Thursday, July 29, 2010
To find beauty in things bizarre
I find beauty in an overturned stone, which has crawling earthworms underneath. Beside the moss covered rocks, these onion pink wriggly things covered in rich dark soil looks ethereal. I told this once to a friend I loved. She looked at me strangely. She looked worried and scared and full of pity. I realised my eye for the uncanny, frightened her. For a minute out there in the outdoors she must have thought I was treading the fine line that separates the sane from the insane. That is when I learned one of life’s fine lessons. There is no point in frightening those you love with the fantastic. It is important for you and for those around you that they understand. Their fear comes from lack of understanding. Don’t shove your unusual on their faces. Ease your truths to them...they will come around it. Sooner than you realise.Till then understand that some truths are better inside you.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Aging gracefully is another type of personal growth
Aging gracefully is another type of personal growth
I recall sitting in the last row of a RT meeting when it suddenly dawned on me why one member of the all-male group looked so different. Every man was between the ages of 28 to at least 45 years old. The other heads were jet black or honey brown or salt and pepper or hardly any hair or some other artificial tint. A White Shirt Man stood out from the crowd. He packed a loaded bundle of white hair. A lean man with a salt and pepper beard, I couldn’t help gazing at him. Something you could freely indulge in: gazing, staring, admiring or snigger or be amused at, when you’re a back bencher and furthermore not a member of the group.
Anyway, back to the Man in White. He was fairly above 40, must be at least 45. But there was something the Man in White exuded; grace some would call it. Vivacious spirit perhaps but more than anything there was something about him I wished his younger counterparts could pretty much emulate.
It is no sin to dye one's hair. It is just one of many ways we adorn ourselves. But the sight of a dozen men with hair colours impossible for human beings (and perhaps even impossible for any age!) made me want to laugh out loud right there. (I resisted.) All the heads would probably have looked normal if the Man in White's hair had not screaming out, "I'm proud of my colour. I'm proud of my age. I'm not going to hide. I'm aging gracefully."
Now that is an admirable feat for anyone in RT: To see aging as a personal growth. Most of the men react to it like an ultimatum on life. Like on reaching 41, they have become ‘old’, therefore they have to do everything to ‘look’ young. First of all, 41 is not old. Second of all, so what if you’re older, revel in it. Vanity is a sign of insecurity. So to the Man in White I say: Kudos to your spirit, you have proved the age is a state of mind. It's time to be proud of everything about ourselves, including our age. So to everybody aging gracefully out there, "Happy 41st year on earth!"
I recall sitting in the last row of a RT meeting when it suddenly dawned on me why one member of the all-male group looked so different. Every man was between the ages of 28 to at least 45 years old. The other heads were jet black or honey brown or salt and pepper or hardly any hair or some other artificial tint. A White Shirt Man stood out from the crowd. He packed a loaded bundle of white hair. A lean man with a salt and pepper beard, I couldn’t help gazing at him. Something you could freely indulge in: gazing, staring, admiring or snigger or be amused at, when you’re a back bencher and furthermore not a member of the group.
Anyway, back to the Man in White. He was fairly above 40, must be at least 45. But there was something the Man in White exuded; grace some would call it. Vivacious spirit perhaps but more than anything there was something about him I wished his younger counterparts could pretty much emulate.
It is no sin to dye one's hair. It is just one of many ways we adorn ourselves. But the sight of a dozen men with hair colours impossible for human beings (and perhaps even impossible for any age!) made me want to laugh out loud right there. (I resisted.) All the heads would probably have looked normal if the Man in White's hair had not screaming out, "I'm proud of my colour. I'm proud of my age. I'm not going to hide. I'm aging gracefully."
Now that is an admirable feat for anyone in RT: To see aging as a personal growth. Most of the men react to it like an ultimatum on life. Like on reaching 41, they have become ‘old’, therefore they have to do everything to ‘look’ young. First of all, 41 is not old. Second of all, so what if you’re older, revel in it. Vanity is a sign of insecurity. So to the Man in White I say: Kudos to your spirit, you have proved the age is a state of mind. It's time to be proud of everything about ourselves, including our age. So to everybody aging gracefully out there, "Happy 41st year on earth!"
Friday, February 12, 2010
An attempt at a story: An abandoned attempt.
Sliding Door
Standing in front of the mirror, looking long and hard at the reflection, Maya didn’t like what she saw: A tired worn out face. With blackheads and skewed up eyebrows. Frizzy mass of hair like a black halo around her head. Looking closer she saw the fringes of white hair right in front, the hair was of a different texture even: the white ones. Stringy and stubborn, refusing to get behind the black ones even when her fingers deftly tried its many tricks. Maya gave up, sighing. She sighed that her hair was greying right in front, like Indira Gandhi, she thought. A band of platinum from the forehead, right to the centre of the head and then declining like the metal disintegrating. “But Mrs. Gandhi looked good and Mrs Raphael cannot carry it off.” She did not have the will nor the energy to do anything about her unruly greys. It was right there in front for the world to see. It was no Platinum streak. Just ugly white frays, which seemed to have a life of their own. Walking away from the mirror, Maya moved to her favourite spot in the house: the room with a view. With the sliding glass French windows, which led to the garden. The lawn stretched on just a few yards more and then it was a steep fall to a rocky beach. But from where she was, all she could see was the wide open sea and the sun setting after a long day’s work of shining. It looked like the daily dip. The sea basking when the sun takes bath. Washing away the dirt and grime, after a day of blazing in the open.
