Well, its been long time since I have written something. Honestly, I don't know what I am going to write about. Right now, I am just typing what's coming to my mind.
Not much has happened in life. The same mundane rountine i.e. home-office-home-office-home-office... I have been wanting to do a lot of things. But, when I plan to sit down to do it, I just feel repulsive. Hope I can get over this syndrome soon.
For now, got to go.
Chow
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
DESTINY’S CHILDREN
17th June 2009
Wednesday
Today, once again, life has proven that it is the Big Boss, and we are mere puppets dancing to its instructions. No matter what, you will get what you are destined to get.
I always leave home around 8:55 to catch the 9:09 am Belapur train. It takes me around 10 – 12 minutes to reach the station. This means, I reach the platform by approx. 9:06am. This gives me sufficient time to reach on time for the train. However, today was a little different. A little bit of lethargy crept in and I left home after 9:00am. I assumed that I would not make it on time for my train, and therefore began walking leisurely; soaking in the morning sun and hustle bustle around.
Wednesday
Today, once again, life has proven that it is the Big Boss, and we are mere puppets dancing to its instructions. No matter what, you will get what you are destined to get.
I always leave home around 8:55 to catch the 9:09 am Belapur train. It takes me around 10 – 12 minutes to reach the station. This means, I reach the platform by approx. 9:06am. This gives me sufficient time to reach on time for the train. However, today was a little different. A little bit of lethargy crept in and I left home after 9:00am. I assumed that I would not make it on time for my train, and therefore began walking leisurely; soaking in the morning sun and hustle bustle around.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
In the Right Place at the Right Time: 13 May 2009 –Wednesday
There is no update on the screaming old lady. In fact, I haven’t seen her after that screaming episode. Perhaps, she will just spring-up from now where and instigate an onslaught of questions in my mind.
Actually, I am not writing this piece to update you on that lady. It’s more because of an insight I had yesterday (So lazy. You may think again). I chanced upon this thought while waiting for the train (Yet another coincidence. The trains and platforms seem to be my only source and places of inspiration).
I had been to our Vashi office for a meeting. After wrapping it up, I needed to urgently rush back to Belapur. I reached the platform almost panting after my super brisk walk to the station. When I reached the platform the indicator displayed a train that was expected almost 9 minutes later. I must have missed the earlier one by a few minutes.
Muttering a few cusses, I settled on one of the vacant benches. I began to think how far the train must be at the moment. That’s when, suddenly, this thought came to me that I was at the wrong station. No. No. Not the wrong station, as-in to go to Belapur. I was very much in the right station, but not the right station to be at that point of the time to board the train that was expected. Sounds confusing? Let me put it again. I mean at that time the train I needed to board could have been nearing Mankhurd. So, If I was at Mankhurd at that moment, I could have boarded that train. Or if I would have been somewhere in Sanpada at that time, I could have boarded the previous local train that I had missed. See, being at the right place at the right time is so important. So, I waited for this place to become the right place and the right time to arrive. This happened after 9 minutes and I boarded the train and headed back to Belapur office.
Actually, I am not writing this piece to update you on that lady. It’s more because of an insight I had yesterday (So lazy. You may think again). I chanced upon this thought while waiting for the train (Yet another coincidence. The trains and platforms seem to be my only source and places of inspiration).
I had been to our Vashi office for a meeting. After wrapping it up, I needed to urgently rush back to Belapur. I reached the platform almost panting after my super brisk walk to the station. When I reached the platform the indicator displayed a train that was expected almost 9 minutes later. I must have missed the earlier one by a few minutes.
Muttering a few cusses, I settled on one of the vacant benches. I began to think how far the train must be at the moment. That’s when, suddenly, this thought came to me that I was at the wrong station. No. No. Not the wrong station, as-in to go to Belapur. I was very much in the right station, but not the right station to be at that point of the time to board the train that was expected. Sounds confusing? Let me put it again. I mean at that time the train I needed to board could have been nearing Mankhurd. So, If I was at Mankhurd at that moment, I could have boarded that train. Or if I would have been somewhere in Sanpada at that time, I could have boarded the previous local train that I had missed. See, being at the right place at the right time is so important. So, I waited for this place to become the right place and the right time to arrive. This happened after 9 minutes and I boarded the train and headed back to Belapur office.
