Community (Dont worry, I'm not earning anything out of this)

I recently told my friend Vani to quit watching stupid drama shows and watch this sitcom called Community. Although it admittedly may not be her thing, its still one of the best sitcoms on the air, and probably all sitcoms ever. In my list, this includes 30 Rock, The New Normal, Arrested Development, Scrubs and even my favourite show, Californication (Oh you GODLESS HEDONIST, you! :P ) For those who have not seen or heard of it, its the story of a rag tag group of misfits at the world's worst community college ever. Don't let this undermine the awesomeness of it. Innovative storylines, great acting, some truly unbelievable concepts including spoofs of every genre of movies possible and more, and some amount of tripping balls, its a show that takes every existing concept of tv and movies and gives it a whole new dimension. But what I like the most about it, is that one just falls in love with the characters ( I know people say this about all shows, but I feel bad for people who relate to Ted Mosby) and lose yourself in it. Testing the limits of imagination, the show just acts as a portal to a whole different world- an idea about how each and everyone of us, live in a different universe, in our head.

Over the top declaration of love? You bet! Will die off slowly to be replaced by the next surrealistic offering? Hope not! But recommended show for everyone? Absolutely. :)

Thoughts About Love

(This may seem more of a saga than a poem, but bear with me readers)

He loved her.
He loved her without judgement,
without fear and without restraint.
He loved her,
with a love as pure as sunlight,
morning rays,
streaming through the leaves in a silent forest.
He loved her without demand,
without expectations,
without consideration or reservations.
He lost himself in her.
He lived her and breathed her.
She lived in his best thoughts,
in his hard work,
in his crushing disappointment,
hapless pain,
and again in his hope.
She was his reason,
to live and to grow.
He loved her.
It was merely that simple.

She wished she could love him,
purely,
just love and nothing else.
She wished she could love
without wanting to be loved in return.
She wished she could put aside her ego.
She wished she could shatter the delusions,
of what it should be.
She called him discontented,
but perhaps it had always been her.
Wishing for more and hoping for different,
but too proud to admit it.
She wish she had expected less from others,
and more from herself.
She wished she was more confident,
less double guessing and more sure-footed
about her dreams and the way she felt about him.
She wished she had given and given,
untill she nothing left to give.
She wished she could have been different,
then maybe things would have been different.

They sat together,
she and him,
She told him,
she wished she loved her man,
the way he loved his woman.
Ironically though, both were alone.
The selfless one and the egoist,
the romantic dreamer and the pragmatist.
Sometimes, it felt like they were alone,
in a bubble of grief,
looking at the world outside,
of what could have been,
through a colourful veneer of soap and water.
They were alone together,
a similar frequency of loneliness resonating,
often drowned out by work, alcohol, friends, television,
anything they could indulge in,
anything that would take the pain way.
His loss,
her guilt.
She and him,
alone together,
high on grief and enjoying the catharsis of life.
Sitting through endless nights,
just waiting for the sun to rise.

Start

In my mind, while I'm writing this, I'm triumphantly playing "I'm coming home, I'm coming home. Tell the world I'm coming." Well actually I'm listening to some crazy ass EDM that's got me feeling all violent and aggressive. But, I can visualize images of myself swearing a flowy white dress and riding a fierce white horse (shadowfax :P). Bit over dramatic for the event, considering that its just me writing a blog post. But after almost a year long gap, it does feel different. Perhaps, even hopeful. Maybe it will get me out my horrible funk and enable me to do something with my life. Well, it would be nice if its a start at any rate.

Anyhow, I'm back. And I hope I can write. And I hope that whatever I write impacts someone, somewhere out there, over the rainbow. I hope its a fresh start.

want!

They said,

What could she want?

fame, fortune, money and talent,

she had it all.

What could she want?

What could she possibly want?

He asked her,

what could she want?

what more could she want?

more than his proud declarations and garguntan promises!

demands demands and more demands!

he fumed,

What could she possibly want!

she asked herself,

what could she want?

although she told herself she had it all,

all that she could possibly want.

it was a lie 

and she knew that.

what she really wanted,

was the implicit understanding,

of the purpose of a pearly tear,

that grew in her eye.

she wanted to see in all their eyes,

the unbriddled and childish love,

that she was sure, poured out of her own.

all she wanted was,

the stuff of legend,

the candyfloss building blocks,

of her candyland fantasy.

the soulmate effect,

the unspoken understanding.

all she wanted was his passion,

his dedication and his life...

thats all she wanted,

a slice of heaven in a mortal world.

perhaps a pouch of stardust, 

while shooting across the galaxy.

perhaps wanting a little too much than allowed!

all she wanted was a dream come true,

a fantasy,

an impossibility.