Her eyes swept across the horizon, it lazily took in the many sights. Along with it the hammock tied to the two coconut palms. That was where Maya used to read and dream when she was younger.
Summers were always spent in her parent’s house. When Yaakov’s school closes, Maya closed her kitchen too and moved base to her parent’s, beside the sea. This was one such lazy May evening. With glass of iced tea fitted with a mint leaf and a slice of lime atop the ice, it looked picture perfect on the dining table. The glass catching the light of the setting sun. The tea looked like garnet. A big block of garnet. Quickly taking a picture with her small digital camera, a hobby acquired over few months, inspired by the photo stream on flickr, Maya got a better idea. As the light was perfect, a gut feeling told her to step outside.It felt strange. It was not like the stepping out in the morning with the coffee mug. It was not like the stepping out in the afternoon, to call Yaakov, for lunch from the sand pit. Maya felt like she stepped out to another time. Shirking the queer feeling, with camera in one hand and iced tea in the other, with renewed interest to the rock table juxtaposed between the hammock and the sand pit. Placing the tumbler, on the rock, she took a flurry of pictures. The click of the shutter was a familiar sound. Sounded like something she had done just there, another lifetime ago........
“Hey guys huddle closer; we need you all in this picture.” “Hey Adarsh! Sit down will you, P.T. move your fat arse and place it somewhere.” “Prarthna, give me a smile honey!” “Hey! Leave some space for me, you horrendous thugs of friends.” “I need to be in the picture too, heartless morons!” “Ok. Ok get ready!” Rushing towards a space Adarsh had managed to find for Maya, pushing aside Philip’s fat arse and Prarthna’s slim one. He fitted himself and made space for her right beside him. Maya smiled at him. He avoided her gaze with a grin. The shutters clicked. They didn’t move. They stood still. Relishing their togetherness, one last time. Last day of college and all gathered around their favourite place: the hammock under swaying coconut palms.
“NLSIU is where we are going to be next, guys!” Adarsh said with such certainty, which was so typical of him. It was easy for him to say. He’d never failed a test, never a quiz he hadn’t creamed, never a scrabble he hadn’t won. But the rest of the motley crew; Prarthna was not even interested in the course; she applied because the gang was doing it. P.T. so rich, with money spilling out from his father’s bulging coffers, it didn’t matter if he got through the test, ‘daddy’, could buy a seat. And Maya, like Prarthna was indecisive. For Prarthna her flair for design was what made her uncertain. She couldn’t make up her mind between her dream course and her friends. But for Maya she could never make up her mind about anything. She was used to people making the choices for her.Right to what she wore. Her mother always told her what to wear and planned her wardrobe. Left to her own Maya would always choose the same brown jubbah, her faded jeans and her bhandini dupatta. Prarthna always said “Maya, the first time you wore this, it was a statement. Now it’s more like a never-ending speech.” It was her father who filled in her college application. Wrote Sociology in bold. “You don’t have the drive to do economics”, he said. “And you will stop your reading the moment you take up English Literature as an academic course. Honey! I hate to see you give up the only thing you seem to have a passion for.” Her Father thought best that she does her post graduation In Sociology, after the bachelors, but Maya wanted to be with the gang. She wanted to be with Adarsh and that’s all that mattered to her. For the first time in her life, she revelled in the fact that she was finally clear about something. “Adarsh is my destiny.” Maya was sure about that. Maya, stood there watching Adarsh so animated, talking about how they were all going to be together again in another campus. She wondered how simple it was for Adarsh to dream and take by hand everyone into his glorious reverie. Adarsh took them all to the campus none had seen for real. But somehow when he spoke, they all saw, old buildings in red bricks with large wooden awning painted in yellow. Ivy creeping in through gigantic windows. Gargoyles at the roof tops. Pine trees on either side of the pathways, which took them to the various departments, the acres of thick foliage which were left to grow on its own design. Maya couldn’t help smiling at his excitement, secretly delighted for she had visited the campus a hundred times, in her dreams, strolling hand in hand with Adarsh. Not that they ever walked thus in real. For Maya, leaving college, and going to NLSIU, was to be the next step in her relationship with Adarsh. Where she imagined they would finally admit to each other and like couples flaunt their love in public. After all they had come of age......
