I have always believed home was something physical, an attribution to a physical place. A place where you felt at home; where you felt right; where physical space and meaning produced a sense of well-being.
Having left home for distant shores, i had forgotten how it felt. Last week, i felt it again. And it was not because i went home again. It was because i went to visit old friends of mine. Old as in a comfortable pair of old leather shoes.
It was then it struck me. Home is not a physical space. It is to do with people. People - bonded to you by blood or just passing by - create that special place; in the space around you and in your head.
To the people who did that for me, my gratitude.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Monday, March 13, 2006
A page from the tome of desire
10 miles had already past. my bottle of water had only a sip of gatorade left. the road ascended to the heavens ahead. i told myself i would reward myself with it once i am over it. the wild flowers i had picked only a couple of miles before had already wilted in my pocket, unable to take the heat. a pity, i thought.
i was over the hill. i lustily filled my mouth with the last drops of gatorade. a voice in my head told me, sip it slowly; let it slowly trickle down your parched throat. i gulped it all at once. my stomach groaned at the sudden sugar burst. my mouth went back to being dry in seconds. cars whizzed passed me. few motorists looked on curiously, at the flowers sticking out my pocket.
the road stretched on endlessly. the nearest gas station was atleast another twenty minutes of running. the sun was going down and a cool evening breeze had begun to blow. i had stopped sweating and the cool evening breeze wicked away the last traces of sweat from my body, leaving me in a ghostly white shroud of salt.
I was getting hungry. But the thirst was even greater. there were small ponds by the road. i was tempted to dip my empty bottle into them. a sprinkler in a nearby neighbourhood had given birth to a a small trickle of clear water that was flowing along the sidewalk. i almost did put my bottle to the ground to collect a mouthful of water. i decided not to. not because of a false sense of propriety; just didn't feel like it.
my mouth began to crave for a sip of gatorade. hunger was not far behind. my legs were tired and craving for energy. visions of chewy snickers bars and gooey peanuts being crunched on and coating every tatebud in my mouth began to drive me crazy. i saw a shell gas station a mile down the road. my body responded immediately. i grew light and i ran with a new spring in my step. i shot across the lights at the intersection and into the convenience store. i picked up the gatorade and hopped over to the candy section. my hands were almost trembling when i reached for the king size snickers peanut bar. i sauntered to the cashier and paid. i stepped out put the snickers bar in my pocket; anticipation to heighten the taste of pleasure. i greedily gulped on the cold gatorade. i drank till all traces of thirst were drowned. the snickers had waited enough. i pulled it out of my pocket, unwrapped and took a large hungry bite. it was everything i had expected it to be and so much more. fruitition at last. i kept at it, gobbling one sweet mouthful after another. it kept me company for another four miles. i put the last bite in my pocket; wanting to savour the precious last mouthful when i got home.
i got home with a raspy throat. the cold gatorade had deceived me. miniscule bits of peanuts trapped in my throat gave me no peace. my stomach reprimanded me for all that sugar.
a half empty bottle of gatorade and and the precious last piece of snickers lie on my table. i wonder, what manner of affliction caused so much longing? where is it now?
i was over the hill. i lustily filled my mouth with the last drops of gatorade. a voice in my head told me, sip it slowly; let it slowly trickle down your parched throat. i gulped it all at once. my stomach groaned at the sudden sugar burst. my mouth went back to being dry in seconds. cars whizzed passed me. few motorists looked on curiously, at the flowers sticking out my pocket.
the road stretched on endlessly. the nearest gas station was atleast another twenty minutes of running. the sun was going down and a cool evening breeze had begun to blow. i had stopped sweating and the cool evening breeze wicked away the last traces of sweat from my body, leaving me in a ghostly white shroud of salt.
