blore-hyderabad-mumbai

There is something very interesting about taking flights. The moment I step into the cab that drives me to the airport I am transported to another land, the daily life begins receding and new instances and conversations open up.

Baring the packing, everything else about it is fun.

Surprisingly awake at 6. 30 am I make my way into the Bangalore airport. the ques are tiny, the mens section horribly busy the females not as much. Smiling to myself, I browse at the local book store stopping yet once more in front of a spiritual book.

amongst the business novels yelling there fares ranging from how to stop talking and start doing, to the battle hymn of the tiger mom, a orange jacket cover peeped out. Lessons learnt while trying to sit and meditate or something like that.

Supremely tempted I leaned in to buy the book, only to remind me that a fat ass book was already in my bag. Rueing the Free Tibet, purchased I marched along.

Filter coffee. Check
Grab at least 3 news papers from the kiosk check
Dad calling on the phone.. huh? what is dad calling me for at 7 am? ..

Determine all is well, and no calamity has befallen the earth and get engrossed in the news. Same old information seeps in. Scary information. Global decline. Greek bailing out situation, the GDP aggregate of the developing economies to exceed that of the developed by 2013, China to have more clout that the states, and in the background can hear accented voices muttering about the rising interest rates, and how they love LA!!!! there is so much to do. followed by each time they think the interest rates cant rise anymore they do!.

Determined to understand this monster called interest rates, that was clearly making life miserable for lots of sods I read Mint cover to cover. Little nuggets of information logged in to the head, and lot bounced off. But the grim reality was that India is just about surfacing for breath once in a while and the shoddy governmental position, weak opposition and directionless RBI is not going to help much in arresting the 3 pillars of inflation, increasing interest rates and depreciating rupee.

Basically we were fucked.

Ah well. Falling asleep in the ATR. Which by the way has a loo. I never before noticed if theATR has a loo or not but it does. Also, if you are tall, and the over head cabin lockers are in a dropped down position, they you will likely to hit your head against it.

Technical glitches at the airport, delayed the luggage and then we were off. Oh yea, and I dropped my boarding pass twice. Never mind.

Flagging a taxi, hyderabad welcomed us with its rocky formations jeweling the road. What a road it was. A 12 km flyover links the airport to the city, and its the longest flyover ever. The man at Jubliee hills was another character.

Ex army. he choose the wrong story to conclude the meeting. He shared.......

It was the time of the india pak Kargil war. As I walked along the hills in the evening, the cook came up to be complaining about the menance the stray dogs were creating, they kept barking through the night and this would lead the entire batallion to wake up and get on high alert for no real reason. "SHOOT HIM' I ordered. He refused. and then shot in the air deliberately aiming to miss. 


I took the sniper gun and shot the dog. 


and..


Fired that man the next day. a man that cant shoot a dog, wont be able to shoot another man. 


I quivered. He shot a dog.!!! for no real reason other than barking
Hmm

Sad truth of life that I rather not know

The next flight of the day board, Mumbai shopping and a birthday beckons.. whoohoo its time for a holiday ;0 i like

Yabadabadoo!!!!

I am releasing a birthday gifts list for me. For fun.

• a bubble bath
• balloons. lots of them, silly ones
• a horse ride on the beach. Tonga ride
• Silly drunkedness
• photos in a mall booth, something i always wanted to do
• grape squashing time
• eating hot pav bhaji on the streets 
• jumping on a trampoline
• water skiing
• going on a holiday- to a surprise area just like that
• an intense kissing session
• candles
• cake
• music - drunk music 
• singing on the kareoke machine
• 1 soft toy. A teddy. (i actually said that)
• glamour shoes
• a ride in a convertible
• roller coaster ride 
• splashing in a water fall
• taking rock star posters, u know everyone wears black and u shoot some goofy pictures
• meditating on a rock
• seeing shooting stars
• a bonfire and marshmellows
• hot cup of rajdhani tomato soup
• puchkas ;-0 ;-0
• paints. lots of paints and a giant canvas. Splashing colour and making art
• a diary 
• 1 tripod
• camera bag
• bangles
• 1 around the world ticket
• a hot air balloon ride
• getting a dance lesson
• 1 joint
• sitting by water body, sipping a drink and wearing a muffler
• rain. little bit
• laughter. lots of it.
• hugs. bearish ones. 
• sheep. 1 cuddly sheep
• lemon tea. 

baas. itna only. 

