I Believe in Angels...

As Abba sang, "If you see the wonder of a fairy tale.... makes you take the future even if you fail. I believe in angels, something good in everything I see..."

The child in me still believes in fairy tales. Cinderella and Rapunzel were not happy till the end of the tale, were they? They had cruel witches and horrible curses till Prince Charming rode along to rescue them. But the modern Cinderella that I like to see myself as, no longer believes in the Prince Charming part. No knight rescues damsels in distress these days.... damsels need to learn to rescue themselves. But just as Cinderella had her fairy God Mother and friendly little mice, Snow White had her friendly little dwarfs, and the Little Mermaid had Sebastian, the lobster, the ones to truly help these little damsels out of their distress, I like to believe in little angels. If you think about it, the knights/princes have only kissed and danced with these princesses in the name of breaking curses!

I watched an old episode of 'Ally McBeal' where a stock broker was fired as he was deemed mentally unstable for believing in seeing a unicorn. A person seeing something that others couldn't and believing in something that others normally wouldn't are prone to being judged as schizophrenic, and with good reason many times. But as the lawyers argued, religious beliefs are based on supernatural occurrences. If one claims to see Santa Claus or Krishna, he is revered, but when one claims to see unicorns or centaurs they are jeered. A nice example of hypocrisy.

Anyway the point I was trying to make is that, sometimes relying on the child inside of us lightens any situation we need to face. As a child, our hopes were alive and ever optimistic. Everything I saw as a child had a sparkle of imagination and magic to it. The gross frogs in the garden were seen as princes under curses, the nagging teachers were imagined as witches who would vanish when water was poured over them, my new shoes were thought of as Dorothy's shoes waiting to be clicked to transport to a different land, the loud noisy train turned into a magical rattling box.... adding a little pixie dust to everything around made the world so surreal and different. It makes us see the little angel that got out of Pandora's box - Hope.

Why lose that child inside me, when it helps me see the world through tinted glasses? Borrowing Abba's lines,

"I have a dream, a fantasy.... to help me through reality. And my destination, makes it worth the while. Pushing through the darkness, still another mile. "

What did I lose?

I search and I search,

Eyes dry and red,

Mind racing and churning,

Hope rising and falling,

To find that which I lost...

I know I miss it,

I know I want it,

I know it's somewhere here,

I know my hands will spread far,

To find that which I lost...

I remember the feeling,

I remember the memories,

I remember the thoughts,

I remember the dangers that arise,

To find that which I lost...

Famished and weary,

Overwrought with fear and pain,

Thinning down with dwindling hopes,

I ask myself over and over,

What did I have, for me to have lost?

The Cliff-hangers

When we were kids (i.e, till the age of 18), life had hardly begun. We were carefully cocooned in our little safety zones, that little did we imagine life could get worse than preparing for mind numbing exams and putting up with crazy professors.

Back in those days (sigh), I remember a very popular question that people would throw at you, at the pretext of keeping you entertained during those long train and bus journeys to and from college (which was situated at the heart of nowhere). Such questions were termed as 'mokkai' by many , including me. An example of such a 'mokkai' , "Imagine that your mom, dad, sister, brother and friend are all hanging from the edge of a cliff. You have the power to rescue only one... just one! Whom would you pick?" When such questions were thrown at me, I would imagine throwing the brainy quizzer down a cliff, with a haughty smirk, "What a stupid question! Like there is ever going to be such a situation! And what is the point of this ramble, really? BTW, I have no brother or sister!"

But a few years later, I've come to realize,  a sad realization at that, that such situations do present themselves in life. The cliff is nothing but a metaphor. Life demands hard choices and try as we might, we can only pick one.... letting go of others. An average Indian woman with orthodox upbringing looks down a cliff with a bunch of people/things hanging from it.... mother, father, career, potential life partner, etc. And as the inventor of this game decided, you cannot save everybody/everything.

