SIXTY

Ever wondered why so few people have plants in gardens or that matter balcony these days! That’s because it is bloody hard to re plant a sapling, to get the amount of soil & manure right & then fix the damned plant in the pot right in the center, as well as not too low or high. Bloody hell!
I am just saying. If anyone is worried about the Earth and vegetation etc I think the first thing they should figure out is how to make this whole business of planting saplings easier.

And I say this from the bottom of my heart if they made that easy I would plant so many trees but until then I am putting brakes on my project of gardening in pots. It is so damned difficult to to re plant saplings that you buy from nursery in to bigger pots. In fact, I shouldn’t really be ranting because it is my fault that I am seating buckets after re planting about 6 plants. I had the choice of keeping a gardener who offered me his services. I thought I would call him back but then in my infinite wisdom of a idle mind I thought how can this be a project if I wasn’t going to devote my time and attention to the process and remain involved at all level.

Blah! stupid reasoning, now I know. I am no green thumb.

There is some irony to my story, as I sat sweating buckets, having managed to re plant 4 saplings of a flowering shrub in one pot, the doorbell rang, and lo behold, it was the gardener asking whether I would retain him for his services. And yet again, I said no. And now I sit here ranting. I am not sure I have done a good job with my 6 plants and if they all die, it will be my fault alone but then, if this is to be my project , i reason with myself again, the failures will be as much mine as the successes.

THE END.

Advertisements

FIFTY NINE

wowtop5-the-alchemist

“It’s the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting.”

We all dream and as dreamers wonder whether these dreams will ever come true. Paulo Cohelo’s modern fable, as some call it, is a manifesto for today’s dreamers. If you have read this book, you know what I am talking about. This is that book which for some reason seems like the first book to tell you that you must have courage in believing in your dreams and pursuing them is part of your destiny and to deny yourself a shot at your destiny is wrong.

Like always I will not bother with the summary of the book, because it is important to read the book. However, if anyone wishes to refresh their memory here is a piece that will help.

 

Here is an important trivia, The Alchemist went on to sell more copies than any other book in the history of Brazil, and thus made it into the Guinness Book of Records. The book was published in Brazil in 1988, but over the years it has been translated into 61 languages. The popularity of the book extends across diverse cultural, social and religious background. That’s what makes this one of the iconic books of the 20th Century.

A lot of philosophical thought is woven within the story of The Alchemist, and as a reader I did not perhaps fully appreciate or understand them. But something very primitive yet modern is found throughout the narration, the human obsession with life, love, destiny, fate and finally dreams. Somehow, the book resonates with all the bitter truths, half truths, worries, desires, misgivings of every man and that is probably the reason it is popular across the world.

Apart from its philosophical content, I found a deep spiritual vein running through the book that attracted me to it more. Here was a modern fable containing references to philosophy and a world of spiritual pursuits and yet sometimes it seemed like a book on motivation, almost like a self help book. My reason for putting this book amidst the top 10 picks is the mixed feeling it generated in me. On one hand it was a book that spoke of great things and sometimes it made me remember badly written self help guides for students attempting competitive exams.

What remained with me even after all these years about this book is the concept of ‘personal myth’ propagated by Cohelo, the belief that we are the heroes of our own intricate tale of valor and glory and suffering, thus we must pursue what is our destiny that which we see through our dreams. This work by Cohelo always comes to mind because the way it has touched every reader with the simplicity of language and meaning with which it showcases the symbolism and spreads the words of wisdom & philosophy so easily and penetrates even the most cynical mind.

It gives hope and motivation that is much needed.

THE END.

Reference Sources: Gradesaver.com, Google images for book cover.

FIFTY EIGHT

Yes it has been over a month and I haven’t posted anything here. Why? Well, because I seem to work well under confining circumstances better and for some reason the my attention span is almost similar to a gold fish. The rate at which I get bored with something is only proportional to the rate at which I find something new to indulge in.

The result is a blog that has many categories but not enough posts to cover them all. I plan so many regular, recurring topics yet I barely manage to write for even half a month. That’s what I have noticed about my writing, ever since I took up this challenge of writing 100 posts on my blog.

There, now I have written out my confession about being a poor blogger and I feel much better.

But keeping in mind that I want my posts to follow some degree of structure in its selection of content, this post is not done yet. Let me add a few keynotes to bring you up to date with what fun things happened & I didn’t blog about them out of sheer laziness. Confession time!