;-0

gleefully rubbing hands

Keep Walking

If there is a time that life seems too much, the latest twist uncalled for. 

then all one can do is keep walking

it seems impossible. there is constant questioning, desire for it to all go back to life as was

but all one can do is keep walking

sometimes in the middle of the walking process, a sense of enjoyment seeps in

a smile appears. for the first time in a long time it seems

freedom, the sense of endless possibilities comes closer. 

chains of similarity and predictability, are set sailing

and all one is left with is liberation. 

even then, all one can do is keep walking

the enjoyment, allows the soul to breathe, to be free, to live

in a  joyus heart, newness finds a path

you become, whole and complete.  an individual

no longer a broken piece of the whole

the joy attracts others, people envy you the freedom

the ability to take chances

moaning that you were lucky, they sadly dont have such chances

you smile an inner smile

pick yourself up. and keep walking

Somewhere along the path,  the newness becomes permanent

you look around wide eyed with wonder, amused at how you got here

nuggets of what you wanted, surround you

and it happened... dots and dashes conniving in your life to connect

a tapestry emerged.

you stood there enthralled

and shaking your head, in acknowledgement to life

you stood up, and kept walking

Destiny and Fate, are guiding paths on the way

choices and determination the walkers

what you get and what you make of it

is you, and yours to do.

there is always a chance to take

a leap to faith, to take

something to drop, something to grasp

live a little 

the rest is soon all crap

Leave everything else, but your childhood innocence,

hold his hand and .....Keep Walking........ 

Maya Angelo

a note extracted:

On pg 66 she talks abt wanting to end her life. Someone gives her a whiskey and a yellow pad and a pen. And forces her to write 'Thank God'

I can hear a symphony

I can see a waterfall

......

When I decide to write anything, I get caught up in my pwn insecurity despite the prior accolades. I think, uh, uh, now they will know I am a charltan that I really cannot write and write really well. I am almost undone, then I pull out a new yellow pad and as I approach the clean page, I think of how blessed I am.

The ship of my life may or may not be sailing on calm and amiable seas. The challenging days of my existence may or may not be bright and promising. Stormy or sunny days, glorious or lonely nights. I maintain an attitude of gratitude. If I insist on being pessimistic, there is always tomorrow.

Today I am blessed.

Pretty little Barbie

Lets do a make up course..I typed below the facebook profile. .. and waited. .. no one laughed. wow. ok. so this was not daft. 

Hmm.

So the confession time was here,  I had always wanted to do one of these courses. Think it was a childhood hangover, from a summer holiday, where my cousin was sent to one of those stlying courses. No. Stop. Dont think Femina miss india. mumbai kind but more the madwai kind where the new hairstyles were more about the 50 kind of buns that one could make. 

the child in me wanted to know the tricks, the tom boy in me refused to be sucked into this shoo shaa and be the teeny booper that spend hours in front of the mirror. 

One evening, however after the first ever professional makeup that was done to the face, the transformation was complete.  A new idea grew, the intention to do this silly course for fun once more.

So come saturday morning the tasks were set. 

Brushes and lotions, creams and vails.

the ignorance shone and transformations commenced

Step 1 - Clean

Step 2 - tone

Step 3 - primer use karo (ah? isnt this what painting companies use? turns out its all similar)

Step 4 - oops forgot the lotion that comes post the toner

Step 5 - concealer

the brown skin has no good conclearer, you are now fucked, so please make do with the rubbish outside.

Step 6 - foundation - dab dab not rub rub,  choose the right shade, merge, blend

Step 7 - fix the make up

Step 8- countour ur face

Step 9- commence the eyes

that is an enclyclopedia in itself. one lesson later

Step 10- lips to be done

now for the hair and the rest

Step 11- take off your clothes and go to bed with all the sheer effort put in getting ready. Also, remember this is only the make up part. Skin and hair care is a different matter all together. Once a month one must ensure there is a pedicure, manicure, waxing, and massage. 2 a month once must ensure that there is a hair spa, facial. bleach, cleaning session, deep tissue massage, hair colour and the rest of the treatments whose names i dont know

Listening to her in raptures it seemed that I should spend most of my life in the parlour chair. Anything else would be a crime. 

