One - Richard Bach

I just read this book yesterday and wanted to share my thoughts here.

The experience of One was a mixture of relief and restlessness within me. Relief because, I have always wondered if it is possible that we are all the same. I have read in several texts and I do truly believe that we are all from the same source and essentially One. The whole concept of time and place is just an illusion. So, I could be Hitler's reincarnated soul, or Gandhi. I can also be you and you can be me. Basically, there is no clear border as to where I end and you begin, if at all we do. I was relieved that someone has also thought about it and written about it. So, I'm not insane after all!

Then the skeptical part of my brain asked - what about the actual boundaries that we do see. Like, I know where by body ends and where the chair begins. What about that. Then I thought of conditioning. When we are born, we come into this world with different levels of sensations and the ability to feel, see, hear and experience many things. Slowly, our parents, teachers and society conditions us to only feel, see, hear or experience certain things which they approve and accept. Hearing voices from people other than those present in the room is disapproved and so on. So, due to conditioning, the human brain loses the ability to experience all that which was experienced before.

Just because an adult brain can not process the information, the adult eye can not see it, we can not deny its existence. What about all the microbs and bacteria that are only visible using a microscope. Parallel universe and the existence of a parallel self is hence acceptable. We can not deny just because we can not see it with the naked eye.

This whole experience of reading the book was like walking in a storm. So many questions and so many answers unfolding. Restlessness within me and all around me. I felt like I knew the answers to those, but I could not frame it into words in my head. It was the exact same feeling you have when you have the name of a movie at the tip of your tongue, but you don't remember it clearly. The nagging feeling in your chest.

Then I had this another weird thought. What if all this is an illusion? A dream. Could it be possible that what we think we dream is actually the reality and what we think is the reality just the dream? Also, could it be possible that all this is an imagination? Of someone? Is it possible that Earth does not exist at all? Nor does the universe or anything for that matter? Could it be possible that everything is nothing? P.S. I have tried to verbalize my questions here. But I still feel that I have not captured my feelings. Oh! the limitation of human language!

I rescued a human today.

(Taken from the internet. If it is copyrighted, please let me know so I can take it down.)

Her eyes met mine as she walked down the corridor peering apprehensively into the kennels. I felt her need instantly and knew I had to help her. I wagged my tail, not too exuberantly, so she 
wouldn't be afraid. As she stopped at my kennel I blocked her view from a little accident I had in the back of my cage. I didn't want her to know that I hadn't been walked today. Sometimes the shelter keepers get too busy and I didn't want her to think poorly of them. As she read my kennel card I hoped that she wouldn't feel sad about my past. I only have the future to look forward to and want to make a difference in someone's life. She got down on her knees and made little kissy sounds at me. I shoved my shoulder and side of my head up against the bars to comfort her. Gentle fingertips caressed my neck; she was desperate for companionship. A tear fell down her cheek and I raised my paw to assure her that all would be well. Soon my kennel door opened and her smile was so bright that I instantly jumped into her arms. I would promise to keep her safe. I would promise to always be by her side. I would promise to do everything I could to see that radiant smile and sparkle in her eyes. I was so fortunate that she came down my corridor. So many more are out there who haven't walked the corridors. 

So many more to be saved. At least I could save one. 

I rescued a human today.

Quite interesting and fo fun :)

You are The High Priestess

Science, Wisdom, Knowledge, Education.

The High Priestess is the card of knowledge, instinctual, supernatural, secret knowledge. She holds scrolls of arcane information that she might, or might not reveal to you. The moon crown on her head as well as the crescent by her foot indicates her willingness to illuminate what you otherwise might not see, reveal the secrets you need to know. The High Priestess is also associated with the moon however and can also indicate change or fluxuation, particularily when it comes to your moods.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

To Dogs & Cats

This is taken from the internet, author unknown.

Dear Dogs and Cats:

The dishes with the paw print are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. Please note, placing a paw print in the middle of my plate and food does not stake a claim for it becoming your food and dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.

The stairway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a racetrack. Beating me to the bottom is not the object. Tripping me doesn't help because I fall faster than you can run.

I cannot buy anything bigger than a king sized bed. I am very sorry about this. Do not think I will continue sleeping on the couch to ensure your comfort. Dogs and cats can actually curl up in a ball when they sleep. It is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I also know that sticking tails straight out and having tongues hanging out the other end to maximize your space is nothing but sarcasm.

