They fly because they want to

They really don't have to fly.
Technically, they can get their food even on foot, they really don't have to wake up each morning, flap their wings and fly up in the sky.
Yet they do it.
Morning after morning.
Not because they have to
But because they like to.
Because it is what they are meant to.
They don't struggle and ponder over: What is the purpose of my life? What am I supposed to do in life? What am I MEANT to do in life?
They instinctively know.
They know that what gives them IMMENSE joy is what they were supposed to do in life. That is the sign of their calling in life.

We humans have the same instincts.
But somehow we fail those instincts time and again.
Yes WE fail them. By not listening.
So we sit and ponder over: What is the purpose of my life? What am I supposed to do in life? What am I MEANT to do in life?
We somehow don't believe that what gives us joy is what we are supposed to do in life....

I believe in an innate bond between birds, animals and humans. I get this feeling that they somehow know more about us than we do of ourselves. By that I mean, they are aware of the mystery that is humans. They kinda understand our shortcomings, human failings and forgive our atrocious behavior towards them. And I also believe that they are forever reaching out to us, to re-establish that bond that once was....(okay, now I can hear many a voice in the background saying I have gone bonkers)...

I have started spending my mornings sitting in the balcony of my house and watching the birds and I have realised that the more I sit still and make no judgments the more open they are about allowing me into their world -inch by inch, blink by blink, breath by breath....

I can feel that they are more forthcoming to come closer to me (they are still vary of the human that I am, but i can see their guards being dropped little by little)

They look me in the eye - for longer duration.
They just let me sit close by and allow me watch them, their life and their world...

It is fascinating...and I am sure there will come a day when I will begin to understand their language....just like how my mother understand the language of my dog and her plants...yeah, I know we are know as the `BONKERS FAMILY' amongst friends...:)

The tree in the foreground is a tiny speck if you look down from the top floor of the building in the background.
Yet it is much older than the building.
30 years and two moons to be precise.
It has seen much more life and people and events than the people living in the building.
It has so much energy vibrating in its bonsai-ed roots and leaves.
You'd feel it too if you had the privilege of getting acquainted with this miniature art in a tray, as I did.

Bonsai, ah, I was always mesmerized by it. But could never form an opinion about it. I was always confused about whether Bonsai was `good' or `bad' -to put it in simplistic terms. At one level, I loved everything about these miniature trees -it was pure art and as somebody put it, it was a joy to behold a gigantic aspect of nature in your palm. This particular tree usually grows up to 30-80 ft in height, I am told. That singular piece of information when juxtaposed with the form in hand -I am overwhelmed! But therein lies the other problem. I was always guilty of enjoying the beauty of it for two reasons 1. I had extremely vocal anti-bonsai friends who felt it was cruel to stunt the growth of a living species for human pleasure, in the name of art. 2. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there was a nagging thought how majestic it would've been to let these trees grow to its full potential, instead of stunting their growth with wires and pliers.

Yesterday, I had the chance to meet few Bonsai enthusiasts and see the pieces d'art. Yes, it truly was art. Up close they were beautiful and oh so `huggable'. And the enthusiasts were true plant lovers. They'd put their hand into a crevice on the wall, without any fear, to pluck a plant, bring it back home and care for it like a child for years and years and years. And wake up every morning and love it even more than the previous day. Who knows, if they had left the plant in the crevice it might have died one day.

As I stood there with the voice of my anti-bonsai friends echoing in my head and the beauty and love of the art and the artists, it suddenly struck me - There is no need to take sides; no need to sit on the fence; the universe is vast to hold all beliefs, opinions and contrasts. Under the sun, there is a special place for both the bonsai enthusiasts and the anti-bonsai group. And we need both.

I still don't know how its possible (I need to work that out in my head), but I know it a fact that I can truly enjoy and love bonsai trees and at the same time understand the point of view of my friend. Guilt and pleasure can co-exist in a harmonious manner in your life, if you put things in the right context.

This photograph was an advert for `Irony in life', on more than one level.

An impoverished looking `coolie' loaded the sacks of vegetables -back breaking labor.
He then wedged himself atop the sacks. Folded himself into that tiny space available, set to make the uncomfortable journey to the destination of the goods - again back breaking journey.

At the end of the day, he got a few rupees for his back-breaking work.

Barely enough to feed himself and his family a good meal.

But his back breaking work was literally breaking his back.

The pain was unbearable and the body fatigued beyond its limits.

Unless he did something about it, he wouldn't be able to get up the next morning. And if he didn't, he wouldn't be able to go to work. And if he didn't work, he wouldn't get paid. And if he doesn't get paid, he will not be able to feed the family.

And in order to do that, he needs to do something about the pain -on his body, in his heart, in his mind.

So, he takes his hard earned money and goes and buys himself some cheap liquor.

He drinks to forget his pain.

Then he looks down and realizes that most of his pay has vanished -now there's really hardly anything left to feed himself and the family.

So he buys himself some more `pain-killer-in-a-bottle' to forget the pain in his heart and mind- the mind that tells him how he's failed in life at all levels, gulps it down and goes home empty-handed.

Only to return to life, all over again the next day.

The story of most men, living below the P-line in our country.
I have seen many such stories play out in front of me....

To me, this is a poignant pic.
It is a lesson in life.
The pic is of a father by the coffin of his 10-year old son, Aaditya.
Aadi, was my neighbor. He suffered from NPC, a disease for which there is still no cure. (But, I know there will in the future)
I had written about Aadi and NPC, often (see the link below).
He was a gregarious child who spent the last few years on bed, unable to talk, walk or even eat.
Many a times, I have wondered, why did he come into this world. What was his purpose.
The same thought crossed my mind on the day of Aadi's funeral. What did he achieve in his short life. He had to discontinue his studies. He never really go out and play a sport. He liked watching cartoons, and towards the end he was not able to do even that. He enjoyed singing -his speech deteriorated slowly and one day he just stopped speaking. So, what did this little boy do in his life? Why did he come into this world? He spent only the initial years of his life smiling and running about and enjoying life as we expect a child to do. Then the rest of his life was spent in hospital rooms and on his bed at home. So, what was Aadi's life about?
This pic gave me the answer.
I know how the family has changed over the years because of Aadi. Oh, what strength, what courage, what dignity, what humanness and kindness....all because of Aadi....
So, it seems Aadi didn't come into this world to be a doctor (which is what he wanted to do. And his parents would've loved it to. Oh what the heck, his parents would've loved to just have him around till he turned 100)....Aadi's purpose was to transform the lives of his parents and sister and all those who came in contact with him, but just being Aadi...He was one of life's sweetest mysteries that I have encountered in my life.

http://sudha-pillai.blogspot.com/2008/12/brave-mother-son-duo.html

http://sudha-pillai.blogspot.com/2009/02/aadis-bday.html#links

Tendinitis is no fun! It was my constant, unwanted, companion for close to a month and more.

