Why am I sad today?

Why do we feel sad, if someone questions us? Even if the question is valid.. still it hurts.. is it the ego or insecurity of letting others know our shortcomings. All of us work in this world with a mask. Yes, Freud was right. How irritated I become if someone says you didn’t do well. .. I feel am being intruded upon. But all these questions are useless as I already know about my lacking and these questions have been lingering in my brain. Then why X or Z has to come and question me?
All of us try to put a mask for the outside world, mine is simple yet happy. To the outside world, all is so rosy, a young woman who achieved whatever she asked for. Studying at the best institute, marrying the guy I liked, moving to the city I liked, marrying into a nuclear family, working for the companies which gave me satisfaction of work, moving to the unknown, unexplored world that too with my family and getting a lovely daughter. If you asked me 10 years back, this was IT! This is what I had ever dreamed of. Then why am I sad today? Just because of one question? The question which forces me to keep my mask aside and answer. This one asks me to answer to the face, which portrays me as not a good person, may be for a second but am not happy. But how can everyone be good to everyone? Happy to everyone? You can’t appease all, and in this selfish world, “I” rule. I have to be happy first, I have to be satisfied first.
Such a revelation, so with the mask of making others happy I have my selfish thoughts.. to rule, to achieve what I want.

back back back :) am back after along gap. Was catching up with norms of this big bad world. Didnt mean to write today but am always tempeted by the whiteness of these blank pages. To scribble, to write or just doodle. These black letters are my energy potion. Yeh, got that word from my daughter's mobile game. The best part is she is 4 and it amazes me, the way she picks up a N97 and plays like a teenager. I feel, yes am in the gen zee. okay thats all for today. Am sure will come up with more.. but sometime later.

Perangipettai to Dubai…

A Face book personal assessment quiz which declared my life to be adventurous, chances of mixing with culturally different people. I was blessed with one whole month of vacation in India and as it relates to the assessment; the extremities of life, of locations, surroundings and experiences.

Smell of jasmine flowers and sandalwood soap, blue wall paint, undated dust on the tables and gossiping officers. Conical chai glasses, smell of paan, constantantly ringing telephone, jarring fan, sweaty and exhausted souls. That’s perangipettai.
Parching sun, hot air on your cheeks, the impressive skyline, and a concrete jungle. Of all the things, larger than Life windows, bathrooms / relaxation rooms. Smell of designer perfumes, spanky houses and green roads. Thats Dxb.

Twenty steps

It’s just a short walk from my house till office, some 20 steps. And everyday I find myself in a new state of mind when am taking those 20 steps. The initial days were of satisfaction; of moving so close to the office, of not waiting at the long queues of never ending traffic. I leave the house everyday with a small prayer that those twenty steps should be peaceful for me. I somehow guess the plan of the whole day in those steps.


My two by two sized cleaner is usually the first person I meet. A strong bodied African, for whom God has denied the best African feature; height. He hardly reaches my height when he puts his head up, to wish me, “good morning madaame!” in his toothy smile.
I dread the day when the secretary comes running, stopping me halfway with a problem. That day is not my day. There are other days too, when I meet my neatly dressed students chatting in the local language near the summer huts. Ghanaians are simple and loud by nature and when they talk you can hardly make out if they are arguing or just chatting. Well, arguments and debates are looked as a healthy way of communication. The topics vary from football, local politics or just youngsters. A radio blaring the latest debate is omnipresent at any local office. Fridays are in particular very bright. There is a wave of celebration. Most of the farewells, parties on-campus happen on this day. So every Friday morning there is a louder, cheerful bunch at the porch. They all have come in their brightest Friday wear, girls dressed lil sexier and ready to party and men flaunting their latest gadgets. Ipod, I phones, chronograph watches and of course cars. All is shiny and bling on this day.

What doesn’t fit is the obroni (local word for white) woman, yes that’s me! But how easily they make me at home, how easily I take those twenty steps and glide back home to my waiting daughter. Did I call it home? Yes it is, 3 years down the line I consider Ghana as home, …………………………………..second home.

Oasis

Parching sun, hot air on your cheeks, the impressive skyline, and a concrete jungle. Of all the things, LARGER THAN LIFE windows. Here are some, from the man made OASIS... Dubai.

I lost something today...

My first watch; my first Japanese hand mirror by papa; my college scrapbook and many more things of values attaché, I lost. The world lost an icon today. I also lost something today. When things become dear to you, it hurts to lose them or even let them go. When I heard her, I knew what am saying is mine, isn’t. Living in an illusion is bliss but when it ends; you come out of the mist and see the road ends there. Please let me be in the mist, let me tread the road with you. That’s my prayer.

Life through a Train

Traveling by Indian railways has been the norm in my family. The most trusted transport for long distance. Howsoever crowded and unhygienic the surroundings are; it has always been a pleasure looking out of the barred window. Passing by villagers, office goers, street hawkers say a new story. As if, I get an instant insight into their brains or their daily problems.

