Tempest

Wednesday, 6 September 2017

Walk Through Time

These must be desperate times yet for me to break promises, defy time and somehow come running back to old familiar grounds. I never once imagined I'd be back, penning words on this blog, a relic of the older version of me. I thought I had grown out of the need to be heard, to express myself, to find a safe space to pour my yearnings onto. But I guess somethings never die. The magic remains. After months of not being able to vomit a single word on a page, here I am eagerly letting my thoughts dance on this page.

It's been too long and I admit amidst all the growing up of these past few years, the desire to write has never ebbed. Yet, my writing was never the same since Prude's Tempest.

I had once found a freedom on this blog. A sense of self and worth, a sense of belonging and meaning. Somehow the blog helped me become me and yet I abandoned it. I guess its a rite of passage, just as a snake sheds its skin to grow a new one or a butterfly destroys its cocoon to blossom.  But my evolution into a determined, focused, practical person seemed to have somehow stamped out the beauty and effervasence of an ever imaginative mind. A mind that sought the unreal, a mind that dreamed up ice cream clouds, philosophical tulips and dancing unicorns. A mind that understood and had absolute belief in fairy tales and Narnia. If the logical part of my brain could believe in aliens then how could parallel universes or magical societies be any less true?

I missed this part of me. I missed the dreamer, the girl who believed that the best part is yet to come...especially on the next page! But the magic always pulls you back. It's like invisible gravity...ever present, yet unnoticed.

I thought I could never write like her again, yet here I am, pouring my heart out at the one place where the magic began; where dreams flowed and imagination came to life. I feel like I just walked through a time vortex, met the old part of me and embraced her with the biggest warmest hug I have ever given anybody in the longest while. Do I regret the growing up, the changed priorities, the focus on the here and now? How can I when everything I've been and everything I've done has led me here...back to her. Stronger than before, more disciplined and determined than before, yet, eager to let her fly and take the lead because while I have lived, it is her who will make us fly.

Prude, you go girl!

Posted by Pavitra :: 08:26 :: 0 comments

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Monday, 8 September 2008

Happiness

Down through the centuries men have sought to explain the meaning and the art of happiness. Millions upon millions of words have been written on the subject. Poets, priests, philosophers and scientists, teachers, preachers, and leaders of every age have sought to work out a simple formula for what Sir Philip Gibbs called "the eternal quest of mankind" - a happy and contented life.

For in the end happiness is what all people want, regardless of the many ways they may seek it. To be happy is the ultimate goal of all ambition, all endeavour, all hopes and plans. "Happiness is the meaning and purpose of life, the whole aim and end of human existence," declared Aristotle, supreme philosopher of the ancient world.

But what is happiness? Clearly it means vastly different things to different people. Since earliest timesmen have sought and found their happiness along amazingly divergent paths - in work, in achievement, success, in love and family ties, in the affection of friends, in religion.

There is one point, however, on which philosophers in every age agree: true happiness stems from a quality within ourselves, from a way of thinking of life. Of all the millions of words written on happiness, this is the oldest and most enduring truth. If the principles of contentment are not within us, no material success, no pleasures or possessions, can make us happy.

This philosophy has been expounded by writers and thinkers since civilisation began; but never more beautifully and effectively than in Maeterlinck's famous play, The Blue Bird. Tyltyl and Mytyl, the woodcutter's children, search far and wide for happiness, only to find it on their return home. ("We went so far, and it was here all the time!") It isn't necessary to search for happiness in far places, since you carry your unhappy self to each one of these places, says Maeterlinck in The Blue Bird. Yes, it is everywhere around you and about you. But, the quest for happiness is always vain unless you find it within yourself, within your own heart and soul.

On that happy note, I hope dear readers, that I am leaving you behind with something fruitfull as Prude bids adieu.

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Posted by Pavitra :: 13:18 :: 35 comments

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Tuesday, 26 August 2008

Just a thought

"Anyone whose goal is 'something higher' must expect someday to suffer vertigo. What is vertigo? Fear of falling? No, Vertigo is something other than the fear of falling. It is the voice of the emptiness below us which tempts and lures us, it is the desire to fall, against which, terrified, we defend ourselves."

- Annonymous

So true. We each know our weaknesses. We each live in denial of these weaknesses...in control of them in order to be civilised. What happens one day when all of us lose control? Is this the so called end of the world? I think I fear this more than D-Day.

