2 - On the train

Grace loved her new job!

After years of toiling at law universities and part-time jobs she was here! It was a small law firm. She was the youngest kid on the block with three partners in the firm and 4 other lawyers. It
had been almost a month.

The number of internships she had been through taught her to expect nothing but mundane coffee making and hours with the printer in the first few weeks. And thats exactly how her new job started out too. An emergency case however came up and she had to manage the initial paperwork for the new clients. ‘Exciting times, they were coming!’ she was singing to herself.

She woke up tuesday morning all set to meet her clients later that day. Life was just as she expected. Everything was falling into place like she knew.

She decided to take the metro to work and walked up the long staircase. Meeting the old subway-man, buying her tissue pack for the day from him, greeting the guy behind the counter. A typical day!

She found her favourite seat on the train and thought she'll listen to some music. As she took out her iPhone, she sensed someone looking down on her. The shadow did not move, alarmed she looked up to see a hippy-looking guy. She looked at him not knowing what to say. He asked her if she spoke english. She decided the best answer to give was no. She shook her head. He sat next to her.

She was a little nervous because of his question. She tilted her head towards the window trying to concentrate on her lyrics.

'I met a f*ing girl,
On a f*ing train,
Who dint speak f*ing english..'

He had started to rap!

Who was she kidding.
Nothing was ever going to be the way she expected. Everyday was full of surprises. She smiled thankfully and wondered what he would have done if she had accepted to knowing english!

1 - An old man

The clock struck twelve. It was time to go to bed. He switched off the television reluctantly and sat back.

Chirck chirck chirck chirck. 

He was amused by how the seconds needle in the clock was capable of creating an eerie aura inside the room. And that was how the seconds hand -  time itself, turned eerie. He smiled to himself. 

He took a few minutes to ignore the chircks. He pulled himself up from his chair. He was no longer as fit as he used to be. He used his walking aids and trudged to the bedroom.

Now that the empty words of the television hosts were muted, he felt the air around him turning heavy. Their endless gab made it lighter and more tolerable.

He removed the toothbrush and the paste from the deep blue stand. The blue rings on the holder hypnotised him into the past. He saw her hand pulling off the wraps and placing the holder on the rack. He saw her grace as she put things back into place. Her dancer instincts transformed him into an awesome audience. She sprinkled grace and charm in every corner of their house. The grace and charm - they dance till today. 

Thud. 

The sound of the brush on the floor snapped him out of his trance. 

He was used to times like this by now. Snapping in and out of the 60 years. It was as if someone was playing melody to his ears in excruciating bits. Pausing too long before each snap. All those years of marriage suddenly crumbled to dust when she moved on. She always kept herself busy. Taking care of people was her favourite hobby. She could never sit in one place and take some time off. 

He hoped to join her in her journey forward soon. Earth was no longer his world. It stopped being so the second she left. He walked back to his bed and said a little prayer before retiring to sleep. 

‘Don’t run like you always do. Wait for me. Walk a little slow. Wait for me’

Buddha said so

The picture says it all. I took a few seconds to understand the meaning of the quote.. And then it hit me!

Eternal burning of the soul-dead tongue

Have you ever burnt your tongue? I don’t remember much of tongue burning at home. Maybe because food was always at an appropriate temperature ready for consumption. I always burn my tongue here in uni. There is a tiny stall outside my Lecture theatre. Dilys. The aunties there sell some local snacks and beverages. Every day while running to class, a 3-minute stop at this stall to get some Milo and potato puffs is an essential to-do. These potato puffs are the closest to the heavenly vegetable puffs/samosas from McRennett, by the way.

What follows inside the class, is the eternal burning of the soul-dead tongue. I am quite certain that if my tongue were an independent entity capable of some thought and action, it would tie me up and beat me till I bleed. Thats the amount of torture I have put it through. The stomach kept bothering the mind with its continuous signals of ‘Get-us-some-thing-to-work-on’. What else was the mind supposed to do.

I blame the nosy neighbor of the grumpy bus driver. The neighbor was poking her nose into the bus driver’s yard. The silly wife got pissed and called up the husband. The husband is the bus driver of the bus that was to come at 10.52 am to Temasek Hall bus stop. He didn’t. The grumpy bus driver lost his temper over his wife and her silly problems. He drove slowly because of that and came to the Temasek Hall bus stop only at 11 am. It was a 6-minute ride with the grumpy bus driver till I got off at the Computer Centre bus stop. By then I was stressed and running to class that my system needed some energy. That was right outside Dilys.

And so I stopped. I bought the goodies and continued the run to the theatre. I sat down beside the usual gang and opened my Milo and took a tiny sip and burnt the tongue. Let it be known that I do this every single time the grumpy bus driver drives by late. Sometimes I do not need him and his gala team to evoke my desire for Dilys goodies. Most other times I do need them.

