Kashmir's homeless

There is a cold wave sweeping across the north. I watch the temperature dropping every night in Kashmir. Srinagar moved from minus 4.6 degrees to – 5 degrees. How cold would it be in interior remote areas of Jammu. They showed a snapshot of Drass in NDTV. People said the snow comes upto the first floor of the houses and that smaller villages have no PDS or doctors.

It is bad enough for them every winter. This time with millions homeless, just how many are going to survive this chill. The earthquake has taken away the security out of people's hearts and lives. Nature is set to again test their capacity to endure. I fear not many can. How will they endure the cold wrapped in mere winter jackets , huddled inside tents.

My heart fears for the red cheeked girl child, I caught a glimpse of on NDTV. Her face remains in my heart. Will she be able to beat the cold? Will she live, have a life?

Opening up

Join your hands together
Go on say a prayer
Unlock all the burdens in your chest
With a breath and whisper
Surrender them all above
Something exists not seen
so learn to give and most importantly to receive.

Travelling around

Just read Mridula’s piece about her trip to Goa on GoNomad. I and Sajju were planning on taking that very same YHAI trip, but never did.

We both keep talking about travelling in India. But somehow all our time seems to just go in visiting family back home in Bombay and Pune. We travelled so much while we lived in the US. That’s the teeny bit trouble about living in India. I am so emotional about family all I want to do is be with them and then I sulk that I don’t get to travel. Slowly but steadily am trying to change all that. We did goto Ajanta and Ellora as well as Matheran this year! Next year I hope to travel more. There is just so much to explore in India. Each state with its own unique topography and social customs. I know if I want to visit each state in the country and understand just a little bit about them all, this lifetime won’t be enough. Maybe I’ll start with a dozen unvisited states first. What say?

Being inspired and doing good

There is so much that inspires me. So many people that I see on the TV or read about or have had the fortune to meet. People who in their simple ways have created profound impacts.

Recently on oprah, (an old rerun) they ran a show about women you must know. Featured it in was Sabriye Tenberken. Blinded at the age of 12, she stood as a stellar example of what moral fire can do. While studying for her masters she helped develop a Braille script for Tibetian. And then at age 26, she went alone to Tibet and set up the first ever school there for blind children, travelling across the country alone. She has helped establish Braille Without Borders, a NGO that works in Tibet and is in the process of establishing an International school in India to train blind people to help establish their own organizations for people with blindness and other disabilities.

It was just so wonderful watching her speak on Oprah. She spoke for all of two minutes and they featured her organization for about 5 minutes. But it was enough to make me admire tremendously her gut and instinct. Faith can work wonders. All you need to do is believe. But isn’t that what we let go off firstly? We stop believing in ourselves and it is from that juncture, when you stop believing in the possibility of the potential within you that life goes haywire. All other actions are justified on the basis on that disbelief in your own inherent potential.

But does it truly matter if you impact one life or one million? Does it gain you more good karma if you give more good to people you don’t know rather than your own people? Is it more important to go through your life not harming anyone or anything or is it more important to do something in your life that positively changes thousands or maybe just tens or hundreds of lives. How do people figure this out? Me, I am still trying to find my path. Meanwhile all I can do is to ensure I am true to me, good to the people around me and do my utmost for the ones I love and whom I have the opportunity to serve. But some strange restlessness prevails, always does. Watching people like Sabriye and my CF friends though makes me believe, in me and in the potential of others.

Old or new words?

I was tempted to pick my diary up and just post something that was already there previously but I resisted my errant impulses. What is there in the diary, I already know. The joy of this blog is in me discovering the new words that pop out of my mind and err.. fingers as I sit and type. I never know whats coming next. It’s a game of cops and robbers. I wait and they don’t arrive. I sigh and pause and suddenly then my fingers start flying wildly down the keyboard, trying to outdo my mind.

I have been introspecting extensively lately, when I am not working my back off (That’s the only part of my body that’s getting worked out currently, as I sit in front of the comp all day long. My mind too off course. He he.) I am a little more at peace with myself offlate and apparently that’s showing! I feel better and have been told I look better (Hurray!)

This happens to me in cycles. Though I am so stressed about something things, I have this sense of purpose and calm that tells me this too is something I am meant to deal with. A few days ago I got bold and submitted one of my short-stories to a literary magazine. I don’t care if I get a rejection slip (yeah .. right like I wont sob my hearts out), I am honestly glad that I found to courage to move beyond my block and face rejection if needed. I have been a journalist and writer from long. Now I am a communications specialist. It was time I faced my fears, chased my dreams and checked if I was any good as a fiction writer (No, I don’t write Jackie Collins style romances).

The colour in my mind right now is a bright fresh green. The colour of fresh blooms, of newborn grass, of blossoming optimism.

I am still here

There is no way to instil discipline in myself, is there? I don’t know what it will take to make me stick to regular blogging. A huge blog traffic maybe? Ha ha. But I love this. Though I do feel I am talking to myself, it’s a lovely release.

I have been upto a lot in the past one month. Work has been a discovery with its ups and downs. Had a lovely week in Bombay for Diwali with family and friends though. Sairam has become as impish as can be and I came back depressed as can be. I hate living away from my family and to come back to this cold? Its freezing here in Hyderabad. Temperature last night was apparently around 12.5 degrees. It surely wasn’t as cold as it was last year, this time around.

But I am running away from words again. But my pictures can speak right?

capturing sunsets

I love sunsets. They fascinate me tremendously. It is nice to see something so bursting and blinding white, suddenly get all fiery red and then mellow down to a feisty orange and later a lovely golden yellow. Sometimes the sunsets are brooding against the grey of the clouds, but when the purples, pinks come they are joyous; such a variety.

My balcony overlooks a concrete jungle. But its only saving grace is the sunsets it allows me. Somehow if I am home I never can resist capturing them on camera. Strangely though, the best sunsets I have seen till date are when there have been no cameras around.

“She is shy; reserves her best for when no one’s clicking.
For the moments when you truly marvel at her splendour
And savour her flavours in the sky
Are those captured with the camera within;
when you gaze awestruck at her beauty captivated
capturing her, only with the blink of your eyes.”

brothers are the best

In a nostalgic mood right now.. This is one of my favourite snaps. Taken a month after i went to the US, when i left husby dear and went to spend time with my brothers. To make up for my ache for the western ghats, they had organised a camping trip nearby on the shores of the Delware river, PA state. it was my first ever American camping experience,( you get to sleep in sleeping bags and have a tap outside to wash your face in! and a Loo!). Kinda missed my indian bushes though and Shivaji Maharaj's water tanks.. But well, Had fun camping, was terrified river rafting ( if it wasnt the water i was scared and yelling about, i swear andy and vinu would have pushed me into that very river). But at the end of it enjoyed every moment of the rafting too. what a thrill!

Actually, dont have any other snap actually with only me, andy and vinu in it. While growing up always felt that I cant live with them, and cant live without them. Now am forced to live in away from them in a different country. Damm this software business... yeah yeah just missing them a lot... Call me you idiots. its been ages..

When your life changes

Do you change with it?

The answer for many is an obvious yes. But I beg to differ. It isn’t always so. When I got married and my life changed overnight, I wasn’t ready to change myself and accommodate everything new that life had brought to my doorsteps. I wasn’t ready for the new country, new city, new food habits, new lifestyle habits, new people, new prejudices, new fears and even new love. So everything around me moved in a whir and I stubbornly remained mournful and aloof. Refusing to change with the world around me..

I don’t know how and when but I realised the futility of what I was doing and how unhappy it made me. I changed myself internally and began to love what life had presented me with. Of course I didn’t have the time to get too comfortable with US, the Fremont county library, Lake Elizabeth or the wondrous San Francisco, life changed yet again and we came back to India. Rampaging endlessly between Pune and Bombay, I landed at Hyderabad. Some more changes and another job and then again changes!

There seems to be no such thing as constant in my life. But I am determined now to even learn to enjoy the butterflies in my stomach and the fear I fight when I encounter change. But this time I am enjoying the thrill of new found love, of a work I have been eager and restless to do for eons.

Am changing jobs, from Information and Communication technologies for Development to only communications- my area of strength and passion. Only now I get to finally work with an NGO which believes in advocacy as much as I believe in my words. Something I have wanted to always do but never got the chance too.

Come Saturday, I start work at the Foundation for Democratic Reforms – popularly known as the Lok Satta Movement (no, not the newspaper folks), founded by Dr. Jayaprakash Narayan. weblink for Lok Satta is here.

Am restless, am excited, am nervous all at once. Something tells me this is a chance for me to learn. That I am somehow treading closer to what is ultimately going to change something inside me forever. If NISG was an eye-opener to government and its potentials, possibilities, as well as the inherent dormancies, bureaucracies and powerplays, Lok Satta I am hoping will finally help me to work with the focus being in governance reforms. It is I believe like poking a lazy elephant with a needle, initially it may not even feel the needle, but when you stab it again and again at the same point with a needle it may finally feel something sore and then the pinch.

Lok Satta fascinates me because for once rather than telling people I am here what can I do for you, it will give me the chance to tell people, you know what to do, let me help you realise your own potential. It is teaching a man how to fish and not feeding him for life.

