Tricia

Hey, this is for you! Rather, for the child in you..

Whenever we discuss our childhood, a nostalgia grips us.. Let someone ask us to speak about it, and we cannot stop speaking..

Below is one of the most famous Indian 'ghazal', a kind of oriental lyric, and usually passionate erotic poetry, written in recurring rhymes.. This one is about the innocent child we have in each of us, and the rains, and the childhood stories..

In India, we have three distinct seasons, monsoons being one of them. One of the most beautiful season, children enjoy it the most. You will find streams of water flowing alongside the roads, small children making paper boats and floating them in these streams.. Jumping in the puddles.. Splashing water on each other.. The heart in every child is alive.. The pure innocent souls absorb every bit of the heavenly pourings.. And these rains have been written about the most, in Indian poems, movies, articles, emotions, every where..

This song, trickles around the rains, but wraps you in its warm embrace of childhood love and affection, the fairy tales, the dunes, the memoirs that provide us the oasis in much needed times..

Link to the video of live performance: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bPQk2CMIKJE

I found this translation online, from the original URDU version.. Translation taken from http://albaal.blogspot.com/2007/02/my-little-paper-boat-woh-kagaz-ki.html

"Woh Kagaz ki Kashti - The little paper boat

Do take my gold, and my fame, if you must
You can have my youth if you so do will
But do give me back my childhood showers
My little paper boat, the fresh rain's thrill

Do take my gold, and my fame, if you must
You can have my youth if you so do will
But do give me back my childhood showers
My little paper boat, the fresh rain's thrill

My little paper boat, the fresh rain's thrill

She, who, lived here as old as the road
She, whom we children, called granny
She, who wrapped fairies in sweet songs
She, whose wrinkles of years so many
And who, try as much, could forget them
Her fresh long tales filling nights so tiny

My little paper boat, the fresh rain's thrill

To walk out in the scorching heat
To larks and those jays and chasing butterflies
We'd marry our dolls and fight over it
High in our swings jumping far from watchful eyes

And those little trinkets of copper and bark
Those deep scarlet marks of broken bangles and cries

My little paper boat, the fresh rain's thrill

To drag our feet over smooth high dunes
A castle here, a hillock there
Our innocence filling every picture and tune
Our life of toys and dreams
In a world of joy, relations none did prune

Wasn't it beautiful, that life of ours?"

(Thanks to Al-Baal Cafe)

Ba

The same thoughts lead me to another question.. But, this time it is abstract, though related.. Would Gandhi exist without Kasturba? Would Bapu exist without Ba? What if she would have left him right at the first instance in South Africa?

Didn’t I say in a couple of posts back: Behind every successful man, there is a woman..??

I never read Gandhi, though I have a lot of his books in my collection.. I never saw any movie of his complete, till an hour back.. I never met a Gandhian who preached Gandhi.. But, all this while, I never imagined Gandhi as singular.. The image was always accompanied by this subdued figure walking along..

Excuse me for a bit, did I use the word subdued? I assume I did.. And why so? What makes me think of it that way?

“You are just a human, it is tough for you.. More so, tough for us, for those who do not wish to be anywhere as good as you desire to be..” (Kasturba to Gandhi, the first instance in South Africa)

This speaks of it all.. But, still, another question.. Was Gandhi trying to be good? Or right? Or puritanical? And, if so, in whose eyes? No where am I attempting a doubt at the figure of millennium.. I am making an effort to understand the male-female chemistry. .The chemistry beyond the testosterone and estrogen.. The chemistry, that gives the man the strength to face the outside world, and his own inside world too..

But then, where does this strength exist for the Dalai Lama or for Dr. Kalam? Or for Gandhiji himself, after the Agakhan palace?

As of now, Richard Bach comes to help again, though not too satisfying.. I am trying to remember a quote by Paolo Coelho.. But till I find it.. Here’s what Bach has to say about it..

“I want to be very close to someone I respect and admire and have somebody who feels the same way about me. “ [that gives a meaning to my existence, strength to life..]

Who am I?

The doubt is not of his existence, the doubt is of the fact that how was that possible, in flesh and blood.. The despair is not about all the questions to him, the despair is about my own existence.. The dilemma has nothing to do with him, it is my dilemma: Who am I?

