Whose Line is it, Anyway? Arbitrary Thoughts on My Many Faces.

Absurdly, a statement from a desperate wanna-be set me thinking. A very belligerent woman, she said she was soft at the core but had to pretend to be brash to save herself from being mangled by the “wolves” of the industry.

Hmm. I realized I had a coupla faces myself. One for home, another for work, one for friends, yet another for strangers. I must be leaving people pretty befuddled. Imagine a group of people comprising a family member, a chaddi friend, a colleague, an acquaintance, an ex-flame, a stranger (to me, that is), and a person I don’t get along with. If they were to discuss me, they’d probably all have different things to say, quite like those 7 blind men, all touching different parts of the elephant and having totally varied and diverse things to conclude about the poor animal. Each, of course, positive that their unique experience was THE one; that the others didn’t know any better.

You get the drift.

Obviously, one can’t be the same with everyone one meets. Some would say it’s hypocritical. I’d say it’s essential. There is no greater pleasure than to be yourself; and of course, that’s the real you coz you don’t have your antennae up. You aren’t worried about being judged. That said, again, there is no greater pleasure than being a total mystery to the one you can’t tolerate! :-)Let ‘em keep guessing. The minute they conclude I am a snob, I belie that and do something sweet! Keep 'em on their toes!

Mean? Maybe. But when people are out to walk all over you, you have only so many options. Become a doormat, try to change their way of thinking, care a fig or confuse them. Actually, confuse-if-you-can’t-convince seems to work pretty well.

Well, most of the time.

When it doesn’t, I take the “Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn!” route. Believe you me, it works.

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The Best of P.G. Wodehouse!

Snippets from PGW for all you PGW lovers!

* Bertie Wooster; "Well Jeeves, this gentleman who just visited me, was he a fellow with a belly like a boiled potato and face like a cauliflower?"

Jeeves, the perfect butler, with a poker face: "Certainly Sir. There is much resemblance to the vegetables that you mentioned."

Bertie: "A rather stout and fat party, eh?"

Jeeves: "Well sir, I wouldn't attribute the same adjectives myself, but certainly a gentleman with generous proportions."

* My Aunt Dahlia has a carrying voice... If all other sources of income failed, she could make a good living calling the cattle home across the Sands of Dee. She fitted into my biggest armchair as if it had been built round her by someone who knew they were wearing armchairs tight about the hips that season.

* Unseen, in the background, Fate was quietly slipping the lead into the boxing-glove.

* You know how it is with some girls. They seem to take the stuffing right out of you. I mean to say, there is something about their personality that paralyses the vocal cords and reduces the contents of the brain to cauliflower.

* Scarcely had I entered the sitting-room when I found ... what appeared at first sight to be the Devil, A closer scrutiny informed me that it was Gussie Fink-Nottle, dressed as Mephistopheles. (can you imagine saying this about your own pal?!!!!)

* We do not tell old friends beneath our roof-tree that they are an offence to the eyesight.

* In build and appearance, Tuppy somewhat resembles a bulldog, and his aspect now was that of one of these fine animals who has just been refused a slice of cake.

* Aunt Agatha is like an elephant—not so much to look at, for in appearance she resembles more a well-bred vulture, but because she never forgets.

And, one of his best:
It was a confusion of ideas between him and one of the lions he was hunting in Kenya that had caused A. B. Spottsworth to make the obituary column. He thought the lion was dead, and the lion thought it wasn't.

And, some more...

* She looked as if she had been poured into her clothes and had forgotten to say "when."

* The Duke of Dunstable had one-way pockets. He would walk ten miles in the snow to chisel an orphan out of tuppence.

* The fascination of shooting as a sport depends almost wholly on whether you are at the right or wrong end of the gun.

* It is a good rule in life never to apologize.

* The right sort of people do not want apologies, and the wrong sort take a mean advantage of them.

* I know I was writing stories when I was five. I don't know what I did before that . . . just loafed, I suppose.

*As for Gussie Finknottle, many an experienced undertaker would have been deceived by his appearance and started embalming on sight.

* Marriage isn't a process of prolonging the life of love, but of mummifying the corpse.

