It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon.I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true.I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithlessand therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty, every day,and if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here.I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
Oriah Mountain Dreamer
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Thursday, March 15, 2007
An image from the jigsaw of my mind
Azure, turquoise, indigo, violet, sapphire, purple …
A riot of different shades of blue…
Rustling leaves beneath our feet
Strawberry Fields
Vanilla skies
A hammock….naaah…
A swing to soar across the sky….
Above the towering trees shielding that expansive blue
Lets take a walk…
To places that stir in me moments that have been long expunged….and moments that are still ineffaceable
A tree house…
My Meandering mind
It hovers around till it perches on a twig on an old memory…
Then on the plush seat of a fluffy cloud in the midst of the cerulean space…
Trying to recall a half remembered song….
You follow me and sing it aloud
The one that I’m struggling to sing in my mind….
Your shoulders..sweet slumber…
The silly tune…your prompt remembrance
giving rhythm to every rhyme…
My Stumbling feet…your steady hands….
My playful mind…your faraway gaze
A dive into the gushing gold of sunset colours…
And then we glide gleefully towards the shore…Pink sand…
A quayside jetty…our dancefloor…
An intricate dance without stepping on each others toes and without invading each others space….
A mystic mutuality…a rapturous eye lock
Sounds of Silences…
Peach margarita, Appletini, Sparkling wine…
The moonlight lending its luster to the sea…
A scintillating spirit…
The rooftop…
Your fingers carving playthings galore out of clouds and stars…
Balloons, Parachutes…. miniature elephants…
My crazy performances
Your cheering as appreciative audience…
Lets take a walk…lets brave the squall, the dust, the thorns…
Years down the line I want to see you across that fence…with silver hair… with me
in solitude .. in songs
In anguish… in exuberance
In naked truths..in euphemisms…
In ‘tunelessness’…in rhythm…
In oblivion ..in surety…
My feeble arm looped through your elbow…
Our heads tipped together…
In long habit..in firm belonging….
My fragile dream...an elusive perfection...
Lets find neverland
Friday, March 9, 2007
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Ephemeral ....
Please forgive me for coercing you into reading my juvenile poems...written by me when i was ehhh juvenile ;)
Days fly
Every moment is accompanied with a sigh
I know time wont wait for anyone
It asks me to catch up and run..
Passing moments unfold the fabric of a relationship
And it becomes harder to hold on to a gradually loosening grip...
Are these moments spent together a pathway to a dream come true...
Or are they among the myriad short-lived few
Nevertheless I treasure them...
They teach me to dream..to dare...
Will these moments teach me to accept my fate
When the path of life seems long and my strength inadequate?
Or are they a mere mirage,that will soon disappear
I hope that with these months
the feelings inside are conveyed
Even though the golden words are unsaid...
Now as i watch you go
i hope that the regrets behind my smile
are not shown
The bittersweet moment, when your eyes through mine
I knew i had lost those moments forever with time...
With these passing moments
the tears in my eyes will wipe away
but the pain in my heart will always stay...
As we carry the burden of unspoken words
and a love story goes unheard!!!!
Days fly
Every moment is accompanied with a sigh
I know time wont wait for anyone
It asks me to catch up and run..
Passing moments unfold the fabric of a relationship
And it becomes harder to hold on to a gradually loosening grip...
Are these moments spent together a pathway to a dream come true...
Or are they among the myriad short-lived few
Nevertheless I treasure them...
They teach me to dream..to dare...
Will these moments teach me to accept my fate
When the path of life seems long and my strength inadequate?
Or are they a mere mirage,that will soon disappear
I hope that with these months
the feelings inside are conveyed
Even though the golden words are unsaid...
Now as i watch you go
i hope that the regrets behind my smile
are not shown
The bittersweet moment, when your eyes through mine
I knew i had lost those moments forever with time...
With these passing moments
the tears in my eyes will wipe away
but the pain in my heart will always stay...
As we carry the burden of unspoken words
and a love story goes unheard!!!!
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
cinema
The alarming irregularity that I‘ve displayed in filling this blog space is probably succinct to prove that I’m lapsing into languor…. but that’s not the case. My computer breaks down regularly and my drowning in work…and all my experiences that I long to record only explode in my heart and fail to find their way to this blog…
Im starving..i haven’t managed to catch up on any of the movies that have been released lately..Black Friday, Music and lyrics, blood diamond, eklavya, honeymoon travels…none….
