Unsaid.. (Blogathon Post Twenty Four)

It was yet another day in Mr.Vikranthan’s life.Early morning suprabatham,small talk with his wife over a cup of coffee,newspaper,morning walk.The rest of the day somehow seemed to pass rather insignificantly,though his mornings were quite pleasant.
Ones he could look forward to.
Except for one thought which constantly ran through his mind and made him feel guilty and worthless all the time.A thought that refused to stay in his mind and yet was too painful to be spoken out aloud.
‘How would she react if I told her…’,he wondered.30 years of marriage,30 years of bliss,30 years of a secret.

Sometimes,he thought if it was that big a deal.Just a little quirk in his character,but he knew it was more than a quirk.He thought about it everyday and it made him feel extremely disgusted with himself.
‘How would she react if she knew that every word I spoke to her was rehearsed in front of a mirror atleast 2 times?”

Not just what he spoke to her,though.He had always practised his dialogues.Even the ones he spoke to his barber.And since the birth of his grandson,he had been having one more set of dialogues to practise each morning.And that’s why people had always called him a little weird.
For his silences were always awkward.
And his speech was always stilted.
In spite of all the practice.

He’d tried everything to break the habit,of no avail.Ah,what would he not do for one spontaneous expression of the thought in his mind!It was almost as if the idea in his head,starting out as a fresh clear tender thing,lost its way somewhere in the dark alleys of practice and hardened thought.If only could someone could save his pristine idea from getting lost,if only he didn’t have to practise his lines..
Sometimes,he wondered if life was really a play with him being more of an actor than the others.For none of his dialogues had ever been his own,from the warmth of his heart.Not to say he didn’t feel.He never could express himself.

He walked out onto the veranda to watch the afternoon sun.His grandson would be home any moment from school.He would be his baby-sitter till his parents came back home.He waited patiently,his lines were ready-

Hi Pichoo..how was school?

Let’s go inside,it’s hot here.Grandma will give something to eat.

Do you have homework?

I will help you with the maths sums.

Okay now go play.


Ready to meet his grandson for what would be an ordinary event in life,almost mundane,he waited.
Suddenly he felt dizzy and sweaty,he could identify symptoms of a stroke-he’d read so much about the topic that he almost felt like a cardiologist himself.
Pichoo barged in through the gate right then,screaming for his grandfather.

‘THATHAAAA”

Vikranthan was down in a swoon,when Pichoo ran upto him,hugging him,

Thatha,I wrote an essay on you in school today,’The Family member you like the most and why’..he said,his eyes gleaming.

His thatha’s eyes opened slightly to look at his grandson,Looks just like our Vinu when he was his age..,he thought.

His wife was now bent over his face,worried and teary.He looked at her ,smiled and said,”Looks just like his father,my grandson..”

The last and the only unrehearsed line of his life.

As his wife’s tears made his shirt wet,Pichoo found something in his thatha’s shirt pocket.

The last dialogues of his thatha’s life.
Always the actor who knew his lines by-heart.
Almost.

The Beginning? (Blogathon Post Twenty Three)

He’d seen her many times in the library.
The woman with the slightly lost expression.
Amidst Milton and Asimov she was his very own Shakuntala.

What is it that you read,
Pages after pages,
When all I can see 
is the look on your face
and its intelligent cut?

She was there today as well.God,she was something,he thought.He looked on as she sat at the table,seemingly lost in John Keats.Somehow,he wondered what it was that she saw in all that poetry.

It is not Keats that I love,
If only you knew..

He went upto the Physics section,looking for something else to rest his mind upon.He did find something and he sat down with it,lost in its pages.Only to look up after a while and see that she was gone.
Damn!

Maybe I am not as intelligent as you are..
John Keats and William Blake do not a woman make..

Next day he saw her in the physics section.
Browsing through a magazine.
With the same lost expression.
Has she forgotten Keats,he wondered..
He gave her a raised eyebrow.She looked away.

I know what you’re thinking.
I hope you understand what I’m thinking too..

He went back to the familiar smell of the rusty cupboards and yellowed books.Sometimes,in the midst of his reading,he would just look up and she would still be there,poring over something.He always left her to continue her reading.

Why do I get the feeling 
that you have something to say?

Today.
He decided enough was enough.I can atleast make conversation,he wondered..

I will walk upto you 
and say Hello..

Apparently, she felt the same too.For here she was, walking upto him.She sat down on the chair and extended her hand.
Hello.
Hello.
Seen you around the place,thought I’d make conversation.

Well,that has been on my mind for a really long time.

Ah,I was wondering about that too.
So,you seem to like physics a lot..
Well,I do love Physics.

There,she just spoilt it!He didn’t want to discuss Physics..It was just a part of his life.He wanted her to talk about herself,or maybe even tell him about Keats,not ask him what he thought about physics!

