A lot has happened since the last time I was here, in my favourite part of the world. Alina and I finally moved for one, and it's been a very interesting experience. Doing everything from scratch is something we should all take up every once in a while. The act gives us a renewed appreciation for all that we take for granted. Hopefully that leads to appreciating all the things that really matter down to the air we breathe in.
But as I settle into my new little life, surrounded by my own little needs, worrying about my own little issues...things happen around me at a much larger scope. Things deteriorate slowly with every passing day.
My home country has been thrown into utter turmoil once again. Emergencies imposed, constitutions thrown out the window, people rounded up and jailed. Isn't it surprising that all media is shut off for days to shield the people from really knowing what's going on...it reminds me of the dreadful communist regimes that we were scared of growing up. Where even the most basic freedoms are taken from you. For this current situation where people are scared of speaking their mind just because they will be thrown in jail, where media is controlled by the government and the daily news is just a press conference by the ones in power...how is any of this different from the most suppressive of the communist states.
Live shows...banned.
Discussions...banned.
Anything criticizing the government...banned.
All other points of view...banned.
Isn't it ironic that we chose the path of extremism to defeat extremism. That we propagate fears of our own to distill fears...it's coming full circle in the cruelest of ways. But I guess cruelty is the one thing we have excelled ourselves in over our development as a species. From caves to castles, all the while learning to be just a little more cruel.
I wish I had a river, I could skate away on...
When I call my family now, they avoid discussing anything that's going on, as if they fear that uniformed men will storm in and take them away, and no one will hear from them again. It's surprising that even though I sit thousands of miles away, I know more about what's happening to them then they do. I was chatting with a friend earlier and he said, very matter of fact, that you don't know what's happening unless it's happening to you, and then it's too late.
Back home, somehow life goes on anyway. People drive in and and out of work, still meeting deadlines, as if nothing affects them. The best way to eradicate the fear of zombies is to become zombies, well our fears should have evaporated by now.
But then, I am now just a spectator, seeing through other eyes, my vision always limited by what they want me to see. The true picture seems like a Woody Allen joke now. A little sarcastic, a little narcissistic, and a whole neurotic. Some might even say I have no right to say what I say, as I moved away, left for greener pastures. But then, even as I graze the greener pastures, my thought are stuck with the thorny terrains I left behind.
Before setting out I promised myself to come back soon, but now I wonder if there would be anything left to come back to. Feels nostalgic now...all those care free late night drives, just hanging out in deserted corners of a calm city, a cone in December followed by a coffee. I wonder if any of that would ever come back, or if the kids I watched grow up will ever know that care free abandon. Being totally free, like Superman flying over the Metropolis skyline.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
The procession of being
We are taught that the thing that differentiates us from the rest is our free will. Coupled with that is our ability to reason and something within us that helps us differentiate between right and wrong. As if there was a universal good and evil. Goods and evils that go beyond the petty differences generated though differences in religious beliefs, social backgrounds, skin colours and cultural inclinations. Goods and evils we would all agree upon, powered by free will and the immense ability to reason. Yet these realizations always seem beyond us, while we are caught up in desecrating everything that is not in agreement with our smaller rights and wrongs.
An existentialist sits and preaches personal responsibility driven through free will, all the while saying that we cannot escape our surroundings, while the realists just accept everything around them and try to mould themselves accordingly. Idealists follow their ideal notions and shelter their existence from the practicalities of our existence. All of them are in one way or another trying to figure out existence and more importantly the puspose behind it. Religion makes that easier for us. It starts us out by handing out a few ground rules and gives purpose to existence. Where every good is given to test how grateful and sharing you are, and every bad that is given is a test to your endurance and patience.
sabhi kuch hai tera diya hua sabhi rahaten sabhi kalafaten
kabhi sohbaten kabhi furqaten kabhi duriyan kabhi qurbaten
Where there are religions that teach us to live our lives within this world, never taking leave as long as we are bound by existence, there are those that preach leaving everything behind and pursuing a higher state of being through meditation. No matter what the religion, the basic definition of the right and wrong don't change. The notions of good and evil remain the same.
No matter which extreme the religion advocates, there's always love for something. Love for people, love for a deity, love for freedom from needs, love for that special someone who shares your life, and above and beyond all, the love for the creator who created. But love is considered a necessity to keep us alive, to separate us from the dead. Love, which can be found in the smallest of animals, and love that can be found in the sonnets of Shakespeare.
ye sukhan jo ham ne raqam kiye ye hain sab waraq teri yad k
koi lamha subah-e-wisal ka, kai sham-e-hijr ki qurbaten
Yet in the pursuit of our loves we tend to forget that everyone is pursuing their own love. In the quest of our one true love, all other loves become secondary, less important, expendable...we become horses drawing their carts that can only look ahead blinded by leather pads shielding them from the rest of the world. In our own quests we run over anything that comes in our path, for everything is justifiable. Teenagers dispose off their parents for their love, and parents crush their kids to enforce their own higher notions of love. Masses in love with their own set of beliefs collide with masses that are in love with a different set of beliefs.
Somehow the love that was supposed to bring us together hones our skills at identifying differences and bringing down bridges. Our love makes it a battle for the ends, and the means to those ends lose importance. Irony seeps into everything for even though the eventual goals are the same, it's actually the routes to those eventual goals that we start fighting over. The love of people, life, and beliefs is replaced by love for revenge. History is written down in huge volumes by holders of perspectives and the volumes are stacked in shelves and forgotten. The voices of reason and sanity are relegated to the back seat.
jo tumhari man len nasiha to rahega daman-e-dil main kya
na kisi udu ki adawaten na kisi sanam ki murawwaten
Soon everywhere there is smoke and the smell of burnt souls; souls that are damaged beyond repair. No more is there a possibility of acceptance and no one is willing to adjust with another. The love for revenge blinds us to all realization of rights and wrongs. Collateral damage becomes just another phrase, and body count is just like learning how to count. The love of revenge leads us to the love for death. No more is life appreciated, but only death of the enemy is valued.
Generations are crippled as the stack of bodies grows. A side can only see the losses on their side for the stacks are so high that you cannot look beyond them. Every side now has stories that gut you with a blunt knife. A global gang war is launched where whoever has the strength inflicts damage that reeks finality. Blows aren't meant to hurt anymore, they are meant to obliterate. Current affairs just become a never ending obituary.
chalo aao tum ko dikhayen ham jo bacha hai maqtal-e-shahar main
ye mazar ahal-e-safa k hain ye hain ahal-e-sidq ki turbaten
In the middle of all of this, there is always the optimist. Someone who somehow sees beyond the smoke and hopes that even this will end. That there would be a tomorrow where people would step out of their circles to take in the smell of dawn. When eyes will be serenaded by the sight of a flower in blossom, and a tree in swing. Where ears will dance to the sound of innocent laughter and mindless chatter.