For the last time, there is not a secret exit from the bathroom. If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, meow, and try to turn the knob or get your paw under the edge and try to pull the door open. I must exit through the same door I entered. Also, I have been using the bathroom for years -- canine or feline attendance is not required.

The proper order is kiss me, then go smell the other dog or cat. I cannot stress this enough.

To pacify you, my dear pets, I have posted the following message on our front door:

To All Non-Pet Owners Who Visit & Like to Complain About Our Pets:

1 They live here. You don't.
2. If you don't want their hair on your clothes, stay off the furniture.

(That's why they call it 'fur'niture.)

3. I like my pets a lot better than I like most people.

4. To you, it's an animal. To me, he/she is an adopted son/daughter who is short, hairy, walks on all fours and doesn't speak clearly.

Remember: In many ways, dogs and cats are better than kids because they:

1. Eat less

2. Don't ask for money all the time

3. Are easier to train

4. Normally come when called

5. Never ask to drive the car

6. Don't hang out with drug-using friends

7. Don't smoke or drink

8. Don't have to buy the latest fashions

9. Don't want to wear your clothes

10. Don't need a 'gazillion' dollars for college

And finally,

11. If they get pregnant by mistake, you can sell their children.

You Are Here...Am I?

With so much hype about the novel, You Are Here, I bought a copy to see what the noise was all about. I started reading about a few pages and instinctively I could hear the echo of various chick flicks, all strewn together in a massive obsessive-confessor style.

Girl gets dumped – career goes bad – suddenly life is falling apart – then the hottest boy turns up – falls not for the hot models in the party but for this poor little girl with her hair ever messed up and perennially smelling of coffee – sparks fly all over the place – they hook up. Sounds familiar? Well, that is all what this book is about.

The book starts with a girl – in a vey fancy event-management job recently dumped by her boyfriend. So typical of Hollywood movies, I thought. In Hollywood, the girl either has to be jobless and loveless in the beginning and suddenly finds herself in the most glamorous of the jobs - event management, Page-3 journalism, or invariably fashion. Sometimes, the girl is already in a fancy job but get dumped right at the start of the movie so that the entire 90 minutes can focus on how miserable her petite life is and how she meets this drop-dead gorgeous man and they live happily ever after.

This novel is no different. In a supposedly raunchy style, it takes off the same way. The girl is yet to get over the tragedy of being dumped and always finds the hottest boy in town to make out. In between, you will find flavours of humiliation and disaster in career, about how this middle-class girl wants to be the models or Page-3 society she works with and yet all the time cringing and whining about how miserable her life is.

If you grew up watching movies like Never Been Kissed and the other numerous high school movies that Hollywood has churned out, you will see the similarity here. Only that the hangout is not some fancy place but our very own Café Coffee Day and all other Indian spices garnished all around. Also the chapter titles are lifted directly from the episode titles of Private Practice – a popular American drama. They all start as ‘In which..’

Some of the descriptions want to be very bold and I-am-the-new-Indian-girl. Sadly, they wound but being vulgar and utterly unreadable. And the book is so typical that I wanted to vomit all over it. The same cycle everywhere you turn. Why are the girls always portrayed as vulnerable, utterly insecure, lacking confidence and the entire time craving for men? I you have read books that come out by the ‘Red Dress’ publication, you will know why I am disgusted.

I know this might come harsh, but it is such a shame that books like these sit next to the greatest works of literature such as Catcher in the Rye, God of Small Things. I was so temped to visit the book store and ask them to make a separate rack for filth like this.

Anyway, I think I have ranted enough. So my summary of the book – it is the story of a 26 year old teenager who forgot to grow up.

While travelling to work today, I saw the most heartless thing that was done to a calf. The milkman was crossing the road with his herd of cows and a few calves. The sight should have been perfectly normal and not have evoked any anger or shock in me. Except that the milkman had tied the calves' mouths with a rope so that they will not drink the milk!

Can you believe? Depriving the calf of the right to it's mother's milk when we are enjoying rasamalai and rasagulla here? Imagine being starved of food for days, when it is literally a stone's throw away. Would you do that to your child? How would you feel when someone made you suffer and also deprive your child of sustenance? Would you tolerate? Then can we tolerate this?

When you go get a glass of milk to day for your child, I want you to think about this. when you make yourself a warm cup of cappuccino, look back at what you just read. There are alternatives to milk that supply ample source of calcium. Soya milk is absolutelyt healthy and tastes delicious. You even get them in flavours like chocolate, strawberry, kesar-pista and so on. So, you don't even have to spend money on buying Bournevita or Milo for your kid that will not drink plain milk. Use rice milk, it is healthy and completely vegan!