It managed to hurt me, scare me, give up hope and do a lot of things to me, which I thought I had become adept at handling.

There was physical pain that I had to deal with. Then there was the emotional pain, because it prevented me from doing what I like the most -photography.

I feared that I might never be able to click another pic. And that scared the hell out of me.

That's why this pic and the following one are important to me. Because, after weeks of not knowing whether I'd be able to click another pic, I shot these two pics -and that was a moment of reckoning for me.

And somewhere down the line, I lettendinitis take over me. Fear creeps in the minute you let something or someone scare you. And it takes you sometime before you realise that technically, you are the one responsible for your fears -it's all in the head.

These pics are also important for yet another reason. Once I got back to taking pics, got my tendinitis under control I had to deal with other thoughts -thoughts of `giving up'.

I said to myself, now there is no point in continuing with the 365 day project...there's been such a long break...blah, blah, blah....
when you are in doubt always have a serious chat with yourself. Thrash the matter out. And that's what I did.
And now, I said to myself...well, so what if I cannot finish the 365 day project in 365 days but take longer than that...that's when I truly, for the very first time in my life, understood the meaning of the saying: It's not the destination that matters, but the journey.
And so, here I am ready to continue my journey.

BTW, thank you all you lovely people who wrote to me -nice to know that people care even if we haven't ever met :)

There is a place in my head
that I go to ever so often.
A place in my head that's
been my go-to place
when I am sad
when I am angry
when I am dejected
Or even when I want
to drift away to
a happy place.

This place in my head
first came to me in the form of a dream
Or did it really?
This place in my head
has been with me for so long
that I can no longer tell the difference.
How does it matter
whether it is a place that I go to
with my eyes closed or
with my eyes open.

It is a beautiful place on a cliff
closer to the skies.
There is a river or sea below.
There is all but a one-roomed house
But it is not the house that I go to.
The go-to place in my head
is a patch of grass, close to the cliff
where I can lay flat on my back
with the vast skies above me
and the sound of water below me.

Every time I go to this place
I feel happy.
I feel connected.
To what?
I don't know.
All I know is that the
connection is right.
It is meant to be.

Over the years this patch of green,
on the cliff, under the canopy of the skies
has been my `happy-place'.

A place that is so much a part of me
that I can smell the freshness of the grass
feel the cool breeze and hear the sound of water below.
I can feel the warmth of the golden, evening sun
I can sometimes feel the early morning dewdrops on my skin.
I can tell you every little detail of that place.

Apparently, we all have our `happy-place' in our minds.
A place that is a refuge, a spa of sorts, that help you
rejuvenate. It's just that some forget to visit it in their
busy lives.

Some times a photograph tells me a story as I click it.
Some times a photograph tells me a story long after I have clicked it.
But it tells me a story, nevertheless!
This image belongs to the second category.

Every evening I check the pics that I have clicked and delete the ones which are no-good.

As I was about hit the delete button on this pic, something caught in the image caught my eye.

Something that made me tilt my head and see what the image
see what it was revealing to me
hear what it was saying to me.

Suddenly, a word popped out of the pic. LOVE

LOVE. That's what I found in this technically bad picture.

The minute I stopped berating myself over what a bad image I had clicked; or thinking what a nice image it would've been if only the people in the picture had stayed still, just long enough for me to get a stead shot.

The minute I shut out the analysis, the criticisms, the frustrations and disappointment of not clicking a perfect image -the minute I remained still- is when I was able to see LOVE in the image.

And I thought: How apt! It is the same in real life too! You can find love (or love finds you) the minute you shut out the noise outside and inside of you. Hmmm....

.ps: if you look carefully you will find two children, playing, all wrapped up in pure innocent love.

I sat quietly and ate all the vegetables in front of me.My mother would've been proud of me. I not only ate the damn things but I downright enjoyed it too. My mother would've had a heart attack just hearing me say it.

Right from my childhood I wasn't a big fan of vegetables. My mother would mask beetroots as vadas and carrots as pickles and what not just to make me eat my vegetables. Some felt that instead of going through all that trouble, trying to discover a new recipe everyday just so her daughter would eat the damn vegetables, my mother should've just tried giving me one tight slap.

Well both my parents were non-violent creatures. So instead of a stinging slap, I'd get different, tasty dishes every single day.

As I sat there, in the restaurant, eating the veggies I wondered: what changed?
I could be forgiven for not fully comprehending the benefits of eating vegetables when I was young.
But then even when I reached the voting age, the marrying age, the motherhood-age and over-the-hill-age, where I fully understood the benefits of including salads in your diet, I still refused to eat it.

Then what has changed now? There I am sticking my fork into the salad in search of goodness and eating pleasure.

I think every man/woman reaches a stage in life when they realise what a fool they had been for to have done the right things in life.

Suddenly, you develop the ability to surprise yourself by indulging in activities and thoroughly enjoying those things which you always loathed and which you always thought that you wouldn't enjoy.

As I sit there looking at my empty plate in front of me, I realized how much we censor our own selves; how badly we judge ourselves; and how wrongly we perceive our likes and dislikes.

If only we give ourselves the freedom to enjoy all things in life at least once, we might just discover, how many things we like in life and how much we enjoy the varied experiences in life.

Every now and then, I think, we should let ourselves go!

There's this wonderful dialogue in the film Brick Lane.

As a young man the protagonist comes to England, not just in search of greener pastures, but with the confidence that he can be anything that he wants to be. After many many years he decides to return to his homeland. Now he is a dejected middle-aged man; a man whose dreams never materialized; a man without a job; someone who never became rich; someone who could never elevate his status and standing in life as high as he wanted to; someone whose children and friends see as a failure.

