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...

What it means to be Indian...

All my friends know that drama queen is in full flow today. I only need a reason to egress into my DQ avatar and 15th August has become one of those days, especially now that I do not live in India.

I was reading today's Gulf News and the front page had this gory picture of a half burned human body, political riots in Egypt. The inside pages had pictures in similar vein from Syria to Pakistan. I always wonder what it takes for a human being to disregard the fundamentals of his conscience and butcher another for reasons which to me seem silly like territory, religion and politics. Largely. We are ready to kill for reasons like language even, so I'm not dwelling on the cause, just the action.

And then I hear the Jana Gana Mana or the Vande Mataram and the goosebumps appear, my shoulders square, I feel my chest tightening, throat constricting and the tears desperate to fall. At this particular moment, if someone has to ask me to do or die, I think I will!!! and happily too...

As always, my own split personality and thinking confuses me and I feel like a freak.

Although I live in another country, home is India. No matter how many years I live away from and what Passport I carry, my identity will remain India. But I don't like what I see. One of my favorite people has this famous quote, "there is no reverse gear in life". I have mentioned this in a previous post about Mangalore, that I cannot really recognise it now, not with all the communal and moral policing.

The same can be said about the country as a whole. The spate of violence towards women is distressing. I'm sure it's not a novel phenomenon this brutality. I heard someone comment that ever since the Delhi medico rape case made news, people are aping it. I don't think so, my personal opinion is that rape victims and families are more open to making public the news and the increased reportage is just a reflection of it. What you do not know cannot hurt you, it is said. We didn't know it was rampant as it is and now that we do, it shocks us.

Then there is this uber cool society where gen Y is living it up in cities. I rarely watch TV, but when I do if the program 'Emotional Atyachar' is playing on the telly I watch it. You know I get my kicks from cheap thrills. :D
It never fails to amuse, amaze and antagonise me, these young teens who say, "we got intimate", very matter of factly, as if stating something inevitable like the weather. That too with people they had just met in school/ college/ social gatherings. It doesn't take much I see and I'm not being judgemental. Just comparing how some sections of society have advanced and how the others are doing Micheal Jackson's moonwalk.

Who will marry the two extremes of Indian society...

Like everyone else, I want my country to be a haven, safe and secure, an investment for our progeny and our own little paradise on earth. To me, the essence of being Indian was already penned out years ago, in 1910 to be precise and this stands true, 103 years later. Kinda sad isn't it that it's been a century and we still harp the same tune...

Rabindranath Tagore:

“Where the mind is without fear
and the head is held high,
where knowledge is free.
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls.
Where words come out from the depth of truth,
where tireless striving stretches its arms toward perfection.
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost it's way
into the dreary desert sand of dead habit.
Where the mind is led forward by thee
into ever widening thought and action.
In to that heaven of freedom, my father,
LET MY COUNTRY AWAKE!”

Ok now all of you can wake too... it's a long post I know!

Sur...really?

Was asked to read Haruki Murakami and was given his collection of short stories titled, "The Pink Elephant". I read about 9 stories but couldn't figure them out, although there was one I really liked. The rest made me want to groan, tear my hair out, beat every cat I came across (the man is obsessed with dead cats) and yell louder at my new neighbors.

Aristotle, in his "Poetics", which is the earliest-surviving work of dramatic theory and the first extant philosophical treatise to focus on literary theory said "The aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance."

As a student of literature, I learned that every work of art, poetry and prose included needs to have a goal. Umnn... am I going foot in the mouth here... I hear that my blog isn't really easy to comprehend. But seriously what is the point in writing stuff that sounds fancy but doesn't make sense. I like stories to have a beginning and an end and something decent in between.

Murakami is a surrealist and has won the Kafka award. I enjoy Kafka and have even referred to his "Metamorphosis" in an earlier blog and Albert Camus's "The Outsider" is one of my favorite books. I do fathom and enjoy absurdism and surrealsim but I couldn't Murakami.

So... I wrote this piece to check if I confuse the @#&* out of anyone who reads it.

The door bell rang. Insistently.
Was I going to answer it. There was no one I was expecting.
There is always someone I wish would come.

Languidly I stretch out my fingers and peer at them through half closed eyes. My fingers are fused. They haven't been busy. I separate them almost reluctantly. They are divided into two parts. The first three move one side and the other two move the other. That's my window.
I'm looking out.

Yesterday she walked on the beach. The sand clung to her bare feet. Singularly. She's got tears in her eyes and the wind has blown them across her cheeks and the corners of her eyes have hair sticking unbecomingly. Why doesn't she wipe them off. Laziness is my blanket.
I don't share.

If I can move and walk to the door and open it to see her there. I would. I wanted to. I did. Honest.

A soft laugh escapes and I let the dream end, the window close and the door bell ring.

I feel absurdly idiotic...

Refreshed...

It's been 2 weeks since I returned from a fabulous holiday in Switzerland and I'm still on a high.

This was our first ever family holiday "abroad", that is Anil, Amanda, Alder and myself, we have never been outside of India or UAE on holidays by ourselves. At the beginning of 2013, we thought Amanda would be going away to University and so I wanted a "bonding" time with her, with all of us.
We're so busy doing everything else and being immersed in this life that the focus on the really important things, the little things that keep and sustain us is meagre. And so germinated the idea of taking off together, a new place to explore, experience and embrace. Europe was the natural choice but Switzerland became the obvious choice, not just because the Chopra's made it famous for Indians but because of the variety of activity it provided for each of us with our 4 different personalities, likes and dislikes and for the one goal of us bonding. The choice was also made easy by the fact that the place predominantly embodied that which runs in our veins... verdant and lush green mountainous landscapes.
I have in an earlier blog about Mangalore been not very polite about the beauty of the Alps... I hope you can hear me gulp furiously as I eat my words in haste. I refuse to compare the mountains to my beloved Charmadi ghats but the Alps are breathtaking, majestic and awe inspiring. It may sound that the experiences I have are individual to me but the family confesses to feeling like I do too, so I'm not alone in feeling that my soul healed somehow, maybe as we walked by the lake and fed the swans and ducks, or maybe when we trekked down the snow clad mountains or maybe as we rode up the mountains in magnificient cable cars and trains or in the lovely conversation we had with Frau Maria or the impossible flowers that grow abundant, maybe in the quiet serenity of the cobblestoned pathways of the old city... I don't know.
The Swiss are so amazingly organised and efficient, I have begun to appreciate the benefits of orderliness and do hope that I will transform. All those things you hear about - that travel is supposed to do for you, is so true. I found that all of us are very similar in nature, some of us are sophisticated in etiquette and manner thanks largely due to the society we live in and others are just getting there. The Swiss society though is far advanced than Indian society for sure, the engineering they adopt and the mature yet simple way of life is a far cry from ours. Both our cultures have a rich heritage and an ancient history and culture and yet their society is far more progressive in all aspects.
We stayed in Lucerne and spent a day each in Basel, Mount Titlis, Mount Pilatus, Mount Rigi, Interlaken and surrounding areas and in Ballenberg.

In subsequent blogs, I will give a day by day summary with pictures. The entire experience was great though and I am one happy cow... Indian that is.