Tag Archives: Life

Presence of Mind!

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What can I say, my mind has a mind of its own!

It’s faster than the speed of light and more active than a nuclear reactor!!

The moment I touch the first dish or pick a shirt to fold, it leaves me before I can know. It runs wild with the wind and is harder to tame than a horse. I go through my day like a zombie, never knowing what is it that I am doing, what has been done and what I am stepping into next, for my thinking companion is never around.

In my head I have stories forming every minute and I am contemplating a theory or two all the time. It would have been great if I would have chosen writing as a profession, in which case I am sure I would have gone blank in the matter of seconds, but in daily life that I lead and the work I do, it is important that I pay attention to smallest of details. I mean, I would love to have a day when I didn’t have to redress cause I had it on the other way round!

After years of double checking every thing I do, I am now beginning to work on my presence of mind and I can safely say from my last few days experience, it is the hardest thing I have ever done but equally rewarding too. For instance, today for the first time I noticed the beautiful flowers and honey bees on the trail I run on every  day. Even if the control was only for few seconds and the bees took me soon away again into the thoughts of a book I had read by Agatha Christie and from there to a far away land of crime and thriller, I felt alive in those seconds. I soaked in the scarce European sun,  smiled at the beautiful blue sky and felt the cool breeze on my face.

I wish I can live every minute of my life like this. The other day I wrote about wanting a life of dependability. For me presence of mind is first step in being dependable. So, no matter how long it takes  I will tame this wild mind of mine.

Hee haw…

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**Only text is mine Image is thankfully borrowed from http://www.creativitypost.com/philosophy/hold_your_horses_jonah_lehrer_steps_towards_the_science_of_creativity

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Dependability!

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dependable

The other day, after yet another episode of not being able to find my kitchen pen, my always organized husband came to my rescue. He simply took a ribbon and tied my pen to a hook along with a notepad to write on. Voila!

That was such a simple solution and yet, I did not think of it. However that was not the invention of the century nor the event that inspired this post. It was what he said while tying the knot that got my thinking horses running in all directions.

He told me, “You should place things around you in ways that you can depend on them with your life. You need a pen, make sure you will always find one right here.”

 Build a life of dependability! That is exactly what I want!

Being organized isn’t my thing, nor is being disciplined. I tend to lack energy to put things in order and hence half the time I walk in my own home as if I am lost. But that thing about certainty, it goes beyond being organized at home. My blog for instance, is a perfect example of how I function. I come here once in blue moon and write some thing and then forget that I even have a blog. If some random kind soul reads it and wishes to come back to check  if I have anything more to say, I possibly would disappoint him till he unsubscribes himself. Now, don’t think I will change that! But that pretty much sums me up.

So these days, bit by bit, a little every day, I am building a life of dependability. I am making a place for everything and putting everything in its place and Yet Here I am, writing this down at one place I am most likely to forget.

So long my dearest blog, till I think of you again!

**Only text is mine image is thankfully borrowed from… 

http://thesavageworld.wordpress.com/2011/05/23/being-dependable/

Who’s laughing now!

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Who so ever said, “Life’s Hard”, was way off!

Life to me, seems like this flexible thing, ever-changing under the pressure of our dreams, hopes and sometimes under sheer will.

What it although is, a Sarcastic B**** with a dry wit. It doesn’t complain against our efforts of constantly changing its course, It awaits, almost silently, till the moment you have it all exactly how you once wished  it to be and then gloats watching you suffer and wishing for the things to be different again.

 

Grown ups!

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In my younger years, I couldnt wait to grow up!

Grown ups knew every thing!

They were not afraid of anyone and neither did they lie!

Grown ups didn’t make mistakes and best of all they didn’t have to do the homework!

Truth ironically, turned out to be way different than I thought (just like most things!).

Grown ups don’t have it easy in any thing!

Sure they don’t have to worry about pety homework, but their entire life is defined by the work they have to do most part of their day. They constantly lie. They make mistakes that probably have higher impacts then they themselves are aware of and without even knowing they are creating a new world for us every single day.

Take parents for example, I have cribbed for years for the mistakes my parents have made in bringing me up, from the frailty of my body to the constant emotional upheaval of my mind. The choices I have made or basically who I am, is impacted so much by who my parents are.

Aren’t parents suppose to know it all?

Yet, they and yes, I do mean all of them (good or bad) scar their children for life. Some with the abuses the child didn’t deserve, others  with love that child got without working hard.

But then, whatever I am today, it is because of where I have been and who have raised me. All my scares, good  or bad, make me an individual. Individual, my parents are proud of.

Now a days every thing I do, I keep in mind, its My job, to let go of  things that pull me down and polish the goodness my elders have worked so hard to instill in me.

So if I could go back in time, I would give my parents a break from all the silly complaints and tell them, what a fine job they have done in raising us all. (I do it now as often as I can)

Onion-y Life!

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I am very, very aware of her pretty little face, right at the nape of my neck. She is breathing down on me in her futile attempt at belittling my already little self. I chose to ignore her hushed chuckles as I focus on the blade in hand. I try again, to get in the harder bitter shell.

