Canvas of self expressions – Twenty Five

•June 1, 2014 • Leave a Comment

This twenty fifth post under the category ‘Canvas of self expressions’ is special. It is dedicated to Budugu, God’s favourite child. This is for all those moments of connections, honest conversations, madness, stupidity, and above all – love. This is for the woman that she is – strong, clear, passionate, deep rooted and brave. She may or may not know Maya Angelou. But every word in this poem reminds me of her. ‘Slave’ in this context is seen as the soul that carries the imprint of the human stain that life puts on all of us. I’m humbled and consider myself to be lucky to know someone like her. For no matter what happens, she rises. Always.

 

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You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

 

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

 

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

 

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

 

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.

 

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

 

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

 

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

The Shoals of Herring

•April 24, 2014 • Leave a Comment

 

I’m going through this phase where our parents are growing old. I see wrinkles. I see slowness. I see hospital bills. I see visits to graveyards. I sense that I’ve got very little time. Reminds me of this scene where a son connects with his father. Everything about this scene is perfect. Father and son. Old age and middle age. The stone faced father warming up to the song and by the end the son witnessing his father come alive. A generation’s words and feelings expressed through music.

 

“Oh it was a fine and pleasant day

Out of Yarmouth Harbour I was faring

As a cabin boy on a sailing lugger

For to hunt the bonny shoals of herring

Now you’re up on deck, you’re a fisher man

You can swear show a manly barren

Take your turn and watch with the other fellas

As you hunt the bonny shoals of herring

Well I earned my keep and I paid my way

And I earned the gear that I was wearing

I sailed a million mile, caught ten million fishes

We were dreaming of the shoals of herring

Night and day the seas were daring

Come wind oh come on winter again

Sweating or cold, growing up, growing old, or dying

As we dream about the shoals of herring”

melancholia

•April 22, 2014 • Leave a Comment

cw

60 ml of melancholia.

is all i need to fill the spaces that exists between the paragraphs of our lives.

the quiet afternoon bears witness to the quiet desperation that glows over this reason. this stupid reason.

how did you describe it?

“sometimes there’s this reason.. you have no melancholic power over it. it’s here to stay. even though it isn’t a ruse, a coercion or an unbenevolent act. it feels like a part of you.., like happiness and sadness that slips in and out of your body.”

and what did i say to that?

“and then you try to give a name to this happiness and sadness. you struggle. you fail. but soon you realize that over a period in time it has taken shape of something so beautiful and meaningful .. that you can’t part from it. that reason which you had no melancholic power over.. becomes your sole reason to breathe.. to exist.. to feel alive”

i’m in that struggling phase. and i’m failing every moment.

this time around emotions are not pregnant with words. they are pregnant with visuals.

of you sleeping next to me. fearlessly.

the warmth of your cats on my body. purring away. endlessly.

the motion of breathing – of you and your cats – giving birth to a mute melody

of the kinds experienced by – meera for krishna; king solomon for his beloved.

your fugue. it doesn’t fade.

it only gives me hope, that somehow, each of us will help the other live

and somewhere, each of us must help the other die.

i’ve only sipped an ml of this melancholia.

i’ve got 59 more to go.

care to join?

An ode to the heart and to Batman on his 75th birthday!

•March 31, 2014 • 2 Comments

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The only thing that bothered him was her well being. The great burden that he carried within. To be true, yet not to hurt anyone. To behold that sanctity, yet go for the kill. After all, a gentleman will walk but never run. She was the cat. He was the bat. After being inducted in cat farts and cat behaviour – the only thing left for him to do was to hold one. And he even attempted once. But she was beyond his reach. And her reluctant altruism was never a match for his sense of perfection in everything he acted upon. Yet there was fire beneath. His heart burned every time he saw the cat woman without make up. She was that one thing he wanted. She was that one thing he chose not to have. That day, he wrote a note - “dear heart, i’m sorry to rip you once again. i murder your ways every time. logic has to prevail. it’s not who i am underneath, but what i do that defines me. feelings must die. once again”. And then he imagined Alfred saying, “Endure, Master Wayne. Take it. They’ll hate you for it, but that’s the point of Batman, he can be the outcast. He can make the choice that no one else can make, the right choice.”

