Book Review - Tuesdays with Morrie

“A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops.” Henry Adams

I’d come face to face with Tuesdays with Morrie multiple times earlier. The encounters had always been awkward. After all, I couldn’t just say, “Hey, I’m sorry but you’re not my kind.” It was one such chance encounter while traveling that I met the book again. Ashamed, I decided to give it a go. A recommendation from my husband gave me courage to go on that first date with the book. Who knew I was in for such a surprise? I was hooked after reading just the first few pages.

Tuesdays with Morrie, written by Mitch Albom, revolves around a dying man’s learnings about life, death and everything in between. But I connected even more with how these reflections force his favourite student, Mitch, to stop and ponder over where his life is taking him.

The story begins at Brandeis University, where Mitch is a student, in the spring of 1979. Morrie, a professor at the University, teaches sociology, instead of the “real world skills” of accounting and finance. Morrie soon becomes Mitch’s mentor, pushing him to pursue his interests and develop a humane worldview. At his graduation, Mitch promises that he’ll keep in touch. But as most other student-teacher relationships, this one too, was pushed to the back of Mitch’s mind with the prime real estate being taken up by the usual suspects – need to make money, buy a house, own a car,get that promotion. It was only after a decade and a half that Mitch hears of Morrie again. It isn’t happy news – Morrie is dying of Lou Gehrig’s disease. It is then that Mitch reconnects with his old professor who begins teaching the final course of his life, a course on living, loving, and accepting yourself and others for who we really are.

“The most important thing in life is to learn how to give out love, and to let it come in.”

The book, itself only 192 pages long, is written from Mitch’s point of view, as he first learns of his professor’s disease and then speaks with him about life over multiple sessions. It is structured into short chapters around 14 Tuesdays that Morrie and Mitch spent together, each dealing with a specific theme. The themes range from family, emotions and the world to death and regrets. Though the book might feel preachy at times and doesn’t say much that most people don’t already know instinctively, I loved the lucid and clear expression, which will make you read a page again – just so that you can absorb the depth of what was said in a few lines. It delves into the most basic truths of our existence. Morrie made me stop and think about the life I am leading and the choices I am making. I could easily find more than a couple of changes to make.

There was one paragraph that knocked hard against my head and heart, and has stayed with me ever since:

“Mitch,” he said, “the culture doesn’t encourage you to think about such things until you’re about to die. We’re so wrapped up with egotistical things, career, family, having enough money, meeting the mortgage, getting a new car, fixing the radiator when it breaks—we’re involved in trillions of little acts just to keep going. So we don’t get into the habit of standing back and looking at our lives and saying, Is this all? Is this all I want? Is something missing?”

It beautifully sums up the endless loop we are in, where we anchor our happiness to external events. Morrie invites the reader to stop, stand still, think and break out of this rut.

For me, this book also has an army of unsung heroes – Morrie’s family – who stay by his side day and night, till the very end. Morrie couldn’t have told his story if his family and caregivers weren’t working away silently, tirelessly to help him make the most of his days. More than his words, it is these people who strongly reinforce the need to focus more on people than material things. In the end, it’s the people - living in the house you built, riding pillion on the bike you bought, laughing and dining with you in that expensive restaurant – people… that really matter.

And Morrie teaches us to slow down and appreciate them.

When Dreams Come True

After seven long months of a self-imposed exile I’m venturing out of my cave again. The seasons have changed, the cool breeze transformed into the warm caress of the wind. With the winter firmly behind us, I’m squinting in the bright sun. Nonetheless, I am happy. Beyond happy…This is what it feels like, when dreams come true!

I have talked about this before, when I got accepted at Microsoft. But this time round, it is something much bigger, much better! Yes, I’ve been offered admission at IIM Ahmedabad…the institution most of us just dream of. It’s been a week since the results came out and the feeling is just sinking in.

Contrary to the impromptu dance most people would expect me to break into these MBA admission offers just left me numb. They left me numb with relief, numb with joy, numb with contentment. I was at the local grocery mart, picking out tomatoes, when the first of the results came out: IIM Bangalore. I’d filled in my login details with shaky fingers, unsure of what to expect. I’d been praying and wishing and longing for it day and night. And when I read the word “Offered”, I didn’t believe it at first. I double-checked, triple-checked it, rubbing my eyes in disbelief. But yes, undoubtedly, I’d made it.

