Life Notes #13.

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I’m not the one on the stage this time, yet the test is mine.

The last life note that I wrote had to do with my entry into public speaking, with me emceeing for one of our corporate events. This one has to do with public speaking too but this time I am putting a lot of other people on the stage, wanting them to enjoy the stage just as I had on that day four months ago. Some of us at office came up with a public speaking forum so that others too got a chance to taste the rush of the stage, overcome the fear of the microphone and find themselves while letting go of the clench of the teeth, the shake of the knees and the sweat in the palms.

To be honest, I am more freaked out now than I was then. Probably because this time around, it’s not me but 30 odd people who are going to be under the scan of an audience that is almost three times the stage-gracers. This is going to be their make-or-break moment, because if we manage to break through their walls of fear together, we’ll make it! I still haven’t figured out why this means so much to me, why I am praying all goes well, why I’d rather keep my fingers crossed till the D-day than uncross them and work on my manuscript. I want each of them to go up there on the stage that day and unveil the magic of their thoughts, perform like they’ve unwound their shackles, unbound themselves from all the chains, like they’ve found themselves. I want to take pride in their efforts and see them take on the stage and world with confidence that shines like the sweat after an innings well played.

Note to self : Making a difference in someone’s life is all about the effort. It doesn’t matter if you succeed or not, though success would indeed be sweeter! What matters is that you tried. Efforts do count, even if not recounted or acknowledged enough.

Graciously Yours!

Scarred.

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I scared you. The knowledge I had of you, scared you. I became the personal diary you never wrote. You could see the ghosts of your past reflected in my eyes, each time you looked into them. I became a reminder of what you were trying to forget. My comfort with you, scared you. You dreamt of coming out of your shell, greeting the world like you used to but the fear of being trampled upon pushed you inside again. You had lost the real you within yourself. You did not want to be reminded of it. Not by me. You thought it was easier to push me away. At least, you could still stay safe in your shell then. You wouldn’t disappoint anyone again. You wouldn’t worry about hurting anyone again. It would be just you and your memories. You wouldn’t have to owe anyone anything again. That was easier, wrong but easier. You chose to hide behind your scars. You chose to leave me behind. I was you. You were me. You chose to leave yourself behind.

Graciously Yours!

Wedding Vows.

As I closed my eyes and settled in the flight seat after three long days and interspersed with possibly eight hours of sleep, I only wanted peace and a blanket. Not even food could keep me away from taking my precious forty winks. But as fate would have it, I spent half of my flight time explaining to my septuagenarian co-passenger why his phone should be switched off during air travel, why the passenger seats were so uncomfortable, and that in-flight turbulence would pass. In return, I now know his investment portfolio and that his son insisted on sending his parents on group tours to temples around the country.

But I am digressing. This post is on a friend’s wedding that I was returning back from. No matter how many weddings I attend, watch re-runs of the famed Indian wedding films, listen to our mothers and aunts recount their wedding experiences, seeing a girl being given away to the groom’s family never fails to run a roller coaster of emotions through me. As each ceremony progressed, the bridesmaids gave way to more women from the groom’s household. Conversations changed content from taking care of the bride to talking about the bride and the groom. Guests walked up to compliment the bride as I stood by making sure she’s well-fed, hydrated and stress-free. Everyone wanted a word or two with her, a note of encouragement, a word of advice, blessings for them both, or just a picture together for keepsakes. Our secrets spilled out, memories increased manifold – now we have too many jokes that only we understand, we came closer as we glided through the spotlight together – heroine and sidekick.

The red vermilion is a Hindu woman’s mark of being wedded, seeped with a prayer of long health for her husband and good health for her own self. That moment after the pheras* when the groom adorns his bride’s hair parting with red vermilion is my personal high moment – the moment of truth when the bride and groom have sealed their fates together, the climax of three days of wedding rituals, the Christian equivalent of ‘You may now kiss the bride’!

