Oh! There's a million stories And a million ways to get there from here...............
................
........And I can hear you sleep beneath the candlelight I can see your dreams like they were mine

Some songs hit home ...Some lyrics make you think .
Words can be deceitful.
If they are meant to mean one but they are understood as something else.

Im back to square one . And I see it as a good thing . How beginnings are always a good thing. Its only somehwere in between that the tightrope gets scary to balance.When you cant go back and cant reach the other side. But then again , the other side is a new beginning.
.. yes I know im rambling . Please bear.

Prayer

So many people
and the noise is deafening
and the blaring loudspeakers
with holy chants
the crowded market
the busy street
the bright colours
the shining idols
The pavement is dirty
And people washing their feet
and the long row of people
is never ending
and at last you sight
the orange painted idol
and prostrate
when you close your eyes and sit to pray
and somewhere in the midst of all
the chaos and the noise
you enter this world
far far away
this place I cant put in words
I tried to draw but the pencil didn't move
No song , no poem can describe this space
I tried to speak about it but words failed me again
And then perhaps I think its best
to let it be......
........Let it be.

Time to be jolly

“We are responsible for what we are, and whatever we wish ourselves to be, we have the power to make ourselves. If what we are now has been the result of our own past actions, it certainly follows that whatever we wish to be in future can be produced by our present actions; so we have to know how to act.”

Swami Vivekananda




Just one of those days . that gets you thinking .
Have your experience of life made you what you are today or
did you choose this life , brought it forth by letting your thoughts create your reality .

Just a way of looking at things . Some thoughts just make you more cheerful than others

Merry Christmas .. :)

Flying Moments

While looking below from a high rise terrace
watching ant size men
walking the street
And all of a sudden
I take a leap ..

and wind whooshes past my ear
Suddenly I look up
and see those clouds
Shining behind them
something orange
something bright

then it disappears
and it all turns dark
the loud noise of crashing
I feel the drops , cold and harsh
Looking down now
its all hazy
the greens, the browns
and the yellows
merging together
blurring my vision
going round and round
in circles again
my heads spinning
my heart is thumping
I'm moving too fast
and as I'm struggling
all of a sudden
in that life altering moment

it all becomes clear to me
the light is white and
every thing's bright

All I have to do
is flap my wings ...
the sky is mine, the clouds are mine
the ground is what Ive left behind
I belong to the sky
I belong to the clouds
I belong high up where the bird sings
If not so then tell me why..
tell me why
God has given me wings

Men who crave power look back over the mistakes of their lives. Pile them all together and call it destiny.

I wonder if that true .It makes sense in a way, I guess. I wonder if we all do that , not just men who crave power. I wonder ... well never mind.. I have things to do . Ill let it pass

The Glass Palace and other stories

"Every life leaves behind an echo that is audible to those who take the trouble to listen "
Amitav Ghosh author,The Glass Palace


Its incredible how much we urban folk depend on electricity. Id almost forgotten my good habit of reading fiction, but thanks to the 48 hour unnecessary blackout caused by the cyclone Phylus or Phlegm whatever, it was revived.(hopefully not to be lost again).Much better use of time than aimless browsing and television watching. I rather enjoyed reading "The Glass Palace" by Amitav Ghosh, which was lying untouched on my shelf for the past year or more. I have a liking for Indian authors or writing based in the Indian context for fiction.Like Salman Rushdie, Jhumpa Lahiri etc. Its not only because of the context but because of the writing style and the emotional connect as well.

The Glass Palace is probably one of the few books Ive read based on such a real historical event. Its very real, the depiction of the colonial era. I think what struck me was the way he has built the characters of the story. The women especially, who are not gentle .Reminds me of my grandmothers stories of the freedom movement and the beginning of the modern era as she told me.

I miss my grandmother suddenly. She was way ahead of her times and a free spirit to say the least. Some may argue that she neglected her family in her forthrightness and independent nature, but I have always looked up to her. Maybe Ill write her story someday . Or use it as an inspiration.Just like Ghosh converted his family stories into this novel.

Well,to summarize this weekend Amitav Ghosh has inspired me. and that is a sign of a true artist.

I became an atya of an adorable baby girl yesterday. I was so excited , drove to the hospital as soon as my brother called.And there she was , all wrapped up and sleeping soundly. What an adorable sight. Babies have this content look on their face. And its admirable how they can demand attention just by crying . One wail and there are five people at their mercy , whether its feeding time or diaper change or just plain tantrum for no apparent reason.

Anyways, I know something for sure. Life is a miracle. Babies are a blessing and God exists.