Just can't get enough!

Sex, drugs and alcohol,

Nay, you are stronger.

More potent, more powerful,

scarier even.

Poison, slow acting poison,

innocous looking, but quietly creeping through my veins.

The rush of exhilaration,

of finding and discovery,
the quiet ecstasy of interlinked fingers,
of kisses in the rain.

But its all just an illusion, isn't it,

for poison, however sweet, still kills mercilessly,

My heart, shattered,

wounds laid open for everyone to see,
holes in my being, now vulnerable,
jeers and mockery from crowd!

If I'm an open book,

then you scribble over my pages,
scratch, tear, inkblot!

Write meaningless rhymes of love and life,

and then,
tear out each page bit by bit,
and shred them into a million pieces.

And, I?

I search for new empty pages,
scour my mind for a new canvas,
just for you,
open myself up,

just for you,

cos I just cant get enough!

Birth death rebirth,

and dying again,
ecstasy and then pain,
more pain, each and every time!
cos, I just cant get enough!

firefly!

So, he came over.
Very late, unexpected.
Without a sound, but I knew he was there.
Before he had time,
I flitted downstairs.
He asked me to walk with him.
The little path, wound up the hill.
with the little toy houses on either side.
We walked,
and we walked.
It was nigh dawn.
The sky a perplexed blue,
a silent chill in the air.
We stepped off the main road,
out of reality and rare flashing cars,
and entered a silent lane.
A few steps ahead,
a world left behind,
We walked side by side up the winding road,
in the arms of the trees.
A burbling brook beside me,
hillocks to his side.
We walked,
arms entwined.
A slight gust of winds,
like a lady whispering,
and the fireflies came out,
flickering!
There was a pregnant pause!
He turned to look at me.
in the pale half light;
he looked almost ethereal,
ephemeral yet perpetual.
His long fingers, rose
touched my cheek,
leaving a glow.
The sounds of our shallow breaths
resonating in perfect tune,
under the butter moon,
on a july night.
The magical moment went on and on.
minutes, hours, days years.
The magic of the moment lingered,
until the dewdrops fell,
and the light began to swell.
He walked me back to my door,
a fleeting kiss,
and he turned away.
I watched till he was gone,
just as suddenly as he came,
like the flicker of a firefly's light,
and I wondered if I would see him again....


Inspired by my walk in the woods tonight! I actually came across a winding path, with a babbling brook running next to it! Pictures will be up soon :)

Homage!