In the Right Place at the Right Time: 13 May 2009 –Wednesday
There is no update on the screaming old lady. In fact, I haven’t seen her after that screaming episode. Perhaps, she will just spring-up from now where and instigate an onslaught of questions in my mind.
Actually, I am not writing this piece to update you on that lady. It’s more because of an insight I had yesterday (So lazy. You may think again). I chanced upon this thought while waiting for the train (Yet another coincidence. The trains and platforms seem to be my only source and places of inspiration).
I had been to our Vashi office for a meeting. After wrapping it up, I needed to urgently rush back to Belapur. I reached the platform almost panting after my super brisk walk to the station. When I reached the platform the indicator displayed a train that was expected almost 9 minutes later. I must have missed the earlier one by a few minutes.
Muttering a few cusses, I settled on one of the vacant benches. I began to think how far the train must be at the moment. That’s when, suddenly, this thought came to me that I was at the wrong station. No. No. Not the wrong station, as-in to go to Belapur. I was very much in the right station, but not the right station to be at that point of the time to board the train that was expected. Sounds confusing? Let me put it again. I mean at that time the train I needed to board could have been nearing Mankhurd. So, If I was at Mankhurd at that moment, I could have boarded that train. Or if I would have been somewhere in Sanpada at that time, I could have boarded the previous local train that I had missed. See, being at the right place at the right time is so important. So, I waited for this place to become the right place and the right time to arrive. This happened after 9 minutes and I boarded the train and headed back to Belapur office.
Actually, I am not writing this piece to update you on that lady. It’s more because of an insight I had yesterday (So lazy. You may think again). I chanced upon this thought while waiting for the train (Yet another coincidence. The trains and platforms seem to be my only source and places of inspiration).
I had been to our Vashi office for a meeting. After wrapping it up, I needed to urgently rush back to Belapur. I reached the platform almost panting after my super brisk walk to the station. When I reached the platform the indicator displayed a train that was expected almost 9 minutes later. I must have missed the earlier one by a few minutes.
Muttering a few cusses, I settled on one of the vacant benches. I began to think how far the train must be at the moment. That’s when, suddenly, this thought came to me that I was at the wrong station. No. No. Not the wrong station, as-in to go to Belapur. I was very much in the right station, but not the right station to be at that point of the time to board the train that was expected. Sounds confusing? Let me put it again. I mean at that time the train I needed to board could have been nearing Mankhurd. So, If I was at Mankhurd at that moment, I could have boarded that train. Or if I would have been somewhere in Sanpada at that time, I could have boarded the previous local train that I had missed. See, being at the right place at the right time is so important. So, I waited for this place to become the right place and the right time to arrive. This happened after 9 minutes and I boarded the train and headed back to Belapur office.
Monday, May 11, 2009
The Screaming Old Woman
People think she is insane. But, I am sure life has done this to her. I always see her on the foot over-bridge leading to the harbour line platform at Kurla. I think she frequents the harbour line platform, and must not be going anywhere else. Because, whenever I am traveling to office or visiting friends in Chembur, I bump into her. But, I have never seen her late evenings when I return from office. Or perhaps, I did not really bother to consciously check out her presence at that time of the hour.
She is always staring at the pandemonium of the crowd rushing to office. At times, I have seen her talking endlessly to someone in the crowd who is impatiently waiting for the delayed train. And whose mind is grappled with this thought that whether he will make it into the train or not. Nevertheless, she keeps speaking unmindful of the ignorance. But, there is a certain amount of affection in her tone, which one would find in a mother’s towards her sibling. But, often she is just complaining. She is always trying to justify her stand on somebody’s wrong doing. Unfortunately, no body understands.
This morning was a little different from other mornings. She was not there on the over-bridge when I entered the station. But after sometime I could hear loud scolding sounds. After listening to the voice a little attentively, I realized that it was the same old woman. Today, she was pretty vociferous and animated in her rants. For a change everyone was looking in her direction and hearing her scream. But, the unfortunate part again was that -nobody was listening. That includes me too.
As I waited for the train to arrive, I began to think about the reason that must have forced this old lady to such a state. Perhaps, her children must have disowned her when she needed them the most. She must have undergone so many hardships and made equally unimaginable sacrifices to make their life better. I began to feel miserable with the mere thought of how painful she must have felt to be disowned by your children who are an extension of your own flesh and blood. You made your life nonexistent to give them their existence, and suddenly you just don’t exist for them. There cannot be a greater pain than the pain of rejection from someone who means the world to you.