A tomorrow where acceptance will be the most important virtue, where the earth will be big enough to house us all. Where people would step out and won't need to look behind their shoulders. There would be a jump in every step and a whistle on every lip. A hand in every hand, and love for love...
meri jan aj ka gam na kar, k na jane katib-e-waqt ne
kisi apne kal main bhi bhul kar kahin likh rakhi ho masaraten
An existentialist sits and preaches personal responsibility driven through free will, all the while saying that we cannot escape our surroundings, while the realists just accept everything around them and try to mould themselves accordingly. Idealists follow their ideal notions and shelter their existence from the practicalities of our existence. All of them are in one way or another trying to figure out existence and more importantly the puspose behind it. Religion makes that easier for us. It starts us out by handing out a few ground rules and gives purpose to existence. Where every good is given to test how grateful and sharing you are, and every bad that is given is a test to your endurance and patience.
sabhi kuch hai tera diya hua sabhi rahaten sabhi kalafaten
kabhi sohbaten kabhi furqaten kabhi duriyan kabhi qurbaten
Where there are religions that teach us to live our lives within this world, never taking leave as long as we are bound by existence, there are those that preach leaving everything behind and pursuing a higher state of being through meditation. No matter what the religion, the basic definition of the right and wrong don't change. The notions of good and evil remain the same.
No matter which extreme the religion advocates, there's always love for something. Love for people, love for a deity, love for freedom from needs, love for that special someone who shares your life, and above and beyond all, the love for the creator who created. But love is considered a necessity to keep us alive, to separate us from the dead. Love, which can be found in the smallest of animals, and love that can be found in the sonnets of Shakespeare.
ye sukhan jo ham ne raqam kiye ye hain sab waraq teri yad k
koi lamha subah-e-wisal ka, kai sham-e-hijr ki qurbaten
Yet in the pursuit of our loves we tend to forget that everyone is pursuing their own love. In the quest of our one true love, all other loves become secondary, less important, expendable...we become horses drawing their carts that can only look ahead blinded by leather pads shielding them from the rest of the world. In our own quests we run over anything that comes in our path, for everything is justifiable. Teenagers dispose off their parents for their love, and parents crush their kids to enforce their own higher notions of love. Masses in love with their own set of beliefs collide with masses that are in love with a different set of beliefs.
Somehow the love that was supposed to bring us together hones our skills at identifying differences and bringing down bridges. Our love makes it a battle for the ends, and the means to those ends lose importance. Irony seeps into everything for even though the eventual goals are the same, it's actually the routes to those eventual goals that we start fighting over. The love of people, life, and beliefs is replaced by love for revenge. History is written down in huge volumes by holders of perspectives and the volumes are stacked in shelves and forgotten. The voices of reason and sanity are relegated to the back seat.
jo tumhari man len nasiha to rahega daman-e-dil main kya
na kisi udu ki adawaten na kisi sanam ki murawwaten
Soon everywhere there is smoke and the smell of burnt souls; souls that are damaged beyond repair. No more is there a possibility of acceptance and no one is willing to adjust with another. The love for revenge blinds us to all realization of rights and wrongs. Collateral damage becomes just another phrase, and body count is just like learning how to count. The love of revenge leads us to the love for death. No more is life appreciated, but only death of the enemy is valued.
Generations are crippled as the stack of bodies grows. A side can only see the losses on their side for the stacks are so high that you cannot look beyond them. Every side now has stories that gut you with a blunt knife. A global gang war is launched where whoever has the strength inflicts damage that reeks finality. Blows aren't meant to hurt anymore, they are meant to obliterate. Current affairs just become a never ending obituary.
chalo aao tum ko dikhayen ham jo bacha hai maqtal-e-shahar main
ye mazar ahal-e-safa k hain ye hain ahal-e-sidq ki turbaten
In the middle of all of this, there is always the optimist. Someone who somehow sees beyond the smoke and hopes that even this will end. That there would be a tomorrow where people would step out of their circles to take in the smell of dawn. When eyes will be serenaded by the sight of a flower in blossom, and a tree in swing. Where ears will dance to the sound of innocent laughter and mindless chatter.
A tomorrow where acceptance will be the most important virtue, where the earth will be big enough to house us all. Where people would step out and won't need to look behind their shoulders. There would be a jump in every step and a whistle on every lip. A hand in every hand, and love for love...
meri jan aj ka gam na kar, k na jane katib-e-waqt ne
kisi apne kal main bhi bhul kar kahin likh rakhi ho masaraten
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Life is...
As a child I remember the first day I went to the school campus on Hill Road. I remember that my mother took a job in Beacon House so that I, her son, could attend what was considered the best school in the country at that time. The year was 1984 and I was just a second grader going into third grade.
I remember we had to wear shorts in the winters. And a big blazer over two sleeveless sweaters meant that everyone in the class looked like they were just wearing their blazers and had forgotten to put on their pants over their knee high navy blue socks and shining oxford shoes. I made friends fairly quickly, for we all shared the same problems, our legs froze in the morning assembly, and we all feared being called up on the podium to sing the national anthem. Going through school all I knew was that I am a Muslim. I didn't know which kind, for Muslim was just a Muslim. None of my friends knew either, and we never even thought about it. For the biggest concern was always to convince our parents to buy us a challi from the challi-waala. I also remember the question popped up in sixth grade when a politician's son joined our class and asked me what kind of a Muslim I am, and I didn't know what he meant.
Life is beautiful...
Over the years I found out the kind of a Muslim I am, but it still didn't matter, for I was a Muslim, and that meant I loved peace and harmony. That was my interpretation of the religion, for all the prophet's stories I read showed how forgiving he was.
I was gone for two years in-between when my parents wanted to leave the country (Zia's time was tough on so many) and I discovered a whole new life in the States. There I made friends from all over. My Jewish home room teacher doted on me, I went to the school prom with a girl who traced her roots to Vietnam, and I was best friends with two Caucasians and an African American. At home I hung out with a boy who wore a turban and had beautiful hair, a Filipino, and a girl who called herself the Chicano Queen! We shared snacks, laughter and numerous adventures around the little stream behind our apartments.
Life is a wonder...
Then one day we packed up and flew back, for home called out to my parents and they couldn't resist the urge anymore. I went back to the same school, still a little confused, for everyone in my family somehow treated me differently, except perhaps my nephew who loved me and remembered me from his childhood. School had shifted buildings (houses rather) and this time I went to a campus on Nazimuddin road. But I met the same friends again, and things became comfortable again. Soon enough I was going to the Margalla campus in H-8 and was part of the first A-Levels batch of our school. Times were great.
My friends and I loved jumping over the school walls and heading to the dhaaba nearby and enjoying numerous cups of tea and their wonderful daal. Smoking was fun, specially sitting on our beach (a little enclave of sand around the famed Islamabad naala). The thought of going to expensive restaurants never crossed our minds for fun was where we all were. Going to Jinnah Super meant having an ice-cream cone or coffee (which no one liked but everyone had for it was so mature to enjoy a cup of coffee). Vanguard books was the best bookshop in the world, but the beautiful original books that were a treat to hold and smell were always a little too expensive for a student like me. But Islamabad housed some wonderful old book shops with an unlimited amount of comic books and novels.
Life is perfect...
Going out to eat at Sams or Black Beards was fun and nothing was pretentious. Dinners at Papasalis were intimate, and going out on a date was dangerous for cops would pull you over and swindle you out of your last dime. Soon A-Levels was over. Everyone had scraped their hearts and knees with love gained and lost and the next step was college. While most of my friends went out of the country, the others left the city. I went into FAST and stayed in the city. Once again as part of the first batch. Our campus was a pretty little house in Bazaar Road. Soon I had made some wonderful friends and walking around G-6 in those pretty little streets ate up all our free time. We spoke of everything, love, music, life, poetry, books...we even discussed our futures or the kind of jobs we wanted.