The 13 things that happened while I wasn’t blogging:

1. I got a hair cut for 99 INR, can you beat that! It was cheap & fabulous.

2. I caught someone when they tried to recycle a gift to me.

3. I met up with someone who I pretty much ignored and didn’t care about during the time we actually were hanging out in the same group.

4. I was gifted a huge number of paintings by an acquaintance because apparently I seem to like painting.

5. I went on a vacation, got sick on the way & then it was all pretty much downhill from there.

6. I have been using the privacy settings on FB at maximum, weeding out the unwanted stuff on my newsfeed, its less irritating that unfriending someone and then having to re friend them or write long explanations on messenger because every body has thin skin.

7. I purposely refused to like pictures posted by some folks because it seemed entirely futile after they had about 30 odd likes withing an hour of posting that pic. I think I would like my ‘like’ to count.

8. I found out leather or faux leather does not survive 2 winters without adequate moisturizing and care. I cried.

9. I replaced my loss of the said leather product in about 24 hours. That shows how unattached I am to material things.

10. I brought back a mother load of music CD’s and DVD’s to stock up on entertainment & my broadband is making me deliriously happy as I grab more and more illegal , pirated content off the internet.

11. My pet projects seem to have grown, they extend now into pottery painting, very distinctively different from sewing, crocheting, writing blogs, reading the full Christie series. I have also plunged head first into gardening. And no I have no formal training in any of the above, except what we learnt at school. Apparently, SUPW wasn’t ‘some useful period wasted’.

12. My health seems to be on the decline, so is my patience with people who are negative, who are too full of them, who are too normal, who are pretentious, who put on too much make up, who preen in front of DSLR’s, who carry DSLR’s everywhere they go, even when out for a dinner, who think fair means rubbing a lot of light colored foundation to look white as chalk, who post pics that are copyrighted, who post statements to defend the same pics, who think they are above middle class because now they have a penthouse in a tower, who pretend to be big shots in a small far off country…. I have been advised to have some vitamin supplement and some antacid to take care of the recurring headaches. Oh and use FB filter of “I don’t want to see this’.

13. I have grown a year older, that doesn’t suck as much as it did last year. But the problem persists, I do not feel like my age, illness and creaking joints aside.

There I am all done, playing ‘catching up’, now, onward to more serious things.

Keep reading.

THE END.

FIFTY SEVEN

Supposing it had been Gerda who had followed him tonight. No good saying people didn’t do such things. As a doctor, he knew only too well what people, high-minded, sensitive, fastidious, honourable people constantly did. They listened at doors, and opened letters and spied and snooped – not because for one moment they approved of such conduct, but because, before the sheer necessity of human anguish, they were rendered desperate

The Hollow. Agatha Christie

What is it to be Human? It is to be fragile, it is to have doubts and fears. If those doubts and fears drive us temporarily we are capable of all actions that we would normally shirk from or frown upon. But the anxiety, the worry that drives our mind insane sometimes can make us take the less trodden path. That is when we listen at doors, peep through key holes or go through someone else’s phone log and chats. The little quote is from a 60’s novel yet it rings true for us even in this day and age. An age where modes of communication have increased, our lives have become more public, at the same time we have more to hide, more secrets and more people who want to know them. The readers may argue not all spying, snooping or opening of mails and phone messages stems from anxiety, fears and doubts. They are right, because there are a variety of reasons people may resort to these behaviors. But I am only analyzing the emotional push that sends our sense of propriety, sense of personal space into a turmoil and we find ourselves clawing and clutching at straws to feed the demons in our head bursting to come out. And what happens after we have managed to open the mail and read it, disappointment, Because unfortunately, there is always something some one wants to keep private. And when it is discovered all hell does break loose.

Has anyone tried this exercise, opened the phone messages and wondered which one’s we would not want certain persons in our life to see. There must be a few! Strangely, something prevents us from deleting them. Doesn’t it? As if we like taking this risk. I don’t know what are the complex emotions that work behind our inability to remove things which are ‘secret’, because we hate letting go, because they are reminders of time gone by? I do not know.

But the impulse to check on someone else’s life, to see what they hide, (we all hide things), is sometimes unbearable, it pushes through the other senses that stop you, it curbs the conscience and suddenly you find looking into something you should not be looking at.

Perhaps in this age of cynicism that we live in, we cannot expect anyone to understand the predicament through which one suffers before finding one’s hand’s in the proverbial cookie jar, but the quote from Agatha Christie touched me in its basic understanding and elaboration of the human nature that worked behind these spy like actions.

Do you often spy on someone else? Tell me about it.