It's unfortunate that generation gap poses a huge rift between parents and children. These complications are somehow more acute to women than men. I fail to understand the panic attack that parents face in the name of getting their daughters 'settled'. Some girls eternally fret that they will be turning 25 soon, their reason being, "My mom says girls lose their beauty and charm after 25... after 25 it gets increasingly hard to find men". 25 seems to be a dreadful turning point in the lives of single women. The focus is to somehow get married before that age strikes you.... even if that marriage be devoid of love. "Love! What in the name of God has it got to do with weddings?!" - parents howl.... and that's how the rift starts.

The other day, I was asked by a frantic friend, "Hey, when is it too late for a woman to have kids? 30, 35? Hope its 35! I want at least two." So there we go, lets add a couple of potential babies hanging from the cliff too, shall we? Somehow there are far too many pressures-- coming from a traditional setting, the need to please parents is a major priority, but this conflicts with the fact that most of us believe in marriages to be born out of love, and not out of horoscopes and castes. As women, we need to stay beautiful till we get married, find a partner by 25 (whom we truly love AND our parents truly love), try to establish a career that not only satisfies us, but also satisfies our parents, and is 'compatible' with the career of our potential life partner, buy a house, a car too, and have kids by 30. Nice template ain't it?

As hard as we strive NOT to follow the template, we invariably are made to feel guilty and fail in one or more aspects... resulting in the metaphorical cliff, forcing us to make the toughest choices. We need to let go of something that we equally value in our life, in order to gain something. Reminds me of one of those dreadful 'Holocaust' stories... a woman being asked by a Nazi soldier, which child of hers she was willing to sacrifice to save the other. Although our situations are never as cruel, they are painful enough to make us realize that we can't get everything in life.

And the cliff scenario is recursive. Each one of those cliffhangers in one's cliff has a situation of their own... their own cliff with me as one of their cliff hangers. As agonizing it is to watch oneself being let down, it is equally excruciating for the 'rescuer' to make that decision. Is it ok to let go of the cliff to save ourselves the pain, or is it just cowardice to do so? For better or for worse, I can live with the fact that I chose to let go of something, than go through the rejection of being let down.... or is that just an excuse to cover up insecurity?

Eternal joy of Parenthood...

Parenthood is one of the most fulfilling experiences... a wonderful galore of emotions of love and pain, and a lifetime full of rich memories. But it's never easy to let go of a child on its own journey to explore life... young ones leaving the nest is not taken lightly by mamas and papas.

We remember the times when our parents were our universe....their warmth and affection were all that we wanted. But we humans, unfortunately evolve over time.... our thoughts, our views, our attitudes go through a gradation of transformation, leaving our poor parents baffled and disappointed. Generation gap as they say, only seems to grow with every passing year. Parents never want to let go of the joy of parenting...and children seem to suffocate from it when they feel they have outgrown.

I am not a parent yet, but I am close to one now... I am parenting a fish. My dear little Bubbles. When the eerie, heavy feeling sinks at the pit of my stomach as I leave him at my friend's house before I head out for a vacation, I remember how my mother would have felt seeing me take off. As I repeatedly remind my friend how to feed him, I see glimpses of my mother over-protecting me. When I dream of Bubbles dying and drowning (a fish drowning!), and keep calling my friend to check on him, I realize how my mother goes through paranoia about me and ends up getting yelled by me. When I worry myself sick over his infection and his pale ill face, I realize how my parents would have felt hearing I was sick in another continent. A little fish made me realize the parent in me... and made me realize what parenting is.

But you see, contrary to us human children getting all the more rebellious with time, pets turn all the more loyal and obedient to us with the passage of time. Bubbles eats what I feed, with never a word of complaint, he comes where I go, doesn't argue with me on when his water needs to be changed, what plants he will have in his home, where his tank is to be kept... and which female buddy he can have (once he gets well). Bubbles doesn't disappoint me in anyway... unless of course he dies after all the mammoth effort I have been expending to keep him alive.

Pets like him are ideal for parents who never want to let go of parenting. And such dedicated loving parents deserve the reciprocation of a faithful, sincere being. No matter how you treat them, they always come running to you with no word of complaint. The term 'unconditional' love is truly applicable to pets. No wonder people get so attached to pets, and many in western lands prefer pets over babies :).

