Destiny Gallops

The seamless co-existence of life in all its beauty, pace, strata, speed and such else, needs to be experienced to be understood. Each of us has our own context. And each city has a culture that brings the context alive.

Take Mumbai for instance. The seamelessness gets a new meaning and definition. In the living. In the people. Here is an example, that happened to me. you must not miss.

And on the roads too. Take for instance, this scene. On LBS Marg at 7.30 AM. A raod where big trucks, sleek cars, jazzy SUVs and simple automobiles jostle for space.

And here is another such vehicle.



Cusioned seats. High rise. A grille work that would put Land Rover to shame. Head rests. Number plates. A driver. And a passenger. And a branding of Naseeb Santro! ( Naseeb means Destiny). And of course, Santro stands.... hmm... for Korean !

And as the vehicle moves on, it acquires the distinct disdain for other vehicles on the road. Very much like an foreign SUV ! Nobody honks. Far too less even give it a second look, as they take the trouble of veering out of the way.


It was but logical to do the same. And the reason became apparent. As the signal turned red, the horse power became clearly visible. With red feathers to adorn their forehead, the horses were indeed powering this SUV away !

Some destiny indeed.

Destiny Gallops

Of Swiping !

I found this at the office cafeteria. A modern day affair. Where you ‘swipe’ a ‘card’ over a machine, which automatically debits your account. Voila. Your hips richer with fat. And your money in the bank, stands lower. Than where it already was.

And as the lunch was settling into the comfortable recesses of the alimentary canal, that message rankled my mind. That message that called me to check my account before swiping. I chuckled. And thought of how life and times have evolved.

Think about it.

A few years back ‘a mouse’ was something that scurried around carrying plague. Not something that you would cradle in your hand helping you navigate a screen. A 'screen' was something that you adorned a window with.

And a window was something that had to be opened to let in some fresh air, and something that would never ‘hang’. And lets not talk of Gates.

'Monitors' were people in school, who looked over you. Not something that came in 14 or 17 inches ( or more. Or less ) that you peered into ! Back then, none of my class monitors were ever ‘flat’! Of course, 'Printers' were people who ran a business and a laptop was something to with your leg.

A ‘virus’ was something that infected people. Not machines. And when you meant ‘anti-virus’, you thought of a doctor! Not downloadable software! Those were the times when you could ‘enter’ without hitting any ‘key’. And keys themselves were made of metal.

Of course, ‘backspace’ was about space in the rear of the bus. Geeks were a spelling error, when you wanted to write ‘Greeks’ ! And ‘spellchecker’ at best brought back memories of the dictation test that you flopped in Ms.De Monte’s class.

Do you remember Yahoo? It was a jungle cry. And the closest people came to uttering 'google' was when they were either saying 'gooey' or 'ogle' !

Back then, plastic was looked down upon. Used only in the making of mugs, toys and such peripherals. And by no stretch of imagination, was it a stand-in for money. Money in itself was standing in. For gold that that governments kept! Gold Standard !

And we live in the best of times and in the worst of times. A time when money has moved from the gold standard to plastic. And ‘swiping’ is very much an acceptable mode of payment. ( or should I be saying ‘way of life’) !!

Life indeed has evolved. Don’t you think ?

Of Swiping !

Hits or Touches ?

And there is this lady. Who inspires with such inspiring accounts of personal courage, resolve and a passion to set things right. Driven with love and care. Her blog is here.

A couple of weeks back, she put a message up on her blog. About a free give away of a novel. To anyone who asked. And i did. Only half believing that a book will land at my desk. We lived many seas apart, you see.

Yet, in a couple of days, the publisher wrote. And last week, the book arrived. Roxana Robinson's COST. Its proving to be an insightful and touching story.

It causes me to wonder about the number of people that i connect to on Kavis Musings ! The happiness that permeates, and the love that comes forth from readers and friends are just beyond measure.


And then, there is this gentleman. A simple soul with a large heart. Who lives in the UK. His blog is here.

