Window discoveries and chance meetings

Sequel to The wind in my face

Windows have always played a very important role in my life. They open-up when I least expect - all not wide, but open nonetheless. Lucky to spot these windows! When I can't find one, I search until I do. I'm also window-crazy - literally. Can't give it up even for a child I'm afraid - an innocent obsession ever since I first began daily commuting as a five-year-old. I even insist that my travel agent book me a window seat on flights - doesn't matter there is no wind in my face. It was a chance introduction from a train window that brought turbulence under control one evening.

After you've turned the 'naughty 40' corner, maturity trickles in perhaps, and rationality takes over impulsiveness I suppose. Oh, the spur-of-the-moment things I did in my younger days! I miss them - urges creep in sometimes, borderlined with minimal recklessness they fail to sweeten as much. One evening, a serious itch to deviate from my routine home-office-home journey took over. Giving in to temptation, I took the Mass Rapid Transit System (MRTS) in the opposite direction from home. I know I said one is mature with age and all, but you can't grow-up too much, really.The child in you will always remain - buried perhaps, and every once in a while show-up to have some pure fun - maybe even to help you deal with the pressures of life.

It was a second Saturday - an office holiday, I was working but. Colleagues know I despise working over weekends - I am very vocal about it. Something needed to leave my desk for the press to pick-up in time and I had loads to read before I wrote it. Anyway, I delivered, but was annoyed - had been this way for a few days having been dragged into something I didn't bargain for. The noisy and filthy MRTS compartments didn't bother me, besides tickets are dirt cheap and there's definitely something extra-exciting about travelling at a height of 14 meters (45.93 feet) from the ground! My plan was to travel till the end of the line, and take a return ticket back to the other end of the journey. I just needed to be by myself, even if it was for only over an hour.

For those not from Chennai, the MRTS is India's first elevated railway line that connects the north and south of Chennai while cutting across parts of the city. Concrete pillars cradle the railway tracks and a portion of the line runs along the length of Cooum River, also called Adyar River - I remember it as Buckingham Canal though. The Canal was a major waterway once-upon-a-time; now the poor thing carriers the city's waste water to the Bay of Bengal. The railway line also crosses Perungudi lake - a paradise for bird watchers, especially when migratory birds turn up during the cooler months (December-February). Yes, the Marina Beach is visible at a distance and one can definitely smell the fishy-salty air - cannot quite decide if the nostril-filing combo came entirely from the Ocean or the famous wholesale fish market - as the electric train screeches out of Triplicane station. There's something about the smells your nose picks-up when you enter a place viz-a-viz when you exit I think - there must be a whole study on this (should look it up some day).

@14 meters above the ground, sights and smells don't linger you will find - everything is but a fleeting moment. The mind is so intelligent - it absorbs even the slightest. The wind rushes at you - it's fresh and clean, then still air or maybe the occasional light breeze when you enter a station every five or seven minutes roughly. Your nose won't even catch a sniff from the otherwise stenchy Cooum River and yet, you can't wait for the open air to greet your senses - the familiar double horn goes, heightened anticipation re-visits, hopeful once again - you gaze forward into absolute black. You've most probably missed the green flag ritual between station master and train guard - you don't care, really. With darkness fallen, you just want to stare into nothingness and be by yourself. People around you have ceased to exist - you did notice them when you began your journey but: 'how could one be so absorbed in oneself!' Outside noise shut-off, thoughts are causing a frown as retinas adjust to the blackness, you breathe deep and are just about ready to let 'stuff' flow out when the average-lit railway station springs-up on you too quickly. Jolted back to reality by this lights-on, lights-off 19.34 kilometer train journey, you suddenly become aware of noise and notice people - a frail old lady caught my attention.

