Die-hard dreamer

Are memories aromatic? Mine are. Sometimes, it is a smell that triggers a memory, at others, a memory brings in an aroma. Some of my fond memories smell of food and poetry. Yes, poetry has appealed to every sense of mine. I have seen the poetic stories unfold in the air. I have heard the clink of every word against my mind. I have found words appetizing. I have felt lyrics dance around me. And I have smelled the ecstasy that poems trigger in my heart. Ghanshyam Words appealed to me for as long as I remember, and poetry, rhythmic or otherwise, made more sense to me than anything else. Many mornings were spent reading aloud something Baba wrote. As our family of four gathered around Baba's office table with the chai and biscuits on the tray, we analyzed Baba's poetry , tried to understand the thought that lay its foundation. The discussions often stretched for hours with Baba praising poetic geniuses and recalling his interactions with some poetic stalwarts. In one of such d...

There have been many times when I came to write something in the blog and returned without posting anything. Today, I happened to look at the drafts I had saved since I started writing here. I realized that I couldn’t possibly go into the frame of mind I was in when I started a post. So, I decided to share the drafts with you, the way they are. Some of them only have the title in place, some have a line or two that don’t clearly state what I had in mind, while others just touch the subject and end abruptly. Can you try making sense of them? 9 September 2009 Title: Identity of a place 20 November 2008 Title: I am a complain boy! No, I did not misspell the word. I was not indicating to the ad of yesteryears' that we so fondly watched. (By the way, have you noticed how both the kids endorsing the product never grew much tall! For the uninformed, the two kids were Shahid Kapoor and Ayesha Takia.) 6 November 2008 No Title I seem to have become an expert in assorted posts. This one is go...

वो कहते हैं ठहराव ज़िन्दगी को कामयाब करता है, हम तो बेचैनी के सहारे ही खुशियाँ पाते हैं|

Some time ago, a friend, who had quit recently and was working on his own venture, wondered how we tend to give our best to work that we do for others but fail to give as much importance and effort to our own work. We discussed this at length and wondered if it was the regular income that drove us. But then, one's own venture needs more effort to draw the money. If it isn't money, is it about the reputation and goodwill we attach to our performance in a job? If the results in one's own work are more fulfilling than the results when you are employed, do we work hard in order to prove our merit to others? In younger days, most of us spoke about 'proving to ourselves'. Does the concept take a backseat as we grow up and 'mature' in life? What does proving to oneself mean, anyway? Doesn't it mean being happy and satisfied with what one does? Or, does it have to do with achieving certain milestones in life, as defined by convention? Or, is it about discovering...

The combination of a packet-full of potato chips from Dhanbad's Little Stores and a Nandan, Champak magazine or a Chacha Chaudhry, Billu or Pinki comic-book Pure bliss lies in such things. The disappointment at people's fear of the word 'idealistic' for the times in the future Why do they make idealism equivalent to failure? The inability to hold on to thoughts that are dear The exorbitant price of poppy seeds The confusion between what is there and what can be Why is it difficult to let go of anything, whether it is a crushed piece of paper or an old set of sofas? The confidence of doing something good for the world It is in small things that lies the path for the great deeds. I can start small. The inability to continue a routine after seven successful days I will begin it again tomorrow. It will be a new day. The happiness at completing a deadline and the tragedy of facing another Time-up! When will I be able to do that? The underlying, unflinching happiness within ...

Loaded with homework during vacations, I used to make a plan almost everyday to finish my work well before time. I would start with distributing work over weeks. Then, my procrastination would consequently make changes in my plan and I would plan my work over the days left. In the last few days of the vacation, faced with tremendous pressure, I would distribute my tasks over the next few hours left. So, if task X had a week to start with, it may end up with only seven hours. Oh yes, I did finish my homework on time, exactly at the eleventh hour! And everybody at school thought I was a hardworking, studious girl. Only my mom knew the truth, her vocal chords completely shaken and tortured thanks to the continuous pleading, cajoling and scolding. Why do I talk about this today? Because old habits die hard and I am faced with a similar situation now. I have exactly thirteen tasks (beeeeeeeeg ones) at hand that I need to finish by the 27th. How will I manage, you wonder. Even I have no idea...