Sacrifice or Succumbing?

Most often than not, we all use the word 'sacrifice'. We sacrifice our wants and desires for someone else. We give up our heart's call for nurturing someone else's and we hold back words and actions to pamper someone's ego. And we draw a blanket term for this - Sacrifice. Here is the truth about sacrifice - you do it so that you can stand on a pedestal and say 'Aha! I gave up my needs for you. I am the one who has been robbed of desires. I'm the Gandhi here, so you can't complain!'.

And the times we do give up things for someone else, it is succumbing to force. You do it because you need to do it. Else, risk abandonment, invite scorn and endless guilt. Women give up careers for husbands, children give up dreams for protecting their parents' financial security or family pride. Most often than not, people give up way too much in the name of relationships and adjustment.

How would you like to have no control over your life? How would it be to have the gears of your life under someone else's clutches? How would you like to be a puppet in someone's hands? I "sacrificing" or "succumbing" to force? Would I rather let someone live my life or would I take control? When you feel that you are succumbing to someone else's wishes and still can not break out of it, then it is easier to call it a sacrifice. And when you turn out to become a loser, this is probably your best defence. "You made me choose/do something I didn't want to. Obviously I sucked. I sacrificed for you and now my life is in a mess. So, YOU don't get to call me a loser!"

There is another theory to this mysterious act called sacrifice - fear. Yes, absolute fear for the unknown. I would again choose an easier way out, unconsciously choose someone who you know will not let you be what you what to and blame it all on them. Ha! What an amazingly easy way out! Want to be a poet but scared? Marry an illiterate drunkard construction worker with absolutely no sense for fineness and blame it all on him. Poor you!

On Thiruvakarai

I have always been drawn to the full moon, partly because my mother used to perform on the full moon to honor Goddess Durga. I remember staying up till midnight and performing the ritual. I thought of the smell of incense and camphor, my father ringing the bell and my mom showing the fire to the Goddess as an offering. She would then take the lamp and show it to the moon. We would then gather and chant for sometime. I felt extreme high energy while participating in the ritual.

I also remember that every year during the full moon in April, my mother and I used to visit a Kali temple in the outskirts of the city. It was quite deserted but I always felt at home there. There used to be huge gathering at the altar and people praying and chanting. Only women came there. It was not forbidden for men to come that night, but it somehow seemed like an unwritten rule. Men visited the temple often. But just that night, every year, they did not and left the entire temple to the women.

Sometimes, the extreme high energy even caused people to sing and dance and enter into a state of trance. Even though I was very young, I was hardly disturbed by this scene. It infact felt natural and at home. After the ritual, we stayed back at the temple, slept in the lawn and stared at the moon. That was the only time people were allowed to stay over night at temples, as it is usually forbidden.

I wonder where it all went, what happened to all that bonding, with family, with women and with the Deity. why did we distance ourselves so much? Why this change and why the shift. As primitive as this may sound, the dancing and chanting in the temple made me feel calm and relaxed. It was primitive. Barbaric, yes, but Divine. It is about surrendering yourself to the deity and to the Goddess. To the Life Force Energy. I wish if we could ever get it back.

What Is Love?

A question that I asked when I was meditating.

First, my mind thought of romantic love, as that is the context in which it is mostly used. I thought about my current relationship and examined the past ones. then I thought how romantic love is so overrated and how we need to mellow down a little.

Then I thought of why people love and need love. We love something because it reflects something about us or something that we wish we had. I love tigers because I'm known to be a very assertive person and I see that in tigers. I also like dogs a lot because I wish I had the quality of care and loyalty. I love their company and what they do to me. Hence, I love them.

This reason for why we love something or someone is probably the true reason for love. You love someone BECAUSE they give you something in return. No one will love someone who hurts you. You may convince yourself that you love your abuse partner. In truth, you are used to the person being around and you feel having someone is better than having none. You fear that your partner will leave you if you act like you don’t agree to their conditions. You restrict your freedom. But you say ‘I do this because I love you/ In truth you FEAR the thought of them leaving you. There is no love here, only fear.

Then I thought of Divine love. Most people fear the Deity, or ask for favors from the deity. The emotion involved here is fear and hope, not love. Children usually love their God/Goddess. When I was a child, I remember having conversations with Ganesh idol and even scolding him for my poor marks in exams. When you pass from the fear/hope level to seeing the Deity/Spirit/Divine in its purest and original form, you love. You no longer fear nor do you have wishes to present to your deity. All you have is love.

