Vagaries of a writers' life

You battled for hours,

Late into the forgotten night,

Chasing your lost voice.

Laptop keys and imagination,

Locked in the usual tireless fight.

Bleary eyed, you typed send,

Black coffee, stale breath.

Chipped nails. Chopped dreams.

And then the inevitable mail.

An inch closer to writing death?

You wrote in a fury, uncaring,

Not stopping to even think,

Of the metaphors or the voice.

A rush of words, spit out,

Sent before you could blink.

400 likes, 20 shares,

Triple the usual view.

Just when the last candle

Blew out, the letter

Came with the morning dew.

What’s your real voice?

Does the writer have a choice?

There's always something left to love

No shrivelled body,

No ashes and no dust,

No piece of paper,

To anul a relationship gone bust.

No disappearance,

No clean break,

If only it were so easy to end,

Friendship that turned fake.

Just like those childhood moments,

You close your eyes tight, you run,

Away from the strong, bitter medicine,

That always burnt your tongue.

Away from the creamy froth you scooped

Out in vain from the spoilt milk.

The hollow wall of formality pounds,

Restlessly against your shattered heart.

You jump as the final nail in the coffin

Of dead friendship, jabs again - a lost start.

No disappearance,

No clean break,

If only it were so easy to end,

Friendship that turned fake.

You stand still, reluctant to face the change,

Even as Facebook likes and twitter pokes,

Widen the cracks, seem easier to crack,

And replace your heartfelt chats and endless

jokes.

But just as the wheel turns, you hold on,still,

“there’s always something left to love” you feel,

As you collect the fragments of memories,

That refused to get crushed in time’s wheel.

No disappearance,

No clean break,

If only it were so easy to end,

Friendship that turned fake.

Lessons I had forgotten

Once upon a time when we were all children and we used to read children’s books, we used to always look for the morals at the end of the story –morals that crystallized the learnings for us, that taught us right from wrong, good from evil.

Today, far removed from the black and white angelic world of childhood, as we sit surrounded by the quagmire of grey and the wall of cynicism that surrounds us, children’s stories might seem to be an alien concept to us-only fit for reading at bedtime to our children, at best.

But reading them again today, with my daughter, I find new meaning in the old tales, new power in the words that the much-loved characters used to say, new lessons for life today.

We may not want to read the morals again, but some of the simplest dialogues in our best-loved childhood books hold some powerful lessons for the struggles we go through in life. A few are mentioned below:

From Alice in Wonderland

A wonderfully clear message when we are fighting confusion in life and looking for the right road to turn to

“Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"

"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to."

"I don't much care where –"

"Then it doesn't matter which way you go.

On change and what that means

“I can't go back to yesterday because I was a different person then.”

From Winnie the Pooh

When you lose faith and need to believe in yourself all over again

“You are braver than you believe, stronger than you believe and smarter than you think”

On friendship, in a cynical adult world when we start believing more in Facebook likes than real friendships

 “If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you.”

From the Little Prince

On the power of the heart when the mind is all you can hear

“The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched, they are felt with the heart.” 

On loneliness and being alone

“Where are the people?” resumed the little prince at last. “It’s a little lonely in the desert…” “It is lonely when you’re among people, too,” said the snake.”

From Matilda

A quote for the dark times when we are tempted to take short-cuts in life

“If you are good life is good.” 

On the power of dreams, when all we can worry about is survival

“Matilda said, "Never do anything by halves if you want to get away with it. Be outrageous. Go the whole hog. Make sure everything you do is so completely crazy it's unbelievable...

Summertime dreams

“It’s summertime, Mummy”,
She strums the guitar.
Strikes a pose, and declares herself,
The latest rocking Rockstar.
Next day, she ponders thoughtfully 
In the kitchen; oblivious of the mess,
Chocolate chicken in the making,
"Papa, can’t you guess?"
The remote is no longer under any control,
Sounds of Chotta Bheem blare.
"I am just planning a new TV invention,
Science research you see, shh..secret, can’t share".
Then again in her shiny, new, roller skates,
She balances delicately; you run to break her fall.
"Watch me fly" she laughs; you cry -
“Baby, be careful, keep your eye on the ball”.

But when the ball drops,
When the guitar string breaks,
When we forget the lyrics of the song,
That once lulled us to blissful sleep,
When each new recipe tastes of
Broken dreams and lost hopes,
Aren’t we still entitled
To that one crazy, forgotten, dream?
Can't summertime dreams last
an entire lifetime? Don't we all remember
that summer, when the world was our dream?