Blondie heard her out, and on sunday dressed up my eyes like how.

pouted in the mirror and pruned

i now atleast had knowledge of what tools that i could use

geared and charged, let the brushes do their magic

Uneasy flows the river

There is an unknown sadness that is forming inside me.  Observe it and yet know not what to do with it.  
Restlessness, is also seeping in.  Interia is blocking it.

Silence is a good companion.
Exercise too.

Missing connections, to the larger whole
to the self
is this me? or is this about the birthday blues?

Some nervousness remains about the big move
Is this right? Have i heard my heart
the soul twitches
poking me
asking for the yoga mat to be rolled out

Have resisted it.
Wonder why
There is something I need to do
Balance

Tuk tuk of Eat, Pray and Love
with his gap tooted smile
comes in my mind
Liz, for love sometimes it is ok to loose balance he said
and then come back to it
but make sure
that in the morning you do the meditation that the Indian guru taught u
and in the evening, you sit in silence, smiling from inside as tuktuk taught you
then enjoy yourself loosing yourself in the medlee of life

i need the smiling meditation
tonight

Forty Rules of Love

Forty Rules of Love

'Please give me a book to read for the next weeks, but a happy book' she said as she shut the last pages of Norwegian Wood, by Murakami. Its such a sad book that one, the person dies and till the end you want to just jump into the scene and breathe the air, of the quaint sounding Japanese towns that he keeps talking about. 

I stood on the bed, scanning the three layered bookshelf. Happy book, that should be easy I thought, as my eyes lingered on one book after the other. The museum of innocence- sad not happy, the colour purple- very strong and stirring, not happy, the Joke,  Milan Kundera, same not happy

One by one the names of books, that kept me company over the last few months gazed back at me.  Looking at them, I realized that it was almost impossible to describe in a snapshot the journey that the book had taken you through.

Inconsequential statements were the best lines that I could emerge with. 'thats a page turner'. 'believable', 

 'tough read' and so on. For the first time ever, I felt for the book reviewing artists whose 1 comment was plastered on the back, egging the reluctant book shopper to dedicate there time to reading the work. 

Alone in the evening, i tried to explain to someone far away what the new book was doing for me.  Forty Rules of Love. by Elif Shafak. 

Its an interesting tale, of how the book came to be in my hands in the first place.  Though, I regularly scold myself for not scouting sites on new books and releases, there is little action done. Result, that when i do pop by into a bookshop, am transformed into a child in a candy land, letting imagination, smell, look and feel lead me to a book, than a review or anothers view. 

In my mind, I believe I am somehow lead to what I need to read. It works well for me. 

Saw this book, at the airport and choose not to buy it as the counter lady seemed to take forever to process bills. forgot all about the book, until one lazy afternoon saw me meandering the rows of Blossoms, the Bangaloreans book clubs delight. The book lay there, asking somehow to be read. 

Thursday night, our relationship commenced. Sunday night, it ruefully ended. 

Forty Rules of Love- somehow left a mark. 

Ella, is a 40 year old American, married and living her life with predictability as her staunch companion. Dreams, love and Desire are alien words, Understanding, Duty and being the mom and wife are roles. Till Sweet Blasphemy, a book she is to review falls into a lap. 

A book woven into a book, takes us into the strange lands of turkey during the days of Rumi the Sufi Poet.  The name automatically generates interest but the main character is shams of Tabriz. A wandering devrish, who becomes the instigator, the trigger behind the metamorphasis of Rumi. 

Taken in by the book, Ella decides to write to Aziz, the author of Sweet Blasphemy. The email exchanges gets addictive, the opposite natures compelling, the words draw out the connection that both feel yet cant articulate. 

this love story, is a backdrop to the love flowing between Shams and Rumi. Shams challenges, dictates, loves and charms. For every situation he has a rule. A rule of love. 

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

Shutting this book, there was a sense of silence that enfolded me. The message, known but needing repetition was whispered once more. In the infinity of life everything is whole and complete. Our job is to go inward, focus there and the rest is not important. not real.

A book that I recommend

for me for some reason Sufism and tibetiasm/buddhism have had a strange and fascinating pull for the past few months. Milarepa, the tibetin man - now the saint. Anne, the Tibetian nun, the saga of the sufi saints ... something about the mystic has a pull that is not shrug-able.

to flowing