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?