* The old lemon throbbed fiercely. I got an idea!

* There is only one cure for grey hair. It was invented by a Frenchman. It is called the guillotine.

* He had just about enough intelligence to open his mouth when he wanted to eat, but certainly no more.

* I always advise people never to give advice.

* Wilfred Allsop was sitting up, his face pale, his eyes glassy, his hair disordered. He looked like the poet Shelley after a big night out with Lord Byron.

* She wrinkles her nose at me as if I were a drain that had got out of order.

* The Aberdeen terrier gave me an unpleasant look and said something under his breath in Gaelic eye swiveling round stopped me like a bullet. The Wedding Guest, if you remember, had the same trouble with the Ancient Mariner.

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Section 377: Time to be Gay

A rather animated discussion was taking place when I walked in to my workplace. Topic: the revised Article 377 of the Indian constitution that makes gay rights legal, simply said. 5 men said it is not moral, 1 woman said it had nothing to do with morals.

The guys said now they’d have to go in burqas…afraid that any man might ask them to marry them on the road! Ridiculous. They also said one may as well legalize drugs, robbery and poison. They said it was unnatural, immoral and just not right. Gays ought to be sent to jail!

In this case, the eunuchs ought to be killed! Because that, too, is not natural, yes? But, then, that was different, they said in a chorus. Ah. And, how was that different, may I ask? Just because they were “different” physically? Is that all? So, just because a person looks different, it is natural. But, if he feels differently because it is natural for him/her to feel that way, it is illegal! Drugs, poison are harmful to life…being gay doesn’t kill…it’s just a sexual inclination, for crying out loud! What if YOU did not feel naturally attracted to men/women, as the case may be, however hard you tried? How can you force someone to be attracted to a particular sex when they feel absolutely nothing? Imagine asking such a person to get married to a ‘normal’ person! It’s atrocious, unfair …for both the individuals. In fact, it may even amount to rape.

I am aware of people pretending to be gay because they are bored or turn gay for the sake of shock-value, money, favours or attention – that is another matter. The discussion, here, is about people who are inherently different, not for the sake of kicks.

Every individual has a right to be themselves, as long as it doesn’t harm or injure anyone in any way. Why should we accept and consider only physical differences as normal? Just because it is obvious? Should I be considered a freak because I think, feel, react differently? Or, because how I am, is not ‘common?’ Am I to be not accepted because in your experience, I act contrarily to a system of universal or personal belief? How hypocritical, insensitive and lopsided a perspective/belief is that? Going by this, corruption should be legalised…isn’t it common? That is immoral. Pedophiles and rapists ought to be sent to jail, not souls who cannot bring themselves to feel the way ‘straight’ people do.

I think it is time we looked at things from a different angle…take a more comprehensive look; accept and recognize that people can be different, singular and unlike us…and just because they cannot feel the way they are supposed to "traditionally" feel doesn’t make them any less of a human being.

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Fame mongers! I ask you!

Rakhi Sawant...sigh! The woman who, despite multiple plastic surgeries, enhancements and what-have-you, still looks like a distorted mask, claims to become an “ideal wife” on national television!

Gimme a break! For a C-grade someone, she sure has gone overboard in acting demure and pure! The struggling item girl-turned big-boss-celebrity-turned-virginal-actor will now get married on TV! What will people not do for publicity and eyeballs! First a bhartiya-nari charade on being kissed, then a sob story about her life, a coupla third rate minute-long appearances in bhojpuri films and now this! Come on, she doesn’t even sound convincing!

Remember what happened to Rick Rockwell, the silhouetted multi-millionaire figure, in 'Who Wants to Marry a Multi-millionaire?' It so turned out neither was the man a multi-millionaire nor was the marriage real! The woman was paid to act along. They all got what they wanted: spotlight. By the way, the so-called marriage was annulled 2 months later.

Alas! There are some who think people like Rakhi are great. Haven’t I heard the “at least they are honest” dialogue a million times? Honest about what? The stories are “leaked” as media hype. One knows the truth is bound to come out sooner or later. Remember Mallika Sherawat? Turned out she was married and had concocted all those crazy stories of supposed ill-treatment.

