Most people propagate that we should love others, be compassionate towards others, be kind to others etc. Religious books, parents, gurus, teachers, self-prophesied gyanis and the likes of them always preach love others. But then why doesn't anyone say that we should also love ourselves. We should in fact be completely in love with ourselves because if we don't do that then how can we ever love anyone else...
It's raining, the weather is absolutely wonderful and I feel blissful...I am loving myself totally...
I am enjoying myself...my solitude and I am completely at peace with myself...
For a change I am not bothered about writing in correct English or trying to think the right kind of expressive words or worry about my vocabulary.
I just feel happy and loved....I wish I could give myself a hug...a tight hug. ;)
Monday, September 13, 2010
Sunday, September 5, 2010
The majestic flight
The majestic flight of birds is a sight to watch. A flock of pigeons fly together in a circle and do present a magnificent site. They look as synchronized as professional dance troupe would look while performing. While handling the rigors of life we usually ignore the bounties that nature has bestowed on us. There are too many pigeons around my house and every morning I see them perched on a rooftop or enjoying a short flight. However, they always return as they have marked their territories that they call home.
As a child I remember, there used to be a pigeon that lived on our windowsill. One day a cat came and killed the pigeon's offspring and there was spurt of blood all over the window. We thought the pigeon will leave and go and search for a new home, however, we were surprised when she returned and again made her new nest at the very same place that the cat had destroyed.
Will the cynics say the pigeon was foolish or brave?
As a child I remember, there used to be a pigeon that lived on our windowsill. One day a cat came and killed the pigeon's offspring and there was spurt of blood all over the window. We thought the pigeon will leave and go and search for a new home, however, we were surprised when she returned and again made her new nest at the very same place that the cat had destroyed.
Will the cynics say the pigeon was foolish or brave?
You matter
Who is you? According to world English Dictionary you is a pronoun and 'refers to the person addressed or to more than one person including the person or persons addressed but not including the speaker.'
According to dictionary.com, the two most common and popular searches include I love you and I hate you...
Two sentences that create turmoil in each and every individual's life. However, in reality how many times does one think of the you and not of the I. Even in these two sentences the stress is more on the 'I' than on the 'YOU'. 'I hate' and 'I love', without giving a thought to what the other person many feel or want.
Anyways coming back to 'you'. Technically the word refers to a person, however, even god can be you. One always addresses god as you especially when one is busy praying or rather asking for tons of favors. You did not do this or you are heartless or lost all faith in you....You becomes the all powerful word when it comes to blaming, accusing or belittling someone else. However, once the favors or wishes come true, one goes back to saying God you are great, God you are wonderful...
Accuse you at the same time praise you...depending on the situation or circumstance existing at that particular moment....
But seldom any one takes out the time to say you matter...When addressing to god the only sentence one should say is you matter, you are everything...instead pleading, begging or getting angry is what most resort to.
The same is the case with human relationships irrespective of whatever form it is in. You seems to appear completely insignificant...Whether it is between a parent and a child, between spouses, friends or family relatives. You matter or you count or it is about you are hardly ever thought about. You doesn't count at all...If only you was given as much prominence as 'I', life would have been less complicated...
According to dictionary.com, the two most common and popular searches include I love you and I hate you...
Two sentences that create turmoil in each and every individual's life. However, in reality how many times does one think of the you and not of the I. Even in these two sentences the stress is more on the 'I' than on the 'YOU'. 'I hate' and 'I love', without giving a thought to what the other person many feel or want.
Anyways coming back to 'you'. Technically the word refers to a person, however, even god can be you. One always addresses god as you especially when one is busy praying or rather asking for tons of favors. You did not do this or you are heartless or lost all faith in you....You becomes the all powerful word when it comes to blaming, accusing or belittling someone else. However, once the favors or wishes come true, one goes back to saying God you are great, God you are wonderful...
Accuse you at the same time praise you...depending on the situation or circumstance existing at that particular moment....
But seldom any one takes out the time to say you matter...When addressing to god the only sentence one should say is you matter, you are everything...instead pleading, begging or getting angry is what most resort to.
The same is the case with human relationships irrespective of whatever form it is in. You seems to appear completely insignificant...Whether it is between a parent and a child, between spouses, friends or family relatives. You matter or you count or it is about you are hardly ever thought about. You doesn't count at all...If only you was given as much prominence as 'I', life would have been less complicated...
Nothing at all
I have lost the willingness to write. There are times when your mind goes blank and that's how I feel today. I don't feel the need to say something. I just noticed in these three sentences I have mention I at least five times. Wow, that shows my obsession with myself. Can I write a blog which does not have a single I. No I and no Me and no Mine and no We!!!
Monday, January 25, 2010
A short story without a title!!!
Tired and exhausted I step into the home to smell the wafting aromas of my favorite hot and sour vegetable soup being prepared by my mother. The tangy and spicy aroma fills my nostrils as I put down my laptop bag to drink a glass of water. My mother eagerly tells me about all the favorite dishes she has prepared for me on this special day.