You can never love someone until you love all. This is my motto. Unless you love the various forms of the Deity and the formlessness, unless you love all in completion, you can never love any one single person in totality. Hence, when I say 'I love you' to my partner, I actually mean 'I love you, partially, love some things in you. But I also hate when you don't come for dinner on time, forget my birthday and so on'. Therefore, unless I come to love the other parts too, I can not love.

The Spirit is made up of everything. All of our cells, your partner, your neighbour, of that you the serial rapist and killer, of that of the dog that bit you yesterday and everything. If you hate the serial killer, the dog and if you are indifferent to your neighbour, you do not love the Spirit.  Therefore, you do not love your partner as he/she is an extension of the Spirit, of whose some parts you hate. 

I Make No Apologies

I make no apologies for what I am. I make no apologies for how I have become what I have. I am not sorry for you, your society, or your world. I am not even sorry for my own self. And therefore, I make no apologies, whatsoever.

People usually call life a rollercoaster ride. No, it is not. Rollercoaster is when you have ups and downs. Note the ‘ups’ in the ride. When there are no ups, it is a freefall all the way down. It is like bungee jumping, minus the ropes. So, in the end your head just smashes on the ground. Somewhat like what they call pink mist, tomato sauce and the like. Smashing is the ultimate. When you hit the ground, you know you have reached the end. You are either dead, or if you manage to stay alive, you have passed the toughest test of life.

But, what would you do when you never reach the end? When your head never ever smashes the ground? When you are forever falling and falling. It is like having tears in the brim of your eyes but never being able to let it out. Never being able to shed the emotions, the hurt and the pain. You just lock it up, snug it in your pocket and carry on with life. Tape a smile over your lips to seal yourself forever. Apply mascaras to cover the hurt in your eyes.

People often use the image of hollowness in your chest. It feels like you carry a weight around, but it is the weight of nothingness. Of emptiness and void. Like a hole in the universe, filled with nothing. And because you caused it, and because I accepted this, I make no apologies.

The Paradox of Choices

We spend half our lives complaining about how life does not give you choices. You do most of the things, you blame all your failures and unhappiness for the lack of choice. 'If only I had a choice' , 'But I had no choice' are the most common things that you will hear unhappy people say.

But what if you do have choices? Today, the urban youth has so many choices that one would not know what to do beyond a point. This becomes worse when you are good at a lot of things. It feels like a million bubbles popping in front of you. When you go near it, it just bursts on your face leaving little drops of salty water. It is like a crooked tree with dry branches popping out of your head. You want to be a doctor, a dancer, a corporate head, a good wife, a researcher and what not. Oh the torture of knowing that you are good at a lot of things!

The choices that one has makes them neurotic sometimes. If you fail, you are solely responsible for it, and you know it. You can no longer blame lack of choices for your incompetency. The fear of failure, coupled with the guilt for taking a path to doom when so many choices were available can drive you mad. It does not always help to be skilled and with lot of choices. The world gathers around the judgement table and points an ugly black finger at you for your mistakes. It laughs like a hyena and the laughter echoes in your head over and over again. It is like sitting on a rotating chair and watching a spinning wheel for hours together that you lose all sense of direction and you feel your eyes will fall down from your head from the spinning. It is almost like entering into a state of trance- a perpetual eternal trance when you can not stop the rotation of your chair or the spinning of the wheel that you see. This, is the state of a neurotic.

This is the paradox of choices- you want it but do not want the responsibility with it. You want the right number of choices- not too many to confuse you, not too less to make you feel imprisoned. But how would you know what number is the right one? When the world is filled with opportunities and choices, how to make a call? What if you are interested in a lot of things? Can you handle that much on your plate? Will you be able to sacrifice all that interests you and go only for one path? Or will you dabble in different things? This is a question that one can never answer...

My Song

Slow creek of the door standing ajar,
Damp smell of a cat licking its paws,
Images of yesterday’s lost love,
Visions of a better tomorrow.

A lonely road leading to the end,
End of the horizon and beyond,
The waning moon rises above
Giving signals of an impending doom.

Soft whispers of a haunting soul,
With the lost eyes of a hurt lover,
Quiet screams of a schizophrenic
A belief in an illusion so strong.

My Song echoes through the winter chill
With the dry crackling of a dead man’s limb
Reminding me of a lost world
Circling around my dead soul.

