tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61030695176120447722024-03-13T19:18:42.357+05:30Reflectionz!"...life is only the mirror into which a man gazes not in order that he may get a reflection of himself, but that he may come to understand himself by that reflection; that he may see what it is that the mirror shows..." — Arthur Schopenhauer, Feb 22, 1788Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.comBlogger121125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-14068857786554762232018-01-03T18:37:00.002+05:302018-01-03T18:56:32.413+05:30Rao Saab<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span data-offset-key="et8dl-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="et8dl-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">On the eve of this new year, our entire family lost the most loving person ever born among us...my grandfather. My tata.</span><br />
<span data-offset-key="cr4kr-0-0" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">I used to lovingly call him Rao </span></span><span data-offset-key="cr4kr-2-0" style="font-family: inherit;">saab.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It is with still some shock and disbelief that I write this. We all seem to be going through the motions of what comes after but time hasn't really ticked for us. Our hearts are stuck in those few hours and set on memories we last shared with him. </span><br />
<span data-offset-key="3l84p-0-0" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">Tata's last social gathering was at our </span>place,<span style="background-color: white;"> when we had the </span>pujo<span style="background-color: white;"> at home on 29th </span>December,<span style="background-color: white;"> 2017. That was when I last physically saw him, fed him, spoke to him, and Subhash</span></span><span data-offset-key="3l84p-2-0" style="font-family: inherit;"> and I took his blessings. Little did we know or possibly imagine in our wildest dreams that that would be our last. Strangely enough, like at my ammama's time, I was travelling when it happened. What fate this is, I haven't understood yet. The two people I love most, left me when I wasn't next to them.</span><br />
<span data-offset-key="5p0ir-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">It all seems impossible and unreal, even as I type this. It's incredibly difficult and too soon for me. But I write as it dawns on me that my grandfather wasn't just 'my' most favourite person. He was loved by so many of us and so deeply and we have so many souls to thank. He was a scholar, a thinker, a grammarist, a published poet, a singer, a musician, a drama artist, a brilliant chess player. Specially reserved for the family was his deep knowledge of Carnatic and Hindustani music - he knew each corresponding raagas in the two schools of music - I'm yet to come across others who specialize in this. So many evenings spent singing for hours and we never had enough of him. Not once through the years do I remember thinking, '</span><span data-offset-key="5p0ir-0-1" style="font-family: inherit; font-style: italic;">Oh yes, I have heard this bit before</span><span data-offset-key="5p0ir-0-2" style="font-family: inherit;">'. Such was his knowledge.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He could also sleep talk perfectly about Yeats and Keats and Shakespeare and recite many a sonnet in entirety. That's where my love for English probably started. I wasn't blessed with his brilliant memory but I was the luckiest possible child to walk on this planet to have been brought up by him in my super young years. Someone had correctly said, children don't learn from what they are told, they only follow what they see. My language fails me today to describe how perfect a parent he was to me.</span><br />
<span data-offset-key="8vnlm-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">My tata loved company. And the company loved him. He has lived in a number of cities throughout the country and he had countless friends everywhere and of all ages, from 5 years to 50, 90 or more. Some of them, I remember from some twenty-five years ago, were his 'freedom-fighter friends' at Delhi's Baba Kharak Singh Marg. Yes, the '</span><span data-offset-key="8vnlm-0-1" style="font-family: inherit; font-style: italic;">Azaadi ki ladai ladne vaale</span><span data-offset-key="8vnlm-0-2" style="font-family: inherit;">' elders. I have no idea how he found them but I was taken along on these visits regularly. They used to look so old that I would be scared of them. But tata insisted I come along on every visit. They spoke for hours and I used to play on the porch. God knows if I ever picked up anything intelligent from such rare company. But they loved me, fed me, remembered my birthday and bought me clothes. When one of the 'freedom-fighter' tatas passed away, my grandfather was grieved! Tata would tell me about their great struggles for the country. I absorbed some of it at an age that was too young to entirely comprehend it but my childhood was certainly shaped by it. By my tata.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">To no one's surprise, I turned out to be a most possessive grandchild in the years to come, and I used to think nobody, absolutely nobody could love my </span>tata<span style="font-family: inherit;"> more than I did. But I'm humbled today. As friends and family have started calling and posting messages, to hear them speak of the time they spent with him, particularly of their conversations, how he kept up correspondence we didn't even know of, their favourite song of his, the letters he wrote or the poetry he posted, and most of all, the love he had for them - people who met him twenty years ago, spoke of him as they met him only two days back and each one spoke to us of the 'special bond' they had with him - we are trying to gather ourselves enough to respond to all the love but we don't seem to be enough people to do that. The grief in the voices we hear has nothing to do with common courtesy. It is much more real and comes from a very loving place. To be perfectly underrated, </span>tata<span style="font-family: inherit;"> was much larger than the life he posed and had a much bigger heart than I knew of. Strangely enough, we are not surprised at all at this. We knew it all along but just as the dust settles even on the brightest diamond, we let it, in our daily lives. But with each person who calls or writes to us, a facet is getting polished and we remember anew his life and his brilliance and bask in the afterglow.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The biggest legacy my grandfather leaves, is the legacy of love. For there were long years of struggle. He served my grandmother for many years in sickness and took care of her lovingly. It wasn't even easy for the younger ones to tend to her. But he did. Day and night. The couple had five children and eight grandchildren, two great-grandchildren and a tightly-knit extended family and close friends. But before my grandfather's strength for her, we all were nothing.</span><br />
