It is amazing how a little human being with tiny feet, pink cheeks and hair like strands of silk, can make a singer out of anyone.
The beauty of singing for a child is in its spontaneity. You have no idea whatsoever of what you’re singing; you just start ‘la-la’ing off to make the baby stop crying. And when it seems to work, when the frown is gone, and the eyes shift focus on to you, or close peacefully in slumber, you suddenly realize that the gibberish you sang was really a tune. And you sing it again and in loop. Right then, at that point, you become a singer. No matter how harsh a voice you think you have, when the baby in your palms will start to cry, you will sing. And that song will be the most beautiful, because you will have no idea of where the song came from, and you will want to sing it again and again, just to re-experience the joy of having relieved the divine little being of its restlessness.
Don’t show up three times, and people will stop asking.
I haven’t shown up for an awful lot the recent years – not to the gym, not to my team’s outings, not for a few friends’ weddings…and the fine is too huge!
2016 was about realizing how just very few people really miss me, and crying a little bit about it. But then it dawned on me: How’ll they miss me if I’m never there?
I’m sure we all say no to a lot of things, we have our own priorities set. But when one or more of the forts of friends, family or the personal self is crumbling, it is surely time to re-assign the priorities.
2017 is that year for me. I have seen forts cracking in their pillars. Forts of personal, professional, financial and social forts. (Yes, ALL of them.) I need to renovate a little – by showing up, by catching up with lost opportunities I still miss today.
And showing up doesn’t mean being everywhere – it means showing up for what or whom you care.
It means being there for those few people, to whom your presence has no substitute.
Tonight when I come home, darling…
we’ll switch off everything, save the darkness…
Two glasses of red wine,
your glowing eyes and mine,
will go searching in the skies..
For stars in disguise..
Then we’ll talk about the passing of life…
and how everything fits in perfectly fine…
Two more glasses of red wine,
your embrace and mine…
and we’ll beautify the skies..
With the stars in our eyes..
I rode to work in a vintage Indian chariot today.
Or at least, that’s how royal I felt in the cab.
The old cabbie was no extraordinary driver, the cab wasn’t a luxurious sedan, nor was the weather any better than yesterday. Continue reading “And the roots danced..”
“Lost love is still love. It takes a different form, that’s all. You can’t see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it.”
~ Mitch Albom
It breaks my heart to have parted ways with so many dear people…people that used to be such a tremendous source of belonging in my life. I don’t know what the future brings, whether these paths might converge again, but I cherish them, I miss them sorely, and I send them love.
In the car, I made a bubble with a bubble gum. On the street, he made a hundred with his bubble guns..
He didn’t sell any bubble guns, but he beautified the scene… And just as the traffic cleared, and I saw him walk by, I saw his last bubble.
And I burst mine.
– If you were to wake up tomorrow with only the things you were grateful for, would you be satisfied?
– If money didn’t exist, would you still be doing what you do for a living?
– If every word you said would get inscribed on your skin, what words would you speak?
– They say that it’s likely that at least one person thinks of you every night before going to bed. Do you know who that could be in your life? Do they feel loved in return?
– What if, with all the good and bad stuff that makes your life right now, life is just as good as it gets? What if you wake up every day for the rest of your life living today over again?
“Ask me questions. I love your questions.” he said.
And he loves answering them. Especially when they are about the universe, about the stars and the planets, about evolution and everyday science.
I’m baffled, most of the times. I find that I know very little about this world after all. Things that seem so obvious to me, are not so obvious.
His revelations amaze me, and sometimes, I so want to stick to my beliefs, and he so wants to stick to the facts, that we have an argument, a fight. Over science. That’s right.
But whether it leaves me amazed or mad, I learn something.
Maybe sometimes he does, too, when he asks me about non-science stuff.
And that’s how our conversations have grown. That’s how we got interested to talk more and more to each other. Questions. Answers. Amazement. Admiration.
We’ve been the best of friends a long time.
If only we all took pride in thinking for ourselves.
And did not weave our entire lives in order to conform with what has been thought for us.
What if we could envision that this whole world is one big laboratory, the ‘Life’ laboratory, where each of us is born, and we conduct our own experiments, have our own little accidents, and come to our very own findings before we leave the laboratory, just as empty and wonderful as it was?
Continue reading “Freedom from…conformity (The Life Laboratory)”
Picked white flowers fallen on the rain-soaked road on a breezy post-shower evening.
Walked all alone with myself, breathed in the sweet smell of wet mud, and sighed.
As the skies got darker, and so did all the colours of nature around me, I saw the miracle and the life that exists in that changing.
Life exists in changing.
I was alone, and I felt safe in my arms and in my mind.
I looked around, and for a moment, I felt like an invisible particle of the universe, something that existed only to observe and rejoice in the observation.
Then when I closed my eyes and looked nowhere, I felt that what was inside me was the centre of the universe.
I held those flowers together in my muddy hands. I felt the graininess of the moist soil on my fingers. The graininess, that which I came from.
I saw with magnifying eyes, traces of earth, black and brown, sprinkled and smeared across those pretty little whitelings.
What beauty in imperfection! I thought.
I caressed their petals, as the thought caressed my soul.