This and that.

The last few visits to my FB page left me oscillating between feeling irked and flattered. I discovered one of my pictures, the one I clicked of the river and bridge in my home town, doing rounds on a community web page dedicated to the river. The first time I saw it, I was very tempted to leave a comment, claiming the ownership of the photograph. But the fact was that it was not watermarked, copyrighted or protected otherwise and it was put up on my cover page. I was reminded of the many occasions I do a google image search to lift the picture I want to adorn my FB cover. In the age of internet, copyright doesn't really make any sense. To delve deeper, I was kind of  remotely aware, for the first time, of the plight movie makers go through when their works are pirated and put to rounds on the world wide web..I recollected the one occasion where I watched this pristine version of "Jodhaa Akbar" the next day after its release. I remember my kid brother express his astonishment over the fact that we caught a visibly expensive movie for free while it was fresh out of the oven. Food for thought it is, since this is virtual stealing nonetheless. If pirating is bad, plagiarism is much worse. Back on track, it would be a good practice to source our quotes and pics on social networks etc..just so we give the credit where it belongs rather than slyly leaving it to the imagination of the viewer, thus holding an advantage of making them assume it as our original work. I consciously do it, where ever and when ever I know my source or acknowledge them as 'source unknown' when that's the case.

And then you encounter a variety of inspiration, which is borderline copying...many months ago, a young man made into my friend's list on FB...I said made into, because he came there miraculously. I saw a couple of mutual friends but till date, it remains a mystery as to how he made it to my list. One day, out of curiosity, I clicked on his profile to discover that his description about himself was eerily similar to mine, though I should credit him for not copying it as it is. This could be another version of inspiration I thought and promptly deleted him from the list and moved on with my life. But the godmother of all inspirations came in when I recently got a friend request from a lady whose profile looked like I could know her, though I wasn't able to place her in an instant. I clicked on her page to see my description of myself, copied as it is. What really baffled me is the fact that this woman copies from me and then sends me a friend request :-D The way I felt following that is a little hard to describe. I had, over the years of growing up and learning, imitated a lot of people that influenced me. Even to this day, I use certain expressions that my teachers used in my grade school and every time I use them, I recollect the instance when they were originally used. I get many inspirations out of others works and often find myself trying to sound like a certain person I look up to and admire - but do I ever lift something the way it is and use it as my own? No, I don't. I felt sorry for that woman. When one describes oneself, I think one has to be honest, not clever or impressive. While I am totally in favor of getting inspired, I think I am also for being myself, and reflecting what I truly am with everything I do and say. I declined the request and moved on with the joys of the world wide web. Between inspiration, imitation and plagiarism  there is a fine line that needs to be defined loud and clear. While I cannot really claim to be a through and through original, I do have the lines defined the way they are supposed to be.  I think, more than anything else, we have a responsibility to be true to ourselves, be it mediocre, good or really awful.

“Always be a first rate version of yourself and not a second rate version of someone else.” 
― Judy Garland

The not so "mental" note.

Weird thing it is, inspiration, hitting you at the most godforsaken times - when in queue to clear customs at the final destination of your journey, when on the car crossing the sea of traffic, punctuating endlessly at every signal post and when the sleep butterfly finally settles down on the tired eyelids, after what seems to be an eternity of waiting. Then it hits you, like a ship wreck, or may me  an earthquake - and this whole creation accelerates the brain cells - but only if the mind had a savable memory - put in your imaginary floppy disk - (oops, that is the techno moron speaking) or may be the more current USB drive and save it all to be retrieved later - only if that could be the case :-) So the lesser photographically endowed memories grapple hard upon the opportune moment, trying to place the hazy image with the actual inspiration and its intensity. So, no amount of mental noting actually works, unless you have something handy and practical to record all the thoughts that travel the busy crossroads of your mind. The mental notes, become questionable of their sanity, punning them to a point of no return and the blog waits a few eons, to feel the punch of the keys, and print of the ideas. And the only way to keep from waiting for so long - is to make the not so mental notes, such as this one.