She wore a saree, but there wasn't enough flesh on her bones for the thin material to drape gracefully. 'Could it be why she bound the six-and-a-half yards around her so tight, covering her head, and tucking the ends into her narrow waistline'? Or she could be feeling the wind too harsh, reaching her bones - I would never know for sure; I didn't ask. Her face was hardly visible below her sunken eyes and the bridge of her nose - a thin, dark palm covering the remaining part of her nose with a loose saree-end. "Could you help her please," a young voice came from outside the train window. The train had stopped for a bit at Beach station. The voice struggled to get words out - she was stammering. I volunteered - "The train is going towards Velacherry, yes - get in." The girl explained that the old lady had missed alighting at the station and needed to travel back to her destination. I agreed to help and the old lady seated herself next to me as train pulled out of Beach station - my quiet companion for the next 15 minutes.

"Where do you want to go?"
"To the beach," she responded quickly.
"Yes, but the train stops at several places along Marina Beach," If I knew the exact place she was headed, I would guide her to the nearest station.
"I want to go to the beach; I won't go into the water," she added quickly, reading the cautionary glint in my eyes."Just want to feel the sea breeze; I want to sit on the grass and spend some time alone - at least an hour, then I'll take a bus home." It was almost 8 pm in the evening already. She was staying in the interior southern suburb of Chennai, I found out, and it will take her about one-and-half-hours to get home by bus. With public transport being unreliable and all, she wouldn't make it before 10 pm, I was sure of that. She was in no hurry to go home.

"I have travelled to the Beach by bus before, this is first time I took the train," she talks to me. She had been waiting for almost an hour at the bus stop. "My mind was so pre-occupied that I didn't realise I missed my train stop," her smile rueful.

The frail elderly woman leaves the safe confines of her home, and patiently waited for a public bus to take her to Marina Beach some 35 kms away. Then choosing to board the MRTS, misses her alighting point, and is now taking the train back to her destination. She's been travelling for at least three hours - how desperate she must be. All she wanted was to empty her mind, and feel the beach breeze blow her worries away. Could I be more desperate than her?

The wind in my face...

It's nice to have a daily routine I suppose. You learn to have structure, and know when you're coming and going, and what you will do in between. But routines, in my opinion, kill off your freedom and in the process, all which is possible with that freeness. Just to be able 'to be' is directly proportionate to our ability to be free, I'm convinced.   

It makes me crazy to have follow a pre-determined schedule, but I do do it because life demands we set ourselves a pattern. Stability is the key word here - don't most of us crave a stable environment - be it at work or home. And why do we think we need this 'stability' - because it carries with it a sense of security. We don't seem to want to risk our safety lest we loose what we've taken years if not decades to pull together. Every thought, every plan, every action, every relationship - I can add more 'everys' but I'm sure you get the picture - is enveloped (in my mind 'stigmatised') with having to feel safe and secure. Gosh! Even advertising and branding is all about 'safety nets' in different forms and shapes - but can't be blamed since after all we the people create them in the first place. From what are we protecting ourselves - is another blogging topic in itself.

Such pre-designed lives - most seem comfortable with this structure; I'm bursting but. Honestly, if given a choice, I would take-off in any direction the wind blows to find my way in life. Gladly chase nothing in particular but myself - my mind is so much ahead of me, I don't have time to play catch-up! Envy the soul that's able to do this. Alas, responsibilities have always anchored me and I am where I am, doing what I do best - communicating.

Running away from reality, that's what she is doing - many term my impulsive urges to set myself free. Does this mean I don't love my family and friends - NO!! It is about connecting with oneself, about seeking clarity within the dark and deep insides of your being; it is about self-realisation - and all this is possible only when you can truly shut-off the noise from outside and inside you. Meanwhile, you can only take small deviations - a short-lived escape to empty oneself - I took a train journey one evening and fresh perspective breathed into me. 

What discoveries - I detail in my next blog. Stay connected!

I touched the Tulip

Of the many flowers I've touched, stroked, and held, the Tulip made the most impression on me.

I had seen a picture of Tulips as a little girl – it was on a wall calendar in my Nana’s (grandma) house. Looking up at the different colours of cup-shaped flowers, I thought to myself: they cannot be real; there are too many colours for it to be real. I was convinced that the picture was imagined and painted with many colours just to make it look pretty. Needed to sail (in my case fly) the seven seas (not literally of course!) to prove myself wrong, and now I know what the flower feels like too!  

I touched the Tulip. Oh the simple pleasures of living!