“Arh! This is just wrong”, I hear her say, but I continue to peel any way.

I dig in my  sharp steel knife into the hardness of much awaited life. The fumes are sharp and flavor is bitter, I don’t notice when I begin to cry. I am done with hard sunny shell of becoming a baby and I can see the sweet layer of tiny steps.  I am getting impatient as I hear her snickering behind my back, I peel away the childhood and all the growing up days.

Oh dear lord!

Comes the rotten layer,  of lies, deceits and all the ugly things that come with college affairs. I wash my hands in lonely tears and get right back on my pealing race. There are sweet flavors of love, motherhood and growing old, but I am too busy getting to the core.  With every layer gone, the silence deepens,  I can’t guess why, she is no longer speaking. I feel the sadness grow, as I am left with nothing more. Surrounded by the shells and layers,  I went through life, like a chore. As I turn around, I see her sad face.  My life, looking up, as if to say,

“Yes, you are done,

but it wasn’t a race,

whatever happened to living and taking a moment to embrace?”

 

Questions and more…

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Have I struggled enough,

I ask myself,

or have I just endured?

does my silent-suffering,

makes me noble,

or was I suppose to kick back more?

I too bear the ugly scars,

then how come they don’t tell tales?

or being beaten, is not quite as much fun,

as fighting tooth and nails.

Life is mean,

and End is real,

but that’s no reason to not have soul.

being in ditch,

brings no glory,

unless I find my way out of hell hole.

Stuck on you!

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Here is another story for Madison’s Friday Fictioneer group.

Feedback, constructive criticism, is most welcome.

My heart is restless and my limbs are stuck, stuck like a fool.

“Get out, before it gets you”

The voices in my head are getting louder and louder, but I still can’t move.

The more I struggle, more tangled I am left, with time, my life seems doomed.

There is no escape from this, I had it coming my way, falling for someone like you.

I am stuck in your lies, held down by own my anger and pain,

No matter, what I do, even after years, your thoughts are driving me insane.

I am so stuck, stuck on you!



To Memories and Mom!

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Today, I took a break from my normal day and spent it wisely – mostly reading Dianne’s blog. I had been busy with my German classes and photography work, keeping myself away from my much-needed reading and writing dose.

Reading her blog made me wonder about many things and I ended up writing 2 stories. One of them I will share here, while other will have to wait.

I was reading an article ‘Memory-Go-Round’, in the said blog and it got me wondering about my first memory, unlike my school days, which I hated so much, I remember most of my younger years. I can recall my memories up to the time when I started talking.

My very first memory needs a bit clarification like,

–          Duppata is a piece of cloth used by women in my religion, to cover their head, which younger generation is gladly skipping these days.

–          While I love my father for standing by all his kids in the time of need, he hasn’t been the father or husband of the year all along.

–          I come from a large family, where my younger aunts(dad’s sisters), 4 of them, spent about 10 or more years with us till they got married, finally!

–          My mother lost her mom when she was 2 and life hasn’t been very kind to her after that.

–          Getting physically beaten, is sadly very common phenomena in my part of the world, to the extent, being slapped is considered a mere expression of affection, the other person holds for the victim. Kids are beaten by parents and wives by husbands, and as much as I hate to admit it, picture isn’t pretty even today.

Now, coming back to the first memory, “the very first thing I remember from my child hood is pulling my mother’s duppatta off of my aunts head, as she used to consider wearing my mom’s best of cloths her birth right, and I hated that from the start. I remember kicking her, hitting her, putting the best fight a young one can put to get her to give the piece of cloth up.  I remember screaming at her to never to touch it again.”, My mom thinks that time, i was around 2.

Thinking of Dianne’s article, I realized how much my first memory reflected my whole life. I have been a Daughter, a Sister, a Wife, a Manager, a Subordinate and much more, but the only thing I have done with all of my heart and strength is, to protect my mother.

Don’t get me wrong my mom is the strongest person I have ever met, but she seems to have immense tolerance for the people she loves and no one can save her from her self-chosen hell.  Ever since I was a kid, I used to tell her that I am actually her long-lost mother, who is here to take care of her.

I haven’t always been courageous in life, but I am glad when it came to protecting my mother, I never felt afraid.

I remember telling my dad to never hit my mother again and getting beaten up instead at 10.

I remember buying her treats from any penny I could save and later when I started earning, I loved buying presents for her for no reason at all.

I can never forget the day my otherwise shy mom told me about her health and how I dragged her to the doctor, knowing something was very wrong.

I am glad I was able to nurse her back to health from being taken down by that scary uterine cancer , and now she feels quite strong.

I have never cried in front of my mother, for I know how much my being strong means to her. I might fail at a thousand things, but my only wish is to never fail my mom.

Friends for season!

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First draft.

‘Agony aunt!’

” now, I wouldn’t put it like that!

I like to call it, more of, um, seasonal friends. ”

“Common, there is nothing fascinating about that, I just happen to attract people, um,  who seem to have a lot going on!”

“Na! I do not think my life is inspired by 27 dresses! besides, I was born first.”

“Why would you care any ways??