But things had already begun to change. Sams had closed down and Black Beards was going down. Pir Suhawa was still a wonderful getaway, be it on our bikes or our cars. Going there with the girls in our class was never a problem for everything was always safe and their families never objected to the unplanned excursions. We hiked there as much as we drove, and when the sun went down the only fear was of wild monkeys and crazed dogs.
Life is serene...
University was soon done with, imparting all the wisdom you can only get by burning your hands; professional life began. It was all about hard work. Proving my cousins wrong, who said you cannot get anything without a recommendation from someone powerful or a bribe. Somehow everything worked out, within days I was at a job working my way up the corporate ladder.
Then things started to change even more. The towers went down and I was sobbed watching TV for one of the best days I spent in the City as a kid was on the roof of one of the twins looking out at the world beneath my feet, shouting screaming and running around. Then Afghanistan was ripped to pieces. I realized how a bomb never distinguished between who it blew up, restricted by it nature to just blow up. There were often images of torn limbs and broken babies on TV. This had all been going on for a long time in Palestine / Israel, and even though I felt strongly about it, it was too far away. Unlike the famine in Africa, this was all man-made.
Life is confusing...
Then I travelled to the States after about 15 years. I was shocked by how much air travel had changed. You were not allowed to smoke in the plane, and you were never allowed to relax in the airports. Special Screenings, interviews at five different counters to get in, and every interviewee looking at you threatened, as if fearing that you were ticking and about to go off. I remembered how that last time I came we just got off the plane, got our luggage and walked out into the wintry gales of New York City! This time it took me a little over four hours to just get to the luggage belt.
Over the years it all became routine, and like clockwork I would take off my shoes, belts, remove all metallic objects and stand to be directed like a puppet. Move now, stay extremely still sir, place your feet on the foot marks and move your hands up. I am going to frisk you now sir. Sir could you turn on your laptop please...
Things went from bad to worse, Soon Iraq was ravaged on justification that would amaze an illusionist. London was hit by further blasts, even Spain wasn't spared. Things in the older problem centers kept on going from bad to worse and beyond. Globally it felt like West vs Islam and the fight had just gotten into the third round.
Life is a revelation...
Islamabad kept changing as well. Gone was the comfort of big scattered trees. How the city smelled of an Elven habitat when it rained...all just a fond memory. Trees were cut down to provide security to the heads of State. Barriers were put up everywhere. Suicide bombers introduced themselves to the city. And suddenly (inexplicably) the city got a night life. New, up-scale, ostentatious restaurants where youth gather that represented the elite, the modern, the open-minded, popped up everywhere. I was a bit taken aback how being moderate meant dressing like you had walked out of the latest issue of Cosmo. While one groups of moderates went to this extreme, the other group of moderates that practised their religion quietly grew big beards and became loud about how only they had the right to decide what was right for everyone. Slowly they took the streets and built a fort around Lal-Masjid. Suddenly dreams had were justification enough to go against what was written in black and white in the book.
Life is a nightmare...
Yesterday it all broke out in utter pandemonium specially for the special city. I sat in front of my TV screen helpless at not being able to do anything, not because I can't but simply because I don't even know which side of the BULLSHIT to buy.
Today I feel the same as this city I love. Ripped apart to build all the roads and underpasses, bombed and shot to allow the mercenaries of faithless extremes expression, and broken down to pave the way for a new tomorrow.
Life is...about to change...
- like this city over the past 40 odd years
- like my perceptions over 30 odd years
I remember we had to wear shorts in the winters. And a big blazer over two sleeveless sweaters meant that everyone in the class looked like they were just wearing their blazers and had forgotten to put on their pants over their knee high navy blue socks and shining oxford shoes. I made friends fairly quickly, for we all shared the same problems, our legs froze in the morning assembly, and we all feared being called up on the podium to sing the national anthem. Going through school all I knew was that I am a Muslim. I didn't know which kind, for Muslim was just a Muslim. None of my friends knew either, and we never even thought about it. For the biggest concern was always to convince our parents to buy us a challi from the challi-waala. I also remember the question popped up in sixth grade when a politician's son joined our class and asked me what kind of a Muslim I am, and I didn't know what he meant.
Life is beautiful...
Over the years I found out the kind of a Muslim I am, but it still didn't matter, for I was a Muslim, and that meant I loved peace and harmony. That was my interpretation of the religion, for all the prophet's stories I read showed how forgiving he was.
I was gone for two years in-between when my parents wanted to leave the country (Zia's time was tough on so many) and I discovered a whole new life in the States. There I made friends from all over. My Jewish home room teacher doted on me, I went to the school prom with a girl who traced her roots to Vietnam, and I was best friends with two Caucasians and an African American. At home I hung out with a boy who wore a turban and had beautiful hair, a Filipino, and a girl who called herself the Chicano Queen! We shared snacks, laughter and numerous adventures around the little stream behind our apartments.
Life is a wonder...
Then one day we packed up and flew back, for home called out to my parents and they couldn't resist the urge anymore. I went back to the same school, still a little confused, for everyone in my family somehow treated me differently, except perhaps my nephew who loved me and remembered me from his childhood. School had shifted buildings (houses rather) and this time I went to a campus on Nazimuddin road. But I met the same friends again, and things became comfortable again. Soon enough I was going to the Margalla campus in H-8 and was part of the first A-Levels batch of our school. Times were great.
My friends and I loved jumping over the school walls and heading to the dhaaba nearby and enjoying numerous cups of tea and their wonderful daal. Smoking was fun, specially sitting on our beach (a little enclave of sand around the famed Islamabad naala). The thought of going to expensive restaurants never crossed our minds for fun was where we all were. Going to Jinnah Super meant having an ice-cream cone or coffee (which no one liked but everyone had for it was so mature to enjoy a cup of coffee). Vanguard books was the best bookshop in the world, but the beautiful original books that were a treat to hold and smell were always a little too expensive for a student like me. But Islamabad housed some wonderful old book shops with an unlimited amount of comic books and novels.
Life is perfect...
Going out to eat at Sams or Black Beards was fun and nothing was pretentious. Dinners at Papasalis were intimate, and going out on a date was dangerous for cops would pull you over and swindle you out of your last dime. Soon A-Levels was over. Everyone had scraped their hearts and knees with love gained and lost and the next step was college. While most of my friends went out of the country, the others left the city. I went into FAST and stayed in the city. Once again as part of the first batch. Our campus was a pretty little house in Bazaar Road. Soon I had made some wonderful friends and walking around G-6 in those pretty little streets ate up all our free time. We spoke of everything, love, music, life, poetry, books...we even discussed our futures or the kind of jobs we wanted.
But things had already begun to change. Sams had closed down and Black Beards was going down. Pir Suhawa was still a wonderful getaway, be it on our bikes or our cars. Going there with the girls in our class was never a problem for everything was always safe and their families never objected to the unplanned excursions. We hiked there as much as we drove, and when the sun went down the only fear was of wild monkeys and crazed dogs.
Life is serene...
