24 January, 2007, Wednesday.
It snowed. It SNOWED!!!!!!!
For the first ever time in my life I saw snow up close at hand.... and it was everything that beautiful language ever described it as. Pure white... cold to touch, hardned up into a nice little blob in my hand, coated my glove with a fine layer of cold damp... and looked so beautiful!!!!
I woke up and tore my curtains aside when a friend told me it had snowed during the night... my window only gives me a view of the streets below and a scant corner of the park opposite our building... but even so.. I could see how everything had been transformed by a layer of white powdery snow. The trees looked like they should have at Christmas... people had left enough snow on their cars to get a feel of it while brushing off what hampered their driving. My housemate awoke all horrified and came running out only to have me tell her it snowed... it looked so awesome!!!!
Snow is weird actually.... it settles on vegetation like someone threw stuff in a food fight... but on the building roofs and other flat surfaces, it's like someone's very carefully and lovingly put it there flattening it with a spatula.. like decorating a christmas cake.
I saw a very funny and endearing sight at the bus stop... a couple was walking by with their chubby toddler strapped into his stroller... and I noticed there was a nice blob of snow on the blanket on his lap.... I was about to comment when I noticed how he was entranced by it... curiosity with rapt attention... floored me totally!!!! Made me wish rather wistfully I could've been a toddler... what a memory to have of snow :) of course, assuming that one was capable of having memories at that age.
I wish I could've played in the snow... had a snow fight, chucked snow balls and made someone shriek with cold and laughter.... be paid back.... sigh. It hasn't snowed since... but am still waiting :) Hopefully the next time I wil not be rushing to a class to spend an entire day cooped in while the snow slowly melts away... I shall be free enough to go roll about in the snow in the park... maybe with a dog to make things crazier :)
Friday, January 26, 2007
Friday, January 19, 2007
A magpie's habit and an elephant's memory
I've just been cleaning my room... yeah I know, no big deal... but it was so damn difficult!!!! I'm pretty neat and organised... the problem lies elsewhere. Observations from my round of cleaning up:
1] I'm a pro-recycling person. I used to think this was some kind of phase... but I realise it's actually a habit.. one that can be irritating at times. Not only did I put away papers that had one side blank in a separate folder, I actually hoarded envelopes, put them in a big manila envelope that I stuck a post it onto (so I could use the big one too :P) and marked the Post-it. Knowing me, I'll even keep the post-it in my purse at a later date to scribble a number or address. Obsessive!!!!
2] I'm a bloody magpie. I hoard so much!!!! Among other things, I have receipts, bus tickets, train tickets, notes scrawled in class, various odd pieces of paper I just don't have the heart to throw away. Why???? They remind me of the day it was and seem a much better, more vibrant way of storing my memories... I don't really write a diary so I guess this is a good way. I wanted to put them away in an envelope... but I took some and stuck them up on my notice board... when my folks visit they can have a good laugh seeing it all... but my first bus, train, movie tickets in London and an old railway ticket from Mumbai really do hold a lot of value to me.... the scars that a warrior collected and show how she lived... or some such metaphor :P
The problem is... I'll have to take so much more when I move out... sigh. Besides, if I really do stick to my original plan of destroying my tangible memories before I die, a la Jacqueline Kennedy.. I'll have a hell lot to get rid of.
Living may be easy, may not, Death may be fearsome, may not... the difficulty or ease come from the memories that you gather and leave behind. These are my memories... I wonder what memories of me shall be like
1] I'm a pro-recycling person. I used to think this was some kind of phase... but I realise it's actually a habit.. one that can be irritating at times. Not only did I put away papers that had one side blank in a separate folder, I actually hoarded envelopes, put them in a big manila envelope that I stuck a post it onto (so I could use the big one too :P) and marked the Post-it. Knowing me, I'll even keep the post-it in my purse at a later date to scribble a number or address. Obsessive!!!!
2] I'm a bloody magpie. I hoard so much!!!! Among other things, I have receipts, bus tickets, train tickets, notes scrawled in class, various odd pieces of paper I just don't have the heart to throw away. Why???? They remind me of the day it was and seem a much better, more vibrant way of storing my memories... I don't really write a diary so I guess this is a good way. I wanted to put them away in an envelope... but I took some and stuck them up on my notice board... when my folks visit they can have a good laugh seeing it all... but my first bus, train, movie tickets in London and an old railway ticket from Mumbai really do hold a lot of value to me.... the scars that a warrior collected and show how she lived... or some such metaphor :P
The problem is... I'll have to take so much more when I move out... sigh. Besides, if I really do stick to my original plan of destroying my tangible memories before I die, a la Jacqueline Kennedy.. I'll have a hell lot to get rid of.