On the music trail in Jodhpur

Why would you go to Jodhpur? Options could vary:

• You are enroute to Jaisalmer to visit the Sonar Kella (immortalized  by Satyajit Ray in the movie by the same name) and are stopping by in Jodhpur on the way
• You love history and want to spend hours at the historic and majestic Mehranghgar Fort
• You want to have dinner at the Umaid Bhavan Palace, never mind the exorbitant cover charges
• You are out of "jutis" (leather shoes) and Jodhpur stocks them in all shapes and colors in affordable prices
• Music..and this is a new reason. Music tourism is still quite new in India and not as widespread as some countries in Europe.But with current Maharaja’s patronage, Jodhpur has transformed itself into a city that lives and breathes music and welcomes people who do the same.

I was lucky enough the attend the World Sufi Spirit Festival hosted at the Fort in February 2014.

Sufi music, at its best, has the power to transport one to a world of oneness with the Almighty where earthly cares cease to exit. Sufi music against the backdrop of the majestically lit Mehrangarh Fort, promised to be just that. Of course, Sufi music of late has been much used and abused in Bollywood with many a movie cashing in on its recent popularity and belting out songs that range from a few divine ones to some plain bizzare ones.And though the organizers did get the usual Bollywood quotient by inviting Kavitha Seth and lesser known, Chintu Singh, they did manage to go much further than that.

The beauty of the festival lay in the other voices it managed to attract - Voices from the Pamir Highlands, voices from Morocco, classical Sufi strains, Sufi music and dance from the Middle Eastern countries.

Music that broke the barriers of language, music accompanied by unknown instruments and powerful voices that reached across the sturdy walls of the ancient fort to reach the hearts of all the listeners.

The listeners too represented a wide spectrum of people – travellers across ages and cultural boundaries from different parts of India, foreign tourists who have seen Sufi music in other parts of the world and came to experience it in India, even some celebrities and some wannabe celebrities. They were all there, united by a common bond of music, the strains of the soulful notes stretching into the starlit night; the shadows of the past merging into a musical journey across the corridors of time.

And when the three official festival days were over, the music still continued. Folk musicians from Rajasthan sat at the corners of the forts, playing the ravanhatta (folk instrument) and singing old folk songs in their raw, powerful voices. The crowds had thinned by then, but the folk singers were oblivious, their voices blending perfectly with the stone walls of the fort, keeping tune with the secrets that the fort would not share with the casual visitors who came to visit just for a few days. The festival was over, the music will continue, forever.

Christmas in Munnar

What's so different about Munnar, you might ask. It is just another hill-station, just another group of tea gardens, just another set of winding roads that lead up to overflowing hotels, just another place to buy a few more spices and tea packets and eucalyptus oil, just a  few more viewpoints where busy travellers click pictures and spend their money and time recovering from the madness of their daily lives.

This Christmas in Munnar, even as travellers did all the above, I walked, oblivious of the crowd, in the search for something new.

The lilting strains of the carols beckoned me towards the tall and imposing structure that sat proudly above high, winding, steps. As I climbed up the steps and reached the church gate, the crowd mingled with me - tourists along with the local people, impossible to distinguish one group from the other, all united in the search for peace and silence.

The Church, which dates back to 1898, was the first Roman Catholic Church in the high-ranges and its gates are wide-open even today as people filter in for a moment of quiet worship.

The high ceiling of the Church echoed the beautiful strains of the oft-repeated carols, some unknown tunes in Malayalam adding to the magic of the moment.

The Christmas service over, the crowd started walking back, the tourists looking for the next attraction, the local people back to their own lives.

I sat on the wooden bench, alone, the carols still ringing in my ears-the child that had learnt to sing the carols in the chapels of childhood now teaching the true meaning of the blessings amidst the calm they showered on the restless mind.

Picturesque Poovar

Legend has it that many years ago King Raja Marthanda Varma was ousted from his throne and sought refuge in a tiny island called Poovar. He was so captivated by its beauty that he named it Poovar - the river of the flowers.

Today, as our boat navigates the silence of the backwaters and takes us deeper and deeper into the forest of ripples and shimmers, we are greeted by tall coconut trees bending over the shore as if protecting its secret from indifferent travellers, a lone crane that nods a gentle hello and glides gracefully forward, the orange Sun that takes a quiet dip in the pristine sea beyond the golden sand beach, the black lines of the fishing boats where the fishermen measure their catch of the day, the floating cottages that jut out on the green waters and rock gently in rythm.

Poovar still offers a refuge for those seeking silence and beauty, away from the bustling madness of the city and the hustling tourist traps. Poovar offers nothing else but a hint of mysteries untold, stories unheard, ripples unseen and beauty untouched.

The pictures can say it better. An hour away from Trivandrum, accessible only by boat, Poovar offers a rare combination of land locked by sea and the backwaters and silence broken only by the sound of the waves and the flight of the birds.

The orange glow spreading its warmth

The golden sand separating the quiet backwaters on one side and the restless sea on the other

Footprints that will get washed away in the ocean's fury

The boat inches closer, the silence grows

The trees bend over, hugging the water

The cottages that float on the bed of the water

The Sun peeks through the wall of trees