Goodbyes

Goodbyes are only for those who love with their eyes. Because for those who love with heart and soul there is no such thing as separation.

Barsaat

Rain has been a very interesting theme in literature and multimedia. There have been plenty of love-songs with rain in the background and the heroines in the focus or with the lyrics that deal with an emotional downpour. In Half Girlfriend, one of the recently released films, there is a song Baarish in which the heroine steps out spontaneously into the rain. May be because of the summer heat,  I find myself humming a few of my favourite rain songs:

1. Mausam : This song  by Mehnaz has been a favourite back from the Channel V and MTV watching days, when the first thing on the mind after coming back from college was to listen to the latest songs. This song is about a girl who is on a  train journey  to her hometown  and the memories she has about her lover. 
2. Barsaat: This slow number by Adnan Sami tells what it wants to tell the beloved. The longing to have someone you love next you when it rains, is beautifully expressed in this song taken from the album Kabhi to Nazar Milao (which from the trivia encylopedia starred a Mrs. India).
3. Aaoge Jab Tum: This song from Jab We Met does not have rain in the backdrop  but deals with unrequited love and the longing for the loved one to return.
4.  Bhoondon se baaatein: This song from Thakshak has a beautiful Tabu dressed in royal blue dancing in the rain. The lyrics explain what the rain is and how she wants to talk to the raindrops. 
5. Sawan Barse: This song from Dahek has Sonali Bendre and Akshay who are getting ready to meet each other and the rain comes as an obstacle in a busy city of  Mumbai. 
6.  Barso Re:  This song from Guru was a surprise with a svelte Aiswarya dancing like a peacock with the rains. 
7. Ab Ke Sawan: Set in the background of a Bengali community, this song by Shubha Mudgal celebrates love and longing across the different age groups. 
8. Hum Tum:  This song is one that brings in a feeling of nostalgia with the various fantasies that plays in the mind of the heroine. 
9. Tip Tip Barsa pani: I think the right name for a hot song was a sizzler  in the 90s and it does not surprise the viewer in the least. However, a recent version by Neha Kakkar is a beautiful rendition.
10.  Sawan Aaya Hai: This song from a completely ridiculous film Creature is about the season of monsoon. Mohabbat barsa dena tu, sawan aaya hai!

Varshaa: Rain Melodies

In one of his stories, the celebrated Malayalam writer T. Padmanabhan writes of a man who loves to listen to the sounds of rain so much that he takes a cassette of rain-sounds with him abroad. When he feels homesick, he listens to the sounds of rain- the sudden outburst, the pitter patter of rain on the roof, on the ground and to the sounds of occasional thunderbolts. The rain has always held a fascination for artists and is a constantly celebrated theme in Indian literature and films. 

The theme of the rain is explored by the artists Jason J.Nair and Aby in Varshaa: Rain Melodies, a collection of five rain melodies that inspire both creativity and nostalgia. Though it bursts on you unawares and creates plenty of inconvenience, the rain serves as a muse or a source of inspiration for many writers and artistes. The rain pitter-pattering outside, the sound of thunderbolts flashes of thunder across the sky, the wait for the rains symbolised by the dance of the peacocks or the memories of getting drenched unexpectedly, there are so many threads that come together on listening to these rain melodies.

Rest

February

Mother Mary Comes to Me

When you read Arundhati Roy's memoir Mother Mary Comes to Me, you are reminded me of the world you stepped into when you first read the opening pages of The God of Small Things. Once again, you are a teenager reading about the Booker and the River Meenachil she has portrayed in The God of Small Things. 

 

Her memoir features her tumultous relationship with her mother whom she calls her shelter and her storm. The book is about her mother Mary Roy, leading educationist and the woman who fought for ancestral property rights in Kerala. Mary Roy was the founder of a school Pallikoodam in Kottayam and is depicted as a strong woman who stood for what she believed in and Roy traces how she meets Laurie Baker and his assistant, creating in her a desire to be an architect. 

 

The book begins with how Arundhati and her brother are addressless children trying to survive with their mother in the maternal family. Her mother had fled from Assam where her husband was working after their marriage ends abruptly. So, the first part traces her  childhood in Ayemenen in Kottayam and her youth as an architecture student in Delhi, her meeting with her future husband Pradip, the literary endeavours that she made throughout her life as a writer.

She has managed to capture the contradictions involved in the relationship with her mother- the devotion and the differences, the need to connect and the need to stay away. She reminisces about her writerly life and her various assignments. The book also captures the last days of Mary Roy including how the epitaph says Dreamer, Warrior, Teacher on her tombstone.  

Best Version

Reminders of Self-care

Forget

 

It is strangely pleasing,
To see that you remember,
Each and every word I said,
Every word of nonsense,
Recorded and stored,
In your fond memory
 
All the queer fantasies,
Uneasiness and likes,
Every turn of phrase,
Recorded and stored,
Carefully held close
In your fond memory
 
But I would rather you forget,
Every little thing, every word,
Than remember and store,
Treasure with sharp ache,
Going through every day,
Like on a bed of arrows
 
I would rather you change
Change with the seasons
Dance with the crowds
Shake with roaring laughter
Smile that slowbreaking smile,
Than ever remember me
 
Yet every night the candle burns,
With thoughts sent as waves,
Prayers that may or may not reach,
For all blessings to fill your hands,
And strength to forget, forget, forget
An intense slice of an uneventful life.
 

