water lily

Perfect

Someday, I want to write the perfect words for what I have in mind. Perfect words written to evoke the perfect feeling. The best of all phrases, wrapped together with the right mix of spices, none too much, just right, none too serious nor too trivial, just mixed like life.

Someday, I would like to gather all my gains and losses, inheritance of words as well as silences and create new music out of them, blending words of joy and love and pain and everything into a perfect little potpourri just like life.But such a perfect day, when perfect thoughts melt into perfect words is yet to be. 

Tiny Feet

May your tiny feet walk beside our big ones,
May your tiny, rosy, tender, toes learn to love the touch of earth,
May you know the night and the sunshine,
May you know your own darkness and light
May you hear the music of rain pitter-pattering on the roof,
May you believe in fairy-tales and epics, dreams and God,
May your eyes, bright and wild shine with laughter as kisses rain on you.
May you touch the tender velvet of flowers,
May you learn simplicity with grace,
May you bask in the beauty of your own souls.

May you learn to love the word and use it to heal all wounds,
May your light shine in our lives and make it lovelier than before,
May you love God as lovingly as you love your father.
May you spread the joy of life in everyone you commune with,
May your eyes be deep and discerning to know the world around you,
May your laughter and smiles be the sunshine in our homes,
May Lord bless you in every step, every dream, every moment of your life,
May you learn the art of transforming thoughts into action.
May you connect with goodness in every dimension,
May you love knowledge and use it with wisdom and serve.


May your heart be lifted by simple joys,
May you sing cheerfully and dance to the music,
May you heart be filled with love for God and others,
May you accept all blessings with gratitude,
May you value time and its passage.
May your thoughts flow in a clear stream of purity,
May you face the world with courage and love,
May your presence be a delight, your love a guide,
May you see change as a rule of life,
May you recognise the good in the rude and the shrewd in the nice.


May the fire of love burn bright in your heart,
May your dreams touch the sky,
May you heart bounce with joy at the sight of a bright blue sky,
May your soul move in unison with the winds, the waves and the orbits of planets,
May your being listen to sweet music sung by the tender moonlit night.
May you live by your own thoughts and dreams,
May you see the inner light in another's eyes,
May you trust in Providence for helping you every moment,
May you love beauty and create for yourself a beautiful life,
May the memory of lullabies bring comfort later in life.

May you value the lessons of life; its sudden turns and tides,
May the seasons teach you lessons of life,
May nature teach you the symbols and signs,
May spring bring you fresh flowers of joy,
May summer teach you courage and endurance,
May autumn talk with you about moving on,
May winter tell you hidden secrets of rebirth.
May you protect the earth from destruction and contamination,
May your life be spotless and pure, may your actions be wise and guided,
May your heart swirl in joy and weep in pain,
May you be courageous enough to weep and show your affection.

May you be kind, considerate, truthful and loyal in your dealings.
May you know life as a tough race as well as a beautiful day in the woods,
May you know its calm flow as well as its torrents,
May you learn the paradoxes and extremes,and find your own balance,
May you use humour to takethe dreariness out of tough times,
May you learn to love deeply, purely and passionately,
May you know our own strengths and weaknesses and strive to see them in balance,
May you learn what to love and what to hate,
What to choose and what to discard,
May you read with a smile all the blessings that a fond soul wishes for you!

Favourite words

Make your own bible.  Select and collect all the words and sentences that in all your readings have been to you like the blast of the trumpet.Ralph Waldo Emerson

Every reader has certain idiosyncrasies, words that s/he loves to visit time and again. But not every reader is able to gather all the words that opened new vistas and changed the boundaries altogether.

Once upon a time, I had a book of favourite verses, of course handwritten and very valuable. It was given as a gift to a very special person. Now, if I write a collection of inspiring quotes and poems, the starting entries might be the same as in the previous book.

