Loose Ends

Time seems to be flashing by at an ever increasing pace. There are so many threads that started along the way, some of them becoming thick ropes, strong bonds that you can count on. And there are others that end as wisps almost as soon as they started, lost forever.

And then there are those that haven't quite disappeared, those that you imagine would be there when you reach for them. Do I dare reach out and test them?

Or do I prefer loose ends?

Loosing My Mind

Another year's flashed on by and still the elevators tell me that I might loose my hand. I guess long ago I was all right, but now it's ok to be alright. I'm so loost that I'm not sure whether I'm seperating or separating. Another ten-fifteen years, and I'll definately be in an asylum.

Perhaps English is moving on and I'm getting left behind. Or is it that the world's moving on and I've gotten off?

At The Edge

Onake Abbe, Agumbe.

I sat on a rock with my feet dangling dizzyingly high above the dive pool. Beside me, the water rippled around my fingers and dove unhesitating over the edge. The wind gently blew the cool spray back into my face as I looked over the rain-forest far below. Behind me, the path wound through the dense, dark forest of pit vipers and leeches that I hope will deter many a monsoon trekker.

I sat on the rock and dreamed. I dreamed I was an eagle, soaring unbounded over giant trees and crystal streams. And I despaired in my heart for I knew that my being there was a sign that man was at the doorstep.

I'd rather be a forest than a street. Yes, I would. If I could, I surely would.

- Simon & Garfunkel (El Condor Pasa)

Holi Colours

From beneath the flowering Persian Lilac (Melia Azedarach) tree, I looked up and saw a sky of the truest blue through the fresh green leaves of spring. White clouds sailed across the blue, silhouetting a pair of crows in shiny black.

The sun went down painting the clouds pink and purple, leaving behind a soft golden glow. Behind the hibiscus, the full moon rose fading from yellow to white, till finally, the world was just different shades of grey.

Happiness Rains

Paper boats racing down the storm drain with four kids cheering them on sheltered from the lightning and the pouring rain by a tin roof.

Returning home soaking wet after winning a football match we should have lost since we were playing with most of the regulars banned for poor academic performance.

Continuing the Founder's display as the lights blew, one by one, in the summer storm.

Riding an auto through the gates of a green Pune University through the drizzle of the monsoon.

Stuck in the middle of nowhere in a downpour with darkness upon us, singing.

Sprinting up to Cheena Peak in a drizzle stopping only to pull leeches off our ankles.

Spending an hour in a village home not understanding a word of the conversation, invited in from the pouring rain.

Wandering through the Himachal hills, splashing each other by jumping in the puddles, not wanting to get home.

Discarding umbrellas and walking barefoot through paddy fields looking for frogs and mushrooms.

Scrambling for higher ground in the middle of the night as the swollen Alaknanda washed the sand away from under our tents.

Is it any wonder that I love the rain so?

Beautiful Destruction

There is a quarry that is no longer being quarried. The landscape is fascinating. The huge crater has been filled by the monsoon, and the water has brought with it succulent vegetation of bewildering variety.

The destruction that man has wrought on what must once have been a beautiful hill, has created this moonscape of a stark beauty with abundant surprises. Rock faces, reflecting white in the sun, drop steeply into pools of clear water. In these pools are worlds of waving plants, boatmen and tadpoles. Cracks and ledges have been inhabited by Peninsular Rock Agamas which scamper away if you step too close.

I walked through this quarry one early morning this is what I saw - the monsoon had filled this pond, and the plants had burst into flower.

Forgotten Below

The sunlight still lit up the higher floors of the buildings as I walked toward home. It's a little unusual for me to be on foot these days, the convenience of my motorbike having overcome my desire to keep fit. There isn't a footpath on the flyover, so I walked by the side of it. And suddenly, I was in something out of the past that perhaps is a vision of the future.

This little world below was dark before sundown. The sunlight doesn't reach here any more. The light is from dusty, dim lamps, the neon signboards having gone dark. Voices echoed against the thoroughfare up above giving the feel of being in a cavern. The traffic above sounded muffled. The road has fallen into disrepair down here. Little mopeds bounce over the stones shoving the bicyclists out of the way. A faded banner proclaiming 'मेरा भारत महान' sagged from one of the pillars, symbolic perhaps of how this great country of ours does not do its people justice. My imagination was getting the better of me, perhaps, but the smiles of the people seemed tinged with a pale desperation. The contrast is sharp. The expensive cars roaring overhead, and this dimly lit world below.

Perhaps I'm being unfair. How does one treat a billion people equally? I guess some people will inevitably fall through the cracks of the flyovers of development into the dark, forgotten world below. But if I'm being unfair, then think of the people that are left behind.

Maybe

The problem isn't so much in writing as it is in writing beautifully. I struggle to put words together to express my thoughts because the words just don't seem to accurately translate what's floating around in my head. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been easier if there was just one language up there. Truth be told, there is only one language that rolls comfortably off my tongue. But, maybe the culture from which I was born has the expressions that describes me better. Unfortunately, that is not the language I read or write.