The plans

The Unsent Letters

Female Icarus

Your soul was a huge flame—blazing bright, leaping toward the sky in its effort to stand for what you truly wanted. You fought for your dreams until the end. But after many ups and downs, your soul grew weary. In the struggle with life, you lost the joy of living, and your spirit began to feel the heavy angst of existence.

When you look back at the years that have passed, you remember that you are like Icarus at heart—always flying above your mazes in your quest for freedom.

There were times when this soul was too silent, too shut away, too withdrawn—unable to find meaning in life. Yet over time, you learned to read the mazes and fly out of them. This dash for freedom began to feel effortless, even natural.

Still, the soul yearns for those yesterdays—when, like Icarus, you escaped the maze and conquered difficult situations with courage rather than caution. You were full of ingenuity and bravery, and though it took time to heal your hurt wings, you eventually dashed into the wild skies once more.

 

Rain Ragas

Beneath the banyan tree, a woman sat singing ragas—her voice supple and resonant, carrying songs that beckoned the monsoon. The land lay parched, the sky bare of promise, and people draped in thin cottons gathered beneath the scorching sun, their brown skins burnished by heat.

Her ragas rippled through the blazing afternoon, offered to the gods of sky and wind. As the notes rose and fell, the people remembered summers when the earth had been mercifully drenched—when rain arrived unannounced, generous, redemptive. Children lingered by the dried temple pond, imagining the cool days when they splashed in its waters, rested in the shade of rocks, or sat laughing with mango juice staining their hands and faces.

The singer sang on—songs of longing and praise.

Oh rain,
long-awaited boon of the heavens,
bringer of joy to the earth and solace to its people.
Come with thunder and lightning,
soak our brown skins with delight.

I invoke you in the name of the barren soil,
the emptied rivers and lakes,
the animals and birds,
the silent trees and the waiting people.

The songs spoke of relief—of blazing afternoons softened by the first drops, of warm earth releasing its ancient scent, of trees adorned like brides in fresh jewels. For the rain, incense was burned and prayers chanted; for the rain, hopes endured. The land and its people waited.

Then, suddenly, the wind stirred.

Trees swayed under its urgency, and grey clouds rose, bruising the sky with the promise of release. The air thickened. The first drops fell—tentative, then assured—and soon the rain poured down in abundance. Thunder cracked. Lightning split the heavens.

The drought had ended.

The city rejoiced as rain washed over open hands and uplifted faces. Children danced and screamed with delight as water drenched their bodies, laughter ringing through the downpour. The earth drank deeply. The people surrendered joyfully.

And beneath the banyan tree, soaked and smiling, the singer continued—still humming the strains of Megh Malhar.

Your Compass

Dear Self

Life's secrets

The Story Of Badhiya

There is a story about a cousin of the Buddha whose name was Badhiya. He was governor of a province in the kingdom of Shakya, in present-day India. One day a number of his friends who were monks and students of the Buddha came to him and invited him to join their community. He hesitated. As a governor, he had at his command many soldiers, a lot of money, and a very powerful position. But finally his friends persuaded him. He left it all behind and came empty-handed into the forest, where he was ordained by the Buddha as a monk. He didn't have a fancy house to live in anymore. He only had three robes, one bowl, and a sitting mat.

One night Badhiya was meditating at the foot of a tree. Suddenly, he uttered the words, 'Oh my happiness, oh my happiness. It happened that another monk was sitting nearby. The other monk thought that Badhiya regretted having abandoned his position as governor. So in the early morning l that monk went to the Buddha and reported to him. 'Dear teacher, late last night I was sitting in meditation. Suddenly I heard the monk Badhiya exclaiming, "Oh my happiness, oh my happiness." I think he has some problem.'

The Buddha sent his attendant to invite Badhiya to come. In front of a group of monks the Buddha said, 'Badhiya, is it true that last night during sitting meditation you pronounced two times the sentence, "Oh my happiness, oh my happiness"?" Badhiya said, 'Yes, noble teacher, I did pronounce that sentence twice.

'Could you explain to us why you have pronounced these three words during the night?' the Buddha asked.

Badhiya said, 'Dear teacher, when I was a governor my palace was guarded by hundreds of soldiers. But I was still very afraid. I was afraid robbers would come and kill me or at least take away all my valuables. So day and night I lived in fear. But last night I realized that now I have nothing to lose. I was sitting out in the forest at the foot of a tree, and never in my life have I felt so safe. Nobody wants to kill me anymore because I have no power, no wealth, and no jewels for anyone to take. I have nothing. Yet I finally have everything. I am touching such a great happiness and freedom. That is why I have pronounced the words, "Oh my happiness, oh my happiness." If I have disturbed someone, I am sorry. 

From Thich Nhat Hanh's No Mud, No Lotus

Self-care

dreams

self worth