day 134

Oh how we sway
Day in and day out
between want and non-want;
like and dislike.

Oh how we sway
time after time
between yesterday and morrow,
a kiss and a stare

Oh how we sway
year after year
between desires and wants,
pain and gain.

After all that swaying
we still remain undecided,
between what we want and not-want.

Maybe it is this oscillation
that adds momentum
to our lives.

DAY 133

My mother is a wonderful cook. I am a fairly good cook too.
But unlike my mother I do not believe in the connection between the heart and the stomach. I am not passionate about finding a way to people's hearts through their stomachs.

There is a great difference between my mother's cooking and mine. I do cook tasty dishes. But it ends there. However, when my mother churns out tasty dishes, it lingers.
There's always that extra something, that leaves people wanting more or thinking about more, or feeling the connection between the heart and the stomach.And they invariably end up praising my mother's culinary skills for its uniqueness.

And my mother would scratch her head and say, "I don't do anything extra special. I cook just like the others."

That's where she's wrong. Unlike me she cooks with the sole aim of feeding the other person; making something delicious to suit the other person's palette; something that will make the other person happily satiated. For my mother, cooking was and is always about others. And that gives her immense pleasure. Nothing pleases her more than someone asking for second helpings at her table; or someone truly enjoying the most simplest of meals and mopping off even the last morsel of food on the plate.

Therein lies the difference. I cook -for myself. I cook when I feel like. I cook what I feel like. I cook the way I want it.

Whereas my mother does it all for the other person. I guess it is this love that peppers the food with that extra zing.

Sometimes, when my mother is cooking, I sit on a chair near the stove and chit chat with her. This picture was taken during a chit-chat session.When I clicked this picture it was just another ordinary picture. But later the more I saw it, the more I felt the `love' in every vein of her hands. The desire to make that perfect dish that would make ME happy.

DAY 132

Future is a mystery. Forever, it will remain so. And there is a reason why it is so.

The day you learn your future is the day you kill your dreams.
Dreams arise from desire.
Desire gives rise to hope.
Hope gives rise to belief.
Belief gives rise to bigger dreams.
Dreams birth in the unknown.
The `known' kills dreams.
And when you kill your dreams you kill your soul.

As always nature is my teacher.
A tree grows.
Somebody comes by and chops its branches.
And somebody else plots to destroy it completely.
But he wants to do it the next day for he has no time today.

So there it continues to stand -the branch-less tree.Just a stump.
However, the tree is completely unaware that tomorrow will be its last day on this earth.
Because of the unknown tomorrow, it continues to dream - of new branches that would grow on it, of the leaves that it would sprout, of the flowers that would bloom in its bosom.
And the tree is happy.
Living every moment, dreaming and hoping, dreaming and living -joyously.
Till the last moment when the axe falls upon its roots the next day.

What a gift it is not to know the future?
For you can live dreaming and hoping, dreaming and living, dreaming and loving, dreaming and laughing -till the end.

DAY 131

Different shapes. Different forms.
Some like it. Some don't.
Some say this is right. Some say that is wrong.
Some prefer cylindrical. Some prefer oval.
Some believe oval is right.
Some curse the cylindrical.
Opinions are myriad.Just like the shapes and forms.
Shapes and forms understand it. Opinions don't
So shapes and forms continue to exist. And remain true to themselves.
For they believe that it is right for them.

I had forgotten what it is like to be hated, raved and ranted against, by absolute strangers. Simply because I do not share their views.
In a different lifetime, I thrived on that energy. It was the fuel for my adrenalin.
Then I chose a different path.

Paths are varied. Some converge. Some don't.
And at this moment in time, my paths -past and present have converged.
So, once again, I find myself at the receiving end.

It took me a good five minutes to regain my balance :)
It took me a couple of deep breaths to rearrange my thoughts and align my energy with my core.
For no matter what, the core remains true to who you are.
And who you are meant to be.

Finally, I have mastered the art of letting negative energy slide over me; just like water over an oiled form.

DAY 130

It might seem like a contradiction. But when I see this image the only thought that echoes in my mind is this:

You are never, ever, ever alone. You are always embraced.
You are always understood. You are always adored.

Funny. The image is bereft of human presence.

Yet, this is the thought that reverberates in my brain box

You are never, ever, ever alone. You are always embraced.
You are always understood. You are always adored.

I guess one does not need human company to not feel lonely and
one can feel absolutely lonely with human company. Not an original thought. Yet, it hit me like a ton of bricks when I kept matching the image to the thought in my head.