Once again the gang met beneath the coconut palms next to the swaying hammock. As imagined Adarsh creamed the test, P.T. bought his seat. Prarthna got into her design course. And Maya. And Maya was just a seat away from the rest in NLSIU. Her name was the first in the waiting list. If anyone dropped the course she could get in. That day, along with the rest Alice was there too and she had topped the tests. Jubilant as always, life never seemed to give a reason for Adarsh to be otherwise, impressed that a female actually beat him to it; Adarsh was engrossed in conversation with Alice. As Maya came out with a tray of iced tea for everyone, topped with mint leaves and lemon wedges atop the ice, she noticed Adarsh’s hands casually slung over Alice’s shoulder. “I am the only one who doesn’t have a footing on the future.” She thought. She suddenly felt alone.The sight of the casual camaraderie between Adarsh and Alice left her disturbed. She liked Alice. But at that moment, Maya blamed Alice for her misfortune. Alice had become the enemy and Adarsh the betrayer. Like she always does, Maya withdrew into herself with a big smile plastered on her face. Waiting one more torturous hour for the gang to dismiss, Maya wanted to be left alone. Adarsh was hovering around with a piece of paper in his hands. Maya could see that he wanted some time alone with her. But she avoided every chance at having to be alone with him. Puzzled by Maya’s sudden aloofness, Adarsh said goodbye to the gang as they left in P.C.’s car. Maya quickly stepped into the sliding door and closed it behind her.
That was the last time she saw Adarsh. Looking at her from afar with the piece of paper in his hands, relentlessly swishing in the breeze. Maya stood there in front of the sliding door, and wondered for a minute, “Should I step out and say goodbye”. Adarsh was to leave early next day for Bangalore and in a week the course would commence. “He will forget me.” The thought of her having no relevance in his life hurt her even more. She was amazed at how much she could feel. “And my father thinks I am devoid of passion other than for reading”, she mused. Maya didn’t step out of the sliding door that evening. And she remembered she had just turned twenty two. She went to the telephone confirmed the seat in a local college for post graduation in Sociology.
A week went by, cooped in the house with an Updike; Maya had a yellowish tinge to her skin. “Its lack of some sunshine!” said Maya’s mother. “Get out of the house for some fresh air, for heaven’s sake! You go to MEtro today, and pick up the grocery for the week”, insisted her mother. Maya walked into Alice in Metro. Astonished to see her, Maya notices a look of surprise on Alice’s as well. They exclaim in unison, “I thought, you’d be in Bangalore!”
“No, I got into IIM. A, It was my dream to get there....but I thought you took my seat in NLSIU. Adarsh in fact made me write a letter to Dean, that day at your place, forfeiting the seat if I didn’t want it, so that you could get it. It seems your name was the first in the waiting list.” “He was so happy about it that he was hugging me all day.” Laughed Alice her open, loud, thunderous laugh. And it echoed in her ears...
Maya stirred from what it seemed like a long sleep, hearing a laugh. A loud open feminine laugh. She jolted up to find herself swaying on the hammock, first time after her twenty-second birthday, eighteen years ago. Maya got up feeling heavy.
Standing in front of the mirror, looking long and hard at the reflection, Maya didn’t like what she saw: A tired worn out face. With blackheads and skewed up eyebrows. Frizzy mass of hair like a black halo around her head. Looking closer she saw the fringes of white hair right in front, the hair was of a different texture even: the white ones. Stringy and stubborn, refusing to get behind the black ones even when her fingers deftly tried its many tricks. Maya gave up, sighing. She sighed that her hair was greying right in front, like Indira Gandhi, she thought. A band of platinum from the forehead, right to the centre of the head and then declining like the metal disintegrating. “But Mrs. Gandhi looked good and Mrs Raphael cannot carry it off.” She did not have the will nor the energy to do anything about her unruly greys. It was right there in front for the world to see. It was no Platinum streak. Just ugly white frays, which seemed to have a life of their own. Walking away from the mirror, Maya moved to her favourite spot in the house: the room with a view. With the sliding glass French windows, which led to the garden. The lawn stretched on just a few yards more and then it was a steep fall to a rocky beach. But from where she was, all she could see was the wide open sea and the sun setting after a long day’s work of shining. It looked like the daily dip. The sea basking when the sun takes bath. Washing away the dirt and grime, after a day of blazing in the open.
Her eyes swept across the horizon, it lazily took in the many sights. Along with it the hammock tied to the two coconut palms. That was where Maya used to read and dream when she was younger.
Summers were always spent in her parent’s house. When Yaakov’s school closes, Maya closed her kitchen too and moved base to her parent’s, beside the sea. This was one such lazy May evening. With glass of iced tea fitted with a mint leaf and a slice of lime atop the ice, it looked picture perfect on the dining table. The glass catching the light of the setting sun. The tea looked like garnet. A big block of garnet. Quickly taking a picture with her small digital camera, a hobby acquired over few months, inspired by the photo stream on flickr, Maya got a better idea. As the light was perfect, a gut feeling told her to step outside.It felt strange. It was not like the stepping out in the morning with the coffee mug. It was not like the stepping out in the afternoon, to call Yaakov, for lunch from the sand pit. Maya felt like she stepped out to another time. Shirking the queer feeling, with camera in one hand and iced tea in the other, with renewed interest to the rock table juxtaposed between the hammock and the sand pit. Placing the tumbler, on the rock, she took a flurry of pictures. The click of the shutter was a familiar sound. Sounded like something she had done just there, another lifetime ago........
