In my younger days (Yes, yes, I am still young, but this is when I was younger!) I was often told that it is imperative to view the world as an oyster. People the world over are pearls. Be that they may be of different sizes, colour and even sheen; they are essentially of the same origin.
The logical inference was one that I am still trying to come to terms with.
If I could treat one family member differently from another, how in the world was I to treat others equally? The terms ‘friend’ and ‘foe’ were coined for a reason, were they not?
I grew up with a strong sense of identity – so how do I fit into the same box as the guy next door who can’t accept any aspect of life he’s been handed? Too many of us go through life fighting against our fates.
Ah! But therein is the fallacy of it all! Who’s to say the unbeaten path will not lead you to your true destiny?
The early philosophers had it right. They talked of man living detached to the very world he strives to be a part of! What constantly runs through his disengaged mind is a reminder that the universe is painfully delicate. A disastrous moment is what it takes us to finally see this fragility, and by then it’s too late.
As far as accepting your friend and foe alike goes, once we let our hearts feel for another’s distress or confusion, an unconditional acceptance envelop us.
"Let us consider that we are all insane. It will explain us to each other; it will unriddle many riddles..." Mark Twain In that, at least, we have a sense of commonality.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Saturday, December 6, 2008
In Remembrance
An oddity of sorts – we spend half our lives gaining complications, and the other half trying to undo it all in the quest for simplicity.
I don’t know of many who actually realize the method to take the straight route to simplicity. So it took me by surprise when I realized there was such a soul in my own family.
I don’t remember the exact moment that I realized – she’d always been around. I think some part of me felt she’d always be around. Or maybe hoped it.
If you had a doubt or query, you called her. If you had good news and yearned to hear a congratulatory note, you called her. If you had bad news and wanted to wallow, you called her.
She included every one of us in her prayers – without a doubt. Equanimity must have been her middle name, because everyone felt they were special to her.
Every clan has its ‘go to’ person. The one person who holds the task of building bridges, approving decisions and pacifying nerves.
Saroji periamma was all that and much more. She remained an unwavering pillar of support and encouragement for every one of us. She was my aunt, and my first music teacher. Drifting back, I can almost taste the snacks and sweets she would make if I was visiting. After a full day’s work at the Kindergarten where she taught, she’d return only to tutor kids living nearby, and then somehow still have time to attend to all of us.
I think the family will agree that the one word that describes Saroji periamma is Altruistic.
I miss you Saroji periamma. And hope that I am able to retain a part, at least, of the wisdom you imparted through the years.
I don’t know of many who actually realize the method to take the straight route to simplicity. So it took me by surprise when I realized there was such a soul in my own family.
I don’t remember the exact moment that I realized – she’d always been around. I think some part of me felt she’d always be around. Or maybe hoped it.
If you had a doubt or query, you called her. If you had good news and yearned to hear a congratulatory note, you called her. If you had bad news and wanted to wallow, you called her.
She included every one of us in her prayers – without a doubt. Equanimity must have been her middle name, because everyone felt they were special to her.
Every clan has its ‘go to’ person. The one person who holds the task of building bridges, approving decisions and pacifying nerves.
Saroji periamma was all that and much more. She remained an unwavering pillar of support and encouragement for every one of us. She was my aunt, and my first music teacher. Drifting back, I can almost taste the snacks and sweets she would make if I was visiting. After a full day’s work at the Kindergarten where she taught, she’d return only to tutor kids living nearby, and then somehow still have time to attend to all of us.
I think the family will agree that the one word that describes Saroji periamma is Altruistic.
I miss you Saroji periamma. And hope that I am able to retain a part, at least, of the wisdom you imparted through the years.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Here's to the beginning of dreams
I pick up this picture, and can’t help but reminisce. It nails the essence of those days -breezy and light - I was so sure I was going to be in a rock and roll band. Riding in a convertible (top down of course), my shades on. Then again, I was sure I was going to be a lot of things.
The driver of an ice-cream truck. Come on, everyone has that dream. To get paid and work with unlimited supplies of Chocolate sundaes was the ultimate.
