No..we are not! Yes..we are..

I am walking in the city. The kind of aimless walking which does not lead anywhere and yet is soothing to the soul. It has just rained. The sky is still dark as if it is still giving the city streets a last look to see if they are wet enough.

The pavement is lined with shops. They sell everything. Clothes, jewellery, coffee, shoes...you name it and there would be some shop closeby that would give you something interesting to look at and entice you to spend.

The people breeze in and out of the shops. For some, the hunt is still on. For others, it is over. They got what they needed... for the time being. I look at them but they dont look at me. They notice me just enough to ensure that they dont bump into me as they are walking towards me. There is no eye contact.

There are at least a thousand people on the streets but they could all be walking in an empty city. If I screamed aloud, at least a hundred would hear it clearly. It is easier to hear the swish of the traffic on the wet roads than to hear the words they murmur to each other. Never to the strangers.

Where am I? Dont these people feel the way I do? Do they have the same struggles, the same issues, the same dilemmas? Do they feel happy the way I do when I meet someone I love? Do they also have the same rush of blood when someone pushes them in the crowd. Of course, they do. But then, why dont they say something aloud. Why be so quiet?

I am not in India. I am in Singapore. And I keep wondering if they are the same like us or they are not...

The beautiful thing that writing is...

There are times I am compelled to write. I just get pulled into a chair and my fingers start typing. Often, I have struggled to come up with something rich and insightful, something so honest that its nakedness is hard hitting. But all that comes up is regurled bits of conversations, phrases, books...

I want that energy, that intensity to lead to something profound, something magical. I try hard to wrap my mind around what i am feeling. I want some answers and I want writing to throw them up so that I can catch them and see where they came from and what do they tell about me. It is a lovely game. But what if I often missed something else when doing this catch and tell.

Let me explain.

When I let go of this desire to find something awesome, I am much more at peace. If I am sad, my eyes begin to water as I write, the outside noises fade away and the heart warms up as if it is in tune with something larger and deeper. If I am happy, my hands become a living embodiment of an energetic dance. Sometimes, the energy is too much to stay put.

There is no purpose in writing, except to write. Can I stay with that? Can I just relish that writing is just like the hands that massage my soul. It is a path I take to find my lost rhythm. It needs no one but an honest me...and sometimes a cup of coffee. Peace comes cheap. Believe me, I know.

A place to discover you...

Why do we hate some cities? Why do we love some? I struggle with this question every time I come to delhi.

For a person born and brought up in delhi, I ought to have some really pleasant memories of it. It should remind me of my playful childhood, my good schooling and my childhood friends. It should feel like a homecoming. But it does not.

Every time I come to delhi, I think that maybe this time I would really love it. But I dont. Two days in the city and I want to run away. Back from where I came.

No, it is not some bad childhood memories which haunt me. I was an ordinary kid. I had ordinary parents and an ordinary childhood - full of love and care and everything that is human. I loved school too and had a blast. But still....

I think there is a place we are born in. A place where we physically come into this world. And then there is a place where are born again. Where we realize who we are. It is like the stone discovering that there is a sculpture inside. A place where we begin to knock off this piece, chip off that block, where we sometimes get hammered into shape to see who we really are.

For some people, it happens to be the same city. For me, it was Delhi where I put on the inches to my height and Mumbai where I learnt to grow. I feel like blaming the city for not allowing me the right air which would have nurtured my spirit. I came across people who happened to be insensitive and cold, who judged me constantly by how I looked than what I really was capable of and who had little respect for my need to be quiet and on my own. It was a place where you had to “fit” or you are not left alone. For me, the place had turned as cold as the frosty winds that sailed through its streets in winter. It just never warmed up.

No, it is not delhi’s fault. I do not match what it takes to enjoy the city. I think it is for the braver-hearted. For those who can stand the aggression and learn to blast their way through life. As far as I am concerned, I prefer a gentler place, a place where my need to be alone is respected and I dont have to fight for it. Maybe a place where I can change the stone that nature gives me into a putty and merrily twist it into shapes to reveal who I am.

Yes, that must be why...that must be why.

It's only words......not really!

Words are dangerous. They can drown you. Ask me...am usually floundering in them. These days, I am sucked into Zorba. I dived into him when I came across his character in a book a few days ago. Vibrant, insane, a physical manifestation of man’s basic desires. Driven towards women, wine and work. Definitely, a character buried inside each man. Enough about him...lets get back to words.

Some words are shallow. They don't collect much. You can wallow in them but you ll tire out soon. They are usually complex with lots of syllables..like submersible, deskilling, reification. No one speaks them aloud when they are emotional. Just intellectual nonsense, I say.

Some go way deep. Take Buddha, for example. Just like the ocean, you can explore it by staying on the beach and trying to guess whats it like deep inside it by looking at the sea shells it leaves. Or you can run into it. Madly. Savour it. Relish it. Go deeper to find that sea shells are nothing even close to what it feels like to be next to a whale.

