The birthday post - 22

(older ones here and here)

I think I'm proper adult now.
Its sinking in.
Have not stopped chewing nails though.
The hectic year has demanded it.

In may I was at undergrad college, in june I was pursuing an mba, in july I found myself at a publishing firm.

21 has got a nice ring to it. It sounds more confident of itself than 22.
23 sounds nice, I guess because its such a prime number.
22 is stuck in between.
But then the middle is supposed to be the best part.

I like really long emails almost as much as I like moderately long letters.
I still prefer a short letter to a really long email though.
I still am a bundle of contradictions.

I realised I'm not really in favour of genetic engineering. Haw to the biotechie.
I miss walks. Thats what I miss most about vellore. And the space.
I love cows. I own a bracelet with wooden cows on it.
I hate time zones. Its so difficult to communicate esp if the time difference is six hours.

I realised I need a catalyst for music.
It doesnt flow out of me the way it does from them.
The only thing I want badly is an electric piano/fodu keyboard. \
I used to love chocolate ice cream, now I'm tired of it; I never liked mango much; I dont seem to like strawberry either; and I can't stand butterscotch; I used to like vanilla till my brother told me he doesnt like it and now I'm doubtful too.
I love mango/orange bar though, the kind that makes your tongue orange.

My five weeks in Chennai were the craziest five weeks ever.
The amount of support I got from both family and friends was magical.
I love train rides in Chennai.
My emotional graph is all spiky.
I'm nowhere close to being stoical.
I get extremely affected by things.
But I can also be as solid as brick. Ha.

Strange things annoy me. Like foot-door-stoppers.
Like filing nails.
Like when people sing happy birthday, most people touch the lower notes (usually the 6th) at the third line (birth).
I love kids.
The one thing that can make me happiest is rain.
I'm happy to be home.

I'm picky about words.
Like I'd never use the word 'regards' unless I absolutely have to because I don't like the sound of it. It doesnt have any kind of heart or soul. Putting a warm before it just makes it sound like something that absolutely cannot be warm.
My favourite fruit is the orange because I love its sound.
I'm terrified of anything underground- tunnels, mines etc.
In a man, I seek simplicity.
I like things to go my way.
Sometimes I insist they do.

Guys are strange beings but I think am beginning to understand them now.
I dislike cities and traffic and lights and noise.
Another year gone by and the word cute still tops the compliment list. Where is smart and outgoing?

Clouds fascinate me.
I will bear a big smile the whole day if its cloudy.
I will hop around making high pitched excited noises if its raining.

I hate being corrected by someone who I know is right.
I love animals.
I love naming pets and since I don't have any, I name my friends'.
I can't last two days without rasam.
I have seen that love works wonders.

I have a quick temper.
The year has been megaeventful. Dhamaka sale oly of life changing incidents.
I tend to be extremely dramatic.

Birthday calls are the best.
I feel loved.
I always have something to say.
I like reminding people that I'm around.
I am superwoman.

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. It's 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, it's 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.

It's 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.

the same old

Change is inevitable. That's 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 doesn't get you anywhere. Accept, accept, that's 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 isn't applicable easily.

Change is stealthy, you didn't even realise when it had crept in. It seems sudden, always. But it's 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 there's 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 don't seem to be very productive.

new

Before I can recover from one college life, another has begun. A sprawling leafy campus, endless classes and new faces. And the old friends and the music. The mad jumble-tumble of a schedule is about to begin.. in the heart of this dirty, hot, happening, charming, growing-on-me tamilian city, so full of sweaty activity.

Life has been updated.

Four years down

And I'm older,wiser, proudly parading about with my graduate status and readily obliging to spill some of this accumulated enlightenment.

College has been a series of cup-of-life-runneth-over-type experiences-from the crazy impromptu trips to the quiet reading in the room, from the screaming jumping rock concerts to the more sober evenings. I devoured books, frowning over pages of literature and philosophy. I discovered and rediscovered music- I met some brilliant musicians who introduced me to some brilliant musicians. I climbed hills. Everything just flowed freely. There was an appealing rawness about life.

I came across some incredibly talented people, some extremely nice people and some crazy people. Some have been constant, steady and steadying. Some swept me off my feet, some put me back firmly on the ground. Everyone I met had a role to play that, on looking back, seemed to fit in place.

Here, all our lives did hotchpotchedly intersect.

Now grown ups, and being expected to behave so, we will, as the Little Prince says, busy ourselves with matters of greater consequence.

muse

it's all about finding that perfect imbalance. precarious and breathtaking, yet firm.

perspective, vellore

To this place where I've found peace.