The other day, he called. And we spoke. For about an hour and a half. Overseas call. He called. And we spoke about culture. About our pasts. Our families. Our histories. Our likes. And dislikes. Our people. Our surroundings. And so on.

Peels of laughter. Gasps of surprise. Shouts of joy. As we caught up with each other. Under normal terms, this would fit any conversation between friends. Old classmates, co-workers and others, who have gone their ways.

Or perhaps like the lost brother from the Indian cinemas. Yes, the one who got separated at a temple festival, only to reunited by a handkerchief or a song!

It was another matter though, that it was the first time, i was speaking to him.



He left this comment on this post asking for a contact number. He called from the UK. And we spoke. Insightful and impacting conversation. And i realise that good and goodness reside all around us. If only we are are more aware !

I for one, never could imagine that this blog has touched people across so many countries. And shores. And brought a wonderful array of friends and family together.

And i realise, i am often dumbstruck when some one asks me 'why' i write. The truth is difficult to state. But here it is : 'i don't know !' It is beyond loving writing and sharing. Or photography. Or technology. Etc.

Like a man or a woman, who is dancing to music that seeps out of an ipod plugged to the ear, unmindful of an audience thats there or otherwise...i just am in the moment ! And thats exactly what happens when i compose a post here !

Having said that, I am ever greatful to readers who have flocked back again and again ! Like Shobha, Rush, Aleta and others who have stated it so. Lou and Balaji just tipped that feeling into a full fledged meandering post ! And there is a new wind in the sails, to get a bloggers meeting going on again.

There is so much life on planet Earth. Wonderful people. Stories of struggle. Wins. Losses. Passion. Persistence. Love. Joy. And just a feeling that we are all in it together. So, go on, keep those posts coming !

One more thing. Frankly the number of hits a blog gets isn't big deal ! That's a number that doesn't matter. If lives are better off, and living is easier, and the soul is soothed, well, the numbers really don't matter.

Hits are about numbers. Touching the soul is about life.

Hits or Touches ?

Wings

From afar we see many couples taking a boat ride in the middle of the Kodai lake. And it seems so romantic. So to speak. We follow the crowd. And engage a boat too. For half an hour. A 'pedal boat' from TTDC (Tamil Nadu Tourism Development Corporation). And we set off.

As we reach close to the middle of the lake, we realise that all the pedaling is energy draining. And that it isnt quite the 'romantic experience' that it seemed from the banks. We huff and puff. And pedal. To get to somewhere quiet. In the lake that is.

We are quick to realise that

a. Pedaling this contraption is not a walk in the woods.
b. 'Quiet' spaces are non existent in the lake. (Not that we have any dramatic things 'to do' in mind..Just saying. )

And whenever a boat passes by, we see similar drained out faces. And they peer into our boat. And we peer into theirs. Drawing energy from the fact that folks in the other boat are 'suffering' as well.

To keep the mind occupied, we strike conversation. Between us. For starters, we wonder why in Gods name, does this boat have to be in the 'shape of a swan' ! And that too in pink.

And look around to find ones in deep green, bright orange. et al. Yellow swans with blue beaks. Blue swans with black beaks.

And i quietly slip a prayer of thanks.

One such boat comes close. Another couple. The man is sweating. Huffing. Puffing. All at the same time.'Tommy' his shirt says. The lady is no different. She is on the 'huff-puff ' mode too. Her T-shirt says 'GAS' or 'GAP'. ( i am not sure )

They look at us. We look at them'. And the woman says, 'look their boat has broken wings'. And i look around. To find that there are 'wings' to all boats. Wings of a swan. Ofcourse. Plastic. Coloured. Attachments with 'artistic' value.


And also find that in our boat, one wing is absent. Puffing and huffing, i wonder, how i missed seeing that we were one wing less. And seem to think that there is a distinct glee in the other couple now.

There we are. In the middle of the lake. The lovely weather above. Pedals beneath. Momentarily thinking of the wing that isnt there. On a boat that doesnt need it. The other couple pass us. They smile. And they keep staring at where the wing should have been.