The next dawn brought the most awaited result of the season: IIM Ahmedabad. Most of you wouldn’t know it was my birthday on the day of my interview, March 2… And honestly, (I’m messing with language here) it is the best-est birthday gift I have ever got. And yes, this time round I was jumping and dancing and squealing with delight. I shed a tear or two in private later.

The gamut of emotions I felt that day can’t be constrained by words. The congratulations started flowing in. Everybody seems to want a piece of me. Parents gushing in their joy, teachers dizzy with pride, juniors flocking around for advice… It was everything I wanted back in my life. But somewhere down the line, after having lived a rather anonymous life in a rather anonymous college, I’ve become objective in the evaluation of these celebrations.

Having been to the other side, I know this stardom lasts only as long as your success does. True, it isn’t as bad as our cricket team’s failure, where, if they lose a match, people burn their effigies… but one misstep, one failure is enough to turn all these people off you. It’s here today, maybe not tomorrow. If anything, I feel humbled by the magnitude of the achievement, the opportunity that has been offered. I hope I can make the most of it.

I can't thank my parents enough for believing in their girl when most others dismissed her. My brother, in his usual irritating self, proved to be my biggest source of motivation. Their criticism, their praise, their scoldings and their support, it always kept me going, never letting my step falter. It's true, success stories are seldom written alone. It takes team effort to make good things happen. I finally understand why the Family is considered to be so important...now when I'm about to fly away from our little nest to explore the deeper forest.

That being said, I’m finally at that turn in life where only good things can happen, where the future seems bright. True, our tuccchas (that is what we call our seniors at IIM A) have been scaring us with the trials and tribulations that lie ahead. But I’m more than sure that they are surmountable. I’m preparing myself for a new chapter of my life. One, on which, I hope to take you along. With apprehensive optimism, I’m hoping it’ll be as fulfilling and joyful as the last, if not much better!

P.S. I’m still wondering how I got through IIM Calcutta as well, after having been in a war of words with the panel.  

Farewells...

I came here, unmoulded clay

Washed up on your shores

You took me in, soft hands

Moulded me into who I am…

As I helped my brother gel up his hair for the school farewell…I couldn’t help but remember that time, a few hundred days ago, when I was getting ready for my own. I wasn’t suffering from the ‘I- don’t- want-to-leave-school’ syndrome. In fact, all I cared about was wearing a Saree, meeting friends and having a nice time. Little did I realize that farewells change lives… that this single day of dressing up like a young ladies and gentlemen would mark an important transition in our life…

It was not just the end of our school days… it was the end of a way of living… one where expectations were low, rules were flexible and the laughs came easy.

From the moment I stepped inside the school gates everything was different… the teachers who would glare at us if we talked in class, would reprimand us for low attendance (which was almost every other day)…met us with warm welcoming hugs… compliments flowed (champagne was not allowed) and all around me, I had friends, smiling their familiar smiles. I’d known them for just two years and yet somehow, I belonged. I felt safe.

Conveniently ignoring the ticking of the clock, we made memories… lots and lots of happy memories. I distinctly remember the ruckus we made while taking our class photograph. The whole school probably thought we’d lost our minds. None of us cared. But when the time to part came, the merry-making stopped. The spring in our steps disappeared… the smiles began to fade. I knew, I’ll probably never meet them again…save a few… and almost definitely not attend the same lectures again. The feeling was heart breaking… like I was losing something valuable.

The word ‘farewell’ and ‘good bye’ tasted bitter on my tongue. At last… I didn’t want to leave school. We promised we’ll meet up later but everyone knew better. True friendships endure the barriers of time and distance. But to put them to test is the toughest part of it. Each friend you lose leaves a void, where only memories remain.

But somewhere down the line I did  understand that farewells are not all about endings…they are about beginnings too… beginning a new life, with new dreams, new aspirations. To don the shoes of a young adult, you have to let go a kid’s shoes…and this is exactly what farewells do. They help you step into the bigger world with a confident stride. They help you prepare for the eventful journey your life is going to be. They are the sentries guarding the gates of your new life. All along, close to your heart, you have memories of that day you bid farewell to your loved ones.

