Thursday, 8 September 2016

The Non-Facebook Post #120

I need to write. I need to write when the cacophony of my thoughts whirring about in my head gets deafening. I need to write when the Creative Genius (ala Elizabeth Gilbert's talk) swoops in on me for a fleeting visit. I need to write when I need to think straight - to organize my thoughts, line them up and consider each turn by turn.
It's not you, it's Murphy - you only begin seeing the value of stuff when you no longer have it or have access to it. Back in the day, walking to the grocery lady's corner outdoor stall, walking to the bus stop to hop onto a bus that could connect you to practically any urban location in the city, walking to the neighbour's home were all precisely what I didn't want. It was a yearning for car ownership and driving abilities.
Now, I would happily give up car ownership to be in a place that afforded mass-transit connectivity.
That's just one of the realizing-I-wanted-it-after-I-lost-it instances. There are so many more - things, places, people. I forget half of them until life reminds me of one of them. There are also those that are too personal and too hurtful to willingly want to remember.
I haven't written in a very long time. It takes inspiration to want to write. It also takes courage to want to write and bare once more the soul behind your person. And to accept the dichotomy that you're writing for yourself as well as for another to read. It's meditation and performance all at the same time.
There. It all comes down to Rilke's 'living in the questions' but also some Zen 'living in the now.'
Like Kerouac always guides me, "if you don't say what you want, what is the sense of writing?" I've said all I want, for now.

Monday, 7 December 2015

The Non-Facebook Post #119

The answer to a question that's been trying to take form in my head:
"Humanity needs dreams to be able to survive the miseries of daily existence, even if only for an instant." (Niemeyer)
And, the question?
Well, it was clear in my head at eleven last night when I had a 'writing emergency' (a spin on 'poem emergency' that the 9-yr old oft mentioned in these posts invented). To be able to get enough sleep to get to work this morning, I hushed the question. Now, it's gone - like a well-defined shape Gandalf might have puffed out as he sat smoking that's in a hurry to dissolve into nothingness.
Key ideas from that question linger though. A young, hopeful, naive me saw my dreams shining in glowing sunset clouds from the 'terrace' of 'home' every evening with my cup of chai and biscuits. I guess I thought time stretched on forever, frozen.
Here's my motto as it was stuck to my grad school folder:
Now, there's a new jaded realization that's trying to take hold in my head - dreams and their finitude.
Do we factor in time when we dream? Probably not. Dreams are about what can be. There's an inherent intangibility in them.
What happens when it's too late? You are close to achieving those dreams - halfway there - but the context within which you envisioned those dreams reaching fruition is not the same.
More questions.
It is difficult to "have patience with all that remains unsolved in your heart", Rilke.

Friday, 11 September 2015

The Non-Facebook Post #118

"Write about things that make you cry." - Badhwar

Writing is my heart center. It connects me to me, like exercise and yoga.

Some days the words come out all wrong. A mass of jumbled mess like the muddled thinking that's producing them. "Think clearly to communicate clearly", says one of my favourite professors. Those are the kind of words, and phrases, and thoughts you'd like to erase, unwrite, unthink. 
Other days, the words come as easily as pearls on a string slide smoothly. These are the sentences, ideas, records of memory that time-stamp a portion of your life, that you like revisiting - to reacquaint yourself with the person you were then. 

Kerouac, you're still guiding me - "if you don't say what you want, what is the sense of writing?"

Yes, let's say, but with an "ask". Because isn't it good to ask? To question? 
Why do we question, though? To get an answer? Or to have our notion of an answer validated by framing the question so?
Are answers important? Can a discourse be entirely composed of questions? Can a question be answered with a question? 
Where do you want the questions to lead you? Do you want them to lead you somewhere?

But here's more meandering in the field of my thoughts. Because that's what I like doing best.

 A foggy memory surfaces to mind. As a child, rolling about on my bed one evening, I turned and lay on my back to stare at the ceiling to dream up  questions and fire the volley of them at my Dad. That felt like the right and important thing to do - to ask and ask and ask him questions. My Dad sat beside me and patiently answered every question I had for him. From all the questions I asked, the only one I remember now is, "why is the colour of the sky blue?" After I had exhausted myself or had found a distraction (TV, I guess), I did what kids do best - got up and ran away. And Dad did what Dads do best - went back to working on the task he had stopped midway for me.  




