Posted in Family and Society, Personal Musings, poetry

Mayhem, but Precious

“Children are not things to be molded, but are people to be unfolded.” Jess Lair

With holidays full on, travel not an option on the cards and work aplenty on the farm; little hands and feet join in. Watching them scatter the hay and the corn, uprooting the weeds, pulling the wheelbarrow along and to see the eager smiles and chatter, are all little things to treasure away in the memory bank.

True that there may be endless questions, incomplete tasks or not done the right way, but does that kind of perfection really matter. The latter thing, i.e. perfection matters at times, while on many other cases it doesn’t. Knowing which is which is an art by itself. Funny thing is that life will make sure we learn that either now or later, in hindsight.

Amidst all this, there are days when we wish for a little peace and quiet and we rush to our “quiet time”. But even so, it’s the pitter-patter, yelling, crying, chuckles and laughter that bring a life to the house. We need a little of that and this. When we chase behind either, things then get out of synchrony. Is it worth it ? After all no matter how lopsided or soggy the cake is, it the taste of love that fills our hearts, mind and soul.

“When I approach a child, he inspires in me two sentiments — tenderness for what he is and respect for what he may become.” Louis Pasteur

On Children

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
Which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
But seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
As living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
And He bends you with His might
That His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
So He loves also the bow that is stable.

Kahlil Gibran

Posted in Life, Personal Musings, poetry, Reflections, Work

Stop..Observe..Shift..Move

Ever felt the awe on wondering how one had reached the end. Sometimes it’s so hard to grasp that one has finally checked off that “to-do” in our own list. Such were the feelings on nearing the finish of the present project. While the start and the journey through were something not to be experienced again by choice, the lessons learnt have not just changed the mind but moulded the perspective for the years ahead. The initial phase of the project was something akin to the experience of Edison and his light bulb; too many glitches and hang-ups on how to start off. In the end we had to break it down to many minor components and then tackle it down. Through all this was team-work, improvisation and plenty of re-dos. But the point was to stick on to it.

“Life is a blank canvas, and you need to throw all the paint on it you can.” Danny Kaye

Many of us have gone through similar phases in some part of our lives. They were those days when one couldn’t earmark them as progressive days. But the reality was those were the rest days to regroup, re-focus and re-centre ourselves once again. Those gap days gave the energy to strive on. The change of thinking lay in not rushing off to mark each day as a failure or success, but to look at the bigger objective and target. Sometimes in our haste to reach tot he top, we forget that without the rest for the soul, the body nor the mind can’t move ahead.

“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.” Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

To regroup, sometimes we need to go back and re-trace our steps. Few may be wrong; but admitting them mayn’t be an easy task. For those moments let the feeling of “I’m always right” take a backseat. Being human, we all are prone to err. So it doesn’t really matter that one went wrong, rectification if feasible, is what makes a whole lot of difference. As long as one keeps the will strong, time would be an ally to the self. Take a moment, a deep breath and chin up. As always, be true to the self and move ahead. Eventually we’ll all reach there.

The Mountain

If the mountain seems too big today
then climb a hill instead;
If morning brings you sadness
it’s okay to stay in bed.
If the day ahead feels heavy and your plans feel like a curse,
There’s no shame in rearranging,
don’t make yourself feel worse.
If a shower stings like needles
and a bath feels like you’ll drown;
If you haven’t washed your hair for days,
don’t throw away your crown!
A day is not a lifetime.
A rest is not defeat.
Don’t think of it as failure,
Just a quiet, kind retreat.
It’s okay to take a moment
From an anxious, fractured mind.
The world will not stop turning
While you get realigned!
The mountain will still be there
When you want to try again
You can climb it in your own time,
Just love yourself till then!

Laura Ding-Edwards

Posted in Life, Personal Musings, Photography Art, Reflections

Flap to Flight

Cooped in the same stretch of space for a couple of weeks drives “not just the toddler in the house” but also the bigger ones into a frenzy. While the taller they are the more refined become the ways to kill boredom, the smaller ones don’t get diverted that easy. Which is why one of the practical purchases online included the “bi-no-culars”. Courtesy of it, the first project of interest was the nest on the old banyan tree in the backyard. For we had chanced upon the family of coppersmith barbet (chempukotti), with their hatch-lings residing covert amidst the branches.

