23.

Profound! :p

Blank.
Damn.

Unexpected happiness is so much sweeter.

But all happiness is nice :)

Alliterating with Abandon

Alliteration is always an attempt to address

the many maddening molehills my meandering mind meets

I try till I'm tired and terribly tormented

but I'm no Shakespeare or Wordsworth or Keats!

Fear of failing to fashion fine verse

Inhibits ideas imbalanced, immature.

"Priya and perfect poetry? Please!"

- a voice in my head, unhelpful, insecure.

Doodle or die, I determinedly decide

Sense and symmetry can surely be seived

from the folds of my feelings, fraught with fragility...

Tougher tasks I have, with more success, achieved!

So I sit and scribble in studious silence

putting planks of poetry into place,

building bridges between the bees in my bonnet

and the (saner) rest of the human race.

:) :)

March

March is a very special month. The month of new beginnings. For thirteen years, it was the month of final exams, followed by a short break (brown paper, labels, new books with that wonderful printing-ink smell), followed by the beginning of a new academic year (usually between the 15th and the 18th). Then, it became the month of the-last-few-classes, Dismissal Service, Grad-D and the beginning of prep leave. For a brief while, it was the beginning of a new fiscal. Now, it is the end of a semester and the beginning of prep leave again.

Always, of course, the end of winter, the beginning of spring, the start of a new cycle of seasons and so a new year.

Which is why this month is so special. To me, it will always, but always, be about a new beginning. I love every little bit about every little thing this month means. I love the flaming palash blossoms on trees, the vivid red and green leaves. I love the way the day begins with beautiful mellow sunshine which matures into fiery afternoon heat before gracefully giving way to breezy, picture-perfect evenings.

I love walking down the roads of North Campus, strewn with leaves, looking up occasionally into foliage that is at least seven different shades of green at a time. I love the sound of the birds hidden somewhere in that foliage. I love the hint of summer in the air. I love the slight prick of the heat on the nape of my neck, the relative emptiness of the streets in the afternoons, and the happy, buzzing energy in the evenings. I love how the world seems to be gearing up for the year ahead.

Something about this time of the year fills me with a strange sadness for all the things that have to be bid farewell. Then, there's a sudden burst of anticipation for all that is bound to come. Neither of these ever visits without the other. :)

Somewhere in the back of my mind, the thought of unfinished studying and pending assignments has permanent place. I suppose it's part of who I am now - I have associated the month with exams ever since I was five :) But the idea of having work to do at a time like this is exhilerating...who minds having to work if it's so glorious all over?? Something about March refuels me, fills me with energy I didn't even know I possessed.

Everything is fresh, vibrant and beautiful. If it wasn't all that great so far, well, it will be now. And if it has been good all along, it will get even better!

Walks become a religion about this time. I end up believing, wanting to believe...there's no way anyone can be otherwise when the world's so full of sunshine!

It's also the time of introspection, retrospection. Somehow, these are easier things to do when Nature's so kind...even when you're kicking yourself hard for mistakes, you realise you don't mind being kinder with your not-so-great side for having made them. March makes you feel so glad to be alive!

Bring it on. Bring it all on!

In transit

I'm at Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport, Mumbai, tired for no real reason, sleepy, hungry, excited and a little apprehensive. I'm here alright, just not quite here yet. After every keystroke, I turn back to check if my baggage is intact. It's not needed...just that I'm overly protective of my only business suit, a boring, annoying affair in black.

But I digress.
I'm hungry, to begin with.
I'm also in two places, phases and states of mind at one go. The feeling isn't new, but I have to admit I'm still not used to this...this quick switching between frames of reference and states of being. As I recall, I've been at it all my life, but it still seems weird.

I'll get used to it, I guess. I've led a pretty nomadic existence, as much emotionally and mentally as physically, in the last couple of years. I'm beginning to think I prefer this as a way of life.

I'm also oddly exhilerated. I want to shout in joy and hug the universe, breathe in deep, exploratory breaths, look around me, feel at home. I realise I'm in love with the world, with life.

It's a great feeling! It's like the complimentary sachet of coffee with a can of condensed milk...the perfect combination that leaves you feeling wonderfully heady.

I'm off to live three of the coffee sachet days that came with life. Cheerio!

Random Story - Part I

As the sunlight streamed in, turning everything a glorious golden, her eyelids fluttered open. She knew what her first thought would be even before she thought it. Idly counting the particles dancing in the sunbeam across her room, she went over all that she wanted to say. Today, she promised herself. It would have to be today. There wasn't much choice anyway, if she wanted to say this at all.