University was soon done with, imparting all the wisdom you can only get by burning your hands; professional life began. It was all about hard work. Proving my cousins wrong, who said you cannot get anything without a recommendation from someone powerful or a bribe. Somehow everything worked out, within days I was at a job working my way up the corporate ladder.
Then things started to change even more. The towers went down and I was sobbed watching TV for one of the best days I spent in the City as a kid was on the roof of one of the twins looking out at the world beneath my feet, shouting screaming and running around. Then Afghanistan was ripped to pieces. I realized how a bomb never distinguished between who it blew up, restricted by it nature to just blow up. There were often images of torn limbs and broken babies on TV. This had all been going on for a long time in Palestine / Israel, and even though I felt strongly about it, it was too far away. Unlike the famine in Africa, this was all man-made.
Life is confusing...
Then I travelled to the States after about 15 years. I was shocked by how much air travel had changed. You were not allowed to smoke in the plane, and you were never allowed to relax in the airports. Special Screenings, interviews at five different counters to get in, and every interviewee looking at you threatened, as if fearing that you were ticking and about to go off. I remembered how that last time I came we just got off the plane, got our luggage and walked out into the wintry gales of New York City! This time it took me a little over four hours to just get to the luggage belt.
Over the years it all became routine, and like clockwork I would take off my shoes, belts, remove all metallic objects and stand to be directed like a puppet. Move now, stay extremely still sir, place your feet on the foot marks and move your hands up. I am going to frisk you now sir. Sir could you turn on your laptop please...
Things went from bad to worse, Soon Iraq was ravaged on justification that would amaze an illusionist. London was hit by further blasts, even Spain wasn't spared. Things in the older problem centers kept on going from bad to worse and beyond. Globally it felt like West vs Islam and the fight had just gotten into the third round.
Life is a revelation...
Islamabad kept changing as well. Gone was the comfort of big scattered trees. How the city smelled of an Elven habitat when it rained...all just a fond memory. Trees were cut down to provide security to the heads of State. Barriers were put up everywhere. Suicide bombers introduced themselves to the city. And suddenly (inexplicably) the city got a night life. New, up-scale, ostentatious restaurants where youth gather that represented the elite, the modern, the open-minded, popped up everywhere. I was a bit taken aback how being moderate meant dressing like you had walked out of the latest issue of Cosmo. While one groups of moderates went to this extreme, the other group of moderates that practised their religion quietly grew big beards and became loud about how only they had the right to decide what was right for everyone. Slowly they took the streets and built a fort around Lal-Masjid. Suddenly dreams had were justification enough to go against what was written in black and white in the book.
Life is a nightmare...
Yesterday it all broke out in utter pandemonium specially for the special city. I sat in front of my TV screen helpless at not being able to do anything, not because I can't but simply because I don't even know which side of the BULLSHIT to buy.
Today I feel the same as this city I love. Ripped apart to build all the roads and underpasses, bombed and shot to allow the mercenaries of faithless extremes expression, and broken down to pave the way for a new tomorrow.
Life is...about to change...
- like this city over the past 40 odd years
- like my perceptions over 30 odd years
Thursday, June 07, 2007
If I had a heart, I'd Cry
"My heart is broken in the face of the stupidity of my species. I can't cry about it. In a way I'm inoculated. I've suffered this pain for so long. …The West has packed the whole world on a runaway train. We are on the road to extincting ourselves as a species."
- Joni Mitchell on what inspired her to write this song, which is included in her new album "Shine" the best thing to happen in 2007!
- Joni Mitchell on what inspired her to write this song, which is included in her new album "Shine" the best thing to happen in 2007!
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Countdown
So last weekend was good. Myrtle Beach was a nice excursion even though it rained most of the time Naufal and I were there. But in a way it was good that it rained. See even though Myrtle Beach is an ideal getaway from Raleigh over a regular weekend (just a three and a half hour drive), it is a place that has been commercialised to the extreme.
Somehow everything there is designed to attract the tourist, from the Broadway on the Beach (a very nice spot for the tourists to congregate) to the beach strip where the Summer Sun Festival activities are held. If you don't know, you'd never guess that this used to be a simple fisherman's town. I guess you can still get that feel at Merell's, but you don't feel it in the town in general.
The best part of the weekend for me was when I ended up at the beach at around 3 in the morning. It had stopped raining and I was with a couple of folks I had met just an hour ago. One good thing about tourist towns is that you can meet people just for the heck of it, do your thing, and then bid adieu. But being at the deserted beach was refreshing in so many ways.
One of the people in my temporary troupe was a Native American and I got a chance to do my first Indian war dance, barefoot on the beach. Personally I feel that I have a flair for the shrill war cries, I guess it's easier for people from my part of the world to roll their tongue! But splashing in the beach, doing the little jingle, with a stiff breeze blowing you into the circle, and singing the war cries is an activity to be undertaken at least once in the lifetime.
Also a nice sight for the eyes was this old couple walking around the beach, hand in hand, and talking in whispers all the time. It was testimony to the fact that love can last. Unless of course they were both married to different people and were having an affair far from their homes on the context of some business meetings...
To top it all off, I saw the sunrise. And there's this haunting quality of witnessing a sunrise on the beach, with the strong sound of waves (full moon) and water splashing on your feet. It was divinely providential that the clouds parted just at the right place at the right time for the dark husky sky to turn an emerald blue in front of my eyes. If I weren't so lazy, I'd probably go out for the sunrise every day, but then I guess it would lose its charm.
I finally got to my hotel room at 6 and soon it was time to head back after a quick stroll through the Broadway...
This weekend it's off to the city to meet up with an old friend and just walk around Manhattan, watch loads of movies in limited releases, and perhaps catch an off-Broadway production or two. Oh and yes, Naufal is driving over as well. It's amazing how we keep meeting up over here!
And then, finally I board the plane, Monday night and fly off again, back to the comfort and familiarity of home. Damn I've been missing my family a lot...
I'm leaving on a jet plane....
Somehow everything there is designed to attract the tourist, from the Broadway on the Beach (a very nice spot for the tourists to congregate) to the beach strip where the Summer Sun Festival activities are held. If you don't know, you'd never guess that this used to be a simple fisherman's town. I guess you can still get that feel at Merell's, but you don't feel it in the town in general.
The best part of the weekend for me was when I ended up at the beach at around 3 in the morning. It had stopped raining and I was with a couple of folks I had met just an hour ago. One good thing about tourist towns is that you can meet people just for the heck of it, do your thing, and then bid adieu. But being at the deserted beach was refreshing in so many ways.
One of the people in my temporary troupe was a Native American and I got a chance to do my first Indian war dance, barefoot on the beach. Personally I feel that I have a flair for the shrill war cries, I guess it's easier for people from my part of the world to roll their tongue! But splashing in the beach, doing the little jingle, with a stiff breeze blowing you into the circle, and singing the war cries is an activity to be undertaken at least once in the lifetime.
Also a nice sight for the eyes was this old couple walking around the beach, hand in hand, and talking in whispers all the time. It was testimony to the fact that love can last. Unless of course they were both married to different people and were having an affair far from their homes on the context of some business meetings...
To top it all off, I saw the sunrise. And there's this haunting quality of witnessing a sunrise on the beach, with the strong sound of waves (full moon) and water splashing on your feet. It was divinely providential that the clouds parted just at the right place at the right time for the dark husky sky to turn an emerald blue in front of my eyes. If I weren't so lazy, I'd probably go out for the sunrise every day, but then I guess it would lose its charm.