Fortunately after having scoured Radhi’s cupboard…I got my hands on ‘Chokher Bali’…was dying to see the movie…. The story is set in Bengal of the early 20th century against the backdrop of the freedom struggle.I have always been fascinated by Calcutta.I've never been there.I’ve longed to see the Calcutta that I have seen in period films…and this movie depicts Bengal replete with the barge and ghats of Varanasi…Even the use of the opera glass and the courtyards was visually appealing in creating a sense of the time…the idea of leisure…
Though im not sure as to how true to the book the movie is…I was sure after watching the movie that only Tagore’s novel could achieve this…a period setting making a universal statement.The movie effectively portrays the dissonance brewing within the family and the society at large. There was a reshuffling of the human society beckoning a new social order…and binodini (Aishwary rai) stands for this resistance to claustrophobic practices…and the enforced bland celibate state on women. She is the spirited, singular woman, a widow who chafes against constraints and is struggling to free herself from the oppression of widowhood.She is articulate…defined and constrained by her identity of a widow…shes sensuous…but this sensuality is repressed…and this repression breeds a destructive edge…Ash is generally believed to be a plastic femme who merely lets a few tears roll down her pretty face to give a semblance of emotion..but i think is brilliant in chokher bali and raincoat...
Tagore apparently regrets the end of his novel..but i somehow feel it depicts a dignity and a trimph of the human spirit...Binodini struggles to be on her own throughout...but somewhere shes desperately seeking a man to hang on to...and i believe that towards the end she rids herself of this dependence...though its melancholic its dignified....
Anyway...
in my house one of the must haves is a huge space for screening films...
wish i cud make a movie...the kind of movie thats the expression of the explosion in ur heart....
that taps into who you are...
hmm im a dreamer....
Im starving..i haven’t managed to catch up on any of the movies that have been released lately..Black Friday, Music and lyrics, blood diamond, eklavya, honeymoon travels…none….
Fortunately after having scoured Radhi’s cupboard…I got my hands on ‘Chokher Bali’…was dying to see the movie…. The story is set in Bengal of the early 20th century against the backdrop of the freedom struggle.I have always been fascinated by Calcutta.I've never been there.I’ve longed to see the Calcutta that I have seen in period films…and this movie depicts Bengal replete with the barge and ghats of Varanasi…Even the use of the opera glass and the courtyards was visually appealing in creating a sense of the time…the idea of leisure…
Though im not sure as to how true to the book the movie is…I was sure after watching the movie that only Tagore’s novel could achieve this…a period setting making a universal statement.The movie effectively portrays the dissonance brewing within the family and the society at large. There was a reshuffling of the human society beckoning a new social order…and binodini (Aishwary rai) stands for this resistance to claustrophobic practices…and the enforced bland celibate state on women. She is the spirited, singular woman, a widow who chafes against constraints and is struggling to free herself from the oppression of widowhood.She is articulate…defined and constrained by her identity of a widow…shes sensuous…but this sensuality is repressed…and this repression breeds a destructive edge…Ash is generally believed to be a plastic femme who merely lets a few tears roll down her pretty face to give a semblance of emotion..but i think is brilliant in chokher bali and raincoat...
Tagore apparently regrets the end of his novel..but i somehow feel it depicts a dignity and a trimph of the human spirit...Binodini struggles to be on her own throughout...but somewhere shes desperately seeking a man to hang on to...and i believe that towards the end she rids herself of this dependence...though its melancholic its dignified....
Anyway...
in my house one of the must haves is a huge space for screening films...
wish i cud make a movie...the kind of movie thats the expression of the explosion in ur heart....
that taps into who you are...
hmm im a dreamer....
Friday, February 16, 2007
Rain
She wondered why when she grew up she never let the rain seep through her existence. She remembered herself as a child…. just a whiff of the rain and she would delightfully rush out …and hesitantly put her hand out of the window. She loved the shiver of the wet drops.
She remembered her early teens, which saw her perched by the window…all complete with her pen and diary just to capture the dreams that the rains stirred in her. There was nothing as sensuous as the first raindrops. The beauty of the experience lied in the anticipation that the rain awakened. She waited… She waited for someone who could discover the vast continent within her…who could unclose her…. The hurt inside she could not justify. She just shied away from human affection…but she waited for someone to come along who would grow that loving space within her. She believed that love was like the rains that opened up purple jacarandas along the highway…. She knew when it rained…. love would feel like this…Love would be like the moist earth that weaved chiffon of dew after the rain.
But many passions burnt and died. The raindrops started burning her skin …Gradually the rain stopped being beautiful to her. It didn’t comfort her any more…something went dead in her. She stopped tracing patterns in the evening clouds. A surprise shower was uncomfortable for her.
He did come along then…he soothed the past creases in her soul with just his glance and his smile. He spread like the sky. She gazed up in his blueness…. the clouds wept her tears and she was drenched by the rain. She was seeking warmth in his passion. She reconnected with the rains. Earlier she was a passive observer. Now she learnt to dance in the rains. With him she was like the roots of a tree buried in the cold heart of the earth…with familiar soil enclosing her and the wet caress of the rain.
