To Chethana...

It's been just over a month and I don't think I can still comprehend the enormity of this loss. Chethana was my cousin and a dear sister. On 26th July 2015 she decided this journey wasn't worth it. It was sudden, it was shocking. It was horrifying and cold. I could feel her decision move her – the silence and the noise. As saddening and painful the whole thing was, there was also a hint of a larger picture yet to be revealed before me. Although something earthy, nothing magical mind you.

The most disturbing thing through this whole time to me was whether she gave a thought to what our grandmother would have thought or whether she didn't. Ever since my granny passed away, although I can't hear her voice or spirit speak, I keep thinking of what she would make of the situation and I believe chethu did too. And to now see her picture hanged right next to granny's, it just doesn't seem fair. Life and death don't seem fair.

She was 26. Her birthday was a day after mine. So we did see a few celebrations together. I must say we weren't the best of friends when we were kids. We always found a way or two to fight and cry. Now, there will be no more fights I guess although some tears are left.

Chethana Murthy: The absolute joy that she was!

But down the line, we grew up and stopped fighting. We shared a lot of laughter. She was a kind of person who could brighten up just about anybody's day. 

A few months earlier I discovered she was deep in depression. When I found that out, I was worried. Absolutely. Yes. But I started looking at her differently. I knew she was sensitive to energy. She was a wonderful painter from childhood – a fact I had forgotten till the last time I met her when she actually showed me some of her works. She always wanted to learn music. She had a thing, a sort of a connection with God I can say. She travelled extensively.

A piercing sketch by Chethana.

I think I started looking at her as an artist who considers experience everything. And I wanted to talk to her about life and sundry. But I guess, it was a conversation that I delayed and eventually missed. She saw things that we never could. I'm not saying she had it easy. I'm saying every artist has an eccentricity that she shared. And I was almost jealous of her experiences. And like a true artist who wants to see the whole of life, she experienced death too as a part of life. How often can death be a choice. She chose death like she chose life. I hope she chose right. And I can never be an artist that she was. 

I can never digest the way she lay there dead on a stretcher. The whole world was disappearing around me. I couldn't hold on to any sense of my surroundings. Was it calm on her face? Was it wisdom? I can never say. And I know I can never have that conversation with her. Because I cannot hear her voice or her spirit speak. But I'm sure as hell, she left a mark in this huge hole called earth. A mark that I'll spend the rest of my life trying my best to comprehend. 

insights from diaries unkept

...fragments...


Poet, i never was.
an eye for love,
for beauty, makes me no poet.
words do.


what does it take to be true
when a night's sleep could be the end of you?


I'm passionate. About creation.
What sort you ask?
My sort.


Words don't appear in front of you;
words happen like incidents do.


A page unwritten...
...................................
It takes a soul to see the joy.
It takes a heart to smile at the end.

of wishing to print those silences forever...

Crystal cut swirling chandeliers, domed string lights, gold-diamond-pearl clad -- there doesn't end the showmanship of God.  

A temple. People come and go. Some beg mercy. Others praise him. Some others complain. But they all seek Him all the same. The showmanship grows, I wish I could simply believe it. I wish I could seek Him. Or not. Any which way -- with dedication and firm foot. I wish I could look at those swirling lights and call it His creation. I really wish.  

I wish I could bow in tremendous respect sitting far from the idol like my uncle does. Or just turn my back with great indifference/ innocence like the child that just ran inside the sanctum sanctorum not recognizing what all the fuss was about only to return to the toffee in his mom's bag.  

I wish I could not be jealous of all the saints who were divinely appointed to do good in the world. Their conflicts seem to be non-existent. But so do the conflicts of saints who believe in a truth completely opposite to what my saints believe in.  

I wish I believed God pointed out a material approach to life. I wish I believed that the Hindu Gods are so "scientifically advanced" that they prove theories of evolution right. I wish I could fight for these greater causes to save God and to save humanity. I wish I had the conviction to fight those fights.  