World's Greatest..

buildings, roadways, waterways, natural wonders, holiday spots. resorts...are the titles of some travel programs telecast in the US. We remembered them a couple of days back and again marvelled at the fact that only occasionally did a place or two outside the USA, make its presence felt in that list.

One honour the media there truly deserves, world's greatest ego! Or maybe I am being too bitchy. Maybe the travel channel guys there are well, just less-travelled, and do not know the world outside USA. I shall give them the benefit of doubt.

After the long absence

Thanks to : Travels to Bombay and Pune, increased work load, resumption of reading and sheer laziness.

After making an unspoken vow for abstinence from blogging (was getting to addicted to reading blogs and trying to make mine look better!), I decided to finally get started again. Can’t really stay away from blogging for long.

Quick updates:

Am changing jobs to work with an NGO ( finally!) and I visited Matheran after 3 ½ years during the 15 Aug holiday weekend and discovered I don’t recognise the place with so many people around.

Some quotable quotes:

A colleague at work lamenting at the lack of salary revision mechanisms:-
“Salaries should be linked to petrol. They should increase proportionately with petrol rates.”

Truer words cannot be spoken. Anyone listening?
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And while on salaries, another one:-
‘Work done not must be proportionate to salaries earned’

As a reminder to my belief that software professionals are overpaid (But money is always good, I know. At least someone at home should earn.) But also conforms to my moral dilemma as to why, how and when did the importance of manual labour reduce. Why are people who do such work treated as lesser human beings. Is brain-work overrated? If my office boy didn’t come for day one, the CEO, VP and all would suffer terribly. Imagine them having to go make their own coffee, clean their loos and clean their lunch plates; unthinkable no? As a woman I know how terrible my mood is the day the maid doesn’t arrive. One day is ok but two, oh my god! Eh, me and my rambling.
..................................................................


the third:
‘If you do not know where you are, you will never know where to go’

Dear me. Constant reminders of where I am, is important. Be is physically, mentally or emotionally. Only when I am aware of now, can I think/plan/ act for the future.

...................................................................
Back to the present. (See how aware I am). Work calls. Gotta go.
(The format of this post should be evidence enough about the number of reports and documents I have been churning out.)

My paper on communications

Discovered a couple of days back that my paper on ‘Communications for Development: Creating a Communications Strategy’, which was first published in my project Newsletter in the i4d magazine, is going to be republished in the Journal of Rural Development published by National Institute for Rural Development (NIRD). It is available online here. After more than a 100 published articles, this paper’s republication in the NIRD journal strangely feels more like an achievement. Clap for me!

I have often encountered people with such a closed attitude when it comes to making some changes in the way projects are usually implemented. New threatens not only the people for whom the projects are being implemented but even the organizations who often tend to prefer a ‘we know it all’ approach. It is hard to get some new or rather different idea or approach noticed. Have seen so many people crib that projects aren’t well documented, but when systems aren’t there, how can documentation take place! Instead of just talking I decided to research and then write. Got to also thanks some feedback I listen to from people who had lotsa problems getting media to pay attention to their work and hence the media relations box. Anyways I'm keeping my fingers crossed now...Read it and let me know how it is.

Whose responsibility are they?

On the Banjara Hills road which goes towards Hitech City, at Hyderabad, there is entertainment to occupy your attention while the traffic signal turns red. Some street children, some of them remarkably fair and beautiful (which makes Satya think they might be from up north), have taken to performing acrobatics on the street. They park themselves in front of vehicles as soon as the signal turns red and do somersaults or wiggle their hands behind their backs in weird ways. I dislike giving money to children, biscuits and food passing being better options in my head. Last week I dug my hand into my purse to find any change but couldn’t manage to get any before the signal turned green. Yesterday I gave two delighted kids, Rs.4 they scampered off with.

I remember the kids at Hamara Club in Bombay Central. Run by TISS, the visit to their centre had been part of my social volunteerism course. They had been overjoyed at the attention, as all kids usually are. There was little to distinguish them visibly from regular kids for they all looked like kids who had been out in the sun playing for long on a dusty day. But their tales set them apart. Leaving home because Mummy scolded, no food at home anyway, the 3 yr old twins who refused to go home, one who’d like to but cant remember home as he was too young when he left, with blackened knees and cracked skins, they had worn their best. They showed their paintings and boasted about their wounds. Look said one tot, pointing to a wound on his leg, 26 worms came out. He gladly mistook my look of shock and disgust for one of hero worship, and whispered to his pals that Didi thinks its mast. They smoked bidi and sniffed glue for addiction to kill hunger. 90% of them worked in the long-distance trains that plied from Mumbai Central. They roamed the world like they didn’t care, but always came back here. I had left with promises I’d go back instead I wrote a story that lies unpublished in my comp like all my other short stories.

Suresh always sent me pictures each time after he returned from Africa. I felt good while I volunteered for Power of Love (POL), I was getting to do what I wanted, my bit for the AIDS orphans. More than the elders I have always worried about them. Life ends before it begins for them, I thought. Then after POL realised that it doesn’t have to be so. Sub-Saharan Africa shook my soul. The situation in India scared me. Today we are not far behind. I wrote poems about those children (which are also lying unpublished in my comp).

Some of those children on the street will be AIDS orphans, wont they? But why am I thinking of all these kids now? I know, its because I am disgusted with myself, not them. As strongly as I feel about doing something for children apart from a few stray interactions and donations I am not doing much. And I feel guilty deep down for it. But thankfully above the emotion good sense prevails, I know I have time, I am only 25 now. I dont know if its my responsibility or no? But I feel like its mine. And your. And everyones. To do something for the,m in whatever capacity. I know, this is a burden, I won’t die carrying.

(Girls in the pics are students of Primary students at Patepuram,West Godavari District,Andhra Pradesh,India)

Media n Mumbai Rains

Dilip wrote,

I commented: “Interesting that you should pose the same question that I and my friend have been arguing about on chat for the past hour.

I dont think any layperson would take the trouble to let the media channel know, it has been playing dirty by reusing old footage. The ones who do will in all probability never find their letter featured on letters to editor or the channel.

Ethics does matter but only to the few nicompoops like me who wring our hands in despair and crib about how media can be so manipulative and feel ashamed to be part of the bandwagon. Then I remind myself at least I am not like that, read your blog and feel good there are still some for whom ethics matter.

All this sure got me in the mood to write now. Read my blog for more on this.”

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I went to Bombay on Saturday by bus of course. The trains had decided not to venture into unknown waters. Despite a sleepless night aboard the bus, I reached Vashi in record time. The Pune-Bombay Express Highway was strangely at its best; no traffic, smooth roads. Except for the bumpy ride as I neared Taloja road and Kharghar, I had no issues. It continually rained but wasn’t very different from the usual Bombay rains. Once at home I switched the TV on and saw mayhem. Drowned cars, homes and people; loss of lives, livestock, property and mental peace. I looked out the window again, all was well here, but apparently somewhere else in Bombay it was not. Except the brown muddy water that came from the taps (when it did come), and some minor electricity cut hours, nothing seemed amiss. But the images had got to me and I spent the day subdued talking over and over with all about. One family friend came home to a floating fridge, most couldn’t go home, one cousins spent the night walking, another spent the night in the car, some relatives furniture was destroyed. Luckily no-one was the worse off for it.

The next four days I was amazed by the same images flashing repeatedly on the screen.
The rains in Bombay had calmed down by a great degree, but the news images showed no sign of letting up. Mahesh Bhatt wandered around on some TV channel asking people about their experiences, someone’s home in Juhu and a producer who has incurred a big loss. Eh? And then there were others who focused only on the low lying areas which get flooded every single year. News papers and channels mourned about Mumbai’s demise with the rains as the next shangai and golden city. Let Mumbai be please! That much of rainfall could throw Shangai into disarray. Channels kept repeating their footage of people rowing in boats even when the downpour grew into a drizzle. Look closely people, someone was walking in calf height water as these guys rowed by! Are we truly that foolish? Apparently we are.

A friend (J) and me have been having a healthy arguing for the past hour about media and manipulations, about objective reporting and biased journalism. Most people do not question what is being offered to them. They accept what they see as truth. The images in the TV resulted in many offlines/ SMS’s to me asking me if I was ok. People couldn’t believe that Mumbai was ok because the TV stations would give up. It would be wishful thinking wouldn’t it to hope that media moves beyond the moolah. Unfortunately most programming today by news channels resembles a real-life soap opera, which highlights a lot and focuses on nothing.

I asked J to define news for me. Now suddenly I am at a loss about what news is and journalism is. Gangadhar Sir, taught with great emphasis Principles of Journalism and ethics in journalism during my PG. Am reminded of the passion in his voice and the rush I felt. Objective journalism, unbiased reporting, ethical writing: all are mere terms with no real value? Sometimes though it does seem like a futile fight by a few to voice what is easily drowned in the advertising and competing chaos, I beg to differ. I am sure to give a damn hard try to stick to some principles which many believe are useless in this world today. Call me old-fashioned, but can’t change the way I feel.

Death of the coin

On our way to work, we stopped by at the usual roadside garage to fill air in the tyres. The 10 year old boy, after giving me a leering look, proceeded to check and fill air. Though there is over Rs. 30 in change lying in varied purses back home, we struggled to rummage the needed change to give the boy. Three Rupee 1 coins and four, 25 paise coins were finally discovered and given to the boy. The conversation then, went something like this.