Am I the Darshan, the world knows? Am I the Dee Dee I love? Am I the Dee loved by the one? Or, am I still searching for an identity? And, if I am all of this, then again, who am I?

As a child, I grew up, pretty sure of what I wanted to be.. Then came a phase, I entered the life of experimentation.. Trials and errors.. Burning hands and tasting bitter-sweet aroma of actuality.. Played around with life, found myself in muddy grounds, on hard rocks, in deep waters, on lashing waves.. “Let the river flow”, that’s what I always said.. That’s what I always lived.. Then, why and what makes me think so much? To ask for vodka on rocks and raise a toast of wine, but still say water, whenever asked for my favorite drink.. What is it that made me suddenly stop the American dance on Saturday night and walk out in chilly cold for an hour? What prompts me to be a protagonist? To break all the societal norms and be involved in everything that was supposedly not meant to be, and still not able to involve myself 100%.. Stopping myself just before I took steps, not once, twice, but umpteen number of times.. Why? Why? Why?

I have always struggled between two identities.. One of being myself.. One of being accepted within the people I wanted.. The third phase came in, when I was myself because of someone else, but could not value the same.. Why has it been always a tight rope walk?? By the time the soul re-search starts, why is it ONLY me again? And, when I make choices, the ‘tug-of-war’ starts, and I find myself being dragged from one sphere to another.. And the third dimension to it is, something that I don’t even know how to express.. But for sure, none of these give answers, they just add on to questions..

Richard Bach simply replies..

“The simplest questions are the most profound. Where were you born? Where is your home? Where are you going? What are you doing? Think about these once in a while and watch your answers change. “

And, do I really want answer to every question?

“You don't want a million answers as much as you want a few forever questions. The questions are diamonds you hold in the light. Study a lifetime and you see different colors from the same jewel.” (Richard Bach)

Irony

A packet of chips, relaxed on a couch, chit-chatting with a friend, relishing a sandwich, eyes staring at the screen.. Perfect movie mood.. Red wine adding to the ambience.. And that toast of red wine is the irony.. Irony, because the day is: Martyr’s day, and the movie to which we raise our toast is: Gandhi (by Richard Attenborough).. The person, who never even allowed the smell of wine close by.. The person who led his life on principles, experimenting every bit of it.. Drawing closely upon his experiences, the picture of reality! Attracted by the worldly possessions, but judiciously thinking over them, to arrive to the decision of ultimate abdication; not to be a hero of ‘tyaaga’ or sacrifice, but to live up to what his life had proven to him. I find this itself an irony.. A life that is gifted to us once, says the same Indian mythology, the one that claims you give it up.. And, here was this man, who lived this irony in perfect sense, and proved, it was not a myth, but a realm of puritan existence!

Was he flawless? Was he gifted? Didn’t he have dilemmas? How did he live through? OR, as Einstein put it for my generation: Did he ever exist?

I am at split ends.. It is a question I need to answer for myself.. In the state of despair, in his words: “When I despair, I remember, that all through the history, the way of truth and love has always won..”

conclusion

Now that the Saturday night trivia comes to an end, I am supposed to complete the story..

There's not much to it after the realization. The realization leads to a desire to confess and let go off the negativity, not only with the individual, but with any and everyone whom I might have coerced in the "not so good" conversations.. That's it..

I had read this author in Marathi, Mr. V. P. Kale, and he started his book with an interesting paragraph. He said: "People write autobiographies to tell the world how much they suffered because of others. Imagine if everyone wrote about there sufferings cos of you, that one never mentions in autobiography.. So, I'll never write a lame story of suffering.." Not that I am thinking of an autobiography (that's hilarious), but the way my achievements have been acknowledged, recognized, and applauded, it is necessary that I accept my fallacies as well. Not only to the individuals of whom I might be guilty, but to all those, whom I might hold certain perceptions to!

And the thought that I am reading while writing this is: "Imperfection is what makes us interesting to others.." I don't know about others, but imperfection has made me interesting to myself, granting opportunities to improve!

Over and out.. :)

the outcome

Finally.. After the Saturday night trivia, return at 04:00 a.m. followed by a discussion, and then an elaborate chat yesterday, I have reached to a conclusion that I am conservative liberal!

