A Tryst with nature

The big butt had the scare of its life. It had always been taken for granted and had never thought of complaining. In fact it liked the anonymity. Lately having to deal with enormous weight, it learnt the art of squeeze and spread. And the fact that nature had provided an intrinsically clever form, it managed quite well. All this was fine but nothing had prepared it for the missile attack. Ok, so attack is a strong word; it was repeatedly though mildly hit by a foreign object. Just that it had seemed like an attack because of its unexpectedness.

But let's start from the beginning. My cousin Rudy, of enormous butt fame, and his friend were out riding the non-existent tracks of the Kanha National Park in a jeep; a lurching, comfortless but functional one. The game plan was to find some great photo ops for a travel magazine. But they hadn't bargained for a four-hour long spell of clinging and smooching the seat. By end of the ride, even Rudy yearned for some other form of exercise. Now this was quite unthinkable in normal course of life.

Once the safari finished at the circuit house in Mukki, two pairs of wobbly feet touched the ground. Thoroughly shaken Rudy clutched the door and was loath to leave its security. Not even the enticing aroma of freshly brewed tea and the sight of a laden platter of hot savouries were enough for him to give up this support. His friend, on the other hand, was made of sterner stuff. Within minutes he loped off to the tea table. Now the sight of his friend hastily cramming himself with the goodies was too much to bear for Rudy. He finally plucked up the courage to walk although he would have preferred to hang on to the door for a little while longer. Halleluiah, the legs still worked. Blood had started flowing into the butt again.

He walked up to the rustic table laden with tea tidings. What a treat it was. An unhurried meal in natural surroundings, where the loudest sounds were the gentle calls of the birds, was like nirvana. To top it, within a few minutes couple of barasingha also sauntered over, sniffing for crumbs. Tentatively he extended his hand with leftover sandwiches. Almost gentle, as if to allay his fears, their delicate tongue licked up the food. He was ecstatic. They were the best PR move for the MP's nascent tourism industry. If a city-bred was to direct a film about the place, surely this is how it would go!

Remembering his resolve to exercise, he decided to stroll in the circuit house garden. Surprisingly, it was well maintained. His friend, meanwhile, decided to catch up with the firang he saw in another cottage. Soon the determined bunch of mosquitoes forced Rudy to shift inside. Nature, once again called the shots and the restroom beckoned with urgency. He grabbed the day's newspaper and a pencil on the way to complete the daily ritual. Suduko and crossword could not be left incomplete.

With his mind engaged in this important task, he sat on the white throne. The butt, as usual, found a comfortable position by shifting and redistributing the excess baggage. Just as it was settling down to its own nirvana, the missile attack shook it from slumber. Rudy yelped out in outrage. Jumping up from the seat he followed the stream of instructions that his mind was shooting - 'get up', 'turn over', 'look down', 'identify the missile'. But no leads. Everything looked normal. And just then something jumped up. From within the pot, no less.

By now his friend, who had returned to the room, was heard making his own racket. He rushed into the restroom with a hanger. Guess this was the best he could do as a weapon, on short notice. After deciphering the reason for the excitement, together they decided to investigate the identity to the UFO. Squinting, they peered hesitantly into the pot. The object appeared dark coloured and quite active. The dimly lit room didn't offer much scope for a clearer picture. Why did these circuit houses try to scrimp and save on restroom lights, one has never been able to fathom!

Before they could decide what this intruder was, another movement across the room caught their eye. This object, a bit smaller than the pot UFO, was hopping to escape the gaze. Gingerly stepping near it, the friend bent closer to get a better look and let out a loud guffaw. Clutching his belly, he too hopped across the restroom. By now Rudy sported a sheepish smile. His wildly beating heart finally slowed down. He had company. A family of frog was paying a friendly visit.

Focus

Now that I am recklessly Jobless, people demand certain answers from me. They expect me to be able to define the focus of my life. When I say life, read it as earning a living. From last Saturday to this day, which incidentally is exactly a week, nothing has changed much – well, except for the fact I can no longer be considered gainfully employed.

As far as I can recollect, I was as unclear about where I wanted to go, what I wanted to do a week ago, as I am today. The only difference that I can see is that now I have a chance to give a direction to my life. How far I will travel in the new direction, how long will I travel is as uncertain as the next breath that I might draw in.

It’s a very interesting phase. I realise that we are so much a creatures of habit. When I opted for the last job, after making the decision, I quickly fell into a mindless pattern. Getting up in the morning, going to office, working there - doing some good work, some repetitive work, and some lackadaisical work, returning back, retiring for the night and being happy that day had been spent well. But there was no questioning as to where I was going, whether I really wanted to go there, if there was some other direction that I could divert my working life towards. No goals, no dreams, in fact as far as I can see nothing was defined and then re-looked at to ascertain whether they still held true or not. What a waste! Why didn’t I question what my focus was?

And how can I separate what I do for a living from what I want the focus of my life to be. Unless everything is an integrated cohesive whole, it would be a waste of energy, riddled with conflict and in all probability lead to an unhappy me.

An ‘unhappy me’ is definitely not going to happen. So the seed of this discovery of focus is that whatever decisions I take, it has to lead to a ‘happy me’. Easier said than done. I mean, it’s not so difficult to be happy; in fact, the easiest way in the world to be. i.e. unless I loose the focus and let other things intrude. Things like taking a path that is attractive, interesting, offers lots of perks that would definitely make me happy and yet would not really be a right piece of the jigsaw that I am/want to be.

So I have got to be careful. Be aware so that I do not fall into another pattern and loose focus.