He vanished like the dust of a storm…. she wondered if it was a mirage that disappeared. The monsoons had ceased. She waited….
It is strange that all memories have one quality…they are completely calm .It was the alarm of their silence that forced her to lay hold of her sleeve and close her eyes and let the tears flow. This stillness is the reason why the memories don’t awaken desire so much as a vast sorrow. Once she had such desires but they are past and they belong to another world…that is gone from her now. They are powerful remembrances that come from within her and also mysterious unattainable reflections that haunt her. If these scenes were given back to her she wondered if she would be able to regain the old intimacy with them. She could pass these scenes like a traveler…
But he had really traveled far into her …had crossed boundaries that enclosed her.
She waited …smelt the scent of the rain in the air…she looked back..he wasn’t there. But it did rain again.
There was no way he could leave her now…he would be here in the rain, in the thinking, in the longing, in the suffering, merging in the million drops which would know no bodies., only this mystic mutuality.
She didn’t need his presence to let the rains fill her senses.
She remembered her early teens, which saw her perched by the window…all complete with her pen and diary just to capture the dreams that the rains stirred in her. There was nothing as sensuous as the first raindrops. The beauty of the experience lied in the anticipation that the rain awakened. She waited… She waited for someone who could discover the vast continent within her…who could unclose her…. The hurt inside she could not justify. She just shied away from human affection…but she waited for someone to come along who would grow that loving space within her. She believed that love was like the rains that opened up purple jacarandas along the highway…. She knew when it rained…. love would feel like this…Love would be like the moist earth that weaved chiffon of dew after the rain.
But many passions burnt and died. The raindrops started burning her skin …Gradually the rain stopped being beautiful to her. It didn’t comfort her any more…something went dead in her. She stopped tracing patterns in the evening clouds. A surprise shower was uncomfortable for her.
He did come along then…he soothed the past creases in her soul with just his glance and his smile. He spread like the sky. She gazed up in his blueness…. the clouds wept her tears and she was drenched by the rain. She was seeking warmth in his passion. She reconnected with the rains. Earlier she was a passive observer. Now she learnt to dance in the rains. With him she was like the roots of a tree buried in the cold heart of the earth…with familiar soil enclosing her and the wet caress of the rain.
He vanished like the dust of a storm…. she wondered if it was a mirage that disappeared. The monsoons had ceased. She waited….
It is strange that all memories have one quality…they are completely calm .It was the alarm of their silence that forced her to lay hold of her sleeve and close her eyes and let the tears flow. This stillness is the reason why the memories don’t awaken desire so much as a vast sorrow. Once she had such desires but they are past and they belong to another world…that is gone from her now. They are powerful remembrances that come from within her and also mysterious unattainable reflections that haunt her. If these scenes were given back to her she wondered if she would be able to regain the old intimacy with them. She could pass these scenes like a traveler…
But he had really traveled far into her …had crossed boundaries that enclosed her.
She waited …smelt the scent of the rain in the air…she looked back..he wasn’t there. But it did rain again.
There was no way he could leave her now…he would be here in the rain, in the thinking, in the longing, in the suffering, merging in the million drops which would know no bodies., only this mystic mutuality.
She didn’t need his presence to let the rains fill her senses.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Perhaps...
Juvenile poem ..i wrote in my juvenile years..when i was madly in love...hehe!!!
I don’t know what love is.
Perhaps its the feeling i get when the soft corners of
your mouth turn into a beautiful smile.
I don’t know what love is.
Perhaps its the twinkle in his eyes that drags me into a
Whole new world of wonders
I don’t know....
Perhaps its the time I hate the moonlight b’coz its
Beautiful and he’s not with me to see it.
I don’t know what love is
But I know that u are the best thing that has ever
Happened to me.
I don’t know what love is….
Perhaps it’s the time that I feel that want to memorize every feature of your face, the color of your eyes, the feel of my name on your lip but I laugh away the thought cos try as I may, I can never forget you ….
I don’t know what love is.
Perhaps its the feeling i get when the soft corners of
your mouth turn into a beautiful smile.
I don’t know what love is.
Perhaps its the twinkle in his eyes that drags me into a
Whole new world of wonders
I don’t know....
Perhaps its the time I hate the moonlight b’coz its
Beautiful and he’s not with me to see it.
I don’t know what love is
But I know that u are the best thing that has ever
Happened to me.
I don’t know what love is….
Perhaps it’s the time that I feel that want to memorize every feature of your face, the color of your eyes, the feel of my name on your lip but I laugh away the thought cos try as I may, I can never forget you ….
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