After our last day at school, life became a roller coaster ride…a whirlwind of new people, new ideas, new expectations… we never got time to look back and think of all that was left behind…but I do think that all of us kept our old friends and memories safe in our strong rooms. Two years down the line, I realize that this is the way it is meant to be. We were neither the first batch of students nor the last to be given a farewell… what is important is holding on to the memories and the friends who were your life once…

Don't be dismayed by good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends.

Richard Bach

Dedicated to you… J

P.S. That picture you see... it symbolizes the end of one path, our life at school, but it also gives us a peek at the whole wide world waiting to embrace us... 

A Loveless World

We love to love...

Better still, we love being loved...

But what if,

We live in a loveless world?

A withered flower

Few shattered dreams

A broken heart

And unheard screams

Is the famed legacy

Love left me...

Long hours contemplating

What went wrong

Took you away

Snapped our bond

A dream felt

by my fluttering heart

Blown to smithereens

Before my eyes

Life's beautiful song

Silenced by this void...

Crying into the pillow

Night after dark night

Smudged tear tracks

Tell  all their plight

I yearn to hear your voice

Crave for your touch

Lose myself in those eyes

I once loved so much...

Caught in a storm

Within, about

This loveless world

No space for doubt

A broken heart

And unheard screams

Are all, left to me

By this cruel play of destiny...

An Unsigned Letter

Sometimes we stumble upon things which force us to thank our stars that we haven't been exposed to them. Yet, in our own small way we want to contribute and help the victims. The letter that follows is one such collection of words which made me cringe at this harsh reality. This letter was written by an Indian woman revealing the true face of FGM- Female Genital Mutilation.


“Dear Molly,

I am an Indian woman living in Mumbai and I attended a seminar in the United States recently where you spoke on the subject of Female Genital Cutting in Africa.  That day, I know I was the most intent of all listeners, the most interested in what you had to say. Why, you might ask?

It is because I, an Indian woman who has been to University, have myself experienced the practice of FGC.  I know this may surprise you, but it is true.  Did you know that FGC also exists in India?  Many people do not, not even many Indians!

I hail from the Dawoodi Bohra community, whose head is called the Syedna – we are a sect of the Shias, which came to India from Yemen some centuries ago.

As in many parts of the world, parents in the Bohra community suffered from “son stroke” as did my parents, who prayed hard for a son, after having four girls. They did succeed and we finally had a boy in the family.

I was the third among four sisters.  We were very close and shared many secrets. But none of us, not the ones before me, nor I myself, ever shared or warned the ones closest to us about the frightening and incomprehensible experience that we would one day be forced to go through.  It was not spoken about then and it is not spoken about even today.
I am 60 years old now, but will remember that fateful day for the rest of my life. I must have been around 7 years old when my mother told me we were going to my grandma’s house to spend the day with her.  When we reached my grandma’s house, my cousin (my mum’s sister’s daughter), who was a year younger than me, was also there. We were happy to meet each other.

Then, we were both led to a small room, which had a bed and asked to lie down. We kept asking “Why?” Suddenly, a lady dressed in black came into the room. By now, my cousin and I were terrified, not aware of what was to follow.

Our dresses were pulled up and our panties pulled off, and we were asked to keep our legs apart.  There were our mothers and our aunts holding our legs apart and then I felt something cold being applied to my clitoris, and then to my horror, the lady in black, actually held a scissor-like instrument and cut me there – I screamed and screamed but no one seemed to care. Then this same thing was done to my cousin, who was right next to me on the same bed.

Both of us kept screaming and crying in pain. Everyone left the room and asked us to lie down with our legs apart, and told us that all would be well soon. They locked us in for almost the whole day. The burning and painful sensation between my groins is something I will never ever forget.

I felt betrayed by and angry with my mother and humiliated too.  I just could not understand how my mother could have been so cruel and put me through this horrific experience.  Much later I was told that all Bohra girls must go through it, and that it is ‘good’ for you.  I then understood that my mother had no choice, that for her, she was only doing what was expected of her.  She was being a “good mother” because this is a practice that had been carried out in our Bohra group for centuries and was considered essential for a woman’s good reputation and marriage chances.