I look up at her and catch the conflicting emotions of hope and despondency in her eyes. She coerces me to have a bowl of soup and before I can relegate that to a later moment, a bowl of hot steaming soup is immediately placed on my lap.
The temptation of tasting the soup overrides the need of freshening up. I succumb to it and hungrily bring the spoon near my lips.
My mother looks at me expectantly. Something stops me. I look at my mother and I hesitantly blow at it before tasting a spoonful of it. The spicy tanginess of the soup lingers on while it traverses through my food pipe to my stomach.
It warms my insides and refreshes my mind and immediately brings to focus haunting memories of this very same day that transports me to a year back. My mother who can’t wait to hear my verdict breaks my reverie with the past and I nod my head in affirmation.
I absentmindedly swirl the brown colored soup in the bowl and watch the pieces of the finely chopped vegetables go haywire in all directions. This simple act immediately conjures images in my mind of a man swirling a spoon in a saucepan and eagerly waiting for the broth to change color and come to a boil.
I am brought back to the present with the whiff of the steaming noodles set before me. I look up at my mom once more to see her gazing at me with a reassuring look that everything is going to be all right. She has always believed a good hearty meal of can do wonders to one’s body and soul. This is her way to reach out to me and comfort me through the one thing she knows best.
I gently look at her while she coerces me to try her special Hakka noodles. The tempting aroma and the colorful maize of vegetables over the fried noodles whet my appetite. An appetite, I had not realized had existed till a moment ago.
Not the one to openly display my feelings, I look at my mum, while she lovingly serves some noodles on a plate and hands it to me.
She chatters away animatedly on her trip to the market to buy the various ingredients probably in an effort to camouflage the one horrible incident that has changed our lives forever.
I take from her the plate and look at the colorful display. It manages to warm my heart, a bit.
The delicious aroma brings a tingling sensation to my mouth. I can’t help but take the first spoonful into my mouth.
It tastes delicious as I can feel the raw crunchiness of the carrots, cabbage and spring onions and the spicy taste of the noodles. The lure of the taste buds tempts me to grab another mouthful.
Before I do that, for a fleeting moment, my mind once again travels through the space of time of that poignant day…
He knew Chinese was my favorite cuisine and couldn’t wait to give me a surprise. He had been preparing for it for two months by attending a cookery class.
One who had never ever boiled an egg was now busy in the kitchen playing with the aromas, textures and colors of the ingredients oblivious to the disaster that was counting the seconds to close in upon him.
I am brought to the present with a jolt. My tongue stings with the bite of a green chilly and invariably the tears that I had controlled throughout the day come rolling down.
The chilies were an omen waiting to unleash the barrage of emotions that I had managed to keep it locked inside.
The dam broke!
Tears came running down fast and furious, angry and uncontrollable.
The hot bowl of soup that I had gulped down made me feel woozy and burnt my throat as I kept on choking and crying.
My mother came to my side and immediately took me in her arms.
The bowl of soup lying next to me on the table mirrored the soup in the saucepan that had boiled over and the remnant of it was splashed all over the kitchen slab.
The noodles on my plate reminded me of the whiteness of the boiled noodles that had been kept aside to be cooked.
The kitchen danced in front of me. The tragic scene of that day played and replayed in my head.
Silently, like a thief, a short circuit induced fire had pildered in and the man in the kitchen had no chance.
The kitchen disappeared. His charred body stared at me. Only the wafting aromas of the food brought me back to the present.
Tears singed my face. I clung to my mother. She cried for me. And held me close, hushing me like I was a small baby.
Time passed. I had stopped crying. The tears now would not come.
I could only stare at the magnificent aromatic soup and the brilliantly white noodles peppered with vegetables of all colors.
Something like a smile struck my lips.
Noodles and Soup; my most favorite dish!
I look up at her and catch the conflicting emotions of hope and despondency in her eyes. She coerces me to have a bowl of soup and before I can relegate that to a later moment, a bowl of hot steaming soup is immediately placed on my lap.
The temptation of tasting the soup overrides the need of freshening up. I succumb to it and hungrily bring the spoon near my lips.
My mother looks at me expectantly. Something stops me. I look at my mother and I hesitantly blow at it before tasting a spoonful of it. The spicy tanginess of the soup lingers on while it traverses through my food pipe to my stomach.
It warms my insides and refreshes my mind and immediately brings to focus haunting memories of this very same day that transports me to a year back. My mother who can’t wait to hear my verdict breaks my reverie with the past and I nod my head in affirmation.
I absentmindedly swirl the brown colored soup in the bowl and watch the pieces of the finely chopped vegetables go haywire in all directions. This simple act immediately conjures images in my mind of a man swirling a spoon in a saucepan and eagerly waiting for the broth to change color and come to a boil.