Or I wish I had a "liberal" point of view where God is a -- what-is-it -- "a human construct". I wish I believed whole-heartedly that all is political. I wish I believed this God factor was a phallocentric whatever-ness in the world. I wish I believed it was all just a power game between masculinities and femininities. I wish I could stand up for the oppressed Gods and disregard the privileged ones. 

 I wish I could drape a saree, change my appearance and be amongst believers. Or I wish I could go bald and belong amongst non-believers. But, at the end of the day, I know I wouldn't belong to either sides. And I know I cannot take the mid-path either.

I wish I could just believe. Anything that inspires me. And trust. Beyond questions and doubts. For questions are starting to become more absolute than the subject itself. I wish I knew better. I wish.  

blurring mindscapes

Everything is connected. The stories of the world can be woven together to form a single ball of consciousness. We have apparently had parallel histories throughout the past. But, some things (well, a lot of things) don’t make sense to me anymore.

I don’t know if you would brand me a nativist or not. That’s not the central issue at hand. What bothers me is the double standard with which the academia that I’m exposed to views world histories and present scenarios.

As scrutinised as it is, colonization is looked upon as something that brought in a sense of the modern with its great ideals of renaissance and reformation. Thanks to these revolutionary ideas, there was advancement in human thought from the archaic knowledge systems of the East. We were totally incapable of “modernization” by ourselves thanks to our RIGID social set-up.

Moving on, it seems, when Hinduism encroached the territories of tribal regions in India the religion was bent upon epistemological violence. So when Buddhism influenced large sections of vedic society, it was a beautiful exposure to a new knowledge system. [okay, I love all things indigenous and all things Buddhist. This is just for argument’s sake.] The arrival of Islam, for instance, is considered the best thing that ever happened to Indian society because they brought in their knowledge and texts along. [Although I understand how important the blending of cultures is in societies evolving. But why romanticize something and put down a similar event?]

When UR Ananthmurthy talks about doing away with religion – because what is religion other than a set of superstitious beliefs – we uphold the spirit of Ananthmurthy. When say North East Indian writers talk about how Hinduism erased their sense of the past and created anew their memories, it’s the wiping out of tradition that formed the core of their being-ness. And there’s a call back to traditional ways of living to gain a better hold of life in general.

I understand minority discourses in this context, but how is upholding one tradition considered a great purpose of life while upholding another tradition is nothing but an act of power?

Why are knowledge systems of the West held so dearly while the traditional “Hindu” texts are branded “oh so sanskritized!”, “power politics”, “it’s all about maya”, “no sense of the material”, “far removed from reality”? Why can’t they be looked at from an intellectual perspective?

I hope I made the raw argument clear enough. I’ve been stuck with these thoughts for a while now, and I can’t find a suitable outlet in anyone. Kindly leave your comments and suggest some reading so that I can take this forward and construct a decent argument.

Anything that is right inclined is cast away as being closed or narrow minded while being left is the in thing. What I’m really in a way asking for is consideration of all knowledge systems alike, because the dots cannot be connected otherwise. To me, they seem to be falling apart every day with every reading.

snail mail

/vɔɪs/

My aim behind joining the MA English course was to be able to do something with the sense of awareness we already seem to have – of the world, of ourselves. First of all, there’s no point in just being aware unless you can actually put it in the vocabulary that fits it the best. So yeah, I’m working on it.

Awareness alone won’t change things much. It is what you make of it. When I was an on my job, I was often amused to see how people couldn’t or rather did not have an opinion of their own on news and stuff. It was all a given. There’s a beautiful place in Uganda. Yes there is. “Hey! They are facts!” Well…

My awesome sports editor would always insist on making every story my own. He would read my story and say, “Yes, Nadal won. I get it. But where’s YOUR story?” and he would turn away. [so zen noh? :D ]

So that’s when I felt I lacked a voice of my own. I had a room alright, but voice?

My journey hereafter will be about finding my own voice. I realized this in a class [side?] discussion when a professor was talking about writing something "original" for a term/research paper.

In this age of information, it takes a balanced mind to allow for original thoughts. Hey, make space while I find my own voice.... ;)

something sometime someone said

[It's been a while since I posted. Hence, it took me some time to type this one out. It isn't a random reactionary ranting. I hope.]