So the next time you see an old man inviting you to the birthday party of his little puppy, don't judge him, don't smirk or laugh at the idiocy of it.... realize that both the old man and the puppy deserve the party more than any one of us. The next time I meet my parents, I'm going to gift them a pet... so they can experience the eternal joy of parenthood. They truly deserve it...

Are there 'Female-Friendly' Jars?

The kitchen is supposed to be one place where females should normally have no difficulty surviving by themselves, or is it true? We all come to this phase when we start pondering on how independent we really are. Is it true that I can live by myself with no dependency on anyone?? And of course, the mid-20 crisis looms in front of me, haunting me day and night with the question, "Do I really need a man?"

With mood swings becoming part of my core trait, I was near to tears with anger, frustration and a bruised ego that I couldn't even open a blasted jar of pasta sauce, with the spaghetti almost done and my stomach having the sensation of a little dragon roaring and fuming inside. Why not make your own sauce.... I was out of tomatoes. Why not get some tomatoes... the store is 15 minutes away. Why not use another sauce.... the other jar is impossible to open as well. Why not eat something else like bread.... the jar of marionberry spread has been sitting on the counter painfully reminding me that I have been trying to open it for a month now... the jar of jalapeño spread cries the same woe. Why are jars so damn female unfriendly?!!!

As an engineer and as a normal being, I've tried alllll possible methods. Twist and turn, run under hot water for ages and tilt upside down, then twist and turn, bang the head against the counter, twist the lid with a knife to release the air.... but no!! None would work. My able and efficient room mate who has always been my aid in such times, failed too... crying that her palms were bruised.

Knowing nobody in our apartment complex , we cradled the three jars in our arms and walked across the street, in search of three Indian men to aid us. On the way, we were contemplating on a back up plan... what if they aren't home? May be ask those men BBQing for help, in return for a kiss from my hot roommate?? Randomly knock on somebody's doors, two poor Indian girls with jars in their arms? But thank heavens, one of them was home and we dumped the jars on him.

He tried twisting and turning.... his face puffing and his arms trembling with the pressure, but no it wouldn't budge. He ran it under hot hot water and banged with all his might on the counter, but no it wouldn't come. I felt sorry for him... I don't understand much about men. But I do know their egos get bruised easily... especially with two girls watching them as they struggle with opening a jar. I interjected, feeling very bad and asked him to give up... "you know we should return this... this is sealed far too tight. I even tried twisting the lid with a knife to release the air, but it's so tightly jammed". At this, a bulb seemed to glow above his head, "It's air sealed! Of course!" Saying so, he took a knife and with all his fury jammed it on top of the lid, punching a triumphant hole that hissed out air and popped the lid.

You see, the 'brain' is always mightier... he was a true PhD candidate :). I also feel much better. Of course I can punch holes to open jars... that's within my capacity, and for now I can surely call myself independent... that is till the time I find a spider in the bath tub. Hmm.... it gets tricky to define 'independent'.

On a Little Garden

Cascade of black streams

Brushing twin buds of a flower.

They open and close with dew aplenty,

Perched on a long stalk.

Petals on a pink rose,

Merry leaves dancing to the breeze.

All on a little garden.

The bark of a tree,

Bearing nests for young ones to rest,

Spreading two wide branches,

Fruits to feed the hungry.

The roots hold strong,

To give shade and comfort,

All on a little garden.

The scent of the flowers,

The sound of the rustling leaves,

The taste of the fruits,

The music of the flowing streams,

The touch of the carpeted grass,

The shade of the willowy tree,

Are all that is truly me – all on a little garden.

Too good to be true??

“If someone is too good to be true, they probably are” – whoever coined this bout of wisdom, ought to know how deeply it’s ingrained in me. I don’t consider myself a pessimist, and maybe not a quixotic optimist either. But I am fairly sure that I fall somewhere in the middle. So I have sufficient belief that I don’t view the world as a dreary, black place. Yet it so happens that I always chance to meet people who evoke this gut feeling in me – “maybe too good to be true??”..

