Conversations with the self...

What am I in search of?
Is it work?
Just work?
No I don't think so...
I am in search of myself...
In search of the work that makes me...
Can work make me?
Yes, for me, it does...
I am certainly a lot of the work that I do...
I am me to myself because of the work I do...
So what about my relationships?
They are important, no very important...
I can gladly walk bare foot on hot coals for them...
But what I have realised is that my relationship with myself is
Through the work I do...
Am I limiting myself?
Is my definition of my self narrow?
Too work based?
Maybe, maybe not....
All I know work makes me happy, fulfilled and satisfied...
It gives my life a shape, a purpose and a direction...
Without it I feel all lost...
Like a boat, adrift in the sea...

A step ahead....

Remember the movie 'Catch Me If You Can' where  Frank Abagnale Jr. played by Leonardo DiCaprio was conning people of millions of dollars and was always a step ahead of the FBI?

My life is a bit like that, always a step or two ahead of me, going her own merry way, craving her own destiny. Sometimes she seems fit to fall in with my plans and dreams and at other times, she goes her own way without a thought or consideration to my plans or convenience. The idea that I am in control of my life is but a mere illusion and the very idea of being powerless completely freaks me out. My ego demands me to think that I am the sole pilot of my life. But at the risk of hurting my ego and diminishing my vanity, more and more I feel like there is a power, much greater than me who is running my life.

I will go the traditional way and call this power God. Assuming that God is running my life is a double edged sword, on one hand it absolves me of all responsibility, but on the other it renders me completely powerless.

I am wandering. Today my intention was not to talk about God but my life.  Taking a step away from myself, being an observer, I have realised that my life has her curious meandering path which she follows and I just fall in step with her. At times I am happy to oblige and at times, I get angry, I rebel, I protest and try to cling on. But very rarely did things go my way, follow my plans or my dreams. I am not saying that my dreams have never come true. On the contrary in most cases they have, but never at the time I wanted them to or the way I imagined. There had always been slight or significant changes, almost like someone mockingly saying that She can plan and run my life better than me.

I feel like I am a car set in a race track, I have been given certain advantages and some other disadvantages which brings of the illusion of being powerful. But someone has the remote control which has the power to keep me on the course or throw me off. Each car in the race is similarly controlled and we each follow our own course, we know the beginning and the end, we know the pitfalls and the soaring peaks. But we do not know when we are going to hit the pitfalls or reach a soaring peak. We are all driving like crazy, each of  trying to reach the maximum number of peaks and avoid all the pitfalls. But here we are rendered powerless, someone makes us fall into those deadly pitfalls and equally someone makes us reach those peaks. The idea is to keep faith in that someone that She would guide us through the pitfalls and has the peaks ready for us to climb and keep going. After all since we have been made the drivers of our cars means that we are special.

Feeling blue...

It is glorious outside, the sun is shinning, Oxford looks pretty as a picture and is inundated with tourists and foreign language students. End of June university term ends and students leave Oxford only to be replaced by swirling mass of international students who have come to join summer schools. Everyone seems tanned and in great mood, everyone except me, that is. The carnival I was organising just finished, was great fun and tremendous success. But now suddenly there is a vacum in its wake and I am at a loose end, do not know what to do with life. I am still feeling very tired, but my mind is alert and needs next project  to keep it busy. Obviously the practical thing to do is to look for another job. But there are so many ifs and buts right now and job hunting is such a slow and excruciating process that it is making me feel quiet blue. It is so bright outside that my blue is light and faded, a bit like the sky blue, but just cos it is faded does not mean that it is not a blue. It is a blue indeed and I am stuck in its grips. Sadly.

Down and out with a cold...

Remember those scenes in Hollywood movies where heroines have flu or bad bouts of cold and heroes  bring them soup and daisies? 'You've Got Mail' is a classic example. Meg Ryan looked super cute with disheveled hair and pink nose, being cheered by Tom Hanks.

Sadly in real life getting a cold is nothing romantic nor do heroes come to hold fort with daisies.