Different kinds of entries might follow marking the growth of a mind during ten years. Some of the entries are already posted in the blog under the tag Inspiring words

English silence

I remember reading a tribute to OV Vijayan in an English daily. It narrated a story about his attempts to write a novel in English. Being an MA in English, it should have been an easy job for him; but once he started writing, he understood that his hand was blocked and that he couldn't write with flow. So he tried his mother-tongue and we have the historical Khasakinte Ithihasam. This anecdote stayed in my memory, because at that time, I was an MA student, eager and enthusiastic to devour whatever literary trivia that came my way. Now, five years later, I find that I'm still enthusiastic about writers and their idiosyncrasies.

Home

The metaphysical question popped someday;

When you wondered how a home could crumble,

Tremble and crash without digits on a Richter scale,

Without physical quakes or forces of destruction.

Certainly, it could crumble everyday with a tiff;

Might remain joyless, empty of sunshine and light

By premature deaths that leave eternal chasms,

Or by calamities silently borne with muted tears.

How else could you describe that fleeting security,

A little sunshine and feelings of coziness and comfort,

The cuddling warmth and the elusive happiness

Juxtaposed against violent fights and silences.

It still crumbles everyday with little misunderstandings,

As it has always done since you started all raging fires.

For Baby

My soul you are; my child,
My baby fluttering inside.

My days are full of longing,
Dreams of being your mom.

You were a dream before;
Now waiting at my door.

What bundle of surprises,
Wisdom, virtues and vices.

What a bond will ours be? 
I wait for time to tell me.

Unborn child, my little one,
Teach me again how to love.

Hibiscus

Winca Rosa

Snapshots from my Garden

Anger

There's a soul in me
Who hates to cuss 
And be cussed,
or even a single word
that flies from anger.

But there's a mind,
a little thwarted
a little violent
Who loves to break
someone's complacence.

on such days,my mind
Breaks out of silence,
thrashes the opponent
with bitter words
quite unexpected.

a little remorse felt,
but more satisfaction
at raised eyebrows
that show surprise
and a little awe.

Sunshine

You advise me to write about my life and the things I have known closely and clearly; beings that I have cared about the most; so that you can read into my person and know the workings of my mind, which changes from transparent to translucent to opaque all the time. All you want to do is to know me inside out.

But when I think upon writing about my life, a rein of reticence falls on my hand. It pauses suddenly. It thinks twice before going into details- about writing out its venomous accusations and repressed memories of loss and longing. It hates to point fingers at the usual figures of contradiction who inspire mixed feelings of love, hate, fear and freedom.

Is there truth or only versions of it-yours, mine, theirs- that have become too vague to be recalled with accuracy. So, this heart dislikes to break its own shell of peace and refuses to indulge in resurrecting skeletons in the cupboard, that too in these days of love and sunshine.

Flower

Lost is how I feel

The horror of being marooned and trapped in an island faraway from civilization is a well-explored theme in literature. The Island of Dr.Moreau, The Coral Island and The Lord of The Flies portray the extremities of such an existence; so does the Tom Hanks movie Cast Away. A similar theme is explored by the Star World series Lost. 

Lost narrates the stories of 40 odd survivors of the Oceanic Flight 815 who are stranded on an island. There are special narrative techniques; flashes of time travel, where the characters move back and forth in time.Though parts of the story are ambiguous, the series surely is an interesting piece of science fiction. 

Though I'm a little lost regarding the storyline and have fallen in love with Sawyer,(the conman in the series, shown below) I certainly enjoy watching even random episodes of it and was surprised to read that it has become a trend in tourism and business as well. (News Courtesy: Business Opportunities Weblog)

The Power of Words

Generosity Vision Ease Dignity Enrichment
Ripple Momentum Power Harmony Empathy
Knowledge Neoteny Celebrate Do-It-Yourself Adventure
Change Passion Magnetize Confidence Technology

Do you like these twenty powerful words? These are only a few of the 70 words, handpicked by bloggers, writers and innovators for the year 2010. This initiative, known as What Matters Now  is the brainchild of writer-innovator-blogger Seth Godin. Certainly a collection of unconventional wisdom for 2010. Thought of sharing it with you, dear readers!  