I finally got to my hotel room at 6 and soon it was time to head back after a quick stroll through the Broadway...
This weekend it's off to the city to meet up with an old friend and just walk around Manhattan, watch loads of movies in limited releases, and perhaps catch an off-Broadway production or two. Oh and yes, Naufal is driving over as well. It's amazing how we keep meeting up over here!
And then, finally I board the plane, Monday night and fly off again, back to the comfort and familiarity of home. Damn I've been missing my family a lot...
I'm leaving on a jet plane....
Friday, June 01, 2007
Some Thoughts & Weekend Plans
I friend of mine put up a very interesting post about the differences in generations and her near disgust at the "me" generation...and I have been thinking about it.
There is definately a huge difference between our generation and theirs, I for the life of me cannot understand why Britney Spears, Justin Timberlake, and all their crop are famous. For me they're just an extended definition of mediocre to no talent. But then I think this is a phase. I am sure we had our share of popcorn stars that disappeared just as soon as they arrived conquering everything.
It took me quite some time to realize the musical genius of Pink Floyd, Led Zepplin, Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, etc.
It took me even more time to realize that the world actually goes beyond my personal needs and desires. That there is a whole world out there that needs the basic things that I don't even take for granted, for you must be aware of something to take it for granted.
It was a tricky ride through the teens and early twenties and only now, when the thirties are smiling their big toothless smile at me, that I begin to realize the magnanimity and utter insignificance of my selfish existence. Yes there are people starving in Africa, yes there are people dying by the truck loads in the middle east, and there is this growing indifference to life, and we are practically killing our planet (buy another truck chummy). All of these things are more important then me, and all of us, for they are "about" us, and what we leave for the generations in the future. I guess I always felt about them, and cared for them at some secondary level, but it's only now that I actually try and do something about it!
I just hope that the "me" generation would grow out of the fat jokes and the never ending focus on being cool, and grow into people aware of what's around them, and let that direct their "me" demands...as usual, I am hopeful, you can never take that away from me.
OK, so I am planning to leave work a little early to kick off the weekend I've been looking forward to it ever since I got here. The plan is to head to Myrtle Beach, SC to join in on the summer festivities that are beginning this weekend!
So the idea is to pick Naufal up from the airport, take him around the Raleigh downtown (which I am sure will be a surprise for him as he hails from New York), and then leave for Myrtle Beach early tomorrow morning. I guess for the first time I have taken a lot of time to plan a weekend to maximize the time I have at my desposal, you know, booking a nice hotel on the beach, shortlisting the good restaurants, finalizing the beach activities I'd like to take part in, and looking up the night life in the South Carolina fishing town.
The only thing going against me is the Yahoo weather forcast, rain and thunderstorms over the weekend, and I am just sitting here, hoping against hope that for once they're wrong for the good...
There is definately a huge difference between our generation and theirs, I for the life of me cannot understand why Britney Spears, Justin Timberlake, and all their crop are famous. For me they're just an extended definition of mediocre to no talent. But then I think this is a phase. I am sure we had our share of popcorn stars that disappeared just as soon as they arrived conquering everything.
It took me quite some time to realize the musical genius of Pink Floyd, Led Zepplin, Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, etc.
It took me even more time to realize that the world actually goes beyond my personal needs and desires. That there is a whole world out there that needs the basic things that I don't even take for granted, for you must be aware of something to take it for granted.
It was a tricky ride through the teens and early twenties and only now, when the thirties are smiling their big toothless smile at me, that I begin to realize the magnanimity and utter insignificance of my selfish existence. Yes there are people starving in Africa, yes there are people dying by the truck loads in the middle east, and there is this growing indifference to life, and we are practically killing our planet (buy another truck chummy). All of these things are more important then me, and all of us, for they are "about" us, and what we leave for the generations in the future. I guess I always felt about them, and cared for them at some secondary level, but it's only now that I actually try and do something about it!
I just hope that the "me" generation would grow out of the fat jokes and the never ending focus on being cool, and grow into people aware of what's around them, and let that direct their "me" demands...as usual, I am hopeful, you can never take that away from me.
OK, so I am planning to leave work a little early to kick off the weekend I've been looking forward to it ever since I got here. The plan is to head to Myrtle Beach, SC to join in on the summer festivities that are beginning this weekend!
So the idea is to pick Naufal up from the airport, take him around the Raleigh downtown (which I am sure will be a surprise for him as he hails from New York), and then leave for Myrtle Beach early tomorrow morning. I guess for the first time I have taken a lot of time to plan a weekend to maximize the time I have at my desposal, you know, booking a nice hotel on the beach, shortlisting the good restaurants, finalizing the beach activities I'd like to take part in, and looking up the night life in the South Carolina fishing town.
The only thing going against me is the Yahoo weather forcast, rain and thunderstorms over the weekend, and I am just sitting here, hoping against hope that for once they're wrong for the good...
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Gone Tubing...
Finally over the long weekend I was able to get out of the hustle and bustle of normal crazy working life, and accompanied by families of my work colleagues, was able to head out into the tranquility of a river surrounded by hills. It was about a 3 hours drive thanks to the fact that I got pulled over on my way for over speeding and had left my car's rental paperwork in my hotel suite! Thankfully I was able to get out of the pretty little pickle without getting a ticket. Hurray!
The drive over was fairly pleasent made more serene by the wonderful works of Pink Floyd (I can listen to echoes again and again forever...) and the fact that I was not driving. I actually left my car at a McDonalds where I met up with the rest of the troop.
Tubing was something new for me and in hindsight I'd probably have gone rafting, but nevertheless it's a wonderful way to let lose. There's serenity in floating at a snail's pace on a rubber tube, half immersed in water, half burnt by the sun, and just floating down with the slow current between trees and hills on both sides. The sound of soft river rapids right under your ears is a sound to behold and try to put into your permenant pool of recall so you may revert to it when a colleague embarks on a never ending tirade in a never ending meeting.
All in all, this was a perfect getaway following weeks of hectic work. It was just nice to not be able to hear the sound of any cars or computers whirring and messages beeping on your desktop.
You know what, I think we should pick up all the armies (trained and militia) fighting everywhere in the world, put them in tubes and let them float down a river for 4-5 hours. I am sure it would bring things into perspective and they would realize the futility of picking up arms against men and women they've never met before. Better yet, wouldn't it be nice if whenever a nation decides to go to war on another nation they would go tubing instead...
Atleast I won't be repulsed by the news then, for now news has just become a very realistically surreal horror movie.
Today's been a good day, not only have I been able to get a substantial amount of work done, I was also able to try and reinitiate contact with a dear friend I lost track of ages ago. There was a time when my life revolved around the ones I loved, my friends, may family, friends more so then family. And then I got caught up in the professional world. I remember when I started working I lost both my friends and family. There was always a valid excuse to work a little bit more. Slowly I started making more and more time for my family (I guess I need to thank Alina for that as well), and now I am hoping that I'd be able to catch up with all of the friends I lost along the way.
Hey another plan for all the armies around the world fighting on one front or another. Pick them all up, and send them on a mission to rediscover all of their friends and see where they're at, at the moment. Get to know them again, and stay with them until they're as comfortable with them as that old pair of slippers you just won't throw away...