I think I saw a new book of Keats on the display this morning,he reminded her gently,scratching his head.

Oh,that sounds nice..will check it out.

If only you would realise
that it is not Keats that I am trying to understand,
Teach me something that I do not know as yet..

I have to get back home,he said.
Ah,same here.See you around.
Tomorrow was after all another day,he thought.

We’ll do better tomorrow..that was some beginning.

The defining moment. (Blogathon Post Twenty Two)

I saw this picture on my friend’s blog (Thanks again, Munish!). A very interesting question.

I am sure there are many defining moments in life, but, for me, the most defining one was when I decided to quit my Masters in science and opt to teach a language to third-graders in an obscure international school. It was scary, challenging and beautiful, all at once. For the first time in life, I learned to speak up for myself and follow my dream. I am thrilled that I have crossed off almost every dream as done since that day. Only a few more remain before I can make up a fresh list! Awesome, right?

So, what is your defining moment in Life? The comments section is all yours!

Another poem..(Blogathon Post Twenty One)

I thought I knew your face
I have sought comfort in your voice;
Your soul, I have hugged-
And your lips I have kissed. 
Yet, I have a few questions to ask..
Where are you?
And who is the you that is with me?
For I love you and not your ombre. 

Celebrate your beauty..it is one of a kind. (Blogathon Post Twenty)

This post carries a message to all young women (and old!) : I created the photos below in fifteen minutes using an online application and some very rudimentary photo editing skills. People we see in magazines and films undergo much, much more. So what is beauty? I leave it to you. All I can say is : You are beautiful. The end. Do not let men, or other women make you feel bad about who you are. If you want picture perfect looks, it needs Photoshop, good clothes and nice makeup. If you want to look beautiful, all it needs is… YOU.

That is how I usually look. Now see the pictures below.

You take the call.

Thoughts… (Blogathon Post Nineteen)

The trees shook violently to the coaxing of the wild winds.They swayed with an unearthly grace and a terrifying violence.The winds moved her too,as she stood,letting the power of that mighty anger seep over her.
‘Ravage me winds,till all your secrets I know..”

Her feet were restless.Her mind was thirsty.As if in answer to her prayer,the clouds gave up their slumber and come down,pouring in mad fury.She let the rain into every pore of her body,soaking wet.
‘Conquer me waters,till all your secrets I know..”

She was reminded of the previous day,a different day in history,another page of memories.
Memories of a blazing sun streaming into her face,reminding her of her own fire within.
And memories of getting scorched by it.
And the spicy scent of tamarind in the air.
‘Burn me sun,till all your secrets I know..’

No more the endless waits.She was ready,to give up what she knew and learn what she didn’t.
Her passion flamed within her,taking hold of her entire being.Till it evoked all her wild desires.
Of running amok.
Of breaking all bonds.

No more would stories of the unknown suffice.Her exigent mind would accept no more tame tales of what lay beyond.Taming was not for her..
If she had to be untamed to see what the real world was like..then so would it be.

She kept walking.In search of new memories to replace the old.

The lost temple in the woods.
The yellow kite entangled in the neem tree.
The bright mirrors on the village girl’s skirt.
And her muddy feet.
The scent of snakes in the anthill.
The sound of the temple drum.
The color of the sky after a shower.
And the rain drop caught in her eyelashes.
The drunkard’s false promises.
The tangy taste of raw mango.
And the rosy dew on the blushing lotus.
The sound of her own voice,echoed back by the mountains.
And the taste of jackfruit dipped in honey.
And the pleasure of drinking Bovonto(orange flavour)sitting in the small motel down the road.
Watching the ant move up her fingers.
And the feel of tree bark.

And then running away from it all.
In search of a new destination.
Tomorrow would be another journey.

‘Ravage me wind,
Conquer me waters,
Burn me sun,
Till all your secrets I learn..’

When does the river sleep? (Blogathon Post Eighteen)

When does the river sleep?
In the deep darkness of the night
You can hear her tinkling laughter.
And when the dawn unfolds
Her laughter is still reverberant;
Does she have an earnest longing
Is she overwhelmed by thoughts
Of one she hugs close to her soul
Such that she cannot sleep?
Does he dance in her manouevres
Does he sing tales to her
In ballads wistful and compelling?
Sans respite she listens and pours
Herself out in a mystifying torrent
Such that she cannot sleep?
Does she see his face ethereal
when he looks into her waters..
And finding him within herself
Her ecstasy knows no bounds
Such that she cannot sleep?
And when she changes hue
And form and her crystal smile
Does he run along the shore with her
Such that she cannot sleep?
And when he puts his casket
Of fragrant flowers into her hands
Is she earnest to please him so
Such that she cannot sleep?
And when he puts his feet
Does it tickle her gentle hands
such that she cannot sleep?
And when she stops for a rest
Time for a sigh,at the base of a tree
Do his ballads haunt her every second
Such that she cannot sleep?
When she sees,in a moment of despair
the ocean beckoning,not far away-
Does the ache of not seeing him
Ravage and destroy her innermost core
Such that she cannot sleep?