Boy after checking the change- “Its five, not four”

We grumbled and dug around for Re. 1 more, fully aware that it was five. Ahh, a coin.

Boy once again counting: “It has four chavannai (25 ps coins). Wont do’

Satya (surprised): “Why?”

Boy (rolling his eyes and trying to look incredulous, all at once): ‘Cause no one takes it anymore’

Me (trying to sound dumb): “But there are four coins there, that’s one re.1. You can easily give that to someone.’

Boy 9 (not convinced): ‘Na one, one uses 25 paise coins anymore.’ (looks at us like we are from another planet)

We didn’t know India doesn’t use 25 paise coins anymore. When was the last time we used change here, er, hmm.. No memory of giving coins 25 paise coins. Gasp! We were in another planet!

Satya (prince to the rescue): “Then how come we have it?”

Boy (at loss of words): “ Nahi chalega Saheb, wont do”

Satya (glad at stumping him): “If it wont, thenn give it back to us the next time we fill air here”

Me: “I am glad he didn’t throw it back at us.”

Satya: “Well we shocked him there. Was too stunned people use 25 paise coins”

(end of conversation)

Hmm. Do any of you still use 25 paise coins? I am thinking of adding the few I have to my coins collections.

Speaking Out

A conference I attended earlier this year was filled with people from varied backgrounds, all of whom were present to speak, share, talk and discuss their views and thoughts on gender and the information society. It was the first of the kind seminar that I had attended and was suitably impressed by much of the discussions and the people I met. I expressed my desire to many about contributing more in whatever capacity to the sector and my views were enthusiastically received. Till I realised all were just nodding their heads and following a much followed routine. Smile condescendingly at the bubbly upstart and send her off to someone else to talk to.

The development sector hampers much on upliftment of the downtrodden, removal of poverty, catering to the marginalization, improving governance etc etc. And in the process it marginalizes and ignores many educated citizens (not necessarily in English) who may nurture the desire to be a part of the growing momentum of change. Opportunities for new-comers into this sector are few. You can weave your way in but only if you have an academic education to back or gleefully indulge in idol worship. It is without doubt the domain of a selected few who circulate the same message in various conferences around the country and globe. The role of such leaders who possess a higher vision and policy approach cannot be disregarded but the pride and ego that accompanies their activities is quite hard to swallow. The influx of information and communication technologies for development has become another sector within the arena for development that has a few who talk about the poor and laugh with the rich. Rich maybe not monetarily, but rich in words, work and mostly friends.


Sadly the civil society is being represented by a select few who do not speak the language of the laypeople. Reading a normal project communication document or proposal can be an affair that truly tests your brains. The sector is currently all about networking and proving your mettle, but mostly your point. The educated citizen in reality has got lost in this struggle between the torchbearers of civil society and those who cannot afford oil for a lantern.

Where does that leave us citizens who are watching it all but are unable to do anything? Licking our wounds? Isn’t it time we decided to be recognized as a part of this civil society? Or does the civil society only consist of the academic and monetary doers and the mute rural receivers?

No I am not against this sector. In fact I am part of it. But what I’d like to do is actually contribute instead of just expressing the desire. But unless I start my own organization, I don’t see how I can do anything. And maybe that is exactly why there are so many NGO’s? Not only are there millions who need support and encouragement but also thousands who are not finding anyone who hears their voice. Hundreds who possess the desire to reach beyond themselves but who do not find a forum where ideas are not only shared but also aided to reach fruition.

Its time we move beyond working in isolation. Its time we actually shared and encouraged and not just spoke about the need for partnerships. Forging connections does not differentiate between whom the connections are being forged with. Its time half the country who are labelled as youth are made part of the process. Inclusion needs to be redefined, digital divide needs to be redefined for now the exclusion has begun even among the educated among the society.

Who is going to create this change? Not you and me, but we. We can start by speaking out. No matter if all you say doesn’t make sense. Just speak out, and demand to be part of what is being done in your name, for you, be it by the government or development sector.

Mumbai wait for me

Monsoon is when everyone including the rain is going bonkers. So much for my previous post gushing about the monsoon. My plans of going to Bombay tomorrow have literally been washed away. SOB… SOB.. Dad wait for me.. N don’t open those bags till I get there.

If not for me at least for the sake of those chocolates craving to be eaten, god should have stopped the monsoon and cleared the way. Now those poor lil darlings will have to wait to be savoured. Dad is wishing he had stayed on in the US another week and I am wishing the monsoon had chosen the next Tuesday to show its might, at least then I’d be stuck at home in Bombay and not here in Hyderabad.

And on a totally different note, Google earth is awesome. I am getting to revisit US without leaving my chair. Yes, I did sniff a little when I saw Presidio (my ex-apartment complex).

Coming back to the rains, as bad as the situation there is, I want to be in Bombay right now.

Monsoon is

When my heart goes bonkers, when it refuses to get bound by walls or any physical confines. Can I run around arms outstretched feeling each drop drench not only my body but every emotion, wipe clean the slate of life and mind? Crisp and cold, pleasing and teasing, making me lose myself, and disappear in these looming clouds. They don’t daunt me (at least not till lighting goes bonkers and starts her feverish jiggle) and now I want to just get up and go, where I don’t know.

My mind though inside this room, this office, is busy flying far. Seated here I cannot see but can sense the trees outside, the sluggish birds struggling to hop onto the next branch, the grass which is sucking the moisture off the earth’s breast and who playfully waves an arm to call the clouds. The campus is empty but is so alive. I miss those Western Ghats where I discovered my fetish for green. Nature’s best colour, the colour of life. The cheeky blue tries to make her appearance only the puffy clouds pushed by impish winds are faster and dodge her around, smothering her in grey. Matheran, Lohgad, Tikona, Nane Ghat, Rajgad, all come rushing into my brains. Those treks, I relive them each second. Those cute little streams, your music courses in my blood. Monsoon is those mountains, where I find peace, joy, tranquillity.

Monsoon is Bombay, with her crowded streets and the view from my balcony. People huddling below the shop shutters, waving their colourful umbrellas to get the water drops off, drenching themselves and their neighbours more in the process. Monsoon is those children that hop on all puddles on the way back from school and wait by the road corners to let passing vehicles splash water on them. Monsoon is that beggar on the pavement seated on the cement ledge bordering a tree, wearing clothes of plastic bags to keep himself dry. Monsoon is that fluttering black plastic sheet, spread by the painter of signs atop his rack-shop, to keep his name boards dry. Monsoon is the smell of hot pakodas wafting from neighbours kitchen into my nose. Monsoon is those trees outside my window which shed their dusty skins of grey and don on luscious green natural makeup. Monsoon to me is an excuse to eat ice-creams and catch the drops with my tongue before the rain melts them and carries the drops to the ground.

Please tell me reasons why I should stay in this room.

MIT survey for bloggers

A beggar's life

cloth wrapped around
unkempt, crushed, careless; less
to cover the shame, the indignity
which is now worn unassumingly
like a dress itself.

breast struggling to hide
hairy legs streaked with brown dust
running from vehicle to vehicle, signal to signal
marking the territory
for the clink in the begging vessel

eyes pleading, words repeated
an act mastered, spirit undefeated
expressions ignored, sometimes rewarded
turning away uncaring
next vehicle, a new target

a child from nowhere wanders
clings to the cloth less,
protruding stomach, gangly legs
eyes beseeching, inners empty
a slight nudge received, work again begins

drifting through the streets
mocking, laughing, serious or morose
living on the edge of life, society
mocked, shunned yet defining their own norms
living on change, their pieces of life.

J's words

Acceptance is everything
And my god how hard that is

To have the wisdom to accept
things are they are
So much courage, and much of patience
Which I am always short of
If I can move above the "what it appears to be"
To "what it is"
I know then I am improving myself
And my journey with it

-Jean Yao

She writes so well and spontaneously too. Often she casually ends up saying things which make so much meaning. She is a writer but doesn’t really write. This poem was actually short sentences she said during our chat today. I saw them for what they are, let her type it all, edited it and lo a poem.

Created a word: Soul-roots

Well it’s my word, my creation and hence I’ll define it. I checked in dictionary.com to ensure it doesn’t already exist. And it doesn’t! Hurray! (Please this maybe my only claim to fame and don’t put a damper on this lovely thought of mine). Feel free to pass it along freely though. But let it be remembered who first uttered it.

But on second thoughts no one went famous for saying a word, except Archimedes. But I am not running around naked. (Yes, I am aware he didn’t invent the word Eureka. But it is pretty famous and common, thanks to his antics). Hmm. Well I am free to use it, right?
Actually I did and then explained it too. First response was good, so hurray!


Word:
Soul-roots : (Used in hyphenation)

Definition:
Soul-roots is an inner connection struck with a place, people, etc which leaves you with a sense of attachment and déjà vu. Usually used in a positive manner and with reference to people or places, it is a feeling that makes you feel this place, eatable, people etc. has been part of your life in inexplicable ways previously ( for those who believe in rebirth maybe even some previous lifetime).