<span data-offset-key="c5sur-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">The other, I realize, is the simplicity with which he lived his life. He demanded nothing. He was a man par brilliance but never procrastinated on the mundaneness of life. He was a religious person who followed the </span><span data-offset-key="c5sur-0-1" style="font-family: inherit; font-style: italic;">madhwa</span><span data-offset-key="c5sur-0-2" style="font-family: inherit;"> ways of life. He was lovingly called ‘appa’ by most thanks to our </span><span data-offset-key="c5sur-0-3" style="font-family: inherit; font-style: italic;">kannadiga</span><span data-offset-key="c5sur-0-4" style="font-family: inherit;"> ancestry. He gave strength to his children when they needed it the most and was proud of all our achievements. He was happiest when we visited him and blessed us from afar when we couldn’t. Humanly, if he ever faltered from his good nature, one would be unhappy only because he himself instilled high values in us. He enjoyed austerity in life: he read and blogged and solved scholarly </span><a class="_42a-" data-hover="tooltip" data-offset-key="c5sur-1-0" data-tooltip-alignh="center" data-tooltip-content="http://kandishankaraiah.blogspot.in/" href="https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fkandishankaraiah.blogspot.in%2F&h=ATOmWZ_I21Lhv6kWw6jI7tPnawGS735oKvM0xHLoabQ_F_1H642MRK3YXT4xxL5Aqj7c2X1NgjrJdCQUAyFLDZuMWmlnuEx64aeelZuL0NduGPzW7c4FJb7737H8zolJbfdBa52Wk-sBXe0r" rel="nofollow noopener" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit;" target="_blank"><span data-offset-key="c5sur-1-0" style="font-family: inherit;">puzzles</span></a><span data-offset-key="c5sur-2-0" style="font-family: inherit;"> everyday. If I was around, he would read me options and asked me which one I liked better to post. His food was simple. His attire, even more so. He had a harmonium, a walking stick, a pair of glasses that hung from his neck, books, and a lifelong photographic memory of sorts. He looked for no special service. The things appa didn’t have, he didn’t complain about.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As everything happened in a daze, I reflected later on the peaceful look on his face when he left us. I believe that it is only possible for a man who forgave us all for our shortcomings, which would have been many and left us only with love in his heart. I like, many others, feel guilty now of the time not spent with him. But what's the use </span>in<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span>that.<span style="font-family: inherit;"> I shall write for him though, as much as I can. I will thank our friends to remember him, as deeply as possible. And I'll try to be his granddaughter till I meet him again, in this world or another.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Pinky.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-84854212352671255012017-02-11T14:57:00.002+05:302017-02-11T15:16:32.037+05:30These days...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span data-offset-key="ecrp-0-0">These days, when someone reaches out and asks you how you are, I think it takes a lot of courage to say the words 'not okay'. The 'not okay' maybe due to a trivial thing or maybe for a big reason. Like 'missing a morning cup of coffee not okay' or some 'life changing commotion underway not okay'. But we don't say it. I notice that, that simple question a friend asks, comes with such a loaded answer. I can almost hear the reel turning in my head deciding what to say, before I do with a </span><span data-offset-key="ecrp-0-1" style="font-style: italic;">'...going great, ya'</span><span data-offset-key="ecrp-0-2">.
I suspect, I'm not the only one.
The point isn't about how life has become. The point is, how you and I have become. We'd rather not say what we mean. What we think. What we feel. At that very moment. And that is why we don't connect with our friends any longer. We don't tell our friends what we used to, any longer. We don't seek them and we don't let them seek us. The things that made our childhood. The secrets we bonded over. We'd rather not.
We don't share how we feel about our spouses. We don't tell how we feel with our children. We don't tell which childhood memory still haunts us. We don't talk any longer about what went through our minds sitting alone in a coffee shop, however rare that maybe now.
We don't talk about that dreadful fear of losing our dreams, while working out the daily rut of life. Having a home now but not having enough pictures of different havens we found elsewhere. Not having written that film in black and white. Not about the painting we liked or the poem we read, which stirred something deeper. The touch of a hand and the safety and security of love and how we rediscovered it in the most unlikely places. The pain of losing a loved one and the joy of welcoming a new one. And how that's changed us in the most unsuspecting ways. How the people we hated are not so hateful any longer or the people we loved are not so loved any longer. How a person we met recently reminded us of the lost literature of our lives and the precious chats we had with grandpa. The dreadful fear of forgetting the story we wrote with our minds and in our subconscious when we were young, thinking the time is yet to come. That fear of forgetting that self. Losing ourselves.
We don't tell the good and beautiful and we don't tell the bad and ugly.
We also don't believe in' time' any longer. That it watches over us and makes moves. We don't seem to believe that minds connect and sync with a certain vibe. That there maybe a reason why a long lost friend suddenly called you or felt strongly enough to do that. He or she doesn't know why either. But they did anyway. And we? We answer them with 'not enough' soul material. Both sides know there's more. Both sides go back unfulfilled.
I think we don't connect with friends because they knew us 'from the time' when nobody else 'from the right now', knew us. They know what made us. And we are dead scared they'd bring it up. Coz' deep inside, that's the secret we are running away from. That they know we'd rather fill our Sundays discussing films and scripts or paintings or whatever else, rather than planning parties. That'd we'd review the books and the lines we liked rather than fuss over what's for dinner. That we'd rather not 'plan our time' but 'spend time on' the idea or the dream we woke up with.
We are afraid to face the fact that we are unfulfilled, in some way or the other. We are happy, but we are still, unfulfilled. We want to run away from the fact that such a possibility exists.
If we face it, we may have to examine it and we are worried about what it might make us do. And who has the energy for that any longer? Our hearts are already full of hurt caused by others. Who has time for those we inflict on ourselves.
Not all is gloomy but I think we are constantly struggling to reach a conclusion. Who are we really? The one from the past or the one from the present. Or the one we will become in future. And amongst that that the feeling that as we become older, it'd be too late to pick up the paintbrush. To join that music class. To dance as if nobody is watching. To...