Strangely, she wasn't afraid, not even nervous. Just worried she would leave something out. And there was every likelihood that that would happen, she thought wryly. Way, way too much to be said in one go.

She glanced at the clock. It was time.

Or was it? She was too late, not that she knew it. Three years too late.

...jiski zubaan urdu ki tarah...

Coming, as it does, several days later than it was meant to, this post does not claim a critical analysis of the movie, or of Rahman's or Gulzar's work. I ran out fifteen minutes into the movie (not necessarily the first 15 minutes of the film), and am way too great a Rahman fan, and too much in awe of Gulzar, to presume to analyse their work.

There are better A.R.R. songs, not that Jai Ho isn't great. And if I've spent the last fifteen years spellbound by every Gulzar song I've heard, Jai Ho was no different. No, I'm just plain happy that, for once, award-winning work is work that I understand! (Blame it on the limited gray matter. I read The God of Small Things three times before I could begin to understand it - maybe it was partly because I was 13 at the time; I never got past page 40 of The Inheritance of Loss. At the risk of sounding like I have neither understanding nor appreciation of good literature, I have to confess that the latter bored me to tears.)

Gulzar's lyrics are poetry. He doesn't simply write a song - he writes a nursery rhyme, or a dirge, or a lampoon, or a prayer...I've loved it all since the time I couldn't understand it. Simple, meaningful, beautiful, tongue-in-cheek, heartwarming, playful, natural...I've grown up on his lyrics. Every song a slice of life, every word deceptively simple.

And as a total layperson, I wouldn't even dare evaluating Rahman's music - except to say that it's the sort you want to listen to endlessly when you first hear it - and that you'll want to keep going back to it later too...and that is more than one can say about a lot of other music.

Anyway, the whole point of starting this post was to celebrate two of my favourite artistes getting the Oscar. Yipee!

P.S. Rahman and Gulzar together at their best - try Ae Ajnabee from Dil Se on a quiet evening, and Chhaiya Chhaiya on the highway.

Looking back

Given a chance, would I change something, anything, about the past?
Yes.
Would that be a good thing?
Who knows?

But then, nothing can be changed anyway. So why bother thinking about it?
Hmm...

Q.

Is there anyone out there who feels the way I do about cellphones? Anyone who, like me, would trade their phone for a fishing rod at the first opportunity? Anyone wishing the "Mobile Number" field on all application forms didn't have that darned asterisk next to it?

Tell me!

Best ended.

Someone's watching TV downstairs. I can hear it all the way up here. The reaction is a resigned smile - nothing more, nothing less. But just before the characters in the movie started to talk, I heard a guitar playing Old McDonald Had a Farm. For a moment there, I was back in the dining room of our very first house, swinging on the back of the chair in a way my mother disapproved thoroughly of, listening to my father singing me my favourite song.

It is, I realise now, still one of my favourites. Even if I haven't really thought about it in a decade.

Nice ending to the day, this. This is one of those exasperating days when you're disoriented for no reason. Nothing productive done...most people would know what sort I'm referring to...the best thing to do with a day of this kind is to end it, and to end it as early as possible so that things can start behaving the next morning onwards.

So I think I will go to bed. That's the most productive thing I can do with today.

The TV's switched off now. Maybe someone else got the same idea.

I wonder which movie this was, though.

Summary: reversals and transversals.

Phew.

I have been at this all day - researching a whole spectrum of issues. At 6, I thought I had crossed that last thin line between frustration and lunacy. A steaming mug of lemon tea, half a pack of Parle G and an aspirin later, I'm not doing much better. Music while I work is beginning to irritate me - a sure sign that something is wrong.

Help me, God. And Google.

Oh, and here's something out of a song I like -

Allah ke bande hans de...
Jo bhi ho kal phir aayega.

Full Circle

I'm back where I began.
Four days = Four years. Can you imagine what these four days must have been like? Can you imagine what the beginning must have been like?
I can. Every week, every day, every break, every night, every morning, every minute...down to the last second. I can.
Four days reverse four years. Can you imagine how powerful these 96 hours must be?
Four days put things into perspective. Crystal-clear. No, clearer than crystal. Suddenly, I know the difference between what I want and what I need.
Suddenly, what mattered like hell seems fit only to be grinned at.
And I am grinning. Am I! I want to laugh out loud, scream from the rooftops, hug myself, run like mad, arms outstretched, like a giant, lunatic bird.
Suddenly, I am murmuring fervent prayers. Of thanks, for strength.
I'm at the beginning of the circle. Finally.