Posted by Pavitra :: 02:01 :: 8 comments

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Tuesday, 12 August 2008



I want to live an extraordinary life.

Posted by Pavitra :: 03:01 :: 4 comments

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Wednesday, 6 August 2008

I could live here till I die

Once again I walk down that cobbled lane
Where the sun shines bright and warm
Tis a stroll in a dream and yet I'm sane
Quietitude into singing fantasies transform

The eagles soar, the sparrows chirp
And traverse hills and trees
The low buzz of the humming bees
All blend into a symphony

As I lay squinting up at the branches
Suns rays, azure and gold dances
Floating balls of cotton tickle lazy senses
My soul spreads out free beyond the fences

A sudden rain magnanimously drenches
Our want to celebrate this season quenches
With eyes closed and arms spread
Lying on a green grass and heather bed

This is the place I dream up oft
Perching on a soft cloudy loft
Where the mountains touch the sky
I could live here till I die

Posted by Pavitra :: 01:49 :: 10 comments

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Tuesday, 29 July 2008

The new trend: Apathy

The death toll of the recent bomb attacks in Ahmedabad is now 45.

People called their friends and relatives to check how they were doing and continued living their busy lives. The media wrote a few aricles detailing the areas of the bombings, the toll figures and a few impressive statements from political leaders against such violence. People opened their newspapers the next day and grunted, some discussed it over morning chai and ranted, then threw the papers aside and resumed their routines. Life must go on. The day after, the papers and news channels did a few routines about how brave the shopkeepers are that they continued to go to work and how important it is for the economy to continue running as normal. Nobody thinks a protest against these attacks is necessary. Nobody thinks it is important to to shut down shops to impress upon the government that we want forces mobilised to find out who is behind this and we want them punished. Life must just go on.

We have become strong. We have learnt to compartmentalise our emotions and set them aside and continue living. Emotions aren't important anymore. Empathy and consideration are a weakness today. A girl in our neighbourhood gets raped. How does it matter? We read news like that in the newspaper all the time. Its normal. People get mobbed. 'Oh! that's so terrible, but they didn't die did they?' And if they did, 'well people die all the time!'

Friends meet. 'my mom is really unwell...her cancer is getting worse.' A gushing response, 'Oh thats so sad, you must be very brave'. We just don't care anymore. We don't want to get involved in anything. We don't want to get our hands dirty. It reflects in our reactions, our actions, our sentiments. Everything is intellectual. We discuss the causes and effects of cancer, we discuss with great importance the causes and effects of terrorism but we wouldn't give a damn if some big bully beats up a scrawny kid in an alley right in front of us. 'Its not our problem...lets just get out of here.'

We've learned to turn a blind eye to most happenings in an extremely clever manner. We hide behind our intellect. It's easy. Show your concern through a few high flying words, eat a little bhel puri, get a few accepting nods from peers and get out of there. You've done your bit of appearing concerned in a social gathering.

An employee discusses with fellow colleagues a very unjust practice of the upper management. All are in agreement that it is unfair. When the employee sends out a letter the next day for all to sign, not more than 5% do. 'If it doesn't directly affect us, why bother? I'd rather not get into trouble!' Sounds like a minor pin prick in the larger picture, but this is a reflection of who we are as a race.

We just don't care anymore. The instinct to really do something about anything has almost disappeared. It's been a long while since I saw someone doing something as simple as helping another at a tube station, giving up their seat for an older person, carrying a suitcase up the stairs for a young girl, going out of their way to help friends without feeling that it's a big deal.

Today, we are all achievers in our own ways. We have good jobs, lead busy lives and follow modern trends of success. We are proud of ourselves and who we have become. We don't notice it when we talk rudely to a waitor, we don't notice it when we belittle a friend who knows less than us on a particular subject, we don't notice it when we walk a little too quickly for our grand parents, we don't notice it when we break something our parents have preserved for years and simply offer to replace it with the tons of money we earn without even a sincere apology. We don't notice it when we carelessly litter in public places. We don't notice it when we use foul language in front of children with impressionable ages, we don't notice the world anymore. Yet, we are proud of ourselves. We are proud that we live in apathy.

I wonder what it will really take to shake us up? I wonder what would tug at our heart strings? I wonder what would squeeze a little bit of blood into our dry hearts...

"It's no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society."
- Jiddu Krishnamurti

Posted by Pavitra :: 03:59 :: 11 comments

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Friday, 18 July 2008

Remember?