A love like no other.. (Blogathon Post Seventeen)

She was a hard core feminist,a non-committal homosexual and undisputably,one of the greatest writers that ever lived.
He was a writer too,who also dabbled with philosophy to such penetrating depths that it left his readers gasping.. and a self-claimed womaniser.
But then,they met.
And recognised in each other a little of their own selves.And an extreme compatibility in thought.A journey through the clouds,an intellectual union,sparks flew-that was how it was when they spoke to each other.
But the intellect is never satisfied.
Being the womaniser that he was,he could never commit himself.And she didn’t mind.It is not everyday that you find a companion who can match your intellectual frequencies and push you to greater heights.
He moved around with the pretty ladies in France,while she continued to stack skeletons in her closet.
All through this,they remained scrupulously honest with each other,telling each other every minute detail of their unglamorous affairs and dirty scandals,in letters that only two writers would appreciate.
And yet,they were in love with each other.
Totally.
All the while making more mistakes than the rest of the population put together.Atleast that’s what it seems.

And this love story appeals to me.It represents an ideal that I might never find.There are no standards here,whatsoever.They were probably people with double standards,for all you know.
Because they frequently lied to each other under the masquerade of honesty.He was a chauvinist,she was a feminist wimp.
But it clicked.
Because their minds met.

That was the story of Simone de Beauvoir and Jean Paul Sartre,two of the greatest writers in France.

The joys of list making! (Blogathon Post Sixteen)

Sometime ago,I received a different kind of journal as a gift. I love it, because it is called ‘LISTOGRAPHY’- Your life in lists. I like making lists, whether I strike off things after doing them or not.  One of the lists in the journal asks you to list your closest friends. That is the page I am sharing with you today. Enjoy! You might want to make your own list!
People included here are Agni, Lali, Prayathna, Nithya, Pooja, Divya, Vamsi, Aravind and Shankar. There are many others like Supriya and Pradnya that I am close to, but the journal had only two pages dedicated to this! 

I just want to say, each friend of mine is cherished. I love you, everyone of you.

That fateful day. (Blogathon Post Fifteen)

There were two periods in my life that were the most difficult to sail through. One was the time when my Appa was ill and in the hospital. Frankly, I coped better with his death than his sickness. I guess that was because I knew he was there for me after death, leading me with every step and shaping my every decision. The one thing that really helped me after I lost my Appa were my French classes. I poured myself into learning the language and forgot my sorrow. That explains the very special bond that I have with French and why I chose to make a career in it. Yes, I am very attached to symbols and meanings that way. 

The other difficult period was when I had to move cities, leaving behind an almost perfect life in Hyderabad : interesting work, great friends, a best friend that stayed just ten minutes away, extremely nice neighbours/landlords, lots of children around the house, free time.. I had everything. In the new city, I was lost. I had to start from scratch. My soul was plunged into depression. The sudden change overwhelmed me. I could not get creative and was often sullen and withdrawn. 

My husband suggested a trip to celebrate our wedding anniversary that year. We went to the land of the kodavas, our two dogs in tow. Each day we visited all the must-see spots and enjoyed ourselves. The fact that my dogs were with me only added to my joy. Yet, nothing prepared me for what I was about to experience at ThalaKaveri, the birthplace of River Kaveri. All along the way, my husband fed me stories about the Kaveri, he loves the river (Actually, he loves all rivers). There was a drizzle mildly pouring in and it was cold. We saw the goddess in all her glory. I like to call water a goddess, for she brings us so much while being very powerful at the same time. I was just awed at everything I saw. The best was, although, yet to come. We climbed the hill away from the river and reached the top. Each step was full of flower-laden trees and magic. What do you think waited for us at the top? A breath-taking view of the valley and…

the gentlest, softest, most beautiful rainbow ever. 

A wandering monk standing there taught me my first real Kannada word, kaamana billu. 

Indeed, it was cupid’s arrow. Manmadha must have been roaming those hills since eternity, keeping love alive across ages. 

The sign that I was looking for had come. I knew I would be taken care of, no matter what. Everything would be okay, I was sure. They say God talks to us in strange ways. That day, the Goddess spoke to me, in her own special way. I was loved. 

It has been more than a year and a half since that fateful day, but each time I feel low, all I have to do is close my eyes and think back to that lovely sight. The experience that changed my mind, the Goddess that gave back love to me. 

Softly, I whisper unto her… thank you…