I was getting hungry. But the thirst was even greater. there were small ponds by the road. i was tempted to dip my empty bottle into them. a sprinkler in a nearby neighbourhood had given birth to a a small trickle of clear water that was flowing along the sidewalk. i almost did put my bottle to the ground to collect a mouthful of water. i decided not to. not because of a false sense of propriety; just didn't feel like it.
my mouth began to crave for a sip of gatorade. hunger was not far behind. my legs were tired and craving for energy. visions of chewy snickers bars and gooey peanuts being crunched on and coating every tatebud in my mouth began to drive me crazy. i saw a shell gas station a mile down the road. my body responded immediately. i grew light and i ran with a new spring in my step. i shot across the lights at the intersection and into the convenience store. i picked up the gatorade and hopped over to the candy section. my hands were almost trembling when i reached for the king size snickers peanut bar. i sauntered to the cashier and paid. i stepped out put the snickers bar in my pocket; anticipation to heighten the taste of pleasure. i greedily gulped on the cold gatorade. i drank till all traces of thirst were drowned. the snickers had waited enough. i pulled it out of my pocket, unwrapped and took a large hungry bite. it was everything i had expected it to be and so much more. fruitition at last. i kept at it, gobbling one sweet mouthful after another. it kept me company for another four miles. i put the last bite in my pocket; wanting to savour the precious last mouthful when i got home.
i got home with a raspy throat. the cold gatorade had deceived me. miniscule bits of peanuts trapped in my throat gave me no peace. my stomach reprimanded me for all that sugar.
a half empty bottle of gatorade and and the precious last piece of snickers lie on my table. i wonder, what manner of affliction caused so much longing? where is it now?
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Desire and Despair of the Endless
Desire is of medium height. It is unlikely that
any portrait will ever do Desire justice, since to
see her (or him) is to love him (or her), -
passionately, painfully, to the exclusion of all
else.
Desire smells almost subliminally of summer
peaches, and casts two shadows: one black and
sharp-edged, the other translucent and forever
wavering, like heat haze.
Desire smiles in brief flashes, like
sunlight glinting from a knife-edge. And there is
much else that is knife-like about Desire.
Never a possession, always the possessor, with
skin as pale as smoke, and eyes tawny and
sharp as yellow wine: Desire is everything you
have ever wanted. Whoever you are. Whatever
you are.
Everything.
Despair, Desire's sister and twin, is queen of
her own bleak bourne. It is said that scattered
through Despair's domain are a multitude of tiny
windows, hanging in the void. Each window
looks out onto a different scene, being, in our
world, a mirror. Sometimes you will look into a
mirror and feel the eyes of Despair upon you,
feel her hook catch and snag your heart.
Her skin is cold and clammy; her eyes are the
colour of the sky, on the grey, wet days that leach
the world of colour and meaning; her voice is
little more than a whisper; and while she has no
odour, her shadow smells musky, and pungent,
like the skin of a snake.
Many years gone, a sect in what is now
Afghanistan declared her a goddess, and
proclaimed all empty rooms her sacred places.
The sect, whose members called themselves
The Unforgiven, persisted for two years, until its
last adherent finally killed himself, having
survived the other members by almost seven
months.
Despair says little, and is patient.
-- Neil Gaiman, Season of Mists, THE SANDMAN.
any portrait will ever do Desire justice, since to
see her (or him) is to love him (or her), -
passionately, painfully, to the exclusion of all
else.
Desire smells almost subliminally of summer
peaches, and casts two shadows: one black and
sharp-edged, the other translucent and forever
wavering, like heat haze.
Desire smiles in brief flashes, like
sunlight glinting from a knife-edge. And there is
much else that is knife-like about Desire.
Never a possession, always the possessor, with
skin as pale as smoke, and eyes tawny and
sharp as yellow wine: Desire is everything you
have ever wanted. Whoever you are. Whatever
you are.
Everything.
Despair, Desire's sister and twin, is queen of
her own bleak bourne. It is said that scattered
through Despair's domain are a multitude of tiny
windows, hanging in the void. Each window
looks out onto a different scene, being, in our
world, a mirror. Sometimes you will look into a
mirror and feel the eyes of Despair upon you,
feel her hook catch and snag your heart.