Sometimes I wonder if I have any right at all to feel anger and rage at a comment by someone.

What kind of comment you ask?

I’m asked why I’m against Hinduism. [Before, I used to deal with ‘why are you sooo pro-Hinduism’ questions.] No matter what your stand, you’re always questioned. Which is a good thing I guess… Actually, my stance hasn’t changed one bit. But the way I react to things, have.

I sometimes surprise myself with all those religious ideals I have in mind. I wonder why they are required. Are they just some utopic worlds? The spiritual-unattainable world? What makes me give into this patriarchal system which evidently acts as an ‘Ideological State Apparatus’ like Althusser reckons.

When I listen to stories of the daasa poets or for that matter Kabir or Meera, and Rumi of course, I fall in love. I fall in love with them, I fall in love with the world, with God, with myself, with the little details of life. I used to call that Zen, bliss. I also call it devotion sometimes.

Why do I feel so liberated in what is merely a master-slave relationship? Why would I even take that to be liberation?!

Actually, at that moment, the society doesn’t matter. Neither does the individual. There’s only merging of entities. Of energies. There’s no hierarchy at that moment. Or so I feel. Because in the very articulation of it, there’s a problem. A glitch in the system. Let’s blame it all on language which empowers and disempowers us. All the same.

All that beauty-bliss apart, what about the philosophy itself? So my professor at college was pointing out a “flaw” in it. He was of the opinion that the problem with most of Indian philosophy is that it bases all its arguments on theology.

So is “our” philosophy a constant denial of the real? Is the spiritual in opposition to the material? Well...

Going back to the question, am I against Hinduism? Hell no. I’m against the appropriation of all communities into “Hinduism”. I’m against those fundamental-extreme views. I’m against using the name of religion to control women. I’m against making her stick to roles already pronounced. For that matter, I’m against force of any kind. Because that, for me, defeats the whole purpose of faith. Am I going too far equating religion and faith?
Anything that you do should be a choice – something that flows into your being. That way, it stays – your faith becomes your own. Not some abstract notion passed down by your forefathers (foremothers?).

sensuous memory?

As I return to the world that lets me withdraw as and when I like, I look back and wonder what I’ve assimilated over the one year that passed by working at different places.

One thing that doesn’t change no matter where you go is the way people constantly try to impress one another. It makes me feel as though we are a generation born out of/ into insecurities. Always trying to update our facebook statuses and talk fashion or literature as though our souls hang on the approval of others.

In fact, I think we are a generation of “others”. There’s no 'We' or 'I' in the doing. There’s always this passive watcher or a voyeur we’re so fully aware of. The past one year has confirmed this further.

Going back to college has in a way reminded me of the old days in the non a/c public buses. I’ve heard people say “reality stinks”. It sure does. Quite literally here!

Exotic cologne mixed air in the bus will be replaced by musk flavoured deo sprayed college students’ body odour blended with the sweat of others and dung stuck shoes of some others. And of course, not to mention the jasmine thick air that lingers all day long.

No more laptop and phone busy people in the bus but those trying hard enough to hold on to the iron rods that’ll survive them the next sudden brake. As they get down, the smell of the rusting rods follow them as a reminder of where they stand in the hierarchy of things.

No more poor and confused oldies mistaking the a/c for a non a/c and having forced to pay thrice of what they would have otherwise. It perhaps means they will miss a square meal to hold on to their abstract idea of dignity that no one seems to really care about.

It’s time to get used to the sight of bare feet and thank god for the lack of clacking shoes.

I will miss the glimpses of people from the back high seat of the Volvo. They look at you and don't even forgetfully smile at you. And if you do, they feel threatened. I will miss seeing the children’s [of lesser earning families] eyes glow as they step in and feel the cool on a hot sunny day. I wish I could appreciate life like they do. I wish I had the ability to see the universe in the everyday.

Resounding Confrontation

Among other things, what I’ve been pondering upon lately is the social status of people.

I had this rare and unforgettable confrontation with a man on the street. When I used to hear people say they could play certain moments in their mind whenever they felt like it, I used to think they were imagining stuff. But, this time, I played that moment, time and again in my mind and I couldn’t figure out a thing. Yet, it was the most raw confrontation I’ve ever had.