This project also provokes you to come up with a word for 2010. I'd say, EQUANIMITY. What's yours?

Farewell

Usually, I get attached to anything and everything and try to cure my nature by remaining or appearing as cold and unattached. 

There were times before this when leaving a work place made me so sad that I couldn't talk for days together and will not call anybody. Not to make calls when you know that you miss them and they miss you as well. This time, however I plunged into the farewell with a difference.

Morning my first hour on Aristotle was spent on "Tragedy" and its classic definition. It was complete teaching time as if we had no time to waste. The next hour was spent in student presentations with the same principle in mind. But the surprise came when a student handed over a carefully gift-wrapped parcel.

First, I was astounded and put it down on the table after muttering a "Thank you". Then, I realised what a fool I'm remembering all the times when I've also missed unwrapping a gift. So, I unwrapped the parcel to see a beautiful Ravi Varma Painting of a woman with a bowl of fruits. It was quite unexpected and then I understood that learning Oscar Wilde and his 'Importance of Being Earnest' together brought us closer to one another.

Then after sometime, I realised that the teachers in my staffroom were throwing a surprise party (with sweets and specials). This was another unexpected blessing that made me realise how loving somebody is (for every noble gesture is an idea in the mind of a woman ;-).During the party, everybody said good words about me and I was moved by their kindness. Some of them even asked me to return next year for the next academic session.

This farewell was a heartwarming experience; for once I reached home, I felt as if I had left something precious at college. But the saddest part is that I feel shy of going back even for a day because everybody has bid adieu already and I feel conscious of that! Still I have made calls to my colleagues and plan of visiting college to finish some unfinished businesses.  

Love

How do years pass so fast? Still we are bound by the same mind that once felt too small in a large world. Humbled by our own insignificance, we lived by retreating into our own well-crafted shells. Until we met the deaf, the mute and the blind, who were all made senseless by their exaggerated sense of self-importance.

For who can feel free or breathe in the presence of the those who are made senseless by the power and the glory of their past, which they claim is brighter than what they had really known. Whatever that be, when words do come, they all carry within them a tinge of bitter loneliness.

Peace and silence are hard-earned lessons; so is a smile or a cheering word. Still, I count my blessings in these days of silence and understand that this too will pass, like all the other days before it. Moreover, you are a newly found joy; one who loves without asking anything in return, whose heart is filled with longing and love and one who awaits my words with eagerness.

Love begets love; so the wise sages have said. So wait for these days of madness be over and I can come back to you for more pleasant days of togetherness.

On Writing

If you are writing without zest, without gusto, without love, without fun, you are only half a writer. It means you are so busy keeping one eye on the commercial market, or one ear peeled for the avante-garde coterie, that you are not being yourself. You don't even know yourself. For the first thing a writer should be is-excited. He should be a thing of fevers and enthusiasms. Without such vigour, he might as well be out picking peaches or digging ditches; God knows it'd be better for his health.RAY BRADBURY

Riding on a Full Moon Night

The ice-cold fingers of the full moon,
Could seep through the windowpanes
And caress this small self that moved
Across the state on a large vehicle.

The city lights shone in the distance,
Ships and islands glittered in my view,
While I sat in the bus dreaming of you,
And thought the moon followed my path.

The journey was unpleasant and sad,
To see if life could change from despair,
But wherever I went, the full moon shone,
In a life that was spent in your dreams.

In those times, you were like a deity,
Whom I worshipped night and day.

The second is always the best

My grandmother always had this saying to prove that I'm not as good as my elder brother: The second is never the best. Her explanation was that the expectation and charm of a first-born, first job, first salary (who said so- money is money, spendable, splashable and savable) is unmatched by anything that comes after it. My grandmother always favoured the eldest and the male. It was part of her legacy and I was more than once much irritated by her attitude.

For a few months, I was working as a lecturer in a college. Though temporary, it was my second stint as a teacher for students at the college level. The first stint was very unpleasant and had made me very bitter and comically venomous towards teaching at colleges in general though the fault lay in my mind, which was so unfocused and fatally in love.