Poor MJ’s not even buried when his ex comes up and reveals the goriest of details about their bedroom and what not. Is this the time, I ask you!

What IS the matter with people? What will they not do for a bubble reputation! One has to achieve higher goals, but at what cost?

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MJ: More Sinned Against than Sinning…

No, I am not a fan. But, I still think MJ was a man more sinned against than sinning. And, now, he shall sing no more.

A celebrity hounded. It’s unfortunate that a lot of people remember him for the wrong reasons. Enduring physical and mental abuse by your own father for years is not a simple thing. Growing up branded in a cruel world that thinks nothing of you if you ain’t white or rich can be psychologically devastating.

But, MJ not only made it, he made it like no other! His was THE breakthrough. He is the reason other African-American singers were noticed and recognized.

Not for nothing was he described as, “an unstoppable juggernaut, possessed of all the tools to dominate the charts seemingly at will…” He had star power and that fact is undeniable. Remember him for his music, his songs, his voice, his dance moves…forget the rest…he was human, like us. So what if he got a nose job/other surgical treatments? Don’t forget – he grew up believing black was not beautiful. Isn’t that something the society needs to feel responsible for? What’s wrong in wanting a better nose anyway? He was just another human who wanted to look better than he thought he did. Is that a crime? Any one else would go unnoticed; but, just because it’s “MJ,” people badger, attack, stab, gibe, mock, twist, distort.

Limelight does strange things to people. Maybe he was weird or a rebel. So what? He was a man who could not only hold but arrest your attention. And, for decades! How can you forget his path-breaking work?

Let him be…let's not judge...he made mistakes…we all do. Life is complicated. Let’s celebrate him for what he was: a singer, a dancer like no other, a song-writer. The rest does not matter. As Auden once wrote for Yeats, so it is for MJ:

You were silly like us; your gift survived it all;

Sing of human unsuccess

In a rapture of distress;

In the deserts of the heart

Let the healing fountain start,

In the Prison of his days,

Teach the free man how to praise...

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Of the Divine...random thoughts...

A rather controversial and interesting topic: the Divine. Is it essential to bow down to a higher power? Different takes, different strokes, some pale, come coloured, few accepting, many severe…

I, for one, cannot believe that the Divine doles out scrolls of punishments and rewards according to what it thinks is right or wrong. That, indeed, is a VERY human behavioral pattern. If it is the DIVINE, it should be without ego, pride, wrath and other human attributes, if you know what I mean. After all, that’s what makes it divine…that’s what gives it power. I cannot believe the D is divine because it has the power to strike plagues and smote people out of sheer vengeance. Anyway.

The point is, the yogis’ (NOT THE HINDUS!) standpoint has been this: optimize the body to reach to the highest level a human can reach physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. From nothingness to nothingness. With a world of a difference, of course between the two.

Coming back to the main topic, given the divinity of the D, would He/She want servile, subservient, begging, toadying, apple-polishing, cowering 'devotees' or would the D want each soul to rise to its own height and scope, irrespective of praise or censure? I think, tis the latter.

Leads me to another aspect. Think it’s easier for people to act subservient, grovel and denigrate themselves, be so-called sinners than to take charge, sit themselves down and ask: what went wrong/is the problem, what can ‘I’ do to change it. Was I responsible for it in any way? I think very few people are brave enough to take complete responsibility for their actions, words and life. We'd much rather live with passing off responsibilty on another force than accept the harsh, brutal truth. Juvenile, but there it is.

I personally think the D would like a human more in tune with itself, more wanting to be 'in-charge' despite the given condition, work/slog it out than give in to the ‘kismet’ bit. I go to a dentist, he screws up my mouth coz he didn’t have enough expertise/right knowledge about the medicine…that ain’t kismet. It’s a human fault, not justice meted out by the D for a probable past life. The doc should have been more ethical, he should have made me aware about the possible side-effects of the medicine before venturing into treating me. Control what you can- each one, not just me.

Kismet ain’t punishment. It’s learning. Learn and you grow, fail and the patterns will keep repeating till one learns.