In the Closet

Well everyone has a part of them that is 'in the closet'. Something that is not typically normal, or so the society thinks. Something that you want to hide from the rest for the fear of being shunned, ridiculed or even burnt for.

Now this brings me to ask a million dollar question- what is normal? One must agree that what is normal to one is abnormal to the other. Normalcy is highly influenced by society and culture. It is normal to practice polygamy and polyandry in the African cultures. Can you even imagine doing something like that in India? Or in any of the so-called 'civilised' countries for that matter? Well, let us not get into such controversial topics like multiple marriages or abortion. Lets us talk about something very close to me..something that is in me.

I know that I don't think normal, like anyone else. When my friends played with Barbie dolls, I sat there admiring the beauty of a hooting owl on a full moon. Quite romantic as this may sound on paper (or blog), in reality is not nothing close to that. People though I was weird, abnormal and quite funny. Others though I am doing these shocking things as I'm craving for attention. No one really understood the budding individualist in me.

At this point in time, I live a double life. It is quite hard, I must say as the other side of me often peeps out to the world. It is lethal and it can kill me. But it is also the true me. I hide her, my other self. The one I call Maya. She is an illusion to the outside world as much as it is a reality to my own. She makes me laugh, cry, smile. She makes me feel.

But what I hate the most is the mask that I must religiously wear everyday. I live under the fear of the mask being ripped apart and thrown naked into the world. This fear is eroding me, like a termite savouring pieces of wood, causing slow and steady damage to the wood. There is no escape as the other end is equally scary- the fear of being ridiculed.

But what can one do if the natural instinct and attraction lies in a place that is deemed a taboo in society? What can one do when the call comes from a so called taboo? Do you ignore? No, that is not possible. I can't fake disgust when I look at a beautiful piece of gothic art or literature! It gives me a pleasure that is unmatched, unparalleled- sudden yet slow, passionate yet soothing and smooth.

I guess I must make a choice now. I am at the crossroads, unsure of what path to take. As they say, the road less travelled is the more exciting. But it also is a bit scary, when you have to walk alone not knowing the demons lurking just around the corner to pounce on you and rape your individuality. But my individuality is equally molested by the mask I wear everyday. I can't go on like this, being torn by a crocodile on one side and a hyena on the other. I will probably decide something. Something that will free me from this world of misery and sorrow. Something that will lift my spirit and take me to the other world, so that I can finally walk without a mask and smile at things I truly enjoy without having an inner self mocking me at every turn.

My Muse..

Every poet, artist or creator has a Muse. The one that he calls upon quite loyally and asks to bless him with her wisdom. The one that will intoxicate him with her tender touch and inspire him to create that which will be preserved, criticised and cherished eternally. Great literature, such as Odyssey or The Iliad had all started with the invocation of the muse to bless them for the adventure they are about to embark on – a creation.

I always wondered what my muse was. Could it be the one that inspired Homer to write an epic that is almost confused today with myth and history? Nay, I don’t think so. The muses of these kinds have become dormant these days. Also, you need to have a fat bank balance if these muses plot to amuse you. Well then, could it be the one that kindled the fire in Yeats and Shelly? Definitely not! I don’t think I am the kind that is capable of describing skylark in such detail (with due respect to Shelly).

When I look back in time, I see that most of my best work (according to me), come from my chronic depression phase. In pain, I believe that I emote truly. In pain that I actually feel something- pain itself. Pain awakens every cell of mine and the creative juices flow like a river. When I see tears, I see words dancing there in a joy of their own. When I see blood, I see thoughts and images smiling at me. I feel joy in pain, creativity in sorrow. Well then, could Pain be my muse? A muse that gently kisses my tear-stained cheek and taps the grief that my heart feels? A muse who urges me to vent my sorrow and decadence in words- words that lay imprinted on a parchment for ever. Words, that are to be etched in my soul forever.

I am quite happy with Pain being my personal muse. After all, how can one truly emote something unless they feel it? But here is one problem - No Pain, No Gain. So does this mean I have to be in darkness for my muse to make love to me and give birth to creativity? Will I never be able to talk about green grasses and red roses? Will a clear blue sky or a pink cotton candy never inspire me? Sadly, I guess not. Like I said, I can not write something unless I feel it, in every breath and every pore of my skin. So be it! The artist is more important than the man, a poet lives not for himself but for his work. If pain be the soil and tears the water for my creative plant, I shall be happy, as long as words are its fruits.