It was April 2015 and I was in the UK on work. I love castles and must explore at least one every time travel plans allow it. This time it was Arundel in West Sussex. Staying in Brighton, only a stone throw away from the train station, I spent the first night looking for best train connections to Arundel Castle. Then walked over to Brighton station to buy the tickets. The British Pound is a nasty drain on the INR, and I wanted to get to my destination cheap and quick. The guy at the railway ticket counter said, rather surprised: “It doesn’t get cheaper than this; you’ve managed to find the cheapest route to Arundel!” Why he wasn’t so pleased with my discovery, I don’t know - I was beaming

Like with every castle, Arundel has these massive gates and stone walls, long pathways and huge gardens complete with water fountains and all. Close to the castle west gate was a patch of Tulips – so many colours I had never seen before. They stood perfect – each single flower at the end of a green stalk, steady. No drooping to the ground like the rose or sunflower. Just erect and bold – independent. Instinctively my hand reached out to touch the flower. The petals were not soft and delicate at all! Nothing was as I had imagined. They were smooth, a satin feel to them but firm. I liked the way the Tulip felt instantly – reminding me of something I didn’t quite understand then.

Coming from the global South, tropical climate is all I've witnessed for most of my life. Schooling and college was in Chennai, and family Summer vacations were mostly in Madurai (I was born here), and Ooty was the only ‘cold’ place I’d been to by my 33^rd birthday. 

I recall being to the famous Ooty flower show one May (I forget the year). The magnificent display of flowers was refreshing - colours, scents and textures greeted my senses. Years later, still very naive, was when I realised Tulips do exist. My eyes scanned the colourful carpet of sweet-smelling blossoms, travelling over the elaborate and gigantic animal-shaped flowery displays in the Botanical Gardens to seek out the Tulip. It remained elusive until Arundel.

First impressions stay, I’m told. Spent a whole day among millions of Tulips at Keukenhof in The Netherlands last year in May – nothing changed. The flower remains its independent self – satin and firm. But this time I connected with this familiar feeling. 

As women, mothers especially, we have this dual quality of satin and firm. Kindness and boldness co-exist within the female form, and it is probably why simply touching the Tulip meant more than I could imagine - a lasting impression. I touched the Tulip; I got in touch with me. 

There was always a dog

Dogs have always been my 'thing' and that would never change. Actually, don't recall a time in my life when I didn't have a doggie.

I was 3-ish when I met Lakshmi, a Sidney Silky - my first doggie. She was full white and very beautiful. We had to give her away since we were shifting to a smaller house. Mom says we gave her to our baker; dad is not sure. Dad was good with dogs, and colleagues-friends gave them to him, so most times the dogs that came to us were already christened. Soon we had a couple of Tobys - never liked the name Toby (why would people name their dogs Toby!)

I did like Toby No 1 though. He was a little golden-brown puppy - sweet chap, and a good guard dog. One day, we returned from a family outing to find him frothing. He died the next day. We lived in Santhome then, our neighbours were pharmaceutical companies. Toby No 1 could have licked something while mom walked him in the compound that morning. The companies emptied chemical waste into an open drain. Broken bottles and other hazardous waste lay strewn in the compound. We, children played there. Thinking back I realise how naive we were not to raise concerns with the landlord. No idea what the adults did about it. But let's turn attention to the other Toby now.

I return from school one evening to find Toby No 2 in the corridor. Our home in Santhome had a peculiar set-up: three rooms completely independent of each other with doors and windows opening onto a long corridor, a bathing room on the right end of the corridor and a latrine on the other. So there was Toby No 2 - all excited to see me, wagging his tail like hyper-active teenage males do (those who have / had dogs that age will understand this). I couldn't pass by without him grabbing at me with both his front paws and attempting to hump me! He had a case of raging hormones, was too chaotic to manage, and eventually we just returned him to the donor.