Here's the sprout of a new hope, that the notes occur in abundance, to grab, grasp and grind all inspirations to black and white in an attempt to support the self proclamation of being a writer.

It feels good to be back, feeling the rhythmic sound of the key board, ever so slightly pausing and going on, taking along with it, the weird thing. Inspiration, that is! :-)

Facade

Hopping
Through thorny alleys.
Heaving through hurdles,
Unhealing gaping wounds,
Formed from letting out
A piece of the soul.
Shedding tears,
Through shredding dreams,
Numbing the cords
Of a thawed heart,
Yet again,
The facade of
Feigning life
Falls clumsily
On the face of a bygone hope.

Day 6 - Wordsworth called memory the "inward eye." Are your memories more sight-based, or do they concern sound, taste, touch, or smell?

Aha, this almost feels like a personal interview, these series of prompts! I am not sure how I can justify blogging on them without getting too personal or egotistic. I shall try to keep it as general as possible :-)

Inward eye - the one that sees sans sight. The one that conjures up images, known and unknown to create a surreal world around those images and memories. Memories consist of all the senses in my inward eye. It is amusing how one thing digs out others associated with it.

My earliest memory was of touch and smell - the kindergarten English book, that looked crisp and spotless the day my parents bought it. Someone prompted me to smell it - and I opened a book to draw in the smell of God knows what! - May be it was a concoction of freshly milled paper and freshly applied printing ink. I don't quiet remember what it contained except that it had a poem about Punch and Judy - who fought for a pie - and A king that summoned up to his band of three fiddlers that played a 'Diddle diddle' kind of number for him. To this date, I inhale the smell of new books, foolishly hopeful that it would bring back memories of early childhood. Each one smells different - but I am yet to come across the exact smell of that first English text. Once I stumble upon it, I am sure it shall excavate quiet some memories.
My dad's uncle (my grand uncle) once got him a travel gift set consisting of three mini fragrances tucked into a hard plastic case. My dad used to use them all religiously. Not until early 2000s did I realize that the smell that lasted on him for so long, almost as a signature, did so because, it was a huge brand. During my initial days in the US, I spotted the same pattern on one of the trench coats I saw in a high end boutique'Burberry' The checks of black and brown, arranged so eye catchingly on a tan background - the company's signature, thus gave me truck loads of childhood images -  the side yard, my dad's rattan easy chair on the cemented surface, the smells from the adjacent kitchen, the shade of the large coconut tree, the ruffle of the news paper in my dad's hands, the froth on freshly brewed caffe latte that my dad used to sip first thing in the AM and the gaudy green door, enormous by any standards, that shut off the side yard like a solid wall once we closed it at night - all come up with one association - one really, foreign, remote association - the signature checks of Burberry London.
This summer, my husband brought home a carton of fruit, obscenely priced for just that - a carton of fruit. On the side it read "Alphonso Mangoes" product of India. One big dig into the luscious fruit and I was magically transformed into an era of tights and teased hair. Though I had tasted mangoes from far and wide during my almost decade and a half stay in the united states, this particular bite took me back into a time that seems to be more of a dream and less of an existence. Pureed fruit served in steel cups with steel spoons, 'seed wars' to claim the center part of the mango, the flesh that surrounded the huge seed. Scorching summers that made us sweat buckets, tropical fruit, sultry climate, summer break, grand mother's tamarind rice, Grandfather's 'Materia Medica' volumes, sweet and small sugar pills melting in the mouth, plastic bangles, garish bead necklaces, Hollywood pink nail polish, box pleated skirts sewn at home, snap close pencil boxes, little palettes of water color cakes, rickshaw rides to the school and back.....the list is endless.

Music consists of the most of my memories. God bless Youtube, which allows me to transform into primary school, high school, teen days of dreams and crushes - all at the punch of a few keys. Every stage of my life has a song index. It is a real boon to be able to feel 17 when you are in mid thirties, glory to the music, the musicians - the meories just sprout like an all new life, almost giving me a second chance at living those years.