While I do what I do in order to eventually attain happiness, I find myself being happy for apparently the most trifle reasons: my new bike, last evening's ride, A's smiling wave from downstairs, a friend's impending visit, some old memories, an ego-massage (borrowed the term from a conversation last night) from an appreciative remark, a successful culinary experiment or the completion of a pending task. In other words, just about anything makes me happy. A says my happiness is one reason I keep putting on weight. Well... My happiness is not about complacency; it's not about dropping ambitions. In fact, the new-found calmness has laden my multi-flavoured sundae of ambitions with exotic dry fruits and the juiciest of cherries (I am hungry!). My happy self keeps stress at bay, letting me dream big and do well. My friends ask me if I am high on something. I think I am, and I am too high to know what it is.

A and I have found ourselves humming The Lion Sleeps Tonight a bit too often these days. This could be a result of us trying to woo our two-year old neighbour in Japan. Manu, as everyone fondly calls him, is quiet only when he has a good melody playing in front of him. He was addicted to YouTube. Obsessed with Pigloo (we love that too now!), Manu wouldn't listen to any other song. A and I introduced him to Ek-Anek , Agadam Bagadam and The Lion Sleeps Tonight . Since then, we haven't stopped humming the Lion song. A friend today asked what it is, so I though I will share the song with her and others visiting this blog. Here you go.

I have come here to scribble something but there is nothing specific that comes to mind as I type out these words. I do not find myself lost, just a bit preoccupied sorting the several thoughts in my head. So, while I gather my thoughts, I give my readers one of my favourite songs, a lyrical beauty. Get this widget | Track details | eSnips Social DNA

I have been a bit busy offline these last few days. While I was socializing and discovering the world offline, some of my friends have been extremely active online. A started a blog. I cringed at its name and idea. It is called ' Why I Crib '. A has never been a man of letters, but lately, he has been frantically looking for a vent (other than me) for his strong feelings in response to the everyday happenings in the world. The Author's Wisdom section in A's blog says it all. I have read his posts and want to strongly agree or disagree (most of the time) with his views, but I haven't commented on his posts yet (That makes me understand why my readers don't comment, when I know they feel strongly about one of my opinions.). With the ease of finding him in the same room, I argue with A on all his posts all the time. A and I look at the big picture from the same perspective. However, it is the fine details that we disagree on. The discussions make for some real goo...

The indisciplined freelancer I am, I can be often found staring at my laptop screen at the most unearthly hours. (Yeah, the biological clock is completely out of order.) No, I do not miss deadlines; I do not forget to respond to clients. I do all that and more, like catching on my favourite childhood serials and animations, following local and international news or reading. What I do not do is giving a boost to my chosen career. My years in the corporate world ought to make me more sincere in my own endeavour, but instead I choose to pooh-pooh reality by calling it prosaic. My dreams have nurtured the risk-taking decision maker in me. My courage has found me avenues and opportunities. But I often let my procrastination take over me, making me blissfully oblivious to reality. This post has found me in an introspective vein tonight. While you ponder over my predicament, let me go back to my deadlines. Ciao. P.S. It must be my nocturnal, caffeine-deprived, bogged brain typing.

I used to think that writers are different because of their capability to articulate. I now know that writers are different because they observe and think differently.

Just happened to come across the Gold-Spot ad. Loved humming 'The Zing Thing' back as a kid. Here's to old times.

Ages ago, I read something in a school text book that I often find myself repeating. Loveliness is all around me If I have eyes to see God shares his wonder gifts Everywhere and endlessly I guess I was in the kindergarten when I read this. I memorized the text immediately to never let go of it. So, when a few minutes ago, after meeting a certain work deadline, I remembered it, I felt a surge of excitement rush through my nerves. The thought comes to me today amidst challenges and uncertainties and makes me feel free. Surprisingly, it does not make me nostalgic, somewhat timeless. I guess some thoughts are extremely addictive.

