen, the not-yet experienced that calls out to the nomad in us.<br />
<br />
My mother brought this travelling bug alive in me. She is convinced that I have only lately started liking travelling because whenever she made plans for us to go gallivanting as a family, I'd never be too impressed. I have tried in vain to tell her that was mostly because she insisted on dragging me to religious shrines where I would either have to walk barefoot on hot stones or climb 1500 steps or go down wet caves just because it brought us closer to God.<br />
<br />
I felt closer to God watching the sunrise in Muscat & seeing the first rain in Goa & listening to Vivaldi in the Sainte Chappelle in Paris. I even felt the hand of God when I magically got a spot directly in front of the Buckingham Palace gates to see the changing of the guard.<br />
<br />
I have always felt the need to not sit around interspersed with the need to not do anything. So I vacillate between periods of intense activity & periods of intense nothingness. It's not a normal life or a healthy one; but it is my own & I rather like it.<br />
<br />
But its not like I'm not travelling when I'm sitting still. I'm busy reading or watching TV -- two genuine interests of mine. I am as invested in some fictional characters as much as real people. I don't confuse the lines between the two though; not yet anyway.<br />
<br />
That begs the question, am I really ever sitting still? The answer is no. I cannot ever just sit down & not do anything. There is just so much going on in the world and we have such less time here; who has the time to sit still? My friend once described my head as a big railway station with atleast 7 trains of thought pulling in & heading out at the same time.<br />
<br />
I feel a strange sense of an out-of-body experience when I'm travelling, even if its for work. I feel my brain shifting into the take-advantage-of-every-moment gear; a gear which is usually absent in everyday life. I'm always looking around instead of staring at my phone, I prefer to walk instead of hailing a taxi & I love shopping so much. No wait, scratch the last one, I ALWAYS love shopping!<br />
<br />
I do hate the uncertainities though, the things that invariably go wrong, the weather that turns cold & grey, the car that stops working, the museum shut for renovation. But then, there is always a chance & a hope of that one perfect little story coming out of the trip. The story that makes your friends nod their heads in understanding or make them throw back their heads with laughter.<br />
<br />
There are so many stories to be told, so many places to be amazed by; but now that I have been to some of the places I always wanted to go to, I feel a curious sense on being satisfied & being very unsatisfied all at once. This must be the most common of human emotions -- the urge of wanting more while accepting you may have more than you deserve.<br />
<br />
So while I don't believe I deserve all the amazing-ness life has given me... Please sir, may I have some more?</div>
Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-69374101743326550182013-04-01T07:03:00.000-07:002013-04-01T07:25:16.325-07:00First loves<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I blame my sister for my obsession with all things word-y. Seeing her engrossed in books made me equate them with magical powers & a lot of importance & imagination. I wanted to read them, I wanted to be important & cool & look intelligent & mysterious & unapproachable.<br />
<br />
After a lot of haranguing & nagging & basically to shut me up, she started me off on abridged classics; which was where I found my first love, "Little Women" by Louisa May Alcott.<br />
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This is a sweet little story by any standards, rising far above The Secret Garden & The Little Princess & Little Lord Fauntleroy which are all books in the same vein. What makes it better? Maybe its the beautiful way the family interacts with each other, maybe its the unabashed joy it makes you feel when Jo gets published or the tug on your heart when Beth gets the piano meant for one gone too soon or the way you get a tear in your eye just writing about the book 20 years after you first read it.<br />
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I used to fancy myself as Jo, the protagonist, for the longest time. But today I know I am Amy, the spoilt little brat who was adored her whole life & got the chance to live out her dreams. All this while her truly talented & amazing older sister had to stay back & be the backbone of the family.<br />
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It was easy to fall in love with this book, the writing was simple & easy, the characters relatable & empathetic, the story progression slow with gradual ups & downs like a lazy sea. What endeared the book to me the most, however, was that the story progressed on to three sequels so I could let the characters stay on in my life & I didn't have to make up where they went (which is what I usually do with other books.)<br />
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What also fascinated me is the poetry that was used almost as a part of the book's narrative. My sister used one of those poems as a basis for a Mother's Day card & till today I can see that card in my hand, I remember those words & the amazing rush of envy, pride & utter amazement I felt that my sister had made it all up out of nothing.<br />
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Another book where poetry is an effortless part of the story -- almost a character in itself -- is Alice in Wonderland. That is one book I always find something new in, everytime I read it.<br />
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The other books of my childhood were by Enid Blyton. Famous Five, Secret Seven, St Clare's Malory Towers & the Five Find-outers were all my very best friends. The talking toys, the fairies, pixies, goblins, gollywogs, talking animals & Noddy. They all took me to a land of fun & wonder & imagination where all you had to do was close your eyes to make all your dreams come true.<br />
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For a girl who didn't have much & who was always made fun of, an imagination was such an amazing tool. It can help you forget & when you forget, there is nothing to forgive. Armed with imagination, you can take on the world, distract yourself from the drama around you & concentrate only on the world you have built for yourself.<br />
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I don't know what makes a good book, but what makes me like a book is its ability to not take itself too seriously. I would re-read Little Women anyday over having to read beyond the third page of Ulysses. Or Atlas Shrugged. Or The Alchemist. A-N-Y-D-A-Y.</div>
Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7928034946794593090.post-7977207977768769432013-03-24T06:19:00.004-07:002013-03-24T06:20:33.854-07:00Missing out<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This one's dedicated to the missed chances in life. All of us have our regrets, our what ifs. I don't like regrets; I don't have many. I don't endeavour to have many either. However, life isn't very good at letting people keep promises.<br />
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There are some parts of your life that don't wait till the moment of your death to constantly flash in front of your eyes. (by you I mean me). They always stand around the corner, always just a little bit out of reach, making you question your memory, making you relieve those moments but with a 100 different endings. But the endings never change do they? Its cruel how everything can change except these few stubborn moments.<br />
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Being miserable is not a trait I am famous for. I tend to live in a world of denial where everything is puppies & rainbows; except for a few moments of utter darkness. It is in these few moments where my regrets take over.<br />
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It is at these dark times when people are said to be at their most creative. What is it about melancholy that triggers a need to create? Is it a deep need to make a mark in the world? To leave something behind that is not as miserable as the rest of our sorry existence? Or is it a simple manifestation of our inner demons? A way to exorcise ourselves?<br />
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And with those questions sent out to the ether, I take this opportunity to talk about my need to create. I have always wanted to be able to write. I remember being so very jealous of my sister when she wrote poems & then of some writers when I read their books. The way they could manipulate words to mean much more than they would usually mean would take my breath away.<br />
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It was one day after a intense conversation with my first love that I wrote my first poem. I promise it wasn't a cheesy, sappy one about flowers & crowds but it did rhyme. I was so proud of myself. It was the first day in my entire life that I didn't think I was a total failure (I have always had an intense inferiority complex)<br />
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It was then I decided that of all the regrets I might have in life; not writing would not be one of them. It is the one thing that always helps pull me out of my deepest darknesses. Even now, as I type this out, I can feel a certain satisfaction at my ability of putting coherent thoughts together. I can feel it healing my stupid insecurities, putting a small bandaid over my thoughts of loneliness.<br />
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I can hear the compliments I have received through this blog in a loop in my head; preparing me for battle against the dark clouds that are looming over the horizon. Thanks to all of you, this time I am well-armed. </div>
Ipshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04313911990105680465noreply@blogger.com2