Example:

1) Maybe my soul-roots lie in India. Maybe that’s why despite the fact I have never visited the country before this, my heart feels like it belongs and wants to live here.

2) Ah, that lecture by Dalai Lama was magical. Strangely I feel so connected to His Holiness, as though my soul-root were a Buddhist.

The paradox: Development sector does development?

There. Finally even Satya has accepted that I am an idealist. I expect honesty and integrity and a dash of ethical behaviour in my area of work and workplace. More often than not this is unrealistic in today’s world!

Increasingly I am offended and disturbed by what goes on in the name of Social Development. If I have to succeed I have to either suck up to everyone, or speak in a language no one understands eg:- Language of development is a parlance that the general public is not familiar with. Thus arises the need for promulgation of grassroots advocacy in a patois that the civil society can understand.

Ok that was a poor attempt. And, yes, now you know why I cannot be a part of the development sector. I can never ever cook up a sentence like that. Sometimes I want to devote my whole life to the cause of simplifying the language used by development sector and governments. I put up a tough fight every time at work and am glad I win sometimes.

But my dears, that is the success of being someone people know and think of as great. A very sensible woman I met in one of the workshops (among the few who actually do good work told me a very interesting thing: Write so no one understands what you have written and speak or write verbosely on controversial topics so people don’t know what you are talking about. It sounds good and so is good. This I have noted time and again I true.

Sometimes I believe the corporate sector with its open discriminations, prejudices and sometimes activities is by far better. At least the pretence is not there. Sustainable development, pro-poor development and many such popular key-words are used indiscriminately. You talk about solutions for people without taking them into the dialogue process. Oh yes dialogue process are there, haven’t you seen the mega- conferences on which lakhs are spent. But where are the people you are talking about? Power, monetary or administrative brings with it, a thought, ‘I know’ and the moment this starts, all is lost. Most projects money never really reaches the person whom it is meant for.

God, I am tempted to write about so much more in this blog. There is so much more I want to say. If only I didn’t have these stupid values I carry inside. But a lot of what I see out there disappoints me. But I also want to do some work that makes a difference to someone. That day will hopefully not be very far away. I am so eager to get back to freelance writing/editing and working for the development sector part-time. I need to find people who really mean what they say and who do what they say. I know that this middle path is the best. I am really not meant to work full time anywhere. If I only write am unhappy, if i only work in the Development sector - all the accompanying nonsense makes me unhappy. So I am going to do both.

Someone give me a job!

Drawing parallels

Sometimes I feel my words are like a prostitute and I the pimp. They have to sell themselves to feed my tummy. But they haven’t gone out there in the world to hook, bait and entice from long. They now have no customers. Maybe they don’t know how to market themselves well and are thus without lovers. Behind the reckless façade, they are vulnerable to let themselves show for no one seems to understand. They are laughed at, mocked but mostly ignored. Will someone come looking for them, I ask myself. Someone come and rescue them from this darkness? There really cannot be any rescuers. This might be their fate. Soon they will be hiding behind a veil scared to even reveal themselves for rejection can take its toll on any soul.

Unless I decide to rescue them now, unless I decide to stop putting a price on their head, unless I decide to start looking for other things to sell; to earn my livelihood. But No, this is my bane. For I know they are worth more. For their sake, I have to believe that they will find their admirers who will come free them, and carry them away to their lovers. For I know I am their lover too who can and will set them free...

I have been alternating between feeling thrilled at finally seeing monsoon arrive and getting irritated at the fate and state of the roads and infrastructure here in Hyderabad. What apathy! I am sometimes disturbed by all I see.

Growing up in Bombay has its own disadvantages. I was at first very surprised to see wires run across from poles to buildings, outside roads, across roads, outside people’s balconies, just about everywhere; in cities like Bangalore, Chennai and now here in Hyderabad. I was surprised to hear from my husband, Satya that apart from Bombay, none or maybe a few cities have underground tube system for electricity cables.

Most political organizations don’t even seem remotely interested to address the hazards that such wires can result it. Last monsoon as I was entering a building, I felt a slight tingle of electric shock in my arm. Shocked (literally) I looked up and saw the maze of wires overhead. Water had dripped from it into my arm? Since then I make it a point to avoid standing, parking etc below such wires. But getting back to what I was talking about, why aren’t people more interested in getting their city in shape.

At a talk, I once attended by Vandana Shiva, she mentioned very casually that digging was India’s national professional. Though we all in the audience laughed heartily at her words, the truth in them is undeniable. Every second some thing is being dug up somewhere in India. Why India, I bet even in this city at all seasons something is on. If you are going to dig up the roads anyway, why not lay some tubes for wires too! I can empathize with people not even noticing this in Hyderabad. Water is a perennial issue. It either doesn’t come or is dirty or is bore-well water. Roads are full of potholes. Who has time to worry about electric wires?

Madhapur, the hi-tech city, of tomorrow has no drinking water pipeline. Most tankers, I hear, are owned by politicians. Is it any surprise there are no pipelines? Supplying drinking water rakes in the moolah like nothing else does here. There are gardens galore, but there are no trees. The ones that are there are being chopped off for wider roads. From my fifth floor balcony, I can count at least 30 buildings and 3 trees. What a ratio. Ok yes those tiny shrubs and hibiscus trees abound in each building compound. But I see them bringing, no rain, man.

I open my window and look into my neighbour’s kitchen in the northern end of the house and into another neighbour’s living room in the southern end. If we each stick our hands out of our windows, we can shake them. Only the west end overlooking a concrete sea is respite. Thank god for the sunsets, else I would be able to survive.

I can’t help but feel this will never change. Someday I fear people wont be able to see the sky. I feel it can only get worse. Satya feels that something major will happen to make it all change. But he feels before that many cities will die and there will be hundred of small towns which will crop up. People, he says, wont go live in cities becauses towns will have it all. Wasnt this the Gandhian model of development?

Hmm. Brain is working overtime today.

Defining joyous freedom

Joyous Freedom: A child on a rooftop, running around in wide circles, face raised in expectation, arms outstretched, with palms welcoming the first drops of rain.

That to me is joy unshackled and letting itself dance. Watching the boy in the neighboring building from my balcony yesterday, for a moment I was jealous. And then I was running with him, reveling in his happiness. Remembering my childhood and hating that I was grown up.

I see outside my window:

I can see the hummingbird,
Trying to evoke nectar out of a dried leaf.
Dried brown branches sticking out in all directions
Gangly like a young boys legs
Only I see in some spots, green bark
Assuring me appearance of youthful leaves.

I can see the distant mountains
Swathed in comforting tickly grass.
The bunch of green shrubs that grow in clumps
Like gossiping woman, heads together
Only I see the patches of brown
Telling me to go meet them, before summer heralds.

I can see the restless clouds
Dancing around to the winds tunes.
Running in straight lines like freshly ploughed earth
Tilled ready for the new seeds to be sown.
Only I see the coming of gray rain clouds
And I know earth will be nourished today, flowers might bloom.

I can see silent roads
Resting against building with empty balconies
Devoid of any human movement, each empty window unadorned
Another unseen stranger’s unheard story
Only I see the plane flying above telling me
It’s only a few days more days before I go home (to India's cacophony).

They whom I admire

Just wanted to write a quick note on all those I have known or seen over the years who have found the courage to do what it is that they truly feel passionate about. I have tremendous respect and admiration for those the people who follow their heart irrespective of what it may lead them to, who trust life and just sail on the ocean without fears or storms.

I think the problem is with people like me who wait for a map and then a compass to fall into our laps. We just live with the desire then and never really set forth on our journey. Well I know its not entirely true for me but it does feel that way. Because I am also seeing many others whom I know and who have the passion for something but are not doing a thing about it because they are on the look out for some miracle. We all wait for our miracles so much. Who thinks of going on knocking on doors, the opportunity is supposed to find you isn’t it? No it doesn’t. See more is not to open your eyes wider but to open your minds wider. To absorb all that goes on around you. And most of the times its not about finding something you love but loving what you do enough to learn from it and then move on.

There is no one thing in life which will satisfy you entirely. Existence has made us out of many different things and we need varied things in our life to make us happy. But are you going to wait for it all? The puzzle does not fall into place all at once; you take a piece and see where it fits. This is what life is about. A puzzle that you solve year by year, piece by piece, experience by experience; to create what you call a life. People around you, the work you do, are the colours of the pieces and when you fit them in by the time you are gone, you create the image of your life; the imprint you are going to leave behind.

I don’t want to wait anymore and honestly I am not waiting. I have seen from people and learnt. What fills your heart matters as does what fills your bank. Some don’t care about the bank and others ignore the heart. Practically though in this world you need both. Just decide the ratio of their importance and go on. Keep trying till you find the option that sates both. Remember both may never get fulfilled but you can strike a balance.

Am feeling quite full, full of love and admiration to the people I do know personally, whom I have met on occasions and whom I now see blooming. Not monetarily successful maybe but more wealthy than many I know because they have the satisfaction of believing, in themselves and their passions. It is not enough that others see the potential in you. To be, you have to believe, you can too.