Returning to the point: prayer isn’t asking…it’s a dialogue between you and your higher self, which is the Divine. The D ain’t a separate entity…we have separated Him by moving away from the Centre…

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Life in Transit...

How does it feel to be in a place that may best be called transit? Has your life been in transit, ever? When you knew you had moved away from the past, were waiting for the future, not yet there? Life in transit can be dull…or not, depending on the perspective you choose to carry.
I have seen a lot many people getting frustrated coz they want to move to the next destination but can’t. A lot others eventually move on but wistfully look back at the time they were in that in-between situation of life. What is it about that state that bothers people? Is it the ‘don’t-know-what’s-in-store’ factor? Impatience? Or is it fear? I think it’s a pretty decent place to be in, if you look at it from that angle. You have left something behind, something you can never go back to, for better or worse. You have this life ahead about which you have very little clue. So what? Can’t the present be enjoyed without perpetually singing the I wonder what’s in store for me jingle? Remember what what’s-his-name said…
What might have been is an abstractionRemaining a perpetual possibilityOnly in a world of speculation.What might have been and what has beenPoint to one end, which is always present.

If all it boils down to, is the present, then will fretting and worrying do much other than send you down a mental disquietude lane? Life in transit ain’t that bad, after all. Look around you…people are moving about doing things they always do. They’re either working, or married, or raising kids, generally. They are all there somewhere. But again, are they? Maybe that’s not what you’d like. Maybe, just maybe, life has a different route set out for you. Isn’t it worth the wait? It’s important to just live the moment, even if it means watching others do the dance of life. You are at a vantage point…all-seeing, as it were. An observer in the grandstand of life. Not bad for someone who is, technically, nowhere. :)

You know it all better- having seen it all objectively. You know where to pull the strings, where to draw the line.

So, nowhere man, please listen, you don’t know what you’re not missing…quit fretting and start enjoying the place you’re in! … Time past and time future

What might have been and what has been

Point to one end, which is always present.

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Invictus...

Here is a fav poem of mine by William Ernest Henley. Check out the last lines ine each stanza:

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods there may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance,
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance,
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears,
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet, the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.

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"Break, Break, Break....."

This is one of Tennyson's best & my fav:

Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.
O, well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O, well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay!
And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill;

But O for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!
Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.

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How Much?

How much? Kitne ka? WHAT! Are there diamonds in there?
This cacophony of shrill and crass voices brought my attention to the source of the sound. I turned around to see two youngish women, identically dressed in jeans so tight I wondered how in the world they'd got 'em on, streaked hair, make-up & what have you. (Ah! No, I have nothing against the D&G bags...and the rest of it either)They stood there, pouting. I turned back to look at the artisan who looked at them with the kinda benign patience only a poor man can have.(Oh, by the way, I was in a tribal art & craft fest)If you were to look at this potter's wares, created outta mud, wrought in fire and sweat, you'd feel the same way I did: horrified at the words of the women. What he'd created in a remote village of Maharashtra was mind-boggling. Creativity, beauty, art at its ethnic best! What these women found "expensive" was a foot scrub, a curved fish shaped as if it were in the last throes of death. Rs 50. That's all. The younger of the two then looked at other stuff, found it ridiculous and moved on to the next stall. The potter and I exchanged looks. It was an odd moment. I plopped down next to him. He sighed and said nothing. I let him be silent. After a bit, I asked him about his work. This chap comes all the way from a tiny hamlet in a Godforsakenplace, travels for 2 days in a general compartment of a messy train, all the while wondering if his goods will reach Delhi intact or not, pays a huge amount of money to be in a place like Dilli Haat and is not even entitled to earn a few pennies as profit? His hands are magical...they create such beautiful shapes outta the shapeless mass! He even has fridge magnets moulded into exaggerated heads of animals, people...even tiny V-shaped chappals! All these are glazed and in different colours typical of India. He's also got miniscule cups and saucers, threaded to be hung on a kitchen door...I mean his goods are so NOT run-of-the-mill. But then, how can a woman who lacks imagination, wears what the others wear, carries bags that are supposedly carried by the elite(shucks! people are so dying to be 'like' somebody!)and probably buys stuff only from the malls, ever know what it is like to appreciate the smaller things of life? She is running after the west so blindly that she has no time to "stand and stare" (Wordsworth said that?) at the beauty that is there in the 'unbranded' things of life.
Hmm...I looked at this potter's dark face, white teeth, silver hair, knotted fingers, bare feet,, bent back...and his life kinda flashed before my eyes. I felt deeply touched.
As the old man sipped tea, a gaggle of giggly teenagers passed us, tarried for a bit, and moved on, exclaiming...eee...didya see that or what!
It was time to move on. My bags and I found our way back to a small bench, where I sat down and wondered...I don't know what this woman must have bought( I have serious doubts if she managed to buy anything at all...she wouldn't have liked to buy a banana-skin bag, a coconuthusk tray or mugs made out of lavastone) but I do know this: with all the education and the frills, if one cannot appreciate the unpretentious things of life, it can't be called life...it's merely a semblance of it...and one, then, is not living, one is hurrying on to finish up life.