Monday, 7 September 2015

The Non-Facebook Post #117

There was once - 

'Yesssssssssss - that prolonged expression of accomplishment when you manage to drive in snow!
Nooooooooooo - that long shriek of dismay when you discover you lost one from the pair of your warmest North Face gloves on one of the coldest days of the year.
Yeah, yin and yang much.'




Now there is -

Sighhhhhhhhhh – that long release of exasperated breath when you and your GPS take about two hours to reach a one-mile destination. Well, at least it's a one-in-a-million feat!

"Continue on Alley."

"Which Alley, Precious?!"

Saturday, 4 July 2015

The Non-Facebook Post #116

"Have an epic love story."  - a charming 9-year old's farewell wishes to me before moving home to a new city.

Monday, 29 June 2015

The Non-Facebook Post #115

What does it mean to be a wallflower? What does it mean to have been a wallflower for most of your earthly existence?

A quick Google search throws up a few varieties of definition. Mostly, they state that a person who stands on the sidelines of a social gathering shyly, sometimes feeling awkward and excluded. They also state that such people, though being introverted and inward-focusing, still like seeking out social events and communication fairly regularly. The definition that I love the most comes from urbandictionary.com

                “A type of loner, seemingly shy folks who no one knows, often some of the most interesting people if one actually talks to them.”

Urban dictionary’s collaborative format allows users to contribute their definitions of terms. Thus, wallflower’s definition on this website spans the spectrum of being shy, introverted, observer rather than doer, someone who desires social activity but is unable to participate because of personality traits. Some users also define a wallflower as being unpopular and so getting left out of social events and group gatherings.

I identify as a wallflower. So, what’s my take on being a wallflower? Well, for as far back as I can remember, I have memories of being the silent, quiet one when surrounded by people. I don’t know if it was a lack of self-confidence, or low self-esteem, or shyness, or introversion or all of these that held me back from diving into social liveliness.

What has that come to mean? I have had friends few and far between – none, early on, and countable on my fingers, later on in my existence. I have never taken the initiative to form bonds and relationships. The few friendships I have had have been because my friends took the time to seek me out, the patience to understand me, and then show graciousness in becoming my friends. However, these few countable friendships have turned out to be friendships for life for me. I have now come to understand that my bonds of friendship are rarely formed to be flippant. They mostly have deep meaning and value in my life.

Why these ramblings on wallflowering into social non-existence though? My life seems to have taken a U-turn in the context of my social connections. I now find that I actually use social media and messaging apps to keep up with my friends. This has been a very recent occurrence. And, it surprises me. It surprises the wallflower part of me. It isn’t like I have a thousand friends and connections now but they are more – significantly more – than what I have been used to having my whole life. And these conversations that i now have with friends and connections spread across the globe truly astounds me. So it is true - you can grow, and grow by leaps and bounds. And those leaps and bounds are only relative to you, no one else.

Yeah, wallflowers do desire friends and dance partners and connections – I have to agree with that variant of definition on urbandictionary. To be able to forge connections that really matter, that I have wanted to be a part of my life more than anything else – I have stepped out of my wallflower comfort zone. I did, “put myself out there” and I think I am “rockstar” for it!


Here’s to Kerouac – “if you don’t say what you want, what is the sense of writing?”
And to Natasha Badhwar, “Writing connects the stories. The writing brain is usually not the social self. It’s slower and smarter. Writing forces me to understand and unravel, rather than judge.
Write long enough and one begins to see one’s reflection on the page. As if the light has shifted and transformed the screen into a mirror. Writing reveals us to ourselves…
Writing is the beginning of brave…”

Here’s also to being a braver wallflower.




Thursday, 25 June 2015

The Non-Facebook Post #113

So, it’s summer. Do you know what’s happening in parking lots? There’re these empty stretches of parking spots and then suddenly a huddling of cars under tree-shaded medians. Four lucky cars get to be cool on parallel sides of medians shaded by trees. The other cars? Well, they get sauna-like so maybe they’re helping you sweat out toxins?
There’re also these summer parking-spot wars that are playing out. In a parking lot shaded by smaller trees like Zelkovas that are planted few and far between, the eastern-facing spots fill up first. Everyone can take a little morning sun. It’s the afternoon sun you want to be shielded from.
Parking-lot ramblings. (Because, beginning to drive brings about this whole higher-level of driving and parking consciousness.)

Blessings, Magic and Beauty

  As I lay here in a darkened bedroom with my little fairy sleeping on me, my mind wanders to this time last year and the months that follow...