“Hey guys huddle closer; we need you all in this picture.” “Hey Adarsh! Sit down will you, P.T. move your fat arse and place it somewhere.” “Prarthna, give me a smile honey!” “Hey! Leave some space for me, you horrendous thugs of friends.” “I need to be in the picture too, heartless morons!” “Ok. Ok get ready!” Rushing towards a space Adarsh had managed to find for Maya, pushing aside Philip’s fat arse and Prarthna’s slim one. He fitted himself and made space for her right beside him. Maya smiled at him. He avoided her gaze with a grin. The shutters clicked. They didn’t move. They stood still. Relishing their togetherness, one last time. Last day of college and all gathered around their favourite place: the hammock under swaying coconut palms.
“NLSIU is where we are going to be next, guys!” Adarsh said with such certainty, which was so typical of him. It was easy for him to say. He’d never failed a test, never a quiz he hadn’t creamed, never a scrabble he hadn’t won. But the rest of the motley crew; Prarthna was not even interested in the course; she applied because the gang was doing it. P.T. so rich, with money spilling out from his father’s bulging coffers, it didn’t matter if he got through the test, ‘daddy’, could buy a seat. And Maya, like Prarthna was indecisive. For Prarthna her flair for design was what made her uncertain. She couldn’t make up her mind between her dream course and her friends. But for Maya she could never make up her mind about anything. She was used to people making the choices for her.Right to what she wore. Her mother always told her what to wear and planned her wardrobe. Left to her own Maya would always choose the same brown jubbah, her faded jeans and her bhandini dupatta. Prarthna always said “Maya, the first time you wore this, it was a statement. Now it’s more like a never-ending speech.” It was her father who filled in her college application. Wrote Sociology in bold. “You don’t have the drive to do economics”, he said. “And you will stop your reading the moment you take up English Literature as an academic course. Honey! I hate to see you give up the only thing you seem to have a passion for.” Her Father thought best that she does her post graduation In Sociology, after the bachelors, but Maya wanted to be with the gang. She wanted to be with Adarsh and that’s all that mattered to her. For the first time in her life, she revelled in the fact that she was finally clear about something. “Adarsh is my destiny.” Maya was sure about that. Maya, stood there watching Adarsh so animated, talking about how they were all going to be together again in another campus. She wondered how simple it was for Adarsh to dream and take by hand everyone into his glorious reverie. Adarsh took them all to the campus none had seen for real. But somehow when he spoke, they all saw, old buildings in red bricks with large wooden awning painted in yellow. Ivy creeping in through gigantic windows. Gargoyles at the roof tops. Pine trees on either side of the pathways, which took them to the various departments, the acres of thick foliage which were left to grow on its own design. Maya couldn’t help smiling at his excitement, secretly delighted for she had visited the campus a hundred times, in her dreams, strolling hand in hand with Adarsh. Not that they ever walked thus in real. For Maya, leaving college, and going to NLSIU, was to be the next step in her relationship with Adarsh. Where she imagined they would finally admit to each other and like couples flaunt their love in public. After all they had come of age......
Once again the gang met beneath the coconut palms next to the swaying hammock. As imagined Adarsh creamed the test, P.T. bought his seat. Prarthna got into her design course. And Maya. And Maya was just a seat away from the rest in NLSIU. Her name was the first in the waiting list. If anyone dropped the course she could get in. That day, along with the rest Alice was there too and she had topped the tests. Jubilant as always, life never seemed to give a reason for Adarsh to be otherwise, impressed that a female actually beat him to it; Adarsh was engrossed in conversation with Alice. As Maya came out with a tray of iced tea for everyone, topped with mint leaves and lemon wedges atop the ice, she noticed Adarsh’s hands casually slung over Alice’s shoulder. “I am the only one who doesn’t have a footing on the future.” She thought. She suddenly felt alone.The sight of the casual camaraderie between Adarsh and Alice left her disturbed. She liked Alice. But at that moment, Maya blamed Alice for her misfortune. Alice had become the enemy and Adarsh the betrayer. Like she always does, Maya withdrew into herself with a big smile plastered on her face. Waiting one more torturous hour for the gang to dismiss, Maya wanted to be left alone. Adarsh was hovering around with a piece of paper in his hands. Maya could see that he wanted some time alone with her. But she avoided every chance at having to be alone with him. Puzzled by Maya’s sudden aloofness, Adarsh said goodbye to the gang as they left in P.C.’s car. Maya quickly stepped into the sliding door and closed it behind her.