Little did I know that this would affect my sexual life to such a great extent that reaching an orgasm would be a difficult thing for me!

My husband and I have made sure that our daughter does not go through the same thing. We warned his mother and mine that they dare not do anything behind our backs.  We know of friends from my generation, who did not want their girls to go through FGC, but often it was the grandma or the aunts who took them away and secretly got it done!

The sad part is that my sisters and I, and my cousins too, did not really discuss our experience till many years later. We have spent years feeling shame and humiliation for a senseless act that we were subjugated to as children, incapable of defending our human right to keep all organs of our body.

I regret also, dear Molly that I cannot reveal my name to you, as I am not certain of the best way to help put an end to this practice that still persists on a large scale in the Dawoodi Bohra community of India.  However, your explanation of how people themselves changed this social convention in Africa through discussing non judgmental information on the dangers and human rights violations of FGC, then allowing people to collectively abandon the practice, seems the best way forward.

In the meantime, I hope that you will publish this letter to let others know that women suffer greatly from this practice, not only in Africa, but in other countries such as India as well.  Women need to break the silence and support one another in this effort so that our daughters will have a brighter future in the years to come”.

Fear

I vividly remember that summer when my well-meaning parents made me endure the torture of swimming classes. If I had to describe the experience in one word I would call it horrible (^1000).

Ever since my little brain realized that one of its functions is to store my memories, it has just stocked up on bad memories of swimming pools. Even as a kid, I wasn’t very fond of testing my swimming abilities in still water. It is not that I was allergic to water; I love visiting water parks…the oceans and seas being major favourites. But I just detested swimming pools. I feared them.

And fear is exactly what I am writing about today. The dictionary defines fear as “a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc., whether the threat is real or imagined; the feeling or condition of being afraid.” In my case the threat was imagined. But I was definitely, positively and surely afraid of those blue depths.

While I suffered from a very mild form of this intense emotion, other people around me are plagued by worse forms.

1)      FEAR OF FAILURE: Almost everyone fears failure. It is that one dreaded word which spells doom for most. Mistakes are looked down upon and the guilty is often labeled incompetent.

What we do not realize is that failure and mistakes are essential to success. Errors do not taint achievements, they add to their value. No task in this world can be completed without a cycle of efforts, failures and finally success.

2)      FEAR OF NOT LIVING UP TO EXPECTATIONS: Expectations, though often perceived as a source of motivation, can also make our life a living hell.

Children are worried about fulfilling their parents’ dreams while subordinates are always trying to live up to the expectations of their boss. It is of paramount importance for us to understand that we should just give our best shot. Nothing more, nothing less.

3)      FEAR OF UPSETTING/LOSING SOMEONE CLOSE:                This kind of fear is also fairly common. In small amounts, it is in fact good for every relationship. But when it takes unexplainably large proportions, it is the last nail in the coffin. Partners tend to become over-possessive. Frustration creeps in in the absence of proper dialogue. Such irrational fear often leads to a low self- esteem and lack of stability in inter-personal relationships.

The list can go on. We know that fear of any kind hampers growth. It might interfere with the psychological development of an individual. In severe cases, the victim might totally withdraw from society. Ever wondered why majority of the cases of child abuse go unreported? It is because the children fear rejection and ridicule. Why do many women still not report incidents of rape? Again it is because they are afraid of the society’s reaction and the mud- slinging which often follows. Why do young people often resort to death when faced with problems? They fear that they will not be able to take it. They are afraid of what the other people might think of them.

But my question is, is fear really all that evil? Is a certain amount of apprehensiveness not healthy? If we fear nothing, won’t we become careless in all our dealings?

Why is it that a mother often tell her kids that ‘bogeyman’ will come if they don’t eat their food/ don’t sleep on time/ don’t bathe properly/ don’t go to school? This way they are just teaching them to be scared of phantoms in their head.