To give a little background to this sudden interest in  cold and flu-- in this sunless island I have managed to get a sun stroke. Was out on one of the rare sunny days, soaking the sun in, and lo and behold got a sun stroke just like I used to get in Delhi. Getting a sun stroke in Delhi makes sense, but here it is like being a feminist in Mars. Most people give me incredulous looks or think that I do not know the right words and phrases being non native speaker and all.
At the risk of sounding obstinate, I insist that it is sun stroke cos I have suffered from it many times in India. I even know the whole routine by heart now. It starts with a buzzing in the head and stingy, watery eyes closely followed by headache, bad cold, running nose, fever and body ache. Stays for 5 to 7 days and vanishes to strike some other unsuspecting victim, leaving me with a peeling nose and looking more puffy and anemic than ever. Best medicine is rest, sleep, hours of it, lots of fluid and hot passionate sex [ just kidding:)].

So right in the middle of a week which promised to be super hectic canceling work and commitments left, right and centre. Am sitting surrounded with tissues, inhalers, balms and only allowed to drink hot drinks (decreed by husband). Feeling mighty sorry for self, husband also sympathetic but too busy to play nurse. Husband wanting me to visit doctor, resisting mightily, do not want to be poked and prodded at.

Husband has essays to submit one after another, wife out of action by cold, hence one take out after another and dirty dishes piling up. The worst bit is that it gets really boring after a while.  Do not have the energy to go out, yet too restless to sit at home. Bemoaning lack of  entertainment and guilty about being out of circulation.

Sitting at home, brooding about everything and nothing, feeling emotional and prickly. Horror of horrors realizing how unkempt my surroundings are. Spying all the hidden dirt, unhoovered carpet, things away from their usual places and mounds of dirty laundry. Cringe to myself, was I not a clean freak? When did this happen to me and my house?  New resolve in life-- revert back to being a clean freak as soon as health permits. Husband beware, serious cleaning time ahead!

No getting a cold is definitely not a good thing to happen, in spite of how glamours they make it seem in movies.

P.S. Photo courtesey google images.

The romance that never was...

Disclaimer: Just for a bit of fun and probably a good laugh.

Currently reading Marian Keyes "A Charming Man". Domestic violence is weaved into the novel. Met a character  who is definitely a victim, all under confident and hopeless and shivery. Knew someone like that while growing up. So kind of recognized the signs and somehow got to understand the person I grew up watching, much better. I keep understanding her better and better now when I am thousands of miles away and when she no longer is a victim and very much a survivor. I wonder how this helps her. But never mind, no one can accuse me of gving up.

Apart from that, predominant thought was about self. While reading kept thinking I am so lucky to have married a nice, gentle and kind man, whom I can boss quiet shamelessly, yet who is no mouse and can give me his two pennies worth of stern lecture when pushed too much, which can put me properly and tightly (cos of my figure, no fault of his) into place! The first time I got his lecture, I can tell you I was so surprised that my mouth was a perfect o. Stunned I forgot to fight back (and I am a champion in figthing and giving it back). After a couple of lectures, have managed to somehow precariously stop at my side of the line, well just about. Sometimes have to do one leg balance...you know how life is.

Anyways while reading kept thinking thank God and thank my runaway gurdian angel (who sometimes does good things for me, belated realisation strikes) am married to my husband and not some nasty wife beater. In fact at one point got so overcome with emotions that actually bothered to get up from bed and come to the other room to communicate to husband my thankfulness. Isn't this what marriage gurus say? Do these small things which keep the romance alive and make the partner feel much appreciated? Afterall 90% of the time all he gets are my grumbles and complaints. No, for a change I can be a thankful and apprecitive wife 50s style or Indian bahu istyl. Let me tell you this need to be magnanimous is very strong and has to be gratified almost immediately.

Being the imaginative sort had a little Hindi movie style skit playing in my mind. Something like this....

'Oh baby I am so thankful that you are my husband"....
Husband startled: "What a nice thing to say! This is why I love you so...." 

You know...instantly violins would start playing in the background, and we would do an impromptu dance (hate dancing, though not in imagination) and the rest of it.

All this flashed through my mind during the two seconds that it takes for me to trek from bedroom to sitting room. Must congratulate my imagination for not only being vivid and totally filmly, but super quick as well.