I think, this is what we didn't account for. Love for others. Love for life. And love for self. While the textbook answer says we shouldn't have to choose, we didn't know we'd have to, even if it is only an illusion. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The questions, I suspect, are real to all of us. And I think that is why, these days, when someone reaches out and asks you how you are, it takes a lot of courage to say the words 'not okay'. </span></div>
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Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-53244351548778704152016-01-26T10:43:00.000+05:302016-01-26T10:43:09.881+05:30For time to end.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
If there is a battle I'm to win, it is here.<br />
<br />
If there is a freedom I'm yet to attain, it is here.<br />
<br />
If there is a path I have to take, it is here.<br />
<br />
And while I may not understand the perplexities of this universe,<br />
<br />
All I can give it is the constant rumination of thoughts<br />
<br />
A promise to learn. And a promise to try.<br />
<br />
<br />
Time flies, I feel, in front of my eyes.<br />
<br />
I fear, if I'm missing something now.<br />
<br />
For if I do, I'll have to wait again, for the universe to create another parallel, bound by its own promise.<br />
<br />
I fear, losing the lesson. In time.<br />
<br />
<br />
Sleep envelopes me. A sleep full of thoughts. Feelings. Unrest.<br />
<br />
It is too full, I complain. I need emptiness. Rest.<br />
<br />
<br />
Wisdom eludes me.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure what I'm asking for.<br />
<br />
But alive I am.<br />
<br />
Still I am.<br />
<br />
Waiting for time to end.</div>
Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-40952711617424123552015-12-31T17:27:00.001+05:302015-12-31T17:27:19.149+05:302015..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Lots of thoughts. Lazy to write.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Very unlike me really :)<br />
Shalz!</div>
Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-29466977564383997322015-11-13T18:52:00.003+05:302015-11-13T18:52:19.370+05:30Shadows..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I never thought I'd say this..<br />
<br />
But I increasingly feel that I have become another's story.<br />
<br />
I knew myself to be capable of more reflection. I was a shadow person. Meant to understand them. More of them.<br />
<br />
But somehow along the way..I seem to have gotten lost in making sunshine.<br />
<br />
I envy those in the shadows now.<br />
<br />
Strange is this human heart.<br />
<br />
Being in shadows..living in shadows is a difficult task. The price too much. All my life I have yearned for that sunshine. And I finally seem to be getting some, making some. But instead of happiness, it is fear that is gripping me.<br />
<br />
At the loss of that past. That feeling. That that I gained in the shadows.<br />
<br />
God, will I ever know balance? Best of both?<br />
Will I, God?<br />
<br />
Yours faithfully.</div>
Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-86263710310630418072015-07-27T15:56:00.001+05:302015-07-27T15:56:47.887+05:30Note to myself.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I hope it is not an injustice. The stories that I keep to myself.<br />
<br />
For I have a lot to tell. For there is a lot I feel.<br />
<br />
But I mostly smile and submit to the moment. I don't tell.<br />
<br />
Like the memories that arise out of nowhere, thinking of a long lost friend. Thinking, if the friend is really lost or..<br />
<br />
Like the conversations I have in my head, to call or not to..<br />
<br />
Like the chats I go back to read sometimes, the conversations that made me from time to time.<br />
<br />
Like the lingering hope I keep building in my head, of lost worlds and lost people.<br />
<br />
I used to yearn to tell. But I'm changing now. I hope it is not something I will regret.<br />
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<br /></div>
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There's a lot to tell. Inside me.</div>
<br />
<br /></div>
Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-22443948906254681562015-06-24T17:42:00.002+05:302015-06-24T17:42:39.361+05:30Flame<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't write much these days because I find life mundane.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Either there is too much struggle which doesn't afford you a break to reflect. Or there's just nothing else.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I don't write.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But today I realized that there is still something that wakes me out of this stupor.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are a few people.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I pass by them regularly. Mostly on social media these days. Or find a picture of them somewhere. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Or see a book they like.</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">These people I speak of, I realize, haven't given up on the zest they are made of. They are not necessarily happy. In fact, I presume them to be some of the most dissatisfied souls who wanted more from life. From this world. But I see them burning. I see them alive. It shakes me up a little every time, when I find that the flame hasn't died down. I wonder what they're made of.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It seems like the entire concentration of their beings is focused one tiny dot. One crazy thought. One sane idea. For which they look like, when time comes, they will lay down their lives. For an idea. Even if it becomes nothing else but that idea.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I see that madness and it makes me think. Pause. Remember.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was always born on the sidelines, I think of myself. I haven't been able to achieve much. I'm not like them...these men I'm talking about. But they inspire me. For a second, they clutch my heart. With a line, a picture, with presence or sometimes, their absence. I feel this very deeply.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have nothing to offer in return I guess. But I must acknowledge that this is one of the deepest reveries in me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I acknowledge them. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And if one of them reads this, I acknowledge you.</span><br />
<br /></div>
Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-49312719626928473452015-06-15T11:23:00.002+05:302015-06-15T12:26:42.477+05:30darling, darling let go..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
darling, darling let go<br />
<br />
it came and it went<br />
like you opened your arms when it did<br />
like your gave your heart when it did<br />
like you loved it a little, a lot when it did<br />
kiss it goodbye now, when it's going<br />
love it goodbye now, when it's gone<br />
don't hold on to it,<br />
don't let it hold you,<br />
kiss it goodbye..<br />
just kiss it goodbye.<br />
<br />
darling, oh darling..let it go..<br />
<br />
it's a long story<br />
longer than you know<br />
it runs deep in you<br />
deeper than you know<br />
this is just the middle<br />
neither the beginning<br />
nor the end<br />
let it go, let it go..<br />
my darling, break free and let go..<br />
<br />
there's nothing to hold you back<br />
life is more than just a few memories<br />
life is less than just long years<br />
there's more than just what you see<br />
there's more to what you feel<br />
this isn't meant to be a stop<br />
this isn't where you rest<br />
there's a shade cooler<br />
there's a shade more real<br />
where you'll reach, just as you start walking<br />
the journey will begin to take shape<br />
but for now, darling, just let go, walk away<br />
kiss it goodbye and walk away...</div>
Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-17289726075851092242015-01-09T14:39:00.004+05:302015-01-09T14:39:51.883+05:30Continuum<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
That's unlike her, everyone thought.<br />
Everyone was right.<br />
<br />
But silence has it's own stories.<br />
The passing time, collects even more.<br />
<br />
Silence, when deliberate, often means more.<br />
That lingering, could mean a promise, she hopes.<br />
<br />
A promise of stories. Of continuum.<br />
<br /></div>
Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-90683919625058444402014-07-20T13:32:00.003+05:302022-02-08T22:49:55.523+05:30Goodbye to a former lover.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I thought of him as I woke up. What must he look like, asleep in the morning sun. Would I have opened my eyes first? For some reason, in my mind, I always wake up before him.<br />
<br />
I gently plant a kiss on his forehead. And slip out of the folds quietly. Standing by the bed, I watch him. Thinking to myself, this is why I journeyed all the way. For this precious sight.<br />
<br />
I find my feet and walk away now, deep in thought. I enjoy the silence. In that room, with closed doors and tightly shut windows, I am oblivious to the world. The only obvious, are my movements and his breathing. That's all.<br />
<br />
I stand in front of the mirror in the bath. And stare at that person. I look at what I have become. With him. I study myself. I had wondered to myself for many a years. How would I look like when with him? My skin, soft and glowing. I touch love.<br />
<br />
My heart races back to him. I peek back into the silent room. Listen to his peaceful breathing. I smile.<br />
<br />
Days may come and go. And when he wakes up, he may learn to walk and away, I know. But for now, I take a deep, deep breath. This is why I journeyed so far. And I know I shall live a lil' in him. And as long he remembers my smile, that touched me that morning with love, I know I shall live in him.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
A former lover/<br />
A mother</div>
Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-57992828073883556932014-07-19T11:01:00.001+05:302014-07-19T11:02:30.188+05:30God.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There is something sinister about the present.<br />
More sinister than the past.<br />
<br />
I get this nagging feeling that I'm forgetting something.<br />
Something very important.<br />
Sometimes, my dreams tell me what it is.<br />
But before I grab it, I slip into the slumber of wakefulness.<br />
<br />
Yes, it is a slumber these days.<br />
And I feel very stifled.<br />
<br />