“The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease for ever to be able to do it.” J. M. Barrie, Peter Pan

The curiosity and whispers that accompanied for the next couple of days were about the happenings on the tree. One of the activities observed was how the three fledglings were taught to fly. After the first few falls from the nest, they discovered that by spreading out the wings, the falls were not that jarring. After a couple of days the next things we saw was them flying onto the low branches.

What set the grey cells into action was the fact that they had “spread their wings and flapped”. Putting that little lesson into the realities of life, each of us are thrown into the situations that we least expect. There are many ways to deal with those scenarios. Crib and cry, or buckle up, gather the few feathers we have or grow new ones, spread them out and learn to flap. Eventually we’ll fly. At the end of the day, it all boils down what we really want to do. If one really wants to fly, know that one can and will. Whether it may be soon, in some time or long time; that isn’t entirely in our hands but what we can do is to learn and try. The rest shall soon follow.

“I was shown a fledgling learning to fly. It’s first efforts were very feeble. But as it used its wings more and more, they became stronger until it found the freedom of flight and was able to soar to great heights and fly great distance without any effort. I heard the words: Faith comes with practice. Live by faith until it becomes rocklike unshakable, and find the true freedom of the spirit.” Eileen Caddy

“You wanna fly, you got to give up the shit that weighs you down.” Toni Morrison, Song of Solomon

Posted in Life, Personal Musings, Random Thoughts, Stories Around the World

Angles to the Plane

Already a week into the new year, the way things are going across the world; it does sound like a rerun of the year past. But again, that is to one’s own perspective.

Each of us have come across plenty of illusions in our life. Often they are masked in the manner of dreams and hopes, other times they may be buried under the category of “futile thoughts”. What one doesn’t realize is that some of those “illusions” are on our own perception, but the rest on what has been fed to us by those around us or by what we seen through their eyes.

“What I need is perspective. The illusion of depth, created by a frame, the arrangement of shapes on a flat surface. Perspective is necessary. Otherwise there are only two dimensions. Otherwise you live with your face squashed up against a wall, everything a huge foreground, of details, close-ups, hairs, the weave of the bedsheet, the molecules of the face. Your own skin like a map, a diagram of futility, criscrossed with tiny roads that lead nowhere. Otherwise you live in the moment. Which is not where I want to be.” Margaret Atwood

The question then arises, the illusions that of theirs, why do they stay on in us. That’s when one needs to morph them into the varied angles through their own familiar planes; for it is our own perspective that matters in the end. For the urbanite, the city is the haven; whereas for the sylvan heart and soul the haven of the former becomes a nightmare. Those illusion made by the wayward thoughts need to be given their due depth and space depending on how one really wants it.

Placing all these illusions of colours onto the frame, raising them through their own angles gives a renewed perspective on how to see things. For this to happen, one has to place these choices in their own hands. Each of us have own canvas to colour, let’s do them as to the perspective that we hold. If not as in the year before, may this year echo such thoughts, dreams and hopes.

Different perspectives
The Minister travelled for days by train and car and boat to one of the furthest islands in the nation. As he surveyed the bleak but inspiring landscape, he turned to a local villager and said: “You’re very remote here, aren’t you?” She responded: “Remote from what?”
Source: The Internet

Posted in Family and Society, Life, Personal Musings, poetry, Quotes

Into the Next Over

While scheduling the work events for the next week and corresponding them into the wall calendar in the kitchen was when the irony of the innumerable uncertainties of the year that was the present.

“Last year’s words belong to last year’s language. And next year’s words await another voice.” T.S. Eliot

Despite all the chaos of the year, there are many things one would have been grateful for. There would also be many blessings that were received with surprise and gratitude; the help from unknown corners; kindness from a strangers and the unexpected blessings in the midst of perceived or true adversities. Through all this, one has prevailed and reached the next set of overs. What we do carry forward from the year previous are the lessons from the failures or choices that were made. Gather them and reap their benefit by looking beyond the emotional tangents and then strike ahead in the next given set of overs. Sometime we will eventually hit the boundary or go beyond it, and score more than the runs we expect.

