What can I do?

Every time I come back home (Chennai, India) it is an emotional high. I am taken over by the pull family and close ties exercise, the patriotism which puts my thinking into a defensive mode, the restlessness which makes me pause, the ache of living so far away from home and the urge to inspire change.

The past few days have been grueling on any woman's soul in my country. And yes I consciously say woman. I have heard many a harsh word from some men and I have decided to keep them out of my opinion.

There are so many thoughts floating in my head right now. They are bursting to come out and flood the streets. The thoughts of what must have happened when she got caught, how she must have reacted, how they would have forced her and how they would have tortured her is killing me. What was it that those men wanted? What was so important that they had the audacity to torture another human being? A million questions are hitting the walls of my self and asking me to look for answers.

And the most important question of them all, what can I do? A close friend and I were talking about India and what we can do to make things better. We hit upon a realization - mothers are in many ways the sources of wealth for the country. They educate their kids with their every thought, word and action - consciously and unconsciously. If your mother taught you to respect women, you will.

Like how the answer to everything in life almost always lies within, the answer to this problem does as well. We women must teach our family and our kids, respect. We must teach them to be humane.

I ask the women of my country to look on their left and right. Does your father respect women? Does your brother hold his girl friends in regard? Does your family know humanity? If you think not, talk to them. Make this your own problem. Make this your mission. We would never have to cry for another lost daughter. 

Incredulity of flights

We are very close to being able to fly individually as a way of commute. I am surprised we haven't seen instruments to fly as a single traveller (Imagine the jetpacks, that featured in The Jetsons show) what with a century of flying already.

I was on my flight home last night to Chennai, India. It never fails to amaze me - the fact that a huge vehicle that looks like a bird carrying 200 people and their lives in suitcases, travels in the air at 30000 feet across the realm of time.

It is so simple yet so wondrous. Flights that make the man next to me so restless that he can't close his eyes for even a wink of sleep, flights that get the woman to jump with joy when her phone rings as soon as we landed in Chennai, flights that feed the kid's head with innocent questions about fellow passengers and window seats, flights that make an 80 years old couple fly and flights that change lives.

I was in awe for a couple of moments just after take off thinking about all this.

I'll leave you with a great song that immediately comes to mind when I say airplane.

Can willpower be infinite?

I have always believed that will power is a finite source. I have many a times felt this too on a busy day. I would have spent all my mental power on a set of activities and by the time it trickles down to the last set of to-dos what's left is very little.

This article got me thinking though. Isn't calling willpower a finite source a sort of oxymoron? Isn't the point of will power the fact that it can be mustered when we really want it and if we really want it? Aren't you supposed to exercise will power until you achieve what you really want?

I am still thinking though. Is it?

Long Distance Love

I have always fallen in love with far too many postage stamps. When you appeared on my doorstep wearing nothing but a postcard province…no, appeared is the wrong word. Is there a word for sucker-punching someone in the heart? Is there a word for when you’re sitting at the bottom of a roller coaster and you realize that the climb’s coming, that you know what the climb means, that you can already feel the flip in your stomach from the fall before you even moved. Is there a word for that? There should be.

You can only fit so many words in a postcard…only so many in a phone call…only so many into space before you forget that words are sometimes used for things other than filling emptiness.

It’s hard to build a body out of words. I have tried. We have both tried.

Instead of holding your head to my chest, I tell you about the boy who lives downstairs from me; who stays up all night long practicing his drum set. The neighbors have complained. They have busy days tomorrow but he keeps on thumping through the night convinced that practice makes perfect.

Instead of holding my hand, you tell me about a sandwich you made for lunch today; how the pickles fit so perfectly with the lettuce.

Practice does not make perfect. Practice makes permanent.

Repeat the same mistakes over and over and you don’t get any closer to Carnegie Hall, even I know that. Repeat the same mistakes over and over and you don’t get any closer. You never get any closer.

Is there a word for the moment you win tug-of-war? When the weight gives in and all that extra rope comes hurdling towards you; how even though you’ve won, you still wind up with muddy knees and burns on your hands. Is there a word for that? I wish there was.

I would have said it when we were finally together on your couch, neither one of us with anything left to say.

Still now, I send letters into space hoping that some mailman somewhere will track you down and recognize you from the description in my poems. That he will place the stack of them in your hands and tell you, there is a girl that still writes to you… she doesn’t know how not to.

--

An absolutely heart-warming rendition by Sarah Kay. I have no words to explain the simple naive affection she speaks for. It hit a chord.

I am a fan.

Appreciation for a well-oiled machine

A couple of bad food choices all through yesterday has given me a toad throat and killer coughs, all day today. It has resulted in me giving up on working on my to-dos and sticking to my schedule.

I paused to think about how we forget to appreciate the well-oiled machine - all is well until there is a flood, all is well until there is a traffic jam, all is well until bad health comes in the way of work.

We notice things only when they stop being normal - juts like how we notice people only when they start giving problems.

We forget to think about the greatness of smooth running. We forget to think about the number of things that are given - that make the functioning of the day better. 

#1 - Giving back

It is above all my principles, inanimate things and relationships. It is as I see it the purpose of my existence. I have taken many things from nature and society, growing up - I still am. Principle of reciprocity applies everywhere and to this too. Having taken so much and having learnt so much from this planet, it is surely my duty to give back?

I believe so.