I am as averse to stereotyping as a cat is averse to dogs. And gender stereotyping has always made me breathe fumes of fury (since I have been on the receiving end). I also ‘pride’ myself on being aware and tolerant of different kinds of people, and wax poetic on the uniqueness of each individual. Yet I must admit that I find myself fitting a person into the generic template of their ‘fellow counterparts’ and frowning if the parameters extend beyond the ordinary. Worst yet, the frowning is inevitably followed by a brutal judgment – “too good to be true”. What happens after this is, me placing the unfortunate person under a metaphoric microscope to extensively analyze them, till smoke comes out of my brain. Ok, that’s an obsession I can do without. But what I can’t do without is, viewing this extremely-good-to-be-true person as a possible wolf in sheep’s clothing.

A very helpful lady once offered to carry my stuff in her jeep to my new apartment, when I was literally an alien in a new land. I was touched by her kindness, and was angered by whoever told me that people minded their business and wouldn’t offer to help strangers in a new country– that too a colored foreigner at that. I was full of gratitude to this lady whom I’d met at the community church (it’s a different story as to why I went to a church). But surprise, surprise – after a week she called me home for dinner. I go and there and see 10 other international students listening to Rev. XYZ talk about Jesus and how one needs to be Christian to go to heaven – and how much the Christian missionaries had helped poor countries like India see light and God. Hmmm…. I guess she was too good to be true.

Parents advise kids never to talk to or trust strangers. It’s extremely hard to stay truly independent in a new land, with hardly anybody you know. You are left to decide on your own instincts to trust people who come forward to help you. All the “protective” men in my life have warned me to be especially careful with a stranger who happens to be a man/guy (discrimination I agree – but it has some truth to it). When such a man portrays the impression of an impeccable gentleman, next to the ranks of Sir Gallahad (or maybe it was someone else), speaking out these idealistic statements of his impressions on life and girls, you stop and ponder. Experience would teach all girls that you need to wish on a million falling stars to meet a man who is as idealistic as every girl imagines. When you do meet such a person, it’s skepticism all over. Proof that women can be complex and very hard to please, I guess. Just because the men in my life have painted a picture of the general populace of average men, it doesn’t mean there can’t be some with all those idealistic qualities, that are deemed nonexistent by others. Have we lost hope on feelings such as genuine affection a man can have on a girl, without any undercurrent of anything more? Have we progressed to a state where a man calling another girl his sister, is laughed hysterically at, with the sheer incredulity of it?

But how do you know when a person is stretching his limit in taking you for a Miss. Softy Pie who would buy something that is totally ridiculous? How do you know he isn’t cheating and he does belong to that magic 1% when he calls you his sister? At some level it is incredible to me because no man can be so idealistically angelic. Do I really know so many men to know that for a fact? So what if my guy friends vouch that no fellow man can be so? Is their influence so strong on my thought process?

All of this just brought to light the nagging stereotyped images that really corrupt the mind and plants notions involuntarily. It’s hard to shake them off. But it’s a sad plight that gender precipitates such judgments. I earnestly discuss this with friends and close ones, and they only reiterate my beliefs. This is extremely sad. Have we lost hope on humanity that a genuinely nice and helpful person runs the risk of being looked at with a skeptical eye? Has it become so difficult for a person who is radically different to be taken seriously by others, without being compared to his native template? It is equally sad that each of us have invariably had bad experiences causing us to question such instances.

It’s ironic that we keep complaining about the absence of good will and kindness among people – but such qualities in excess seem to scare us to the extent of distrust. Being too idealistic and too perfect is equated to a mirage. I guess we have ‘progressed’ to the state of realization that some evil has to reside in all good.

Stranger in the Mirror?

Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror and wondered who the reflection was? Maybe not. That’s good… it’s a sign that you don’t hallucinate and see things. But the next time you do catch a glimpse of yourself, do look into the reflection’s eyes and wonder if that’s you. Would that reflection be the definition of who you are? Would that suffice?

