empathy

My fear for ghosts and scary stories is very well known among my mates and colleagues. So much so, that they have started capitalizing every opportunity to feed energy to this fear.

today, i was ployed into watching 'Resident Evil' trailer, and so the fear of crooked characters, ugly scary lumps jumping across the screen  was still fresh in my mind. soon, in the evening i was walking along my friend Sarat towards a food 'take away' place nearby, we saw a very old woman near the cross road. i saw her through the corner of my eye and as i was doing that, my friend mumbled not to look at her. this mind is full of filth and is crazy, i had this impression of the trailer still fresh, and here i see this old woman, who wore the textbook definition of old crooked witch. i chose to ignore her presence and hop past.
she was completely bent from her spine and she looked above at us.

we hurriedly walked past her, while she was pleading for help. suddenly Sarat stopped. i do not know why we did that. we were just going to walk past and 'the small ugly lump' jumping across the screen picture was still fresh in my mind.
we stopped.
Sarat helped her cross the road.
i walked with them, and i can now only feel ashamed that i didnt stop to help her. then we were about to leave, she said she cant walk further and needs to go by a rickshaw to Ameerpeth
the filth in my mind is deeper than i can imagine, and i thought 'ah, she would now demand 100 rs for going to that place'. i indicated to Sarat that we should leave, thinking that she would ask money and we would not be able to say no.
we were ready not to be fooled and go from there, when she helplessly moaned to us to help her.
the soul has a way to know truth, and we knew she really wanted us to help her.

we asked a rickshaw to ride her to ameerpeth. he demanded a higher fare. she was a dignified woman, and said 'No', she demanded that she be charged as per the 'fare meter'.  the rickshaw guy relented and she left.

So, now i am penning this page, feeling deeply ashamed of my act.
if i were stern enough, i think we would have left her, but i am very happy that Sarat stopped and chose otherwise.
we dont know if she reached properly, if she had money to pay fare, if she has any place to stay, but we didnt talk any transaction.
she was a very fine old lady, spoke well, asked our well being.
She did ask for one thing. she asked so that we could receive. she kept on asking that which i lost.
she asked for 'empathy'.

it goes like this

She came dressed in beautiful green kurta. Her long hair always overflowing,
and her gracious demeanor always makes everyone take notice of her presence.
She walks slooowly, lest it may hurt the earth below and she radiates fragrance,
it lingers in my senses long after we go our ways.
Her beautiful round face makes the pearl in her ear glow even more beautiful.

so, we went out on a dinner date that day.
she generally is shy to go out for a dinner or date. But, i guess everyone gets lucky someday. I too got lucky the other day. She reluctantly agreed to dine with me.

We started pretty early in the evening, so that we could talk more. I guess, i wanted to hear her talk more. I had to drop by at the office on our way to the restro. So, i asked her if she would like to come to my office as well.
She said "um, i'm ok, you take your time". i went to my office and like a stupid fella, got into a discussion with a colleague.

It started to rain. i assumed she would be under the roof downstairs.  i hurriedly picked myself up and went running down-stairs to see she was drenched in rain. i asked her sternly "whhy didnt u come inside!" she didnt speak a word, and tears welled up her eyes. she went away without saying a word. this girl didnt want to bother me, stayed down stairs, thinking i would be doing something important.

i wish i had simply walked towards her and helped her dry off.  i went to her home. she hid herself on hearing me and aunty asked me if something went wrong. i asked if i could see her. she came dressed outside in her dotted tee and pyjama. by now her nose was red, her large forehead had weary lines, her eyes swollen (she cried for sure), still she put on a smile on her face. i cajoled her and asked to scold me, and as she nodded her head, i woke up.

i wish it were true, i would have ended like this

on the bylane

although i have picked up few hyderabadi slangs and can hustle with a telugu fella,  i feel that i miss my mumbai. especially the Ganesh festival.

the fanfare, the decoration, the faith that mumbaites carry in Ganesh is overwhelming. In a city that never sleeps, where men have become busier like never before, there is a certain sense of calmness that Ganesh festival celebrations bring to the life of a commoner in Mumbai.

Not all homes bring and do 'Ganesh Sthapana'*, but the ones who do it religiously   abstain from alcohol, carnal pleasures and stick to puritan food consumption for the entire 11 day period.
The way Muslims brethren religiously observe the holy month of Ramadaan*, people in Mumbai and Maharashtrians to a greater extent discipline themselves in the month of Shraavan*. 
I miss the huge Ganapati pandals of Mumbai, the lovely and beautifully decorated Ganapati at Wadala( see His picture here, isnt he cute :) )

The Matunga ganapati, the lalbaug ganapati, my grandma's ganapati, and my saraswat baug ganapati. i am really missing them.
I miss the I woudnt have missed ganesh celebrations much if hyderabad celebrated it with the same religious and sentimental fervor. I found that missing.

My observation on the bylanes cause more pain to me, than pleasure.

To add to the apathy, i found drunkards carrying the idol for immersion, it pained me to see lack of empathy and the signs of degradation among the advanced form of creation.Ah, it pains.

It is a customary for me and my parents to travel to my grandma's home and have amazing food there and also meet my family members. It is also a fun-fare to visit all my friends homes and stay up with them while they perform the 'arati*'.
I am cribbing to have been unable to do them all, and certainly feeling out of place.

The purpose of Sarvajanik Ganesh Utsav started by Lokmanaya Tilak was to bring together masses so they could fight for the country unitedly. this message too is getting lost somewhere. Ah, it pains.

