something to write about

today I saw a fat dachschund puppy clumsily walking along the street, and it was the oddest, sweetest thing in the world.

muse

I opened notepad today, because I felt like writing. I stared at it for a while, wishing I could doodle on it, but resorted to chewing my nail instead. After a few minutes of staring, I lapsed into that contemplative mood where a multitude of thoughts stream in my head and I cant seem to capture all of them. Its much like those runners at the bottom of news TV channels - where you catch some part of a line in a glance, wait patiently for it to reappear, eyes glued to the screen, but inevitably miss that bit again.

So when I can't capture my thoughts while they're being thought, its a problem later on. During my rethinking, I find that there are lot of gaps. Is that a memory problem? Because a re-thought is actually a memory of the original thought that you're trying to bring back? Either way, I can't seem to find some thoughts once they're thunk out. Or rather, I can't seem to find thoughts when I want to write them down. Missing links. Which explains why there is so much discontinuity in my writing. I reread my old blog today, and cringed at the staccato presentation.

But then again, I was never good at writing prose or composition, I think. A considerable amount of effort goes into it. I think writing sentences itself is a challenge. And I find it a complete drag, having to succumb to the rules of grammar and sentence construction. ( And to think I'm an editor, at that!) A sentence is supposed to make complete sense, which I find rather troubling. What if I don't want to make complete sense? What if I just want to leave my sentences hanging in mid-air? Full suspense creation, ha.

Its easier for me to put a bunch of words in verse, especially since I think in pictures. Writing free verse is like spray painting a wall. And writing prose is like having to colour inside the lines.

However, this is only my perspective. I find my sentences too bound by themselves, too dry, and I need to figure out a way to let them loose. I have read some compositions that have made me marvel at the writer's ability to put his ideas so simply and fluidly. Its only when I'm trying to say something that I get stuck. All other times, when I'm not really bothered, I seem expressive enough (eii wait ya, I'm telling no).

Sometimes I wonder if language itself can fall insufficient of expression.

Words have shape and sound, and silence is space.

hand in hand

Where we are now seems like such a miniscule part of our lives. There's so much to see, so much to learn, so much to draw from, so much to experience. And on the contrary, there's so much residing in the miniscule.

the same old

Change is inevitable. Thats a universal fact. You try to cope with change, and before you know it, you're changing with it. Try to resist, and you change all the more. Obstinacy doesnt get you anywhere. Accept, accept - thats what they've been preaching. I wonder why it is that even though all the wise men have been drivelling it into our heads that we should 'go with the flow', it isnt applicable easily.

Change is stealthy, you didnt even realise when it had crept in. It seems sudden, always. But its been sitting there all long, growing, in one dark corner of your room, waiting for you to acknowledge its presence. In due course of time, it turns into an attention seeking, gleeful monster, poking and prodding you. Since its there to stay, you might as well get acquainted with it.

Change makes you think, change makes me think. It is the curtain in between scenes that morph into each other in a strangely disconnected way. And the characters run about excitedly, confusedly, changing costumes, going over dialogues.

Change sucks you in and lets you out.

It binds, it sets you free. Go through it, turn it over, walk around it, wallow in the whys, but theres only one way out.

Skip to point now.

just

I went to a school for slow learners/mentally challenged children yesterday.

I met a boy there, S, who is autistic and is something of a musical genius. He plays the piano, guitar and sings. He played a few songs on the keyboard and I was absolutely mesmerized. S sang softly even though the room was noisy. His eyes shone as he played and chords just flowed out of him. It was clear he was somewhere else, he was part of the song. He composes, too. I asked him if he understood what harmonizing means , he said he did. I sang a few songs with him and it was one hour of absolute bliss.

It was exhilarating to have connected.

Five weeks in Chennai

I've explored a considerable amount in the past five weeks. It has been been nothing short of madly tumultous but exhilarating all the same.

I went to the beach plenty of times during my stay.I love the beach. I love the ships and their tiny lights against the vast blackness. Oh, and the lighthouse!Just fascinating.. especially with all those Enid Blyton tales absorbed into my system. This part of the Marina is charming.The beam sweeps over sea the in a majestic circle.. and the spotlight falls on a building during its course! I always wondered how the residents of the apartment might be sleeping with that big round yellow beam shining through the windows every few minutes, its quite amusing. I can watch the sea for ages. It just fills me up with that half-thrilling, half-calming, lifting feeling;the cup runs over but keeps getting filled up like PC Sorcar's Water of Ganga. With every rise and fall of the waves I get a little higher.

Am going to miss the city, sorely. The Saravana Bhavan coffee, Oxford Bookstore, Landmark on NHR, the Madras Terrace House. The kittens in the hostel, the walks on Sterling Road, the walk to college, the guinea pigs, the train rides, the music, the friends.

"The old order changeth, yielding place to new."

contemplative

I suffer from two syndromes. One is exhaustive overthinking and the other is overthinking in exhaustion. Both dont seem to be very productive.