I do not know what that means.. Nor it is political in context here.. It is all about the thoughts and the way I function! Mom of a friend of mine had used this phrase: "विदेसी बोटल, देसी शराब!".. It means, Indian wine in an imported bottle! Metaphor for mind-body co-existence! It was used for someone, who appeared to be outright outgoing and western, in Indian context, but was purely eastern by thinking. I always thought, I was completely western in thinking.. But to my realization, I am as similar to the bottle-wine comparison..

That was some soul searching.. phew.. ;-) But surely, it does resolves a haze around lot of confusing traits I have been wondering about myself..!! Some complicated soul that I am.. ;-)

Emotions..

If it would not had been for last night, possibly my last post would have continued further today.. The last night being propped in, I am gonna take a while before I sort out.. That to which I relate, and that to which I am alien..

Incidentally, I find the following two creations, that, as of now, resonate with the turnover in my mind.. Metta, lots to discuss! :)

हम कहाँ जायेंगे जज़्बात का शीशा लेकर
लफ़्ज़ पत्थर का तो हर शख़्स चला देता है|
- एन. पी. बजाज

(Where do we take these feelings, fragile as glass; each person deals in flint sharp words.. - N. P. Bajaj)

दूर जाना है बहुत्, मत देख आईना अभी से
अभी तो रुख़सार पे बहुत से रँग आने बाक़ी हैं|
- हबीब हाशमी

(You have many miles to go, do not glance at the mirror now; Your cheeks will turn several colours before you are through.. Habib Hashmi)

the failure..

.. My mind is back in time..

A time when I am in a similar position.. Not actually.. A some what related position.. I had refused to understand the gesture.. I had refused to acknowledge the free spirit, that I used to adore the most. I was being impossible! Not only then, but there is a list of innumerable incidences, when I refused the trust and understanding, a relation deserves.

I used to be granted a lee-way of scoring less in academics, with a statement from Dad: "I don't mind you scoring a few percent less, but I would be disappointed to see you fail as human.."

And, I failed.. At a point of time, as human, I failed..

Experiential learning, is that what it is called, when you learn from your own failures?

The story..

"What's the real story??"

I am surprised that there are friends keeping a track of this blog.. Hmmm.. But, there's no story! It might be, that experiences over several incidences, have lead to the change of perspective, but that's all about it!

The transition started long back, realization dawned pretty late. I assume, I've always been a slow learner.. The latest trigger was, just before I left for India in December..

Those few days were the terrible days of my stay in US. Disturbed hours, sleepless nights, haunting dreams, a horrible hollowness in stomach.. It was an emotion, you would not want to feel. Was counting every moment, just to get back.. Get back where? I had no answer.. I didn't want to go back to India.. I didn't want to be here.. I didn't know what I wished to do.. Somehow, pushed every moment, till the time when I had to go for my final exam.. After more than 72 hours without sleep, I land up in that examination hall, scribble on that paper, and walk out. Head home for a cold shower, and then, I need to get ready to go for a mandatory evening, the annual ball of my school..

Heading down the ally of the ball room, into the hall, all "decked up" (that's what my cohort said..), it was a "sheek" look outside, but chaos of emotions inside me! To my surprise, the evening turns out to be great for me, full of laughter and light moments. The ball's over, and we all decide to head on to a bar; to drink, to let our foot loose..

Dim lights, close bunch of friends, lots of people, surmounting chatter, all accompanied with awesome live band. The evening was being shaped perfect, till a moment when something started sinking again, mind started wandering, expressions becoming gloomy.. And, and in this transient emotion, a friend coerced me to the dance floor. It was long time since I had let off my body, just let go off myself.. I am on the floor, a few other people are on the floor too, so is this friend and her boy friend, all enjoying the guitar, and tapping to the beats of the drums. Into this mood, getting absorbed by the music, the energy, the flow of the time; I feel a tap on my shoulder. I look up, and there she is, asking me for a dance. What a pleasure, the evening peak: dance with a beautiful lady. We sway, we move, and I realize, her boy friend is dancing alone. (me) "Hey, don't you think you should be dancing with him instead of me?" (she) "No! Rather, he suggested that I dance with you, cos you are alone here, but we have each other, and will be dancing together later."

................................. My mind is blank. A simple gesture according to her, had made me realize the biggest thing of my life! A boom rang had just hit me.. I was caught unawares.. That moment had changed everything.. That moment made me realize what the emptiness was.. What the fear and the chaos was.. it was at that moment, that I came to terms with my worst mistake, a failure, a loss..