And he says to his wife's young man friend: "Do all that you want to do when you are young. When I was young, I felt like I could do anything that I wanted. But then as I grew older I realized that it is not the case. Moreover, now I really don't want many of those things."

The last line of the dialogue struck me.

There is a point in everybody's life when they don't want to be a part of the rat race any more; they don't want the success and riches as the world defines it; they don't want some of the things that they might have spent all their life chasing after; they just don't want it. And they don't care.

They who were boxed in by their surroundings, society, culture and upbringing, one day, refuse to be boxed in anymore. They jump out and tread their own path. And by doing so they shine brightly.

Suddenly, the one who always wanted to belong, does not want to belong anymore; the one who always wanted to be a part of the rest, stands a alone, outside the circle!

In any work-force there are three kinds of people.

You have the leader, the boss - the person with the ideas, the charisma, the networking skills and the one who is the most easily replaceable. Figuratively speaking, the structure wouldn't collapse when you remove the boss.

Then you have the second rung-people. They are not leaders. But they are the people who actually help in the smooth functioning of the organization`. They are less powerful. They are the ones who are highly dependable when it comes to work. But don't even dream of depending on them when you are in spot or when you need backing for something that you believe in or anything that needs initiative or individual thinking. These guys are valuable and almost irreplaceable. The structure gets shaken if you remove them.

Then you have the last rung. The workers. They do the dogs work, the actual work. They are the ones who give shape to your ideas. They work more than the others and get paid less than the others. If they put down their tools you are done-in. They are emotional, they expose all human frailties in their day-to-day life. And they are like rolling stones. They are replaceable. But most of the time you don't because as I said, they are the ones who give physical shape and form to your ideas.

This dynamics exist in all work-groups. And that's what I saw in play in this particular group of workers. In the larger structure, they belong to the third rung. But within the group there are members that belong to all the three rungs. It was fascinating to watch the dynamics play out amongst these race-course workers.

Every time I see this photograph a smile, automatically, creeps up on my face.

There is something joyous about this image.

He stands out. With his aluminium tins on his rickety old cycle, he stands out on a road that is considered to be the poshest in the city, with its swanky cars and even swankier shops.

And it is no fun to be the cynosure of all eyes even if its just for a minute. It is no fun to be surrounded by things that you might or might not aspire, but it is still there staring at you, revealing the prosperity landscape on the other side. But yet, there was something joyous about this man. I watched him for quite sometime. And he stood in that position for a long time, waiting for the unending traffic is ease a bit so that he could pass by, but in vain. He didn't seem annoyed. Instead he was using the time to look at and enjoy the passing cars, the shops and all those beautiful things and people around him, which seemed like a different world than his own. There was something positive.

And as I kept looking at the scenario I realized that the world around him did not alienate him either. He was part of it. Yes, everybody did go about doing their own thing and leading their own lives, yet he was a part of their busy world. However, I think the picture might have presented itself differently, if the man on the cycle felt alienated from the world around him. He somehow exuded an air that said, he might be different, but he was still a part of the world around him.

I guess alienation begins in the minds of those who think they are being alienated....

Life is funny or ironical or downright mean -i guess it depends on how you look at it.

I saw this man selling these mickey-balloons. But he was so foul-tempered (and I'm sure he has his own valid reasons for it). Somehow it just wasn't complementing what he was selling.

And I kept wondering whether his foul-temper had something to do with his poor sales.

I think it did. Whenever there is mis-match between your inside and outside, there is always trouble....

Recently, I was chatting up a friend of mine who's in the hospitality industry. He was a Chef in a previous avatar, before he decided to become a hotelier.

Chatting with him was akin to sitting in on a story telling session. The only thing missing was the bonfire.

I was fascinated by the `inside-stories' in a commercial kitchen.

He said, "There's a strict hierarchy in the kitchen. No matter who you are you gotta climb up the ladder. And the lowest rung gets treated like crap. They work the longest hours. They do the menial jobs. And they get abused the most. They are the punching bag for everyone." And he said it without any rancor. He made it sound like a rite-of-passage that he was proud of.

Not many last the drill. There are more dropouts than one cares to count.

It is not an easy job to chop heaps of vegetables - a job so monotonous that you can drop asleep and chop your finger. Still you must do it, if you have to climb the career ladder.

Some rise up to the top position. Some float around in the middle.

The former invents ways to enjoys the monotony, finds meaning in monotony, and all along keeps his eye on the goal.

The latter loathes monotony, gets sucked and then stuck in the drill, and somewhere down the line gets consumed by the monotony and loses focus.

Therein lies the difference between success and failure.

There was an invisible bond connecting them.
Invisible yet tangible.
The Horse and the man.
Physically -the horse belonged to a rich man.
(You have got to be moneyed if you want to own a horse)
But the horsy-heart belonged to the stable hand, or so it seemed to me.
The young man, the stable hand, belonged entirely to the horse.

There was an invisible bond connecting the horse and the man.
The man who fed, groomed, walked and cared for the horse.
The man whom the horse saw day in and day out, taking care of his needs.
The man the horse interacted with, much more than the owner.
Not that the owner loved the horse any less.
It's just that the horse loved the stable hand much more.
The stable hand who will not get a share of the winnings when the horse galloped across the winning post.
The stable hand who will not stand along with the owner to receive the winning cup.
But the stable hand to whom the horse will return to soothe his weary bones after winning a challenging race.

There was an invisible bond connecting the horse and the man.
A bond that went beyond money.
A bond that went beyond the outward trappings of life.
It had to be....
That's why the horse and the man resemble each other -both handsome and majestic.

Didn't someone say over a period of time, owners and their pets begin to resemble each other because of the love they have for one another?

I met this wonderful artist, Gabor, recently.

Gabor is a graffiti artist. He's been one from the time he was a little boy. That's his way of establishing his identity, make a statement political and otherwise and express his creativity. It is a high-risk art form since graffiti in public spaces is banned in his native Germany. Yet he continues to practice his art.

Gabor became a father when he was 17 years old. Today, at 28, he is the father of three children.

I have heard many times that people's lives change when they have a family. In fact family responsibilities has been cited as a reason by many for not pursuing their passion in life.

I look at Gabor and I think - nothing changes a man's passion. He can be as young as 15 or as old as 115. He can be rich or poor. He can be single or married. He can be lonely or have a family and zillion responsibilities. These are not factors that affect his passion in life; what he wants to pursue in life. Yes, they definitely shape and give character to his passion. But they neither tell me to forego or continue his passion in life. That is solely the responsibility of the man himself.