It lasted exactly a moment. And I wriggled out of it. I was on my way to work [some extra money with the ever increasing distance to work has given me the perk of travelling in a Volvo bus]. And I really like the view from the back seat because it is placed quite high from the ground. The bus had stopped in a traffic signal and there was this "madman" on the road trying to figure his way from one end of the road to the other. He had the blankest of looks on his face and I was observing him take every step forward. It so happened that he glanced towards me once and locked a stare for only a second and if I was anywhere but in the bus, I would have burst into loud tears. However, on that day, I managed to look away and silently wipe my tears.

I have no idea what that was. But, all I can say is, that moment will be the foundation for all that I’ll do hereafter. Also, now that I’m unemployed, I’ll have more “time” to dedicate to things that are closer to my heart.

That’s right. I’ve been waiting to declare myself unemployed [ever since I started working, I guess]. I’ve decided to do my post-graduation in English Literature – full time. I did give the correspondence course a try and it was rather pathetic to use a mild word.

So the next two years will be more about making regular rounds to the library with Shakespeare and Ferdinand de Saussure; and less about planning how to spend a penny or save a penny.

I always wanted my life to fast forward to the future (of sorts). But now, more out of choice than fear, I want it to go as slow as possible…so that I can savour every moment, remember every emotion from the books I read and the movies I watch and also (surprisingly) the life I lead.

I wanted to be a sports reporter, and I have been that for the last 3 months. Did I like it? Not really. I liked it alright. As in, there were many practical things that one needs to learn as a journalist that I sort of assimilated. But, as a whole, I didn’t really connect to the job.

I wanted to be a travel writer, and that was my first job. I was on it for a while. I enjoyed it in parts, I loved writing…but there was still something missing. I felt like I was selling these beautiful places – the only ones that were a bit untouched by humans. Even if no one went to that place after reading (or rather BECAUSE they read) my feature stories, I still felt I was conspiring against nature.

Going back to college should help me sort things out. Although I have portrayed the one year break as not-so-productive phase of my life, there have been a million things that have touched me directly or indirectly because of my job. I’ve always tried to pen it down and would end up nowhere close to what I wanted to say.

Here’s to verbally more competent life ahead!

hold on and let go; all at once?

I was suddenly taken aback by all the noise around and chaotic people everywhere. “I was one of them a minute ago.” The thought wouldn’t let me digest my reality. I was shattered. Tears. How easily I let them flow. Was I hurt? Not sure.

The universe conspired in my favour this time. I chanced upon the movie August Rush! Music. Beauty. Love. Do I feel all that anymore? The Magic! Has it been replaced by something mechanical? Or Does it still remain hidden somewhere? It’s like I have these moments of bliss and it disappears into nothingness. And I can’t stop thinking that it’s me who has forced it to disappear. So can I force it back into being? Whatever happened to the essence of emptiness that I was completely drowned into!? [why does “into” sound deeper than plain “in” I wonder.]

© Vimal

I should let go of things, masters of life would say. But for me, I think it’s about holding on to things as much as letting them go. It’s all about striking the almost perfect balance. Right? It shouldn’t be too perfect either. For it would suck the vibrance out of the colours. I should [perhaps] hold on to the eye for beauty but let go of the cynic’s view. I should hold on to my grand ideas [that are mostly borrowed] on capitalism and the likes and at the same time let go of inhibitions about the self, the other and the imagined. (?)

The Birthday Post

Note to self: I should stop sounding clueless in all my blogposts. I'm 21 and ought to be more decisive and balanced. Alright.

Each birthday we sit and wonder, oh God! how fast time flies! So what have I done lately? What has changed in the last year? It hasn't been the mad and lovely chase for beauty in the little things anymore. I have broadened (?) my perspective and started looking at the big things as well. Parents and family. you know...that kind. I have lost the wisdom of a 20 year old. I can sense it. The job is getting to me. The eye for everything beautiful is giving way to idk what! My dad thinks I'll become a politician at work :P because I wanted to complain about someone not working. [WHAT has become of me! :D] My dad snapped at me saying, hello! mind your own business!
I should. I should. Thank God for parents! :)

Whatelse...ummm...let me think!