I run into my past,<br />
into its fragments,<br />
desperate to understand,<br />
the message it is trying to deliver.<br />
<br />
But each fragment fails me.<br />
Each one.<br />
<br />
I have nowhere to go. And I'm lost in myself.<br />
God, if there be you in me, find me.<br />
<br /></div>
Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-66177575966065274252014-07-16T11:18:00.000+05:302014-07-16T11:28:44.798+05:30The Quiet<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
It's the day before the dawn</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's the night before the sunset</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And the quiet breaks my heart</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I was but an impossible creature</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">lost in the woods that was home</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">braving sins and souls</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and yet, the quiet breaks my heart</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Life didn't understand </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the wind carried no story </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the rain only slurped</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and yet, it is the quiet that breaks my heart</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
It reminds me I'm living,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the quiet,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and it breaks my heart.</span></div>
Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-69127186352705451002014-06-11T22:55:00.001+05:302014-06-11T22:55:15.423+05:30Home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
It feels like a piece of me has been displaced. Misplaced. Lost.<br />
<br />
It's very difficult to cope.<br />
<br />
I feel like I have been displaced. And I feel like I am done. Like that's enough.<br />
<br />
Not that I ever really had a home. It was always something that I wanted to run away from. Always.<br />
<br />
But tonight, I feel like retracing my steps. And go back to the home I set up. My home. Just go back and sleep on my bed. And sleep a dreamless night.<br />
<br />
I am desperate but I can't say it out aloud. Except for wish. Or pray hard. Whichever.<br />
<br />
Tonight, I just want to go back home.</div>
Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-28438494768034505152014-03-03T12:19:00.003+05:302014-07-19T11:15:00.734+05:30Death<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
Death, I believe, is the greatest reminder of life.<br />
<br />
I don't know about you but the idea of death soothes me. It gives me a sense of time, like nothing else.<br />
<br />
It tells me, in desperate times, that all that I'm going through, will one day be over. That sorrow is not immortal. That the pain, will pass away with the passage of time. That one day, my last day, my last moment, I will look back upon it. Simply look back it, as a thing of past. And no matter what, one day, it will all be over..<br />
<br />
In happy times, death reminds me, the tale of pain. and that despite that, happiness is possible. That one day, it ceases. That it will be okay.<br />
<br />
The idea of death also makes me restless. It tells me that time is running out. So if I have a choice to make, the time is now. The choice to make it, somewhere. The choice to do, something. It makes me think about that last day of my life. What if I look back and I see nothing achieved. Nothing conquered. Nothing built. Nothing made. It makes me restless. It makes me, yearn. It makes me, live. It makes me...me.<br />
<br />
As I said, it soothes me.</div>
Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-82693473880430699902013-12-31T13:39:00.001+05:302013-12-31T13:39:07.370+05:30Keeping with the tradition..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
I always write a blog towards the end of each year. Kinda think I would like to look back at it at some point in future. So, I write.<br />
<br />
I am not at my expressive best, really. I am in a somewhat puzzled space. Deciding on what to do. Deciding to wait. Waiting to decide. So all in all... not in the clearest of time and mind.<br />
<br />
The year has been good, I suppose. Difficult but good. There have been many challenges on the way. But I have come through. The highlight throughout the year, has really been ..being married. It is almost two years now... and I think I understand it a lil' better now. I am calmer, now. I am easier, now. I suppose I have grown.<br />
<br />
As a person, I am not settled yet. I am restless. Sometimes, I remember fragments from the past. But I am ok. I am ok to move on. And I think that is real good.<br />
<br />
I loved travelling overseas this year. Loved meeting friends. But I missed being together. Somehow, marriage has changed me. More than I think I give it credit for.<br />
<br />
I think the year has passed by real quick. I still can't shake the feeling of everything going by real fast. But I guess so is life. I would like to take a break sometime. But my choices I feel will lead me differently.<br />
<br />
I need to learn to be less anxious. That much is clear. I need to smile more. I need to .. be many more things.<br />
<br />
What I promise myself though, is that I will try. That I will make a genuine effort. To be less demanding of life and enjoy that that I have. And to give life another chance.<br />
<br /></div>
Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-6905401258699730622013-07-13T13:50:00.001+05:302013-07-13T13:50:11.478+05:30How easily we forget..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">..the truth.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am amazed how human nature operates. It's direction of thoughts, get mislead, so easily. So very easily. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let me talk about my own heart. I have one restless heart. I always knew. But the mute point always has been that it was looking for some peace. A place to rest. And once that's found, so it shall rest. I always thought so.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I seem to be mistaken.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is not at rest. Not yet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There were decisions it made in it's prime. And then there were some more. With a complete conscious. And yet, why the regret?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's like it wants the fruit borne of everything that it fancies. But is not ready to go trudge the soil. It is not. It chose not to. But time to time, it starts desiring it nevertheless.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am fortunate to have a good memory. Of myself. Like I realized quickly that it was my choice not to walk those roads. And the choices I seem to be regretting now, is what I celebrated just a while ago. And that these very choices made me strong. Made me loved. Made me stand. That that I fancy now, couldn't have made me. Not brought me here. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The mind questions of course, could it not? And the answer, after a short confusion, is yes. It couldn't have.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just a minute ago, I was restless. The heart was restless.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now I am at peace. I am clear...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is like the heart beat. One is the presence. The other thought becomes the absence.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My heart beats for both.</span><br />
<br />
...</div>
Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-81266139629265645612013-07-04T14:56:00.004+05:302013-07-04T20:16:24.976+05:30The Secret Me.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">Everyone
has secrets. I think. And probably it’s not worth it to live otherwise. Because
our most guarded secrets are sometimes our richest experiences. I have had many in
my life. And so I know I have had many, many experiences. Some good, some bad. Some
I guarded carefully for many years and then decided to let out. Some, I still hide
and let grow inside me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">I never
thought about it like this before. I knew it always made a difference to who I
am, but hold me back? I think I knew, but I let it anyway. I still do. But I have
this urge at the moment to confront it. To say it out aloud and bring it up
with myself. And then to some more, whoever cares to read this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">There’s a
secret I have been keeping. And that one secret alone is making me hold back,
everything else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">I have been
asking myself over the past few weeks why am I suddenly unable to write. Having just lived a part of lifelong dream...why I am
unable to put the pen to the paper? Knowing myself, my heart is bubbling right now with new experiences imprinted on it…then why am I just so unable
to simply say all those things? Why am I unable to bring
myself to it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">And it just
struck me now. Just now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">It’s because
of a secret that I have been holding so close to my heart…that it has become like a rite of passage to my
heart. That I have to pass through it, acknowledge it, every time I want to reach and acknowledge myself. And since I have been busy carefully guarding it for so long... I just have to go around it now. It’s because
of this that I can’t bring myself out any longer. It’s because I this that I can’t put myself out there any longer. Every time I scrape
the surface, it comes forth. No matter which way, in which manner. It just
does. And so…I stuff it all back in. And then, I don’t write.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">Has anyone
ever had such an experience? Something that is so attached to your very core
that everything else about you seems attached to it? Everything. And no matter
however many strides forward you make in life, there is this one connection
that never breaks. And breaking up with that feels like breaking up with
yourself. I sometimes find that I am unable to reach myself without holding on
to it. It might sound crazy, but in all honesty, that is how it is. The
inability to deny it. To deny that part of yourself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">And so I
find this part of me, having a constant conversation inside me, unknown
to myself. That sound crazy? I won’t blame you. I placate my own self with a maybe.