A tiny hill station in the western ghats

I’m reminded of those red hills that represented freedom; that let me run to them whenever I was assuaged by any emotion that I did not want to deal with or which overwhelmed me. I did not want anything holding me in captivity and so I chose to run whenever I could to those hills with its trees and leaves which often playfully stopped the sky from reaching me. Its fragrant earth is the most emotional smell I have ever inhaled because it holds the power to make me yearn and make me go weak in my knees. The green of the trees was the shawl I wrapped joyously around my carefree heart and the red of the mud, the unsullied passion that makes my being sing and my eyes want to dream.

Matheran is a physical place I visited often, but truly it’s a place which I feel connected to beyond this body of mine. What is it about its hills, peaks, valleys, mist and brown paths that lure me to it, I do not know. In truth, I don’t want to know, I’d rather it be a mystery which mesmerises my soul. So many memories are associated with it, of family and friends. But to me it will always be the place I goto and feel connected, to earth, to myself, to my thoughts, to my calling, to life and all that it holds for me. Musings abound, retrospections go on, mostly a feeling of gratitude and a feeling of joy prevail.

Hope hall: the old British hunting lodge and now a nice hotel; the stall at the main bazaar where you can nibble on hot jalebis and sip tea at 7 in the morning; the garden by the stall where we stayed up all night; the small stream which runs into Charlotte lake; the small trail that goes from the lake to that scenic spot we always went to; Alexander point and how I and Mittz had the whole spot to ourselves as though only we existed on that mountain; how the mist hugged me with joy whenever I went there; Shiva temple which I somehow know I have visited before and no, I don’t mean in this lifetime.

To go to you is my pilgrimage, it is a journey to where I belong. Its time. Three years and half years away is a long time. I have to go again. Soon, very soon.

Boy in the Chai stall

Wrote this in midst of a mind-numbing session. yeah got another nice quote on boredom i came up with. But that'll come later. Am not too pleased with the poem. it requires some tweaking. Anyways here goes.. Sometimes the raw first draft casts its spell on me and though i know it requires work, i hesitate to change it..


Latest bollywood tune on his lips
Swishing the dust cloth , swaying hips
Feet stomping to the radio’s beats
Cleaning tables with irreverent flicks
Customer’s call, him beckons
Weaving through tables, master frowns
The tune still playing in his head
Mindless motions, his hands enact

Water in pan, leaves of tea,
pieces of ginger, a dash of sweet
Stirring the cauldron, sniffing the steam
Some milk in pot, rising tea
Remove the frothy bubbling chai
Moving to music, towards bhai
Changes hands, glass burns the hand
Shatters the music, sparkling pieces everywhere

Slap on the face rudely jolts
Morning pav’s money is now gone
Weaving through the tables, master frowns
Mindless motions, done numbly now
Chai is served, Bhai has gone
Picking pieces of glass off the ground
Bollywood’s tunes slowly filter in
Eyes smile & destroy that slap’s sting.

From the yonder years

19/8/02

“Learn to love unconditionally. Love with conditions is merely appeasing your mind, love without rules is letting your soul rejoice.” I wrote this and then pondered about the nature of love. I first thought that the complexity of heart involved in loving someone was a quandary that solely afflicted those 20 or under. But little did I know that even grown ups who we think have mastered the heart’s consistent whining and persistent demands are still as susceptible to erring in matters of love.

I see some of my grown up friends each struggling to find that person who will bring to them completeness, peace that their soul claims. Each is mentally and spiritually richer than me yet they still have the same yearning that I possessed. I met someone I know will aid me in making this lifetime more meaningful and worthy. But I still do not understand the need we all feel for this love. Sometimes I just want to tell my friends that finding the person does not result in absence of confusion or any emotion that gets you down. Your love can sometime restrict you and bind you. Even when you sense that you are sometimes being an ally in aiding that dependency, rarely do few find the gumption to let go of this clingy need for each other. Personality clashes, different approaches towards situations, personal choices all can disturb the equilibrium. But moving beyond and conquering all that can pull your relationship down is what I consider unconditional love.

Love is a great teacher. It teaches you more about yourself and helps you see yourself more clearly. But it also involves leaving yourself vulnerable. The key is trust. But I am wandering off key over here. The need for love is what I was talking about. Many people committed to specific causes have moved beyond the need for having someone with whom they want to share their passion. Maybe their heart, passion and joy solely lie in the cause which evokes the peace we all need. But its love in some form or the other that drives us all in the end. Love for a cause, Love for peace, Love for enlightenment, love for a person etc.

What do I tell my friends who yearn so much for love, have even taken risks but who have met with disillusionment and yet after a while seek their soul-mate again? Do I ask them to hold on to their faiths or ask them to give up their needs. But one truth I learnt about life is looking out for love is not always the best solution. Love finds you if its time and if its meant to be. Countless have given up the joy of discovering love by compromising. But those who refused to compromise even after years are left yearning. What’s the right thing to do then?

Is there someone in this world who can give you the answers? Yeah, I believe that our soul gives us the answers. We are born with some wonderful habits, the ability to smile and the ability to laugh and be rooted to our truth, inner self each moment and above all love without reason. Laugh we may, cry we may, But we always get love in some form or the other, from someone or the other.

One of those days

When I feel like doing everything but what I am doing right now. And hence I did nothing that I was supposed to and did everythign else but that. Eh, understood? Thats quite how I am feeling. No logic, let go. Finally evening arrives and its time to go home. Just some sprinkling of poetry to spice up the sunset ( yes I am leaving when there is still light outside, Hurray!)

yes is a pleasant country: e.e.cummings

yes is a pleasant country:
if's wintry
(my lovely)
let's open the year

both is the very weather
(not either)
my treasure,
when violets appear

love is a deeper season
than reason;
my sweet one(and april's where we're)

I got book tagged

Yipeee, I got book tagged! Just discovered about this latest blog phenomenon yesterday and the bug bit me today. Well Percy, you didn’t catch me by surprise. I am quite thrilled about writing down this stuff, but it’s also a challenge. Even studying for accounts in my final year was easier. People you cant list your top 5 books. Can I list authors instead? Hmm I need time to compile this stuff. (I take my book reading very seriously. No seriously, I do.)

Well this continues after 15 minutes of serious thought. Now I am up for the challenge.

Total Number of books I have

Don’t have a total count. My books are everywhere in Mumbai, Hyderabad, Pune and even some I left behind in the US (which haven’t arrived as yet). I guess the figure ranges somewhere in 300’s. (I wouldn’t be surprised if it exceeds it)

Last book I read

1) House of Sand and Fog by Andre Dubus III - My friend loved it and gifted me this book. Some of the characterizations are really good. Not a great book. But good enough for a casual read.

2) Story of my experiments with truth by MK Gandhi – It has been on from two months. Since each chapter is a individual story am taking my time with it. I guess it has it has lost its flavor as the book is good only in parts. He has been quite frank and it is interesting to see him speak so freely about himself. He was a mystery and just a figure whose name kept popping in history. Now I can imagine the person he was. Though I don’t necessarily agree with all he says and his practices.


Last Book I bought

The Prophet – Khalil Gibran - The old copy was crying for retirement


Five books that mean a lot to me

Now I thought this involved a lot of head scratching, but suddenly they all slipped out quite easily and they are in no particular order of importance. These are books I can read over and over again.

1) Siddhartha – Herman Hesse
2) Alchemist – Paul Cohelo
3) Ishmael and My Ishmael – Daniel Quinn (Yes, I am going to cite the two books as one for two reasons. One, they are complimentary- if you read one, you just have to read the other. Two, I get to state two more books that mean a lot to me)
4) Tuesdays with Morrie – Mitch Albom
5) Little Prince – Antoine De Saint-Exupery

Ok please let me name a few more, Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemmingway, One and Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach, Notes to Myself by Hugh Prather, all books by Ruskin Bond and some of Osho’s works. (OK I shall stop, but this sucks. I want to name more. Sob sob)


People I’d like to tag

Mitali
Pavi
Rish

There I did it! And learnt how to add external links in the process too. Blogging rocks!

pleasure n pain

I wish I could wrap cotton candy around my eyes and see a sweet sugary world, where all is well. Often I tell myself that suffering is normal that it’s the way things are meant to be and then question myself about why do we have smiles in our lives then. Why the pleasure if pain is the reality. Then I remind myself we need the pain to understand and appreciate smiles. One moment of joy can illuminate weeks and make months of suffering disappear in a heartbeat. One true moment of liberation caused by a joyous heart, can wipe away all traces of tears from memories and mind.

Sairam with his fav pillow


All I need to do is look at him and my heart just fills with joy. My baby, he hasnt come from my womb but tugs at my maternal heart in inexplicable ways. Ok, he is my Mama's (Maternal Uncle) kid but that doesnt mean I cant mother him and spoil him silly. Miracle baby, he is a unexpected gift to all of us.

I have always loved babies. But have never had the chance to experience the emotions that come with having one thats your own. With Sairam, i am getting to live them all. One word of praise and my heart swells with pride. He is the joy in my life. love you, little one.

nature of expression

The true nature of expression is in silence. Words are but superficial décor, unnecessary at times like pink blush on a tender rose bloom. They have their utility but are often overrated.

divine restlessness

Restlessness is a curse and a gift. I suffer from it. I am so confident most of the time, but when it comes to my writing I falter. I just remembered a lovely note my friend Mark once sent me: Martha Graham’s Letter to Agnes de Mille. That letter did wonders to increase my belief in my work. I had forgotten about it. Today I feel the need to read it again. I have places to go to, miles to travel before I rest said someone. Me feels I have miles to travel, rivers to cross before I begin to see what truly lies inside me. For me there will be no rest, only divine restlessness and undulated joy coupled with bouts of grief.. Me, I am going to have life as it is, in all its glory and with all its shallows.


