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A blank post!

It takes a bucket full of adrenaline and a head full of randomness to sit down and type out a post when you would rather be sitting at Marine Drive,conjuring images of sea horses, dashing against the dome shaped rocks, scattered all around, in order to give an impression of randomness. However for the lack of like minded company, I sit down to write, with nothing particular in mind. For the past half hour, I have been wondering what to do. Whether to read the half a dozen books I purchased out of sheer curiosity and temptation and never got the time to read, or whether to plug in my earphones, lie down on my bed and daydream or rather night dream, if that can be a word at all!

Its 1.28 am and I can hear the distinct sound of raindrops crashing down on the rooftop with ceaseless vehemence. It’s been the same since evening. Water, in all forms, can either anger you or act as a soothing agent; a calming influence, which in all probability, makes you drown in the deluge of thoughts, of past occurrences, of memories- often buried and never shoveled out.

Am I religious? Perhaps not. Am I spiritual? Very much indeed. The how and why of it unearths itself in layers, bit by bit, inch by inch. I have a deep connect with a certain genre of things. I converse with characters in books; for me they are as real as the Supreme Power is. I converse with the choppy waters; in as engaging a manner in which I would perhaps meditate. This deep connect goes way beyond the idolation that one has for forms of stone or clay, without demeaning the respect attached to the same.

To plonk myself in front of an endless body of water is what I wish to do now. To dream and dream as infinitely as the stretch of the sea is how I imagine myself at this point in time. This piece of verse is dedicated to the morbid obsession I have with water, in any form.

“The azure heaven stretches into oblivion
And merges into your being
As seamlessly and as ceaselessly it could
Empowering you with a vengeance of sorts
To swamp the outlines of a human mind
To delineate joys and sorrows alike

You have been blessed by the Almighty
With the power to induce hideous tears and to bring about a surge of joy
To make the human kind dream
To make them soar high into the sky
To make them crash as smithereens on to rough ground

I unburden my heart, full of woes and take shelter in your bosom
Accept me as a lover would
In the throes of unbridled, passionate love
Adopt me as a mother would
As your blood, as your bones

For you shall throttle my spirit
In jilt and desertion
For I shall have nowhere to go
Neither to cry, neither to laugh”

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My Google, My Life!

“I don’t want to go to school”, said a bawling 3 year old.
“I will take you down and then if you do not like it, we will come back”, said a loving, reassuring voice in response. And off they went in a white old ambassador, with a mouse trap securely placed at the rear end of the car, the rat scratching the wooden cage, trying to break free.
The multi colored Ravalgon mithai (sweetmeats) were religiously kept in a military green colored tin cupboard. They were replaced with utmost sincerity once out of stock.
The teak leaves were ceremoniously picked, so that the deer in the park had their fill through the net like structure, visibly enlarged at equidistant points.
Both of them waited outside the temple with a book in hand, reading away, on every Monday & Saturday, waiting for the better half to offer her prayers, talk to the beggar alongside and walk back with her black and white colored stick.
He fondly called her “Fatty, fatty, bum bullati”.
He was open to the millions of questions she had on every topic under the sun. He introduced her to the world of mashed potatoes and boiled eggs, bacon & ham, Blyton & Dickens.
He took her along to book fairs and he took her down his childhood almost at the drop of a hat. The gong at breakfast, the rickshaw rides down to college, the endearing story of his village born-scientist turned father and his God fearing, superstitious mother , the amusing anecdotes and funny Odiya poems….all of it turned her into a deep rooted individual.
He never rebuked any of what she dreamt, no matter how outlandish it was or how far fetched others thought it to be. He loved her and carried her around proudly in a white fairy ensemble in his son’s marriage. He fought against kin to prove her merit. He believed in her to a degree, she found difficult to fathom even in her wildest dreams.
He taught her how to drive. He sat beside her till 12 in the night when she was studying and woke her up at 4 again. He had tears in his eyes when she achieved what she dreamt of.
He spoke to her about her love, the importance of a partner who completes you in more ways than one, the much debated pre marital sex and the work life balance. He understood her more than her erstwhile partner did.
He never belittled her when she wanted to take a trip around the country in a bike, inspired by Che. He knew it will pass, just as she did. All she wanted was someone to understand how precious the thought was. He did.
She would wake him up at 3 am to talk, about nothing significant. He was more than willing to. She was stifled. He knew it. She was hurt. He knew it.
He opened up to her in a manner he previously never did. She knew how exactly it felt.
He sat down on the black side handle of the bed and cursed the cricket players for playing in a slipshod fashion. She smiled.
He functioned like clockwork. She thought punctuality was passé.
He was her soulmate. She was his life.
He was 80.She was 22.

This post is dedicated to my grandfather for loving me unconditionally, for being the non judgmental person he is and for making me the person I am.Love you beyond measure, Baba.

 
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Posted by on January 9, 2011 in Baba

 

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