But this second time was different. It was only few months but the best time of my life in my opinion. A city college with not many amenities but the basic ones and students coming from poor backgrounds, it was not easy to win hearts as a teacher.

When I leave the campus in a few days, I know that I have not made a revolutionary change in the "Englishes" of my students but I know for sure that I have made at least a small difference in their grades.

Now, I'm leaving a job after making my students ( at least my Drama class students) and the teachers in the staff room LIKE me incredibly.This second chance for me at least meant that I could shed many of my stupid notions and negative emotions as well as my own lack of confidence in my teaching abilities gained as an after-effect of my first stint.

Shell

Once it was burning the midnight oil,
Going over thick books and big ideas.
Now, times have changed, so have I,
With my mind no longer ready to read.

Though dark nights are back again,
Heavy with despair and old grief,
Over life lost to this crumbling
Of all existing personal barriers.

I wish it was easy to build again,
A shell of comfort and silence,
Read myself to that forgetfulness,
That came with books and ideas.

But this mind, once a clean page  

Could hold the wisdom of ages. 

Celebrating 300 posts

It was only in last June that Journal- Serious and Trivial celebrated its 200th post and he not-so-modest author  made a pick of what she considers as the best of her most valuable sacred space: potpourri blog of poems, silences, reviews and definitions of silence. Now, several months later, lagging behind in the number of posts due to several reasons yet trying to catch up with an occasional post or the other, this journal is celebrating its 300th post. 

Here are a few select posts from the meagre and feeble 100 that followed the 200. 

• Journal-Serious and Trivial  
• Goodbye Again 
• Ineffable  
• Childhood  
• Brilliance  
• Sunset  
• Freefall  
• Life
• Celebration  

This year, the Indiblogger rank of this blog has gone up again and reached 60 this time, though it was from 71 that it fell sometime back!

Reading Spree

Do you know the occasional learning spree that makes you read every scrap of paper that passes before your eyes? Well, I have this tendency once in a while, when I want to read lots and lots of books and gobble up tonnes and tonnes of new ideas- anything that can quench my thirst for knowledge. But such spells last only a short span of time and may be followed by times of no reading at all.

This week, I'm on such a reading spree and I have got writing assignment on new topics that  might have created this curiosity. Well, let's see what writing comes out of this love of words and ideas.

Interesting Articles I Read Today

Dear Reader,

I'm sharing with you a few interesting articles that I read today:

1. 36 Poetry Writing Tips 
2. 9 Ways to Develop Intelligence at Any Age
3. How to Touch Your Creative Soul: A Zen View

Hope you enjoy reading them as I did!
Regards
Maria

Goodbye Again

For you, no words are enough; no goodbyes enough,
For you were always there besides the River Green,
Looking at my small and big steps with lots of pride
For all these long years from early childhood.

Now you are like a child with a weak heart and mind,
That trembles and forgets who you really represent,
Still in your shaky voice heard over the distance,
I hear the same pride that I have heard before.

You taught me my first words and the first songs
You sang in that hoarse voice, your many boatsongs,
That later formed the wild rhythm of musicless songs
Written in a language you have forgotten to understand.

Now, all you know is a strange language of goodbyes
That makes my heart tremble and grow old so early.

I

I am the taste of pure water and the radiance of the sun and moon. I am the sacred word and the sound heard in air, and the courage of human beings. I am the sweet fragrance in the earth and the radiance of fire; I am the life in every creature and the striving of the spiritual aspirant.

The Bhagavat Gita

Resolutions of 2009

It's been a long year, this 2009 and somehow I was not able to stick to  my  New Year Resolution that I had made this year- to write a page a day. 

Till June, I faithfully continued writing a page a day and blogging regularly. But then, ill health took over and I stopped my writing altogether. Still, I believe that I was able to do some work regarding my blog, which has occasional posts and is not at all a disappointment for me. I guess I bragged about writing a page a day and that finished my writing habit!  