Memories are really like a drug - a strong device of time travel that makes us defy age. They are truly the inward eye, the one that lets us peek into the past, sometimes bringing us to an "aha" moment. And one does not need to be 'Wordsworth' to bask in their glory, blabber in their shade.

:-)

Day 5 - What is the coolest thing you ever saw.

This prompt makes me think. Really hard. What is the coolest thing you ever saw? - Is it just one single solitary thing you saw that you have to blog about? How is it possible for anyone to record one "coolest thing? - May be it is possible. To me, floods of "coolest things" come to mind. From early childhood memories to the ones as recent as yesterday - the laundry list keeps growing as I think. But I'll randomly rattle about a few of the things.

The first thing that comes to mind is the Peak in Alps, dubbed as 'Top of Europe"- Jungfraujoch. (I shall blog in first person singular, to accommodate ease of narration though the trip involved my family) So, on a fateful summer morning, I took a train to this out of the world place. Initially, all that met the eyes was like a verbal blessing translated into a pictorial. Every bit of land was filled with the most colorful array of flowers - wild ones, the lush green grass formed the second layer and it was topped off with icy glaciers. It was like trick photography that made me wonder if it was photo shopped to create that effect - But no - it was God's language at it's best - unfolding in the form of mesmerizing nature. Then I got to the peak. There was a place, on top of a big building - where we could walk out to experience the crisp air of Alps - the top of Europe. I walked out, and was met by an unexpected down pour of Snow, which makes me realize that this was quiet literally the coolest thing I saw,Mid summer, mid noon. - To a small, tropical town girl form the warm south of Indus the out pour of snow was like a make believe land from story books coming fluidly alive. It was too forceful to enjoy, specially since I was under dressed for the occasion. I ducked under my hooded, but 'falling short for the need' jacket and pulled my scarf tightly around my neck while cupping my palm over my eyes to accommodate vision in that thick snow fall. Instinct or pure folly made me look up to see where the magic was unfolding from and in the cloud of that haze, a single flake ended on my lips, seeping into my being. If all the 'bottled water' world boasts about mountain springs and the way they taste - they do it for a reason. That single flake flooded my inside like an elixir, making me alive with the electric connection of nature. As much as I marvel over intricately constructed towers and bridges and feel very inferior about my own creative abilities, I felt that there is no replacing, recreating, or imitating God's magnum opus - the canvas of nature, with critters and creeks, mountains and glaciers, weeds and tulips. I walked out of the enchanted world of 'blessings from the cool heavens' changed for ever. For connecting with the power of nature is a transformation for good.

This would not end anytime soon...the journey of "coolest things I saw" but I am glad that I kept the commitment and wrote about one, if not many - that, in an odd way, justifies the prompt.

Signing off in deep thought - I have quiet a few reminiscences to gather that blessed my vision and impressed my heart.

Celebration

Every time I wonder -
If my Birthday made me wiser?
If it made me grow up,
Without growing old.
Each passing year,
I cherish being here,
Being among
The near and dear.
Each candle blown,
Makes an impression of its own!
Teaching lessons tiny,
Making the world shiny!
This could be a crisis,
Hitting hard and strong-
In the form of a limerick
A few lines too long!
Loads of thanks
For all the clicks,
All the stops you make -
It breathes life
Into my doodling words.
Lifting my spirit upwards.

Thanks to all my supporters, well wishers, family and friends for all the love and encouragement. This blog is my temple of thoughts and all your blessing go a long way!- and apologies for a dud of a poem (if I may call it that! ;)

Day 1 - The object I see at this exact moment.

    Before I start off with my September blogging journey, I would like to tell you all something about the theme of this challenge. - It is all about "Eyes" and there are some really interesting prompts that could pulverize the worst of blogger blocks :-) So here goes the very first - The object that I see at this exact moment.

