To Families and Familiarities, and Friends and Festivities

So I’ve been thinking what I can blog about, and have mulled over numerous ideas, none of which have attracted me enough to take my pen to paper...ummm type to document (Aside: I’d love to write on paper and automatically have it transferred to my blog!). Then I thought how about using my blog like a journal (sort of...a monthly one maybe...the retrospective type...we shall see!) until I find something more interesting to write about.

I’ve just returned from my month-long trip to India, where I was visiting family. Since I’ve managed to settle back in to my life as I know it but I’m still reminiscing my trip, it’s probably a good idea to pen down my ramblings about the trip.

It’s funny how the place where you’ve spent most of your life begins to feel strange in a matter of months. That’s the oddity I was battling from the moment I boarded the final flight to India. It was almost like my senses had grown extra sensitive. Walking out of the airport and finding an eager happy face (that’s my f-i-l) waiting makes you feel that these familiar faces are what make all oddities worth it.

The first couple of days were spent in Mumbai (where the husband hails from) eating and sleeping, unknowingly preparing for some very frantic days ahead. Soon we headed to Kolkata and directly dove into the action. There were events galore. Birthday parties, dinner invitations, numerous drinks with a friend who had just been jilted, catch up with old buddies, and so on. Thanks to Jay’s upselling of my culinary skills, I had to spend a good amount of time in the kitchen too!

The highlights of the trip...

Sports Day at the local church, where Jay and I were dragged into participating in the couples’ race to the finish line while balancing a wee balloon between us. Quite hilarious! The sports were followed by entertainment, when I felt like a proud mother hen as I watched my little niece and nephews, including the 4-month old addition, enacting the nativity play. No points for guessing who Baby Jesus was.

My BFF’s bridal shower – the readings on the mischief-o-meter were satisfying! It was complete with making the bride-to-be feel special, good food and drinks, games, gifts of lingerie, naughty advices, and our very own drag queens (Where did we find them? If I ever let that out, I’m dead meat!). By the end of the event, my BFF looked happy. That’s all that matters in the end.

A day trip to show my parents around Jay’s city. They did manage to see a couple of landmarks and eat at one of the popular eateries. However, what they experienced was the true essence of a Mumbaikar’s life – the numerous hours spent in traffic.

Jay’s mate’s wedding and celebrations surrounding it. It was great to be able to meet friends and acquaintances who have known Jay for donkey’s year but being told umpteen times that Jay is a good catch can be quite annoying! But the wedding was fun nonetheless.

Christmas and New Years were family affairs; contrasting ones for that matter. It was a quiet relaxing Christmas with Jay’s family and a loud party-rocking New Years with mine. The whirlwind of activities, and the couple of trips between the two cities thrown into the mix, kept us on our toes. Then all of a sudden, a wonderful month was over, and we were packing our bags again.

It was a lovely trip and nothing compares to seeing family and friends. We were sad to leave but it was also nice to be back in NZ... from home to home. Two homes...damn, I’m lucky!

Remains...

She needed no words -
The world read it in her eyes,
And he... heard it in her silence.
Between each breath waited a little love song
With tiny wings, ready for flight.
The milkyway smiled down
Upon the conversation of twinkling eyes
And fragrant familiarity.

And when the last twinkles were spoken,
And the last fragrance surrendered,
The world glimpsed it in her eyes,
And she... felt it in his silence.
He veiled it, she nurtured it;
They brought forth pain.
Blended with a larger potion of truth,
They consumed the bitter antidote for love
And waited...

To be consumed by the bitterness...they waited!
To cheer love's death...they waited!
Reluctantly...they waited!
But...the lees of love remained.

A writer… am I?

Almost 7 years in writing… non-fictional writing, commercial writing, and even technical writing. What has it done to the writer in me?

• The muse has forsaken me and my creativity has almost dried up.


• Where writing was the thing to do whenever I had time, now I have to make New Year resolutions (which are mostly made to be broken) for indulging in creative writing more often.


• Writing has become more about “Will the readers like it?” and less about “This is what I’ve been thinking.”


• Even on platforms as informal as a blog or a tweet, I find it difficult to abandon the stiff-necked capitalization, punctuation and formal tone. I have even stuck to standards in using a bulleted list for this post and not a numbered one!


• And, I feel compelled to write a conclusion and make this post sound complete. But just for the sake of defiance, I will not conclude…
  

P.S.: I have typed this out in MS Word, I’m now reviewing it, and I’m even contemplating on getting a second opinion, before I post it on my blog!