That was the last time she saw Adarsh. Looking at her from afar with the piece of paper in his hands, relentlessly swishing in the breeze. Maya stood there in front of the sliding door, and wondered for a minute, “Should I step out and say goodbye”. Adarsh was to leave early next day for Bangalore and in a week the course would commence. “He will forget me.” The thought of her having no relevance in his life hurt her even more. She was amazed at how much she could feel. “And my father thinks I am devoid of passion other than for reading”, she mused. Maya didn’t step out of the sliding door that evening. And she remembered she had just turned twenty two. She went to the telephone confirmed the seat in a local college for post graduation in Sociology.
A week went by, cooped in the house with an Updike; Maya had a yellowish tinge to her skin. “Its lack of some sunshine!” said Maya’s mother. “Get out of the house for some fresh air, for heaven’s sake! You go to MEtro today, and pick up the grocery for the week”, insisted her mother. Maya walked into Alice in Metro. Astonished to see her, Maya notices a look of surprise on Alice’s as well. They exclaim in unison, “I thought, you’d be in Bangalore!”
“No, I got into IIM. A, It was my dream to get there....but I thought you took my seat in NLSIU. Adarsh in fact made me write a letter to Dean, that day at your place, forfeiting the seat if I didn’t want it, so that you could get it. It seems your name was the first in the waiting list.” “He was so happy about it that he was hugging me all day.” Laughed Alice her open, loud, thunderous laugh. And it echoed in her ears...
Maya stirred from what it seemed like a long sleep, hearing a laugh. A loud open feminine laugh. She jolted up to find herself swaying on the hammock, first time after her twenty-second birthday, eighteen years ago. Maya got up feeling heavy.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Confessions of a Mother
I see that the children we have are miracles like any other. Like the bluish green tinge of the backwaters, like the blazing mighty sun taking its daily dip, far out in the sea, like meteors from space falling, sparing skyscrapers infested with all kinds of people, like the many acts of kindness that is bestowed upon us each day, we have nothing do with creating them: our children. Our job is to stand and wonder. Our job is to marvel and love. What has been given to us, as an ultimate act of mercy.
Today, my son walks up to me and hugs me tight, and said "Amma, I like you." His arms went around my waist and his cheeks rested on my stomach. He is all of five years. There in his eyes was a look of undivided, unadulterated, love. Just admiration and gratitude. As my eyes welled up, looking down at him, I wondered, do I deserve this. Like flashes. Quick repeated flashes, I remembered the moments I failed him. Failed him so completely. Like the time he came to me with his water colour painting of the scary deep sea monster, I looked at the pool of paint on the floor and big stain on my durrie, instead and said, can’t you be more careful. Or the time he came and said "amma, I want to take flowers for my teacher, she hugged me for naming all the animals", a pang of sheer jealousy and insecurity of the attention getting divided, I dismissed the act telling him, that she’s just doing her job. And many other thoughtless, cruel acts later, here is my son, hugging me and telling me I am the best.
My son is a good-looking child, well-behaved, courteous, loving and selfless. I look at myself everyday and wonder where he got all this from. Not from me. Not even from my husband. I look up heavenward again with tears and in silent awe, do I deserve this? I ask again. Then in an instant I get the answer. It doesn’t matter if I am worthy, it’s all love. My son loves me; it doesn’t matter if I am worthy. He loves me because the hand that made him is love itself. And today I saw the face of my God in him.
Today, my son walks up to me and hugs me tight, and said "Amma, I like you." His arms went around my waist and his cheeks rested on my stomach. He is all of five years. There in his eyes was a look of undivided, unadulterated, love. Just admiration and gratitude. As my eyes welled up, looking down at him, I wondered, do I deserve this. Like flashes. Quick repeated flashes, I remembered the moments I failed him. Failed him so completely. Like the time he came to me with his water colour painting of the scary deep sea monster, I looked at the pool of paint on the floor and big stain on my durrie, instead and said, can’t you be more careful. Or the time he came and said "amma, I want to take flowers for my teacher, she hugged me for naming all the animals", a pang of sheer jealousy and insecurity of the attention getting divided, I dismissed the act telling him, that she’s just doing her job. And many other thoughtless, cruel acts later, here is my son, hugging me and telling me I am the best.
My son is a good-looking child, well-behaved, courteous, loving and selfless. I look at myself everyday and wonder where he got all this from. Not from me. Not even from my husband. I look up heavenward again with tears and in silent awe, do I deserve this? I ask again. Then in an instant I get the answer. It doesn’t matter if I am worthy, it’s all love. My son loves me; it doesn’t matter if I am worthy. He loves me because the hand that made him is love itself. And today I saw the face of my God in him.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Telomeres of a different kind.
Some of the most amazing moments in life are the moments spent with friends. At least it’s been that way for me. Some say you rely on friends when you don’t have much of a family to hold on to. TRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIING, I disagree. Both are different equations. I would say you need your friends as much as your family. I think, to become a wholesome person, good friendships are essential.