And it seems to give them some topic for conversation. And some energy too. For their winged boat gathers new found speed. At least, i think so.

'We are one wing less. We arent getting anywhere' i say. And we stop.

We have a good laugh. We stop pedaling. We give our thigh muscles some rest. And soak in the lake and the weather. Boats with and without wings pass by. And we seem to think they are all giving us a 'what a pity' look.

While we just sit there with giggle and glee !

We decide to look for them. That couple. Who somehow lead us to a good time. We want to thank them.

I cant find them. They must have flown. They had wings, you see.

Wings

The Morning Meeting

Adjacent to where we live here in Mumbai, theres this new apartment complex that's on its way up. And there is so much life to watch in a construction activity. ( just try watching one)

Different characters adorn the landscape. There are the engineering types. With helmets et al, who stand in a corner and bark. There are the supervisory types who speak both to the workmen and the engineers.

There are the workmen themselves and their wives. Carrying the load up those floors or heaving cement or doing whatever they are paid to do. And activity sees the towers climb up. All the time.

But, there is one group activity that takes place in the morning. And that is the 'morning meeting'. (I see from the balcony far away from them, and i cant hear a thing of what they say. But looking through the camera's lens i make my own dialogue. To their gestures and moves).

They sit, usually, in a single file. On those iron rods. And they always seem to be an engaged lot. Often there are the supervisors who seem to be doing all the talking. As the rest of them sip their tea. Or whatever.

Occasionally there are others who point to the building that's coming up and say something. And then, you can see the supervisors talk for half an hour.

Around them bricks, steel, cement and such else.

Very often, I read my newspapers. with one eye on them and their meetings. Often times, their meetings are far more interesting than the news. For news doesn't get beyond Swine Flu or dacoity or rape or recession. Or of Buchanan writing a book and every quaint dust particle in the neighbourhood fluttering a protest.

And so, i watch these meetings. One day a neighbour peeps out of his balcony. And sees me seeing them. He smiles at me. 'Meetings eh !'

I nod. And smile.

And then looks into his watch and says, 'in half an hour, i will be at office. And there will be a meeting there and action replay. And i will be part of the drama'

I want to add..'Perhaps new Scene. Old plot. Same drama ! But he is in a hurry. He is gone. And i tell myself, poor man, he has to play his part. Soon.

And then i hear the missus shout, 'aren't you getting late for work' . And i look into my watch. And hurry for breakfast.

She spots the hurry. With hands on hips, she asks, 'so you have a meeting today'. I think of the supervisors below. And let go of a sheepish smile.

Old plot, you see !

The Morning Meeting

Of flowers. Noise. Colour. Fragrance.

And as we sit in Bryant Park in Kodaikanal, the spectrum of colours that stand on green plants are just mind boggling. Theres this endless stream of red and yellow. And then, as we walk a small distance, there is a blue, violet, white mosaic.





I pause to click a few snaps. And in the lens appears what appears to be a Cartoon character. I look away from the camera to admire nature's fine dance. Many more images seep through the lens' to the hard disk.

Just then, a bystander says 'if only these flowers had as much of fragrance like the Jasmine..' and i seem to agree. Of course, why don't these flowers have some of that hauntingly waffling fragrance of Jasmine. I think. (of course i love jasmine)

We move on.





In some time we walk to 'see' Jasmine meandering by. Peeking from a basket that a vendor carries. And by the time we reach the car, the driver has adorned the rear view mirror too. And the aroma fills the car. The question returns. And i wish there was some more colour !


A few days from then, we reach Madurai. And folks at home wear flowers. And this question of colour remains. Dormant. You don't speak it.(of course not). Ah ! But the mind resonates with 'If only there was some more colour to the flower...!

The next morning, i am on my morning jog. At the Corporation Park. They have many signboards. And here is one that i pause to read. " Every flower has its own beauty, you cannot compare two flowers.... " And after reading those two lines, i stop. To read the full signboard.