Behind every successful man, there is a woman..

(...continues from the previous post.. the day)

On the day, I sway my hand while walking on the road, and.. I have this ball of white snow, nothing less than fur.. It's a feeling, beyond words.. To feel that fresh creation of nature, and hold it..

I walk in the school, move in to the auditorium.. They are going to show the day, on the big screen.. People slowly start pouring in.. But, I am unaware of any and every one.. I am engrossed in what's happening on that screen. A simpleton, a man who cam from rags of Africa, is going to be sworn in as the most powerful human being! The whole world is watching.. The, "Yes, we can" dream is going to manifest itself in reality in few moments.. All the who's who of the world are crowded on that small patio.. And a melodious symphony starts.. It is a tribute to the change, tribute to new hope and new life.. 5 minutes to noon.. Count down begins.. Symphony is still playing.. AND.. in a few moments, the mike blurrs, and there is an announcement: "Though Mr. Barack Obama has not yet taken the Oath, according to the constitution of the United States of America, he is officially the 44th President of the United States of America.." The Symphony rises to its peak.. The Camera's focus on the brand new, Mr. President, to catch his sheepish smile.. And.. And, there's a small hand that comes from behind, and pats his shoulder.. The hand of Michelle Obama, the First Lady!

The tears meet the smile.. It is a moment to be cherished for ever, not only because of what I am seeing, but because, my mind is back in memoirs.. Around 3 years back.. 26th January.. Climbing down those stairs, with a multitude of emotions playing in my mind. And a hand comes from behind, holds my arm, and there's a gentle pressure!

What's similar? Me and Obama? Not in my dreams.. Then what? It is the understanding palm.. The soothing touch, that drives a man! It is easy to be ambitious, and dream high, but, unless you have that warm understanding palm, that holds you at the right moment, every thing seems difficult to achieve! The palm, that says, "Yes, I know what is happening in your mind. I am there with you.." That one gesture of the First Lady, might have given Mr. President the support and warmth needed for the moment, the strength and the will power he might need, to run not only the States, but the globe!

Back to me, yes.. that is what that gentle squeeze gave me then! And till date, in my moments of despair, it is the memory of that gentle squeeze, that still gives me a power to move, to go ahead.. All through the time, all through this day, through every moment of the day, today, I have had a sublime memory of an individual, who helped me to be me, and who still, helps me live..

Yes, behind every successful man, there is a woman..

The congruence of the things happening on screen, and my memory, dawn upon me, the fact.. The fact that I might meet many more in my life, I might like a few, but I loved one, and I would ever do.. It is that one squeeze, that will get me through, let alone the yester-years, but the future too.. I love you..!

the day..

The day, when history is made.. The day, when dreams are awakened.. The day, when American life takes re-birth.. The day, when an Afro-American is to be sworn in as the World's Supreme Power..!

I woke up this morning, pulled over my window panes.. And.. It was a blanket of white on ever where.. Trees were covered in layers of white.. The wind playing with white pecks.. It was snow.. The most awaited day at Chapel Hill.. The only day of the year, when it snows..!

The day, full of bright Sun, the grey hues of clouds, the whiteness of snow, and the beautiful cheering colours of rainbow.. The way, when tears meet the broad smile, and the confluence creates a sense of pleasure, that is known only to those who have fealt it..

Today, is the day.. the day..

(Read about it, in the next post..)

On Children

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, Speak to us of Children.

And He said:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

- Kahlil Gibran

On Marriage

Then Almitra spoke again and said, And what of Marriage, master?

And he answered saying:
You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when white wings of death scatter your days.
Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

Love one another but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together, yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

- Kahlil Gibran

On Love

Friends, with this, I start today a new series, a post every day.. Posting one of my favorite writer, for you all to read.. I have devoured every word of his, I am sure, you all will too.. And, the credit of this series is, to all the possible sources I found his poems from..

ON LOVE..

Then said Almitra, "Speak to us of Love."

And he raised his head and looked upon the people, and there fell a stillness upon them. And with a great voice he said:
When love beckons to you follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.

Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.

When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course of love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

Kahlil Gibran

[Kahlil Gibran, one of the best selling poets in world history, was born in Lebonan in 1880 and died in New York city, USA in 1931. In a short life span of 50 years, he adored titles of being an artist, poet, writer, philosopher and theologian.)