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A little note on Jack...

Someone close-by made a comment about someone: such a jack of all trades and master of none!
Hmm…and what, may I ask, is wrong in that? We all can’t be the Da Vincis, Diors or who’s-who of the world. So, for us common mortals, is it really wrong to be jack of all trades? Not really, I think. In fact, I think Jacks are at a better advantage given their sheer expanse of experience in multiple areas. Now, imagine, can a master architect, in really severe times, do clothes, dabble in paint or fix a doorbell/leaking faucet? You get the basic drift. Now, our Jack has tried his hand at banking, electronics, cooking, sculpture…a little bit of it all. Maybe he ain’t the best, but his is a better perspective. He understands more. Appreciates more. He is wiser. His is not the judgment of the frenzied one-sided, blinkered old horse. When he gives opinions, they are more the valuable for their rounded angle. His life is more varied, he has more opportunities. In times of need, he is the one person who can multi-task coz he’s been-there-done-that...no tiny thing, he. Imperfect, yes; out-of-work, never. Now, this is not to deny a master his due. This is just in favour of the Jacks who feel it ain’t good till you’re a CEO of the blah-de-blah.
Times are a-changing. No longer is there a need to feel ashamed, Jack if you ain’t somebody. You can always make yourself useful. Remember Mr. Ashley who couldn’t do anything other than be a soldier in Gone With the Wind? I’m afraid, I’m not much good at anything, Scarlett. Sigh! Whatever you may be, Jack, you sure ain’t a loser. You can always paint or teach.
Or, maybe, write a blog? :)

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Of Gentle Reminders...

A couple of days ago, I went to a remote region in Haryana with a friend who wanted to buy an agricultural tract of land. After several twisty roads (if you may so call ‘em) we reached a place where two roads met. Obviously we took the more travelled one. Once in the village, we met up with the village head of land affairs. In case you're worried, this write-up is not about benefits of agriculture, la “krishidarshan” on Doordarshan.
Well, hesitatingly at first, we had to hop on to the local vehicle available (read: bullock cart) coz the car from the city would not be able to bear the harshness of the rough & severe path that’d lead to the site or what everyone in the village called a “ploat” (plot). Several meandering, dusty, umm…in-ways…(dunno what else to call a no-road kinda road)later, suddenly came upon one of the most arresting and pleasant sites I’ve seen in a long time: a vassssstttt undulating area filled with sarson…bright & green & yellow, swaying in the wind. A real feast to the starved eyes. While X (let’s call my friend that, for the sake of simplicity) conversed and discussed and discussed some more with the main farmer, all I could think of was…nothing. My mind did not, could not, race or flit from one topic to a disconnected another. Suddenly, X & the other chap stopped talking. The silence in the fields became positively overwhelming. All I could hear was the musical interplay of the delicate sarson, rising and falling; see the entire area change hue as the yellow heads ducked and the green became more prominent. It was magical. It was picture perfect.
Pop.
I was being asked for my opinion. Oops…err, yes, X, it’d be perfect. Eh? An acre? Buy the whole area! Yes, I am sure…BUY! What more could you want? This place was perfect…build a little cottage and surround yourself in this sight, this smell, this sound of silence. Your concrete jungle will never take you to this...this... heightened sense of well-being, tranquillity and harmony.
Once back to the “oppice” (office), we were offered a most delicious cuppa masala tea and a box of sweetmeats. Whoa…why sweets? We hadn’t struck a deal yet, not even spoken about it. My antennae were up, trust factor plummeting to zero. What was he trying to get at? As if sensing my discomfort, the man offered, “We can’t let you go empty-handed.” His bronzed face, missing teeth and humble voice left me feeling that somewhere, I’d become a victim of the cruel, calculating, modern times that have repeatedly taught us to never trust anyone.
I was humbled.
I’m back to the concrete jungle. Surprisingly, each time I am weary and tired, in vacant or in pensive mood the dancing fields flash upon that inward eye;
Then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils…
It is a totally underdeveloped, unsophisticated little hamlet that provides me with comfort when my “modern,” urban, fast life sets my being in a tizzy. Ironic or what.