She walked in for the pheras* with her brother by her side, and she walked out with the groom holding her hand. He kept her calm, tugged at her hand when she cried, wiped away a tear or two himself as she walked tearfully through her family towards the new family who was waiting for her by the getaway car. No matter how strong you remain, the air is so heavy with the sadness of a girl leaving her parents, the happiness of seeing her off towards a new beginning in her life, the hopes of the marriage turning out to be as long lasting as forever and the blessings that accompany the newly wedded. It doesn’t matter then if you’re from the bride’s side or the groom’s. Emotions override family ties, familiarity is bred in the strangest of ways.

Weddings – the grand Indian ones or even the smallest and simplest ones are steeped in emotions in a way that Bollywood films never seem to encapsulate.

Congratulations to the newly wedded couple! ❤ May life be sunnier, happier and lovelier for the both of you, as your ‘starry summer’s dream’ comes true.

Graciously Yours!

P.S. : Apologies for the delay in posts! Blame it on the sister. She takes up too much of my time when she’s around 😉

*Hindu ritual of  taking seven vows of the marriage in the presence of a sacred fire

Alone, not lonely.

He wanted to soar,

To places that were beyond,

The reach of others,

The fancies of their minds,

The places no one went to,

Because they would be alone,

And that is what he wanted,

To be alone, not lonely,

Invisible, not blind,

Peaceful, not wanting.

He couldn’t explain,

Words failed him,

But the feeling grew stronger.

Until one day, the parrot decided,

To break free and soar.

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The Sun had just risen,

Water bowls were being changed,

The door was left ajar,

The others stared at it,

But no one made a move,

Only he flapped his wings out.

He turned to see, the cage that

Looked smaller from afar,

Their red beaks and green wings,

Becoming dots in the vastness

Of what he saw.

And that was his moment of truth,

When he was invisible, but not blind.

Graciously Yours!

In the city.

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Looking into the past through time…

Yesterday, while travelling in the city, I came across a cabbie who’d creatively put his watch on his rear view mirror. No hassle to keep checking the time, right? Well, I see it differently. Maybe it was his way to look back through time. Ain’t it?

The sight set my thoughts rolling. I started thinking of the past year I’d spent in the city I still haven’t been able to call my own. What would I have done differently? One thing for sure. Explore more of the city for what it is, than for what I think it is. I’ve always associated Bangalore with malls, restaurants, pubs and a lack of street lights! Well, I’m not entirely wrong because yes, that’s what you find at every corner, every cross in each damn area! But there’s more.

I saw a different side of the city yesterday. Urban theater –  a terrace of an office building transformed into a place the aesthetics of which exuded a calmness and freedom that transported me into a world far away from reality, in a good way. The trees in the surroundings looked prettier, the skies felt closer, the Sun softer. The walls were painted over, quotes written in the choicest of corners, paintings and crayoned papers hung around. Tango, salsa and yoga class posters were hung around. Yoga mats were piled up in a corner. A month’s schedule written in hand pinned up beside a Harry Potter quiz sample questions. My, my! The sample questions were so difficult, I wondered what the D-day paper would be like!

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And the stage is set!

We settled in bean bags, on beer crates, in plastic chairs, floor mats, basically whatever you could lay your butts on, while the play went on. An interactive audience, giggled smiles, a spunky 44 year old female volunteer and a charming cast and producer! There was something artistic about the people too – the coloured hair on the women, the long hair on the men, the casual and carefree dripping from the skirted women and kurta-ed men. This felt like an out-of-Bangalore experience.

I’d want more of this. And less of the no electricity, no water, no street lights, malls, restaurants, pubs Bangalore.

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A personal storytelling session in progress — Picked from Google.

Graciously Yours!

Valparai Tales! Part 2.

Contd from…

As I sweat in the Bangalore heat, while doing absolutely nothing apart from just breathing, which you would all acknowledge is a very crucial, and from what I know the most important factor for our existence, I think back of the vacation I recently took. And promised a second post on.