What sound is to an instrument, is what life is to a body; just as sound defines the instrument, it’s that life within you that defines you. What is that life within you? What is that fleeting speck of life that you experience when you dream? With all your senses fast asleep, you still feel the velvety rainbow on which you walk, smell the magnolias from a far away tree, see the bright green grass, taste the soft berries, and think of it as real – and still remember the people in your life, and the exams you need to take. Scientists name it as the Subconscious. But none have been able to even fully understand consciousness, leave alone sub consciousness. Is it a term to classify those aspects of the mind that can’t be explained? A classified part of the mind that can borrow on all the senses, the consciousness and cognition to understand, reason and remember – sounds complex, almost as if explaining a little part of yourself, within yourself.

Two schools of thought exist on where thought and cognition arise from – some say it’s the “brain” and some say it’s the “heart”. What is the mind then? Supposedly, the mind is that collective expanse of consciousness and cognition that the brain supports. All average healthy adult brains are physically the same. They stimulate the same neurons that activate similar reactions stimulating the mind to mature. Then why don’t all people think the same? Environment they say. Hmm…. What about brothers and sisters? Difference in gene pool combination they say. So would it mean that how we think and what we are, is nothing but a jigsaw puzzle of various bits of genes from a multitude of ancestors, exposed to a certain type of environmental inputs? The permutation of it all is what makes us different?? Maybe so, but how we act on those acquired genes is unpredictable, and that brings about an element of uniqueness.

Isn’t it boooring to get to the bottom of so many details to know about our inner-self. In the end, it is more of an anti climax to know that our originality is but a fraction of our genetic framework and the environment in which we are brought up. What is that little fraction? It is that part of you that is truly unique, truly the definition of who you are. It is that energy which defines your presence, and makes even a tiny creation feel your presence, and distinguish you from a million other energy bundles similar to you, and it is that essence of you which people remember long after you leave them. Science has tried its best to define us. But doesn’t it become much more meaningful and far simpler when you are asked to feel your soul, when you look into the eyes of your reflection...

The Sea and I

I'm back from a "great" adventure... I'm not sure if you would call it great, but for a girl like me whose only sense of adventure so far has been the roller coaster, I would say it’s bordering on great. Being the fanatic that I am towards marine creatures, I had this idea of watching whales that were migrating up north towards Alaska. I've always been fascinated by these massive yet mellow creatures... I had been ready to give an arm and a leg to go watch these creatures... and I almost did this time.


Now, when people talk of whale watching and when you watch these shows on National Geographic with whales splashing about and people squealing and having fun in their boats, it makes you conjure this mental picture of a nice sturdy boat that would sail into the ocean, with the breeze ruffling your hair (and the works), and lo! there come a bunch of whales floating by your boat, and you squeal and have your little merriment. Quite a nice picture in your head, ain't it?... Well my little bubble was pricked...


We went to Monterey Bay and bought our tickets, and the lady at the counter cooed that it would be "wise" if I bought a motion sickness pill. I was offended that my petite size should deceive her into thinking I was a wimp! My uncle apparently holds the same belief and before I could object and steer clear of the misconception, he'd already bought it. And oh well... in the intent of nothing perturbing me and my whales, I took the pill.


And off we went sailing... or should I say speeding in our little boat. It was amazing; the first half hour of the journey fit right into my imagination... The wind blowing, the gulls flying by, fish jumping up, the ocean frothing and rocking, the boat riding the waves... heavenly. Then came the 'captain's' voice announcing that the sea was rough and the ride would get a bit harsh and bumpy. Adding to this he sped the boat, and the first 10 minutes of the journey was undeniably thrilling and exciting. The boat rose and plunged with the waves and it was like a roller coaster ride on the waves! But how long can you stay on a roller coaster?


A roller coaster ride lasting for 10 minutes is fun... but then if it’s doomed to last for 3 hours... hmm not too thrilling any more. We had to get right into the middle of the Pacific, which meant it was an hour and a half journey to and fro. At this point my imagination got rudely disrupted. The squeals and oohs were replaced by screams and cries... The whole boat was madly rocking that it was difficult to compose one's balance unless both hands were dearly clinging onto something solid.


