Assumptions... the mother of all eff up's

Why is it easier for people to assume negative intent than it is to assume positive intent.

Most people I know say it's smarter if you are not trusting, always question people's motives. Why?

Whenever someone does something nice or is kind, I can't help but appreciate the thought behind the gesture. But I'm told that it isn't entirely altruistic. That there is a sinister hidden motive.

Methinks such people with warped thinking must have miserable lives. If one is to believe that everything done for you has a deeper reason, how do you let happiness through your door? Aren't you closed to every moment of magic and mystery.


Quote by Charles de Lint :

“I do believe in an everyday sort of magic -- the inexplicable connectedness we sometimes experience with places, people, works of art and the like; the eerie appropriateness of moments of synchronicity; the whispered voice, the hidden presence, when we think we're alone.”

If I didn't have a curiosity and a belief in the good in people... I may as well be dead.

So what kind of a killer are you...

Am posting one of my (many) favorite poems by Oscar Wilde.

“Yet each man kills the thing he loves,
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!
Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.
Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die.”


― Oscar Wilde

What a contrast from the earlier post is what methinks... but such is the fluttering of the wings called a mind.

This is the garb I wear today, will wear another morrow, who knows, it may be a star spangled banner embroidered with skeins of rich emotion or maybe a drab garment threadbare and coarse...

........... and God Bless PMS.... ;)

A mind that never sets...

Had a very interesting conversation with a dear friend and he said something that, when said to me I debated loud and belligerent against but in retrospect ( as always, sigh!) made sense.

A mindset is never a constant thing he said. How you think today may not be the same way that you think tomorrow. Hmnnn... deeply profound methinks. Am currently antagonised and ready to act on something I have been putting off. Current mindset is raging. I am quite convinced that what I think is the way to act as well.

And then comes this... Time to ponder, will this mindset carry me through and sustain or is it my mood that has encouraged its growth. I have been brutally honest with mum today and the poor thing had to bear the brunt of my grey cells now turned black.

But yes, will mull over this sage advise and try not to burst more blood vessels while I'm at it...

The Power of Me...

New age gurus and countless books that churn a helluva lot of money as well as discourses and lectures including the TED Talks that I so love, talk in some shape or form about the unlimited power of the human mind.

We read and hear but somehow doesn't seep into the brain like it should. I tried it and would like to share my experience.

I'm now facilitating culture shaping sessions for the company that I work for and I can safely say that it has given me new insights that I didn't have before or rather awakened the knowledge and put into practice what lay dormant.

Let me begin with my thinking. I am a victim or a victor based on how my thoughts are and although playing victim has been a safe zone so far, it's gotten monotonous. Victor is not necessarily a winner, it's just someone who chooses not to be a victim. I wish there was another word for it, survivor is too depressing.

Oh and the power of laughter!!! I'm in two crazy chat groups on Watsapp, one is with my school friends and the other are college mates. We have the silliest, cutest and the most heart warming conversations that make me double up n get the fits and it uplifts my mood each time, every time. I now laugh more than I did in the past year and this has so helped my mental well being.

This isn't a lecture and preach blog, just sharing some insights that have helped better my thinking.

Listen... just listen...

Sharing a poem by an unknown author:

When I ask you to listen to me
and you start giving me advice,
you have not done what I asked.

When I ask you to listen to me
and you begin to tell me why I shouldn’t feel that way,
you are trampling on my feelings.

When I ask you to listen to me
and you feel you have to do something to solve my problem,
you have failed me,strange as that may seem.

Listen! All I ask is that you listen.
Don’t talk or do – just hear me.

Advice is cheap; 20 cents will get you both Dear Abby and Billy Graham in the same newspaper.
And I can do for myself; I am not helpless.
Maybe discouraged and faltering,but not helpless.

When you do something for me that I can and need to do for myself,
you contribute to my fear and inadequacy.

But when you accept as a simple fact that I feel what I feel,
no matter how irrational,
then I can stop trying to convince you and get about this business
of understanding what’s behind this irrational feeling.

And when that’s clear, the answers are obvious and I don’t need advice.
Irrational feelings make sense when we understand what’s behind them.

Perhaps that’s why prayer works, sometimes,for some people – because God is mute,
and he doesn’t give advice or try to fix things.
God just listens and lets you work it out for yourself.

So please listen, and just hear me.
And if you want to talk, wait a minute for your turn – and I will listen to you.

A letter to Mr. Modi

Mr. Modi-

Many congratulations on your emphatic win. Although you are not my choice, I will support you in your endeavors of taking my India to the next level and accept this as OUR onus.

I look forward to an India where corruption and poverty are mere words and not actions or way of life.

I will not go into why you were not my choice, my memory is mired by the atrocities towards minorities that your state has propagated.

I honestly hope that this was an aberration and that you will not support such action and behavior and that you will uphold all religious sentiments and be the protector of all people irrespective of religion and creed.

I hope you will not allow other people to use your name and power to indulge in uncouth behavior to those who do not follow their credo.

Mr. Modi, I am an Indian FIRST. This is my motherland. I have no other home nor desire to call any other land my own. I refuse to exchange my Passport for any other. Will you respect this and support me?

By nature of birth Mr. Modi, I am born and raised in and believe in the Christian faith. It was not a choice but is now a way of life, I know not any other. As the leader of my secular democratic republic, I look up to you to safeguard my faith and look to my God to Bless you with good health and wisdom to lead us and treat us as equals.