I think right now, that is what I want to do with Zorba. Feel it with my body, taste it and then take a deep breath and dive in.....Will I survive? No way. The present I, will melt away and another I, a different one will get created. Will it be better? Will I grow? Don’t know. But then, that is not really the idea. From here, the journey looks dangerous and exciting. And I am happy to go ahead with that. Three cheers to Zorba!

Stumbled upon a lost me...

I sit on the same writing table as I have for years. But every time I write; I become a new me, a different me...sometimes a me that even I am not aware of. No, I am not playing with words here. Everyone who writes or speaks from their heart has felt this.

Over the last one year, I have lived mostly through the mind. I have found it to be safe. There are rules to live by. I follow the rules that I have embraced, usually blindly avowed to and feel that I am in control. That if I continue to follow this way of living, nothing bad can happen. The rules are like a casket...ready to protect me in case life throws a surprise.

But then caskets are not fun.

As I read through Zorba's way of life, it seems to cut right through the clutter. He comes alive and tells me that rules and philosophies might make sense to the logical mind but they bind me. He awakens the creative spark that has since long been buried by the mind. Where did the heart go?

An archaeologist rummages through an old mine and finds a statue. He holds it in his hand, caresses it and gently rubs off the dust. The features of the statue become sharper. He finds that the face on the statue is his own. I am the archaeologist. The statue is the me I had buried because I had blamed it for leading me astray. I was angry then. Very angry.

I hug the statue. It feels like discovering an old friend. The hate has lost its edge. The embrace melts off the bitterness. Tears roll down my eyes. I am glad to rediscover a me which I thought had choked and died off.

I want to explore again. I want to take more risks. When I see a woman who tugs at my heart strings, I want to go and tell her just that - even though I saw her moments ago. I want to travel to lands where they can only understand me by the hand signs I make. I want to learn the pakhavaj. I want to be up before every sunrise and watch every sunset. I want to be insanely in love with life again.

“This is true happiness: ..to have the stars above, the land to your left and the sea to your right and to realize of a sudden that in your heart, life has accomplished its final miracle: it has become a fairy tale.”  - Zorba the Greek.

  

Its time...

Here is a story etched in my memory....

A certain rich merchant was walking through the market place of Baghdad when, standing across the street, he suddenly saw the figure of Death, beckoning him.
The terrified man ran home, mounted his fastest horse, and raced five hundred miles to Samara. Later that night, there was a knock at the door. When the man answered it, there stood Death.
"Why did you beckon me in the market place of Baghdad today?" asked the man. "I did not beckon you." replied Death. "I was merely surprised to see you, for I knew that tonight, we had an appointment in Samara.

Might feel depressing if that is the way you view death or destiny. But take a step back and see yourself. What are you running from? Will it go away? Will it stop chasing?

More than often, I find that the more I run away from something, the more likely I end up running towards it. When I avoid a new colleague at work who is insensitive to others' needs and muddles his way through life, I am pretty sure that my new boss (or the neighbour who just moved in) will just have the same habit. And I really cant avoid them...  

The lesson shall present itself till I learn. Hard though it may sound, but as soon as I learn to deal with this in a self-respecting way, I feel larger, bigger and grateful. 

So, when life throws a question at you which irks you, it is almost always better to accept that sooner or later you will have to deal with it. Avoid it if you are not ready. Run, if you are not ready. But run, lift weights and turn back to face it. It is only when you stop, that you are  no longer chased.

Sing. Never mind the words

Flipping through the channels today, my fingers stopped on a Charlie Chaplin movie.
He is preparing for a song, helped by his girlfriend. She is sitting on a table, her legs on the chair. He does a short walk and then poses but the words don't come out. He forgets. Another try. Same result.
Then she gets an idea. She writes the words on his cuff. He gets back to his position, does the walk, looks at the cuff and sings. Moves a few steps left, looks at the cuff and then sings again. Moves right, quick look at cuff and sings. He is happy. He has cracked it. He holds her hands and thanks her. It is his turn now to go before the audience.
As he does an opening waltz, he throws his arms in the air. The cuffs leap from his wrists. Gone. He is unaware as he does a couple of more steps. Poses. Looks the cuff. Disbelief. The music goes on. The crowd starts to boo. He looks at his girlfriend. What do I do? - the thought written on his face. She says, "Sing. Never mind the words." He bats his eyelids, uncomprehending. She says it again. "Sing".
He sings. The words are gibberish. A mix of Spanish, French and languages never heard of. "Se bella giu satore Je notre so cafore Je notre si cavore Je la tu la ti la twah " He dances as he sings. He mimes about the love story he is singing about. He breaks into silences and then sings again. The audience loves it. He is a hit.

And I wonder...do I always need to know the song before I sing it? Do I? The answer is not easy. A part of me is afraid of making a mess of myself. Of being embarrassed. Of being laughed at. But you know what, if I am in the mood, it does not matter. When I talk to life, life talks to me. It always does. It is like a law. So, let me do that next time when I am in the soup. When I don't know the words. Se bella giu satore....
If you want to see the video, click here