Random Ramblings

Today is Special. That was the first thought that struck him as he lay in his bed, woken up by the 5:00 am arati . Like every morning, the chants of the medieval mantras , the beating of the khols and the tinkling of the manjiraas , had together spun a magical weave into his dreams, even before he himself got out of them and embraced the risen world. The distance between the temple where the morning arati was going on, and his house was about one average-sized pond long, which, for you educated lot means about 50 metres or so. Every morning, he wakes up and slowly walks to the hand-pump in his front-yard, brushes his teeth and gargles loudly, frightening the sparrows gathered around the water source. And then on most days, he solemnly looks around, not particularly at anything. By the time the temple crowd disperses after the arati session, he wanders into the vegetable garden. He checks for new coconuts on the palm tree, young lady’s-fingers hanging upside-down on the rough-ste...

If hope be man's final destiny then every tear his eyes have shed, tells a tale of silent victory greater than hope itself. Is it his spirit? A madness perhaps that his shattered self, his broken heart, Recoils, rewinds and recollects and colors itself as Art ? ~Proma

It happens all of a sudden: The breaking of the dreams you called your own The demise of the world you thought was yours The curdling of, your ignorant heart. You cannot lie, it happens: You revisit tragedies. For you are aware that re-visits trivialize hard truths, the depth as well as the high. One sad evening you sat by that window, I know you did: And let anger burn you inside-out, and splinters split through you, as you sat by, the window to your soul. I saw your eyes speak to me: Your lifetime of holding sane, the pipeline of bottled pain, cycles running over and end, Only to begin, yet again. The only way out, the only respite: Avenge your sorrows not drown in your plight. At the confluence of bursting fire and simmering tears, the burning revenge ends on the pyre of fear. By merging defeat into an acceptance speech of life, You’ve become a woman, not just a man’s wife. ~Proma

While still in my teens, I often heard my dad recite his favorite lines from Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina , “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way”. For years the true meaning behind these lines eluded me, and no matter how deeply I dug into the words, somehow I couldn’t touch what the author really wanted us to understand. My dad, who would always return a mildly challenging smile when asked what those lines meant, would never satisfy our questions fully, but rather leave us in a grumpy, confused, self-defeating state of mind. And then one day, I finally got it. That occasion was of no particular significance, barring the fact that it had been an extremely tiresome day. I had picked up Sid from his childcare center after my evening MBA classes. It was already ten. Sid, being tenderly fussy on the days he was forced to be away from me till late at night, refused food and went straight to bed. Another night of non-stop studying was about to begin ...

June 21st 2007 5:40pm Savannah, GA Shyla’s little ranch home was tucked away behind the row of weeping willows. More dreary looking houses and an abandoned truck rusting by the street, made the scenery look even sadder. It was hard to imagine that inside one of those old withdrawn houses, a newborn was trying to see the world with twinkle eyes in all amazement. Eric had parked on the street and was now walking towards the little ranch home. He had not noticed the adjoining houses, nor that the driveway ended into a worm-infested narrow mud pathway leading towards the house. He could see nothing, as his insides couldn ’t bear another iota of sensory impulse. Or perhaps, he, standing at this moment, still and alone, on grounds completely alien, was shielded from everything outside of his own chosen senses. He felt strangely calm, as if he had just come walking out alive from the dead. As he stood in front of the large wooden door now, loud heartbeats thumped against his ringing hea...

Jan 1st, 2007 -11:00am -Savannah, GA Rumble- rumble ….. Sshhh… Again, rumble - rumble. Shyla’s heart skipped two beats! Was that her baby moving? This was the first time that the baby had moved. Shyla felt her tummy with her hands. Her face was still; her hands glued to the small belly. Something powerful went between her fingers. The movement of life, felt intensely alien at first; but the second shudder turned her fears into an awakening understood only by those who have experienced it. A little bump appeared at one end and then tumbled across to the other side of her belly. “Ma!” cried Shyla. Her mother came running into the room from the kitchen where she had been preparing lunch. “Ma, it’s the baby moving”. The two women sat close to each other, their faces flushing with excitement. For half an hour they followed every little movement, with eager eyes, un-relinquished enthusiasm and squeals of laughter. ****** Four months ago, Liz had welcomed her daughter ...

-June 21st, 2007 -2:00pm -Somewhere between Atlanta and Savannah, GA Eric Cohen stopped the car and let his head out through the window. Not a single car could be seen within a mile’s radius. The Sun’s brutal rays fell sharply over his balding head. He was blinded for the split second before he puked, for the third time. Puking felt good momentarily. But then Eric was too high to enjoy the release fully. His head was like a dead washing machine not even trying to start itself. He sat back straight on his seat wiping his mouth with Kleenex. As he put his hands on the wheel again, the churn in his stomach returned. Nothing had prepared him for this. Nothing. Not even the strongest joint he had ever fixed in his life. Three minutes passed. Three very long minutes. Eric wanted to start the engine. He really did. And intermittently between the clouded nirvanas, he thought that he actually could . He had been feeling this way for weeks now. And especially when he was high on m...