At peace with myself!

DAY 129

This image is one of my top 10 favourite pics of mine.

There is a palpable joy in this image.

It is one of those images that puts a smile on your face - even though you don't know the people in this photograph from Adam.

There is no hidden joke in the pixels.

This is not a funny picture that makes you smile.

But still it makes you smile.

And that is because of the joy that each one of these people are experiencing at the precise moment this picture was taken.

Unadulterated joy. A joy that was not tainted with worries of past, present or future. A joy that was free of fetters.

And that kind of joy is contagious.

Is that why the `wise' say, If you want to make others happy be happy yourself; if you want to put a smile on somebody's face, you put one on yours first.

Yes, it makes absolute sense.

Day 128

This little flautist has been with me for the last 10 years.

The simplicity of his form gives me a sense of calm when I need it.

I have tried to figure that out many times.

How can the clean, straight, uncomplicated form of an inanimate object make me feel a sense of calm and peace right in the center of my blood pumping heart?

How come he instills in me a hope of a better tomorrow?

How come he makes me want to reach deep inside me and draw out my confident spirit?

The inanimate flautist does not speak.

He does not feel.

He does not breathe.

He does not live.

Yet, I get from him, what I sometimes don't get from fellow humans.

How is that possible?

Could it be that the flautist carries within his core the beautiful energy of his creator, the sculptor?

Day 127

I bought this little trinket from China town in Singapore.

I fell in love with the orchid motif.

I am not much of a shopper. When I really want to buy something, I go alone, zero in on what I want and get out as soon as possible.

But when I visit a new place, I love to window shop.

Then the next day, window-shopping usually turns into entering the shops and exploring the merchandise.

And invariably on the third day I am like a parched throat near a pond of water.

I usually end up buying lots of indigenous products. Products that usually end up in a place in my house where I can see them regularly.

And what immense joy it gives me, for the first few days.

Then they become part of the furniture. Not forgotten, but definitely not being paid any attention too.

Then suddenly out of the blue they would come into my focus. And these are usually on my `low days' or `ruminating days' or just days when I have time on hand.

They make me recollect beautiful memories. Times that I enjoyed. Times spent exploring a different land, coming in contact with a different culture, people and oh everything that was so beautiful.

I know for a fact that even when I am 90 years old (I am positive I am not going to be around that long) and even if I don't remember things, when I see this trinket, I am sure I will be able to recollect the feeling that coursed through me when I bought this little souvenir of joy.

I think that's the power of souvenirs.

Day 126 -smiling eyes

From way back, when I was knee-high, my mother would always tell me, "Sudha, when someone is speaking to you look into their eyes. Always. And you will know."

My mother has always been a good judge of people. Not judgmental. Just a good judge.
An instinct that has stood her well time and again.

On the other hand, I have always been -well just say- very unlike my mother in this case.

As a result I have burnt my fingers, heart broken, have holes dug in my wallet as big as the ones in our ozone layer so on and so forth.

This in spite of my mother repeatedly warning me, "Look into their eyes and you will know the kind of person, he or she is. Eyes never lie. They reveal all- good, bad, ugly, evil, sadness, pain, trust, distrust, cunning, knowledge, innocence, ignorance, doubt, truth, lies, love, kindness....they tell you everything. So look carefully."

I would look. But for some strange reason, I would get distracted and the eyes would start telling me different things or rather I would see the things that I wanted to see and hear what I wanted to. And from there onwards it would usually be a trip downhill.

Well, anyways, over a period of time life has taught me to trust in the wisdom of those wise words.

So a few years back, I began cultivating a habit. Every year, on my birthday, I would wake up, go straight to the mirror and `SEE' myself. Clean face. Clear eyes. Clear mind. And I would see myself through my eyes. And they would clearly tell me what my life had been in the past year.

The thing about `knowing' is -the minute you `know' you have the `power' to choose your path and what you want to do with `that knowing'.

And I should say, till date those eyes of mine have hit bulls-eye every single time.

A couple of years ago I wasn't happy with what I saw -confusion, bitterness, frustration, loneliness and what not!

However, this morning, my eyes told me a different story about me. A story that I am quite happy about. A story that tells me I am on track.

I like it when eyes smile.

The Universe is vast.

There are places that I have not seen and will never see in a lifetime.

There are experiences that I have not experienced and will never experience in a lifetime.

There are people that I have not met and will never meet in this lifetime.

One lifetime is not enough to visit, see and meet.