That being the case, the whole boat sunk into this gloomy aura of "please show us land!" My whole system was being tumble washed and the motion-sickness pill seemed to be holding me on after all! Finally did the boat slow down, but it made no difference as the waves were still lashing. But we had reached the whales! The way I scurried out to the front of the boat, must have been a sight worth recording.


Clinging onto each other and the rails, we were craning our necks in all directions. This is one of the first times I cursed my disadvantaged height... tiny as I was, it was a 'whale' of an effort to catch sight of the sea.....and there it came! The burst of water from beneath the waves and the tail fins flapping out! Reveling in the moment of ecstasy, I wrenched open my camera and a wave tilted the boat and all of us came down hard on the floor, screaming. I screamed even louder at the panic of my daddy's precious camera being thrown off. But my dad's excellent training taught me how to value and protect the camera’s life during unfortunate events such as seas playing tricks on me.


As we stumbled back to the rails, there were another two whales gently gliding on the surface. With the boat gyrating on all its axis, and me leaning on the rails, with ten other people leaning on me, my dad would have shrieked like a terrified banshee had I tried to open his camera. I looked around wildly hunting for my uncle, hoping to beg him to try take a picture of my dear whales. And I spotted my uncle, alone in one corner, sea sick.


And I decided to quit my mission... mental photographs are better captured. Watching people get sick makes you feel left out... you crave to join in and I joined in soon. The rest of the journey was morose... me and my uncle huddled together rubbing each other's frozen hands and shivering against the icy wind, desperately gazing into our watches and periodically getting sick till we reached land. I know how Columbus must have felt when he reached this very land....


The fury of nature's elements doesn't occur to us till we have experienced one of these gentle elements rip off their veils to give us a taste of their wrath. This was my first encounter with Nature’s fury and it grounded me on the respect Nature deserves. Man is but a tiny speck. And now I know what journey I have in store if I get nicked by the pirates of the Caribbean… Johnny Depp being on it, is still not worth it.

In Awe...

So I finally created a blog... to give some color to my life. Well, it's mainly to remind myself that my so called monotonous everyday life can be viewed through different colored glasses, and the daily events have the potential to carry enough significance to be written in my blog :). After all, how we choose to perceive things determines their impact on our lives.

It's amazing how each one of us never ceases to believe that tomorrow will surely dawn into a new day. Although we all know that nothing lasts forever and we're all here to be gone someday, we continue to see ourselves and our fond ones as being around forever. One of Kabir's dohas (couplets) which satirically pokes fun at man's presumed immortality comes to mind... (I unfortunately don't remember the words as I remember the meaning)

Time is supposed to heal and subdue livid memories, distance is supposed to wane emotional bonds... "Out of sight, out of mind", as many would say. When a person is no longer amidst you, you might miss them, feel the pain... but the combination of time and an unreachable distance (metaphorically too), is expected to be the spell to mellow down such feelings. This is an irony by itself.... most often you discover deeper and subtler feelings about someone/something only when they give you a chance to miss them.

It's only when someone dear to you is no longer with you, do you regret of all the time you lost on spending, of all the gestures you can never show, of all the care that will never reach them, of all the words they can never hear from you, of all the love they can never feel....

I know its cliched, but I never seem to learn to express myself suitably when someone is around me.

Guilt, regret and memories paint our consciousness to the extent that our imagination blurs the line between dreams and reality. The cross over between two worlds within you, in which you can feel a touch as real as the sun through the windows, hear a voice as clear as the birds outside, smell a scent as clear as the smell of your room.... and you realize that just as memories live around you, so do the spirits of your fond ones.

I woke up to an ordinary Saturday morning, and snuggled back into the mattress with a blissful and surreal realization that it was weekend, and my grandma was home :). Of course realization then sunk into me that my grandma was no longer alive to be at home with me. Deep down we all live in denials. I'm not sure what to be in awe of... the beauty of the human psyche, or the power of the human spirit...