Maybe that’s what they call the subconscious. Maybe, what some people call the
soul. I don’t know exactly. But what I do know is that it exists. And if I don’t
like what it says, it survives anyway, without my acknowledgment if need be. It’s
entirely up to me to tap into it. I choose to ignore it of course. But sometimes,
just sometimes, I see those fragments and I wake up to them, as if out of a slumber, to realize that I was actually living in a dream. The truth, lies in those paths I refuse to trudge. And that any path I take, inexplicably merges itself with it at some point.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">And when i wake up to it, I struggle
with an awe of it…and a fear of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">And it is
this fear that doesn't let me write. The secrets that I keep from myself, those
that I keep to myself. For then, I’ll have to acknowledge it and accept it. I find it difficult to do it in person. So
maybe, here. This is, an attempt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">No matter what I do with it, a question lingers in me…am I complete without it? This part of me, inexplicable but
essential.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I hope I have
said what I wanted to say. And hope someone’s heard me. And I hope that that
part of me, that is keeping the secret, is listening. I hope, the two of us,
meet somewhere.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">...</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-7858662574688510332013-04-03T17:15:00.000+05:302014-07-19T11:15:56.690+05:30Ammamma & me. My lil' hands, firmly clasped in hers. We remain.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She took me in her arms when I was all but 11 days old. And held me close, since then.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I might not remember the first time I looked at her. But I have this one picture, the only picture rather, from my baby days. I learnt later that she was the one holding me in it, in my first picture ever.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If not for <i>Ammamma,</i> my life wouldn't have been what it is today. I wouldn't have been the person I am today. I wouldn't have known love, as I know it today.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember how she used to take me to my pre-school, where I used to be taught ABCD..and 123.. and some rhymes I guess. The 'teacher' always called the attendance by my nick name <i>'pinki'</i>. Everyday I would tell her my name, but she didn't really bother. I would tell <i>Ammamma</i> that after the school got over, when she'd come to pick me up on the hot afternoons. And she would take my bag and hold my hand and bargain with the <i>rikshawala</i> for five rupees. She wouldn't let me walk back the short distance home. I'd get too tired, she'd say.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Home was our haven. I remember the light blue walls of the govt apartment at <i>Baba Kharak Singh Marg</i>. I remember climbing the too-high-for-me <i>diwan</i> and standing in front of the big air cooler. And start jumping in front of it. At which point <i>Ammamma </i>would rush to my side and hold me and always say.. '<i>pinki ki evanna oute ammamma tha</i>..'.. meaning <i>'if anything happens to pinki, </i><i>Ammamma would be no more'. </i>She said that to me everyday. And every day I would widen my eyes and ask her.. <i>really? </i>And she would look at me solemnly and nod... and I would hug her tight and promise to never jump like that again. Every day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Ammamma</i> would then freshen me up and then come holding a steel <i>thali </i>with food. And I would say no to it. Then <i>Ammamma </i>would reveal that she had got me my all too favourite <i>uppu nayya annam - </i>as we used to call it in <i>Telugu.</i> It was <i>chaawal </i>and some <i>ghee </i>and <i>namak</i>. Stuff that's fed to lil' kids to begin with but in my case, remained a staple till long. As long as I remained with <i>Ammamma.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once satisfied that the food was to my liking, I would sit down for <i>Ammamma </i>to feed me. And then she would tell me stories. And then she would lovingly feed me some <i>daal chawal</i>, with the 'prized' <i>nimbu ka achaar </i>which she herself prepared. The <i>nimbu ka achaar </i>is still a favourite.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I would sleep off then, after a while. Lying on her tummy, feeling her soft cotton saree, in front of another big air cooler in the bedroom. Lil' hands and legs spread across. Without a worry. I don't remember sleeping like that, ever since.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They say I was a naughty child. But <i>Ammamma </i>always maintained that I was the <i>'good girl'</i>. The best </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'good girl'</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> of all.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Ammamma </i>would also take me out in the evenings when I would ride my lil' red bicycle, which I wouldn't part with even after I'd overgrown it, by many inches in limbs. <i>Tata </i>and <i>Ammamma </i>would take me for walks early in the mornings to <i>Talkatora </i>stadium. And I remember I would hold their hands and and swing instead of step on the road. And how they would play along, laughing. All the way.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And thus, time passed. I remember a lot of things from my childhood. Sepia toned memories of a gifted childhood. Of love and trust and faith. That only a child can put in her mother. Like only a mother can live up to it. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like only </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ammamma </i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and I had. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like the feel of her much used soft cotton </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">sarees</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> that I still can't forget. Without which, I still can't sleep as well. Or the home we had with those light blue walls. The </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">aadu ka ped</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> we'd pluck at, from our balcony. The hot afternoons together, with only each other for company. The stories she only told me. The taste of her fingers, as she fed me food. The toffees she kept for me and those I shared with her. Her fair, fair hands clasping my brown ones.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We parted ways when I was 6 or 7 years old. I remember <i>Ammamma </i>crying. Asking me if I really wanted to go. I lied. And said yes. And I remember she cried hard. I cried along with her. Knowing fully well that I was lying. But I lied anyway, to be with <i>mummy </i>and <i>daddy</i>. I had to choose. And that one silent nod from me, full of lies, changed my life thereafter.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few months later, I had a new house and new room. But I slept alone after that. I was scared to sleep alone, but had no one to tell about. I was given story books but no one to read them to me. No one fed me <i>ghee chawal </i>or <i>nimbu</i> <i>ka achaar</i>. Or no one kept me company in the hot afternoons. No one to stop me from climbing the <i>diwaan. </i>Or jump and fall. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I just stopped jumping after that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I forgot all about my lil' memories after a while. I would just get on with what I had now. A<i>mmamma </i>left Delhi<i>. </i>And I would go to her every summer for a week. She started getting older. And sometimes, sick. But I loved her Hyderabad house. The stone slabs, the green doors and windows. And the <i>nandivardhanam </i>tree right outside her bedroom window. The beautiful white flowers which I started to always associate with her.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I would cry as I had to leave, after all. But as I grew up, I stopped crying in front of her. I would hide my feelings from her. But she always held me and cried. Never hid herself from me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is little I can give her now. There was little I gave her all these years. She came back to Delhi many years later. I was grown up and working and I told her I was a busy person. She lived nearby but I would meet her only every now and then. When I had time. She would still look forward to my visits. She would often slip me money from her purse when <i>tata</i> wasn't looking. And whisper in my ear to go buy her some toffees or chocolates. And she'd bribe me with<i> 'you can have some too'</i>. I would laugh and indulge her. She was a diabetic.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have that brown lil' purse of her's now with me. The one that she kept under her pillow for many bedridden years. It has a few hundreds and some change. I took it from her bedside this time, after she was no longer there.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I also found her <i>bicchiyya </i>in<i> </i>the purse. Simple, silver rings. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They are now with me. And will remain. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are many other things of her I asked for, from <i>Tata</i>. Some were gone already, he said. But he will look up the others and have them sent to me, he promised. I have but lil' faith. Who will understand what they mean to me? Why they're important. What they will always symbolize. I trust no one. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They tell me this is how it happens. People die. Go to live with god. And they remind me that she was in pain. A lot of pain. <i>Yes, yes, I know. </i>They tell me not to cry. Sometimes lovingly, sometimes strictly. They tell me it will pain her soul more when she sees me cry. And if I care for her, I should swell no more tears. <i>I nod, helpless. </i>What they don't understand is that she'd understand. She knows how much it pains me. If she were there, she'd hug me and cry along with me. Knowing my pain. Acknowledging it. The pain of never seeing her again. And she would have shared the pain with me. She would have really been the only person who would have let me be. Let me cry. Pained about it, but c</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ared about the way I feel. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And let nothing come in my way. And that </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">is what I have lost now. That is whom I have lost now. That unconditional love. That unconditional relationship. That unconditional support. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They tell me to pull up courage. What they don't understand is that...my <i>ammamma </i>was my courage. M</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">y </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ammamma</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> was my assurance, and my reassurance. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">M</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">y </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ammamma</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">was my strength. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All of it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The one I lived by...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">...since the day s</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">he took me in her arms when I was all but 11 days old. And held me close. Since then.</span></div>
Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-60128802605555276512013-03-12T15:42:00.002+05:302013-03-12T15:44:18.992+05:30On turning 28 and more..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So a lot of people don't like being asked 'how old do u turn today'.. but frankly, I have never been one of them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If anything, I am a proud 28 year old today. And I am wearing it up on my sleeve, no less.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let's see.. I have just about topped 8 years at work, got 'married!', 'finally' stepped out of the comfortable cocoon of my mum dadz place, learnt how to take the responsibility of running a household (ppl..don't smile..it ain't easy!), also just fired my 5th cook in the last one year...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm also proud to say I have done some good work and have earned some good opportunities thereafter, which makes me happy despite the grueling work hours. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At 28, I have learned to keep a clean house and decorate it and well..redecorate my house well. I have met many new people and I am still learning how to incorporate all of them in my life. I have also learnt that the lessons never get over. I have started remembering lil' tit bits from my childhood and have started understanding them differently.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have learnt that it is not always easy, but it is okay to admit that it is not easy. It is also okay at times, to learn new ways to deal with the situation or to let it go. And that it is okay let yourself off the hook when you feel like it. And no matter what your brain tells you that you are and your actions should be, it is okay to change. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And that it is okay to cry when it is time to and laugh the next minute, if you have a reason to. Like I did this morning - when my almost comatose <i>naani ma</i> responded to my phone call by trying to move her lips to make a sound. It was very moving, even crushing. But it was okay, because honestly, it is enough. It starts becoming enough when no matter how many hard times, you start believing that you are loved nevertheless, by the people in your life in their own way. It isn't always solid, spoken or even felt. But you will feel it when you will believe in it. You'll break down on the way, but it will be okay.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then it was a friend who called the very next minute and made me laugh. And I laughed along.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have learnt that life won't be any easy as I grow up, but can be made easy. And I have learnt that it is good to write. Coz' I can read this at a later time and reflect and learn again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Happy 28th b'day to meself :)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-80333012103024873302013-02-09T11:47:00.002+05:302013-02-09T11:47:18.560+05:30बाकी ..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ज़िन्दगी ग़ुज़र गयी ..</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">हम वो राह पीछे छोड़ आये </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">पर एक छोटी सी आवाज़ अभी बाकी है।।</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">एक प्यारी सी गुनगुनाहट </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">वो पुराना गीत</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">अभी कुछ बाकी है।।</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">सुबह सुबह पीपल के पेड़ के नीचे ..</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">एक मीठी आवाज़ </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">आप ही गुनगुनाती हुई </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">अभी कुछ बाकी है </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ओस की ठंडक को तोडती ही </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">दिल में उतरती हुई </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">वो एक एहसास अभी बाकी है</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">कुछ तुम .. बाकी हो ..</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">कुछ मैं भी बाकी हूँ।।</span></div>
</div>
Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-82948871556456539492012-12-26T12:54:00.000+05:302012-12-27T16:02:01.037+05:30Hoping, yet again.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At this
point, last year, I was trying to decide my destiny. And here I stand again, watching
how time flies by. Everything is in a blur. In a state of flux. I am standing
here right now, I know, but I have this great feeling, that I am still in the
flow, continuing the journey forward, being swept by time. Left with only rare moments of notice, such as this.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Should I be happy? But so much has happened otherwise.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Should I be sad? But so much has happened otherwise.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am calm then, smiling when it is time to smile. And..</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had set goals for myself. To grow. Had also decided on a direction, vaguely. But there were other things on my mind. Other things that I longed for.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And yet, as I stand here today, I realize, it was those vague directions that have taken over, held a strong path, given me the foothold, when everything else fell apart. It was those goals, that I had set alongside, that made my destiny.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It makes me wonder then, again.. of what a man's true dream is. What destiny really is? Is it those pebbles that we pick alongside through the journey, or drop them on the path that help us find the way back home? Or is it the sugar candy cottage that enticed us each, like lil' children? Like Hansel and Gretel.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I do not have all the answers. Despite all the optimism that exists in this world, I do not have the answers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I know this - that I do smile, when it is time to smile. And..</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I am watching life, yet again. Being swept, yet again. But holding another hand. Hoping that it shall lead me safely, to whatever my true destiny is.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Hoping, yet again.</span></div>
</div>
Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-76318088440236522902012-09-03T11:41:00.003+05:302012-09-03T14:31:06.593+05:30Dreams of past, undone.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wonder whether I should write or not. Those stories that do not matter anymore.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Stories that made my life in the past. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Those that I had always feared would hurt. The very reason I feared losing them. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And yet, today I feel differently.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It seemed impossible back then. In some ways, it is still not been completely possible. The past does catch up at times. But now, it's not that that I feared.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is not the same pain. It doesn't run as deep. It lives, yet isn't alive. Coz' no matter how much it lives on...inside me, I'd never lend it a moment of my life from the present. Not even a borrowed moment.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It can only remind me at times, of myself. Of a longing past. And sometimes, just sometimes, I'd sit and think about it. Or lie down and stare at the ceiling. Watch the dreams of the past, dance up there.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But it doesn't beat my love for my present any longer. My life. My happiness. The freedom of finally living. Breaking those shackles of longing, coated with that fear of loss.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh no, they just dissolve into that ceiling, as I drift into sleep, in loving arms of a new destiny and newer dreams, that make up my nights these days. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fearful dreams, are long gone. Gone are those stories t</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">hat do not matter anymore</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wonder then, whether I should write or not.</span><br />