Anyway, the reason I blog today is to let out this feeling of being lost. The age old question of "What do I want to do with my life?" has raised it's ugly head again. The problem would not have been so acute if I knew the answer to the short term version of that question: "What am I doing these days?" Or, maybe, the problem has arisen because I know the answer. "Nothing" is the answer I usually hand out to people that ask me. The expression on their faces usually tells me that they think I'm doing plenty but I'm just too much of a snob to deign to tell them about it. If only that were true!

Midlife crisis? Quarterlife crisis? Are these real? Maybe I'm thinking myself into one.

Well, you're in trouble when almost every sentence begins with maybe!

Write

The urge to write is there, but the words that come are dry. Years of disuse have made them reluctant to do my bidding. Yet the parched words seem ready for that little spark to set them afire. That little bit of inspiration that will change this trickle into an uncontrollable flood surging toward the infinity of the ocean.

Words have been rushing through my head, not letting me rest ever since you told me that I should write. "Write anything", you said. But I cannot harness this chaotic stream into coherence, and all that appears from the pen in my hand is a series of disconnected thoughts. It is exhilarating to have this pent-up force within me, but infinitely frustrating that I cannot.... I do not know what it is that I wish to do with these words.

And the chaos grows.

How does it feel to write something of significance? The picture in my head is that of a man tearing through the heavens on the back of a dragon. He holds on for all he's worth, but he hasn't the faintest idea of where he's going or how he got on the dragon in the first place. All he knows is that he will not survive if he does let go.

I imagine that it is exhausting to write that "significant" piece of work for I believe that the work will become everything that you are. Something from you must go irretrievably into those words so that even when you recover from the effort, you will never be the same.

Estranged

You understood me, and I understood you.
Every word meant more than it said,
And the silence wasn't empty.

You understand my words, and I understand yours.
The dictionary describes every word,
And the silence is true.

Why? Oh why?

Inanities

How are you?
I'm fine, how are you?
How's work?
Isn't it nice outside.....

AARGH!

A Beautiful Day

Awake to the sound of birds singing,
Breakfast to the hymns of children,
To work under the bluest blue,
Tea under the trees,
Lunch with friends,
Every problem solves itself,
The sun sets in a pretty pink,
Ride home to dinner
and a comfortable bed.

Escape

It hurt me to see you lying there helpless.

You will be free, I promise. Just give it a little time, a little time for your stamina to build. And then, you will be free like I can never hope to be.

Helmets and Insurance

Save your head, they say.
Insure your life, they say.
Insure your apartment, they say.
Stick your middle finger at fate, they say.

Scary Conversations

Monday, you come to work, and your product architect is not around. Unusual. He's usually here at eight in the morning.

Eleven o'clock, he's still not in. This was supposed to be an important directional meeting with management.

Then management walks in and calls the team (team of two, hahaha) together. And he tells us there's bad news. First thought - the product architect has quit the company. No big deal, it happens all the time. It's worse though... at 40, he's had a heart attack! I almost have one in shock! He's in intensive care and will be out of office for a month.

Tuesday evening. My manager never calls out of office hours. I get a call at choir practice, well after office hours. The hair on my neck stands on end. Phew... it's good news. He's going to be fine.

Thursday morning. He's being discharged. The team (read me, for today) is left to work with a vague feeling of being set loose. No product architect for a month.....

Man, I've got to exercise, eat right, and do all those things!

Bandh!

Tomorrow I will be working on a Saturday, and I will reflect on the conflict between the Maharashtra and the Karnataka governments. It's strange how little I know or care about the argument. Whose side am I on? Well, the side which ... once again ... what are they fighting about?

I woke up on Wednesday morning, and I heard birds chirping outside my window. This was the first time in Bangalore that the sound I've heard on waking up was not the sound of an autorickshaw roaring by Ulsoor Lake. Slowly, my mind adjusted to the thought that there was nothing I could do today, absolutely nothing. Was the thought uncomfortable? Not at all! My being rejoiced in the fact that there was nothing to do, nothing to accomplish.

Bangalore stood still. Perhaps it is coincidence, but the temperature dropped at least a couple of degrees on Wednesday. And when I rode to work on the next morning, the sky was just a little bluer.

I thought ... this should happen more often. Maybe once a month, everyone should stay home and give nature a chance to refresh the city, refresh our minds.

A pipedream I'm sure. I can't imagine the corporate world accepting the massive losses that are incurred on days like this. What about closing down on a Sunday? Well, the retail world, the entertainment world, and others of their ilk, would they be willing? Most of all though, would people stay at home if there wasn't the threat of someone stoning their cars?

I don't believe that this thought is mine alone, but....

Social Work

Why is social work considered a higher cause? Everyone does social work.

An example is the the truck driver who blows his horn (blowing everybody's eardrums away) when the traffic signal turns green. Hey... even though he's 10 cars away from the light, it's his duty to inform the guy in the front that the signal has changed. He's so kind to the people being blocked by the insensitive guy in front who's taken one second to get his car into first gear.

What about the guys who stop by the side of the road to water the trees. Hey... the trees need the urea, you know.

The beginning

The world has been blogging for a while now, and I've been feeling a little left behind.