Joy drunk I should be. But I haven't read as much as I would have liked. I did graduate and get my first job and all the fancy things people brag about. But you know every happy story has too many buts attached... The coming year will be rid of the ifs and buts hopefully! And I'll get to read a lot and find a lot more time for myself.

We are constantly rediscovering ourselves. And I have learned that I don't really act until and unless I set challenges for myself. So here it is...

I shall try to be more truthful in my writing. I often feel...I think Allen Ginsberg (or was it my teacher?) said that we are hardly ever truthful in what we write. And if we ever write the truest of our feelings, people will never read it. Because it's so bitter and full of life. Maybe not. Maybe there are as many beautiful things to say as there are bitter stories that need to be shared. I want to be able to tell those stories while I intently listen to others. I want to cut the edge and say things that connect to ME in the first place! I want to be able to read it a decade later and say "hey I know that feeling!"

I shall read a minimum of 36 books in the coming year. I also have an MA programme to attend. And this job can get a li'l too tiring at times. So I hope I shall live upto my challenge.

I shall sit and sort every tag I have given to my posts. because there are way too many in the hiding. I shall do something about it and make my blog neat and searchable.

Hope my day and year will be one to remember. Now back to work i guess!

oh and I love my b'day dress. It's a combination of yellow and magenta sorts! :D

send in your wishes. I feel loved and don't mind some more of it! :) Mark the date. 27th Dec :D :)

ciao!

blessed be the world

to share is to love ♡

Finally i get to post something here. After so many attempts at trying to write while i travel, I've made time to write. I'm at work so this is just a li'l thing I wanted to share.

☆  to love is to live.

☆  this picture below reminded me of an old wishlist I had drawn up as a kid. I had a blue bicycle and gave it away to my cousin when i came to high school. But then I wanted a green bicycle so bad that I cried at home and wrote my first wishlist.

I WANT A GREEN CYCLE!

I'm not sure if i find it a bit shameful but I try to avoid looking at that book on my desk! What memories can do is force you to stop your daze at work and actually blog! it's nothing much but I had to share it.

After all, to share is to love. . .

justice undone

God is just they say.
How long can we go on like this! Who's ever gonna change it!
I don't know much about religion; I don't know that much about Social Justice either...but the present condition is getting on me!
Inequality in terms of previliges? for what wrong? 

bygone indignation. . .

I was scanning through some old papers and came across an answer sheet which had all the indignation that defined my existence...

I'm not sure if I have taken the idea from elsewhere but this is what I had written. I was talking of how a cry of woman forms the foundation of faith.
And I have said, we needed a Mary to tell us that what happened to Jesus was true; we needed Buddha's wife to be ordained to keep his faith transparent; we needed Lakshmi to validate the story of Vishnu. This is true of all worlds.

Even if it's not all that profound, phew! what guts I had :D

I probably don't even dare to think that way now. What has become of me I wonder! :)

Happy Mornings :)

happy mornings are those when the security guard says hi with a slant instead of the usual good morning madam as you enter office.

happy mornings are those when your bus overtakes the one you just missed.

happy mornings are those when you wake up smiling for reasons unknown.

happy mornings are those when your mom hands over a cup of tea when you've asked for coffee and you gulp it down without noticing a thing.

happy mornings are those when you feel you're under total control.

happy mornings are those when you share a laugh as soon as you come to work.

happy mornings are those when you think you'll write an article that'll be happily approved by everyone for the sheer quality of it :D

happy morning are those that remind you how blessed you are!

happy morning coffee at work!

happy morning people :)

. . .

Aug 5th. The day I joined work.

I have been wanting to blog all about the excitement of my first day, first article, first month, first pay-cheque. Somehow I haven't been able to decide what my mind makes of my heart.

So here's the deal I have gotten myself into. Content Executive is the fancy designation they have given me. I write full-time for NativePlanet - Oneindia's travel website. Travel writing was my secret dream. Travel, meet people, discover lands, discover yourself and write. But it turns out that I only get to imagine travel and write. So the journey isn't as incredible as I'd dreamt but it's close enough.

nothing too grand, nothing too plain...