In my opinion, a certain amount of fear is indeed necessary in today’s life. It only shows that we are concerned about people or that we think about the consequences of our actions. It keeps us safe by making us cautious. However, two things do need to be curbed/ changed:

1)      The irrational fear which often comes to define a person. No fear should be allowed to take over our life and control our actions. True, I sometimes think that some ghosts might pull me off my bed in my sleep. But I do not let such thoughts rob me of my sleep.

2)      The society’s attitude needs to be changed. Any kind of fear is not a weakness. The victim is not incompetent. It is just that he/she might have had certain bad experiences which force them to be afraid of certain things. They need help and support and not ridicule.

Fear itself is not the problem. The problem is the subsequent changes in the psyche of an individual. The problem lies in the attitude of the society which laughs at them. The problem lies in the lack of communication channels for the victim. The problem lies in our traditional way of using weakness as a synonym for fear and in our inability to understand that fear is a rational part of everyday life. He who says he fears nothing tells the biggest lie.

“Fear nothing but the fear which makes you fear this fearless life.”

                                                Go fear J

Killing Her

A disturbing print ad to raise awareness of female foeticide from Contract Advertising Mumbai.

Madhya Pradesh, India: When kamala gave birth to her first daughter, her husband, though not overjoyed, was still happy. They distributed sweets in the village and even called a pandit to bless the child. When kamala got pregnant again, her husband forced her to undergo an ultrasound. It was a GIRL. What followed was a series of abortions and a sure and steady decline in their marital life. Finally, when she did conceive a boy, she suffered a miscarriage. Cursed and harassed, she was thrown out of her home by the very husband who had promised to be with her through thick and thin. Gone was the love, the joy…her world was filled with a black emptiness.

This is the story of just one mother grieving for her child. Many more eyes are still brimming with tears. So why is it that we become perpetrators of such evil? Why do we not hear those silent screams of the unborn girls? Why do we refuse to see the agony of these mothers?

The causes are numerous. India has predominantly been a patriarchal society. The boys are expected to carry the family name forward. The birth of a boy is celebrated. Family and friends from far and wide are invited to bless him. The mother takes pride in her achievement. Her status in the family increases. Her mother-in-law loves her more than the other ‘bahus’ who have not given her a grandson yet. She is often treated as a queen and the family’s ‘chiraag’ as a prince.

Our traditions add fuel to this desire for a son. Not only do the sons ensure that the family’s genes never die away, they are also the sole bread-winners. They have been entrusted with the noble task of taking care of their parents in their old age. As per our religious philosophies, it is the son who fulfills the last rites for his parents.

Most of you, who listened to the bedtime stories your grandma told you, are probably familiar with the stories of Shravan Kumar- the ideal son. He took every pain to fulfill the wishes of his blind parents.

This story is often narrated so that the children can learn from him, so that they can imbibe his good qualities. Fair enough. But does this also not show that aching longing of a mother’s heart to have a son like him? Knowingly or unknowingly, such stories give rise to the yearning for a son.

But why only old stories? Take the example of most of the advertisements today…most of them depict a happy family as: 1 mother, 1 father, 1 son (Maybe a son and a daughter if they are feeling generous.). Only recently have the daughters made their presence felt on this front. Why? I know it is a very small, maybe irrelevant revelation. But it just points to our mindset.

From the day a girl is born, she is treated as different. Either she is venerated like goddess Lakshmi or she is cursed like you would a filthy sewer rat. We, as a society, rarely talk of them as equals. We either ban them from participating or we give them reservations. Why?

A girl’s first breath means trouble for her family. In very crude words, girls are considered to be a waste of resources…a drain on the family’s wealth.

The primary reasons are financial and social. This was the common line of thought I observed while talking to people: “you give birth to a girl, you educate her, ensure that she gets all comforts, you give her the best facilities. Then one day, you have to marry her off.” This is where the real problem steps in.

 In India, we follow a system of dowry. This system is not unique to the country. Currently it is being practiced in parts of Africa, East Asia, South Asia and the Middle East. But that is what Wikipedia says. If you google it, the rest of the links are all related to India. Dowry is no more “gifts given by the bride’s family to express their joy.” It is the birthright of the groom’s family, a symbol of their status, an indicator of their son’s worth. How can they compromise with that?

