Bored expressions, stifled yawns
Irrelevant interjections.
Eyes drift, focus on distant, inconsequential faces.
Moments of attention pamper,
Tailed by cruel deprivation.
I wonder if conversation with humans makes sense.
The conflict inside seeks respite.
Maybe I should take my thoughts
To rocks, trees and bushes,
To cats, dogs and grazing cows,
To cups of pheeki chai
To customary paranthas served with achar that invigorates the loaded tongue
To red brick walls and other monstrosities.
They do not pretend to listen.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
Conception
We might have made a baby today.
I can still feel your lips on mine,
Your warm breath licking my skin
Your taste in my mouth.
We might have made a baby.
Filling me with your strength
Experiencing completion like never before
Holding me close, spent and sated.
We might have made a baby.
I imagine- me swollen with your child
My skin and eyes glowing with your love
Your tender lips on my stomach.
We might have made a baby.
I dream- of you speaking to my womb
Holding me close as the pain rips through me
Wiping the sweat off my brow.
We might have made a baby.
I see- you watching as he suckles
Him gurgling as your beard tickles
Us pacing till he nods off.
We might have made a baby.
I hope- he has your curly hair and dark brows
He gets your beautiful eyes that crinkle
When he smiles your heartwarming grin.
I wonder if we made a baby today.
I can still feel your lips on mine,
Your warm breath licking my skin
Your taste in my mouth.
We might have made a baby.
Filling me with your strength
Experiencing completion like never before
Holding me close, spent and sated.
We might have made a baby.
I imagine- me swollen with your child
My skin and eyes glowing with your love
Your tender lips on my stomach.
We might have made a baby.
I dream- of you speaking to my womb
Holding me close as the pain rips through me
Wiping the sweat off my brow.
We might have made a baby.
I see- you watching as he suckles
Him gurgling as your beard tickles
Us pacing till he nods off.
We might have made a baby.
I hope- he has your curly hair and dark brows
He gets your beautiful eyes that crinkle
When he smiles your heartwarming grin.
I wonder if we made a baby today.
To Suprita....
A scour, a rummage
I scavenge through the inexhaustible lexicon
Through wide, brightly lit lanes
Of memories, experiences, camaraderie
Of our friendship.
Instances of unadulterated fun,
Days of sheer lunacy,
Moments of tender care
Tears, laughter and frightening screams
Nights spent sharing life- past, present and future.
A panorama of images flashes by
Fleetingly, fondly, amusingly, lovingly
Those first attempts at acquaintance
Seated on rickety benches….
The first hello or the first offer to take me home
Those borrowed matchboxes never returned
Those long conversations by the loo
(why did we never go to one of our rooms?)
Nights spent in the library, pretending to study
Followed by coffee and lots more.
Freshness gave way to familiarity.
Winter walks and misty nights
Splendid meteor showers witnessed in harmony.
Rock shows and naps at discotheques,
Oblivious to the din around.
Trips to farmhouse outside
(secrets uncloaked over fights for blankets)
Trips to farmhouses closer home,
Peeking in through open windows.
Flowers picked carefully,
Songs sung, cigarettes smoked and vodka shared
Gossip and people dissected.
Memories of collective insanity…
Altaf Raja and Majja aa gaya…
Skipping on the streets and yelling at strangers
Amorous Sveety and annoying Leelu
Airport madness
Excitement over stickers that glow in the dark
Baby talk and aunty affectations
Cursing and mimicking under our breaths.
35 has a story of its own
Dedicated, cherished labour
Making it our home.
Sneaking in boys
Blaring music, Pearl Jam at dawn and Ijaazat at night
Comparing anatomies, threatening to expose
Slipping shirts that bared all.
Stolen apricots, shared secrets
The walls have heard so much.
Our inconsistencies, our lack of discretion.
As, Bs, Cs and Ds, wondering who’ll hit Z first.
Screams of martyrdom, apologies muttered.
Laughing over a broken relationship,
Crying over a broken hairbrush.