Then again my mind raced in a different direction as I began to hear her dialect. She was speaking in a language that sounded pretty close to Bhojpuri or some other language similar to something spoken by the natives of UP or Bihar. That’s when I began to think again. Could it so happen that she must have lost her family to some villainous atrocity? Or was it some family feud? The questions started to pour and the answers were no where near.
For a moment I felt I should just walk across and strike a conversation with her. But then, something insane within held me back. My heart cringed with this thought that her story would remain unsaid and unheard. It will be lost forever.
My thoughts were racing in all directions and were growing overwhelming. I could not suppress them longer. Thankfully, just then I saw my train arrive. So I bundled my thoughts and boarded it. I could still her tirades. They grew faint as the train began to move ahead. Very much like her memories must have become in the minds of her near ones.
She is always staring at the pandemonium of the crowd rushing to office. At times, I have seen her talking endlessly to someone in the crowd who is impatiently waiting for the delayed train. And whose mind is grappled with this thought that whether he will make it into the train or not. Nevertheless, she keeps speaking unmindful of the ignorance. But, there is a certain amount of affection in her tone, which one would find in a mother’s towards her sibling. But, often she is just complaining. She is always trying to justify her stand on somebody’s wrong doing. Unfortunately, no body understands.
This morning was a little different from other mornings. She was not there on the over-bridge when I entered the station. But after sometime I could hear loud scolding sounds. After listening to the voice a little attentively, I realized that it was the same old woman. Today, she was pretty vociferous and animated in her rants. For a change everyone was looking in her direction and hearing her scream. But, the unfortunate part again was that -nobody was listening. That includes me too.
As I waited for the train to arrive, I began to think about the reason that must have forced this old lady to such a state. Perhaps, her children must have disowned her when she needed them the most. She must have undergone so many hardships and made equally unimaginable sacrifices to make their life better. I began to feel miserable with the mere thought of how painful she must have felt to be disowned by your children who are an extension of your own flesh and blood. You made your life nonexistent to give them their existence, and suddenly you just don’t exist for them. There cannot be a greater pain than the pain of rejection from someone who means the world to you.
Then again my mind raced in a different direction as I began to hear her dialect. She was speaking in a language that sounded pretty close to Bhojpuri or some other language similar to something spoken by the natives of UP or Bihar. That’s when I began to think again. Could it so happen that she must have lost her family to some villainous atrocity? Or was it some family feud? The questions started to pour and the answers were no where near.
For a moment I felt I should just walk across and strike a conversation with her. But then, something insane within held me back. My heart cringed with this thought that her story would remain unsaid and unheard. It will be lost forever.
My thoughts were racing in all directions and were growing overwhelming. I could not suppress them longer. Thankfully, just then I saw my train arrive. So I bundled my thoughts and boarded it. I could still her tirades. They grew faint as the train began to move ahead. Very much like her memories must have become in the minds of her near ones.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Just do it.
There are many things that cross my mind when I am travelling or walking. Often a very good thought brushes my mind as I am crossing the road, or struggling to retain an inch of foot space in a crowded train. Unfortunately, I don’t get the time and resource to scribble it down or give it some tangible form. Then, when I sit down to recollect it and write it down: PHUT!!! The idea is lost forever.
It’s unfortunate, but it’s true. But that’s how painful and disappointing writing can get at times. No wonder, some of the prominent writers have called the process of writing as painful as a labour pain; and creating a piece of work an act equivalent of giving birth. You have no control of what will come out. You have no option, but to wait patiently until some miraculous force takes pity on you and the words begin to flow. The wait could at times last for eternity or just happen in a zephyr.
In times when you are feeling spontaneous or when you begin to believe that you have become brain dead, the only antidote you have at hand is –keep writing. Don’t think if it makes sense or sounds idiotic. Just keep doing it. After a while, I am sure, the words will begin to make sense -very much like how this piece of work has shaped up.