Her skin is cold and clammy; her eyes are the
colour of the sky, on the grey, wet days that leach
the world of colour and meaning; her voice is
little more than a whisper; and while she has no
odour, her shadow smells musky, and pungent,
like the skin of a snake.
Many years gone, a sect in what is now
Afghanistan declared her a goddess, and
proclaimed all empty rooms her sacred places.
The sect, whose members called themselves
The Unforgiven, persisted for two years, until its
last adherent finally killed himself, having
survived the other members by almost seven
months.
Despair says little, and is patient.
-- Neil Gaiman, Season of Mists, THE SANDMAN.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Eye of the tiger
I have been grappling with this question myself and was quite hesitant to post anything related to this on our blog simple because any religious statement is always laden (no pun intended) with fervor.
"One's pain is someone else's entertainment" - rough translation of a dialogue from Hindi movie 'KALYUG'
"Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder" - old saying.
So were the caricatures of Prophet Mohammed (may peace be upon him) someone's pain to entertain someone else or is it that the beholder's have not seen the beauty.
The reason I am in this doubt is because of another, though not as publicized, episode of our own M F Hussain. This indian painter has painted, nude paintings of Hindu gods and godesses and further more a nude representation of the India. Well a minority of Sanatan (=hindu) organizations have objected and made some attempts to make the public more aware of this. But that is being touted as Art and Beauty, while something else is insulting.
Someone help me understand the difference.
DISCLAIMER: This post is not intended to offend or criticize anybody's sentiments and neither to denounce any religion. Its only intention is to help understand the actions.
A
"One's pain is someone else's entertainment" - rough translation of a dialogue from Hindi movie 'KALYUG'
"Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder" - old saying.
So were the caricatures of Prophet Mohammed (may peace be upon him) someone's pain to entertain someone else or is it that the beholder's have not seen the beauty.
The reason I am in this doubt is because of another, though not as publicized, episode of our own M F Hussain. This indian painter has painted, nude paintings of Hindu gods and godesses and further more a nude representation of the India. Well a minority of Sanatan (=hindu) organizations have objected and made some attempts to make the public more aware of this. But that is being touted as Art and Beauty, while something else is insulting.
Someone help me understand the difference.
DISCLAIMER: This post is not intended to offend or criticize anybody's sentiments and neither to denounce any religion. Its only intention is to help understand the actions.
A
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Beep beep beep. You have been tagged!
Help, i have been tagged. Serves me right for writing about the joy of blowing soap bubbles - i am doing something very similar now. Click here if you want the whole story . The basic idea is about choosing a theme (a bunch of questions) and forcing it down every unsuspecting friend's throat. The theme (or meme as it is called) is replicated with each person in the chain answering it.
Apparently i will be a poor sport if i don't play along - when did i hear that last, 10 minutes ago? So here we go...
4 Jobs you have had in your life
- Polar Bear Fur Shearer.
- Luggage Carrier on Moutaineering Expeditions.
- Llama milkman.
- Research Assistant.
4 Movies you would watch over and over again
- Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.
- Postino.
- The Motorcycle Diaries.
- Austin Powers - Goldmember.
4 Places you have lived
- Pondicherry.
- Aarani.
- Ooty.
- Chennai.
4 Places you have been on Vacation
- Sultan's Batteri, Kerala, India.
- Andaman and Nicobar, India.
- Cochin, Kerala, India.
- Silent Valley, Tamilnadu, India.
4 TV shows you would love to watch
- Star Trek: The Next Generation
- Robotech
- Big O
- Cosmos
4 Websites you visit daily
- Ucomics
- BBC news
- The Hindu
- National Geographic photo of the day
4 of your favorite foods
- Sora puttu
- Mutton Biriyani
- Gulab Jamuns
- Jack Fruit
4 places you would rather be
- 4 x here.
4 bloggers you are tagging
-Ivan Noble
-Amit
-Aryapadi
-Pramod
Apparently i will be a poor sport if i don't play along - when did i hear that last, 10 minutes ago? So here we go...
4 Jobs you have had in your life
- Polar Bear Fur Shearer.