Outgrew that one, and then turned to Astronaut. NASA was sure to hire me based on my knowledge of the 9 planets. (Darn, they had to go and cut one off the list)
Would I grow up and become an actress? Sounded glam to me. Oh well……
A school teacher. I still remember wanting to outdo my Chemistry lecturer. I was sure I wouldn’t mispronounce the elements of the periodic table, like he did with a strange accent. Rational thought didn’t stretch far enough for me to realize I would actually need more than a cool accent and pronunciation.
A writer. With my poems about life, its means and ends (at least as much as I knew of), I knew fame was around the corner.
So I turned the corner (It’s been a while!) and Surprise! Not one of these things happened. Well, I still write, and I am involved in music, and I am a teacher. Somewhere along the way, a few starry notions fade away, ever so subtly.
Nevertheless, everyone has a different story about that one ambition that remains. It’s the one that sees its way into your heart in the most unexplainable manner.
The first time I sat through a Bharatanatyam performance, I was 6. My parents made it a point to attend every cultural program staged at Kuwait while we lived there. They always encouraged us to pursue our interests, regardless of the outcome. Learning in the process was a given!
To say I fell in love at first sight is an understatement. To say that I fell, and continue falling in love with dance, is more like it. Watching as masters of the craft choreographed themes that were way beyond cool was the equivalent of well, nothing else!
I didn’t take the rite of passage that so many others took – the arangetram. Instead, my teacher (God bless her!) spent hours nurturing my love for each graceful step. My parents drove me to the classes (more than an hour’s ride, with no malls nearby to take refuge in for the length of the class) as often as was required.
It’s hard to describe the magic of learning dance. Nostalgia takes you back to the sweat and toil and almost makes it look easy. I honestly can’t remember when my legs hurt or when I wanted to stop dancing and go home. (This is something I hear from some of my students!)
Dancing in my teen years was sheer joy. We laughed away the hours, discussing the strange heroes and heroines that we depicted, and dreamed of all the great dance dramas we could create. I distinctly remember having created a couple of short dance dramas with my cousin during the U.S. sojourns.
Stepping into the world of performing was like experiencing a whole new kind of ‘thrill’! I had presented dance pieces earlier, and if that felt magical, I had just stepped into the magician’s den. What else could explain that involuntary smile when you burst onto stage?
Somehow, I ventured into teaching and choreographing – yet another leg of my dance journey. Do I miss the earlier phases? Is my current phase enriched by the knowledge of the earlier?
All I know is that in the midst of all my capricious dreams, one hung around long enough to be acknowledged. It was and remains my truest and deepest source of ecstasy.
Not so far from being a rock and roll star, huh!
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Aftermath
“…the most dangerous period is the aftermath. It is then, with all his resources spent and his guard down, that an individual must watch out for dulled reactions and faulty judgment.”
- Richard M.Nixon
I am not sure how it happened, but darkness loomed. I suppose it must though. If there is a light at the end of every tunnel, isn’t there darkness at the end of every bright corridor?
Don’t mistake me for a pessimist. I am the eternal optimist, an idealist. But in the moments after a dance production, especially one that is my own, emptiness creeps in. But this is a vacant feeling that I welcome.
Initially, the aftermath was one of elation and pride (well, mostly pride I must admit to) at having achieved. It was always accompanied by a hint of sorrow at being parted with friends who’ve worked tirelessly with you. Soon after, the only thought would be of the next year’s production, and how much better it had to be.
Over the years, though, the sense of ecstasy over success has replaced itself with a deeper sense of fulfillment. With it comes an understanding that none of it really matters. I am beginning to feel that praise and rejection are not to be viewed as the opposite sides of a coin, but as the coin itself. Discard that coin, and you divorce the mundane.
The numbness is fleeting however, and soon, you are back in the throes of disappointment. Someone decides a scene should have been choreographed differently, while another decides that some performers were not up to par. Poof! The heady sensation of nothingness is gone.
This time, though, the remnants of the black hole are still with me. I am not sure what has changed. It may be that in my 35th year, I feel the need to internalize my higher quest. I almost yearn for that singular moment when nothing but truth mattered.
I am certain that if I am to envision and choreograph my next show in my current state, it will be rewarding. For somewhere in my mind is the realization that it is not the applause or the disparaging moans that I hear. I seek to listen to that inner voice congratulating me on being true to the art form, and true to myself.
Perhaps the feeling will last longer next time.