Of course ! Of course ! The Jasmine regains its unparalleled height in my mind. And so do the colourful tapestry of flowers from Bryant Park. Each reigning in boundary less kingdoms.

I laugh. Suddenly i feel handsome. Powerful. Light. Simple. A thousand life events zip by in those intervening second. Even 'Kavis Musings' with all its faults seems OK !

I quickly re-pass the resolution that i slip out of. Often. 'Do whats to be done. And leave out the rest'

And so, i jog on. And as another man sprints by, i tell myself 'Yes leave the rest out. The rest of it is noise'.

Of flowers. Noise. Colour. Fragrance.

Rain Day Lessons

And so its been pouring its heart out. There are puddles on the road, wherever puddles are possible. And wherever not possible, puddles are created. For the road stands 'washed away' in bits and pieces.

The rain batters your windshield and your car's wipers are working overtime. As you constantly hear your tyre finding a fresh pothole. You realise, that its been a wet night.

And then, out of nowhere, you see a thin slender post standing. In the middle of the road. You take this road daily. And you know this post is new. And as you near it, you realise that its a prop. A prop of a old rags and clothes, on an iron rod. Stuck into the road.



Jutting out of the road, almost like a natural formation. Something like a erupting jet stream from a broken underground pipe. ( 'natural' for a city dweller ) !!

For a brief moment you wonder who must have put this up. And why should they have done it. The rain continues to fall.

The car behind honks.

You move on. And in some distance a group of men, standing by the side of the road gesticulate. The rains pour on them as well. You realise that there is quite some water on the road. Not only that, there is a steady current, in the water that's running under your wheels. Although, this is still the same road.

You realise that the men by the side of the road are attempting to guide you. They stand there. Showing you exactly where the potholes are. And you navigate. Looking at where they are pointing their hands. And in a few quick minutes you cross the stretch.

The rain continues to beat your windshield. With the same force with which it beats their back. You watch them through the rivulets of water that are sputtering off your side mirror.

The men have moved on to guide the car behind. Far beyond, the slender post with rags, is still standing.

And you wonder, how often you gladly suffer, so that someone else has it slightly easier. You hear the rain drops fall on the roof. Silence envelopes your mind.

And your soul as well.

Rain Day Lessons

Pleasing the rain God !

The rains have played hide and seek. Especially with the Met Department. Turning up when the Met writes off. And pouring through the roof, when there is 'No Chance' of rain ! That apart, the municipal corporation has effected a 30 % water cut which has had 100 % of the media make 150 % more noise !

Suddenly, the prospect of the next summer going without water in the tap, is very real. And as suddenly as that, there are newspaper clippings, figuring on the apartment's notice board. Asking all to 'spend water wisely' !

And of course, there are these small notices which have periodically appeared just outside the apartment lift. Like this one. "As per BMC Notice, there will be short supply of water. Please co-operate' !


You cant miss such notices. And if you are in a naughty mood, 'please co-operate' can conjure up many interesting things for your mind.

But quite often, there is conversation about this 'notice' in the lift. All the way up. A conversation that dies off, only when people reach their respective floors.

Ranging from the most common 'This is ridiculous' to other strands of 'What do they expect us to do. Dig wells here? or "why don't they just drill ten more wells here, we will all pay types". ( All in accents of a distinctly foreign land which i spell as 'HBO').

Contempt for mother Earth & mankind and/or wearing stupidity as a valour medal get my gut. They look at me and other 'dimwits who preach conservation' with a certain unconcealed disdain which is fully reciprocated.

Many times i wonder if the rain Gods are playing hide & seek just to have some fun at the expense of such folks. That's my grand premise.

Anyways, here i am. In the lift. And there is a family : husband, wife. two kids. And they converse. Between them, of course. I know this gent. On previous occasions, we have had, lets put it this way, 'differences of opinion' on water conservation.

And so, the man goes on. 'These admin fellows, they are not going to get any result with such generic messages like 'please co-operate'. They must mention, exactly what we should do to conserve water. With a double emphasis on EXACTLY.