All that gyan apart, I am here to talk about a person I stumbled upon virtually. Literally virtually. Through the World Wide Web. Besides from the fact that our relationship grew from being just ‘chat’ acquaintances to deeper levels of understanding, she has today become an indispensable part of my life. All this happened at frightening pace of just over three months. But as she became my shoulder to cry on, my soul/sole confidante, my reason for existence on some days...I learned over time that besides from being this generous human being, she had a side to herself which she(I quote another special person here) “ tries best to hide from the rest of the world”:her sheer brilliance! Her work in the field of science. Her road to accomplishment was a bumpy ride by any standards, both physically and emotionally, and today she has arrived. She is a scientist. We have a zillion of those in the world as she always makes it a point to remind me. Maybe there is, I don’t know and I don’t care. For I know only one. And this one surely made a difference in my life and I am glad to know she’s contributing to science as well.
‘Beautiful Mind’, worked on the enzyme Telomeres, which has gained popularity among the science illiterates as well. For which we have the media to thank for. It has been in the papers now for some time, about the noble prize in the field of medicine, going to the ‘richly deserving’ female duo Elizabeth H. Blackburn and Carol W. Grieder. Their collaborative effort has solved one of the greatest mysteries of our time-how chromosomes are protected from degeneration as they divide continuously. They discovered that telomeres, the protective caps found at both ends of the enzyme prevent it from degradation. Pretty much like how the plastic caps at the end of the shoelace protects it from spreading apart. So this is where my friend ‘beautiful mind’ comes in. She worked on this very same enzyme, during her stint in cancer research. From what I understand, as she very patiently tried to explain to me, it is this discovery which helps us comprehend the nature of malignancies(cancer) as well.
I am in awe of my friend ‘Beautiful Mind’, fiercely proud of her. And more than anything humbled by her modesty. Beautiful Mind is not just another one more of a science nerd. Besides from being brilliant and successful, she has over and over proved to be a person who is not just good to her friends but to all who come in touch with her. Through several of her mails from our daily correspondence, I can see that her young life is filled with experiences and acts of kindness bestowed on all those who have come in contact with her. Even when storms brewed within, experiences haven’t hardened her, she continued to be spontaneous, fun, chirpy, gorgeous, fashionable, and last but not the least a pilot of tour de gastronomia (fabulous cook). Can you ever imagine a scientist being all that...She has redefined my image of a science freak. I realise that they can also be engagingly charming, heart-warmingly benign and out-of-the boxly fun. But only my friend here can be all that and even a sophisticated chic with a golden heart. She breaks all proverbial stereotypes. That of a science nerd being arrogant. Of a beauty being a dunce. Of an absent minded professor being a fashion disaster.
Kudos to you my lovely lovely friend. May your kind prosper and thrive and fill the earth with the fragrance you so bring in to the room you walk into. (She literally does that. A fan of Lush products, she smells heavenly too) Thank you for your gentle kindness, thank you for understanding. And most of all thank heavens you are a scientist, you sure manage to save their faces and make them glamorous. May you inspire many to join you, whereby saving mankind from degeneration like a chromosome would without telomeres. You are my telomeres of a different kind. Hugs and Muah!
All that gyan apart, I am here to talk about a person I stumbled upon virtually. Literally virtually. Through the World Wide Web. Besides from the fact that our relationship grew from being just ‘chat’ acquaintances to deeper levels of understanding, she has today become an indispensable part of my life. All this happened at frightening pace of just over three months. But as she became my shoulder to cry on, my soul/sole confidante, my reason for existence on some days...I learned over time that besides from being this generous human being, she had a side to herself which she(I quote another special person here) “ tries best to hide from the rest of the world”:her sheer brilliance! Her work in the field of science. Her road to accomplishment was a bumpy ride by any standards, both physically and emotionally, and today she has arrived. She is a scientist. We have a zillion of those in the world as she always makes it a point to remind me. Maybe there is, I don’t know and I don’t care. For I know only one. And this one surely made a difference in my life and I am glad to know she’s contributing to science as well.
‘Beautiful Mind’, worked on the enzyme Telomeres, which has gained popularity among the science illiterates as well. For which we have the media to thank for. It has been in the papers now for some time, about the noble prize in the field of medicine, going to the ‘richly deserving’ female duo Elizabeth H. Blackburn and Carol W. Grieder. Their collaborative effort has solved one of the greatest mysteries of our time-how chromosomes are protected from degeneration as they divide continuously. They discovered that telomeres, the protective caps found at both ends of the enzyme prevent it from degradation. Pretty much like how the plastic caps at the end of the shoelace protects it from spreading apart. So this is where my friend ‘beautiful mind’ comes in. She worked on this very same enzyme, during her stint in cancer research. From what I understand, as she very patiently tried to explain to me, it is this discovery which helps us comprehend the nature of malignancies(cancer) as well.