Living may be easy, may not, Death may be fearsome, may not... the difficulty or ease come from the memories that you gather and leave behind. These are my memories... I wonder what memories of me shall be like
Monday, January 08, 2007
When the Reaper Comes Calling
Having vowed to write more and write anew, this is hardly the subject that I should be pursuing… perhaps. Then again, I might as well, as good as not… this time being as good as any other.
If I am allowed to say this and not sound opprobrious, I have been fortunate enough to not lose anyone very dear to me yet. Long may this continue. It isn’t to say however, that I haven’t met death at all at close quarters. Not-so-distant relations have been my closest experience in losing family members. The one person I can readily bring to mind when I think of having lost is my former neighbour N.
A lad of only 19. A rather jovial, much loved, popular, rebellious-teen who we all wished would get over his ways and grow up. Almost a year and half after his demise, I still cannot completely believe he’s gone. On the face of it, I am bale to say “Before he passed away…” or “It’s been rather awful since he’s gone…” but very very deep within, I still cannot fathom it.
It wasn’t that N and I were specially close.. It isn’t even like he was a brother sort to me. I occasionally used to be irked by his ways too… but having been next door neighbours, we did share much and the better part of my six years in that place ensured I saw quite a bit of him… at some point, we did the things neighbours do… have dinners, play silly games, discuss things, go out, tease each other… he even used to come over for help with his academics to me… I shall never forget telling him he had good grasping powers. Things didn’t stay that good though… N went through the same teenage angst everyone does and somehow changed a lot… I used to feel rather sad about it but somewhere, like people tend to, I got on with my life just as he did and our neighbourliness reduced to leaving keys with each other and the occasional chat when we happened to find the other on our way in or out. Quite often, I used to wish for his sake and that of his family that things would get better… he seemed to be going wrong and hurting everyone. But having never been especially close and having gotten used to not being around each other… we never did get to really talk.
I saw him a month before he passed away. That was what life had come to be… people who saw each other everyday now met once a month. A month.
I still don’t know what I should term my reaction to that piece of news. I only remember my mum saying I was shocked. I remember not being able to say anything about it for the next few days… not even enough to share the news or react.
The return home and that meeting with N’s folks was very hard. I spent a lot of time there when I could hoping to distract his mother (who I fondly address as ‘Ma’) … I remember being told “You’re really brave Anu, to be able to be around them” … I never did figure what bravery that was… not when it was the least I could do for them, not when the people going through that misery were being braver.. like only they could.
N has been gone for what seems an eternity now… I don’t miss N like I might have if we had been closer… but I still find it very hard to believe he isn’t around, creating a racket in the house, arguing in the spirit every teenager does, spending hours grooming himself, worrying over girl problems, experimenting with things… It still feels like he’s around… pity he’ll only ever be 19.
In the time since he’s been gone, I’ve heard people praise him to almost saintly heights… the very same people who used to bitch about how he was being a brat and should grow up and stuff… It’s pathetic how hypocritical people can get after someone’s death. I will not say N was the finest, best person I met… he had his flaws and for what it’s worth, I did wish a lot that his bad phase would be over soon….I wish he had that chance, I wish fervently he had bothered with safety rules, I wish he had been a staid, boring rule-adhering person if that was what it took to save his life… I wish N was around.
It is said death comes second after public speaking as the thing people fear the most. Me, I have a rather skewed view of death. I fear losing my dear ones…but I don’t fear dying.
Not so very long ago, in discussing Kashmir, I exclaimed that Id love to go there to which my classmate M retorted “Are you crazy??? It’s so dangerous… you could die!!!”. I’m yet to understand why the rest of them laughed and why M blanched (weird word… blanched, coz there’s a gal called Blanche I know… so if we all blanche at something, does Blanche ‘Anu’ or whoever/whatever else when she’s taken aback???) Anyway, I don’t get why M blanched when I said “So?? I’d be dead!” What I meant was that, I don’t really give two hoots about dying.. I happen to be very happy with my life and have absolutely no regrets up to this point.. I’ve lived pretty well and wouldn’t feel sorry for not having done something so far… suffice to say, I’m at peace with my existence. I’d feel bad for my loved ones for they’d have a bad time after my death.. but I cannot feel sorry for myself. Why then, should I fear death???
If I am allowed to say this and not sound opprobrious, I have been fortunate enough to not lose anyone very dear to me yet. Long may this continue. It isn’t to say however, that I haven’t met death at all at close quarters. Not-so-distant relations have been my closest experience in losing family members. The one person I can readily bring to mind when I think of having lost is my former neighbour N.
A lad of only 19. A rather jovial, much loved, popular, rebellious-teen who we all wished would get over his ways and grow up. Almost a year and half after his demise, I still cannot completely believe he’s gone. On the face of it, I am bale to say “Before he passed away…” or “It’s been rather awful since he’s gone…” but very very deep within, I still cannot fathom it.