 

Guillaume Nery – Free Diving

•February 23, 2014 • Leave a Comment

I find this fascinating. Dean’s blue hole is 663 feet deep. And experts claim that this video can even be fake. However, it is still fascinating to watch.

Lessons in Intensity: the only chapter

•February 23, 2014 • 3 Comments

appp

I said, “I’m new to this. I haven’t done this before.”

She said, “Me too. This is my first.”

I said, “I always thought there should be a format to such things. A blue print. Or a guide with dos and donts.”

She quipped, “But why? Life doesn’t give you a formula or a blueprint to do things.. or to be successful at some things.. you just do it.”

I affirmed, “I know. Maybe I don’t want to fail. Maybe that’s the reason I’d like to rely on formats and formula.”

She said, “I kinda sensed that!”

I asked, “You think anyone has cracked it all?”

She said, “I don’t think anyone has cracked it all yet. Everyone is figuring out things within their own means and ways. And all those gurus and leaders who proclaim to have cracked it all are lying about it. Maybe they are just craving for some attention.”

I said, “I agree. You think women crave for attention?”

She said, “We do. All the time. Especially from the right kind of men.”

I asked, “I never understood why women go mad when they see a ‘SALE’ symbol in any shop”

She said, “That is a great observation. If there is a ‘SALE’ symbol in a shop, we women buy everything in sight. Even the things we don’t need. Maybe it’s because we, women, undervalue ourselves.  Centuries of being considered inferior, worthless and even unequal has resulted in this kind of situation where women respond enthusiastically to anything underpriced. We embrace cheap deals because we have internalised the feeling that we are just not good enough or deserving of full-price value. And society seems to endorse this point of view by offering bargains and discounts on products traditionally purchased by women.”

I exclaimed, “I have been a student of marketing and this is the one of the best insights I’ve ever got on women consumers! And you haven’t even been to a b-school!”

She asked, “So where do we take this? Our coffees have gone cold. And the sun is already rising. We must meet again”

I suggested, “Maybe we shouldn’t. If we meet again, society will expect us to come up with a format and we will have to give a name and structure to this relationship. Whether we like it or not, we will put a blue print in front of us. Or a guide with dos and donts. And we will kill this intensity and mamihlapinatapei that we are currently experiencing.”

She said, “I totally agree. What is mamihla… that word you just used?”

I said, “Mamihlapinatapei. Taken from a South American language. It means ‘the wordless, yet meaningful look shared by two people who both desire to initiate something but are both reluctant to start'”

She exclaimed, “Wow!”

I pondered, “Maybe I’m being selfish here.. with this decision”

She responded, “We all are. Openly admitting that you are one only makes you a lesser hypocrite”

I asked, “Are you one?”

She answered, “Yes. Hundred per cent!”

I asked, “Can I take a picture of this hypocrite?”

She answered, “Yes. Two conditions. One, you will immortalize me on your blog. Second, we meet at least once a year.”

I said, “Agreed. Thank you.”

Mr.Nice Guy

•February 9, 2014 • Leave a Comment

jck

Life wanted to have a conversation with Mr.Nice Guy. Life told him that often it’s not him that had failed. It was life that failed because Mr.Nice Guy was too nice. And naïve. And maybe, nonchalant, to the point of not even realizing the burns – that grew within him over time. Life told him that it often wanted to apologize. Even gave hints of hope when Mr.Nice Guy was busy ruminating over his existential torments – which often was willful. The problem with nice guys is that they often make their unhappiness a pleasure to watch; or a lesson wanting to be absorbed by the people they live for – as if they are present as the mute spectators watching every move he makes. Life told Mr.Nice Guy that it’s only people like him that learns to appreciate the ordinary; learns to embrace the meek; learns to take the hard route to success only to lay claim to a triumphant climax – that only and only belongs to him. And whoever he deems fit sharing it with.

Life told Mr.Nice Guy to stay the course and keep rowing. There are more violent turns. Ups and downs. ‘Inner defeats’, ‘moral uncertainties’, ‘grey areas’ are all characters in this journey.  And the journey is going to be worth it. Because life was never about reaching a destination. Life was never a station. It is the train.

And Mr.Nice Guy stood still. Patiently listening to Life.

 
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