I am in awe of my friend ‘Beautiful Mind’, fiercely proud of her. And more than anything humbled by her modesty. Beautiful Mind is not just another one more of a science nerd. Besides from being brilliant and successful, she has over and over proved to be a person who is not just good to her friends but to all who come in touch with her. Through several of her mails from our daily correspondence, I can see that her young life is filled with experiences and acts of kindness bestowed on all those who have come in contact with her. Even when storms brewed within, experiences haven’t hardened her, she continued to be spontaneous, fun, chirpy, gorgeous, fashionable, and last but not the least a pilot of tour de gastronomia (fabulous cook). Can you ever imagine a scientist being all that...She has redefined my image of a science freak. I realise that they can also be engagingly charming, heart-warmingly benign and out-of-the boxly fun. But only my friend here can be all that and even a sophisticated chic with a golden heart. She breaks all proverbial stereotypes. That of a science nerd being arrogant. Of a beauty being a dunce. Of an absent minded professor being a fashion disaster.
Kudos to you my lovely lovely friend. May your kind prosper and thrive and fill the earth with the fragrance you so bring in to the room you walk into. (She literally does that. A fan of Lush products, she smells heavenly too) Thank you for your gentle kindness, thank you for understanding. And most of all thank heavens you are a scientist, you sure manage to save their faces and make them glamorous. May you inspire many to join you, whereby saving mankind from degeneration like a chromosome would without telomeres. You are my telomeres of a different kind. Hugs and Muah!
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Grace Is All I Need
A friend teased me one day, how all the favours he did for me will add up in the big account book of good and bad deeds. When the list of good tides over the list of bad, St. Peter would turn the key to the doors of heaven for him. The joke was at my expense of course! Clearly, he did think that was how I determined the way I lived my life. There was an element of truth to what he thought of me too. That is probably how I tried to subsist. All my efforts focused on trying to add on to my list of good deeds, working hard at trying to do the right thing for all the right reasons. The effort was sometimes humungous and almost always ended up tired and sometimes even convinced being good is hard work indeed.
But some days ago, I realised I may have missed a basic point. Maybe I should start living life with gratitude and awe of being a part of creation. Thankful everyday to be alive. Maybe I should open my eyes and look around and drink in the beauty of the bounty. Maybe I should live my life realising I exist because of love. The kind of love that says you love the other not because you’re loved by them, but because God loves you.
And as for being good and everything...is actually all about looking at the bigger picture. The ariel view of things. Looking at things the way God sees it perhaps. The view from heaven is the best. Because from up there you see more than from what you see from the eye level of one’s perspective.
Goodness is all about loving. The way the Almighty loves. Unconditionally and without reserve. Loving when not loved back. Loving when the self protests in fatigue. Loving when there are more reasons to hate. Loving when impatience tells you to give it up and move on with ‘your’ life.
Being good just takes me one third the journey to Him. What really takes me there is His love. And the grace that comes with it. I can’t even move my finger or even think a single good thought if not for the grace that comes from Love.
Therefore I learnt today, Grace is all I need!
But some days ago, I realised I may have missed a basic point. Maybe I should start living life with gratitude and awe of being a part of creation. Thankful everyday to be alive. Maybe I should open my eyes and look around and drink in the beauty of the bounty. Maybe I should live my life realising I exist because of love. The kind of love that says you love the other not because you’re loved by them, but because God loves you.
And as for being good and everything...is actually all about looking at the bigger picture. The ariel view of things. Looking at things the way God sees it perhaps. The view from heaven is the best. Because from up there you see more than from what you see from the eye level of one’s perspective.
Goodness is all about loving. The way the Almighty loves. Unconditionally and without reserve. Loving when not loved back. Loving when the self protests in fatigue. Loving when there are more reasons to hate. Loving when impatience tells you to give it up and move on with ‘your’ life.
Being good just takes me one third the journey to Him. What really takes me there is His love. And the grace that comes with it. I can’t even move my finger or even think a single good thought if not for the grace that comes from Love.
Therefore I learnt today, Grace is all I need!
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Through an Open Window
I sit here by the window and look outside at the world. The view may seem limited but it still is a room with a view. And an entire vision of things for someone who seldom steps outside. I see people. I see things too. But it’s people who catch my attention. It is them who interest me. Things, I notice only when the people use them. Like I notice the girl in a pink slipper. Who jumps with glee for she got herself a pink pair to match her pink top. Actually it’s the girl I noticed first. Then the slipper. Then the top.
The girl was petite and pretty. She had her hair long and straight. She had it up to her bum. But what I liked most about her was that she had pretty feet and it looked pretty in her pink slippers. She looked up at my window and smiled. It was irresistible. I just had to smile back. Or she would’ve remained there just beneath my window smiling till I smiled back at her. Satisfied with my smile she nodded and walked away. Turning to look towards me a couple of times. Then she turned the corner and disappeared. And I missed her and wondered if she would pass by my window again.