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Sis, Perspective & Me...

My sister just left for the States. I'd known for more than 5 months that she'd leave around the last quarter. Yet, when the moment actually came, it hit me hard. You see, I'm the sort of person who can distance herself emotionally. Sometimes it is a hard, conscious effort, sometimes self-suggestion, at times escapism, and many a time logic. Therefore, outta-sight-outta-mind. I thought I'd apply one of my usual techniques this time, too. My sis stayed for 3 days, we had a blast, trying to enjoy every single moment before she'd leave with her husband for a good 4 years. We chatted, gossiped, visited people, and yakked some more till our bodies revolted. Hmm... why wasn't I happy? All through her packing, (which is an on-the-face sign of "leaving," I wasn't affected.) I mean, I'd decided to be happy. Half the time, we think of ourselves, how we are going to feel and base our judgment or opinion on that. Ergo, since I was not going to have a skewed perception, since I was going to be logical and reasonable, I was glad she was going. Oh, another thing you ought to know about me...I've never been a conventionally good elder sister. I know I've missed playing with her when we were kids/teenagers, missed being close to her because of a most crazy, psychologically stupid ...imbalance of mind. This is how I can best describe myself as far as my relationship with kid sis is concerned. It's only lately I've realised how important she is in my life, my thoughts, my emotions...& I so hate myself for being mean and outrageously cruel to her...for spoiling the best years of my life being idiotically distant from her.

And now, she's gone.

On our way back from the airport, mom had tears, dad was talking a little too much & I listened to a Jethro Tull number...or was it Jones? Perspective. Angle. Logic. No emotions. She's happy, I'm happy. Period.

Why am I wearing the oversize slippers she left behind, using the purse she couldn't carry? Why haven't I as much as glanced at her room? Why couldn't I sleep? And why was I silent at work? Why can't I stop my tears each time I think of her? Why am I writing this?

Perspective be damned. I as hell can't help missing her. She means more to me than I'd realised, more than anyone else ever can. And, yes, I am happy for her. It's just that I am totally miserable without her physical presence, her silly smile, her one-liners, her comments, her jokes...This time, I am not going to get rid of my emotions. I am going to allow myself to feel. After all, she's my sister.

And I love her.

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Of Yoga & Peace...Journal of the Journey