It wasn’t that N and I were specially close.. It isn’t even like he was a brother sort to me. I occasionally used to be irked by his ways too… but having been next door neighbours, we did share much and the better part of my six years in that place ensured I saw quite a bit of him… at some point, we did the things neighbours do… have dinners, play silly games, discuss things, go out, tease each other… he even used to come over for help with his academics to me… I shall never forget telling him he had good grasping powers. Things didn’t stay that good though… N went through the same teenage angst everyone does and somehow changed a lot… I used to feel rather sad about it but somewhere, like people tend to, I got on with my life just as he did and our neighbourliness reduced to leaving keys with each other and the occasional chat when we happened to find the other on our way in or out. Quite often, I used to wish for his sake and that of his family that things would get better… he seemed to be going wrong and hurting everyone. But having never been especially close and having gotten used to not being around each other… we never did get to really talk.
I saw him a month before he passed away. That was what life had come to be… people who saw each other everyday now met once a month. A month.
I still don’t know what I should term my reaction to that piece of news. I only remember my mum saying I was shocked. I remember not being able to say anything about it for the next few days… not even enough to share the news or react.
The return home and that meeting with N’s folks was very hard. I spent a lot of time there when I could hoping to distract his mother (who I fondly address as ‘Ma’) … I remember being told “You’re really brave Anu, to be able to be around them” … I never did figure what bravery that was… not when it was the least I could do for them, not when the people going through that misery were being braver.. like only they could.
N has been gone for what seems an eternity now… I don’t miss N like I might have if we had been closer… but I still find it very hard to believe he isn’t around, creating a racket in the house, arguing in the spirit every teenager does, spending hours grooming himself, worrying over girl problems, experimenting with things… It still feels like he’s around… pity he’ll only ever be 19.
In the time since he’s been gone, I’ve heard people praise him to almost saintly heights… the very same people who used to bitch about how he was being a brat and should grow up and stuff… It’s pathetic how hypocritical people can get after someone’s death. I will not say N was the finest, best person I met… he had his flaws and for what it’s worth, I did wish a lot that his bad phase would be over soon….I wish he had that chance, I wish fervently he had bothered with safety rules, I wish he had been a staid, boring rule-adhering person if that was what it took to save his life… I wish N was around.
It is said death comes second after public speaking as the thing people fear the most. Me, I have a rather skewed view of death. I fear losing my dear ones…but I don’t fear dying.
Not so very long ago, in discussing Kashmir, I exclaimed that Id love to go there to which my classmate M retorted “Are you crazy??? It’s so dangerous… you could die!!!”. I’m yet to understand why the rest of them laughed and why M blanched (weird word… blanched, coz there’s a gal called Blanche I know… so if we all blanche at something, does Blanche ‘Anu’ or whoever/whatever else when she’s taken aback???) Anyway, I don’t get why M blanched when I said “So?? I’d be dead!” What I meant was that, I don’t really give two hoots about dying.. I happen to be very happy with my life and have absolutely no regrets up to this point.. I’ve lived pretty well and wouldn’t feel sorry for not having done something so far… suffice to say, I’m at peace with my existence. I’d feel bad for my loved ones for they’d have a bad time after my death.. but I cannot feel sorry for myself. Why then, should I fear death???
A Dewdrop of Newness
Nearly a year after I started writing my blog, I have but 11 (12 counting this one) to show for my enthusiasm for writing, efforts and wealth of things to express.
11 posts.
I cannot think of anything more pathetic… specially since I’ve been bandying myself as a writer of sorts to whichever poor unassuming victim I can corner. So much for the writer then….
My options therefore are
a) Continue this blog with the pretentious ‘writer’ image I like to put forth and only put up posts which are good reads. OR
b) Write more often, even if it is only to report the kitchen being cleaned everyday by the appointed cleaner
The idea, of course, being that I do a crash course in ‘getting in touch with my inner being’ by examining them in this up-for-show manner… the essence of writing is but obviously that which comes from within. And who knows, my efforts might actually benefit me… like they helped Sam Bell in Ben Elton’s Inconcievable.
Here’s to a whole new beginning then… Here’s to the new sparkling Dewdrop.
11 posts.
I cannot think of anything more pathetic… specially since I’ve been bandying myself as a writer of sorts to whichever poor unassuming victim I can corner. So much for the writer then….
My options therefore are
a) Continue this blog with the pretentious ‘writer’ image I like to put forth and only put up posts which are good reads. OR
b) Write more often, even if it is only to report the kitchen being cleaned everyday by the appointed cleaner
The idea, of course, being that I do a crash course in ‘getting in touch with my inner being’ by examining them in this up-for-show manner… the essence of writing is but obviously that which comes from within. And who knows, my efforts might actually benefit me… like they helped Sam Bell in Ben Elton’s Inconcievable.
Here’s to a whole new beginning then… Here’s to the new sparkling Dewdrop.
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