Amongst other things that we should thank God for, is for not answering all our prayers.
As human beings with limited knowledge and mostly, nearly no perspective, we pray for things that are not always for the best.
Example
During a certain year of my life, I prayed and prayed to God to make the mighty Brahmaputra river change its course and flow through South India. Heck I even tried emotional blackmail on God like Sadhus of yore. I did not eat tiff in for a week.
Hoping to hear something of this sort in the 9'o'clock news: "In an unprecedented event, today, the river Brahmaputra has decided to flow through the states to AP, Karnataka and Tamil Nadu. Course effective from now"
All because in a certain geography test I had named the Brahmaputra as one of the the southern rivers.
God in his infinite wisdom pressed Ignore on this particular prayer and many others like:
Please bring horrid boyfriend back to me.
Please let me die.
Please change the shape of my nose.
Please bomb my school.
please please please
Make it rain. Make it rain.
Am sure you have your own list, thanks to this thing called 'in retrospect'.
Just remember to thank God for not answering all your prayers.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Gfjkdjhjgh
Gfjkdjhjgh
That’s what I’ve decided to call it.
Defined (by me) as a particular smell/fragrance/sound/ visual/touch that brings back certain memories.
Yesterday as I stepped into the lift, I knew someone on my right was regular pan masala junklie. This faint smell of pan masala stains on cotton is very very my nana.
My nana ate pan masala like a child (and some adults) eats mango. He generously shared this treat with his kurta/shirt or whatever.
And my nani being the woman she was, meticulously scrubbed away those stains.
Although, the stains mostly lost to her iron will, the fragrance stubbornly remained.
That day in the lift the pan masala on cotton was my Gfjkdjhjgh.
After many years I thought of my nana.
In his last years he was suffering from an illness called dementia. It’s a condition not very unlike Alzheimer’s. The brain looses almost all cognitive functions. People don’t forget where they kept their car keys but how to use them. In cases even body functions, like feet are used for what? It’s not just the patient who suffers but people around him are equally affected.
Though nani selflessly took care on nana, there were days when even her resolve would fail. On one such occasion after xyx, nani burst into tears. Although nana did not recognise her as his wife, her sorrow made him cry too.
And in painful innocence, that I believe even kids don’t have, he asked me: “Suno ladki, jab hum rote hain toh ankh se paani kyon nikalta hai?”
It was the most fundamental question. Basic and simple. Like, why’s the sky blue?
I don’t know why tears spring forth when we cry. But contrary to my habit, it’s one answer I’ve not rushed to Google for.
That’s what I’ve decided to call it.
Defined (by me) as a particular smell/fragrance/sound/ visual/touch that brings back certain memories.
Yesterday as I stepped into the lift, I knew someone on my right was regular pan masala junklie. This faint smell of pan masala stains on cotton is very very my nana.
My nana ate pan masala like a child (and some adults) eats mango. He generously shared this treat with his kurta/shirt or whatever.
And my nani being the woman she was, meticulously scrubbed away those stains.
Although, the stains mostly lost to her iron will, the fragrance stubbornly remained.
That day in the lift the pan masala on cotton was my Gfjkdjhjgh.
After many years I thought of my nana.
In his last years he was suffering from an illness called dementia. It’s a condition not very unlike Alzheimer’s. The brain looses almost all cognitive functions. People don’t forget where they kept their car keys but how to use them. In cases even body functions, like feet are used for what? It’s not just the patient who suffers but people around him are equally affected.
Though nani selflessly took care on nana, there were days when even her resolve would fail. On one such occasion after xyx, nani burst into tears. Although nana did not recognise her as his wife, her sorrow made him cry too.
And in painful innocence, that I believe even kids don’t have, he asked me: “Suno ladki, jab hum rote hain toh ankh se paani kyon nikalta hai?”
It was the most fundamental question. Basic and simple. Like, why’s the sky blue?
I don’t know why tears spring forth when we cry. But contrary to my habit, it’s one answer I’ve not rushed to Google for.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Siavar Ram Chandra Ki Jai
Well seriously, I dare any man, even today, who can be known as 'his wife's husband'.
For ages, Krishna, lord Krishna was my fav (what mortals dare) avtaar of Vishnu. Then I began reading Ashok Banker's Ramayana. I won't dwell into the book but suffice to say. Lord Ram is the man.
After his wedding with Sita, Ram is hailed in the book as Siavar Ram. And the man still carries his own (he is just a man in the book).
It leads me to think only truly great men can pass this tough test of being addressed by their relation to a woman. This form of address does not take away from them, or make them smaller, or simply flinch. If anything it adds to their stature.
So I salute men like Ram.
Siavar Ram Chandra ki jai.
For ages, Krishna, lord Krishna was my fav (what mortals dare) avtaar of Vishnu. Then I began reading Ashok Banker's Ramayana. I won't dwell into the book but suffice to say. Lord Ram is the man.
After his wedding with Sita, Ram is hailed in the book as Siavar Ram. And the man still carries his own (he is just a man in the book).
It leads me to think only truly great men can pass this tough test of being addressed by their relation to a woman. This form of address does not take away from them, or make them smaller, or simply flinch. If anything it adds to their stature.
So I salute men like Ram.
Siavar Ram Chandra ki jai.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
BOOM
I read somewhere that love is a chemical reaction. Now I'm no science student. But did pay attention to the subject till class 10. If it is a chemical thing, the chemicals must differ each time the reaction happens coz the people involved would be different. What if one time it's a horribly bad reaction. Like disaster. Like hiroshima Nagasaki. and the experiment goes boom in the laboratory called life?
Monday, March 3, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
answer
Ok. Here's why I've started blogging.
There are a million things (thoughts) that keep swimming in my head. Sometimes it gets kinda crowded in here. Often, they get projected in my actions. In ways I'm not always proud of.
So I write them down. And get them out.
Of course i could keep them in my mailbox. (have tried that) but it does not work. did not work for me.
There are a million things (thoughts) that keep swimming in my head. Sometimes it gets kinda crowded in here. Often, they get projected in my actions. In ways I'm not always proud of.
So I write them down. And get them out.
Of course i could keep them in my mailbox. (have tried that) but it does not work. did not work for me.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Un finished story
On my bookshelf, behind the recent reads it lies. An unfinished relationship. An unfinished book. It began well. A definite page-turner. Unputdownable, one could say. But then the book was closed. Never to be opened again. In my mind I go over the pages I've read wondering what would have happened if I had read the complete book. But somewhere I know I never will.
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