Ganesh Sthapana - the ceremonial process by which an idol is formally installed at home for the 11 day customary period of Ganesh Chaturthi.
Ramadaan- the holy month of rigorous fasting followed by Muslims
Shraavan- the fifth month of lunar calendar(Hindu calendar)
arati- prayers offered to God , mostly they are beautiful songs sung in praise of the respective lord.


his wealth is priceless
mortals crave his wealth,
sails unfurl with his name,

he watches and swatches,
he amuses and bemuses,
he loves and is loved, 
he is cutest and most beloved,
he is Lord Ganesha

it is always same

i met her in this 'f' generation. So, unassumingly our first interactions were on the internet. there is always an initial romance. she'd like my comment, my post, and i'd like her. this signal-signal goes on for a good measure. re-visiting those pages again, i wonder, were my posts, comments, and all that crap worth a 'like', but who cares!

those few signals lead to 'subscribe' to updates and then 'add as a friend'. that leads to sharing number and then mobile operators make money.

so, we meet at a local cafe often on off days and sometimes just like that. 

so here at the local cafe as i write this post, i wait for her. 

so today we may still talk the same thing. she doesnt remember what she says, and she often repeats what she narrated in our last meet or even before. i don't want to act intelligent and say 'yaaa, you told me'. i simply care to be there. 

she is tough and mighty hearted. her stories are as beautiful as she is. her pure spirit is growing all over me. her giggles and sniffs too are rhythmic as her music is. its a privilege, it really is!

our conversations would go on and on about her work, and how she worked well and sometimes terrible with her team mates. how her manager praises her and offers her support. she sits and talks about her art. she talks and admires her seniors  who stayed true to their art and pursue it with pure spirit. 

i listen, and dont want to speak. for my words may break her chain of thoughts, for i may lead her to miss her pearl, i love being her silent testimony, always.

we stay up late till night. she's a dreamer, she says she needs to rest and sleep, and tells me 'kanno, i get these beautiful dreams in my sleeep, which i'll tell you someday, i should go now', i hesitantly say 'yes, yes you must go' and say silently, 'i'll wake up from my dream now'.

thoughts on thought

how many times do we see, that there is no difference of an inch in what we think and what we see.

There are so many actions that I am guilty of; very few I take pride in, I find in the zero sum analysis i thought them all. I fed thoughts with life and energy, and they manifested. There were no surprises.

Animated and expressive person as i am, i make a fool of myself when i see some eventuality, and realize that it was already thought out.

I find it surprising, how i feed energy to a thought, till it expresses in physical form. This dis-illusion re-affirms that thought indeed is real. All external things are manifestations of the thought.

So must be the case with each one of us.

We all have our own unique world and each of us has created it for himself/herself by his/her unique thoughts and the energy fed to it.

Our interactions with the world are but physical manifestations of our thoughts.

So if we think greatness or think downfall, either ways it is right.

I had half-hearted faith in this idea. and never really paid much attention, even after having read long long back the "the alchemist"-Paulo Cohelo, until I experienced. 

So I would continue to believe that we indeed can; and we alone can create and shape the world around us, through conscious thoughts, and enable unique unaltered manifestation of our thoughts.
Good or Bad, they are there and they are right. Always.

23rd Sept 2012

Titles are a difficult task. I dont remember the number of times, i gave up writing a post in the middle, because i could not give a title to the post.

Titles polarize. They build opinions and often constrict free wheeling discussions or opinions.
Few would argue that, they bring focus, but i wouldn't necessarily write to draw an eye ball(sometimes i may). I write because it i find it as a way of letting out.

I wish each posts were like human beings. They would have names, because name do not mean and shape the personality of the person. It would be fun to see if each of us were our names, wouldnt it?
On a hindsight, i feel it would be a big put off if we were our names. Imagine if i were like the sun, people would say , "ah, that guy is sun maan, he is cool in the evening and hot in the morning, and i guess his building is not using electricity anymore, he powers them like the guy in Spiderman" (wishful thinking)
one more,
girlfriend would say
"my boyfriend is so hot, but he doesnt allow me near generally. he cools off when we meet" ;)

For that reason I like biographies more than other books. Autobiography of Mahatma Gandhi, Albert Einstein, Swami Vivekananda, and all leaders including Steve Jobs, and more recently Autobiography of a Yogi. All these are names of books and represent personalities. They allow us to know about the person just like we would do if we were meeting them.

So, I have found a better way of laying bare the out-pouring. I'll tag the post with what i feel the post is all about. And name it with the date.
Dates too are like names. They dont necessarily mean anything and in some cases may mean something. But they are names.
[edit]
There is another way of doing it too. we are writing out thoughts. so i'll put them as thoughts.
eg. thoughts on giving a title to a post, thoughts on working in a startup, thoughts on writing.

This makes me name this post as 'No Title'. I'll hold myself from doing that, albeit i may end up scrapping this post altogether. I almost ended up scrapping this post after considering alternatives( naming posts, no title, naming blogposts, why i dont like title, no name)

at the coffee table

as she started sipping her coffee,
carefully blowing small winds,
each time her breath kissed the coffee,
it sprang to life with vapors as it cooled
it lived its death breathing her wind
until she sipped it in

as she moved sideways,
her plates allowed her ear to be seen
the pearl, it was pristine
her light hair blew over her face, shadowing
like lazy clouds on Bashang beneath

the air smelt beautiful,
with her still wet fragrant hair.
and so i rushed home
to pen her 

Perspective