- Richard M.Nixon
I am not sure how it happened, but darkness loomed. I suppose it must though. If there is a light at the end of every tunnel, isn’t there darkness at the end of every bright corridor?
Don’t mistake me for a pessimist. I am the eternal optimist, an idealist. But in the moments after a dance production, especially one that is my own, emptiness creeps in. But this is a vacant feeling that I welcome.
Initially, the aftermath was one of elation and pride (well, mostly pride I must admit to) at having achieved. It was always accompanied by a hint of sorrow at being parted with friends who’ve worked tirelessly with you. Soon after, the only thought would be of the next year’s production, and how much better it had to be.
Over the years, though, the sense of ecstasy over success has replaced itself with a deeper sense of fulfillment. With it comes an understanding that none of it really matters. I am beginning to feel that praise and rejection are not to be viewed as the opposite sides of a coin, but as the coin itself. Discard that coin, and you divorce the mundane.
The numbness is fleeting however, and soon, you are back in the throes of disappointment. Someone decides a scene should have been choreographed differently, while another decides that some performers were not up to par. Poof! The heady sensation of nothingness is gone.
This time, though, the remnants of the black hole are still with me. I am not sure what has changed. It may be that in my 35th year, I feel the need to internalize my higher quest. I almost yearn for that singular moment when nothing but truth mattered.
I am certain that if I am to envision and choreograph my next show in my current state, it will be rewarding. For somewhere in my mind is the realization that it is not the applause or the disparaging moans that I hear. I seek to listen to that inner voice congratulating me on being true to the art form, and true to myself.
Perhaps the feeling will last longer next time.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Am I really back?
I spent the summer switching off from work. It occurs to me that I haven’t done that for years. Even vacations would be spent choreographing for a stray piece of music, or looking for a interesting piece of fusion work.
Back to the summer. I boarded the non-stop flight to the US, certain that I would write all the way. Not a word. Not even a thought. It appears that my mind had decided to switch off too early, and not just from work. I went through the hassle of taking out my laptop from the overhead bin, deciding that it was paper and pen that were the root cause of my problems.
I placed the laptop gently on my pull-out tray (Foreplay to writing, I believe is just as important and satisfying). I waited as the OS booted, all the while thinking that precious time was slipping away. Every second, the thoughts that I was sure I had somewhere were vanishing into the stale air of the aeroplane. I was sure of it.
I wonder what laptops or OS they use in movies – when a character opens up his laptop, its ready to go, and with a few random clicks on the keyboard, work is done. I would like one of those, please!
A little later, I was still waiting for a single word to start me off. I was sure that I had spent half the flight doing this, so I looked up the flight tracker. I could then just put down my writing inability to the inefficiency of the laptop. No such luck – a mere hour had passed.
Just as a thought surfaced (I still maintain it did), the sound of the drink cart rattled my ears. Ah! That was it! I needed some wine to clear my head.
Sufficiently intoxicated, I opened up the laptop again. This time, booting time didn’t bother me. I smiled (or maybe the wine smiled – not sure which) and began writing. I declined the meal service, refusing to be distracted from writing the greatest work yet!
An hour later, having completed my chosen task satisfactorily, I returned my laptop to its secure location, and caught up with some zzzs.
A sniffling sound startled me out of my dream (in which I was receiving the Pulitzer, no less). I shot an exasperated glance to my left, where my fellow passenger was watching a movie and crying. I decided the guy was identifying with some lost soul on reel, and decided to cut him some slack.
After catching a movie, it was time to go back to the creative board. I pulled up my most recent work of art, and began to read. “It was the best of times....”it read. As I read further, all my hopes of grandeur and awards receded. Suddenly, I felt like someone had taken my aspirations and squished them to pulp. Except that the ‘someone’ was me! The opening paragraphs of Charles Dicken’s masterpiece was all that I had typed .
Almost as an ode to my stupidity, the man next to me began to laugh. Shocked that another human was party to my folly, I turned to berate him. The poor chap, of course, was enjoying the comic relief in the movie.
I turned back to the screen, and proceeded to delete the file. Quickly, I returned the laptop to the overhead compartment, and spent the rest of the flight in discontented sleep.
This morning, I sat down to write the script for my upcoming dance production, with scribbled notes by my side. I began to write, and the result is what you’re reading right now!