It’s unfortunate, but it’s true. But that’s how painful and disappointing writing can get at times. No wonder, some of the prominent writers have called the process of writing as painful as a labour pain; and creating a piece of work an act equivalent of giving birth. You have no control of what will come out. You have no option, but to wait patiently until some miraculous force takes pity on you and the words begin to flow. The wait could at times last for eternity or just happen in a zephyr.
In times when you are feeling spontaneous or when you begin to believe that you have become brain dead, the only antidote you have at hand is –keep writing. Don’t think if it makes sense or sounds idiotic. Just keep doing it. After a while, I am sure, the words will begin to make sense -very much like how this piece of work has shaped up.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Down the Memory Lane
Human body is a marvel. What is even more amazing is the ability of the brain to bring back memories. In fact, “memory” in itself is no less than a miracle.
I managed to scribble into my journal yesterday after a very long hiatus. I had decided to write something in it everyday. It could be something as trivial as eating a banana. But, I am going to write about it. Why I am mentioning this here is to arrive at the point as to why I have begun this piece describing the marvel of the human body.
The moment I sat to write there was a deluge of thoughts which I had saved to write about ‘later’ and which did not happen. I did not manage to write about them this morning as I was very sleepy. If you are still wondering what I mean, I would like to clarify that it was around 12:30am when I put pen to paper ‘this morning’.
As I sat to write, I immediately turned back time and traveled some Sundays back and reached the temple at Andheri. I was visiting it with my parents and was waiting for our cousins to arrive. Being a Sunday and an auspicious day (I say auspicious because there were a lot of people and pujas happening at the different corners) there were a lot more people than you often find on a lazy Sunday morning. We were sitting on the marble seating provided within the premises. Just then a very old man walked towards us. His age was wavering in this gait. He was trying to find a place to sit. I desperately wanted to help him find a seat, but unfortunately we were standing. Just then a gentleman got up and offered him a seat which he happily accepted. As he sat, he glanced towards me. I was staring at him completely lost. There was something about his face that grasped my attention and held my gaze. It was an aura that only old age could gift you. The moment he saw me he lifted his hands, brought them together and gestured a “Namaste.” I smile at him and raised my hands to reciprocate, but immediately returned to my senses and stopped them halfway while checking out if someone was watching me. I must confess that I felt embarrassed to reciprocate with a namaste.
Namaste is an Indian way of greeting people. In the humbleness of the gesture lies its beauty. It is something every other person on the surface of this earth takes pride in doing except we Indians. The incident signaled the pace at which we are loosing our rich cultural and traditional wealth. We some how seem to have developed a case of myopia and cannot see the true worth our values and beliefs -sad, but true.
The other incident that had me really shattered me from right within is what happened one night while traveling to meet a friend for dinner. I was supposed to meet a friend for dinner. We generally meet-up after office and discuss about work, challenges, people and a book I am planning to work on.
I boarded the train, and a couple of stations later three urchins boarded my compartment. First one was the eldest of the lot, not more than seven to eight years, who was carrying a tiny infant in her arms. Probably, her younger sister? Following her was a tiny, frail boy was also younger to her. He must be her brother. The eldest girl ordered him to beg for coins before the passengers, while she moved ahead to the other section of the compartment.
That boy had caught my attention because of his frail & tiny frame and the innocence in his eyes. I was watching him approach every passenger and get turned down with, either, a rude gesture, an indignant look or an oblivion expression.
After almost being refused by everyone, he reached my seat and bent down near my feet. I must admit that, I too was not inclined to pay him anything. His innocence till that time had just knocked the doors of my heart, but could not force me to open the door. I watched him as he lay there head down near my feet. Sometime passed, but he did not raise his head. The long pause was beginning to get a little discomforting. As he lay there, I could see a one rupee coin peep out of his clenched fist and look towards me with a naughty sparkle. As I watched him, a thought crossed my mind that, this evening I would spend over half a grand over booze and food -quite some amount that could save him quite some trouble of spreading his hands. I began to feel lucky and silently thank the almighty.
Gradually, the very thought of eating out began to feel repulsive as I stared at his delicate and soiled frame. Any extra luxury looked sinful. Everything good about my life seemed impious. I began to descend in the tunnel of sin; I was awakened by a loud, screeching voice. As I returned back I realized it was the elder sister calling out to this boy. He got up rubbing his sleepy eyes. He had fallen asleep as he lay there waiting for the doors of my heart to open. Unfortunately it didn’t.