Regarding my other New Year Resolutions ( to lose weight and get up early), however I was more or less successful. The first resolution was an indirect result of watching how the Indian actor Aamir Khan worked hard to gain his six pack abs. However, my plan was only partially successful because it was ill health that brought down the scales and no hard work or dieting. 


Getting up early in the morning was a mirage for me because of my habit of sleeping at around 2 a.m. It was solved when I got a job and started waking up at 7 and later paying off the sleep debt after work. This has been the practice on weekdays since September but on holidays, I sleep till noon. Still a far better me than before! 

A wish

One wish can travel far
Or wide through time,
Whatever the day might be,
A wish that was never made
Aloud with words.

One wish with love
Uttered in silence
Before the altar of souls,
Can bring peace to you,
Wherever you are.

I have heard that you're gone,
Far into the unknown land,
Where I can never reach,
With my wishes or prayers
Or with loving messages.

May be it's another lie,
Like that one said
To win an epic war,
One told out of spite,
Just to bring tears.

One wish can travel far
Or wide through time,
Whatever the day might be,
A wish to bring a smile,
Wherever you might be.

Hatred

The thin cold fingers seep through every chunk in the soul,
Hatred of a high degree, much hidden by concerned words,
Much disguised by painted smiles and sharp insults,
For you to swallow and digest like those bitter pills daily.

Whom shall you trust in these times of embittered silence,
For each and every shoulder listens and remembers all,
To spring sudden surprises at a relaxed carefree self
That somehow is taken aback by the venom of words.

The venom of words that you spit when you are angry,
The tone of voice that carries deep dislike and jealousy,
One wrong word somewhere and you are driven again,
Once more into these same alleys that witness fights.

For a hatred of a higher degree bad words aren't enough;
It requires the art of cleverly wrapped insults and smiles.

Can you communicate freely without using the word "I"?

Childhood

Where have all those days gone, those of laughter
And of tears, when beside the huge river green,
A childhood was spent in thousand creepy fears,
Taken out of my grandmother's long night tales.

Where have all those tastes of childhood gone,
Mangoes plucked from the neighbour's orchard,
The sweet bites of freshly cut sugarcane stems,
Along with jaggery sweets from next-door kitchen.

Where have all those big dreams of life gone,
Playing doctor with sharp pencils as syringes,
Of travelling around the world in eighty days,
Of being Edmund Dante or the Musketeers.

Those childhood days beside the river green
Are now long-faded photographs and memories. 

Learning

You and I have come so far after travelling the miles together and apart. If you look back, the growth has been amazing. For you will see that I have changed beyond recognition and am much devoid of my often boasted scholarship; instead what i have gained from life is a sour temper and vaguery in every field. While you , who never bothered to read any scrap of paper except the titillating have become a bookworm, who boasts of every little piece of knowledge you have gained. Still the contrast is amazing in that you still look forward to me like you used to do; while I live a dual life- the past and the present.

Brilliance

What learning can books give once you lose your head?
Once you lose your head to the voices inside your head,
The conflicting voices that opine for and against,
Each and every action and emotion in your mind.

For whom, will you turn to when your heart speaks,
In two languages, one of desire and one of fear,
Hesitating between the two like at crossroads
And shudder at the thought that your life is gone.

Gone with the web of thoughts that doesn't exist,
Gone with the lack of concentration this state brings,
The original you is buried somewhere someplace,
Somewhere in the past when brilliance shone.

All you can ever do is make a show of brilliance,
When your head is empty; just like others do.

Silences

The silences formed her nature;
When for others words came easy,
For her words were clumsy, gauche.

They came in left-handed strokes,
At inopportune times and slashed,
Through many hearts like knives.

That’s not what she had wanted,
All she wanted was to bring smiles,
And show people how she cared.

Instead she watched others do it;
Bring smiles and wipe others’ tears,
Or soothe a lonesome broken heart.

Silences remained her language until,
She was loved; made to laugh aloud, 
Forget her tears, with loving words.