My Hi-Five this 2012

They say New Year’s resolutions are meant to be broken. I agree. Yet… what the heck! Let me just go ahead and make a few resolutions this New Year. Even if I stick to them for a day, I will have gained. So, here are my hi-five for 2012:

1. Focus on Fitness: No, I don’t mean slimming down. All I mean is staying fit. At the end of a hectic day of work, when I have an offer to party, I should be able to say, “Bring it on!” And, if good shape and skateboard abs come with the package, why not? Who knows, I might just reward myself with a pierced belly button ;)

2. Pledge against procrastination: “Later…” has been my pet word for years now. This New Year I want to be good to myself and spare myself of the eleventh hour rush and anxiety. I can already hear numerous You kidding mes. Well, ‘Pledge against procrastination’ may sound too strong but I can definitely try (with a weak smile).

3. Write a lot: And not just at work. Being a technical writer, does not really leave me with much option to do otherwise. But I need to write more beyond work. My poorly-maintained blog and a few stray scraps do not say much about my passion for writing. So, oh keyboard get ready to be beaten and oh 2012 get ready to be blogged!

4. Read more: Gooey romances such as Mills & Boons don’t count. I need to do some worthwhile reading. Since I love reading, this should not require too much effort. But finding time is the key!

5. Learn 1 foreign language, 1 dance form and 1 musical instrument: This sounds like more than one resolution. But I guess it’s manageable. I do not need to be an expert but I should be able to complete the basic level for each of these. I’m already learning German, will soon start learning Jive and I know my Do Re Mi on the guitar. Looks like I’m all set to achieve this one.

I just realized that this can be my first blog entry for 2012, and that goes a long way in saying that I’m serious about resolution #3. But hey I’m serious about the others too. OMG! If I stick to my resolutions this year, I will be almost perfect! So, folks wish me luck.

The Lasts...

The last time we embraced... I didn't want to let you go.
The last time we kissed... I didn't want to let go.
The last time we met... I didn't want to go.
The last... I didn't want...

Impressions...

The streetlights, the headlights, a pothole full of rain…
She looks on; she looks through a misty window pane.
She moves on, yet not so. Her body carries on…
She waits there, she stands still, her soul cannot go on.

His eyes that speak, his fragrant breath, his racing heart does stay,
If fate lines meet when fingers entwine, can destinies go astray?

She has seen him go, knows he’s gone, watched him walk away.
Mere impressions yet so real; she feels his presence every day.
For one last time she yearns to hear him call her name…
…not the last time she wonders, ‘Does he feel the same?’

Creative juices seasoned with Terror

I opened the window for a dose of the cool evening draft. Strains of soft music filled my ears. I smiled contentedly. Perfect setting for the perfect little poem! I concentrated on the white paper and the black lines that crossed it evenly. They always seem to have a mild intoxicating effect. The creative juices were flowing.

Bang! Before I could emerge from my state of physical inactivity and regain my active agility, it happened again. Another bang! I ran to the balcony fearfully expecting to catch glimpse of a couple of coolly clad lads clutching onto some intimidating machines and threatening a crouching mass of innocent and fear-wrought victims. The bangs repeated irregularly but incessantly.

A proper scrutiny revealed a carpenter’s shop at the end of the road with the poor old carpenter hammering away joyfully at his fabrication. I retraced my footsteps in a quick desperate attempt to recapture the moment of creativity and penned down a couple of words in red… words that had been forced to make quick exits by the ‘poor old carpenter’, a few minutes back.

As a part of some universal conspiracy, my traitor pen refused to form alphabets, or for that matter refused to leave any mark on the ‘white paper and the black lines that crossed it evenly’. Unwilling to succumb to such plots, I jerked the conspiring red pen in a violent sweeping movement. The white paper turned nearly-red with big blots of red ink all over. The sight had done its mischief. I made a futile effort to wipe away the blots but all it did was to paint my hands red.

A sense of nausea made me rush to the basin and here I faced myself in the mirror. I saw someone I didn’t quite know. Was this the face of Terror? But, again, did Terror know tears of remorse that I saw in the eyes of the person in the mirror?

The last two weeks post 26/11 had left an indelible mark on my mind. Terror had diseased my mental faculties and was taking a toll on my sensibilities. Terror had struck at a geographical location more than two thousand kilometers away and here I was sitting in my room, feeling guilty for being safe, feeling responsible for innocent deaths, sensing the lurking presence of death somewhere near.

I have not lighted a candle nor have I mourned in black. I have, however, uttered a silent prayer for the ones who lost their lives, for the ones who survived and for all of us so that we never know what it is to die a terrorized death. Now, as I sit scribbling this feverishly, I realize what it is to be served a chalice of creative juices seasoned with Terror.

N.B.: This was written in December 2008. It is being posted now as a homage to all those who lost something on 26/11, a date that changed more than just history.