Ok, so I decided to join a yoga course. Normal, you'd say. Yeah, so I thought...some light floor exercises, a coupla deep breathing techniques & voila!Ha! Wasn't I in for a surprise! Lemme just provide a brief history of 30 days. (Oh, by the way, you must remember I am someone who had a most divine habit of waking up at 8 in the morning. Going for yoga meant goodbye to that.)
Day 1: Yikes! Overslept! Hop, skip & jump out of the bed at 6.15 a.m. Run into the door of the bathroom(it takes time, you know, for the brain lights to come on & I ran before my brain could register I'd woken up.)Steady, ol' girl! Ah...brush etc, run down a long flight of steps, bundle into the car, honk, honk...(I didn't need to, actually, but I was in a state of panic & that's how I vented.) Reached the sprawling studio at last, tiptoed into the silent room, took off my shoes, grabbed a mat & lay down next to an over-proportioned aunty who gave me you're-disturbing look with her bulbous eyes. Striken, I lay down quietly. The instructor's voice was calm, collected and sonorous. Close your eyes, now mentally imagine your toes are reelaxxeedd....Oh hell! I'd forgotten to send an important email! Bring your awareness back to your body, now breathe easy..inhale to the count of 4...Man, I sure hope Rakesh doesn't send me a stinking reminder...Gently open your eyes & sit up slowly...Bloody Hell! Why am I so forgetful? Now, let's get ready for Suryanamaskar. Wha...? Oh ok...ATTTENNSHUUN! Ok...I'm back. Now, Suryanamaskar can be a very gruelling task, esp when you have to stay in 12 rather trying positions and inhale/exhale exactly when the instructor tells you to. Post SN, we had to do coupla asanas that looked easy but were tougher than floor gymnastics when you got down to doing them. By the end of the one & a half hour session, I was bruised and battered in my soul. I could neither touch whatever it is I had to in most of the asanas nor stand on one leg for more than half a second, or pretend to be a bird. It was all so slow, so steady...why couldn't I do it?
Day 7: Groan, darn...Still wake up with aches & pains. Nothing but a will to succeed takes me to the class, only 5 mins late this time. The Kapalbhati kriya is in progress & in my keenness to follow them, Gak! I choke. I don't believe it. I have managed to disturb the entire class! Raghavan manages to put the session back on track & becomes my personal instructor for that hour. I see the rest of them doing it all so well & me....shoulders tense, spine bent & a face purple with all that effort. SN isn't that tough although I do feel the strain on the hamstring muscles. You see, I am a survivor & I don't like to give up. So, several twisty postures later, I am sure I'll get it all one day ... and, till that day arrives, I am going to continue.
Day 15: I reach just as the rest of them have finished the opening prayer. Not bad for a lazy bum, what! Well, the aunty is back & if looks could kill, I sure would be singed. I cannot place the 6 feet long mat without russling it, now, can I? I try, though. Anyway, I start the breathing exercise, trying to relax & not contract my shoulders with each inhalation. Oh boy! I've spent 5 grand this week just on clothes...R seems ok with me today although each time I half open an eyelid to peer at everyone else, I find him looking at me with a lot of apprehension. Close your eyes...concentrate on the breathing count now...4 in and 8 out. Darn! He'd seen me peep. He looks quite benign, though and a good sport at all this business.
Day 18: I am on time & R seems pleased. Aunty hasn't passed a glance in my direction today. Whew! Kbhati doesn't seem so bad now that I can flush the breath out without going blue in the face. SN, however isn't all that easy as it looks. Push-ups, V's, cobras, curling of the toes in/out with each change of pose...& this has me confused. I dip when I should be a mountain, I use my shoulders when I ought to be using my back... R displays massive patience & does each asana along with a panting me. It's more than a fortnight & all I am great at is shav asana!
Day 20: I have downloaded all postures of SN & mugged them up. I go to the class, place my bright pink mat with a swish next to the aunty, smile sweetly when she shows me the eye & start the kbhati kriya. Thundering typhoons! Why can't I blow without sucking in air? I wade through somehow. Time for SN. It's a day of test. I am looking like I've already won, that's coz I have have memorised the entire book of do's/dont's & what's next. I stand, ready to take on all 12 postures with finesse. R smiles & reminds me of a complacent cow, chewing cud. With my eyes closed, I go through the first Herculean round. Humpf...inhale, swing hands up ...haaraah...exhale touch toes, inhale...running pose, palm flat on the floor, foot as far back as possible....ohmigod! Suddenly, I feel the proverbial heebie-jeebies. What number was I on? What's next? I open my eyes, look at the smug, canine-looking aunty, then at R who looks like he hasn't seen me before. What's next? A million hands go up & I untangle myself & retire in a corner, hurt, looking like someone who's cross, brave & beaten, all at once. What's worse, the buxom, barrel of an aunty got all her postures right. Oh well, she's been learning for a month now, maybe.
Day 21: I haven't slept the night, deciding whether I ought to walk through that yoga studio door ever again or not. I take a negative decision with a loud thump of a turn on the bed, hands folded across my chest. You know what's strange? I find myself before everyone else in the yoga studio. I'll show her, won't I! Everyone streams in & we all go through various asanas, composed & calm. All, except me. Coz I am not doing yoga, I am making a show of it. Today, I neither stumble, nor fall. I don't need to peep, be told to inhale/exhale, stay still on one leg with my hands above my head, bend forward like a bird about to take flight on a single leg, etc. I am flawless. I look at protudy-eyes & vainly smile with a bet-you-couldn't-have-learnt-so-fast look. R seems very pleased at a 2 hour long display of all the 24 asanas & SN & tells me so. And me? Well...
Day 30: I reach the studio just as R is unlatching the main door. I push the heavy door & walk into the room, place my mat, help R throw open a zillion windows & wait for the others. It is exactly 6 in the morning, the lark's singing & all's well with the world...Browning said that? All the 18 people arrive & we begin. Today's Sunday, the last day & this would be a long half-day session with the last few hours as part of the final test. I am silent through it all. No, I mean SILENT. My mind neither wanders on money-matters, nor on forgotten deadlines. I feel filled with a strange energy, a kinda thrill, as I realise I don't want to show anyone anything. I'm going to do this because I want to be fit, healthy & at peace with myself. Isn't that the purpose & end of yoga?
Have I achieved it? Well, I have understood it. Today, I am perfect. Not because I haven't made a single miscalculation/error but coz today, I don't need to prove...not even to myself. The asanas & I are one. At the end of the extended class, I find myself asking a question. Everyone turns to look at me. Without flinching, I ask, Hey Raghavan! Do you think I could enroll for the next course? R smiles verrrry meaningfully. From my place at the back, I as hell don't miss the twinkle in his 60 yr old-young eyes as he says, You bet!
Did he KNOW? mmmm...