Yes, Gabor scores. I don't know how he was at 15. But at 28 he is as enthusiastic about his passion in life as any 15 year old, if not more.

This pic busted many myths that I was holding onto for many years.

Eyes are the window to your soul. When you look into a person's eyes you will know what he is thinking. This pic proved me wrong. The closed eyes reveal all that I want to know or the person thinks that I should know.

A life filled with varied experiences shows up on your face. The happy days, the sad days, the horrible days - everything shows. The present always carries remnants of your past -on your face.

Again, wrong. It is always the `moment' that matters. Your face reflects what you feel `in the moment'. That's why our forefathers said -build a life, moment by moment.

I am back -after 8 days! The longest I have been away from my 365 day pet project.

Though I have been clicking pictures everyday (now it's become like second nature, like brushing my teeth), I haven't been able to upload them. Reason - was busy with the relaunch of the paper. Now that the `Big Day' is behind me, am happy to have my routine days back!

Now about the pic -

I will remember this moment forever, i mean forever, for the simple reason, it is at this precise moment did i take one of the biggest decisions of my life. More than the decision, it was how I learnt, for the first time, to listen to my body, to my gut consciously to take the right decision.

We have all been there - to turn right or left; to pick it or drop it; to say yes or no; to walk ahead or to walk away - no matter how much debate, discuss, rave and rant you are sometimes unable to decide the right move, make the right decision.

That's when a friend told me about the `Gut whisperer' (a borrowed term she said, nevertheless a powerful one). "Listen to your body, your gut and it will tell you what to do?"

I laughed. How can you listen to your body or your gut or spleen or whatever...when your insides are nothing but a confused coil of flesh?

She said, this how you do it. "Be quiet. Then pick one of the two options. And then listen to your body. You will hear your body speak. Do you feel a tightening inside or peace and warmth? Are the sensations pleasant or not? Are the thoughts positive or negative?"

Listen to your body and it will tell you which way to go.

I had heard this or something on these lines many times. But this time around, I remember taking my options to my body. I listened. It spoke. And I decided.
I am glad I did.

There is beauty in organized living.
A neat row of houses.
Identical picket fences.
Lush lawns in the front yard
and a vegetable patch in the backyard.
Spotlessly clean roads
an advert for clean, healthy living.

Oh it is so beautiful.

But there is adventure in chaos.
A tall house flanked by stout ones.
A three-storeyed overlooking a thatched one-room tenement.
Mud roads cohabiting with tarred ones.
Pot-holes a part of life.
Mystery in every street corner.
Every inch of space occupied by variety
colors galore
people as varied as spices
and flavored in characteristics as well.

Oh it is so beautiful
to have a constant adrenalin rush
not knowing what you can expect next.

That's what makes life in my country
worth living.

Life in India can never be boring for
every street is like a Da Vinci work of art
it has the pathos of the Last Supper and the
the mystery of Monalisa.
Not to mention the
sunny disposition of Van Gogh's Sunflowers.

Life here in my city is like a painting.

I have always been fascinated by new born babies.

There is something miraculous about their little fingers and toes. They are so tiny, fragile and beautiful.

And then it hits me. I too was like that once upon a time.

Wow, the miracle of life!

Above all I have always wondered: what do new born babies think about?

There must be something tossing around those little heads, something that is not yet connected to the world that they have come into but from where they have come forth.
Something pure. Something powerful.

What are they thinking?

No matter what I am sure it must be something marvelous.

What could it be?

Sometimes, when I see a picture that I have clicked I'm flooded with happiness for no apparent reason.

It might be an inconspicuous, ordinary image.

No matter, how hard I look within its frame I fail to see the exact reason as to why it makes me happy.

The lighting, the composition, the object, the colors, the everything is sometimes less than ordinary.

Yet,it would make my heart puff a little not with pride but with joy.

A smile would spill over unable to contain itself.

The joy within would brighten my eyes.

I would again go back to the image and scratch my head, "What is it?"

Nada. No answer. Just pure joy that I am looking at something beautiful, at least for me, and that it makes me happy.

It took me sometime to understand a simple truth. Just like how you don't look a gift horse in its mouth, you don't HAVE to find the reason for your happiness. You don't have to justify it. If something makes you happy, accept it, relish it, and build on it. You really don't need to go looking for a reason.

The day when we need a reason to be happy is an indication that we are going downhill.

This is one such image. It is a picture of an electric pole. Technically, there is nothing in it that screams `be happy, smile, say cheers' - still I can't help think how beautiful it looks and how happy i feel just by looking it.

I guess there is a slight manufacturing defect in me! So be it :)

She is 52 cms long. Weighs 2.8 kgs and is AB+ve.

She does not respond to the name Aditi, because she is not yet aware that that’s her name.

She is 72 hours old.

And she is the best Father’s Day gift anyone can give my friend Anand Srinivasan. “The diameter of her head is 32 cms,” he beams, with the same intensity as a father whose child has topped the Board Exams.

In three days, Aditi has managed to wrap her father around her big-as-a-nail-little finger. And she is oblivious to it.

Something happens to grown men when they hold their first born for the first time. They become jelly on the inside. Till date there has been no tangible explanation for that jelly-likefeeling. “I don’t know how to explain it,” Anand gasps for words.

At 3.17 am she entered the world with a loud wail and within few minutes she was cleaned, wrapped and placed in her mesmerised father’s large hands. “At that moment my world changed,” says Anand.

“It’s a feeling that wraps you inside out. A hitherto unexperienced joy,” says Anand. “When I looked at my daughter for the first time it was as if all my troubles vanished or seemed inconsequential.”

Anand could easily be the poster child for New Dads. He’s hardly slept the last three days. He hasn’t done much in the last 72 hours other than stare at his daughter for long hours, carry her in his arms for the rest till someone in the family chide him to put her down and then he repeats the cycle all over again. “I have told him it is okay to step out once in a while,” says Anita. But Anand is like a boy in Harry Porter land.

Tender babies in the manly hands of fathers are like a concentrated ball of love. “Every time I hold her I think she is mine; my child; my love; my life,” says Anand.