In my mind, as I say the word, Valparai, I close my eyes to be welcomed to memories of our four wheeler rushing through the short winding roads through hills, while green stems and young branches fell out of line by the side of the road, swaying to greet us. We are rushing past them, honking at each hairpin bend, serpent turns, waking us out of the slumber of hill travel every now and then, fascinated by the depths which greeted us to our right and the heights which beckoned us to our left.

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Oh the twists and turns! More than a Jodi Picoult book.

I see a kaleidoscope of butterflies pass us, yellow this one. My reflexes are too slow to brandish the phone camera for a shot of them. I simply close my eyes to capture the moment. Sometimes, I wish I had a pensieve to keep these memories untouched. But in its absence, National Geographic will have to do. The Sun, which at the base of the hills was unforgiving, seemed to be playing hide and seek with us as we travelled upwards closer. The clouds ran helter skelter, giving us a peak a boo of the scorch every now and then. It was almost lunch hour when we reached the outskirts of Valparai and unbelievable as it may sound, or read, there was rain, just like Google weather had predicted! Bless technology and the genius minds that worked behind it.

Valparai is so untouched by commercialization, that it was difficult to find a place to stay. We ended up finding a place that seemed like it had been vacated after its occupants had packed bags and moved to the city for better earnings. They offered us a single room for ten people when actually advertising as a home stay! I wondered how the others would react for I was already prepared for a little adventure. Standing at the crossroads of the little town, I sighed audibly with relief when I looked up at the three storeyed building, catching the occupants of the top floor room, my friends, look out at the tea estates as far as the horizon permit, with enthusiasm and unwavering excitement.

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If there was audio, you could have heard us singing too!

The evening that we spent there has to be my most memorable in quite a while. Walking through tea estates, and (this time) long winding roads, with no vehicles to honk at us, no bikes to rush past us, no traffic at all, paradise was not even on my wishlist then. We sang as the sun set, clicked photographs of trees that formed patterns different to each of our eyes, posed by the side of the road wanting  to post pictures online but never doing so, because we knew words would fail to describe the serenity we felt then. And we also didn’t want to lose those minutes buried in the phone. That says a lot about the place, doesn’t it? We saw people though. Some smiled at us knowingly, others gave us a pass, ignoring us as a brief little intrusion in their small town. A shopkeeper asked us our religion, offering a temple, mosque or a church to visit around accordingly. He chatted with us for over five minutes, but did not once try to sell his wares to us. So much for calling it a small town.

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Bouquet of flowers, a friend calls it. Anyone knows what these are called?

Graciously Yours!

Nostalgia.

evszefhAs I stood by the the window of the balcony, my nose was pressed to it, my breath frosting the glass around my lips, I saw the winds outside swirling, droplets of water being bullied into submission, lights from the night lamps streaming through the air, making the paths of water borne air above the road, visible.

I yearned to step outside of my house and go play basketball in the rains, with the people below, kids I presumed. Their shrieks of delight floated uptil a dozen or so floors above. Instead I did something better.

I slid open the windows of the balcony, that kept the water borne winds out and was welcomed to winds so cold, no air conditioner could compete, the freshness of ice and spring combined! The hair at the nape of my neck stood in attention, out of excitement.

Back home, whenever it rained, torrentially as it was looking to today, my sister and I would sit at the window sill, legs hanging out into the dark, lightning flashing us time and again, shrieking in delight at every wave of wind that whipped through us.

As the water hit me, wave after wave, I shivered in excitement, and cold, but nonetheless not agreeing to go back inside! After all, the heat of so many days needed more time with the rains to sod off!

Staring up at the skies, blinking at every lightning flash, I felt the water seeping to the roots of my hair, the sides of my neck. I stood with my arms by my side, shaking but not willing to go into the house again. I looked down at my feet after a while. I was soaking wet from the top to bottom! Giggling, rubbing my arms, I slid the balcony windows shut, greeted with warmth in the hall. I’d missed the rains. I missed my sister more now.

Graciously Yours!

Raw emotions. Inked.

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