Martha Graham’s letter to Agnes DeMille

There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening
that is translated through you into action,
and because there is only one of you in all time,
this expression is unique.

If you block it,
it will never exist through any other medium
and be lost.
The world will not have it.

It is not yours to determine how good it is;
nor how it compares with other expressions.
It is your business to keep the channel open.

You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work.
You have to keep open and aware directly
to the urges that motivate you.

Keep the channel open.
No artist is ever pleased.
There is no satisfaction whatever at any time.
There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction;
a blessed unrest that keeps us marching
and makes us more alive than the others."

Bombay, Mumbai and me

There were many journeys I took. Most were limited to the geography of the city I grew up in. But I consider them journeys never the less today. I have been so bound by the notion and desire to travel the world (I still do as I write this), but have a sense that whatever the journey maybe, however small the distance maybe, each moment is a journey. Each time I step out of my home, it is on a rendezvous. Life is just so unpredictable isn’t it? There is much I have learnt and experienced in these limited travels within Bombay but somehow I never felt the urge to document all that I experienced. I loved the crowds, always loved writing in the stations, but I never documented those stories. Maybe its time I began telling people about my city of dreams and the city of disillusionment that takes all in its womb.

Shiv Sena wants to stop more people from coming to settle there. There might be some logic to what they say about people living in it from years not having the opportunities and facilities without others compounding to their problem, but I fail to see it. Take the people out of Bombay and what you have is a glittering stone with an empty inside, like the dance bar girls. Full of smiles and sex, dazzlingly all with their make-ups but carrying home with them empty minds and wasted bodies, the woman in them forgotten.

No one owns Mumbai, the city is larger than political might and social ire. Bombay may be Mumbai now, but all mumbaikars are Bombayiets. Everyday the new gets bsorbed into the old and you cannot then differentiate between the two. This city is the epitome of life with the good, bad, ugly and beautiful all woven into its social fiber. Everything co-exists here, the slums and the high-rises, the multiplexes and the sleazy theaters that survive on the moaning C –Grade Indian porn, 5 star hotels and roadside pani-puri stalls, the chic convents and street schools, the fashion streets and shopper stops. True-blue Bombayites don’t differentiate between the two and are equally comfortable everywhere.

Me, I was a middle-class gal, who loved shopping at Lifestyle but had to actually buy my stuff in fashion Street, who loved eating at Bombay Blue but went bersek at Flora Fountain’s vada pav’s and who traveled to amchi matheran on vacations sitting in the floor of the train with friends sipping coke and laughing at the latest episode of friends, sharing the biscuit with the kids who came to sweep the train. Something tells me thats the way I’ll remain till I die, true blue bombayite. Marriage took me away from Bombay but you surely cant take Bombay out of me.

Musical musings

Do you let music make love to you ? Go away from your brain slowly by slowly and let the music course through each part of your body. Tease you, touch you, move you, make you laugh, make you cry, make you feel alive, make you dance, make you feel sexy, make you feel special and loved? I do!!

Now it is difficult to define good music and I guess I consider what appeals to me as good music. But I can’t imagine my life without music. Spent the afternoon working and listening to romantic songs which I hadn’t listened to in long. Managed to discover some good songs that I hadn’t paid much attention to earlier. Sometimes these songs just grow on you. I have even devised my very own way of listening to them repeatedly.

At first something appeals, the music, lyrics, something. The next time I pay close attention to what captivated me in the first place. I close my eyes and often just let it flow through me. Gifts are the songs which manage to capture me both in terms of lyrics as well as words. I can sense each word slowly enter my brain and slowly seep into my heart with each beat, till I subconsciously stop whatever I am doing and sit in one place, eyes closed, mouth silenced, my ears listening, my brain absorbing and my heart feeling. My husband has told me that sometimes I rock to the music unknowingly, sometimes I smile and change my expressions with varying levels of intensity and passion. Honestly I believe its quite natural. you cannot help but let music capture you. Want a tip? To enjoy music best try and always sit between two speakers ( or don on a good headphone) and let the music be louder than other noises in the room. You cannot help but succumb to its will. I have often found myself associating moods to certain songs and that is the power and strength of a good musician. They can wonderfully tap into your emotions.

I have always appreciated creativity. Am addicted to dance but never gave music too much thought or the credit it deserved directly. And so today to all you music directors and lyricists out there, I just want to say you rock!

you n me

My heart is a swing
You ride it freely
Soaring to great heights
Higher than the treetops
Above the people below
Touch the clouds, tickle them.
You are beyond me too

My heart is an ocean wave
You surf along my edges
Teasing, twirling, balancing
Moving with me but always
Above, me and my arms
That crash empty on the sand.
You revel in your antics

My heart is an ice cream stick
You wrap your fingers around
Warm moist your lips
Refreshed at last on a hot sunny day
Melting me, relishing me
Taking all I have.
You leave no trace of me

In continuum to the previous post – the serious part of it

The green hay prettily nods her head to get my attention. Like that girl fresh into puberty eager for men to look at her in awe. I am awed, my dear, by your freshness, by how tender you look, how alive and how happy you are by your birth and age. But I cannot help look at the men and women tending to your whims. You are the reason they are going to sleep with partially full stomachs tonight, under the stars , under the trees, close to you. To you they have to return.

The scene shifts from the grass to the people around her. Most were daily wage labourers, Paid paltry sums of money and probably a grain of paddy at the end of the season. Some of the paddy, I am told, they’ll save, the rest they’ll barter. Idyllic? Maybe not.

I enjoyed my trip thoroughly. Then came back and read a study done as part of the project? Not even close to idyllic. Food and health is still their priority. Good health, work, education, water, is still their worry. How will these computers and video-conferencing help them? Can it? In a land where the great godavari flows showering them with nature bountiful best can you imagine that clean drinking water is a matter of great concern.

I am brimming with ideas but I don’t know how applicable most of them will be. But the tints are off from my glasses. I see things plain and clear. The exhilaration about nature continues but for the people my heart aches. Will the project help them?

I can see Rama, the lady who is a panchayat member. She uses the edge of her sari to wipe her face as she walks besides me. Radiant at being by my side, hiding a smile and not succeeding much at it. She is tickled by my attempts to block the sun out by pulling my dupatta over my head. She has two children (but she cant be much older than me!) They go to a convent school (the village school government school is not good enough. I can vouch for the infrastructure part of that after visiting the school). There are toilets in some houses (of course in the homes if the richer guys. The poor I could visibly see live in the fringes of the village and have neither light nor a toilet), but there is no drainage system in the village. Also the school has no playground, she whispers. Can you help fill the swamp in front of the school? That was the allotted land for the school playground she informs. Now only flies, bacteria and hundreds other germs frolic there, I can see.

How on earth is a computer to help them do that? Isn’t the government supposed to do this I cant help but wonder? Maybe the project could also include a grievance redressal system. Help them talk directly would the local government. Would they listen? What on earth is the panchayat doing with the money? Hey lady sarpanch, Are you listening?

The deeper I look the more questions there are. Computers may help them, video-conferencing may help them. To what extent, I’ll have to wait and see. I have to hold onto the faith that some good will come out of it all. I just hope it helps those tiny tots at the government school who fought so viciously to pose in front of the camera...

when wishes are fulfilled

(c) Anita Satyajit 2005


It was culmination of desires accumulated carefully over years. The desire to move beyond what skill I have got slotted into and move into the platform where I get to do something that might add more meaning into people’s lives.

Working on the script last week I wrote, “When food is a priority there is no time for opportunity.” The situation was befitting of the villages I visited early this week, but for me it was the reverse. Food wasn’t the priority, god has given me all the basics and then some, what I was craving for was that opportunity that’d let me peek and hopefully move into the world which I have been aching to be a part of. I finally got me some opportunity myself.

I visited 6 villages in the West Godavari District of Andhra Pradesh as part of the project site visits. Now after visiting those six, I am greedy and want to visit all the 32 villages which the project will cover.

I couldn’t even begin to image how serene and beautiful the area would be. We breezed through roads that were bordered by coconut trees. Often a canal accompanied us all through the way and in some villages the aqua fields joined the gang to create stunningly beautiful vistas. Farmers were busy at work. Harvesting season was on. All around I could see people working hard toiling away trying to create those houses of hay (as I refer to them. Circular structures, with a cap atop its head. Grain is stored in these structures. Saw people separating the chaff from the hay, storing the hay, transporting the hay. It was harvest time! I was soaking in the beauty and was enthralled by it all.

Some images stay behind. The naked children uninhabited, diving into the canal and swimming in the mossy green; The tiny mud road dominated by the tall coconut trees on either side that met their heads to maybe ponder about us foolish wanderers below; the lady sitting with a child by the road side ( I got their snap), the aqua ponds and the whirring of the water churning machine which was busy oxygenating the water; the view from Patepuram village school roof top, the kids at school jostling for a snap and the four girls who came outside begging for one more, the girls at Ardhavaram standing shyly and their teacher eager and restless to move intellectually beyond the confines of her village...