- Luggage Carrier on Moutaineering Expeditions.
- Llama milkman.
- Research Assistant.
4 Movies you would watch over and over again
- Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.
- Postino.
- The Motorcycle Diaries.
- Austin Powers - Goldmember.
4 Places you have lived
- Pondicherry.
- Aarani.
- Ooty.
- Chennai.
4 Places you have been on Vacation
- Sultan's Batteri, Kerala, India.
- Andaman and Nicobar, India.
- Cochin, Kerala, India.
- Silent Valley, Tamilnadu, India.
4 TV shows you would love to watch
- Star Trek: The Next Generation
- Robotech
- Big O
- Cosmos
4 Websites you visit daily
- Ucomics
- BBC news
- The Hindu
- National Geographic photo of the day
4 of your favorite foods
- Sora puttu
- Mutton Biriyani
- Gulab Jamuns
- Jack Fruit
4 places you would rather be
- 4 x here.
4 bloggers you are tagging
-Ivan Noble
-Amit
-Aryapadi
-Pramod
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Blogging On...
I was quite amused to find many other people with blogs on similar lines; to read people philosophize on things that matter to them - love, change, future and the likes of therof. Before i go ahead i must specify that two kinds of people are exempt from this. One kind is the blogger who relates to life as is. No philosophizing, only stating experiences. They are very real. The other is one who collects such experiences and tries to paint a coherent picture of the world. While i may not agree with many pictures that emerge, i find them interesting nonetheless.
Many are like me. We throw in a few cliched quotes and somehow hope that the messy melange of words we have created will give rise to profound truths that were somehow withheld from man until then. It is narcissism that prevents me from seeing my own writing in this light, but i suppose i wouldn't be too presumptuous in allowing myself this luxury.
What set me off in this direction was a discussion on another blog on change. While one blogger was trying to grapple with change another proceeded to put forward his thought on the matter. It centered on this extremely pithy argument that 'the only thing that is a constant is change'. Now where have i heard that before? Almost everywhere else! And how does it help? It is like telling a terminally ill patient, death is inevitable.
Writing blogs allows one to selectively extract memories and experiences and string them up in a manner of their choosing. The beads are real and one can string them up to make necklaces that people are willing to buy. If you go around reading blogs you will be suprised to encounter lives so rich, filled with insightful experience, gut wrenching sorrow and heart warming love that your life will seem like a cup of clorox. If you find yourself falling for this, take out ten sheets of paper and write out a page everyday. At the end of ten days, your ten pages should be as interesting as the average blog! To make it better than the average blog try shuffling the pages!
Having convinced you of the vanity of the average blogger and the futile irrelevance of his efforts, what have i succeeded in explaining? Nothing more than what you already know; i hope :-)
Many are like me. We throw in a few cliched quotes and somehow hope that the messy melange of words we have created will give rise to profound truths that were somehow withheld from man until then. It is narcissism that prevents me from seeing my own writing in this light, but i suppose i wouldn't be too presumptuous in allowing myself this luxury.
What set me off in this direction was a discussion on another blog on change. While one blogger was trying to grapple with change another proceeded to put forward his thought on the matter. It centered on this extremely pithy argument that 'the only thing that is a constant is change'. Now where have i heard that before? Almost everywhere else! And how does it help? It is like telling a terminally ill patient, death is inevitable.
Writing blogs allows one to selectively extract memories and experiences and string them up in a manner of their choosing. The beads are real and one can string them up to make necklaces that people are willing to buy. If you go around reading blogs you will be suprised to encounter lives so rich, filled with insightful experience, gut wrenching sorrow and heart warming love that your life will seem like a cup of clorox. If you find yourself falling for this, take out ten sheets of paper and write out a page everyday. At the end of ten days, your ten pages should be as interesting as the average blog! To make it better than the average blog try shuffling the pages!
Having convinced you of the vanity of the average blogger and the futile irrelevance of his efforts, what have i succeeded in explaining? Nothing more than what you already know; i hope :-)
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