So with great anticipation of a great marriage moment push the door open. Husband engrossed with a fierce frown of concentration, computer screen shows writing going on. I gaze at husband's face and the screen. Some words dance towards me: customers, insights, designs, markets... I sigh....dear husband...so bogged down with essays, assignments, exams, truant group mates with Ph.Ds in free riding and irresponsibility....you know the usual B school crap. My love overflows and I tap gently on his shoulder. No response...poor, poor dear...if possible my love doubles. But husband should look up when wife taps on shoulder, no? So retap...and then again, this time tap resembles a shake. Startled husband looks up....concerntration frown marred with worry. Looks say except great disaster to have befallen me in bedroom hence tapping err shaking.

"What?"  which came out more like a bark, ready to spring into action to slay the dragon disturbing me in bedroom.

"No...nothing....errr just wanted to tell you that ....I... mmm...am reading this book on domestic violence and am (now in a rush like a speeding train late at night) so thankful that I married you..."

Shit that did not come out loving and romantic, did it? But have great faith on husband to be more romantic. Wait all excited.

So what did husband do? Hug me? Say pretty things? Promise to love me for ever and ever?

All I got out of him was an uninterested "Oh" and then back to his computer screen. I mean that is it. No reaction, no romance, no love scene, no violin, no nothing. Essay winning over romance, assingment winning over love, concerntration refusing to give space to mutual appreciation, in short B school taking over marriage!

The moment which had great potential to blossom into what not, turned out even flatter than a month old Coke in an open bottle!


I want a clarification: when marriage gurus counsel to be spontaneous do they include wives of those B school stressed husbands as well? I do not think they were ever married to one, otherwise would never make a suggestion which just might wrap up their careers forever!

Never cease?

Years ago it was the late night flights piercing the dark Calcutta sky. Sleepless I used to stand in my window and gaze at them with longing. From my window I got a clear view of the sky above. Sometimes it would be inky blue sky dotted with thousands of twinkling stars, sometimes a full moon would envelope the whole sleeping world into its silvery rays, sometimes in the darkness of a moonless night a black bird would silently fly by, sometimes it would rain so much that I could hardly open my window, except a crack.  Most nights the planes would go by. They would come into my view as tiny dots of light, grow steadily to reveal a silver machine carrying hundreds of people to a far away destination. I would feel terribly jealous of all those sitting in those planes, flying far, far away. Away from all the heartbreak, tears, the known and the mundane. I would foolishly think that traveling physical distance would absolve my pain and rid me of memories.
Now I smile at my  foolishness. How naive I was!
Thousands of miles later, I know that distance does not erase pain, time does. I know there is no easy way out, a broken heart does not mend itself quickly, nor are there any good medicines guaranteeing hundred percent cure. I know new pain takes over older ones. From life's experiences a new person emerges, fleshed with a bit of past embedded in the present.  But inspite of it all life goes on at her own sweet pace.
This time there are no planes in my slice of the night sky. There are  trains whooshing by, rushing off into the darkness. The carriages of the trains look to be in a great hurry, pushing and clanging, making a mighty din. They seem so sure of their destination, they look eager to reach that place and dump the load they have to carry. In the dark of the night, they look like naughty, noisy children rushing off to play. Once they pass by, the silver tracks look empty and bereft. A deep silence replaces the clanging sound. The night regains its poise and lulls us back to sleep. I look longingly at those rushing carriages  wishing I could be in one of them, crouched among the cars, or other goods they carry, or sitting on top of one of them, my face raised towards the sky, the wind kissing my face. I would not mind the discomfort or the cold as long as it took me to far distant lands, to the unknown, to some adventure, away from the mundane.
Will my longing for the unknown never cease?

Sit and stare...

You must be wondering where I have disappeared. Oh well I have not gone anywhere, right here, but it seems the blogger in me is taking a break. A rather long break actually. I just don't find anything to write anymore. It seems like I have said all that I wanted to, the last fews years I have wrote a lot here and now I am tired. Now I just want to curl up and let the world go its own merry way. Before I felt as if I am part of the world and if I do not say my share, then no one would hear me and what a great loss that would be, both to me and to the world. I may be faceless, a part of the crowd but I was certainly not voiceless. I wanted to tell and I wanted to be heard, or rather read.

But over the last couple of months, an apathy has gripped me and I want to sit and stare at the world as it passes me by. Maybe in my passivity I am storing the stories to tell them later, I don't know. Nothing seems clear, all I know is that I would like to sit and stare!