     Twenty years ago, I saw this object, for the first time in my life - oddly amused by the resemblance it had with the modest black and white television our family owned, and little did I realize, or predict the way this small screen would become an integral part of my everyday. Back then, the curious high schooler did all she could to meddle with the object, holding the key down to see the letter appear all over the screen. There were general opinions about how knowing how to type would help you with the object. Of course, when I first set my eyes on it, I didn't really understand the relationship it had with knowing how to type, but being the daughter of a type master, I did punch in the keys faster than the rest of my gang - a quality that made me have an 'ace Pascal progammer' air around me. It did take the computer sir's "This program will blast the computer" feedback to realize I was not yet ready to write code. Thankfully, I never aspired to write code - I did, however aspire to write, in plain old letters and words and this very object helped me realize that childhood dream of mine.

     My computer, be it the laptop I am using right now, or the ultra sexy iPad my friend gifted me, opens me up to a world I would not have discovered otherwise. I do pretty much everything once I am logged on - from connecting with friends, reading the news, listening to music to watching my favorite recipes being made by star chefs, reading reviews of the movies I plan to watch on weekends to doing what fulfills me like nothing else - Blogging! :-) One click and I connect to this magical world of words, where I write and publish all that crosses my mind, meaningful, meaningless and everything in between. It connects me to poems from grade school, with detailed critical analysis in tow, and an encyclopedia that appears and disappears as and when I summon it - unlike the cumbersome, edifice of a volume that collected dust on our antique book case in my childhood home. This object is truly a friend, a time pass, and my window to the world.

     Speaking of windows, I see another object right across the room, atop this very screen - which happens to be the other window, the real window, that somehow enhances the beauty of this virtual window. A  window with wooden blinds, faded from the fierce west sun that penetrates through the blinds. A window that showcases the neighbor's blooming cherry in all its glory - almost like a channel on TV,depicting seasons. I see the deep burgundy leaves turning a dull brown, falling all over the place, soon baring a skeleton of brittle looking branches - and when spring springs, it sprouts dainty little leaves and billions of blooms that hide those dainty little leaves - like a pink fest - then the green photoshops in nature to this wonderful wine hue. Life seems to pretty much revolve around what I see in this window to the world and that actual window that opens me up to my own world, the world I live in - my neighborhood, my surroundings and my yard. The scenes keep changing, reminding me of the change that is constant, the perspective gives me many a view,opening me up to all the different angles people see to the same thing and thus making me more sensitive to the things and visuals I might not see or choose to see from my perspective. Both these objects, enhance the life I live, hopefully making me better at living it to the fullest.

Couple

Dream and verse,
On loggerheads,
Fist fighting
To prove their worth!
Says dream to verse,
"Look at my might! -
I dwell in the mind,
Visible - with eyes shut.
A world of my own,
Unfolding mystical images,
Magical stories,
Told impromptu!"
Verse looks through
In cogitation.
Parts her lips
And says to dream.
" I flow
In visuals etched in words,
Sketched in thoughts,
Abstract, stream like,
Articulate.
Baring the soul
To the beholder!"
" Is it greater to see without vision,
Or feel without it?"
Together they wonder aloud.
Together their voices merge,
Creating an echo so strong
That they shudder at its strength.
Dream and verse,
Join hands,
In partnership, agreeing to share
The privilege to create,
One, a spin off of the other,
Inspiring, invoking,
Many an expression,
Scribbling scenes that
Appear in closed eyes
And open hearts,
Reaping heaps of hopes!

Containment

Sometime at the age,
Of under a decade,
Craving for little cases,
That snap open and close
To confine the many colors,
And pretty paraphernalia -
Bright hued, dainty boxes
Housing the stray beads,
Sequins, feathers
Collected from here,
Gathered from there!

Teens come in
Taking along with them,
Lemming for luxe sacs,
Bargain bags,
And all in-between.
With mirrors sewn on.
Handmade, handy,
Housing the many random things -
Hand sanitizers, Rosary beads,
Bindis, Bound note books,
Pens, Letters, abrupt stuff.