Every learning that I learnt so far; Every person that means to me presently; Every thought I ever had; Every deed I ever did; Every skill I ever acquired - they all culminate into this for me. To make one nice package and give it back.

In a few months I will be done with my university. And most probably this is the last of my formal education. Because I can't wait to learn from the real world and from my real mistakes. And in whatever I do, I will imbibe giving back as a part of my journey. Because there is nothing like seeing someone finding you useful; there is nothing like giving a hand to those who need it; there is nothing like sharing and growing together.

With a little bit of my hippie self, a dash of art, a spoon of effectiveness and management, a kilo of community and condiments of thought bubbles (like below) from artists's like Austin Kleon, I hope to make my journey my own unique experience.

To the journey henceforth. 

Project 21

#2 - Mother

I am her. Simply put. 

Mom is always the example to follow and copy. Her habits are mine. I remember going to bed with a book because she would do so. I do so many things today because she taught me to. She is talking parent. She talks through things. She does not hide and seal. I got my candor from her. She is tenacious and committed. She lives for punctuality. She taught me the importance of independence. There have been times when I wondered why she did not come and collect me, instead let me pick myself up. Now I know. She is the Indian version of a proper english mother with her prim habits. 

There was a brief portion in our relationship, when I was not fond of her. My despicable early teenage years when I was atrocious and mostly disagreeable. I would argue with her many times. I have even said mean things. I don't want to apologize for what I was, but I want to apologize for hurting you. 

Those days are thankfully in the past now. I am glad we fight very little these days if not at all. We both are rebels that way. 

I surprise myself when I jump at buying a pretty glass bowl for my cutlery collection, when I deride beauty parlours, when I support natural ways of health and healing, when I prefer a walk to a gym workout, when I enjoy gossiping, when I imitate people, when I displace things in the name of cleaning the house, when I have to have a shower first thing in the morning for a day to be productive, when I can't wear anything that looks dirty, when I condemn (really) young girls with boyfriends and when I fly off the hook for the silliest of things. 

I miss warm silly fights and everything to do with you. I miss hugging you tight and getting lost in it. I miss your food. I miss our random movie sessions. 

You are everything amma.

Project 21

#3 - Father

Here is a man I respect for he leads by example.

I remember when he used to teach me maths up until I was 10. Mom was the officer for all subjects except maths. It used to be such a terror to study with him. He was strict and did not like mistakes. He would give me the project list for the day and come back at night to see what I had done. We would go through my workings and I would get my maths fixed. Those days have flown out of the window. We discuss my civil engineering subjects on the surface once in a blue moon but that is all the academics we talk about. 

I love to hear his stories - how he ran away from his secondary school in Trichy because it was too far from home, how thatha (grandfather) employed someone to watch him while he attended class because of that, how he interacted with his family, how he was brought up by a strict man himself, how college canteen food was fun, how his english boss in his first consultancy job spite the Indian in him, how he decided to come back home, how he set up his company in Chennai, how he faced debts and struggles to become his own man and till how he dreams for his family. 

And oh so much more. 

He is the silent parent. He speaks little and he means every word he says. He knows when to let me go and when to hold me tight. He stands for honesty much like thatha. He loves his coffee and driving. He can never say no if you really want it. He taught me to chat-up store owners and vendors. He taught to me take things lightly. He taught me to think about the present and the future and not sit on the past. He taught me to not gossip (I try to limit it to as little as I can, I promise!). He taught me to be funny. He taught me to be independent (as much as he might not like it when I take the concept too seriously). He taught me about believing in people. He taught me respect.

I can't do enough to do justice to any post about him. He has taught me everything I know and means the world to me. I miss the physicality of our warm fuzzy love. 

I love you apeas. Always. 

Project 21

#4 - Sibling

From value lessons to inanimate things that matter to people who mean the world to me. I have come to the last few posts of this project.

This one is about my dear sibling. I have refrained from naming people so far when it came to friends, but this just has to be done. This is about Athiba. (Yes, both of us get a lot about his name being peculiar/unique. As much as I wonder what my parents were thinking, I am glad his name stays in the minds of people due to its character)

A gem of a person to be around. I remember when I was very young, there were days when I hated him and all the attention he got. I despised his closeness to people, his ability to form quick friends and his lack of inhibition to ask for things. He was the naughty kid while I was the chammathu (obedient) kid. Which means I am quiet until asked to speak, I don't disturb people unless prodded to and I don't ask for things (ever).

Today both of us have swapped some of those characters, mutated into each others habits and most importantly learnt from each other. I am not that shy kid anymore, even though that part likes to take a peak once in a while. He is not the naughty kid anymore, even though some of his actions indicate the signs of a rebel living inside him.

I did not realize I would grow to depend on him this much. I did not realize one can love and respect you without asking for those things in return. I did not know one can be there for you exactly when you need him. I did know that one can hear your silence over an electronic line and know exactly what to say (or not). I did know one can make you smile no matter what is wrong in your day. I did not know one can bear my short temper with such knowing. I did not know one can get you so much. I did not know one can love you so much. I did not know once can make you be all these and much more for them in return.

This post ended up sounding like a Facebook photo caption from a hormone infested teen. I think teens are emotion overdosed but they do get a lot of things. They do dive deep into the well of psychology in their 15 year old minds. Haha, never thought I would say this.

Thank you for giving me my brother, God. I can't imagine not knowing him. He has made me proud so many times with his little acts of kindness and care. I know he will make me fat with tyres of uninhibited love for the rest of our lives.

Project 21