'Yes. Yes'. I go in my mind. Looking into the corners of the lift. They have to tell you EXACTLY how many litres of water you need to wash your teeth, clean your face. And of course, they have to tell you to close the tap tight. To wash cars lesser ...just to think of water.To educate your children...... THEY have to tell you all of that !

And just as i was thinking that, the kid says, 'big deal dadda. Don't take bath. Apply the extra perfume. Which you anyways do every weekend'. With a similar double emphasis on 'EVERY'

My eyes try to look into the man's eyes. He looks at me. For a brief while. He then looks away to search for mysterious cobwebs in a super clean lift. Theres a deafening silence.

I don't know about the rain God. But i am having a ball. But you know what, since then, we have been having rains. Serious rains.

Pleasing the rain God !

Whizz Theory !

There. I stand close to the door of the train. There is one another gent standing right at the door. A polite request to have some more space to click a few snaps has just been met with a stern silence and a sterner look.

'What audacity to ask. I came here, first'. The look seems to suggest.

The sun beats down the other side of the train. I keep this door open. And I stay here.

And watch. As everything whizzes by. Everybody whizzes by. Women walking to work. Men lazing around. And the other way. White fences of the Indian railways. An old man standing by a puddle.


Ducks going about whatever they do in water. Still lakes. Lakes that were. Stiller mountains. Far away songs. A revving engine. Old men beneath coconut trees. Children in the green fields. Barren lands. All of them whizz by.

An 'Abandoned' railway shed. Fences. Platforms. Station masters. Pictures of Laloo Prasad and a few others. Some green and red flag holding gent. All of them whizz by.






Everything whizzes by. In super speed. I keep clicking.

I wonder at the speed at which life whizzes by. And then, it strikes me. Actually, everything else stays. Its actually the train that i am in, whizzing by ! All else stays put. And just because i am on something that whizzes by, i think of all else as whizzing by !

'Can this be some grand theory ?' I wonder. 'At least a corollary or whatever they call it?' As i keep clicking. 'Whizz theory' I tell myself.. Or may be 'the theory of the moving train!'




From somewhere, the missus turns up. She has just had her tea. She sights the camera in hand. "you are at it. Already?'

All other thoughts including the whizz theory whizz away! 'hmm' I say.

'Whats on your mind' she says.

And i think of the Whizz theory. I look at the watch. Its not even 7.00 am. Its way too early to start the day on that note. And tell her....



' Actually, i think hmm... actually, you know, i wonder why would the railways want to differentiate by more than 50 % between taking a bath and...' as i click this picture.

She sees the writing on the wall! Face palms. And gets started. About me. My mind. About water. About conservation. About men. And habits.

I wonder where the conversation would have gone if i had started out with my whizz theory. I know for sure it would have gone somewhere.

I wonder..I wonder what i would do without her.

Whizz Theory !

Footboarding

clicked at Madurai. Aug '08

This is about a form of travel. Called 'Footboard' !

It principally involves having one leg...no. Perhaps one half of one toe on the footboard of a bus, and clutch any part of the bus with an intensity that would do a lizard in a earthquake ridden building, proud. Just hold on.

And gather all the strength from wherever. And of course, you are not alone. There are many others that are going shoulder to shoulder, toe-to-toe with you. Actually, that should be 'any-body-part' to 'any-body-part' with you !

And of course, there are accidents. Life and limb are lost.

And Tamil movies have eulogised this sequence as one where 'love blossoms' ! As the heroine exchanges love struck glances from inside the bus, and the hero stays suspended in air. The movies of course, don't show the suspension-in-thin-air as a harbinger of what awaits the hero after the marriage. Of course !

You have had many classmates in college doing this routine. Every single day, commuting to college and back. Looking for the most crowded of the buses. To demonstrate how much they can stay suspended!

They ridicule you. For you would never do it. Telling you that you dont have enough courage. You know deep within, that they perhaps are true.

clicked in a village in TN. June '09

And you meet some of them. Many years later, long after they married. To women that didn't travel with them in those crowded buses. They are a balded. Have children. They earn a good living. And speak of 'those' days with affection riddled nostalgia !