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction. There is no resemblance to charactors dead or alive. This story has been inspired from vivid memories of a novel I once read, but do not remember the name of now.

Do you remember, dear, the days so long ago when we were at school and the chemistry lab where you and I worked over messy experiments and grew to know each other? Your family had just moved to our town; I learned that your father came from a distinguished family and was a business magnate. You only knew that I was a dressmaker's son.

But I was taken into your crowd because I was the football captain and head of class. When I told my mother that you were going to the school dance with me, her tired eyes clouded. She knew that my waking thoughts were only of you, but she also knew that the gulf between our families could not be easily bridged. Yet she did not tell me that, she said only that she wished I had a new and classy suit to wear. I assured her that my grey one would be fine.

Outsider. When I arrived at your house to take you to the dance, you came down in a pale blue dress, your face was like a flower, pink roses in your cheeks, and there were golden sparkles in your hair. You gazed up at me with a smile unmindful of my cheap suit. You must have seen something in my eyes which a man reserves for sacred moments.

Then your mother came in, and I was aware not so much of disapproval but of tolerance. There was a subtle difference in her attitude towards me and the others in your crowd. In her presence I was awkward and inarticulate. That night we danced together till the last song and there gold specs in your eyes even when it was time to say goodbye. Do you remember that last dance?

Do you remember the little cafe near the beach. It used to be the place where us middle class kids would hang out. But that year your group decided to do some slumming and you hung out with me till late in the evenings and walked along the beach with your slippers in your hand and moonlight glinting off your hair. I would give you my coat to wear when it got cold. Do you remember feeling warm and smiling up at me?

Then one evening, you were leaving the next day to go to college and I got a parttime job here since I couldn't afford to go. You stood facing me and asked when I would see you next.
"I've got a job starting next week," I said. It isn't much at first but there's a chance to work my way up. And I'll make good. I've got to."

"You will," you said. "I know that." You moved closer. "Jack," you said softly, "I want you to come for my college dance with me next year. Will you come?" "Yes," I promised.
I reached down and took your hands. You raised your face and put your arms around me and your lips, which I had never touched, lightly brushed against my cheek. The stars came down and enveloped us and you said, "I shall always remember tonight."

Straight to college. I wrote to you often but you wrote back once saying your mom had told her not to write to me regularly. After that I wrote only twice a week. At the end of July, your sister told your parents you were mooning around and did not play tennis or attend music classes because you wanted to 'write a letter to me'. After that our correspondence became a rare and much awaited for event. Those were the longest months.

I came for your college dance. I rented a suit for it as I had nothing suitable for the evening. Even the cheapest hotel was too expensive for me, so I walked the streets until I found a boarding-house which I could afford. At dinner you introduced me to your friends, but I couldn't think of anything appropriate to say. I became aware that my dinner jacket was old fashioned; that grey shoes were not proper with evening clothes. Somehow I suffered the hour through. We then walked to the gymnasium where the dance was held while other took cabs. During the first dance I noticed that all the other girls wore flowers. I hadn't bought any for you, I hadn't known I was expected to.
"I'm sorry about the flowers," I said. You looked at me with a hint of tears in your eyes. "The flowers don't matter," you said.

At the end of the evening, you said, "Oh Jack, I wanted you to have a good time tonight...but you didn't." "No," I said, "it was a mistake having me here. I just don't belong." I put my hands on your shoulders and said, "If in years to come you should think of me, will you remember that I love you very much?"
And you closed your eyes, swaying towards me, and said, "Oh Jack, don't say that!" I thought you meant I shouldn't say I loved you and so we said goodbye. That sunday, I wrote you a restrained letter thanking you for the wonderful time I had. You never replied. One week followed another and I only had memories of you.

Do you remember dear? The years have gone by...30 in all and tomorrow we shall celebrate our twenty fifth wedding anniversary for one fine day I bumped into you again on the street and I knew you loved me. You told me yourself.

You are worried now about your daughter, as your mother was once worried about you. She is 20 years old and thinks she is in love. I am asking you to let the young man have a chance. You can decide about him after you read this clumsy attempt to recreate our own romance. It is my anniversary present to you.

Perhaps we can ask him to our dinner at the country club. He will probably be ill at ease with a famous biographer, a government official and other distinguished guests. He will probably wear hired evening clothes and may not know what to talk about.

But a long time ago, you invited a poor boy to a college dance. Do you remember?

Do you remember that he loved you? He still does.

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Posted by Pavitra :: 01:39 :: 22 comments

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