Sunset

We sat on the sands watching the sun set,
Splashing many hues from a vibrant palette,
What shades of blue, grey, red and orange,
Etched against a mass of blue ocean.

The waves beat against the sandy shore,
While crowds gathered to step into water,
Toddlers and children, laughing wildly,
While we watched and took in the scene.

Now, many seasons have come and gone,
The shades have become only lovelier,
While the light of love that once was there,
In your eyes have faded with the seasons.

No words are enough to describe that light,
Or the brilliant hues of the setting sun.

Funny Advice

Beauty Advice given on my Cleanser( I don't think I need to explain it):

Apply on a cotton pad mornings and evenings before using any other care products.

Reconciliation

You pretend to laugh at my jokes; but I see your face clearly though I may not always see it. Your voice betrays your hatred at what I have done and what I failed to do.You think that your hesitation is much better than my total change of plans. But looking deeply, you wil find that the spirit is same; too much thought that leads to much inaction and nowhere in life.

You think about finding answers in logic; while I depend on intuition and the flow of the moment. Who are you to blame me for crumbling before mighty forces? For I would never have crumbled, my dear, if you listened to what pained my heart when it mattered. Nobody did. All you did was to laugh a queer laughter at my craziness and sudden loss of intelligence.

Now, I find that you and me, the best of all allies have become strangers in a strange land and crave for love from kind strangers, though what lies behind us is a mighty past full of great dreams and common likes. For you, who never cared for the word "honour" shirk at my sight because I have thrown mud at your so-called honour that never mattered anyway.

Playlist of the Day

These are the Malayalam tracks that I'm listening to right now at raagaonline:

1. Chandana Cholayil from Sallapam
2. Mounasarovarom from Savidham
3. Pathiramazhayetho from Ulladakam
4. Saagarangale Paadi from Panjagni
5. Manjal Prasadavum from Nakhaksthangal
   

Empty Pages

A page a day was a dream,
Except on space-less Sundays
Which had no blank pages
In my diary with green cover.

I bought this at first sight,
When this shade of green
Brought back to my mind,
The sheen of a river green.

This river in a distant land,
Shimmers in sunlight,
Flows with a graceful ease
Unlike these words.

For words have seasons;
They've dried up with years.

Opportunities

There are days when life is swamped by opportunities and lack of them at the same time. Like there are two three people ringing you up with some project or the other that has to be completed simultaneously. Sometimes all turn out to be in vain as well. But who can explain such a phenomenon of attracting several possibilities at the same time, all glittering and bright; only to feel the pain of rejection.

novel

I like reading about authors and how they create their works. Earlier, I wanted to write a novel that contained the best possible writing that I could do. But somehow writing a novel looks like a daunting task now because of its too time consuming and I realise as years pass by that I'm turning too unimaginative for such a kind of literary effort.

This is no sob story; but that kind of visualisation or imagination is not there with me right now. But even this hue and cry about being a kind of literary failure is illogical; but that's what makes me churn out all these words right now. Reading about NaNaWriMo has spurred this outburst; mainly because there are people who try and fail; but I sadly belong to those set of people who logically analyse the probabilities of winning and never try.

Scattered thoughts from a rambling pen

I don't know when this started; but somehow life has fallen into a maze. The main thing that I notice about it is the simple inability to put things in their right places; like a disordered life, a disordered mind and a disordered room. It's like I know what's wrong but lack the energy to lift a book that has fallen from the table, to set right a calendar that runs two months late and many other lazinesses.

May be it's my health or may be just inertia. But there are things that interest me everyday like getting up in the morning and checking mail ( or reading the newspapers) first thing in the morning. Earlier as a young maiden, I was a orderliness freak that could make my classmates cry in amazement- easily readable home-made labels on bookspines, file divisions for subjects, cleanliness, lists and what-not.

Now, life is full of inertia. Add to it, the pain in my shoulders when I strain myself for a long time. Never thought of it as a serious medical problem or anything but that prevents me from doing quite a lot of things that I want to do. Still at some invisible level, there is an order to days; an invisible level of control that keeps a check on reality and divides all the chores into the urgent and unimportant.