Letters in Tamil

Mom suddenly decided to write me a letter a couple of weeks back. She had written in tamil and dad had added his note in the end. It was an emotional 20 minutes going through that letter! I missed the warmth all of a sudden.

In a couple of days, after re-reading the letter till the gist of it was etched in my mind - I was ready to write back. I decided I would write in Tamil as well.

Now I took Tamil in school for almost ten-ish years. Mom is too awesome with her literary tamil. She writes poems and is quite good in her game. That and some other things always kept me quite well-versed in the written version of the language.

Its been 6 years since. I have not written more than a para on my own in these years. And quite obviously the written part of the language has been dying a slow death.

As I took my pen and paper, I got stuck with the first few words. I was out of sync in every sense. I could not however give up on the mission. So I went all out and wrote whatever spelling came into my head. The contents were reeking of all sorts of emotions, the spelling just one - comedy.

Needless to say my mom had a hearty laugh! Dad says she hasnt laughed so much in a million years.

We are exchanging some memories and thoughts on paper now. It somehow means so much more. I am gearing myself up for the next war. This time I hope I lose a little less soldiers than the last!

Take a moment off

Taking a moment to pause is something I am learning. Before asking a question too soon. Before saying something mean. Before replying to an e-mail. Before putting someone's idea/spirit down. Before getting lost in the rat race.

It does wonders. I was walking back home from the bus stop. Its a 4-5 minute walk to my room. It was pretty late in the night I think. I was enjoying my time off and walking at my leisure. I suddenly realised it had been ages since I had walked barefoot. Its a nice feeling when your feet touches the ground. A silent bond. I think its got to do with the same spin your mind takes when you step into a garden or a lush green area. The bond with the greater power. The feeling of one.

I walked back to my room taking in every step all the way to my heart. It was almost a trance as I concentrated only on my feet and the ground beneath. It made me smile when I got back. It gave me a good night's sleep!

Pride in the victorian age

I enjoy reading victorian drama. Something about the simplicity of things or the lack thereof, draws me into itself.

Pride and Prejudice is a particular favourite. I would not miss a chance to watch the chivalry of Mr Darcy or the elegance of Ms Bennet. I would not miss a chance to read their complex characters. The enchanting language lifts the mood and transports me into a truly supernatural world. The details in clothes and importance given to appearance makes me wonder about the intellectuals of that age - what did they think  about giving so much importance to appearance. The emotions Ms Jane describes plunges me into a sea of awe. How much did she know of human character or how much did she imagine.

Its a magical world, the world of pride and prejudice. The attention to detail to everything that ever existed. The fleeting raptures created by even the smallest curtsy or nod. The letters that bring joy and sorrow in words rich with feelings. The loyalty of household managers. The exorbitant meals. I find every single detail of the victorian age romantic. I would trade anything to be a part of that age if that would ever be possible.

Ofcourse in describing my favourite era, I am consciously forgetting how they did not care about the rest of the world or in fact cared too much to rule most parts of it. How they treated the slaves. How they wasted resources. I am just trying to stay inside the pleasures of literature!

The physical book

Its holiday time and I am indulging in the world of words with a passion. I love reading. I use audiobooks also now thanks to a friend. While audio books help me mutli task when I am running around, reading a physical book takes the first place in my heart. I realised I could never substitute books. I need to flip the pages and read. I need to feel the paper in my fingers. It adds to richness of the text.

I think this kind of love follows my tendency to picture everything I think. I create images of every single thing I do. This is part of a huge reason why I chose Civil engineering. I like to see and imagine what I think/do. Bringing this idea to my love for physical books, I like to see the words on the paper which help me construct the image. Its wonderful that we all subconsciously do it.

I realised that some times we tend not to pay attention to these images. Try looking consciously for these images, often. You will find that it helps make life more colourful in some way!

Books, they keep me healthy! Let the words always create images and expand your horizon of thinking. Let it make your life bigger and better.

Believing

I saw this kid on the bus today. She was a tiny little ball of pink! Hair adorned with glittery clips and ended in pigtails. Such an adorable sight. I was making weird faces at her and keeping her entertained while she was undertaking the huge task of balancing.

She was travelling with her dad. He was holding on of those tall umbrellas and standing. She tried a lot of bars to hold before she decided her dads umbrella was the best option. She held onto it with both her miniature hands and laughed her way.

She got off a few stops before me and waved a lovely farewell. It struck me how she believed that umbrella to be her best option. In reality it was an unstable option because her dad was holding it. If he let go off the umbrella there goes the balance. Something she was unaware of. All she knew was that it was close to her and it was viable to hold.

How many of us have such beliefs like that. We take the best option in front of us, trust in it and give it our best shot! Just because thats the best option. Who knows whats the reality? Better yet what is 'reality'?