During the photo-shoot as he cuddles his baby he coochie-coos, “I will make you 100 sovereigns of gold for your wedding.” His wife rolls her eyes in exasperation.

“I will teach you to play tennis. And we can go swimming,” he whispers loudly and his mother-in-law smiles benignly.

“Everything I do now is prefixed with thoughts of my daughter. It’s like I’m soaked in Aditi. Do you understand it?” he asks.

Frankly no. But certainly, my father would. For that matter, all new fathers would!

The word that popped in my head was: wall flower.

No matter how hard I tried to find a more appropriate word for `wall flower' nothing seemed an apt.

Wall flower refused to fade away in my head.

Fade away like the boy/man in the picture.

For fade away he did into the background.

I had been watching him for quite sometime.

He was watching me watch him, with a smile on his face.

A smile that quite didn't reach his eyes.

A smile that didn't vary in its length.

A length that was careful in not crossing over to joy.

A smile that expressed boredom, tolerance and indifference.

He was alive but not ALIVE at that moment.

All the time that I watched him he did not make a sale.

It did not bother him.

People hardly stopped by to look at the goods on sale.

It again did not bother him.

He just sat there listening to music.

With a half smile plastered on his face.

Watching the world go by, without actually being in it.

It didn't bother him a bit.

Oh, how I yearned to step into his mind for just a moment - for I believe the mind of a wall-flower is as interesting if not more....

You can always pick a newly-married from a crowd.
Glowing face. Smiling eyes. Flying feet. And there is a certain light that shines from within.
Happiness is written all over.
An happiness that is so contagious that even your face stretches into a smile, unconsciously, at this absolute but happy stranger.
And you say a small prayer for her joy to last forever.
Though there is a little voice in your head that whispers -`wake up you fool, that's not going to be the case'.

But some might prove the `evil-whisperer-in-your-head' wrong and get lucky. They have a joyful marriage, but the degree of happiness and its quality changes over a period of time.

Marriage and married couples are an enigma to me.

Sometimes when I hear about couples who have been happily married for 60 or 80 years I wonder, `Oh my God, that is a life time.'
I wonder, what is it like to be married to someone for more than half your life time?
To have a friend, a companion walk with you almost all your life?
To have someone who completes your sentences and thoughts and who knows your every move?
To spend day in and day out with one person who loves you and whom you love?
I guess it must be wonderful i.e. if there is enough love and laughter to fuel the marriage.
Otherwise........I dread to even think about it.

DAY 165

I watched this little girl (in the foreground) for a very long time.

She didn't understand the significance of what the elders around her were doing.

They were lighting candles to the Almighty seeking favors or thanking Him for the blessings received. Some believed in lighting candles because that is what "you are supposed to do" (my friend) "it is a good thing" (another friend who was unable to explain why it was a good thing) "my parents used to do it", so on and so forth.

The kid watched them all. Holding a couple of candles in her own hand (which was thrust into her hands by some elder in her family), not knowing what to do with it or what the ritual of lighting the candles signified.

She was just watching them, observing them, without judging - and then following the adults around her.

And enjoying every bit of it. Curious about it all. Happy to be doing something new and different from what she usually did in her life. And reveling in the smells, sounds, voices and vibrations around her.

I am sure, not for a moment, did God, religion, good, bad, sin, bribery, receiving favors or blessings, different gods blah, blah, blah, cross her mind. Not for a moment. Instead, she was just soaking it all up, appreciating the new experience and enjoying it to the core. And that beat all devotions and forms of worship and surrender to the Creator usually exhibited by adults.

We were all children once upon a time? What happened to us?

DAY 164

There comes a time in all our lives when we bid good-bye to the ones whom we thought will be with us till the end of the journey.

You bid adieu without much fanfare. The farewell is subtle and silent.Sometimes there are no words spoken. It's just a feeling. A feeling of understanding that from now on you will walk your own paths. Not together. But alone. If life allows the paths might converge, briefly, but the twain shall never meet and walk a single path ever again.

Though you see the moment in your minds eye long before it actually happens, you turn a blind eye. You keep putting off the inevitable. In the process you prolong your pain. You stagnate. You suffocate. You kill yourself. And so does the other.

So when the time comes it is better to remember the wonderful time together and let go. For you life was and is enriched by the presence of the other.

In life,very rarely, people walk with you till the end of the journey.
That is the nature of life.

Life is meant to be walked with many, not just one.
Because the paths are broad.
Paths meant to accommodate many co-travelers.
If it is just one that you want to walk with till the end then the path will be narrow.

Narrow has no room for expansion.
No expansion. No change.
No change. No growth.
No growth. No joy.
No joy. No life.

What is life, without life?

Day 163

This photograph was taken outside a temple.

And this image is dedicated to all those who worry about our culture and traditions being eroded by the west or anything that is non-Indian.

The pic says it all.

One culture can never be annihilated by another. Cultures do not dissolve, they co-exist. Cultures do not threaten each other, they complement.

I know there will be many who will disagree with me. And I don't blame them one bit. Because on the surface it seems like cultures are always at loggerheads and that the new and alien are taking over the old and familiar. But that is nothing but deceptive trait. For that is the nature of evolution.

Cultures are never stagnant, they evolve as humans evolve and in the process traditions (which I think are tools of cultures) get modified or dropped or retained. But the foundational-culture as I call it, will remain, forever.

DAY 162

The mind wanders.
To far of places.
Some I have heard of.
Some I haven't.
But none I have seen.

It is a sensation
It is a feeling
in the depths of my being
a knowing that
I have been
to these places
some that I have heard of
some that I have not
and none, I have seen.

It seems the soul,
has traversed
great distances;
a million years,
and gathered in its folds
experiences of far and beyond
of people and places
some that I have heard of
some that I have not
and none, I have seen.

Like a hunter
like a gatherer
I hunt
and gather
many lives of me
lived in years gone by
lived in far of places
some that I have heard of
some that I have not
and none, I have seen.

So who is to say that I was not here when the Universe was created
It's just that I have a bad memory.
But the soul remembers.
It's just that I have not yet mastered the language of the soul.
When I do is when I will understand completely
about my journey
to the places that I have been
some that I have heard of
some that I have not
and none, I have seen
in this life.

DAY 161

This is definitely going to make it to my list of `Fav pics of mom'.

Both of us were goofing around one morning before I set out to work.