Here's to love and life then!
The drive over was fairly pleasent made more serene by the wonderful works of Pink Floyd (I can listen to echoes again and again forever...) and the fact that I was not driving. I actually left my car at a McDonalds where I met up with the rest of the troop.
Tubing was something new for me and in hindsight I'd probably have gone rafting, but nevertheless it's a wonderful way to let lose. There's serenity in floating at a snail's pace on a rubber tube, half immersed in water, half burnt by the sun, and just floating down with the slow current between trees and hills on both sides. The sound of soft river rapids right under your ears is a sound to behold and try to put into your permenant pool of recall so you may revert to it when a colleague embarks on a never ending tirade in a never ending meeting.
All in all, this was a perfect getaway following weeks of hectic work. It was just nice to not be able to hear the sound of any cars or computers whirring and messages beeping on your desktop.
You know what, I think we should pick up all the armies (trained and militia) fighting everywhere in the world, put them in tubes and let them float down a river for 4-5 hours. I am sure it would bring things into perspective and they would realize the futility of picking up arms against men and women they've never met before. Better yet, wouldn't it be nice if whenever a nation decides to go to war on another nation they would go tubing instead...
Atleast I won't be repulsed by the news then, for now news has just become a very realistically surreal horror movie.
Today's been a good day, not only have I been able to get a substantial amount of work done, I was also able to try and reinitiate contact with a dear friend I lost track of ages ago. There was a time when my life revolved around the ones I loved, my friends, may family, friends more so then family. And then I got caught up in the professional world. I remember when I started working I lost both my friends and family. There was always a valid excuse to work a little bit more. Slowly I started making more and more time for my family (I guess I need to thank Alina for that as well), and now I am hoping that I'd be able to catch up with all of the friends I lost along the way.
Hey another plan for all the armies around the world fighting on one front or another. Pick them all up, and send them on a mission to rediscover all of their friends and see where they're at, at the moment. Get to know them again, and stay with them until they're as comfortable with them as that old pair of slippers you just won't throw away...
Here's to love and life then!
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
With God on our Side
It amazes me how Dylan becomes more and more relevant as time passes us by in a spell of violence, deception, grief, and pain...
I just read this poem again and again, and everytime I read it, I just wanted to up and shout, shout at the guy sitting next to me, shout at my building, shout at my city, shout at my country, but above all, and beyond all...shout at humanity.
Silence now...
With God on our Side
By Bob Dylan (1963)
Oh my name it is nothin'
My age it means less
The country I come from
Is called the Midwest
I's taught and brought up there
The laws to abide
And that land that I live in
Has God on its side.
Oh the history books tell it
They tell it so well
The cavalries charged
The Indians fell
The cavalries charged
The Indians died
Oh the country was young
With God on its side.
Oh the Spanish-American
War had its day
And the Civil War too
Was soon laid away
And the names of the heroes
I's made to memorize
With guns in their hands
And God on their side.
Oh the First World War, boys
It closed out its fate
The reason for fighting
I never got straight
But I learned to accept it
Accept it with pride
For you don't count the dead
When God's on your side.
When the Second World War
Came to an end
We forgave the Germans
And we were friends
Though they murdered six million
In the ovens they fried
The Germans now too
Have God on their side.
I've learned to hate Russians
All through my whole life
If another war starts
It's them we must fight
To hate them and fear them
To run and to hide
And accept it all bravely
With God on my side.
But now we got weapons
Of the chemical dust
If fire them we're forced to
Then fire them we must
One push of the button
And a shot the world wide
And you never ask questions
When God's on your side.
In a many dark hour
I've been thinkin' about this
That Jesus Christ
Was betrayed by a kiss
But I can't think for you
You'll have to decide
Whether Judas Iscariot
Had God on his side.
So now as I'm leavin'
I'm weary as Hell
The confusion I'm feelin'
Ain't no tongue can tell
The words fill my head
And fall to the floor
If God's on our side
He'll stop the next war.
I just read this poem again and again, and everytime I read it, I just wanted to up and shout, shout at the guy sitting next to me, shout at my building, shout at my city, shout at my country, but above all, and beyond all...shout at humanity.
Silence now...
With God on our Side
By Bob Dylan (1963)
Oh my name it is nothin'
My age it means less
The country I come from
Is called the Midwest
I's taught and brought up there
The laws to abide
And that land that I live in
Has God on its side.
Oh the history books tell it
They tell it so well
The cavalries charged
The Indians fell
The cavalries charged
The Indians died
Oh the country was young
With God on its side.
Oh the Spanish-American
War had its day
And the Civil War too
Was soon laid away
And the names of the heroes
I's made to memorize
With guns in their hands
And God on their side.
Oh the First World War, boys
It closed out its fate
The reason for fighting
I never got straight
But I learned to accept it
Accept it with pride
For you don't count the dead
When God's on your side.
When the Second World War
Came to an end
We forgave the Germans
And we were friends
Though they murdered six million
In the ovens they fried
The Germans now too
Have God on their side.
I've learned to hate Russians
All through my whole life
If another war starts
It's them we must fight
To hate them and fear them
To run and to hide
And accept it all bravely
With God on my side.
But now we got weapons
Of the chemical dust
If fire them we're forced to
Then fire them we must
One push of the button
And a shot the world wide
And you never ask questions
When God's on your side.
In a many dark hour
I've been thinkin' about this
That Jesus Christ
Was betrayed by a kiss
But I can't think for you
You'll have to decide
Whether Judas Iscariot
Had God on his side.
So now as I'm leavin'
I'm weary as Hell
The confusion I'm feelin'
Ain't no tongue can tell
The words fill my head
And fall to the floor
If God's on our side
He'll stop the next war.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Back in Raleigh
So after a hiatus of about nine months I find myself in the wonderful pre-summers of Raleigh. Got here Wednesday night, rather Thursday morning. And I got back in two stages. First I got back to this city, driving outside the airport was a bit surreal, and staying on the wrong side of the road took a little focus (yes I am in agreement with the British on which the correct side of the road is). The monstrous trees crowding the beltline said a solemn hello in the dark night. They looked friendly in a distant way, a feeling I get more and more from this green city. Even at 1 am on a weeknight the roads were crowded, and it was a struggle of will staying awake and following the GPS lady directing me to my hotel, which by the way is completely smoke free now, so I have to step out of my room every time I feel the need to smoke! I wonder why the voice in the GPS machine is aways that of a girl? I have yet to come across a GPS device with a dude's voice on it...
So in the first step I came back to Raleigh the city. The wind was a very nice cool. It had rained earlier in the night, so the roads still gleamed under the passing cars. All I can say is that you have to experience taking in a deep breath surrounded by trees right after it's rained in the pre-summers here. Quite nourishing for the soul.
The next morning I came back to my workplace in Raleigh. Most of the guys from a year and a half ago were still there, and it was nice to see the year passing on their faces. There were also quite a few new faces to say hello to. The most wonderful thing about this office is that everyone is generally in a nice mood. They all like to chat, laugh, and eat. It was nice coming back to work, and it just took me about an hour to get back on my rusted saddle.
One annoying thing about Raleigh is that mostly the weekdays would be bright, crisp and beautiful, the kind of a day authors write about. But the weekend usually comes with rain and thunder! I wonder what the heavens are trying to say with this?