I should submit a few more blog entries before another obstacle rears its ugly head. And I can only hope that the script from which I have sidetracked, doesn't meet with the same end as my in-flight creation!
Back to the summer. I boarded the non-stop flight to the US, certain that I would write all the way. Not a word. Not even a thought. It appears that my mind had decided to switch off too early, and not just from work. I went through the hassle of taking out my laptop from the overhead bin, deciding that it was paper and pen that were the root cause of my problems.
I placed the laptop gently on my pull-out tray (Foreplay to writing, I believe is just as important and satisfying). I waited as the OS booted, all the while thinking that precious time was slipping away. Every second, the thoughts that I was sure I had somewhere were vanishing into the stale air of the aeroplane. I was sure of it.
I wonder what laptops or OS they use in movies – when a character opens up his laptop, its ready to go, and with a few random clicks on the keyboard, work is done. I would like one of those, please!
A little later, I was still waiting for a single word to start me off. I was sure that I had spent half the flight doing this, so I looked up the flight tracker. I could then just put down my writing inability to the inefficiency of the laptop. No such luck – a mere hour had passed.
Just as a thought surfaced (I still maintain it did), the sound of the drink cart rattled my ears. Ah! That was it! I needed some wine to clear my head.
Sufficiently intoxicated, I opened up the laptop again. This time, booting time didn’t bother me. I smiled (or maybe the wine smiled – not sure which) and began writing. I declined the meal service, refusing to be distracted from writing the greatest work yet!
An hour later, having completed my chosen task satisfactorily, I returned my laptop to its secure location, and caught up with some zzzs.
A sniffling sound startled me out of my dream (in which I was receiving the Pulitzer, no less). I shot an exasperated glance to my left, where my fellow passenger was watching a movie and crying. I decided the guy was identifying with some lost soul on reel, and decided to cut him some slack.
After catching a movie, it was time to go back to the creative board. I pulled up my most recent work of art, and began to read. “It was the best of times....”it read. As I read further, all my hopes of grandeur and awards receded. Suddenly, I felt like someone had taken my aspirations and squished them to pulp. Except that the ‘someone’ was me! The opening paragraphs of Charles Dicken’s masterpiece was all that I had typed .
Almost as an ode to my stupidity, the man next to me began to laugh. Shocked that another human was party to my folly, I turned to berate him. The poor chap, of course, was enjoying the comic relief in the movie.
I turned back to the screen, and proceeded to delete the file. Quickly, I returned the laptop to the overhead compartment, and spent the rest of the flight in discontented sleep.
This morning, I sat down to write the script for my upcoming dance production, with scribbled notes by my side. I began to write, and the result is what you’re reading right now!
I should submit a few more blog entries before another obstacle rears its ugly head. And I can only hope that the script from which I have sidetracked, doesn't meet with the same end as my in-flight creation!
Friday, June 6, 2008
Come into my world
It hurts that you won’t stop teasing me. I call for you repeatedly, but you don’t take the step that separates us. Or is it that you won’t take it? Is this an issue that will remain unresolved forever?
There is a simple solution, isn’t there? You walk into my life, and allow us the pleasure of being with one another. A win-win situation, if you ask me.
There was a time when you stood at my door, but didn’t make the effort to knock. How was I to know that you were on the other side? It didn’t take very long for you to change your mind and walk away!
If only you had stayed! My voice broke as I asked for you, and realized you had strutted off without a morsel of compassion.
I stood on the porch thereafter, hoping that you would turn back. I yearned for the chance to hold you, care for you. I waited to be healed by your mere touch.
Shadows and time crept by, and my weary eyes dried up. We are not meant to be together yet, I thought. Perhaps you had varied priorities ~ but I didn’t; you were, and remain my priority.
Perhaps this is a game that you mercilessly enjoy. You’ve won, you know. You’ve infiltrated every defense shield I had carefully erected.
You’ve allowed this plea to shape up quite well. It’s up to you now. Do as you must, for I do not have the strength to fight any longer. Come into my world, if you must, and know this. All the love in my very being is in storage for you. Incentive or de-motivation? I eagerly await your
judgment.
There is a simple solution, isn’t there? You walk into my life, and allow us the pleasure of being with one another. A win-win situation, if you ask me.