The soul slowly grows,
The tell tale signs of its aging,
Displayed in the disinterest,
Dislodged from little pleasures,
Aloof from pencil cases,
Hand sewn totes, colorful jholas.
Instead, it dwells
On thoughts of
Hauling all life's contents
Into the memory of the mind.
Away from physical spaces
That arrest tangible titbits,
Only wishing
Contentment and containment
Can come and release
The many ties to Maya.

My Friend Ms.Madhavan

There are numerous people that walk into our days and sometimes into our lives, hearts and minds as well. This concept of unrelated, random folks adorning our mind's mantels like glowing candles, spreading fragrance and light always intrigued me to no end. I am this fortunate soul that way, to have crossed paths with some people in my life, who, enhance my very existence with their presence and love. Ms. Madhavan is the latest and 'most missed' on my list right now.
I can recollect the day I first saw her - in the line to Aarti's pre K classroom. She spoke animatedly to a fellow Malayalee mom, uttering alien words in a sing song tone. It took me sometime to figure out that they were conversing in Malayalam, a South Indian language that I got mixed up with Tamil. Yeah, it is kind of silly, since being a Southie myself, I should have guessed! So, this lady was holding her son in one hand, addressing him as "Kanna" every now and then and crooning in the same sing song language. Her tallness added a mysterious grace to her persona. Wide expressive eyes, lush, curly tresses left open casually, a painter's nose and a perfectly chiseled figure that defied  motherhood summed up Ms. Madhavan - an eye candy of a woman. The first thing that registered in my mind was her beauty. Being the 'starting troubled" I am, I didn't really attempt to converse with her until we were a few weeks into the Pre K program. She didn't talk much anyway - just smiled with wide eyes and a preoccupied expression every time our eyes met. My mind created a stereotype - "a pretty young mom, probably small towner, not much exposure to the world around her" and during our few conversations, I also slotted her as naive, quiet and slow to react.

     Many a time we hear from all wise sources that we should refrain from slotting people into stereotypes based on some random experiences, and Ms. Madhavan did reinstate that same lesson deep into my heart. Probably because I was destined to learn a thing or two about life, or probably because our destinies interwove into one another, her kid and mine ended up in the same room for their first school year after being classmates for two years of pre k. Slowly and steadily, our association bloomed, from conversations about school and after school activities in general and about parents and family in particular. I saw more and more of her and every little meeting got me closer to knowing the person behind that naive expression and pretty face. She used to sum up philosophies of life in simple sentences, quoting them in her own plain words - words that spoke of universal truths in palatable bits and pieces. Random mentions about Oprah Winfrey show et al, quotes from famous women authors and little surprises like that made her a very endearing, sensible and hearty company. Her sing song voice and her strong Malayalee accent that doused every bit of English she spoke was music to ears. Never into the territory of gossip, always looking out and worrying for others and taking up little tasks assigned to her very seriously and diligently were real icing on top for a darling of a woman. I am blessed to have crossed paths with many friends who taught me lessons of life, but Ms. Madhavan's association took a special place in my heart - her very many conversations, her oversensitiveness to certain things, the way she tried to humor me when I was in a bad mood - all made a lasting impression on my heart's canvas. And the biggest of googlies was her immaculate sense of humor. A little talk to her lightened up daily challenges and put things in perspective. We have both belonged to different lands, spoke different languages and were brought up entirely differently but the common ground I share with Ms.Madhavan is of great reverence to me and I thank all my lucky star alignment that led me to cross paths with her. She shall for ever remain my beloved "weather reporter" and that bright sunshine in the garden of friendship.


     

He looks away,
The taciturn,
Answering the many questions
Rising in her probing gaze,
That way!
Dousing feelings in mute, dumb moments,
Freezing in the frostbite of inexpression
Crunching words into a powder of silence!
Unsaid, untold tales of love
Thus get buried
Under the tombstone of deathly muteness
The epitaph reading
Hushed emotions
Shut up into wordless,lifeless slab
Of concrete quietness!