FIFTY SIX

When your father dies all of a sudden you don’t really know how to react. There are a million things happening all at once around you. You become an observer in your own life’s tragedy. It is not unlike having an out of the body experience. But it is very different from that because you are also aware of your body. You are no longer in control of your self. Something has broken and suddenly you are adrift in a sea of sorrow.

It is a very difficult tine for anyone who loses a parent but more so when you are a single child and Daddy’s little princess. It is hard then to see the man who lifted you on his shoulders, so you could see the idol in a crowded Puja pandal or if you had shoe bites from all the pandal hopping wearing your new shoes, lying in a hospital bed, helpless and unable to speak. It is difficult for you to visit him in the hospital when he looks at you with the saddest eyes imploring you to take him home because he can’t speak with the tubes in his throat. The excruciatingly difficult emotions to see him not recognize you one day. It is too sudden and you are forced to face him every day in the same house where you and he watched cricket matches, argued and hugged. All of a sudden the world around you crumbles but you are left unable to grieve, because at least he is alive, even if he is not th same person anymore. In fact you do not recognize the sad man lying in the bed. he looks like your dad but doesn’t sound like him. He doesn’t know who you are anymore, the illness has wiped your memories from his mind and you are just another visitor to his bedside. May be you wish somewhere that doesn’t suffer anymore. You sit with your mom, in silence and darkness, wondering what will life be if he was no more.

And just like that one morning after he is back in the hospital with complications, he is no more. You stand beside a lifeless body in an ICU and you do not know how to react. Your mom acts brave and you know you must be brave for her, because he brought you up to be a brave individual. The relatives and friends reach out to you with words of sympathy. You no longer feel that you are in the hospital, you are now an actor on a stage. You speak without tears, your voice doesn’t falter, you greet friends and relatives and try to look out for your mom. Your mother rushes around looking busy, so that nothing touches her. You know it is her way of coping. You act normal or you act weird, depends on who is watching. You know a hundred pairs of eyes are judging you but how does it matter now. It is only when you sit down, you realize you were holding your breathe. When you try to breath in the air feels stagnant, your chest hurts and you gasp and the tears flow freely not because you feel sad or lost but because you feel the loneliest amidst all the people surrounding you. Are you sad? You wonder. There is no name for some emotions. This is one of those emotions, a nameless ache inside, a deep hollow inside that you know will never be filled. One of those unspeakable horrors of life that you can never really share with anyone.

Yes, that’s probably the truth about losing your father. You will never be able to stand in front of anyone and say it out loud, how much it hurt, how much it pained and how lost you feel every day. Losing a parent is not easy and you do not wish it upon anyone. But even the closest of your friend is probably thinking, ‘thank God, my father is okay’. you can’t burden them with your tears. Your best friend sends a condolence message and it is same as the one sent by any acquaintance. Why do condolences messages sound so impersonal and formal?

The day moves on and more people arrive and then you undertake the last journey with your father – the funeral procession passes through familiar streets  and you reach that place – the place that scares you. It is time for his last rites. The last rites are performed by you. They make you do these religious rituals. You don’t know what they mean or what they will achieve. You know your father didn’t believe in them but you still do it. You calm yourself so you don’t create a scene. But at the very end all calmness vanishes, the tears overflow and you feel like sitting down  and crying like a child who has lost her father in a crowded place. But you don’t, you stand up on trembling legs. You stop the animal noises which push through your lips from somewhere deep inside. And you let you Dad go. It is the final goodbye.

Everything else after that, after the fire has consumed him, is just like a surreal dream. You follow instructions, you do the needful, all of a suddenly the world outside doesn’t matter. Your head throbs and you become aware of the headache and you feel all your senses shutting down.

That’s it. It’s over. Nothing will ever be the same now. You cannot say this, to your best friend. you can’t share these thoughts with your significant other. They will never understand because they have their Dad’s waiting for them back home.

It is at this point that you realize why condolence messages are so impersonal and formal. Because they come from people who haven’t experienced what you just did.

Days turn into weeks into months, you start a new life with a new man, no one asks about your Dad, shows no interest in knowing about him, or your past experiences. You realize slowly, in grief, we are all alone.Our lose is our own and we cans hare our joys and happiness but grief can never be shares because frankly no one cares. Not your nest friend, nor your lover, nor your spouse, no one in the world.

But that’s how life is. A loss of someone may be insignificant to all but may be the single most influential moment which defines the life of one person. Grief is probably the only personal thing we can never fully share with the closest person(s) in our life.

 

THE END.