“I close my eyes to old ends. And open my heart to new beginnings.” Nick Frederickson

One of the tangible things learnt this year among the known concept of the humane ability within each of us to adapt or survive, is the courage to do so. All of us have that strength in us to survive the falls in life; we just need to bring out the courage lying deep down. Let the dormant courage come to life, and steer us ahead. To find it, just put one foot in front of the other and take a few baby steps. Soon we will learn to walk and navigate those rocky paths with faith, courage and hope. Just move ahead, we all can do it.

Turn of a Year
Joan Houlihan

This is regret: or a ferret. Snuffling,
stunted, a snout full of snow.

As the end of day shuffles down
the repentant scurry and swarm—

an unstable contrition is born.
Bend down. Look into the lair.

Where newborn pieties spark and strike
I will make my peace as a low bulb

burnt into a dent of snow. A cloth to keep me
from seeping. Light crumpled over a hole.

Why does the maker keep me awake?
He must want my oddments, their glow.

Posted in Family and Society, Musique, Personal Musings, Reflections

As the Music Goes

Sitting cross legged and rummaging through the stack of boxes wasn’t an ideal way to spend the one hour break from “the work from home routine”, but it was a necessity, for the demand had risen up quite a few decibels. Oh yes, the search is for those Christmas CDs, not that the music player list is not saved on the desktop, but here’s something rustic and nostalgic in winding down with some good old carols and Christmas music, for both the young and the old. While many of the CDs by themselves carry a lot of memories, there’s a special feel to listening to the lyrics and preparing for the Christmas time.

“Here’s the gift of Christmas, the world at it’s best
We mustn’t forget why the gift of Christmas
Can help remind us remember the rest….”
(Lyrics from Dannii Minogue – The Gift Of Christmas )

Talking about the feel, the essence of Christmas lies in the selflessness of love and kindness. This is one season wherein the spirit of giving comes alive. Regrettable though is the reality that the “giving” doesn’t go beyond the last month of the present year, over to the next year. For some it may, but then it gets tempered down with time. Seeing the holiday season come to full effect, reminds one to go beyond the commercialization and celebrations and carry over the Christmas spirit within oneself. It may start with one small act, words or thoughts; but as the chain effect goes on, the ripples created will last through the ever-changing winds.

To be kind to the self and to those around us. For that is one of the best gifts to receive and pass on, the spirit of happiness to last through all the seasons of time. As the music and lyrics go, let these last couple of days of the year bring forth and keep alive the thoughts of humaneness and kindness all year round.

Posted in Family and Society, Personal Musings, poetry

A Fine Regard

It was one of those evenings, wherein the dusk settles and the household has the chance to hear the proverbial pin drop. This happens not because all are busy on their media devices and accounts, neither the young nor the old; for each device has their own “fashionable noise”. This was one of those evenings, as all were gathered in the den, from a busy crochet pattern to reading the daily grind with the young ones engrossed in their creativity (surprisingly noiseless for a change). Evenings like these bring to mind, the days of my own childhood; devoid of all the “social fanfare, entertainment and modern knowledge of today”; though surprisingly rich in it’s own share of happy moments.

“We sit silently and watch the world around us. This has taken a lifetime to learn. It seems only the old are able to sit next to one another and not say anything and still feel content. The young, brash and impatient, must always break the silence. It is a waste, for silence is pure. Silence is holy. It draws people together because only those who are comfortable with each other can sit without speaking. This is the great paradox.” Nicholas Sparks ( from The Notebook)

Many a time, the quietness around us is what gives the balm to the restless soul or aching heart. The sooner we learn to stop and live in the moment; taking comfort in just being there and around, the more we get to add to the treasure trove of “good moments”.

Life is not always about being on the move or turning all the pages of the book at once. The gifts or even opportunities lie, in learning to savour the moments and just stop for a couple of seconds. As always known emptiness makes a lot of noise. Instead enrich it with the quiet moments scattered throughout the day. or scenes like “these quiet evenings” is what makes the soul through the passage of time.

Keeping Quiet
Pablo Neruda

Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still
for once on the face of the earth,
let’s not speak in any language;
let’s stop for a second,
and not move our arms so much.

It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines;
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.

Fishermen in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would not look at his hurt hands.

Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victories with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.

What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.

Life is what it is about;

I want no truck with death.
If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.
Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.

Now I’ll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.