When in school, I learned this pledge and never forgot it, its ingrained in my DNA.

India is my country and all Indians are my brothers and sisters. I love my country and I am proud of its rich and varied heritage. I shall always strive to be worthy of it.
I shall give respect to my parents, teachers and elders and treat everyone with courtesy.
To my country and my people, I pledge my devotion .In their wellbeing and prosperity alone, lies my happiness.


Sincerely,
An Indian who is born and will die Indian.

Django... chained to my heart

The year 1992, my first Christmas as a bride and it was the peak of coffee season in the estate, which translates to "too busy to breathe".
We had been in the estate for a month and were going down to Mangalore for Christmas with the family. Anil goes off one morning to a neighboring estate and returns with a black ball of fur and says, Christmas gift. Was a beautiful moment as I was least expecting one.

In a little basket was this little black pomeranian pup with liquid eyes and he was enchanting. I used to scour the house for books and found a stash of Westerns and I loved J T Edson's books and 'Dusty Fog' was my favorite character. Add to the fact that we had just acquired a Dish Antenna and were privvy to satellite television and channels galore, we would watch M.A.S.H with a passion and movies of course. Since I was enthralled with cowboys, the movie Django appealed very much.

Without much ado, the little pup was named, Django! We had other dogs as well in the estate and Dandu was until then my favorite, but they were housed in kennels as the house was off limits to them. The thought of keeping little Django out was painful but had to be done and he was safely ensconed in warm blankets near the hearth where we cooked rice which had coal and was warm. When we went to Mangalore, Django accompanied us and would sit on my lap in the open Willy's jeep that we drove those days. Dogs apparently have only one master and give that person their unconditional love, Django gave me that. I can very confidently state that he loved none like he did me.

The journey up and down the Charmadi Ghats would take us about 4 hours and Django would accompany us when he was a pup. Those days, my father in law had 3 daschund dogs in Mangalore and Django promptly befriended them. It's another story that he fornicated with them and their offspring turned out be freakishly cute. The roost in Mangalore though was ruled by a male daschund called Calypso and he was a super intelligent and smart dog with an attitude. How Django managed to frolick with the female daschunds was a mystery since Calypso was terribly possesive. Anyways, the deed was done and Calypso was none the wiser.

1995 when Amanda was born, Django stopped accompanying us to the estate, he lived in Mangalore with my in laws. In July 1996 my beloved father in law passed away suddenly and we were left bereft, confused, an almost abandoned feeling and I left the estate to live with my mother in law in Mangalore. Somewhere during the chaotic days following my father in law's death, Django disappeared from home. We searched the surrounding areas, roads and everywhere we could think of but there was no sign of him. The grief in our home was worsened by Django going missing. I remember those days as being the saddest ever.

Time ofcourse began it's healing and the pain of losing him wasn't as fresh but everytime I thought of Django, I would be assailed with sadness and guilt. Did my neglect push him away, was he alive, if so how was he... A year passed and we had organised a memorium for my father in law. It was another emotionally charged day as we walked to his grave and offered Mass in his memory and had organised a luncheon with family and friends. We re lived the sadness and once the function was done, drove home.

Each of us in the car were struggling hard not let the tears flow and I was busy looking out of the window... and my eyes met another pair of eyes standing in a small by lane. The cars for some reason had slowed down and I looked into those eyes and the recognition was instant, I felt it deep within my heart with a certainty that was unquestionable and whispered, 'Django' and the eyes answered, by then the car had moved ahead and I screamed, "Stop, Stop Stop Stop". I was fully pregnant with Alder and everyone in the car thought I had delivered then and there, I'm sure.

Like I said it was a very emotionally draining day and I was incoherent, all I could say was "Stop". I jumped out of the car and made my way back towards the lane and I could see that a little girl was being pulled by black pomeranian who was trying to make his way onto the main road. I stood there and said "Django" and he came running towards me. All the tears I had suppressed now flowed freely, it seemed like he was crying as well. I remember kneeling in the middle of the road and sobbing my heart out and Django wouldn't let go of me either, he just stayed clasped in my embrace. I just picked him up and hugged him for dear life and took him home.

This story isn't about this, it's about the little girl I left behind. Apparently the owners of the house had a jeep as well and Django in all probability crept into it and slept there 'cos his best memories were in the jeep we commuted in while he was in the estate. A little girl of about 9 years who lived in the house found him and cared for him and he was hers to love and keep. The Django who disappeared from our home was thin but the Django who returned was well groomed and healthy. It was obvious that he had been well cared for. The little girl had lavished her love and attention on him and it showed.

I cannot begin to describe the joy at finding Django, and that too on that particular day and I walked away without sparing a glance at the little girl who nurtured him. My emotions overwhelmed every rational thought and made me blind to her feelings. Django died 3 years later in the estate he loved so much and is now a beautiful memory, especially of love but it's a double edged sword, I cannot think of him without remembering the little girl and my guilt embarasses me.

I should like to thank her, wherever she is and God Bless her for being my Django's saviour and keeping him safe for me. When I think about it, I wonder, if I wasn't so emotional would I have done it the same way? or would I have been more considerate? How would I do it if it were today, I'm older (not even going to mention the W word), would I have looked into the little girl's eyes and have her keep Django? Pendulum like, my thoughts... swaying back and forth... right and wrong... just and unjust... altruistic and uncharitable.

My Django... unchained. But my heart all chained up...