Yet, life can be lived to the fullest in this lifetime.

Make every second, every minute, every hour and every day count.

And you will be amazed at the experiences that you can have.

I have always wanted to see faraway lands where the trees grow up to kiss the skies.

Where the mountains are majestic canopies.

Where colors of the rainbow fall upon the earth.

Where the smell of air is as warm and cozy as freshly baked muffins.

But whenever I stop myself from thinking what might be or what might not be or what hasn't been - and allow myself to experience the moment, I get to see the sights, which strangely are very similar to those in my mind -the sights that I am always yearning to see.

This image reminds me of a visual in my mind I have had since I was a little kid. And for some strange reason I have always believed that I would be able to see this scene only if I cross the seven oceans. What a pleasant surprise it was to see this closer home.

DAY 124

At times you are in a place, which seems, not of this world.

There are no raging storms.

There are no gnawing feelings.

The mind is free of turbulence.

The heart is rhythmic in its beating.

It is bliss.

It is a place that you want to spend the rest of your life.

You are happy to have found the key to the Kingdom.

You unlock it and you begin to live each day.

You live a blissful day followed by another and another and so on.

Soon bliss becomes habitual.

It becomes you.

They stop curling your toes.

Surprisingly, bliss becomes monotonous.

Can bliss become monotonous?

Can bliss become commonplace?

Can bliss become a second skin that you do not feel it anymore?

It can.

For you to feel bliss tingle your nerve endings again you have to once again

have turbulence in the mind,

a discordant note in the rhythmic beating of the heart....

That is the sweet irony of life.

An irony that had baffled me until now.

An irony that nature revels in.

It blooms. It dazzles. Then it whithers. To bloom and dazzle again.

day 123

Today I heard something that has made me believe in my beliefs a little bit more.

"A photographer does not make an image. It is the viewer who makes an image. They bring to each image their own values and own belief systems and as a result of which the image resonates with them.AND the image is made."

Very true. And that is why I strongly believe that we need to do what we got to do irrespective of what the world thinks about what we do.

We cannot tailor-make what we do to what resonates with others.That is a losing proposition.

One has to do what one believes in, what resonates within them.

The world will appreciate it or criticize it; accept it or reject it. It all depends on what resonates with them at that point in their lives.

If the world does not accept what you do it is still not the end of the world. Because you would still be doing what resonates with your beliefs and values.

It is as simple and as black and white as that. More often than not, life is simply black and white. It is only when we want to compromise that we introduce that in-between-shade-of gray.

DAY 122

She stood there invisible in a crowded room.

Just another prop in the scene.

But she was a living, breathing, filled-with-dreams-to-the-brim prop.

A fresh-faced, twenty-something.

With stars in her eyes.

That's what captivated me to this human-prop -the stars in her eyes.

Stars that bespoke of her dreams and ambitions.

Stars that shone bright upon a future as she imagined it to be.

A future colored with fame, fans and fortune.

Even as she stood there waiting in the wings for the Director's "Action"-cry, her eyes revealed a world inside her head.

A world where she was the heroine and not just an invisible human prop.

A world where she was the center of attraction and not just an outline in the dark shadows cast by the cine-lights.

A world where she was in the spotlight and not just a `filler' needed to fill the empty spaces in the scene.

She was still young. So she still believed that one day she will make it under the arc lights and hold an Oscar in her hands and thank "her mother and father" for her achievements.

I know it is possible. I know one creates one's own reality.

For some it takes a lifetime and an equal number of missed opportunities to grasp that truth.

I only hope that this girl would discover the truth much earlier than that.

And that she wouldn't let the stars in her eyes fade away.

And even if life forces the stars to fade away, that one day she will find the courage to polish it back to its original brightness.

A day when she will no longer be invisible in a crowded room.

Day 121

I love black and white and sepia tone photographs.

I love the Jane Austen era.

I love to read about Genghis Khan and Attila the Hun.

I love to recreate in my mind the times of Pazhassi Raja.

I love to fantasize about the sounds and melody of the Sangam Age.

I love to imagine a time when people walked instead of using a four wheeler with a gear box; tilled the land; woke up with the sun and went to bed when the sun went down; lived off the land; listened to the winds; and was one with the universe.

No I am not Amish.

And no, I do not abhor the world that I live in now. I love it. I love my gadgets and creature comforts.

But no matter how furiously I deny it I know it in my heart that my soul loves the time of yore.