It is her habit to bask in the early morning sun for at least 20 mts. Good for the bones, says the family doc. And mom is very disciplined about her routine. (I don't have that in me - discipline to me sounds like an occasionally-available-fruit).

This was taken in the balcony of our house where she usually communes with the sun.

Just like all moms of this world, my mother too has lived quite a bit of life. If you ask me I'd say the scale is tipped more on the hardship-side than easy-living. The lines on her face are her scars of victory over life.

And as I looked at her I realized her smile and laughter did come from somewhere deep within her. Resonating through her soul. Proof enough, no matter what, one can always laugh -truly. It's just a matter of knowing, no hardship lasts forever. And one can never truly forget how to be happy and how to smile.

A lesson to remember when your monkey mind tells you - that's it, I am never going to find happiness again, or I will never be able to truly laugh again because of what happened in my life.

That's a big fat lie.

Human beings can never forget to laugh. What is yours will always be yours.

DAY 160

(I was unable to post any pics for the last seven days due to technical snags - my comp gave up on me. However, I shot everyday and wrote everyday and realized that it's become a habit now; a part of who I am. Continuing where I left...)

This picture was taken at a traffic junction. I was on my way to an official meeting when, as usual, I was caught in the middle of a horrendous traffic jam. There is nothing much you can do, sitting inside your car, surrounded by a sea of still vehicles. I usually listen to music, read magazines (yes, in Bangalore you can actually get enough time to flip through magazines at traffic junctions) or take photos.

In front of me was this van carrying cooking-gas cylinders. And sitting amidst those cylinders was this boy. He was as still as everything around him.

There was nothing alive about him except for his unconsciously beating heart.

I was trying to get a feel of the world inside his head, but his eyes were shut to the world, though open in a mechanical way. He seemed to have locked the door that would've given the world a glimpse of his soul.

It was an extremely disturbing image.

One so young, with so much life ahead, but already dead.

Will he be a dead man walking for the rest of his life? I hope not!

DAY 159

When the world around presses in
man yearns to go back into the womb;
flee back to a childhood
filled with dreams galore
and worries nay.

How strange is the human mind
that yearns to leap into adulthood
when in the arms of childhood.
But when the child becomes the father
and the world around him begins to crumble
he wants to roll-back time.

What man wouldn't give years of his life
to live that life again
if only for a moment
a life,
when worries were nothing more than whispers
when fears were about fairytale monsters
and nothing in the world
that couldn't be handled
from inside the circle
of the parents' arms.

A life filled with dreams galore
and worries nay!

Day 158

I cannot slay my twin
who is my own
but kill i must
to live i must

I cannot slay my twin
'cause she is my moat
but kill i must
to live i must

I cannot slay my twin
keeper of my secrets
but kill i must
to live i must

I cannot slay my twin
my companion in lonely cliffs
but kill i must
to live i must

I cannot slay my twin
my army against the world
but kill i must
to live i must

I cannot slay my twin
'cause it makes the pores of my skin weep blood
but kill i must
to live i must

To live I must
Kill I must
for she is EGO

And when she is slayed
I'll stand tall
I'll stand beautiful
I'll stand calm
I'll stand precious
I'll stand
on my own
without the I.

DAY 157

There is this mechanic who cheats me regularly.
He knows I know.
I know he knows that I know.

Ideally, I should not be going to him.
Yet I do.

Because it is convenient.

Every time there's been a puncture, ironically, he's been close by. It was more convenient for me to let him handle it than take the trouble of going to my regular mechanic who lives far away.

I leave the car with the cheat and rush to work
Only to come back in the evening to hear him say
"Tube gone. Replaced tube. Rs.370."

This scene has replayed itself many times over in the last five months.
A new tube cannot have such dismal life, right?

I go to him again, not because he's convincing.
I go to him again, because of convenience.

How we short change ourselves at the altar of convenience?

We do not explore our full potential -because it is not convenient.
We do not live life to the fullest - because it is not convenient.
We do not walk the extra mile - because it is not convenient.

We short change ourselves -all the time. In spite of being aware of cheating ourselves in the bargain!

DAY 156

The following has stuck to my cranial walls from the time my eyes fell on the words:
A legend of Classical times says that, so strong is the eye of the lion that its sight does not die with its owner.

The spirit of the words grabbed me by my gut.

Like an architect whose vision remains long after he himself is dead.

This image is of a 400-year old tower that stands even today in the courtyard of a temple. Eons ago, lamps were lit in the alcoves that you see all along the tower, casting light upon a village which wouldn't see electricity for the next couple of centuries; the light gave the villagers a sense of security, dispelling darkness. And the bell on the tip would tell the villagers the time of the day, every hour on the hour. The idea must've been conceived by the ruler. Today not many are sure who the ruler was, unless you take the effort to look into the history books, but everyone knows, sees and enjoys the tower.

As they say the vision remains long after the visionary is dead.

It is not about who is thinking.
It is about what they are thinking.
It is not about you.
It is about your thoughts.
It is not about leaving a piece of you on this earth when you go.
It is about changing a piece of the earth forever, when you go.

Like the eye of the lion that never dies.

DAY 155

I hate driving in the rain.

Fifteen years back, my vehicle broke down on a dark, rainy night. It was past 11 pm and I was returning home from work. I was tired and wanted to get home quickly. However, my two-wheeler spluttered to a stop in the middle of the road. There I was soaked to the bone, absolutely clueless about what to do next. It was one of those roads that saw zipping motorists but hardly any people on the sidewalk. So I pushed my vehicle to the side of the road and tried to coax my scooter into life again but in vain. Those were non-mobile days. No way to call a friend for help. No public phone booth anywhere in the vicinity. but there were plenty of honking and jeering motorists who passed me by but refused to stop and help. After almost 25 mts, a kind gentleman stopped his car and offered to help me. Thanks to him I was soon my way home. It was an unnerving, unpleasant experience.

From that day onwards I hated driving in the rain. A certain fear would engulf me every time it rained when I was on the road. When the first drops begin to fall I make sure I get off the road as quickly as possible.

Yesterday, I was not so lucky. Driving back home late in the night I was caught bang in the middle of a downpour and a massive traffic jam. I could feel panic draping me like a horrible rash.

Someone taught me this trick recently - when you encounter something that you don't like or something that you fear, just for a moment, force yourself to look it in the eye and see something nice. If you could do that you are well on your way to conquering your fear.