And say. 'We were plain lucky to survive.' And one of them casually lets go. "As a matter of fact i couldnt do much with the meagre money my dad made. Life had to be lived. Heroism was the cloak to sport'.

You wince.

He smiles. And goes on. 'See it made chaps like you envy us !'

You smile a weak smile. And think of your the parent lottery you won when you were born. To the folks that you were born to.

And you see change all around.

And you look at the buses now. And find that some sport a fresh tilt to them. Even now. And now you know, that the tilt has many reasons. Wooing was one. Just one. ''Living'" was the big one that you didn't think of. Back then.

Living. Sometimes, at the expense of life.

Footboarding

Drives. Part - II

Read Part - I here

Its morning. Meenakshi temple at Madurai. We stand outside in the queue. There is a puja on, inside. And we are in the queue. And i watch this man, with a giant 'fan' made of peacock feathers.

With one sweeping movement of his old frail hands holding the giant fan, he directs some still air onto sweat drenched devotees.

Young. Old. Rich. Poor. Everybody. For a brief, a very brief moment, are comforted with that muscle powered gust. And i watch. As i have been watching him ever since i was a small kid.

His frail frame gives away the fact that he has kept at 'fanning' for a long time. And he keeps at it. Even when nobody was watching. Even when nobody specifically asked for it. His body is frailer. The man himself has become older. The fan, though, with peacock feathers et al is the same.

What must drive the likes of this old man? I don't know. He doesn't give a clue.




Its another morning. Madurai. And i walk by this sugarcane juice machine. Its too early for the familiar sugarcane juice vendor. But he will be in. Soon.

To stow in the sugarcane, and give that wheel a strong twist, arching every sinew and causing his biceps to bulge. And of course, some there would be some fresh juice for thirsty throats ! My brother has been a regular here. For 20 plus years.

Ever since the price of sugarcane juice was Re. 1/-. In 20 odd years, the price of sugarcane juice has moved by all of 6 rupees. And the chap is still at it. At the same roadside. Sugarcane. With the same Wheel. And all.

He gives you a good glass full. His glasses are clean. He does not overcharge. He adds that dash of ginger and cuts open those giant ice cubes. To be just right for the juice that you are drinking. Every single time, with a perfection of a 6 sigma factory ! For 20 plus years. Modern day corporate world will dub him strange names.

Thats immaterial. For he is a happy man.

What is material to this post is this : What drives this man? I don't know. The wheel doesn't give a clue.

And then these last lines on the memorial rush back to the mind. 'his love of justice and his kindly heart endeared him to all classes of the community. and thus he bore without abuse, the grand old name of Gentleman'.

There is an elegance in a pioneers work. And theres another elegance in the lives of ordinary men and women. Who go about living this 'one life'.

And i think. Of that giant peacock fan. And that wheel. And wonder. About life. People. Men. And their drives.

Drives. Part - II

Drives - 1

Its evening. And on the banks of the lake, in Kodai, i spot this memorial structure. In the name of Sir Vere Henry Levince Baronet.

' I haven't heard of that name before'. I think. And so, whats written at the base of the memorial perks my eyes. And i peer through the evening dusk. And read. ( and reproduce from the photograph with minor punctuation changes)

"In memory of Sir Vere Henry Levince Baronet of Knockdrin Castle, Westeath, Ireland and formerly of the Madras Civil Service, born 26th Nov 1819, died at Madras 22nd March 1885

After a long service in the districts of Tinnevely and Madura where he won the sincere respect and affection of the people, he settled in 1867 at Kodaikanal and lived at Panmbar house until within a few weeks of his death.

To him are due nearly all the improvements which this settlement possesses

A true friend to the poor, no one however humble appealed to him in vain, while his upright character, his love of justice and his kindly heart endeared him to all classes of the community European and native. And thus he bore without abuse, the grand old name of Gentleman."