I write with a passion to travel. The many histories and narratives of a land or even just a pillar is almost transcendental. Everytime I write, I want to be able to read it myself and appreciate the story I've conveyed. I'm not sure whether I'm reaching the reader with the same depth at which a particular story affects me. The grandeur of the Hoysalas or the Chalukyas and their great fall; the beauty of their architecture – it resounds in deep corners of my being. But in words, they are not quite what I want them to be.

Sometimes my words steal the thunder of the story itself. And some other times I don't really have a story to tell and I trick the reader (or rather myself) with words. A metaphor here, a rhyme there, and I have created an article out of nothing. I'm asked to write a couple of articles everyday and it's not easy to tell a story each time that connects to everyone.

Once, when I wrote a very dear piece on something rather abstract, I was bluntly asked to write about top 5 hotels in Maharashtra! Can you imagine! Top 5 hotels??! Who cannot write that! I took it so personally, like I do with most things, that I made a huge fuss of it at home. My articles sometimes go too far in trying to reflect my opinions on several things. My subtle hints at the politics of ecotourism and postcolonialism and deconstruction-ism have hardly ever been noticed.

A few days back I wrote an article with all my heart. I wanted close readers to enjoy it. The slide headings were arranged in alphabetical order and I was, say, proud of it. But the result? Not a single reader in my close circles noticed it. Another fail attempt. Such experiences and work pressure force me to write half-hearted travel reports. But my constant fight with myself gets me to write something that I can be proud of. It doesn't matter who reads or who doesn't. To master the task while I'm at it is my motto. I do not want to sit in the future and change anything from my past.

It's Oct 15^th. I don't know if better things await me. Yet. But for now, I want to be able to make the best of things in hand today.

[This approach – the teenage-ish sense of rightfulness of action (sorts) - suits me, doesn't it?!]

Also, here's where you can catch my latest articles...
http://www.nativeplanet.com/authors/shruthi.html

of 'wanting' to be zen and the irony of it...

I woke up this morning feeling fresh and beautiful...wanting to stay by myself...wanting to feel warm...wanting to stay as zen as possible.

I woke up to the sweet fragrance of jasmine offered to the Lord....it had filled the entire house...as I saw how simple life was to my parents, I smiled at my own futility. How complex I make life seem when it’s simple and full of beauty. How is it that i miss to gauge all the wonderful things and how is it that i manage to sulk about just everything in life!

I savoured every sip of my tea and contemplated zen.

my cup of tea looked nothing as exotic :P

What is it that makes me overlook the beautiful things! Why is it that i fall short of appreciating the little things! Why is it that I magnify superfluous things!

I must be philosophically challenged I thought and an almost non-existent laughter escaped my lips.

As I wondered about life and my equation with the people around, the jasmine scent that had filled the house earlier was taken over by the odour of masala dosa my mom was preparing. I could truly smell and feel the south Indian stereotype I read in books and blogs...the comfort i got in all that was just too beautiful to express. The earthy feeling of home, of owning people, of memories, and of being a part of something modest unfurling in the larger picture - a feel that is unparalleled.

What is it that i really want! I started wondering!

I want comfort and austerity at the same time!

It’s tricky.

My mother called me for breakfast and i was wondering if i should settle for dosa or should i demand for something else. She had an alternative in her mind already. I wouldn’t opt for that either. I demanded something simple and fresh in the name of austerity. That was when i felt like i was mocking myself.

The grand expectations of life from life have miraculously taken precedence over the sheer joy of the everyday! The still, the calm, the serene have made way for so much noise without me noticing it. The eye for beauty has been replaced by a cynic vision.

The quest for truth has taken detours and witnessed way too many ugly scenes in the periphery. The grandeur of the journey has taken a blow.

No matter how messy it gets, I am sure it’ll all add up to the greatness that life is!

[is this a voice of hope or wisdom I wonder!]

I shall now order for some more tea...here’s both hope and wisdom operating for you! Ha!