Jealousy, like a drop of heavy poison
Grips my heart and drags it down
Through the mud
I try to grab my heart
And squeeze the last drop
Out of it
While i rest
Thinking that I’m rid of the poison
I feel my heart become heavy again
The darkness stains my mind
The claws clutch my conscience
Drop by drop
Little by little
Claw by claw
I will be rid of it
By the power of Him
who can rid me of it
I have been wondering at the power stories hold.
Stories are a part of everybody's lives. I, too, have had my fair share of stories - both consumption and production. From the stories my mother would read in the newspaper supplements and tell me those before going to bed, to the fictions i have guzzled, to the movies i've watched, to the funny anecdotes that are repeated ever so often, and the stuff i've read and written in blogs. There is nothing new about stories.
Yet, they are so fascinating. Recently, i have been wondering and am at the power of these stories. Stories home reality like nothing else does, even if it is just imagined fiction. I amazed at the way a human being can connect to the life and experiences of another person, in another situation, in another world altogether.
I am sure there are a number of rational explanations as to why it happens, but that still does not diminish the wonder of it all.
The movie Australia, although not one of the best ones, really struck a chord in me. This brought to life the experiences of the Stolen Generation. Stolen Generation was something that was close to my heart, because of the stories my good friend from the down under shared with me when explaining to me what brought her to India.
There are stories that have made me feel helpless. Slumdog Millionaire, Hard-boiled Wonderland, Disgrace. While the injustice is made apparent in the imagined world, it brings home to me reality in my world. Like the protagonists in these stories, there is nothing you can do.
And then, there are stories that have warmed my heart. The struggle between good and evil and the eventual triumph of good. I, especially, love stories where the struggle between good and evil takes place in one person's heart and not necessarily between the good party and the bad party. In essence, the good and the bad dwell in the same person. That person's victory over the evil in their heart is something that gives me hope.
There are imperfect stories, with the not so perfect ending. Nonetheless, reflecting the imperction of the world and its people. This very communication of expression is a revelation of the desire for perfection.
Well, there are all sorts of stories out there. And i hope to relish them, and let them do their thing in my heart. For often, data justifies my motivation, but it is stories that provide the motivation.
I am doing a few things at this point of time in my life...
1. Every time i want to open my hotmail account, i type in 'hot' and hit enter. Unfortunately, the auto complete does not take me to hotmail unless i type 'hotm'. And the result? It takes me to the google page for hot...
2. I cleaned my desk after a long time, and this is what i found...
For those of you wondering what it is, it is a fossil (?) of a dead house (or office in this case) lizard. A baby by the looks of it...
Don't ask...
This morning I woke up uttering the word ‘idiots.’ There was a speaker blaring loud, inane songs*, the lyrics of which were interspersed with mention of the symbol used by one of the major** parties here.
There are certain things that I don’t understand. Canvassing methods used by the political parties here is one such recent mystery. While technology and advertising have taken giant steps forward with all their subliminal messages and whatnots, the canvassing methods seem to have got stuck in a time warp. There is nothing subliminal about them. Absolutely nothing.
Well, I must confess they have made some sort of progress. They used those larger versions of bullhorn sort of speakers before. Now the normal kind of speakers are used, although that still hasn’t affected the quality of sound.
And oh, I’ve also managed to catch glimpses of different dances and buggy rides that have been used in canvassing in certain other parts of the country. From what little I saw/read of those, it just looked comical.
From what little I have perceived in the last couple of months, this year’s canvassing seems to have turned away from all the real issues and have turned toward these varying kinds and degrees of stupidity. This, I believe, is a ‘distraction technique’ something akin to what we would do to keep a child from crying or something like that.
Coming back to the issue at hand, perhaps, what happened this morning was a stride forward in canvassing techniques. May be, just may be, the opposing party was the one that was blaring the noise so loud, at 6 am in the morning, so that people will be put off from voting for that particular party.
All this makes it increasingly difficult to ‘choose’ whom I should vote for. Or perhaps, should I say, this has only made it easier?
* They couldn’t exhibit creativity even in the songs! The tunes are all popular Tamil movie song tunes, which are sometimes copies themselves.
** I’m not sure if there are majority parties in India anymore, nor even majority ‘coalition’ of parties.
I don't have it in me
To be what you want me
to be
To be what i ought
to be
Who is me?
A somebody that already is?
Or a somebody that is still becoming?
How far do i stretch out
before i stop being me?
How far do i stretch out
to become me?
I am packing to move houses. And my favourite place to start is the bookshelf. As I try to figure how to place the books of such various dimensions, I wonder why they can’t be all of the same shape and size to make packing neat and easy.
I smile. It is the difference that makes each unique. The length, the breath, the thickness, the binding, the cover, the content… Each so different.
And they shall all have a place in the cardboard cartons.
Drowning in a sea of thoughts
Waves crashing
One against another
And new ones forming
Rushing towards my conscious mind
I struggle to resurface
To thrust my head
Through the crashing thoughts
I gasp for breath
I sigh
My friends tease me about the number of times i sigh. I quite didn't know how to explain why i sighed so much. And i didn't intend to write this thing as an explanation. I sat sighing this morning and this is what came out of it. :-)
My facebook status said that I was visiting one my favourite places on earth.
Certain things make certain places special. Sometimes it is the sheer beauty of the place. It could also be the people there. Certain times it is simply the memories that place holds for you.
This place that I went to sure holds a lot of memories for me. Most of my holidays were spent there. Roaming the farms, playing in the sand, making bullock cart miniatures, learning to climb trees (never did succeed. I tried to start with a coconut tree. Bad choice for beginners.), and learning to play gilli thandu (which, again, I failed at).
My aunt and uncle don’t live in the farm house anymore. They’ve moved to the village proper. And these days when I visit, I don’t usually visit the farms. Today I decided to.
The funny thing with growing up is everything that looked big and far don’t seem that big or far anymore. Not much has changed except that one of the farms has become a coconut farm, the farm house is gone, though there is a portion of the old building still standing. The bend in the road is still the same. And the bumps. You use the age old trick to escape dogs – bend down pretending to pick a stone. And oh, some things were bigger. The coconut trees in one of the farms that I used to walk past. They’ve grown quite tall.
On the way back I spotted a peacock.
I love villages. I love this particular village.
I would love to hear about your favourite places and the memories they hold for you. So, let's play tag.
Marsha, here's one more blog idea for you. Madison and Sandy, i love your stories and insights. Anju, i know you have some stories and you are dying to tell them. Clarissa, if you want to play along. And anybody else that wants to reminisce, please play along.