It was 1992, and I was in college. My brothers were still in school. The youngest was a die hard Van Damme fan. Remember Jean-Claude Van Damme? Bloodsport, Kick Boxer, Double Impact... well, I don't really know which one worked the magic, but my brother was determined to learn Taekwondo. He must have been around 14 years old then, and we know how testy it can be when there's a teenager at home. So, he got his way, and took the one-hour bus journey to Parrys for Taekwondo coaching even before the Sun rose. One rainy night, he brings home the ugliest looking puppy I've ever seen. The pup suffered from a severe skin problem and all kinds of phobia, which caused him to shiver and urinate at the slightest. So it was rather ironic that we named him Tiger - he did have black stripes but...

Tiger has a very sad back story. Some very bad people had set his tail on fire and my brother found him, wet and shivering, in the stadium when practising Taekwondo. Tiger turned out to be a brave dog as time passed, and was famous for slinking away in the dead of the night to 'party' with other doggies. He would return home in the morning (sometimes a day or two later) - muddy and scared from a fight or in high spirits from an interesting encounter with someone special. If memory serves me right, he was one dog my dad just couldn't discipline!

A couple of years later, came Cindy - she was the most beautiful full-black German Shepherd by far! The moment her little paws touched the floor, the black ball of fur ran straight into the kitchen, and gobbled up all the mint and coriander leaves mom was cutting for our chicken Biriyani that afternoon. The pedigree was the house-warming gift from my paternal uncle - we had built our new house and moved into the then deserted suburbs of south Chennai. Tiger and Cindy were best of friends, and lived with us for eight long years until she passed away from kidney failure, and he a year later of sadness. We loved them very much, as they did us.

And then there was Tinku - a Japanese Spitz. Dad's colleague gave away the dog since he couldn't control the animal - Tinku had a very bad temper (would bite at the slightest). A very high-spirited dog, he kept our house safe for 16 long years. In fact, every delivery person knew us as 'the house with the black dog'. Tinku might have been a little fluffy fella but he surely scared the living daylights out of anyone who tired to approach the gate even. He was 80 years by human calculation when he passed away peacefully in his sleep. He was the dog my children knew as they were growing up. Tinku's nature mellowed with age, but he was still feared by the newspaper man, the water boy, the postman, the provision store chap, the courier man, and everyone who knew the yellow house on Plot 23B. So much so, we used to mention our delivery address over the phone as : the black dog's house. Tinku made us famous! 

We had several dogs after him - a whole family actually: Summer, Echo, Fluffy, Snappy, Max, Bruno and Princess - cross breeds: Golden Retriever and Himalayan Bhutia. They died of blood poisoning. January 20 will be their first death anniversary. Burno is the only one to survive and lives with us. Death of one dog is difficult, a whole family dying one after another under 36 hours was too much to bear. I have tears in my eyes as I write this. It is true that you do loose part of yourself when someone you love dies, and I suppose you can never forgive yourself in the end. Watching them suffer was the worst torture.

I've been writing this piece for a couple of days, and had to stop several times to collect myself. You will probably find inconsistencies in my writing as waves of joyful and sad emotions surface. But isn't blog writing about getting in touch with real life experiences, penning from the heart rather than the head...

We keep dogs for different reasons, but I've come to realise that dogs don't know these reasons. They are in your life because they love you, unconditionally. How blessed we must be to have their unconditional love. I leave you with this movie: A dog's purpose as a tribute to the dogs I've had in my life.

Excitement and Butterflies

I've been watching three butterflies from my office window. They are black with white specks, and seemed like they've been together for a while. They displayed a fluttering unison - echoing each other's movements as they hovered over the shoe-flower blossoms. I could see they looked very much alike - same size and all, but for some reason two of the black beauties followed the one in front. Looks like we have a 'leader' in the group! - I observed.

This went on for about ten minutes, and sometimes they seemed so intimately close that I couldn't see the 'leader'. Amused at the attention-grabbing, rapid wing-flapping and the dedication with which both black beauties chased the one in front, my eyes followed the trio around as they moved from one blood-red hibiscus flower to the next. It struck me that the 'leader' was the only one sucking in flower nectar! The way I looked at the whole butterfly scene began to change.