It is this burden of dowry which deters parents from welcoming girls with open arms.

Certain other reasons might be the difficulties in ensuring the safety of a girl child.

Also, couples planning on only one child prefer boys for the reasons I stated above. The easy access to medical facilities and the latest technologies has made the prospects of birth more dismal for a girl. Ineffectiveness of law is another reason. How can you control the information given by a slight smile or a frown as the doctor conducts a regular check-up for the health of the baby?

However, I think girls too have a major role to play. There are families who celebrate the birth of a baby girl. They don’t discriminate against them. They provide them with every possible facility. They help them study, allow them to explore new avenues and progress in life. These lucky girls should realize their true potential and should work for the benefit of their gender. By this I do not mean that they should take the plunge and become social activists. Even if these girls develop a progressive mindset, achieve financial independence and put their foot down on such evil practices, it will go a long way to further our cause. Imagine girls who are self-reliant, know the difference between right and wrong and are willing to fight against injustice. I’m sure they’ll uproot this poisonous vine.

I agree that traditions cannot just be tossed in the air. Neither can people change their attitude after reading just one article. Even if I had a magic wand, it would be a tough task setting things in order. But at least we can start. One initiative gets a thousand followers. All we need is that one start. I have just one worry:

This evil of female foeticide has embraced the nation in a tight hug. It feels really good at first, but then it begins to suffocate us. I wonder if we’ll break free before we see stars swimming in front of our eyes.

Someone Should Have Taught Him

I read this poem years back. I cried the first time I read it and it still draws those tears from my eyes..




I went to a birthday party
but I remembered what you said.
You told me not to drink at all,
so I had a Sprite instead.


I felt proud of myself,
the way you said I would,
that I didn't choose to drink and drive,
though some friends said I should.


I knew I made a healthy choice and
your advice to me was right
as the party finally ended
and the kids drove out of sight.


I got into my own car,
sure to get home in one piece,
never knowing what was coming,
something I expected least.


Now I'm lying on the pavement.
I can hear the policeman say,
"The kid that caused this wreck was drunk."
His voice seems far away.


My own blood is all around me,
as I try hard not to cry.
I can hear the paramedic say,
"This girl is going to die."


I'm sure the guy had no idea,
while he was flying high,
because he chose to drink and drive
that I would have to die.


So why do people do it,
knowing that it ruins lives?
But now the pain is cutting me
like a hundred stabbing knives.


Tell my brother not to be afraid,
tell Daddy to be brave,
and when I go to Heaven to
put "Daddy's Girl" on my grave.


Someone should have taught him
that it's wrong to drink and drive.
Maybe if his Mom and Dad had,
I'd still be alive.


My breath is getting shorter,
I'm getting really scared.
These are my final moments,
and I'm so unprepared.


I wish that you could hold me,Mom,
as i lie here and die.
I wish that I could say
I love you and good-bye.


Retold by Jane Watkins in "chicken soup for the teenage soul"

This Too Shall Pass...

Looking back, years gone by

We find a life complicated

Albeit in simple ways

We get joy as well as pain...

If there are flowers

There are thorns

If there is love

There is ache...

Yet some sank, while others drowned

In the ocean of tears they shed

A handful stayed afloat

Riding the wave of grief and pain...

The will to live; strong against the wind

Their hopes never crashing

Like you and me, they are flesh and bones

Born our equal, set apart

What makes them who they are?

The widow left alone

Destined a hard life

With kids and family to fend

Fighting the cruel world...

The lonely child left behind

By friends and family alike

Who grows up before his years

A burden upon tiny shoulders...

The mother of a soldier

Who gave up her son

Didn't let a pearl drop trickle

Down that aged face...

What do they have in common?

Those cursed by fate...

It is the belief, come what may

This too shall pass

This too shall pass...

It is not just them

Who wage a daily war

Look at yourself, your life

You'll find it complicated in simple ways...

Our grief may not be as great

The pain not that numbing

But it does shake us up

Throw us down...

So Strengthen that core, force a smile

Just remember the words I said

This too shall pass

This too shall pass...

Coming to Life

As rain falls down from up above

Each drop on a joy ride

I cannot help but smile

With unexpected, unexplained elation...