Then I saw a man. A short man. With long strides. If January was the month he took the first leg forward, it wouldn’t be until September he followed it with the other foot. That long was his stride. Though great distances were covered it seemed like a slow walk. He looked around. He was watching people from down there just like me from up here. I wanted to tell him, ‘Come up here, join me, the view is great.’ But I am sure even if I did call him, he wouldn’t agree about the view. He would say his is better than mine. He would say, I am older than you, so I know. He would say, I have seen more of the world walking on my two feet, so I would know. Therefore I did not call him up. I would not be able to give him answers to that, even if I still think I have a better view from up here.
Then I see another man. This time, a man with a hat. He’s dancing along the way singing aloud. Not bothered that all eyes on the street were on him. As he rushed down the streets his gaze catches mine. Surprising me. I looked away. But then I looked back at him. He was still looking at me. Of all the people in all this time, none has asked me step down. He asked me with his eyes. He asked me to come down. And I asked why? What for? With my eyes. He said you look lonely up there. I then told him. I am alone but not lonely. I like it up here because I see things that you cannot. He wasn’t convinced. “But you just see the street below”, he said. “Come, walk with me”. “There is so much more to see”. I say to him, “the street below, that I see, is really a wedge of every street around the world.” “Though I have not stepped out, I know how things are out there.” “How can that be?” He asks.
I say to him, “Each of the people who walk beneath my window, have roamed the world on their two feet.” “And each of their gazes upward, I capture and I see in them what they have seen on their journeys. That is my vantage of looking from up here. For you begin to really see.” I said. Puzzled, the man said, “What is true for one may not be true for another”, and walked away. Shaking his head in exasperation as if to say “Will she ever learn.”
I couldn’t help smiling at his gait. He came without a worry, singing and dancing. Now look at him walking away like a deflated balloon. The girl in the pink slippers walked by just then. Their eyes met and he said to her “Come. Walk with me.” She gladly and willingly did. She looked at me and smiled and turned back to the man with a hat. I smiled back, feeling my smile spread across my face, feeling happy that life is a gift. And choices people make may seem dissimilar, but actually is the same, in truth. They walked away and disappeared round the corner.
I wanted to say to him, “Only if you could come up here and see, how beautiful that looked to me.” Then he will understand that I see more than he sees, without stepping outside my vista, through my open window. From a room with a view.
The girl was petite and pretty. She had her hair long and straight. She had it up to her bum. But what I liked most about her was that she had pretty feet and it looked pretty in her pink slippers. She looked up at my window and smiled. It was irresistible. I just had to smile back. Or she would’ve remained there just beneath my window smiling till I smiled back at her. Satisfied with my smile she nodded and walked away. Turning to look towards me a couple of times. Then she turned the corner and disappeared. And I missed her and wondered if she would pass by my window again.
Then I saw a man. A short man. With long strides. If January was the month he took the first leg forward, it wouldn’t be until September he followed it with the other foot. That long was his stride. Though great distances were covered it seemed like a slow walk. He looked around. He was watching people from down there just like me from up here. I wanted to tell him, ‘Come up here, join me, the view is great.’ But I am sure even if I did call him, he wouldn’t agree about the view. He would say his is better than mine. He would say, I am older than you, so I know. He would say, I have seen more of the world walking on my two feet, so I would know. Therefore I did not call him up. I would not be able to give him answers to that, even if I still think I have a better view from up here.
Then I see another man. This time, a man with a hat. He’s dancing along the way singing aloud. Not bothered that all eyes on the street were on him. As he rushed down the streets his gaze catches mine. Surprising me. I looked away. But then I looked back at him. He was still looking at me. Of all the people in all this time, none has asked me step down. He asked me with his eyes. He asked me to come down. And I asked why? What for? With my eyes. He said you look lonely up there. I then told him. I am alone but not lonely. I like it up here because I see things that you cannot. He wasn’t convinced. “But you just see the street below”, he said. “Come, walk with me”. “There is so much more to see”. I say to him, “the street below, that I see, is really a wedge of every street around the world.” “Though I have not stepped out, I know how things are out there.” “How can that be?” He asks.
I say to him, “Each of the people who walk beneath my window, have roamed the world on their two feet.” “And each of their gazes upward, I capture and I see in them what they have seen on their journeys. That is my vantage of looking from up here. For you begin to really see.” I said. Puzzled, the man said, “What is true for one may not be true for another”, and walked away. Shaking his head in exasperation as if to say “Will she ever learn.”
I couldn’t help smiling at his gait. He came without a worry, singing and dancing. Now look at him walking away like a deflated balloon. The girl in the pink slippers walked by just then. Their eyes met and he said to her “Come. Walk with me.” She gladly and willingly did. She looked at me and smiled and turned back to the man with a hat. I smiled back, feeling my smile spread across my face, feeling happy that life is a gift. And choices people make may seem dissimilar, but actually is the same, in truth. They walked away and disappeared round the corner.
I wanted to say to him, “Only if you could come up here and see, how beautiful that looked to me.” Then he will understand that I see more than he sees, without stepping outside my vista, through my open window. From a room with a view.
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