And just for a moment I forced myself to look my fear in the eye and see something nice.

What a glorious sight it was! Raindrops on the windshield reflecting the neon streetlights are like little crystals. Really! Actually, it was a beautiful scene. Then there was the cool breeze. The pitter-patter sound of raindrops on the bonnet. The swishing arc of water as the motorist zipped through the puddles. Soon I was caught up in all these wondrous little sights and did not realize that I drove through some heavy showers to reach home.

This image was taken with my mobile camera. It is the sight that I saw from my driver's seat. Almost like modern art!

DAY 154

I like my country for the sheer variety of experiences that it offers me. It can make you laugh, cry, curse and surprise yourself 24/7.

At times in the mornings, you can see cows sunbathing in the middle of the old Airport road. And my heart swells with pride when I see the motorists going around the cows without missing a beat. Ah, this is India. I have also see foreigners' jaws drop when they see this and they keep repeating `How is this possible?' How can you let this happen? And the Indians look at the foreigners as if they are speaking an alien language. We are a very accommodating society. No matter what people say I like the `accommodating' part of our society. That's what has held this large nation of little countries together. Otherwise we would've disintegrated long ago.

Coming to this image - Every now and then I see these `Quack-tents' sprouting across the city. Little shacks that come up overnight on the footpath and street corners of this urban city. Once you part the dirty-muddied, velvet curtains and enter into the rugged-boudoir of the quack, they promise, to cure you of anything from "Dipression to weekneess in nurves to the your man-size to impontancy"

I find these tents hilarious. Whenever, I find one, I make it a point to stop and read their banners, because it is like a Laurel and Hardy show on a strip of cloth.
I am also fascinated by the optimism of these guys, who usually come from North India, travel for months together and pitch their tents in the middle of the Silicone Valley, confident that they will succeed.

Of course, I have not seen anyone enter the tent yet. At the same time, people pass by these tents without even batting an eyelid. They don't give it much thought. And the quack, usually with his wife and children reside in the tent for a week or so before they pack their bags and go in search of other pastures. But for that one week or so, from dawn to dusk, you can see the quack, sitting on a steel chair in front of the tent, hoping that he could make a quick buck on that day treating someone of their "impontancy" with the potions from his yellowed bottles. While the educated, suave urbanites pass him by - letting him be.

I lurve the quirky nature of this land.

DAY 153

When I look at this image I am reminded of this statement, which resonates with me all times:


The path is already drawn
It was my decision to draw that path.
It was my decision to live this life.
Then what am I afraid of?
Why am I anxious?
All things will be the way it should be.
The way I want it to be.

DAY 152

I took this photograph while standing in the middle of an extremely hot kitchen of a hotel.The frenzy inside the kitchen of a commercial establishment has to be seen to be believed. There is a lot of passion for the craft inside a kitchen.

The young man in the picture was thoroughly involved in putting a dish together. He was careful. He was disciplined. He was meticulous. He was passionate. He was loving every moment of it.

And he was sweating!

It is my camera that pointed out this teeny-weeny detail to me. I held my breath hoping and praying that the dangerously poised salty-pearl-drop on his face wouldn't find its way into the food. He quickly wiped it off, and went right back to his piece-de-art.

I heaved a sigh of relief.But even before I could say `fish' his face was pock-marked with sweat again...the temperature in the kitchen was such that.

I could take it no more. I turned around walked out of the kitchen and sat at the table, only to look up when a plate was shoved in front of me. A plate of fried fish. The same dish the young man was working on - it was beautiful. I could see that he had taken care to make the dish special for me. It was delicious looking.
Yet, I was looking for that unseen drop of sweat. Bile rose to my throat.

I looked up and saw the eager face of the young man waiting to hear what I had to say about his labor of love. I smiled. Forked out a piece and shoved it in my mouth. The taste erased the questions in my mind. Soon I was enjoying my meal and the conversation. Sweaty details all but forgotten.

When we eat at restaurants we know, in the back of our minds, that a 100 things can go wrong back in the kitchen and that we might be eating the result of those 100 things gone wrong. Yet, we trust the unknown faces who's made that delicacy sitting in front of us.

When we go to a hospital we trust our doctors implicitly. They take our loved ones into the operation theater. And we stand on this side of the closed doors not knowing what is happening on the other side. Yet, we trust our doctors to do good.

We trust absolute strangers, people whom we have met for the first time, we trust the degrees after their names, we trust a warm smile, a firm handshake and the quite confidence of people whom we encounter on a daily basis.

We trust them to do us good. We trust them with our lives. With our money. With our food. With all the basics of our lives. Humans are essentially very trusting beings.

Then why is that sometimes, we don't trust ourselves?

We know us well, yet we refuse to trust ourselves. Ironic?

DAY 151

Sometimes, when you surrender
is when you see
the most beautiful sights.

Sometimes, when you surrender
is when you experience
the most magical emotions.

Sometimes, when you surrender
is when you hear
the sweetest of sounds.

Sometimes, when you surrender
is when you win.

Surrendering is not giving up
Surrendering is not losing.
Surrendering is not cowardly.

For surrendering to the real you
inside of you
the great I AM
is the most natural thing to do.
And what is natural never hurts.

It was a beautiful evening. Golden light, beautiful skies and scores of pigeons homing in. I went berserk with my camera. I said to myself, oh what a beautiful picture, i will get the best of shots.

After ten minutes of continuous clicking all I got was fuddled, muddled, painted-with-human-arrogance-images.

When I am confused, when I am frustrated, when I am lost and angry, I surrender.
I surrender to my Inner Being.
And that's what I did.

I heard the sweetest sounds, saw the most beautiful images and experienced the most wonderful feelings in the stillness inside me.

I realized I was forgetting to enjoy what was before me. Instead I was busy trying to capture that joy in an arrogant manner that only humans are capable of.

Once I began to enjoy what was before me the way it should be -joyously and fully, things began to fall into place.

Images rolled in one after the other. The camera in hand, settled to capture it peacefully. And all along I reveled in my surrender.

DAY 150

As years pass by I realize that I yearn for all those things that I once shunned in my childhood.

Though I am a native of Kerala, I was born and brought up in Chennai.
A Chennai of independent houses, trees in the backyard, space for the children to play badminton, police&robbers, seven stones etc.
A Chennai that was not dotted with pigeon-hole apartments and city-like malls.

