Pinku-Enchanted Life

Lofty thoughts permeate, kindness fills my heart, goodwill makes my eyes shine and I feel as holy as the shrine of the local saint. I am willing to sacrifice all for the current focus of my benevolence. No selfish thought is allowed entry and I go about doing all it takes with the zeal of a new missionary. Determined to change the world into a better place by tomorrow morning if not tonight. I walk with a lighter step, smile at the Manager of the office next door and the guy who sweeps the stairs with equal friendliness and have an exaggerated sense of well-being. I wholly believe that I have found the sublime truth of life and that is to love a fellow being with utter selflessness. And I rejoice, exult in this knowledge. Only for a tiny pinprick to burst my bubble. A pang of jealousy, a hint of uncertainty, a teeny-weeny bit of insecurity and suddenly I don’t feel so great any more. I land back with a thump on the quagmire of human feelings and desire. The beloved needs only be with m

Just finished reading a book by the same name written by Khushwant Singh. Those of you who know me must be wondering why I was reading this of all things. Well, the answer was simple it was at hand and I picked it up and then once I went through the first fifteen pages was mildly interested enough to feel like finishing it. Apart from all the colloquial terms for the penis in English and hindi that Mr. Singh educates one about, the book also speaks about a upper class, Princeton educated, young millionaire man’s unabashed need for women’s company and variety in the kind of woman he beds. From a house-help, (mind you the kind that we have in India, clad in saris or salwar kameezes, mother of 3-5 kids, reeking of sweat, not the dainty, frock wearing ones we see in English movies) his son’s wet-nurse, a diplomat to a masseuse and beyond finally also a prostitute. But what was the reason for seeking a woman’s company? His seemed very unidimensional - to have sex. To keep sex exciting by ha

You go somewhere, look around at all the things you would love to have. Look also at your rapidly dwindling notes and coins and resist. Resist buying that pink silk sarong and the green parasol and the tiny silver earrings with the pearls dangling beneath. What for? For buying that one special thing for that one special person whom you have left behind and would have done anything to have along. You hunt around despairing to find that one thing which would convey all that you feel. And then you finally find it. Tucked away in a corner, looking innocuous, ordinary, you pick it out, read a thousand things into each curve and embed a thousand more of your own memories, desires and expectations into it. You try and explain what it means to you and fail to convey even a tenth of it and you finally offer it, hoping it would be able to convey all that you have repeatedly failed to express. Only for that person to lose it within two days. What do you do? What do you say? What do you feel? You

A trip to a holy land undertaken to dip yourself in the holy Ganges and wash all your sins away as per Mom’s version (she seems to be growing old finally to be able to talk like this without laughing). A trip to a never-seen-before land to dip yourself in the fast flowing Ganges and have a good time in the water was my version. The two coincided in the form of our Haridwar trip last weekend. How did it go? Eye opening. Question raising. How can a place so venerated be so dirty? How can people spit in (not to mention do everything else besides) and drink up the same water with equanimity? How can a government be aware of the potential of a place as a tourist attraction and then do nothing to maintain it? How can people spend thousands on traveling to a particular spot to bathe in the river and not spare a few thoughts and pennies to keeping it clean? How come I the non-believer in all that’s expected to be believed without question land up in the same river and then as I prance about in

An Empty Canvas Have never painted. Atleast not since the mandatory paintings of zoo, holi and diwali scenes in school. Had never known the itch that an empty canvas must give an artist, brush poised to mark the white canvas forever with a thought which germinates like a seed in the recesses of his mind and then flows through his fingers to reveal itself. I know it now. Travelling for three straight nights in the semi barren lands of Rajasthan with the stars keeping me company, bright, awake, waiting for me to give vent to my feelings and thoughts and the odd palm tree swaying as if with the silent music of my soul, I knew the agony of not being able to communicate the multitude of feelings that submerged me. I stared at my blank piece of paper almost in a trance willing myself to put my thoughts into some coherent pattern that would enable me to capture the delicate thoughts and dreams so that I may relive them forever. Easier said than done, I fumbled with my pen, chewed on it for in

Pictures from my two day trip to Udaipur and Jodhpur Udaipur was a pleasant surprise, a green, lake dotted city in the midst of dry Rajasthan. Steeped in history and romance. A local informed that the most love marriages in Rajasthan happen in this city, not for nothing is it called the Venice of the East. Jodhpur was very diferent - conforms more to our idea of Rajasthan, huge tracts of land without much green cover, fearsome looking rocks and hills, hardworking, ruddy people and traditions steeped in history still being followed. The highlight of the trip was a visit to the Jodhpur Shastri Nagar Police station where we were hauled off for quarrelling with an autowallah over his charging us extra.

The Rain Cloud The dark cloud has covered the sky and the world in gloom. It will either fall like copious drops or the winds of fair weather would blow it away. Which shall it be? The cloud looks full. About to burst. The drops almost straining against their own gravity that keeps them together. Why does not the cloud then just burst out in torrents? Why this need to hold itself in control even at the brink of letting go? What stops it from coming down in torrents and washing away all that has been? Enrich the field for new things to come? The wind hovers in the periphery, willing, capable of blowing away, dispersing as it were and yet, it too hesitates, as if mesmerized by the turmoil. It too wants to see the outcome of the struggle within the cloud breast between self-preservation and annihilation? Oh! Which shall it be!