All said and done, the worst part has been the jet lag. I get up at 4 in the morning everyday and then just lie around, walk around, and smoke around, until it's time to head into the shower and begin my ritual of preparing for work. After lunch, I am just a dead beat, crawling through the last hours of the working day, and then forcing myself to stay awake during my 9 mile drive back to the hotel...
Somehow living out of a suitcase in an insensitive hotel, where everyone smiles at you, as if by programmed logic is getting tougher for me. There was a time I really enjoyed and looked forward to this (mind you I still enjoy my little excusrions), but settling in both mentally and physically gets a little more taxing with every trip I take.
But it's nice just to be able to lay on a sofa, looking at the ceiling, listening to the music Alina would never let me play on a loop. It is tranquil. To be able to choose to move only by necessity is a nice little detour from an otherwise hectic and mad life.
So put out the lights (just leave the dimmest one on), play some Floyd, order some wings and just dwell in your thoughts. Day dream, philosophize, or just think about that Sienfeld episode...life is good. Just miss my family and friends terribly, but then there always is a dark side to the moon, what say Mr Barett, Gilmour, Mason, Waters and Wright?
So in the first step I came back to Raleigh the city. The wind was a very nice cool. It had rained earlier in the night, so the roads still gleamed under the passing cars. All I can say is that you have to experience taking in a deep breath surrounded by trees right after it's rained in the pre-summers here. Quite nourishing for the soul.
The next morning I came back to my workplace in Raleigh. Most of the guys from a year and a half ago were still there, and it was nice to see the year passing on their faces. There were also quite a few new faces to say hello to. The most wonderful thing about this office is that everyone is generally in a nice mood. They all like to chat, laugh, and eat. It was nice coming back to work, and it just took me about an hour to get back on my rusted saddle.
One annoying thing about Raleigh is that mostly the weekdays would be bright, crisp and beautiful, the kind of a day authors write about. But the weekend usually comes with rain and thunder! I wonder what the heavens are trying to say with this?
All said and done, the worst part has been the jet lag. I get up at 4 in the morning everyday and then just lie around, walk around, and smoke around, until it's time to head into the shower and begin my ritual of preparing for work. After lunch, I am just a dead beat, crawling through the last hours of the working day, and then forcing myself to stay awake during my 9 mile drive back to the hotel...
Somehow living out of a suitcase in an insensitive hotel, where everyone smiles at you, as if by programmed logic is getting tougher for me. There was a time I really enjoyed and looked forward to this (mind you I still enjoy my little excusrions), but settling in both mentally and physically gets a little more taxing with every trip I take.
But it's nice just to be able to lay on a sofa, looking at the ceiling, listening to the music Alina would never let me play on a loop. It is tranquil. To be able to choose to move only by necessity is a nice little detour from an otherwise hectic and mad life.
So put out the lights (just leave the dimmest one on), play some Floyd, order some wings and just dwell in your thoughts. Day dream, philosophize, or just think about that Sienfeld episode...life is good. Just miss my family and friends terribly, but then there always is a dark side to the moon, what say Mr Barett, Gilmour, Mason, Waters and Wright?
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Last night I dreamed I went to Manderley again.
Best opening line in a book ever? Perhaps...
Well yesterday I also dreamed of this old shabby house with high ceiling, thick brick walls painted with "choona", and those old heavy fans that had a five foot pipes separating them from the ceiling. The floors were made of tiny red bricks, and the stairs had wooden planks on their edges to minimize chipping and maximizing life. The roofs were supported by double T girders, and all the wiring was external, with wires running (clamped on thin wooden strips) all over the walls. The electrical switches were those big black monsters that would produce a loud "click" whenever switched on or off. There were rectangular windows at the top of every wall facing outside, which were operated by two strings, one attached at the top (to open) and the other at the bottom (to close).
It was a crisp summer after-noon and most of the adults in the numerous rooms of the mini-"Haveli" were either asleep or relaxing under the monotonous cool of the noisy and shaky fans. Seven children aged six to eleven ran around the house in groups, always chattering, always laughing, always quarreling. They seemed to be at every place at the same time (except inside the rooms, as that was grown-up territory). The little group was lead by a girl with green eyes and pig tails, dressed in a pink, knee length frock. Her knees supported as many bruises as the boys. Plans were being hatched to sneak the sugar out of both the kitchens and taking it to the sugar candy man. He doesn't charge you if you bring your own sugar. The group divided into two, one headed by the girl and the other by a boy just a little younger in age. His hair was all over his face and baked with mud in patches. Always moving it was as if he was eying everyone at the same time with his small, keen snake-eyes. The boy lead his team upstairs, while the girl decided to hit the kitchen on the ground floor (easier escape route). A few minutes and they were both back with big jars of sugar, eyes gleaming and stomachs growling at the mere thought of sugar candy...
I grew up in that house and we moved out about 17 years ago. But never have I explored anything as I explored that house. I knew every loose brick in the floor, every stair that squeaked at night, every hidden passage. I knew that the coolest place in the summer evenings wasn't the single air-conditioned room, but was under the water tank. A miserly space of about 3 feet wide and half a foot high. I knew the best routes within the house for avoiding my angry grandmother. I knew the complicated staircase by heart, and could easily get creative in getting down without using the stairs (for stairs could be blocked by the elders to end the getaway...
Seventeen years on, whenever I dream of a house...it's always this house. I keep changing in my dreams, and so does my life and the context, but the house remains the same. An old squeaky, shaky house that's somehow became the house of my dreams...
Well yesterday I also dreamed of this old shabby house with high ceiling, thick brick walls painted with "choona", and those old heavy fans that had a five foot pipes separating them from the ceiling. The floors were made of tiny red bricks, and the stairs had wooden planks on their edges to minimize chipping and maximizing life. The roofs were supported by double T girders, and all the wiring was external, with wires running (clamped on thin wooden strips) all over the walls. The electrical switches were those big black monsters that would produce a loud "click" whenever switched on or off. There were rectangular windows at the top of every wall facing outside, which were operated by two strings, one attached at the top (to open) and the other at the bottom (to close).
It was a crisp summer after-noon and most of the adults in the numerous rooms of the mini-"Haveli" were either asleep or relaxing under the monotonous cool of the noisy and shaky fans. Seven children aged six to eleven ran around the house in groups, always chattering, always laughing, always quarreling. They seemed to be at every place at the same time (except inside the rooms, as that was grown-up territory). The little group was lead by a girl with green eyes and pig tails, dressed in a pink, knee length frock. Her knees supported as many bruises as the boys. Plans were being hatched to sneak the sugar out of both the kitchens and taking it to the sugar candy man. He doesn't charge you if you bring your own sugar. The group divided into two, one headed by the girl and the other by a boy just a little younger in age. His hair was all over his face and baked with mud in patches. Always moving it was as if he was eying everyone at the same time with his small, keen snake-eyes. The boy lead his team upstairs, while the girl decided to hit the kitchen on the ground floor (easier escape route). A few minutes and they were both back with big jars of sugar, eyes gleaming and stomachs growling at the mere thought of sugar candy...
