Something about Marina

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.

I may not understand her art but I respect that passion. 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

I am my own darkness

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Adieu mon amie, je t'aimais bien

Its not something anyone wants to do, but saying goodbyes is undeniable & inevitable.

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.
But what about the goodbyes that we stretch out, like goodbyes that signal end of relationships.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

Miss Misunderstood

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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?

Words in Motion

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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?

Dancing with monsters through the night

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.

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.

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. 

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. 

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. 

Onwards towards regrets

Heat waves

Spiral in the sun

Red clouds

Come undone

Sea of sand

Oceans in still life

Change without changing

Move in all directions

The past in your head 

The future in your hands

The life you left behind 

Pushing you onward 

-- Jason Eisenmenger 'Mojave'

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.

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.

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.

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? 

I know these foot prints I leave behind are in a sea of sand but atleast I will always knew they existed.

Do I make you smile?

I see you stopping by. Stay a while, won't you?

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?

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.)

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.

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.

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.

Hear my story. I want you to stay a while. Won't you?

London -- where I leave my heart & my money

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.

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.

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...

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?

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!

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.

Certain Chaos

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.

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.

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.

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'.

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?

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.

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.

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.

First loves

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Missing out

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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)

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.

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.