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></div>Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-67582087686711690362012-07-18T16:21:00.090+05:302012-07-18T19:20:28.512+05:30My daadi called him the 'eye master'!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="background-color: #fafefc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I mean you don't expect a romantic streak in someone you've always known to be old.. but just you mention Rajesh Khanna..and just you see that special smile on daadi's face and that expression..</span><span class="apple-converted-space" style="background-color: #fafefc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><i style="background-color: #fafefc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'eye master, eye master hai vo', </i><span style="background-color: #fafefc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">as she always puts it</span><span style="background-color: #fafefc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. </span><i style="background-color: #fafefc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dadaji</i><span class="apple-converted-space" style="background-color: #fafefc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: #fafefc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">didn't stand a chance.</span><br />
<h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">And that's the first thing that crosses my mind as I sit today in the newsroom amidst colleagues running around, breaking the news that superstar Rajesh Khanna is no more. And as I steal time to blog, somehow, I feel a great loss on the inside…and I feel I have to let it out. Hardly surprising since we, I mean people like me, the 90's generation, literally grew up on this guy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Come to think of it….most Sunday mornings in my life, I've woken up to my <i>chachu</i> singing a Rajesh Khanna song…and that's as far back as I can remember. Or when first whizzing on our bikes, in my case, a kinetic honda... you were alwez doing a '<i>Zindagi ek safar hai suhaana</i>' in your mind...or still like my chachu keeps crooning<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>'mere sapno ki raani kab ayegi tu'.. </i> or <i>'yeh shaam mastani..' </i>or<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>'<st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">maine</st1:place></st1:state> tere liye hi saat rang ke sapne chune'... 'ye jo mohabbat hai....</i>' <o:p></o:p></span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">…and<i> </i></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">its just the way my mom would light up over his songs over the evening cup of <i>chai</i>… '<i>kora kaagaz tha ye man mera...'<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i><i>'hame tumse pyaar kitna…’,</i> <i>'vo shaam kuch ajeeb thi...' </i>or even the melancholy '<i>kahin dur jab din dhal jaaye...’, 'kuch to log kahenge..logon ka kaam hai kehna..’</i> Dad definitely envied him.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">As I translate these moments now, I find that he was in a true sense, a star. He cut across generations, as easily and as romantically. It is, but very difficult, to stay out of the magic.<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">My earliest memory of him, or my heart's rather, belongs to<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Anand</i>. No, the world might debate and pit against the likes of Aradhana and many more, but I... I'm still haunted by the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>babumoshai's<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>dillema bwn life and death...and his philosophy on living life meanwhile. And my personal favourite remains, as difficult as it gets to choose, '<i>kahin door jab din dhal jaaye..saanjh ki dulhan badan churaye...chupke se aaye... mere kahayalon ke aangan mein.. koi sapno ke deep jalaye...chupke se aaye... '</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">And cmmon' .. who hasn't reflected on the timeless rendition...'<i>zindagi ke safar mein guzar jaate hain jo mukaam...vo fir nahin aate... </i>and nodded mentally, as if agreeing with life... or <i>‘zindagi ka safar…hai ye kaisa sa safar…koi samjha nahi…ki janna nahi…’ </i>or haven't we often thought of <i>'maut aani hai...ayegi ek din... muskuraate hue din bitaana...yahan kal kya ho kisne jaana...' </i>sigh!<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">If you haven't, I hate to say it, but you have been unlucky.<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">And then there is the perky <i>'chala jaata hun...kisi bhi dhun mein..'<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">(I'm reminded of Dev Anand here. Another legend.) Or that bhaang obsessed jig </span><i style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">'jai jai shiv shankar...kaanta lege na kankar...'</i><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> or</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><i style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> </i></span><i>'achha to hum chalte hain...'<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">- cmmon' who hasn't<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><i style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">gungunao-ed </i><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">it?... <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Philosophy, happy or sad or simple reflective, seemed to be the way of life for Rajesh Khanna.</span><o:p></o:p></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">There are more haunting melodies, mainly Kishore Da’s. <o:p></o:p></span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-weight: normal;">Kati Patang...'yeh shaam mastaani..madhosh kiye jaaye...' </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-weight: normal;">Or<span class="apple-converted-space"><i> </i></span><i>'jaane kyun log mohabbat kiya karte hain'<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i> from </span><i><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Mehboob Ki Mehndi,</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-weight: normal;">or<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>'gunguna rahe hain bhawren...khil rahi hai kali kali'<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>from the the much coveted <i>Aradhana</i>,</span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-weight: normal;">or<span class="apple-converted-space"><i> </i></span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-weight: normal;">the fun <i>Haathi Mere Saathi...</i></span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">the eternal '</span><i style="font-weight: normal; text-align: -webkit-auto;">agar tum na hote</i><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">'... </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">or <i>'gore rang pe na intna ghumaar kar...' ...<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>rememeber that one? <o:p></o:p></span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">…</span>'<i><span style="font-weight: normal;">diye jalte hain..phool khilte hain..badi mushkil se magar...duniya main dost milte hain...'</span></i><o:p></o:p></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-weight: normal;">...w</span><span style="font-weight: normal;">hichever the genre, this man in his typical safari suits, that buff in the hair he maintained for a while.. those matching shoes at times.. or just that movement of the neck and that tilt of his head that you could almost memorize...ever noticed that his best and most exploited angle was from the left? yeh yeh yeh... you've seen it repeated a hundred times in all his movies...and yet you'd watch mesmerized, as he romanced the finest women in Indian cinema, onscreen. Well, some off the screen as well. <o:p></o:p></span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Like '</span><i style="font-weight: normal; text-align: -webkit-auto;">jeevan se bhari, teri aankhen, majboor kare jeene ke liye...'<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i><span style="font-weight: normal; text-align: -webkit-auto;">the ultimate tribute to the beauty that is Sharmila Tagore…I firmly believe that no other actor in his times could have done more 'onscreen justice' to this rendition...</span><o:p></o:p></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The thing about success in Indian cinema, till date, definitely remains romance. Blame it on the likes of Rajesh Khanna.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">And the thing about Rajesh Khanna was that he made movies and music, both special, just by being. No wonder he had generations enchanted. My mum and<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>daadi</i>'s included.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">And now....still want more proof of how<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>filmi</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>life gets? I just realized while reminiscing about this legend... that the man I got engaged to a few months ago and is now the 'husband'...dedicated<span class="apple-converted-space"> ‘</span><i>O mere...dil ke chain.. chain aaye mere dil ko dua dijiye...' </i>to me at our engagement.<i> </i>An honest confession of love! And so much for Rajesh Khanna in my life...!<br />