The more you see the more you observe. Slowly I began to also take in the people working. The sweat streaming down the sometimes bare backs, Women’ blouses dark with patches of sweat, the bare feet, the threadbare houses along the way, plain sheets pulled across 4 stumps and people lunching beneath it. A colleague present said jokingly that they are picnicking. It was a daily affair I commented. But were they?

Go the very river

The river of life, she is
the mother of the trees, friend of the fields
Daughter of the rains and mistress of man

Her dress of many colours
She wraps around; weaving her way home
Through whatever her lover leaves for her
After he has claimed his right

Blossoming in places, she finally laughs
On the faces of the children
Swimming in her bosom
Glorious she nurses,
her breasts full and flowing

Cajoled to change her dance
Labouring to give her all, squeezed often she is
to her last ounce of purity.
Spreading her legs, she lets her man
Taint her, leaving only grey murk behind
His pain, his ills and his life

Nature’s gift, she is cursed by her man
Unmindful she moves on
Giving all she can, receiving the grime
Yet purifies and cleanses the sins of man
Who worships her, plays with her
And often carelessly her virtue and limpidness, destroys.

I'm in Love

I am so much in love. With his cute little hands and the way they are always curled and closed as though he is scared someone is going to read his hands and read his future, his eyes which show recognition when he suddenly smiles at me, at his cute little stomach that goes flat when he is hungry and is like a round balloon when he has just had his fill, his smile and his wails which express his confusions and some strange sorrow, his sighs while he sleeps ( what bothers him as much) , at the way he so happly peed all over me..

My dearest darling Dhruv, My baby ( actually my mama's but feels like mine). The newest entrant to my family.. he comes after 17 years of mama and mami's marriage and so truly is a mircale baby. The way we all gush over him ( god he is going to be spoilt!).

I love you baby and you know where to go whenever you are happy or sad. I seem to only think of him all the time. It sucks that I am not in Bombay and also makes me wonder why and how you can love someone so much when he wasnt present in your life moments ago.

How can love just stem unknowingly from you and fill every cell of your being. And on another note also makes me wonder that if we have as much love filled in us then how come we find it so difficult to love and trust another adult human being. With children all prejudices collapse, with adults we build walls. god, remind me to smile at the next stranger on the road. Something in me feels very awake right now.

just one line

growing up too fast sometimes keeps us still in the childhood.

And its says all. I know its precisely what has happened to me where many emotions are concerned. I was in the midst of writing a long blog when J said this. I sometimes feel like cut pasting every single one of our conversations onto this blog. or maybe i should just start a new blog which is only about our conversations.

Delhi is not far away

it really wasnt. ( the title goes after a novella by Rushkin Bond, cant remember the story though).

A long standing dream finally came true. I travelled by myself for the first time ever. Na, to word it better though I have travelled by myself many times, I had my first experience living alone in a new city. Went to Delhi for two days. There was a resource mobilization workshop which I wanted to attend. At the end of the two days at the workshop I realized I knew enough to actually take workshops for starters. One of the speakers was very bad communicator, strange considering the fact that the person had more than 15 yrs of corporate experience and had collected crores as a fundraiser.

Being in Delhi was a thrilling experience. You can sense that you are in the political capital of the country, from the attitude of the cab-guys to the good ( crowded but good) main roads, it all speaks one word: Power. Everyone is some mantri’s relative, that’s the attitude with which they carry themselves and yet it was friendlier than I expected it to be. The people there were so free, organizers et the people attending. I got a vehicle and went to Janpath Market, .bought myself some lovely bags, a top and an earring.. hmm Delhi shopping is yummy I must say. The prices, man, they can surely give Fashion Street in Bombay a tough contest. After dinner, I went on to see Rashtrapati Bhavan, Parliament and then finally went to India gate. I had my preview of Connaught Place in the afternoon and was eager to see the India gate.

The road from Rashtrapati Bhavan to India Gate is so fantabulous. I parked far away and walked till India Gate and back. Took me a good half hour but I was glad I had this time to myself. Strangely the road banked with gardens on either side reminded me of Champs Elysees in Paris. Not even remotely close I know. But I guess I just felt the same happy feeling. There were dozens of families in the park, all out to have a nice picnic in the garden. The cab driver told me they stayed till late, having fun, singing their songs, celebrating their lives and love. As I neared the India gate I felt very patriotic. The names of the soldiers carved on India Gate filled in me a sense of pride and despair. Why war I asked myself? I felt sad for the families of those who had died. I also admired the ability to those to look death in the eye. Why did they goto war? How does anyone agree to goto war? Its such a dichotomy. The need to feel protected vs the futility of realising that millions of dollars cannot change fate. Death comes, defeat comes, pain comes univited, when it has to.

I stayed at the YMCA and good see Bangla Sahib, the famous Sikh Gurudwara from my window. I bet if it wasn’t for the gurudwara, I wouldn’t have slept a wink alone in the hotel room. Or maybe I was more tired than I could imagine. I felt a little sad that I didn’t stay for longer in the city. There was so much more I wanted to see and explore. But I am sure this isn’t the last time.

This month is going to be full anyway. Trip to Bombay , this month end, then to project sites next month. Lotsa travel on my cards. And after each a blog posting will surely follow.

The long Awaited Vacation (Shirdi)

Shirdi. It was a fantabulous journey. We went through proper rural Maharashtra, Maharashtra as it is (minus the frills and fancies of Bombay and Pune). Small huts, fields, streams and temples. If you thought that poverty existed only in cities, you need to think again. The fate of small and marginal farmers is as pathetic. Now policy changes have to be for such people, India lives in its villages. I learnt what this means. After a 4 hour journey in the shaking at its seams ST buses, we reached Shirdi.

Now this is one place that is getting so commercial. In Shirdi everything comes from a price, from water to welfare. People hound you in the street. How many make their livelihood out of Sai Baba I wonder. What would Baba have to say to this, if he were alive. Would he happy that he is the source of livelihood for so many or would he be sad that his word and teachings are getting lost in the process. How many come to celebrate him and how many to ask? We all have our own ulterior agendas. Poor Baba.

The way back was enthralling too. The nearest station is located in a village called Nagarsol. We went through roads or rather where there were no roads. I wonder how the driver drove precariously in the uneven roads. If the earlier trip was through rural India, this was through the bareness that marks rural India. We passed through the village ( the bus did nearly pass through the houses that are located dangerously close to the road or vice versa. Any closer we would be having afternoon snacks in the residents living rooms) and finally reached the station. Which is one building with one platform, one station master, one attendant and one guy selling juices. The station was nearly empty, other than we who had got off from the bus and who were all travelling by the same train. The state transport plies buses from Shirdi to the station at regular intervals only to ferry people to that station. Only two trains stop at that station during a day, filled with people who want to visit shirdi. As the afternoon passed, the station became a mela, filled with families, all awaiting this one train. The fruit juice vendor who was trying hard to make a sale and then slowly he had a field day. Even though he had competition. Another guy selling frootis had suddenly arrived amidst all this hullabaloo and had set shop next to this fruit juice guy. But clearly the fresh juice guy had an upper hand. I bet he made more than people in cities do. It was a scene straight out of a Rushkin Bond book or a Rk Narayan novel. And to describe the afternoon in its entirety would take a story.. maybe I will write one.

The train came and in 5 mins the platform was empty. And life there had just got back to normal. people had slipped back to their comfortable silence.

The Long awaited vacation (Daulatabad & Ellora)

Daulatabad Fort: Magnificent! It was the first time I was seeing such a well preserved fort. After seeing the ruined state of the other forts (Shivaji’s) I was pleasantly surprised to see such a well maintained fort in the same state. Did make me think about how the ASI could pay as much attention to Daulatabad fort made by a muslim king and not care much about Shivaji the local maratha warrior. Now political parties, why don’t u raise a cry or two about the disrespect shown to culture? Or does this not fit into your political agenda?

The fort had a moat around it. We walked the bridge and crossed over a dark room to stand in front of a doorway beyond which was only darkness. We joined a chaotic bunch of school kids. The guide explained that the route was a secret one. One of its exits lead straight to a hole whose exit lied in the moat below. I call it the walk of death. The cave / room inside which we walked had a lovely roof, filled with thousands of bats. I have never been as scared in my life. But also enjoyed each moment of it. At the exit we thanked the guide and handed him a 20. An old old lady was sitting nearby. Hand me some money she demanded. She mumbled something more. But I couldn’t decipher her accent. Smilingly we handed her Rs. 10. Then surprisingly both me and Saj reached down and touched her feet. We just needed to respect little culture and heritage she carried in her. Gladdened she patted out heads and back. We walked away feeling very glad.