My deductive reasoning skills have only recently received a boost, thanks to the several PhD courses I've been taking in Holland. I find my senses undergoing a systematic re-structuring: the goodness intention is to encourage solving puzzles in a logical way. But the creative streak in me (alive and kicking, still) went on to imagine several relationship-probabilities for these butterflies.

The most likely would be that the one I christened 'leader' might be the 'lady' and the two that followed her around tirelessly, not feasting on the nectar at all, should be 'suitors' - trying to impress her. And she couldn't care less! Ms Beautiful Butterfly went about her business (or so it seems), but could have secretly been leading the two 'boys' on, for all I know :-) The teasing would be her way of finding out who of the two black beauties are worthy of her. And I can't help but imagine what feelings must go through her little head and heart... Would she be excited by the attention?

I wonder if Ms Beautiful feels the same kind of excitement as women do... After all, we do refer this excitement to the flutter of "butterflies in the stomach" - don't we :-)

The feeling of love

I wrote this in September, when in The Netherlands. I didn't have a title for it then, so it is in retrospect that I've coined 'The feeling of love' today.

Who brings love into my life? My everyday life
With so many as 24 hours, who is that who brings love!
I am afraid to count the blessings,
The precious feelings, lest they disappear.
I wake every morning, grateful
For the previous day and the one I see,
Afraid to count my blessings, lest they fade away.

How can too much love be a problem! Many would ask I'm sure...
How can I explain how afraid I am
Of enjoying the love in my life.
I talk to my God - what are you doing! I ask
No answer comes to me
My head against the wall, looking up at the sky - it's beautiful
I see the wonder in it, and in my life.
But still no answer comes to me.

Deep breaths I take, turning attention to the kettle,
Make my coffee, pick up the cup.
The Day begins, I forget my question
Hoping a reason will appear. My attention is shifting
And still no answer from above.
Coffee in hand, aimless sipping
A cat to distract I find!
The joy it brings fails to deduct
The love that's in my life.

The Sagittarius New Moon: hope for new beginnings

Set @15 degrees to unlock Jupiter's treasures on December 6th, this New Moon brings bucket loads of hope just to make the Aquarian wishes, hopes and friendships come true. Could there be a better night to re-introduce my light-writing talent! I guess not :-) and blogspot.com does not forget you, I've discovered. Feels like a home-coming of sorts, definitely a welcome sign!

I've been a blogger since 2007, the blogsite reminds me, and this is my third blog topic attached to a personal email ID. Shit. I had started a couple of blogging ideas but did not see them through.

I have been blogging, always for official purposes - as part of my job. I am a communications specialist you see, and the blogsphere is an important space to get like-minded people interested in the topic you want to make popular. So, as part of comms strategy, I did not just blog, I created blogsites, trained researchers and academics on the dos and don't of getting the message out via blogs, advised and edited those written-up by colleagues, and even organised publishing on formal research blogging sites. For an extra special touch, I throw in a dedicated social media dissemination plan for the blog. Everyone is happy.

Little did I realise that this process gradually diluted my enthusiasm to blog on simple everyday, little things - the stuff that mattered most to me. Facebook was the attractive competition, and I ended up posting snippets rather than blog. Time passed, and I eventually forgot about the personal blog topics initiated, and sadly lost touch with blogging to kindered spirits, or for pleasure.

Much, too much occupies my mind these days - I'm juggling a full time career, handling a full time PhD and raising a family, and yes I have a dog and a kitten to care for as well. There's been this long-time hidden, yet strong desire to pen a few lines and I did contemplate jotting down highlights in a journal. Even thought about writing a dairy, but I'm online 24/7 and almost always have access to my PC or laptop, or mobile phone, sometimes all three at the small time! It just had to be blogging, thus 'Castles in the sky'.

I've always dreamed of a better tomorrow - one that makes the world a happier, peaceful place. I've always dreamed of making a decent contribution to this better world - something that improves our lives. I've always dreamed of larger than life achievements - somebody whose life was not wasted. I've always built my castles in the sky - no matter what other people say, no matter that I couldn't afford it, no matter that most thought I would never make it, no matter that I am not super intelligent - I continue building my castles brick by brick in my sky, and enjoy it.