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I still have some<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>I-cant-describe-them</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>feelings for this legend.. and find it pretty difficult to believe that this man was, after all, another mortal. <o:p></o:p></span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">But I guess above all, his legend was about - life itself. His persona, after all, remains immortal.</span></span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></h3><h3 style="background: #FAFEFC; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Come back soon, Rajesh Khanna! Love and prayers! And just so you know how fondly you're remembered... my blog goes out to you :)</span></h3><br />
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</span></div>Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-29324313573478901562012-04-30T11:35:00.003+05:302012-09-03T12:03:42.144+05:30Love is just a chemical they say..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But I have a different opinion now. So when I read <a href="http://justamotheroftwo.blogspot.in/2012/04/what-is-love.html"><span style="color: red;">this</span></a> piece by one of may favourite authors today morning, I just couldn’t resist – writing what I am about to write…:) And this one is the first am writing for the man I proudly now call - my husband :D</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Preeti wrote this on her 17th marriage anniversary (http://justamotheroftwo.blogspot.in/2012/04/what-is-love.html). But when I read it, I just realized love is never too old or too new.. :P</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>What is love?</b></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Love is a lot of things to a lot of people, but if you ask me what it is I would say this:</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: red;">Love is when you have that goofy look in your eyes and your smile stretches across your whole face and you still get goosebumps, listening to the song he dedicated to you, seventeen years back</span></i><span style="color: black;"> – </span>Its every time I listen to “<i style="color: black;">E mere dil ke chain…</i>” the song he dedicated to me at our engagement.. something always smiles in me ):</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: red;">Love is when you still do crazy things like calling each other thrice a day even though you're in the same town</span></i><i> </i>– He has to call once he reaches his workplace and again when I’ve reached mine :) or that 3.30pm call, just when I happened to think of him :) Or at 4… just checking if I liked cream rolls :D</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: red;">Love is still waiting to see each other at the end of the day </span></i>– Its when you have the keys to your flat, but you are found waiting at the stairs for those 5-10 minutes before the other person reaches home, just so we can step in together :)</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: red;">Love is that pride in his eyes when he sees me at the book-events signing copies </span></i>– It is every time I’m on air, or every time he posts my blogs on fb. Or always wanting to steal into my shoot :D</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: red;">Love is him telling all his friends about me, proudly </span></i>– And lying to them that I can cook, and very well. :P And forcing them to read my blogs and see my stories online.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">Love is fighting like crazy but still hugging each other at the end of the day, because you can't sleep otherwise </span></i><i>-</i> Or keep awake the whole night just so to soothe me when I’ve nightmares J</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: red;">Love is doing something you hate, just because the other person loves it</span></i><span style="color: red;"> </span>– Yeh, it is when he completely changes his hairdo, gets them cut super short for me, thinks he looks freaky now (he hates it, yes!) :P</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: red;">Love is each one thinking that they are lucky to have got the other person</span></i> – And that’s true. I know I don’t say it often but, yeh, I couldn’t have been luckier. It’s your first thought on a Sunday morning, or maybe the last thought before drifted off to sleep many evenings.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: red;">Love is something that casts a warm glow in your heart</span></i> – And that happens every time you see him smiling all by himself, and you know the reason is you, just you. J</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: red;">Love is him pushing me to write my fourth book and keeping on checking the progress</span></i> – Reminding me of the important stuff I had to mail late at night, that I completely forgot about, or giving up the laptop to let me do my work, even if his’ is waiting.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: red;">Love is still feeling a bit (a teeny weeny bit) jealous when I say that some guy looks handsome. (hehheh, I do it sometimes just to listen to him swear :D)</span></i><span style="color: red;"> </span>– It is when he works out after a tiringggg day at work – just so coz’ I go aweeee on Tom Cruise and his abs! Or when I tell him some secret admirer has sent me flowers - and - he makes it a point to call up the florists :P And it turns out they were late in sending flowers that he ordered days ago! :D</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: red;">Love is his telling me that to the world I may be a best-selling author, but to him I am still the same girl he married. :) (hmmmph--and you would think I deserve some respect! :D)</span></i><span style="color: red;"> </span>– You’d be amazed how much can men sound (almost) the same! “No matter how much you try, I know you kid. You are the same girl I married.”</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: red;">Love is saying cheeky things because you know you can get away with it :)</span></i> – But I do that all the time! And you compete on who does better at it! Oh what fun! :P </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: red;">Love is what has stood the test of time</span></i> – We’ve just completed 2 months into our new life together.. but it feels like forever.. like all the things that were "always meant to be.." </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Happy 2 month anniversary Mister Sarma :D</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div></div>Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6103069517612044772.post-45504354922733146572012-04-09T17:41:00.001+05:302012-04-09T17:48:08.838+05:30A traveller in the unknown Seas..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">A traveler in the unknown seas I am</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Fear me not</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Stop me not</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">For I will wade </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">As I will</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And ever </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">With you or without</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I am just me</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">No one else </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">No you can’t borrow my story</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Nor can you share my journey</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">For you are not me</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And never will be</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Don’t leave no foot print</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Do not look for mine</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I own my journey </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">every speck of sand </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">every breath of air</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And no, I shall never lend</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">even a handful</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Do not ever hope, I will…</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">For every love borne</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Every hate worn</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Every pain gained</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And every gain lived</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">All that makes me, my life</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Is just all </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But mine </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It rose within me</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">From me</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">For me</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I own it</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Like you will, your own</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Like to each, his own..</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And like you,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">A traveler in the unknown seas, I am</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Fear me not</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Stop me not</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">For I will wade </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">As I will</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And ever </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">With you or without</span></div>Shalinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06768253000988633881noreply@blogger.com0