I remember talking to a friend about life, after life, before life et al. This friend, who is a seeker of knowledge of the `beyond' said, "You are an old soul. You have been around for a long time."

Of course I spluttered coffee all over her trying to stop myself from laughing out loud. It didn't help!

I thought she had lost her marbles.

That was many years ago.

Today, I am asking myself - Could I be an old soul? Am I so addicted to the experience of living that I keep coming back for more? Is my fascination for `eons-ago' a residual feeling of many lives lived?

I don't know. But it is fun to imagine all these things and ask all these questions and try and figure out answers to all these questions. It beats ironing clothes and driving to work - any day!

As of now all I know is I like the innocence, the simplicity, and the uncomplicated nature of yore - or at least that's what it is in my mind. Hence, I see most of my subjects through sepia-tinted glasses - like this one. She is beautiful in color but she is so heart-warmingly-endearing in sepia.

DAY 120

On this day my body and mind keeled under the weight of fatigue.

Not the kind of keeling where your knees buckle and legs give way.

But the kind where your body gentle folds up over a period of time.

By the end of the day I was like a discarded hanky.

There, but not useful anymore, until it's washed again and turned into a new hanky for a new day.

But tonight I am an unwashed hanky.

Not because my life is going haywire, in fact it has never been better.

But because I have gone haywire.

As I drag my folded bones to finish yet another task for the day, I hear my mother's voice: "You don't have to do it, if you are not up to it."

I am too tired to even shake my head in a vigorous "No"

So, I gently sway my head in an ambiguous way.

She understands. After all she's known me from the time I was just a little embryo.

"I mean it. You don't have to do it. You don't have to do anything, if you feel you are not up to it. Listen to your body," she says.

"Oh, but I have to," I whimper.

"The Sun will rise again tomorrow even if you don't complete your task tonight."

My eyes are tired to even glare at her, so I simply shut them tight AND open the pictures folder on the computer. And select this image.

"Look at those flowers. They just remain there. They do what they have to do and remain still when they have to. There is a time to move and a time to remain still. Both are important. If you don't remain still when you have to you will not be able to move when you have to."

I get her point.

We unabashedly push ourselves to the tipping point. Then turn around and blame the whole world before we have a breakdown. But the truth is only we can stop ourselves from pushing ourselves further to the point of no-return. For there is a time to move and a time to remain still. The yin and yang of life.

DAY 119

Death. The word has never evoked fear in me. But from the time I could remember the word has only evoked in me a sense of going back home. And that is beautiful sensation. I have always believed that when my time in this world comes to an end I would be going back home, up in the sky, behind the fluffy white clouds.

The thought always cheered me. It still does.

Now don't get me wrong. I have no morbid (no pun intended) fascination with dying or death.

To me it is as mandatory as breathing. You breathe without thinking about it.

So is death. It will come calling when it has to. So why stress over it.

But death is something that bothers everyone. It is either about, What will happen to me after I die? Or what will happen to my loved ones after I die?

A more simplistic answer would be -Life would go on and so would you.

But then we are human beings, we like to complicate things.

My loved ones wonder - what will happen to her (i.e moi) after she dies?

When I hear their thoughts being whispered in their heads, I laugh.

You see they are worried about what to do with the physical body of mine after the soul departs.

Born as a Hindu I lived the life of a practicing Hindu for the first 25 years of my life. Then I chose to become a Christian.

The loved ones thought - well, at least she can get a Tombstone in the Christian cemetry.

Then came a time when I ceased to be neither a Hindu, nor a Christian.

day 118

Man will always be a hero in the eyes of his child.

Even if the Man is someone who is dreaded and hated by many outside the child's world.

For in every Man there is always a place which is untouched by all the evil inside and outside of him.

This tender, loving place is usually, easily accessible to his children.

That is why the children of almost all dictators or tyrants or the so-called evil men as dubbed by the world, always say - "He was a loving father."

Thus it is said Man will always be a hero in the eyes of his child.

If only he had seen himself through the eyes of his child he might have realized what a loving man he could've been.

Fatima Bhutto's (in the pic) father will always remain her hero.

And rightly so.

DAY 117

Do colors come with a number?

I heard someone say, "Bright colors are not meant for women of a certain age."

I have loved bright colors from the time I was a kid.

In fact I have loved COLORS. Period.

Just because I fall under the category of "women of a certain age" does not mean that I have to stop liking colors or start liking only certain "age-appropriate" colors.

Or does it?

Oh, nobody's stopping you from liking colors, it's just that you don't wear 'em, they say.