With my hand outstretched

I feel the merry mercy drops

Splashing wet against my cold skin

Rising to meet the twinkle in my eyes...

It makes me think of the good old days

When the world was a free place

Where there was no bondage, no labour

Only a perennial river of pleasure...

It is tugging at my heart

That world full of laughter

I want to go back, relive it

For just one more time...

Pushing aside the barriers

Caring not what the world thinks

I step out into the downpour, breaking free

Free from the amazingly ordinary

Free to be the one I truly am...

These tears you see are not of pain

It is a joy so intense

It is running through my veins

I am coming to life...

My hearts skips several beats

The burden of all these years falls off

Just as rain falls down from up above

Each drop on a joy ride...

Craving...

I wrote this poem way back in grade 9...Though I found some of the lines amusing now but nonetheless, I posted them just as they were...:)

CRAVING

Craving for many is a way of life
Some men crave for a beautiful wife
They crave for money and joys around
They crave for pleasures they haven't found...

But the girl there craves for a friend
A soul who will be with her till the end
A person who would guide her through night and day
Who would lead her to the warmth of May...

The aged woman craves for a son
Who she can love every moment, a ton
Who would just listen to her talk
To her deathbed, help her walk...

And there is the boy who craves for a sister
Who would painlessly treat every blister
Who would be his life's best feature
And sometimes reprimand him as his teacher...


My friends!There is so much to life than just earning gold
Sometimes in life, you have to be bold
Yet craving for many is a way of life
Some men crave for a beautiful wife...

More than anything else...

More than anything else
I want to thank you
For all you have done for us
Thanks for every morning
When you helped us catch the school bus...

More than anything else
I want to bring you
Joy and contentment
And loads and loads of love...

More than anything else
I want you to understand
That we have realized your worth
I want to make you feel special
Just to thank you for giving me birth...

More than anything else
I want to thank you
That you made me realize all my faults
Just realizing them was not enough
To correct them, I couldn't find a better person than you...

More than anything else
I want to thank you for making me realize the gifts
Nature endowed me with
Thanks for helping me all the time
Thanks for teaching me how to control my flailing fists...

More than anything else
I want to thank you for taking care of me through endless nights
Thanks for guiding me 
Through all my fights...

More than anything else
I want you to remember that I would always
Be on your side
I would never desert you
No matter how low the tide...

A Day Well Spent

Its been a long time since i wrote here...primarily because of all the work my college requires me to do...but yesterday was the day I just needed to write about! It was my day out with my best friend of 9 years (yes! that is half our lives..). Our little plan was to visit the Christmas Carnival on at the German House and come back home like sweet little girls...but that wasn't meant to be..if the two of us are meeting after so long...

We started our day auspiciously, with me waiting for her for nearly 20 minutes (don't kill me for putting this here..:) i can edit it out if you want..!!!)....and then going round and round the venue, unable to find it...Its really funny how Delhi people love giving wrong directions... For a ride of 30 minutes, we took nearly 60...nonetheless, we entered the venue with 100 watt smiles...finally made it!!!

The exhibition was one of the best i have seen, with super-yummy waffles, German beer ( we didn't taste it!), bookmarks and identical notebooks... There was one hairband with Santa Claus on top that i regret not buying...:( But lets move on...after going around the exhibition 6 times, we reluctantly moved out...On the road again, we decided to visit Connaught Place...hunger thundering in our bellies...

so our next stop was the Delhi Food Fest...From Germany, we found ourselves in a typical Delhi crowd, with people elbowing each other for the food coupons...Gone was the sophistication we had found ourselves drowned in just an hour ago...Have you ever had dal baati with chhole bhature?...try it..makes an awesome combination...

As if this wasn't enough, we went round the entire inner circle...not really window shopping...just talking and walking! Our last stop was the Youth Fest in the central park..too bad..we were two hours too early for it...

Trust me...we do a lot of random things together..our visits and trips are never planned...but this was something big even by our standards...a day so random that both of us will remember it for a long long time to come...especially because we both ended up wearing the same clothes, same color combination...That happens to us...

Dedicated to you, Nayantara Nath...