I shake my head in disbelief and think that he must have been some man. I wonder, how it must have been in the early part of the 18th century. To travel all the way from Ireland. Set up base here. Work in Madurai and Tirunelveli. And the, trek all the way up into the Kodai hills and live there for many years

( It took us all of metalled roads, a Japanese engine, Italian tyres and Indian ingenuity and two hours to reach this place. I shudder to think of the 1845 effort !!)

The disbelief stays. What must have driven the likes of Sir Vere Henry Levince Baronet ? I don't know.

His memorial inscriptions are carved in stone. And don't bother answering that question.

Drives - 1

Inconvenience Regrated !

Did you know Kodak retired Kodachrome. Their iconic film.

Do you remember the time....When a clicking a snap was a big thing. When you had to go buy a film ( after ensuring it was original & make a choice between the 24 snaps or 36 snaps variety). And load it without exposing it to light.

And click with great care. Remove with care. Go to a store to have it printed. For some Rs.6/- for one snap ! Seems to have been in the stone age. If i were to apply that costing to the randomness of my clicks with the digital camera, well, i could have bought myself something....!

But technology helps me indulge. Digital technology emboldens. To click as many snaps as i want. Like looking at signboards and spotting mistakes. As though, i cried a meaningful English lullaby, all by myself when i was born !

And as i look at each of the snaps below, i thank God for spellchecker. And get reminded of good friends like Ganesh. Who call me up all the way from Bangalore when i make 'errors' ! ( like writing 'he was quiet impressed' ) !

So here are a few that i spotted in Kodaikanal. People have their quirks. And this is one of mine, to look at signboards !

Please bear with me & take a look !

So there. That's that.

No more on signboards. ( For sometime, ok). I promise. Regular writing will resume soon.
Ok. Inconvenience is....Here's one more to state that more convincingly. One that i spotted on JVLR, Mumbai. Yesterday !

Inconvenience Regrated !

And so you are back.

And so you are back. After many miles of journey. Roads. Hills. Air. Air pockets. Fields. Villages. Malls. And all of that.

You are back to where you live. And you wonder how right they were. When they said 'time flies'. You feel this time around, time took the expressway !

But then, its still isn't long off your memory. One look at the 2500 plus snaps clicked over the 15 days, and your mind rejigs and brings to the fore the exact feeling at the moment captured on camera. You realise you itch to tell the world as many stories as there are photographs. And then you choose some in random.


Like this one. When your heart skipped a beat to see a seeming synchronicity in randomly arraigned coconut trees set against a blue backdrop on the banks of a spanking new highway. Made on agricultural land.


Or to see this man pedal his bicycle, with a lady seated behind. And wonder, when last you saw this scene. And then have your taxi driver tell you that these villagers pedal 17 kilometers one way, to reach the nearest hospital. And your eyes auto squint, thinking of life.







Or to see a far away temple set in the middle of banana plantation. And look towards the sky in awe and wonder about this concept of the 'faith' ! And think of the tall towers of Meenakshi temple. And then the small precincts of the family temple. And see faith standing on firm foundations.




And then, you saw stern faces stare at you as they traveled in a lorry meant for goods. And think of the stern face & heaps of abuse hurled by the passenger sitting next to you on the flight, because the air hostess didn't respond 'in time'




And you think of this boat. By that lake in Berijum. And reaffirm. That nature soothes a lost soul. Like no other.

And as the memory still is fresh and tumble in one after another, you realise. You are back. With new respect. For life. For living. For people. For dreams. For mother Earth. And your own self.

That you saw what others saw. Yet saw what many others didn't.

And as you type that line, you wonder, if that sounds boastful. And then, you recall conversations with many here. Those stoical faces and 'ah-there-you-go' smiles. And you let that line remain.

And you know. You can go on and on. But you realise. You have got to stop somewhere, somehow. You are thankful for many things. And one of them, is for the love of readers of this blog. For that, you realise, you ought to be immensely thankful.

So you quickly end, where it all started. By stating, 'And so, you are back'.

And so you are back.