Ahem...wearing them is one way of `liking' colors, right?

It is so strange, when I was young, people told me I was not supposed to do certain things because I was young and "those things" were the privileges of older people.

Now that I am getting older, people are telling that I am not supposed to do certain things because I am a "woman of a certain age" and "those things" are the privileges of the young.

People are always `telling'.

Long ago I decided that the only way to deal with all the `telling' is to stop `listening'.

A woman gotta do what she's gotta do and this woman loves to enjoy life -and it is not this woman's fault that her mental age is somewhere in the twenties.

I don't know how, but this image to me some how represent that feeling of mine. It feels like it is thumbing its nose against convention - it is chaotic, it is fun, it is colorful, it is ageless, it is mysterious, it is not all there, yet it is captivating. It is just IT.

This image is a combination of a colorful screen, water and back lighting.

And I think I love it. :)

DAY 116

This evening I went to a place filled with beautiful vibrations. It was a gathering of a few souls searching for the something that would help them understand the beauty of life a little better.

As I sat there, just observing (oh, I love doing it. I can spend hours people-watching)the people around me and drinking in the atmosphere filled with flowers and fragrance I felt happy -for no apparent reason.

The room was filled with marigolds, roses and jasmine; perfumed candles and diyas. There were myriad fragrances floating in the room.

As my mind glided from one corner of the room to the other, soaking in the fragrances I asked myself what is that beautiful fragrance. It is more than a rose or a jasmine. It was something more.

And then it clicked- it was the fragrance of joy.

Yes, that is precisely what I felt and that was the fragrance in that room.

Joy. Not the jumping-jack-joy. But the gently-flowing-stream-joy; fluffy-floating-clouds-joy; huge-soft-flowy-organza-joy;

Till today I didn't realise that fragrances can be measured in terms of feelings.

And I sat there, letting myself soak in the soft music and the fragrance of joy with light from the candles adding to my joy.

DAY 115

I do not believe in rituals. But I do participate in some of the rituals because my mother believes in it or my friends enjoy it. I have no hassles doing so.

But personally I am neither religious or ritualistic.

So, that is why it never occurred to me to perform the various rituals on this day which happens to my father's second death anniversary.

I do not feel guilty about it either.

I remember waking up and thinking - `Ah, Dad is in a better place. A place where there is no pain but lot of love and understanding.'

And I said, `Thank you Dad for being in my life. I know you have forgiven me for all the things that I did and didn't do. And I know you loved me. And I also know that you know that I love you. And I do.'

And then I see this status message on my friend's FB page:My dad is my hero - whether you are blessed to still have him with you, or if he is an Angel in Heaven - copy and paste this onto your status and let everyone know how proud you are of your dad. I LOVE YOU DAD !!!

It was ironic. Of course I did not paste it on my status message because it was akin to a ritual. Still a smile warmed my heart when I read it.

And I wanted to post a picture that would go with my sentiments today. Ideally, a photograph of my father would've been apt, but then I only post photos that are taken within 24-48 hours. So, I was in a dilemma as to what photograph should I put up that would capture the essence of my dad.

And boom! This image came into my vision. It was as if dad was pointing it out to me (of course since I am emotionally connected to him I am allowed to think in that fashion -lol)

This image of the kerala towel is ALL my Dad...ha, yes, it is.

The thin white cotton towel, which is unique to Kerala was so much a part of my father. He never used any other towel. Even when he traveled abroad and lived abroad for some years, he still carried with him a set of kerala towels. I guess these towels in some way made him feel connected to his roots and his land, something that he loved so dearly. He was adamant that he wanted to breathe his last in his beloved land and that is what he did too. So these towels were to him - an album of his childhood, of his adolescence, of his first love, of his childhood friends, of his early dreams, hopes and beliefs.

As a young girl I remember dad, wearing a large double kerala towel and getting ready for his ritualistic morning oil bath.

When he came back from work, he would have his bath, wear his veshti and drape the white towel across his shoulders before settling down for a cup of coffee.It was so much a part of him. He was particular that no one should use his towel. And was extremely finicky about its pristine white color. So, I remember mom, prior to the washing machine days, sweating it out, washing the towel and then dipping it in the right amount of blue mixed with the right amount of water and then drying it out in the harsh sun.

At the end of the day you would find sparkly white kerala towels dried and ready for my father.

When I see these towels today I am reminded of my Dad - of his presence in my life. And I am happy that we spent time together on this Earth. Thank you!