After having lived in a city for most part of my life, Vellore has been quite an experience. The place has grown on me. And how much! Vellore is a small quaint town, with busy streets in and around CMC..and inactivity pervading pretty much everywhere else.
People are happy here. They'd be happier with more rainfall*. But yes, people are a happy lot and life moves at a human pace. Vellore is full of suprises if you know where to look. Orange/pink houses spring up boldly out of paddy fields.. such an anachronism. Evening walks, among green fields and farmers' huts are pleasant and are a stark contrast to the monstrous concrete blocks of VIT. Kids play on the streets, grandmoms sit on the verandahs watching them, cows chew their cud and all's right with the world. Such content beings.

The place radiates a simplicity that is heart-warming. People are not in the least conscious. They possess an atrocious sense of spelling and give their shops atrocious names, but they are so blissfully unaware of this. (Darling residency.. not to mention the Baby too). It's amusing. Endearing. And why the beedi is goat marked is still a mystery.
Home to one of the busiest hospitals in the country, some brilliant NGOs, two good colleges, an old fort/temple of historical importance, dhabas and a million eat-outs, 50-rupees-t-shirts.

And to everyone who has been here and has been a victim of its quiet charm.

* the rains here are just beautiful

all about and over

There seems to be a struggle for expression these days. While there is a constant flow of ideas and thoughts in my mind which I try to put down, I miserably fail to do so. Sentences, upon my reading, seem to glaringly lack meaning and substance. Words, they fail to reproduce even half of an experience, a vision, a colour, a chord. In my mind they dont flow as well-punctuated sentences. Instead,they form an abstract jumble,like graffiti on a wall, refusing to be bound by the clarity that I seek to express myself with.

It is difficult to share what is so mine. I'm not quite sure whether I would call it restless curiosity or greed that makes me want to de-track just to experience what I would not have, had I not taken a detour. I'm in the category of people who suffer from an overabundance of life and when there is a lull I have to take a walk and look for more, for fear that I might miss out on something.

I would love to share, but my inability to express is clinging on, as if it fears that a part of me would be lost if I did. So much lives in a song I grew up on, in my favourite reading spot under that tree, in a cloudy sky. Even simple experiences make my words slink away shamefully,having been made aware of their incompetency.

It seems that in general, so much is personal to me. The problem of inexpression is not half as frustrating as the need to express is. Which, in turn, is not as bothering as is the fact that you might never know what it is like to be me.

3 am

random thoughts.

detachment born out of indifference.or vice versa?
weary acceptance of things unchanging.
sensitivity,tiresome, eventually leading to numbness.
the stupidest yet biggest insecurities.
yesterday's lover,today's past.
blocking out parts of life.
cruel selective memory.
meaningless conversations.
noises outside,silent within.
finding that love is what u want it to be.
letting go of some,holding on to more than acknowledged.
ability to reason out things in the head,inability to apply it when needed.
giving yourself away,like there's no tomorrow.
moments that cannot be relived.
plodding thru life at times, at other times there's unlimited energy,exuberance.
at both times, not knowing night from day.
doing the craziest things which seem to be in a distant surreal world when ulook back.
embracing life,embracing existence wholesomely.
realising the importance of prayer.
no time,space and patience for gossip.
limitless growing.
going thru the i'm-gonna-change-the-world phase.
realising the the impermanence of life and everything in it.
trying to get rid of self-created pain.
laughing...and more laughing.
hugs that can lift your spirits...and the feeling lasting for days.
understanding unconditional love exists only in one form-between parent andchild.
cumulative negativity removed out of the system sometimes by a bout of tears,sometimes by alcohol.
taking things lightly,imagining that they are insignificant in life's larger picture.
devoid of pride,yet ego persists.
learning to use ego as a defence mechanism.
learning to empathize with people.
taking wrong decisions confidently.
discovering instincts are almost always right
learning to submit,without any inhibition,and drowning in that beauty.
the gradual process of growth seeming to occur overnight-waking up wiser everyday.
mistaking temptation for curiosity.
ability to create our own memories.fascinating.
the music matters.
marvelling at the intangible.
alone in the end,but not lonely.
incomplete,part of a greater something.
whole in oneself.

forest fire

the hills are burning. i see a golden ring far away, in the direction of sathuvachari. thick red glow, the flames lapping hungrily. i picture myself on top of that barren, rocky hill, where i was a year back. the sight is unnerving even from this distance, from my room window.

nothing changes. the town is as quiet and peaceful as ever, fast asleep,while a fire rages madly around it.

Bookshop

Found a new bookstore yesterday. All bright and neat and oh-so-organized. And cosy also. I recognized the guy at the counter from another old bookshop that I used to frequent. After hunting for a particular novel in all possible stores in the twin cities, I finally found it here and I was ecstatic!

You know that feeling bookstores give you.. oh, I can spend all day there squinting at weird titles (whatoly people read/write nowadays!), leafing through those heavy hardbound picturebooks with glossy pages all rich in colour, coming across long-forgotten books that I wouldve read as a kid, smelling pages when no one's looking.. ah. I like nice warm bookstores as much as a like old dusty musty libraries.

Heart filled with happy, I say.