Same way I can’t forget a story of a small town boy Manu. Guntur is a station in Andhra where just before reaching the station, the train was given a red light. Stopped on the outskirts of the small town, I could see men sitting under the Pipal tree and boys in Khaki and whites, rolling their cycle tyres, somewhere a dog barking and the hot afternoon sun high on our heads. And there was Manu pedaling down faster and faster to reach to his new friend from the choir. A smile on his face, he was sure that today he will get an answer from Vidya.

Government High school at Guntur was blessed with the entry of a newcomer into the XI standard. Her name was Vidya Chowdhary and she had moved from Secunderabad with her family because of her father’s transfer to Guntur Post office. It seems that all the boys of her class were in love with her. And when she passed the corridors, she could feel a hundred eyes tracing her steps. Manu amongst them; was sure that she would not have missed him, when he actually held his heart and gave her the best of smiles when she glanced through her side and decided to move on.

From then on, he made sure he got up for the first mass on Sunday with his mother. Vidya would be there too, in her best Sunday clothes singing with her choir mates. Manu always wondered why he could never inherit his mother’s talent of singing. That way an entry into the choir would have been easy. Now he had specially arranged to be friends with Vijay, Vidya’s cousin. This was the only way to get her to agree; and a favour once in a while helped Vijay to share Manu’s cricket set and access the senior league at school.

After almost a month of eye glances, flirtatious smiles Manu decided to move on. He had employed Vijay to get the job done, and today he was sure she will give a favourable response. So this afternoon, he was cycling down to meet him at the football ground. Vijay was there already and had some other news to tell. Vidya was leaving soon for a retreat centre with her parents for a fortnight. Oh, leaving Guntur without any response is disappointing, thought Manu. That night was very difficult, and around dawn when Manu got up he knew, what he had to do. Without telling anyone he rushed to Vijay’s house. Vijay was brushing his teeth lethargically, sitting on his stool at the sink outside. He shared a plan with Vijay which was to be told to Vidya too.

And finally the day came. Manu was up by 5.30am and ready with his promised red rose, very thoughtfully plucked from Mary akka’s garden. The train from Pota will arrive at 8.oo am, but incase it arrived earlier, no chances could be left out. Vijay also came along and all what was left was the red passenger train carrying the red dressed vidya. Yes, that was the plan. If she agrees to his companionship, she should wear Red. Manu was tensed about the outcome and discussed his presence. It was better to hide among the crowd and wait. May be she feels shy to show up. After the announcement of train, the heartbeats were as loud as the train’s shunting. The bespectacled, pencil moustached Mr. Chowdhary was the first one to be spotted. And oh! there followed a group of kulis, milkman coming from the city, old women in bright Kancheepurams visiting their far off cousin’s wedding, chaiwalla, fruitseller and many more. Mr. Chowdhary accompanied with his son Shyam headed straight to Vijay who was speechless to reason out, about his visit to the station on a school day. After sometime, the station was calm as ever and Manu came out, all this time he was just an observer with a hundred questions running in his mind. What happened to her? Is she okay? Doesn’t she like him?

Taking a seat at the iron bench nearby, he helped his welling tears that is when Vijay gave him a letter. Vijay told that Vidya’s grandmother stayed at the previous station and both she and her mother had alighted there on her insistence.
The letter had a single line written on it “I don’t have a Red dress”. There was no end to the joyous shouts Manu gave out.

-----------------------------------------------

14day of february

"Different flowers indicated different intentions; most obviously and well known, red roses infer passion and true love… pink roses…eh, not so much. There are over 250 species of roses, and rose fossils have been found in the Oligocene deposits in modern-day Colorado; roses have graced the earth for at least 35 million years. Every rose has it’s thorn. It is said that cupid, while shooting arrows at bees that had stung him, created thorns on rose stems where his arrows missed. When Venus was trying to save her dying lover Adonis, she shed a few drops of blood creating the first red roses. If only she knew they’d be grown year-round south of the equator (roses are indigenous only in the Northern Hemisphere) with formaldehyde, stored for weeks after cut, and mixed with baby’s breath…all for $100 a dozen. But enough! After all, it is the thought that counts with flowers."

designsponge described my lines in my style...

thru the window

The small screen infront of me is funny. Its almost like a kaliedoscope. Iam seeing so many colours today. Colours which were unknown to me before. Is it that the small window makes us focus more? My friend asked? Does absence makes you feel fonder. wonder/ wander?

Yes, its true. Not that i had not noticed this earlier but after Istarted observing from my small window all seems to have become bigger; larger. It was all infront of me, then why didnt I ever notice it before? its like the small magnifying glass which i have been using to read my precious bible. A gift, the smallest bible.. everyday i read it with my magnifying glass. The same magnifying glass i have started using in my screen.

Theres a limit to which it can be magnified after which it hurts the eyes. Will this window to another personality hurt me.. am yet to find.. am yet to magnify..