This is a homage to a great kid, who is not with us anymore. My niece Shruthi passed away last Thursday after battling Ewing's sarcoma for 7 years. Although I did not spend much time with her, I feel her gone now....
When Shruthi was born, I was like ten or something. It was so exciting to have a new baby in the family. And what a baby she was! Rolly-polly with a round face, pink cherry lips and intelligent, giant, curious eyes, she was a poster child for the typical healthy baby. Those are the fondest and sadly, only memories I have of that child. How she used to run awkwardly in her pamper! How she used to follow my sister every where and idolize her, right from copying her mannerisms to eating the same thing she did! Shruthi was the youngest member of our family, when we all stayed in proximity to each other in Dubai.
After that I left. We relocated to Kuwait and gradually from weekend hangout pals, Shruthi and her parents became distant relatives. Then sometime near her fourth birthday, we discovered that the child had cancer. It was unbelievable. Something that grave had happened to a person I was close to for the first time. I heard stories from my parents: of her collapsing during a running race, of her being admitted in the hospital, of her undergoing chemotherapy. I finally visited her in 2005. she was a five year old with no hair or eyebrows. but she had the vitality of any other child I knew. Smart and playful, she mixed with my sister and me as if she had known us all her life, which was off course wonderful because the last time she saw us, she was a tiny baby. That one day... one afternoon we were with her, will live in my memories for years. I dont remember what board games we played, or what jokes we laughed about. All I remember was how much fun she was and how lively and excited she was. My memories and the couple of photos of her we took during that trip is I have left.
My parents went to Dubai last weekend to attend her funeral. I didn't go because of visa issues. But I wonder whether fate did not want me to go! Maybe I did not deserve to say my last goodbyes to her, because I didn't keep in touch when she was alive and well. She recovered from the cancer twice! But she couldn't fight off the third remission. Maybe this is my punishment, our punishment....this feeling of remorse for not doing any more than what we did. I dont want to say something cliched and careless like, "If I could just turn back the clock, I would do things differently and talk to her everyday!" Her memory doesn't deserve to be lied to! All I can wish for is that she finds peace wherever she is, pithy as though it may sound.
My mother wept the day she got back from Dubai. She said she couldn't cry in front of Shruthi's parents so she had to wait to let it all out. I wonder how Shruthi's parents are doing right now. To watch your child struggle in pain all through its life and then finally leave, is a fate that no parent deserves. Shruthi's mom sometimes went off into a trance while others where talking and would snap back to reality saying something so ordinary yet so emotionally profound like, "Shruthi always wanted a pet, she loved dogs" or "Shruthi loved peanuts". There is a whole in her heart! There is a whole in Shruthi's father's heart too! A hole that cannot be completely filled, no matter how much time passes, or how much love they receive from others! I cannot even bear to imagine how that women managed to get through all these years just watching her poor child suffer and keep praying for a miracle! At times like this, I feel like its an insult to them if my sister or I cry for the child. After all we didn't do anything for her, who are we to deserve the solace of tears! This is the truth, no matter how badly I wish it wasn't.
Thousands of people have experienced death in their lives. A loss of a parent, grandparent, aunt, uncle,  brother, sisters, cousins, boyfriends, girlfriends... I think I have heard stories from all these categories. After all, every person is something to someone, so loss is a universal experience that mankind shares; unwillingly but necessarily. A lot of these people and others have given the world advice on how to deal with death, how to miss the person lovingly and learn to let go. But when someone finally faces this situation, nothing anyone says makes sense unless they heal enough to accept it. The pain will persist, no matter what angle you look at it! If a person says, "They left because God wanted them in a better place", one may immediately say, "I could have made this place perfect for them." If people try to offer comfort saying, "Death is a relief from the pain" (like in the case of my Shruthi) then one can say, "Why did they have to suffer from the pain in the first place?". There is no answer or no words that makes sense to someone coping with loss. The process of healing is gradual and has to happen on its own.
however, if there is one thing death can give us, it is inspiration. Shruthi had just turned ten, but she had already learnt art, music, horse back riding, swimming and what not! She went to school, she participated in music and dance and sports. She even danced at the Indian Embassy in Dubai. She achieved so much in those ten short years! Most of us are 21 and above, and all we can boast about is how we topped the class in 9th grade or how someone took ten shots in a row! Shruthi was lucid and conscious up to two or three days before her death and her father says she was still smiling and good tempered, even though she knew that this time there was no escape. It takes balls to accept death. Indeed, it is ultimately the only thing that humanity universally fears. Yet this remarkable ten year old child accepted it bravely and went peacefully. It is awe-inspiring so say they least, when we regularly freak out about the next test in college, believing that "our life is over!"
I think death puts a lot of things in perspective. For one thing it has reminded me to be close to the people I love or have loved or been close to in my life. I know such epiphanies and resolutions come to me only in moments like these, and the they all vanish once I wake up to the real world again, with its mindless drudgery and routine thoughtless existence. But its a start! I sorely wish I was the "big sister" who was there for Shruthi, not the kid staring out of a couple of photos she might have kept. I cant do anything now but I hope I change in the future and not get sucked into my own problems all the time. I also learn from her that in order to live something that can be called a full life, one needs courage: Courage to go ahead and try different things, courage to live a little, courage to experiment and learn about the delightful intricacies of life, death and relationships. In short, one needs to learn how to be brave enough to face life with a positive attitude, even if you know that bad times may be coming. Don't let the fear of failure or loss, prevent you from fighting. That's what a ten year old child,who despite having lived most of her life in a hospital, and paralyzed for more than a year, went on to learn and do things I have never done, even though I am whole and healthy, has taught me! Shruthi will live on in my heart as my inspiration. I just hope that, if there is a God out there, then he is looking after that wonderful kid and she will now be at peace and happy and never suffer again.