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Motherboard, Me & the Daily Humdrum

OMG!OMG!OMG! My comp went blank just as I was sending a stinker to a person I most detest! I'd just about reached telling him to ...you-know-what & my machine gaped at me with a dark face. Sigh! No amount to plugging in/out, rebooting etc helped. It had decided to die on me & that was that. According to a greek-latin speaking techy, my motherboard had gone blink & there was only so much he'd try to retrieve. Comps had a mother or a board?
Well, anyway, so there was I...at work & no machine to work on. What would I do? What about all my deadlines for the day and the mailing and the...blah-d-blah? Hmmm, while the techy was trying to find a method in the madness, la-Lear, I thought of calling up a most dreaded client & catching up on a project. Oh well, he wasn't available & would I please call back later? Sure, dude! Just thought I'd let you know we are at it. Humdedum, what next? I called up a couple of old cronies I'd not called in ages, called up my siblings...everyone on earth I could think of & still no sign of a temporary comp for me to work on. Well, such situations umm.........call for a meeting! So I collected my team members & pushed off for a long, long meeting. Poor souls, I bet they cursed me just the same as I curse my boss when she calls for a boring, dull meeting. Ok, so we decided to work faster, harder, raise the bar a little higher & all the jazzy I do/will bow-wow promises people make in meetings. Half a day still remaining. Ha! I knew what I could do! Fill out the hateful productivity sheets that I'd ignored for the last half a month! Darn...those who have to do this will have complete, undivided sympathies with me when I say filling out these PS' is one of the worst tasks a company can make an employee do. Trust me, if you've done this everyday for a month, you can do almost anything else in the world, except produce a baby, maybe.
5'o clock & at last I get to see a spare machine. What's the point anyway, in an hour, it'd be time to go home. And, hell, what about my motherboard?It'll take a good 7 working days to get it back. What about all my work saved on it? What about all the crazy articles I've penned for the ga-ga & the dotty in the other part of the world?
Hmm, maybe I'll just take a holiday to the Himalayas & look for the infamous, elusive Yeti. That seems to be an easier task than getting a sick computer to work.

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