I am brought back to the present with the whiff of the steaming noodles set before me. I look up at my mom once more to see her gazing at me with a reassuring look that everything is going to be all right. She has always believed a good hearty meal of can do wonders to one’s body and soul. This is her way to reach out to me and comfort me through the one thing she knows best.
I gently look at her while she coerces me to try her special Hakka noodles. The tempting aroma and the colorful maize of vegetables over the fried noodles whet my appetite. An appetite, I had not realized had existed till a moment ago.
Not the one to openly display my feelings, I look at my mum, while she lovingly serves some noodles on a plate and hands it to me.
She chatters away animatedly on her trip to the market to buy the various ingredients probably in an effort to camouflage the one horrible incident that has changed our lives forever.
I take from her the plate and look at the colorful display. It manages to warm my heart, a bit.
The delicious aroma brings a tingling sensation to my mouth. I can’t help but take the first spoonful into my mouth.
It tastes delicious as I can feel the raw crunchiness of the carrots, cabbage and spring onions and the spicy taste of the noodles. The lure of the taste buds tempts me to grab another mouthful.
Before I do that, for a fleeting moment, my mind once again travels through the space of time of that poignant day…
He knew Chinese was my favorite cuisine and couldn’t wait to give me a surprise. He had been preparing for it for two months by attending a cookery class.
One who had never ever boiled an egg was now busy in the kitchen playing with the aromas, textures and colors of the ingredients oblivious to the disaster that was counting the seconds to close in upon him.
I am brought to the present with a jolt. My tongue stings with the bite of a green chilly and invariably the tears that I had controlled throughout the day come rolling down.
The chilies were an omen waiting to unleash the barrage of emotions that I had managed to keep it locked inside.
The dam broke!
Tears came running down fast and furious, angry and uncontrollable.
The hot bowl of soup that I had gulped down made me feel woozy and burnt my throat as I kept on choking and crying.
My mother came to my side and immediately took me in her arms.
The bowl of soup lying next to me on the table mirrored the soup in the saucepan that had boiled over and the remnant of it was splashed all over the kitchen slab.
The noodles on my plate reminded me of the whiteness of the boiled noodles that had been kept aside to be cooked.
The kitchen danced in front of me. The tragic scene of that day played and replayed in my head.
Silently, like a thief, a short circuit induced fire had pildered in and the man in the kitchen had no chance.
The kitchen disappeared. His charred body stared at me. Only the wafting aromas of the food brought me back to the present.
Tears singed my face. I clung to my mother. She cried for me. And held me close, hushing me like I was a small baby.
Time passed. I had stopped crying. The tears now would not come.
I could only stare at the magnificent aromatic soup and the brilliantly white noodles peppered with vegetables of all colors.
Something like a smile struck my lips.
Noodles and Soup; my most favorite dish!
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Blame Game - Our favorite pastime!!!
A six year old kid comes back from school with her book missing and a torn classwork copy. Her mother inquires from her on how did this happen and the quick retort she gets to hear, "My classmate took away my book and tore off my copy." The mum rushes to the school next day to give a piece of her mind to the teacher and realizes her precious little daughter lied since she herself was responsible for that minor mishap.
Story 2
A student appearing for her final exams is unable to finish the paper on time and comes out and tells her parents, the teacher took away the paper before time because the teacher never had a liking for her. So obviously she couldn't complete the paper and didn't do too well. The parents blame the teacher for their daughter's failure...
Story 2
A young man gets a new job, works for couple of months and then gets kicked out. He goes out spreading the rumour that the whole team along with the management got together and threw him out. But not for once does he peep into his conscience and analyze that in those past couple of months he was hardly ever productive and used to cringe and crib for being told to handle all kinds of tasks. He never worked and hence others managed to reach far ahead of him. Instead he took comfort by patronizing his ego and making his family and himself belief that injustice was done to him.
Story 3
Any number of terrorists attacks and the end of it, what happens, the government blames the police, the police blames the army and the army blames the government. Round and round goes the circle of blame game. People who have lost their loved ones are made to see this silly circus over and over again. Each time an attack happens, promises are made to be broken even before the ashes of the dead has cooled down...
Why? Why time and again we try to save our hinds or massage our bloated egos by blaming others for our follies. Isn't it time that we grew up and took responsibility for our actions. Isn't it time enough that we taught our kids it is okay to make mistakes, but what's more important is to take responsibility for that mistake, learn from it and try and not commit the same mistake again.
When will we realize that we are not perfect and that all of us have weaknesses and can make mistakes, but instead of owning up to them, we behave like complete sissies and put the blame on someone else.
I wonder when will there be an end to this vicious circle of passing on the blame????
When will we actually become bold enough and stand up and admit to our follies?
When will we turn into individuals who are not afraid to own up to their weaknesses??
Monday, April 27, 2009
An elusive dream
I just chanced upon this phrase 'An elusive dream' and decided to make it a title for a blog. However, right now I am at a loss of that specific thread of thought which made me think of this particular phrase...
Maybe I will come back later and write something as poetic or lyrically beautiful as the title itself...
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