Ellora: He sees all come and go; and yet smiles with a knowledge that says impermanence. The only image that sticks with me about Ellora, is of the Bhuddha. Rows and rows of caves with thousands of carvings. Ajanta’s paintings play with you and Ellora’s carvings make you bow on your knees. Not only caves of carvings, but three storied buildings of rock filled with carvings. Can you even begin to imagine the magnanimity of these structures? The kailash temple, the grand monolith, words betray me. The dozens of caves are divided into residential, meditation halls and worship temples. They are adorned with big to small carvings of a variety of Buddhist, Hindu and Jain gods. It is blasphemous to describe such beauty through mere words. These carvings have their stories to tell and as you wander through them, you cannot help but go back and try to live in the mind of one of those many monks who created them.

How did he climb up there and carve? What did he do for food? How many hours could he constantly chip away at the rocks? As I walked among the caves in Ellora, I saw people shout loudly at each other inside the cave. I saw people wear footwear carelessly inside the caves. Most of them were temples once upon a time. How many of us would dare to wear footware inside a temple even today. But here no one seemed to care. We tried and removed our footwear every time we went close to the inner shrine. Maybe that was why god decided to bless us too. As crowded as it was, we found ourselves being left alone in some really beautiful caves for few minutes. We sat and chanted and prayed. Saj sang a song for Shiva in one of the caves. I felt god and probably after long he felt his presence there too.

After that we were to visit the Grinshneshwar ( Shiva jyothirling) temple. Lost between the crowds in the temple, I strangely missed god. Also went to the Bibi Ka Maqbara ( little Taj Mahal) which houses Aurangzeb’s wife’s tomb. Now that was a disappointment. I remember how pretty it looked in the pictures taken 15 yrs ago when my brother had come here on a school trip. Now it was decaying visibly. Yellowing and crumbling under the apparent lack of maintenance. It was a shame to see a monument which could undoubtedly have been beautiful, being degraded to such a state. What are they doing with the entrance fee they were collecting? Such blatant apathy and ignorance of culture shames me and also ire’s me. We walked away disappointed.

The long awaited vacation ( Ajanta)

I cherish the act of travelling. It just makes you move beyond yourself. Reach out into the minds of others, teach you that what you think of as your life and what you attach importance to is a small part of this seamless universe.

End of last month, start of this month I went to Aurangabad. I decided it was time to do some of the exploring India that I have always wanted to do. Aurangabad would be the base stop, and I decided from there we’d goto Ajanta and Ellora Caves. After seeing Ajanta Ellora we even made a spontaneous visit to Shirdi. Now Ajanta and Ellora are world heritage sights and I have heard about them oh so often. Carved between 2 century BC and 8 Century AD, Ajanta has Buddhist caves and Ellora caves Buddhist, Hindu and Jain caves. I did so much research before I went there. But nothing could prepare me for the vistas I was to witness. The next series of blogs are accounts of the trip.

Ajanta: Caves after caves of sheer creative brilliance. Ceilings, walls: All a bright tapestry woven with stories that had been passed on to the monks. Stories of the life of the Buddha, stories of the bodhisattva, all have been painted painstakingly into the walls and roofs. The patterns, the designs the decors, they can shame the so called modern painters. All made by monks, all the result of devotion and patience. And the sculptures, what can I say of them. Staggering high ceilings with imposing Buddha’s sitting under the stupa with a smile on his face. The detailing on the painting is fascinating. The variety of hair styles, the accessories worn, all were evidence enough of the so-called modern practises but which undoubtedly are just practises recycled over time. I have always maintained that what is new today becomes old before rejuvenating itself all over again. The paintings with their intricate details provided ample evidence of the trend. Ajanta: or no one knows will leave you mystical. Truly who knows who made this? Who knows the stories of the painters? Who put their sweat, blood and toil into this? This was the result of meditation, of piousness, of spirit of desire to pass on all they knew to pass on the word of the Buddha.

move on

We play games sometimes
With ourselves, our hearts
With the person we love most
Or the one we love least…

We lose ourselves always
With the one who owns us
With the one who shows us
Life is difficult without him…

We believe in life
With our love we strangle the mind
With our hopes we silence the cries
But sometimes its just time

Time to move along
Time to give ourselves a chance
Time to know that what feels right,
Is sometimes just very wrong..

Faith you can carry along
Fear you can always rebound
Truth will follow u
Love will stay and guide…

......

I want to savour the unsavoury, love the unloved, cherish the ignored and caress the untouched. Sometimes I want to move beyond my mind and its self imposed boundaries and see what is truly human. I want to go embrace all that I shirk from, only to break my own ego and my own barriers. I am this person seated here and also every person in the world. But I choose what emotion to exhibit. I want to meditate, its something I miss so much. To let silence envelope me and only listen to its song. The melody cascading down my head through my veins spreading completely inside me till each nerve is dancing to its beat.

Yes I am again focusing on me, but I want to teach my ego a lesson. I want to be humbled as I constantly am. Because I am not unique, it is only my actions that will make the difference. I need to discipline my heart and mind. I am often quite the errant child.

A topic no one likes to know about

My job gives me the opportunity to learn about something that was absolutely foreign territory. How Government works, what it is, who are the people involved etc. I am ashamed to say that though I am 25, I have never voted till date. I have never felt or understood the need to vote, until now.

We all have such a negative low opinion of government in India and the way it works. I agree that many in the sector are befitting of low regard and spite people so handily give out to the government, but how many of us really see and understand that politicians alone does not equal to government. How many of us realise that the people who get things done are often bureaucrats, IAS officers who make the changes.

The government system is ancient beyond words. What we just unthinking took from the British without modifying it to suit our local systems, without considering that it provides a way for people to exploit the already weak. But I guess it worked then and people did not want anything different. People are used to being trodden over. We are good at saying this is life and accepting all as the ulterior design of god who wants us to suffer our karma.

Corruption is rampant and people are so self contained with the way things are. Politicians still promise people free power and we fools knowing full well the folly of trusting the kurta clad actor, still nod our heads and vote him back into power. Fundamentalism is on the rise as is the idea of religion and not religiousness. Maha aarti’s are said to work but not heartfelt prayer (irrespective of the mouth that voices it)

But then how do things still get done. Why do we keep hearing of things improving economically? Its refreshing for me to see the other side of the picture now. I can see the few IAS officers and politicians and officials and academicians and grassroots :- NGO’s, who believe in change and who work with conviction and faith. Despite all negatives there are few who are determined to cleanse the government and even if things change by 10% it would be a big achievement. E-government is one such tool which I now believe will change the way the world works. India in particular. But it has to come from the top. Most will be unwilling but the few who are firmly rooted to their moral fibre should push this down the gullet of the unwilling politicians and bureaucrats. India is in for a major change. Period.

( more on e-government later)

encounter of a different kind

Last weekend I was on my wits end. I had met my greatest challenge in a long time. My opponent was reckoned for his speed and agility. He was known to walk only on the path he made for himself. The setting for the encounter was my kitchen, and my opponent was Mr. lickin’ lips, the mighty lizard with the beady eyes.


My fear for lizards is matched only by my husband’s fear for them. Only this time I knew I had to step up and be the brave one. Husby darling refused to even venture from the front room.


I opened the window on whose pane the lizard was perched. But my gesture startled him and he landed with a plonk on my kitchen top. I held my breath and waited for him to scale the walls and escape. For a second we started at each other, and then he desperately tried to scale the granite slab on the kitchen platform, only to keep sliding. It was then that fear gripped me.


The granite was too slippery for the idiot who daringly took a dive off my window. Now he was literally swimming on the slippery granite walls trying to get off! I instantly got my broom for defence. I wasn’t going to let him run amok on my kitchen and with trepidation cornered him in one section of the l-shaped platform. The next 15 mins he ran from one end to the other chased by a whisper of hair from my broom. The process was accompanied by my unrelenting pleas to my knight in shining armour to come to my aid. With each plea the TV volume turned louder. I didn’t want to kill the lizard, he looked too alive. I could see his belly moving up and down. His eyes darting and his lips moving as he tried to chew the broom.


Brainwave! I ran to the balcony and came back with a formica board, my homeowner had left behind thoughtfully when he rented the house to us. (Though I had cursed its presence all this while, now it was a gift from him to me). I placed it thoughtfully in one corner ensuring it was near the window and thus providing a ladder for the lizard to scale on and escape. I continually guided the lizard verbally up the escape route. But he chose instead to go hide behind it.

After an hr, at 11 in the night, frustrated I pushed the idiot to the board guiding him up. The first attempt bought the realisation that the lizard couldn’t climb up! How on earth had he got on my window pane in the first place. I could sense that he was terrified but I couldn’t give his fear much concession. Mine I decided was bigger. It was time to wage war.


I pushed him down the platform. Let him run across the floor, out the kitchen. no no not to front room. another push.. NEVER behind the fridge, another push. yes to the balcony door. Hurray! Out! What! You cannot climb regular walls. Now the formica board came real handy. I scooped the lizard on it. One hand on the board and the other holding it down with the broom (I sure didn’t want it to run up the board and onto my arm! urrrgh now that would surely be my worst nightmare). I plonked him on the sill trying to push him out. Only he sought refuge holding onto the grill and I literally had to pry his claws apart from the metal grill. and then lo he disappeared. For a moment I felt a little sad and lonely.


Moral of the story: Animals don’t possess human intelligence. They want to survive and don’t understand human tactics like climbing up makeshift ladders. Next time you want to help a lizard, instead of killing him, dont wait an hr! Sweeping him away from a broom saves time and is your best bet!