I am not a runner-up of a ‘Extreme make over’ or a ‘vampire chick’. ”

“Chick flick, eh! ”

“I suppose that could be done, I can recall a few chick flick moments still.”

“Hmm, lets see, well, I knew I was no different from any other 17-year-old, except that teen years had not yet decided to show up. I wasn’t decidedly ugly or shy or studious so to say, I was just, umm a kid. “

He was a Greek God to me, so gorgeous, so kind and his soft chuckles used to be highlights of my day while I was his best bud. I think that’s when it all started.  I was picked to be the side kick.

So low was my self-esteem that I was a shoulder in my own life, never daring to be the heart.

So best friend it was!

He was kind and funny, and would talk to me about every thing he felt. He had met this girl and he could never stop talking about her. Any how he was just first of many more seasonal friends to come. He was my best friend, for those few ‘summer’ months.

Then, came the next ‘fall’, and  I took my first full-time job, I know, how exciting, but It’s just, that it sucked!

I was too young to be friends with and too plain to be seen around.

Girls used to stop chattering when I came in the room, for they mostly talked about boys and I was a kid, still.

This is where I met the specimen number 2, I wouldn’t really call her a friend. She was too busy trying to look good and was too bothered to see me without any paint.

She got me my first lipper, but in exchange of helping her out.

I would have heard her out any ways, not that I was going to paint my lips black, no way!

We talked about her crush and some love triangle and months later, she attempted to kill her self.

Well, I was too young to dispense words of wisdom, but I knew movies and shopping could heal anything. so, I took her around the town, for next 2 months we had lots of fun, just trying to move on. Then I had to dump her butt when i found out it was all a stunt and she was back with the same guy again.

Yeh, you meet some of those too!

Third one was sort of serious like the cold of winters next year, for she was more than just my friend. I met her at my second job. She was 5 years elder to me and I could never take my eyes off her. Now don’t get me wrong, she was so elegant and proper, I so wanted to be like her, well, as soon as I grew up. for next few months I watched her in awe, as she taught me stuff about make up and cloths and you know, other chick stuff. In the meantime I remember, she used to talk about her secret love. I could hear her sing about, in her soft, beautiful voice in our office women’s room.

We lost touch, when I took my first real good job and moved out-of-town. But I thought of her all the time. 

Some time passed and I met more damsels in distress, while she lingered in my heart, like a beautiful smell. I really missed her, I remember wanting her approval, I wanted her to be around to see how much I was growing up to be someone wonderful like her.

In ‘Summers’, I heard her over the phone after a long time and she told me, that she really loved me and disconnected the phone. That was one crazy night, I did not know where she lived now, what had happened to her, but I knew something was wrong.

Two days later, I found out that she was serious in a hospital. Her secret love had failed her and she was broke and alone, I knew I loved her so much the instant I saw her again. For next few months we were inseparable, we went out, ate together, and did all sort of fun things. Any one who wanted to talk to her, had to go through me first. 

“Can we talk about it a little later, I have stuff to do.” I had to stop talking, feeling the pang of tears swelling up in my eye.

Why would Karen do this to me, she can be such a B%$!^!

She had told her creative cousin about my article on female friendship and now that jack ass was pestering me on the phone to know all the details to make a short film.

To be continued….

Fearless, My @$$!

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Few weeks back, on a Saturday night, I turned the corner and found a fair. A real ‘Fair’, here, in Netherlands, Just like the one we had back home, with all the rides and food and people and  Beer, boy so much of beer, I had never seen. (we do not get that back home). Anyhow, I was feeling extra alive that night so I screamed to my man for taking me to all the rides. He wasn’t so sure, cause the one I wanted to begin with, was really scary and he didn’t know if I could handle it. But with much of pulling from my side and little bit rebuttals from his, we ended up with the tickets to the scariest ride of my life.

While getting on the ride was fun, and get off was much awaited, but every thing in between was a colourful blur.  But when I was on the ride I found every one, either laughing, screaming, crying, some throwing up, I mean every one was active except for me. I was quiet as stone and some times closed my eyes when it got really scary, letting it go on.  You see I am not the dare-devil kinds, but I also rarely chicken out of things, even if it gets really nasty.

The ride was fun, and I know I probably would like to do it again, but it got me seriously thinking about something that was wrong.

I know, I know I pick on myself more than any one else would dare to do with me, but that’s how you get better in life, I think! But, I realized, while I may not quit all together, I never let myself go with things either. Life is like a Roller coaster Ride, I am okay with all the ups and downs and being pulled around with G-forces and all, but often enough I find myself get lost in my happy place, trying to stay as still as I can, waiting for things to settle down. I do not kick back, I do not stare in its eyes, I do not throw up.

For example, I promised myself to write every day, and I do. if you are wondering about the missing articles, well they are all lying in my drafts because I recently updated my subscribers widget and noticed that I had a few kind souls reading all the bull shit I put out there, and now I can not publish my posts. I mean I do not want to stop writing, but what if I am not good enough.   I don’t want to let any one down! (what crap!)

I wrote this particular piece the following Monday after that fair, but never got around posting it. Now that I know, I do this, I might be able to fix but…. what a sad ass way to go man… I need to grow up.