We had a Neem tree, along with other trees, in the front of our house. It canopied the verandah of my house.

In summer, my mother would clean the verandah thoroughly with soap and water in the mornings, wipe it dry and then spread the traditional South Indian mats. It needed around 4 mats to cover that particular spot.

On my return from school in the evening, I would find these mats blanketed by small white flowers with a dot-of-a-yellow-centre. Neem flowers. It looked beautiful, like a white carpet with yellow polka dots.

Then I would remember why those flowers were there in the first place. Unconsciously, my nose would crinkle up and I would go "Yucky".....The reason being, mom collected these flowers to make a sweet and sour pachadi. It was a rage with the neighbors. They loved it. And mom was ready to dish out bowls of pachadi to them.
But I hated it. "It is good for your health," she would say. And I would pretend that she was talking to me in Latin.

Years rolled by. I grew up. Mom grew old. Chennai changed. Neem trees were replaced by poky-cactus in a plastic bowl, by the windowsill in pigeon-hole-apartments. We left Chennai. And the Neem trees became a thing of the past. I see many trees in Bangalore, but haven't seen a Neem tree for long.

During these long years, I remember yearning for the same Neem Pachadi that I once loathed.

The yearnings have grown stronger. I think it is not the pachadi, but a desire to hold on to the beautiful moments of a childhood, which now seems like I lived only in a dream.

DAY 149

I like history.
I like times of yore.
I like to imagine the lay of the land of the past.
I like to walk in the shoes of the people of then.

It is, I guess, gives me a sense of
what was before me
what was capable
what could be done
what has lived
what has been

A sense that makes me enjoy
What is now
what strides we have made
What more could be done
What is living
and what will be.

This image is of a 400 year old church.
What an exhilarating experience it was
To walk the steps traced by men centuries ago
To crane my neck and view their creativity
To feel in my bones the energy of yore

And then a thought strikes...
What if I had been one of those hands that chiseled the beauteous art on those walls...
That's a nice thought, isn't it?

Day 148

I like my life for a zillion reasons.
One of them being people.
Yes, I am in a profession that gives me opportunities to meet people that I wouldn't otherwise meet.

I remember watching her films when I was in college. She was a rage back then. She still is.

There is something instantly likeable about her. I am not alone in this thinking. Otherwise they wouldn't have built a temple for her. (Though I find that hilarious, so does she)

You always imagine the people you see on screen to be a certain way when you meet them in real life.
Usually these thoughts are tinted with the personalities that they play onscreen.
But then, when you meet them in person, you realise that they are just like you and I.

They hurt, cry, weep, laugh, smile, get angry, make mistakes, are evil and good at various points. They are humans doing a job that is extremely public in nature.

I was not wrong.

Actress Khushbu was human. A very good human. A very strong human. A very happy human.

After sitting with her for almost half a day I come back with just a thought:

She is a genuinely happy human being. No matter what, she's learnt to laugh and enjoy every moment and aspect of her life. And she's it all real. That is very difficult a acheive when your life is played out in the public arena day in and day out.

(The story:http://www.bangaloremirror.com/article/1/20100519201005190543005191c2685bc/%E2%80%98I-am-brutally-honest-with-myself%E2%80%99.html)

DAY 147

For the first time i am unable to articulate why I'm drawn to a photograph.
There are no clear thoughts on why I like this image.
Or why it has impacted me and how.
There are words,here and there, but I am unable to make a sentence with them.
A sentence that will tell me why this image is important to me.

As of now, as I look at the photograph all that echoes in my mind is this:
Nothing ever gets annihilated completely.
Ever.
There is always a speck that's alive.
A speck from which life will begin all over again.

Day 146

It was a posh resort. And in the lobby was a beautiful table arrangement. Few marbles, shells and flowers in a glass jar. Simple and eye-catching. I am sure the designer or decorator must've charged the owners a small packet for that arrangement.

I sat there looking at it for a long time. Bathed in the evening rays of the sun it was mesmerizing. It brought back memories of yore. When my mother taught me to make such beautiful things out of simple things. Things that you didn't have to spend a lot of money on.

"Creativity does not come out of daddy's purse. It comes out of your head," she used to say. "Moreover daddy's purse is awfully small, it cannot hold much creativity in there. Whereas your head, that's a different matter altogether. There is a lot of storage space for a lots of ideas. And you already have a lot of ideas stored in there. All you have to do is pull it out," she would say.

How? I would ask angrily. "I cannot see anything inside my head."
"But I can," she'd smile. "And there are unimaginably beautiful things in there....lots."
"Then you take it out for me," I'd cry. I was just a child.
"No I can't. Only you can do that."
Again I would scream at the top of my voice. "But I cannot see it."
And I can still hear her voice. "I will teach you how to pull it out of your head. Close your eyes."
"But if I close my eyes, I cannot even see you." Yeah, i was a stubborn and sometimes stupid child.
"When you close your eyes. The eyes in your mind will open. And then you can see with your mind's eye. Clearly. It will lead you to all those beautiful ideas sitting inside your head. You can pull out the ones you want and work on it," she had said.

The first time she taught me to see with my mind's eye was when we were sitting on the Marina beach a place my parents took me to occasionally. And I had wanted them to buy me more than one shell-dolls.

That's when my mother pointed to the shells on the beach, numerous shells and said, "you can make a beautiful doll, yourself. Just close your eyes and open your mind's eye and you will see what you want to do and how to do it."

I still do practice pulling out ideas from my head by closing my eyes. It works always.

DAY 145

I heard a friend say, "Photographers should never use photoshop. It is not pure photography."

I disagree with the principle behind his thinking.

Why shouldn't people explore new things? Why shouldn't people accept new things? Why should they stick to the old and tested in order to be considered worthwhile?

Don't get me wrong - I am all for photographs being used as it is -straight from the camera. There are some photos of mine, which I hardly touch, except for maybe move the contrast slider a notch. Then there are photos that I turn completely on its head and do so till it matches the image in my head.

If we always stick to the tried and tested path then the universe will not expand ad we will not grow. Innovations and inventions happen because somebody wanted to do something differently from what's being done.

There is room for all.

I love this image simply because it tells me there are no boundaries or dos and dont's for experimentation and experiences in life.