I grew up in that house and we moved out about 17 years ago. But never have I explored anything as I explored that house. I knew every loose brick in the floor, every stair that squeaked at night, every hidden passage. I knew that the coolest place in the summer evenings wasn't the single air-conditioned room, but was under the water tank. A miserly space of about 3 feet wide and half a foot high. I knew the best routes within the house for avoiding my angry grandmother. I knew the complicated staircase by heart, and could easily get creative in getting down without using the stairs (for stairs could be blocked by the elders to end the getaway...
Seventeen years on, whenever I dream of a house...it's always this house. I keep changing in my dreams, and so does my life and the context, but the house remains the same. An old squeaky, shaky house that's somehow became the house of my dreams...
Friday, April 27, 2007
Persuasion
Recently I had the pleasure reading a book that I had read about a decade ago, "Persuasion" by Jane Austin. In 95, when I read the book as a 17 year old, I remember getting extremely annoyed by the inability of Anna and Capt. Wentworth to say what they feel. The implications of the society created by the author suffocated me as a reader, and I felt that the characters were very unreal and "bookish". There was this constant feeling that if only I were in the character's place, things would have been so different...
What I got from the book this time around was however completely different, it was as if I was reading a completely different book! Perhaps the person reading the book was a different person altogether. This time around I wanted to escape into that very same society of that many years ago, where means of transportation were actual horse powered carriages. Where you'd announce your visit a week in advance, and the notion of being intimate with someone was considered an extreme anomaly. The place where the worst you could do would be to say something improper, or let your guards down at the wrong time. Where limitless effort was spent on maintaining your dignity, and the most important thing was being proper.
I was impressed by how Anna respected her family (who were complete gits, effortlessly placed into the stereotypes we know so well) and let go of what was so close to her heart without ever actively wanting appreciation for the sacrifice. And how she justified the changes that took place in her physical and emotional self as something very acceptable to her being. Her passion to keep Lady Russel happy charmed me. For that meant respecting and loving someone your mother respected and loved over respecting and loving her own desires. I was silently enthused by the way she handled the spoilt brattiness of Mary, and how completely ignorant Mary was to what she really was.
I was bowled over by the penetrating intricacy of Anna's climactic exchange with Capt. Harville...words, reasoning all the while meant for Capt. Wentworth, to finally make him understand, without being macabre enough to say what's in the heart without any feeling of circumstance!
Anna says with a smile "Yes. We certainly do not forget you so soon as you forget us. It is, perhaps, our fate rather than our merit. We cannot help ourselves. We live at home, quiet, confined, and our feelings prey upon us. You are forced on exertion. You have always a profession, pursuits, business of some sort or other, to take you back into the world immediately, and continual occupation and change soon weaken impressions."
Capt. Wentworth's reply in the form of the letter was as amusing, and the battle within the sexes aptly taken to its inconclusive completion.
"I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in
F. W."
"I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word, a look will be enough to decide whether I enter your father's house this evening or never."
I can see how so many people today would be offended by the gender roles professed throughout the book's journey, but times have changed so much, and we should all appreciate this change. A change that has brought the immense good of liberating women from the shackles of unjust rules and given them the opportunity to express themselves honestly. But with this change we also lost all that was beautiful and serene with that time long gone...
My father (on rare occasions) speaks fondly of the evening he spent in the grounds of the Taj Mahal, and he lovingly recalls the time when it was only the smallest of pleasures that were pursued. How differences in age, gender, thought and occasion were always given preference to all else! He is still sometimes surprised when a 13 year old bursts into a barrage of diatribes directed at their parents. My father is the link I have to that time (for I sincerely believe that we in the East lost track of what was near and dear at least a 100 years after the west). A link I somehow want to freeze in my heart, and to somehow always keep alive. Somehow it makes a lot of sense now to fold my feet when an elder is sitting nearby, or to get up whenever a lady enters into the room.
I only wish we could slow down to the pace of our forefathers and appreciate the value of things said in indirect ways always ensuring never to offend.
There is this strong belief within me that were we to revert to the ways we did things in those times, we would definitely sort out a lot of problems today. Maybe the news channels just for once won't have any unnecessary deaths to report in so many corners of the world. They might report how the world leaders took a day off and went to some lake to have tea, and how they just sat and occasionally chatted about the kinds of birds in the area, and how the winds were changing directions...
What I got from the book this time around was however completely different, it was as if I was reading a completely different book! Perhaps the person reading the book was a different person altogether. This time around I wanted to escape into that very same society of that many years ago, where means of transportation were actual horse powered carriages. Where you'd announce your visit a week in advance, and the notion of being intimate with someone was considered an extreme anomaly. The place where the worst you could do would be to say something improper, or let your guards down at the wrong time. Where limitless effort was spent on maintaining your dignity, and the most important thing was being proper.
I was impressed by how Anna respected her family (who were complete gits, effortlessly placed into the stereotypes we know so well) and let go of what was so close to her heart without ever actively wanting appreciation for the sacrifice. And how she justified the changes that took place in her physical and emotional self as something very acceptable to her being. Her passion to keep Lady Russel happy charmed me. For that meant respecting and loving someone your mother respected and loved over respecting and loving her own desires. I was silently enthused by the way she handled the spoilt brattiness of Mary, and how completely ignorant Mary was to what she really was.
I was bowled over by the penetrating intricacy of Anna's climactic exchange with Capt. Harville...words, reasoning all the while meant for Capt. Wentworth, to finally make him understand, without being macabre enough to say what's in the heart without any feeling of circumstance!
Anna says with a smile "Yes. We certainly do not forget you so soon as you forget us. It is, perhaps, our fate rather than our merit. We cannot help ourselves. We live at home, quiet, confined, and our feelings prey upon us. You are forced on exertion. You have always a profession, pursuits, business of some sort or other, to take you back into the world immediately, and continual occupation and change soon weaken impressions."
Capt. Wentworth's reply in the form of the letter was as amusing, and the battle within the sexes aptly taken to its inconclusive completion.
"I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in
F. W."
"I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word, a look will be enough to decide whether I enter your father's house this evening or never."
I can see how so many people today would be offended by the gender roles professed throughout the book's journey, but times have changed so much, and we should all appreciate this change. A change that has brought the immense good of liberating women from the shackles of unjust rules and given them the opportunity to express themselves honestly. But with this change we also lost all that was beautiful and serene with that time long gone...
My father (on rare occasions) speaks fondly of the evening he spent in the grounds of the Taj Mahal, and he lovingly recalls the time when it was only the smallest of pleasures that were pursued. How differences in age, gender, thought and occasion were always given preference to all else! He is still sometimes surprised when a 13 year old bursts into a barrage of diatribes directed at their parents. My father is the link I have to that time (for I sincerely believe that we in the East lost track of what was near and dear at least a 100 years after the west). A link I somehow want to freeze in my heart, and to somehow always keep alive. Somehow it makes a lot of sense now to fold my feet when an elder is sitting nearby, or to get up whenever a lady enters into the room.
I only wish we could slow down to the pace of our forefathers and appreciate the value of things said in indirect ways always ensuring never to offend.
There is this strong belief within me that were we to revert to the ways we did things in those times, we would definitely sort out a lot of problems today. Maybe the news channels just for once won't have any unnecessary deaths to report in so many corners of the world. They might report how the world leaders took a day off and went to some lake to have tea, and how they just sat and occasionally chatted about the kinds of birds in the area, and how the winds were changing directions...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