But a few tasks like folding clothes or doing a complete cleaning session of the room and all its contents is too improbable; for they are made of tiny ignored tasks that piled up one on the other.
May be writing it out helps this inertia a little!

Words at midnight

At times, I have found out that my otherwise lazy mind works overtime at night and produces word after word in perfect order as if somebody was using my mind as a blank page to write upon. At such times, I feel that even if I record these words, I might not be able to record them all.

Last night was such a night and I couldn't sleep at all, thinking of all the unwritten words. When I finally put them to shape, they had lost their original magic. Just words on why I cannot write as I could do earlier. So if at all I write a classic that will definitely be titled "My story about why did not succeed as writer, person, teacher or a social being!" Amen!

Senile

He sits silent in his favourite armchair. No words, nothing ever comes out of him. One so famous for order and discipline, now sits crouched in a corner. His senses have discarded him.

Now and then, he poses a question about the time, place and welfare of his kids. Some pretend not to have heard him. But when a fond face steps before him, though it has grown much in age and in pain, his dispassionate face breaks into a smile and he asks: “When did you come?”

Once more an era steps before him when he danced to the whims of a fatherless little girl who watched television sitting in his lap, for whom he bought sweets that vanished in a few minutes and with whom he wandered in this new city.

All the stories that are told about his partial loss of memory, his absent-mindedness and lack of consciousness are proved wrong when I, who call him Bapu, may be the first grand-daughter who named a grandfather (with a name that he used to sign his letters) steps into his view.

Hurt

When I look at my friends who move around crowds with the ease of chameleons and get admiring glances from others, I understand that I have none of this charming nature about me. An ordinary face that provokes laughter, some weird actions that create contempt and a strange nature that does the wrongest things at the right time.

Not that it was always like that. A few days were there; when love was everything; when sky was the limit but who can blame one who was hurt by the beloved. For life has never become the same again; the hope has faded; trust in people has disappeared and all that is left is a little irony and a lot of skepticism and a lot more of silence.

Aftter the break is over

Who founded the commercial break? Well, earlier it meant that you can hurry, ease your hunger or thirst and run back to your favourite TV show or movie. Now it means that you are exploded with advertisements coming one after the other, some as meaningless as Beckett's Waiting for Godot or some as horrible in their portrayal of reality. Some channels even show a recap of the ongoing movie after each commercial break. Good for the viewer, because you often forget which goddamn movie you were watching till the break came. The same advertisements again and again till you forget not just the storyline, but even the fact that you were watching a movie.

Oh, you might advise me to swap the channel till the commercial break is over. Well, that's an option you can try when you are sitting alone and have the remote and the TV watching space to yourself. A single flip of the remote can bring about wars that can last till the end of the world. For then, the status quo is retained: who wants the remote game, where the fittest survive. Even more, elders are often irritated when youngsters keep on swapping channels tone after the other. But still that does not change the situation most viewers are facing everyday, when they are bombarded with all kinds of illogical advertisements for products they don’t use or need while waiting for that final moment when the movie they were watching and have half-forgotten emerges after the commercial break.

Not that I don’t enjoy advertisements. But still I cant bear watching movies especially in channels that don’t show any recaps. More important than that is the need for having a review for advertisements, something that can change an advertisement based on viewer reviews.

Life

The songs have changed with the seasons. All songs now taste of that sweet sense of expectation- the wait for the rain cloud and its joy on caressing the earth.

This earth that was dry and parched has signs of new life sprouting everywhere. No longer, the days are spent eyeing the cheerful faces around a new wonder.

The wonder is here finally; in its time; not too fast nor too slow; right at the time when it can bring about new bursts of pelting affection from all around.

Good Reads

Four books that I read this month are:

• The Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri
• The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri
• Moving on by Shashi Deshpande
• The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga

Surprisingly, Moving On was amazing in its gradual unravelling of the story that was both touching and awesome while Lahiri surprised me with her evocative style and beautifully constructed stories.