There was a time when you stood at my door, but didn’t make the effort to knock. How was I to know that you were on the other side? It didn’t take very long for you to change your mind and walk away!
If only you had stayed! My voice broke as I asked for you, and realized you had strutted off without a morsel of compassion.
I stood on the porch thereafter, hoping that you would turn back. I yearned for the chance to hold you, care for you. I waited to be healed by your mere touch.
Shadows and time crept by, and my weary eyes dried up. We are not meant to be together yet, I thought. Perhaps you had varied priorities ~ but I didn’t; you were, and remain my priority.
Perhaps this is a game that you mercilessly enjoy. You’ve won, you know. You’ve infiltrated every defense shield I had carefully erected.
You’ve allowed this plea to shape up quite well. It’s up to you now. Do as you must, for I do not have the strength to fight any longer. Come into my world, if you must, and know this. All the love in my very being is in storage for you. Incentive or de-motivation? I eagerly await your
judgment.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
In acceptance, finally
I am utterly confounded. The reason for my state of perplexity is not a complicated math problem or even a law of science. I would have you know that I am quite alright with problems that involve logic, or even lateral thinking and all that. The creation of Mark Zuckerberg, however, is a different story altogether. Facebook, the social networking site, continues to bewilder and astound me.
It’s not that I am anti-social (I claim, rather, to be aloof due to circumstances). I too have my moments. With changing priorities and increasing workloads, though, social interaction comes down to a minimum. And if you believe that every moment counts, why spend a good number of them making small talk, right?
So then, good friends are a rare commodity. Not all conversations start off from the point at which it was interrupted by life! So, instead of picking up the phone, why would I POKE them (POKE = virtual notification). Also, explain this. How do teens chat with and poke friends that they saw roughly an hour before in school?
Ok, so I POKE someone and then what? I spend 2 hours on the Facebook site instead of the 2 minutes originally planned! I decide to check out Photos that friends have uploaded and suddenly realize there are REQUESTS waiting for me. I excitedly click on these, thinking someone would have started a thought provoking string, but NO! It’s a REQUEST to join a fan club for some TV series or the other.
For the young, FACEBBOOK is perhaps an outlet for interaction that would otherwise be considered rude. I don’t remember a time when it was ‘friendly’ to write on another’s wall! Then again, sending virtual gifts is probably a conscientious effort to save pocket money!
Now for something positive – the above thoughts were mine before I actually started networking on FB. Now, I am a regular, and love that I am getting back in touch with friends I never thought I’d see again!
I am most impressed with the myriad groups that find interested parties with shared aspirations. Of course, I also find the games (silly or not) irresistible. And hey, where else can I join a group that is titled ‘Bharatanatyam:Because we’re cooler than you!’?!?
It’s not that I am anti-social (I claim, rather, to be aloof due to circumstances). I too have my moments. With changing priorities and increasing workloads, though, social interaction comes down to a minimum. And if you believe that every moment counts, why spend a good number of them making small talk, right?
So then, good friends are a rare commodity. Not all conversations start off from the point at which it was interrupted by life! So, instead of picking up the phone, why would I POKE them (POKE = virtual notification). Also, explain this. How do teens chat with and poke friends that they saw roughly an hour before in school?
Ok, so I POKE someone and then what? I spend 2 hours on the Facebook site instead of the 2 minutes originally planned! I decide to check out Photos that friends have uploaded and suddenly realize there are REQUESTS waiting for me. I excitedly click on these, thinking someone would have started a thought provoking string, but NO! It’s a REQUEST to join a fan club for some TV series or the other.
For the young, FACEBBOOK is perhaps an outlet for interaction that would otherwise be considered rude. I don’t remember a time when it was ‘friendly’ to write on another’s wall! Then again, sending virtual gifts is probably a conscientious effort to save pocket money!
Now for something positive – the above thoughts were mine before I actually started networking on FB. Now, I am a regular, and love that I am getting back in touch with friends I never thought I’d see again!
I am most impressed with the myriad groups that find interested parties with shared aspirations. Of course, I also find the games (silly or not) irresistible. And hey, where else can I join a group that is titled ‘Bharatanatyam:Because we’re cooler than you!’?!?
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