Addition: See the comments for this post. For the last twenty-four hours, I have been trying to hush the humming in my head. My head has been playing the Tagore song, Sakhi, Bhavna Kahare Bole again and again. I have been trying to distract it by screaming, listening to other songs, singing bad songs myself, but it refuses to go away. This song featured in Sriman Prithviraj , one of my childhood favourites. I have roughly translated the first few lines for you. Of course, I cannot bring Tagore's feelings into it. Dear, what is worry? My dear, what is pain? You all talk about love all day and night. Is it all pain? Is it all tears? Is it all grief? Hoping for what bliss do people then long for this pain? If you see through my eyes, everything is lucky, everything is novel, everything is good. The blue sky, the dark forests, the flowers – everything is like me. They laugh; they sing. They want to keep smiling and singing. They know not any ache nor tears nor any pain. It is strange ...

Uncertainty is a good thing. It lets you live the moment. - Me Now you would ask, 'why?' Remember those days when, as kids, all we could do was to think about what we want to do when we grow up. A new career every year. I remember my first dream was to be a doctor. Then, as a couple of years passed, I wanted to join the defence services. Then came Fauji , the television series, and I wanted to be a military doctor. A couple of years later, I was playing with words and I wanted to be a journalist. Not a reporter, but a journalist, that too in the league of Jug Suraiya and Bachi Karkaria. Then, after my class X exams, inspired by the Bill Gates' school dropout story, I wanted to join the industry of comp, chips and information; all this while thinking that I will excel in whatever I do. Wow, those were the days! Remember how those moments of looking forward to a dreamily-defined, uncertain future brought respite from the pressure of school work and peers. Wasn't the uncer...

Thoughts, thoughts, everywhere, nothing that translates into words. For the last few days, I have been thinking. A lot. I have been thinking about everything that my senses encounter - from the colossal electronic city of Akihabara to the three slices of bread I burnt this morning, from the open display of erotica in shops to the absence of English in this part of the world, from the desire to win over the world to the acceptance of things beyond control. The voices in my mind do not seem to translate into sensible sentences in any language. Yet, I do not despair. I am, surprisingly, extremely content, rather happy. I seem to be high on something. I have been, for a drastic change, living in the present, living the moment. The next decade, year, hour or even the minute, do not seem to trouble me. The moments of solitude, sans introspection, make me happy. The voices in my mind seem to be taking me to places - places inside my head, inside my heart. I guess this is what living the momen...

As I sit down to write this post, I wonder if I am writing this with a reason, or it it going to be random blabbering? I know not why I type out these words on my screen. I have a thousand things that need my attention right now, but I choose to ignore them for a silly blog entry. I know not why people write blogs. I know not why I write blogs. I know not why I keep that journal at my bed side when I haven't looked at it in ages. I sound delirious as I type these words. I sound hilarious as I type these words. Rather, I feel pathetic as I type these out. WHY? I do not know. Several friends have been pestering me to post a new entry. I guess this is to honour them. So, here's to Megs and Gops and the others who have been coming to this blog hoping to see a new entry. Forgive me if this turns out to be as uninteresting and boring as I appear right now. But then, these words reflect my current state of mind. Exactly how lost am I... I was away from my chaotic lifestyle for some ti...

“I am struggling everyday, nay, I am struggling every hour so that I make true this dream I have been dreaming of. This is achieving one milestone. Will this do, I question. No, no, never! I want to achieve many a milestone. Are my endeavours then commensurate with my ambition? At one moment I feel like mocking at my fantasy, but at another, my dreamer comes to my rescue. Like a colossus he rises before me and I feel fully possessed. I suddenly bask in the clear sunshine around the little pond near my house, hear the birds chirp with emotional appeal, and feel delighted over the usual pranks of the neighbourhood children. I feel so light and elated. “Who says that dreams are mere dreams and they have hardly anything to do with hard realities? Yes, this can come only from the mouth of the hard-core pessimist. I say the panacea lies with the dreamers. Dream, and dream with positive optimism. It requires stupendous amount of mental strength and courage to be a dreamer. A dreamer is he who...