I alighted at the next station, and began walking towards my destination discarding all the heavy baggages of guilt my conscience had just packed some time ago. Life just went on as it always does.
The only things that remained from those two days are their memories that stayed back and haunt me when I revisit them. They still set me thinking afresh, and take me to another world where there are only questions and very few answers, or rather no answers at all.
I managed to scribble into my journal yesterday after a very long hiatus. I had decided to write something in it everyday. It could be something as trivial as eating a banana. But, I am going to write about it. Why I am mentioning this here is to arrive at the point as to why I have begun this piece describing the marvel of the human body.
The moment I sat to write there was a deluge of thoughts which I had saved to write about ‘later’ and which did not happen. I did not manage to write about them this morning as I was very sleepy. If you are still wondering what I mean, I would like to clarify that it was around 12:30am when I put pen to paper ‘this morning’.
As I sat to write, I immediately turned back time and traveled some Sundays back and reached the temple at Andheri. I was visiting it with my parents and was waiting for our cousins to arrive. Being a Sunday and an auspicious day (I say auspicious because there were a lot of people and pujas happening at the different corners) there were a lot more people than you often find on a lazy Sunday morning. We were sitting on the marble seating provided within the premises. Just then a very old man walked towards us. His age was wavering in this gait. He was trying to find a place to sit. I desperately wanted to help him find a seat, but unfortunately we were standing. Just then a gentleman got up and offered him a seat which he happily accepted. As he sat, he glanced towards me. I was staring at him completely lost. There was something about his face that grasped my attention and held my gaze. It was an aura that only old age could gift you. The moment he saw me he lifted his hands, brought them together and gestured a “Namaste.” I smile at him and raised my hands to reciprocate, but immediately returned to my senses and stopped them halfway while checking out if someone was watching me. I must confess that I felt embarrassed to reciprocate with a namaste.
Namaste is an Indian way of greeting people. In the humbleness of the gesture lies its beauty. It is something every other person on the surface of this earth takes pride in doing except we Indians. The incident signaled the pace at which we are loosing our rich cultural and traditional wealth. We some how seem to have developed a case of myopia and cannot see the true worth our values and beliefs -sad, but true.
The other incident that had me really shattered me from right within is what happened one night while traveling to meet a friend for dinner. I was supposed to meet a friend for dinner. We generally meet-up after office and discuss about work, challenges, people and a book I am planning to work on.
I boarded the train, and a couple of stations later three urchins boarded my compartment. First one was the eldest of the lot, not more than seven to eight years, who was carrying a tiny infant in her arms. Probably, her younger sister? Following her was a tiny, frail boy was also younger to her. He must be her brother. The eldest girl ordered him to beg for coins before the passengers, while she moved ahead to the other section of the compartment.
That boy had caught my attention because of his frail & tiny frame and the innocence in his eyes. I was watching him approach every passenger and get turned down with, either, a rude gesture, an indignant look or an oblivion expression.
After almost being refused by everyone, he reached my seat and bent down near my feet. I must admit that, I too was not inclined to pay him anything. His innocence till that time had just knocked the doors of my heart, but could not force me to open the door. I watched him as he lay there head down near my feet. Sometime passed, but he did not raise his head. The long pause was beginning to get a little discomforting. As he lay there, I could see a one rupee coin peep out of his clenched fist and look towards me with a naughty sparkle. As I watched him, a thought crossed my mind that, this evening I would spend over half a grand over booze and food -quite some amount that could save him quite some trouble of spreading his hands. I began to feel lucky and silently thank the almighty.
Gradually, the very thought of eating out began to feel repulsive as I stared at his delicate and soiled frame. Any extra luxury looked sinful. Everything good about my life seemed impious. I began to descend in the tunnel of sin; I was awakened by a loud, screeching voice. As I returned back I realized it was the elder sister calling out to this boy. He got up rubbing his sleepy eyes. He had fallen asleep as he lay there waiting for the doors of my heart to open. Unfortunately it didn’t.
I alighted at the next station, and began walking towards my destination discarding all the heavy baggages of guilt my conscience had just packed some time ago. Life just went on as it always does.
The only things that remained from those two days are their memories that stayed back and haunt me when I revisit them. They still set me thinking afresh, and take me to another world where there are only questions and very few answers, or rather no answers at all.
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