Next logical question is – who do I want to be? Damn! This is where my vehicle always grinds to a halt. I find that fear hold me in it’s grip; that I am afraid to spell out what I want to be and what I want to do. Dare I take the plunge this day? Maybe, just for a moment, give wings to what beats so magnificently in my being? Dare I?

telephon

forgotten friend

will you blush

if i tell you

i love you?

will you feign anger

if i tell you

i love him?

will you share the delight

if your wires carried

'i love you' once again?

his buddy

you shared the times

he said 'i love you'

to me, and to others.

Second Chance

Does one get a second chance? What exactly is that?

Perhaps in certain circumstances, one has taken a decision that on reflection or over time one recognises was not the ideal one to take. Perhaps the consequence of such a decision is not to one’s liking. And a second chance is desired so that some other choice can be made. A choice that seems closer to generating consequences that is to the liking of the person.

I took a certain decision that I felt was the right one. It involved other people and of course choices that they were making. Wasn’t happy with the scenario being played and opted out. And then a friend said something and I realised why others were making the choices that they are making. Perhaps these choices were not because of the reasons I assumed but at least now I am less certain of the decision I took. And oh boy, do I desire a second chance! But would life hand me that? Would I dare to go these people and at least acknowledge to them that I might have misjudged the reasons why they made their choices? What if I had not taken that decision…the consequences might have been what I desire now. Would I still get to live the same circumstances that might have occurred if I had not taken that decision?

So the question remains… Does one get a second chance?

ek khayal

agar bahrosa hai to itna bharosa karo
ki tumhare bharose kii mujhe laaj rakhni pade

dil diya to iss befikri se do
ki tumhare dil kii fikr mujhe karni pade

jaan daon par sabhi ishq mein lagate hain
tum ishq hii aaj daon par laga do

Enveloping Arms

I have been meaning to write about this for a long time. Everytime this restlessness, this feeling of wanting hits me, I am reminded of the issue. I think of addressing it but before I pen it down, the feeling disappears and so does the need to talk about it.

So what am I referring to? Nothing earth shattering. And yet something very important especially in the life of people, who are generally pillars of support. These people, because they are who they are, somehow induce great faith in those around them. People lean on them, depend on them, expect them to be around to hear about their troubles when things are not going according to their liking, expect to hear words of wisdom or at least sympathy from them. And they do provide this support – mostly unconditionally. They are great mentors. They make themselves available as friend, sounding board, teacher and in many other roles.

But what happens when, once in a while, they feel tired? When they want to just rest; perhaps lean on someone? When they just need a moment in which they don’t have to be the strong one. When all they want is someone who doesn’t expect them to be strong; someone who can accept them as the needy one and extend them the same support that they normally give to others. The very idea of being able to rest is so wonderful; the feeling of being taken care of - just for one moment…not more than that is actually required; its just a moment of regrouping the energies.

Do they find such a support? Naah. Very unlikely! And if they are lucky enough to identify someone who can give them this kind of support, they are reluctant to ask. They are reluctant to ask because they feel that shouldn’t lean on such people who already are pillar of support to many.

And thats when the loneliness makes its presence felt. It's not a constant, it just shows its face once in a while but     i t s    a    v e r y    h o l l o w    f e e l i n g.
A sort of restlessness pervades one's being. It does not let one relax or connect to their work or people who are normally part of their life. And thats when one searches for ways to fill this space. Some take to having an affair or several affairs, some to induced high/oblivion, some go for dangerous sports or sports that thrill. In fact anything to escape the hollow feeling ...

scared

it was nothing
no pain, i swear
it was even forgotten.
just an episode in life.
and it happens
you know it happens.
it has happened to many.

they say its life changing.
perhaps thats why...
these high walls
the boundaries
the 'no trespass signs'?

and what of him,
the one who touched
and increased the tribe of pygmys
carved out of
childhoods?

Stop Cribbing!

How do I start talking about things that have changed me so irrevocably? How do I start talking about people, some very special people, who have influenced me so much, who have been instrumental for making me a person that I feel immense love for and hence love them? And how do I explain those tiny corrections about perception of life, about attitude towards life, about actions in life that make me feel so alive, so utterly happy?

Just recently, while talking to someone I had met not so long ago, I was told to quit cribbing. This came as a bolt from dark. Me? Crib? Of course not! I don’t crib! Despite everything that I have had to face, I took pride in the fact that I don’t complain about life. What was he talking about? Was he out of his mind? But I knew he wasn’t. Perhaps he was just pulling my leg.

But no, he wasn’t. He repeated again – that I should stop cribbing.

This knocked the wind out of me. I thought over and still didn’t find that I cribbed. Then why did he say it? For some reason I went over and over what sounded like a very negative perception about me and still found it baseless. But this made me pay attention to my speech.

Everytime I heard myself talking about something that was not working in life, I paused to wonder if I really needed to say it aloud. And trust me, this confused the hell out of me. I mean, what do you do when you haven’t been well and someone asks how you have been. Do you give a standard reply that you were well or do you say that you could be better. And what if the person who asked you the question was a close friend. Does the answer remain the same? Or do you say how you really are feeling?

And then I realised it was just a judgment call. It was ok to tell a close friend that you weren’t well but to stop before you reach the stage of getting into the ‘gathering sympathy’ mode.

A simple pointer and I recognised the humongous change it brought within me. When I stopped before the ‘gathering sympathy’ mode, I was no longer bogged down by the problem. Instead, I started looking for solutions to the problem. I paid more attention to the resources I had at hand. I dug up into resources that I had no clue I ever possessed. And I paid greater attention to instincts that sometimes spoke about solutions that defied my own nature (or as I thought I was).

Do I still crib? Unfortunately at times I feel that perhaps I still did. Rarely – but still. Damn! :-(