What do I say to someone
Who makes me laugh when I want to cry
Who makes me scream when I wish to be calm
Who makes me furious because I care
Who makes me love when I want to hate.
Claustrophobia and space
Independence and addiction
Boyfriends and boyfriends
Delhi and Chennai….
I miss you!
I scavenge through the inexhaustible lexicon
Through wide, brightly lit lanes
Of memories, experiences, camaraderie
Of our friendship.
Instances of unadulterated fun,
Days of sheer lunacy,
Moments of tender care
Tears, laughter and frightening screams
Nights spent sharing life- past, present and future.
A panorama of images flashes by
Fleetingly, fondly, amusingly, lovingly
Those first attempts at acquaintance
Seated on rickety benches….
The first hello or the first offer to take me home
Those borrowed matchboxes never returned
Those long conversations by the loo
(why did we never go to one of our rooms?)
Nights spent in the library, pretending to study
Followed by coffee and lots more.
Freshness gave way to familiarity.
Winter walks and misty nights
Splendid meteor showers witnessed in harmony.
Rock shows and naps at discotheques,
Oblivious to the din around.
Trips to farmhouse outside
(secrets uncloaked over fights for blankets)
Trips to farmhouses closer home,
Peeking in through open windows.
Flowers picked carefully,
Songs sung, cigarettes smoked and vodka shared
Gossip and people dissected.
Memories of collective insanity…
Altaf Raja and Majja aa gaya…
Skipping on the streets and yelling at strangers
Amorous Sveety and annoying Leelu
Airport madness
Excitement over stickers that glow in the dark
Baby talk and aunty affectations
Cursing and mimicking under our breaths.
35 has a story of its own
Dedicated, cherished labour
Making it our home.
Sneaking in boys
Blaring music, Pearl Jam at dawn and Ijaazat at night
Comparing anatomies, threatening to expose
Slipping shirts that bared all.
Stolen apricots, shared secrets
The walls have heard so much.
Our inconsistencies, our lack of discretion.
As, Bs, Cs and Ds, wondering who’ll hit Z first.
Screams of martyrdom, apologies muttered.
Laughing over a broken relationship,
Crying over a broken hairbrush.
What do I say to someone
Who makes me laugh when I want to cry
Who makes me scream when I wish to be calm
Who makes me furious because I care
Who makes me love when I want to hate.
Claustrophobia and space
Independence and addiction
Boyfriends and boyfriends
Delhi and Chennai….
I miss you!
To A, S and A....
I do not have a very elevated opinion of my self. In fact, more often than not, I have to work at allowing myself to believe sincerely that I too am important. There are times when I feel the world and people around me would not even notice the difference if I were to suddenly disappear off the face of the earth (except for my little boy, of course). Something like a framed picture on a wall, you know its there, but you wouldn’t notice it if it were to suddenly be replaced without prior notification. Maybe eventually you would, but it wouldn’t affect you or your life anyway.
But the last 6 months, since Orkut, have been wonderful for my self esteem. And before you jump to any conclusions, no it’s not the many people who wanted to ‘make friendship’ with me, nor is it several others from my past who remembered me and chose to touch base. This is in specific reference to three very important people in my life who in their own little way let me know that I mattered.
While skimming through a couple of blogs I was pleasantly surprised to find that I had merited a mention. One in an extremely obtuse manner, characteristic of the person who wrote it and the other very direct as is the author! Who would have imagined that li’l ol’ I could have any impact whatsoever in anybody’s life?
So I chose to change my last name a couple of years after I got married, mainly because I liked the sound of it, very hep, very cool… And I also chose to broadcast it through a change in my mail address and inform all my contacts. But that it would actually find a blog dedicated to its occurrence blew me away. Euphemisms galore, the piece is probably one of my favorites, discounting the fact that it is about me. A beautiful collage of images in words, embarrassing secrets slipped in innocuously, allusion to some lovely poetry…it brought back to my heart and mind exactly why the person had once occupied such a venerated position in my life. The tears that welled reflexively were those of joy and a strange melancholy that perfectly mirrored the see-saw of emotions I had once experienced in the company of the author. Thankfully, the friendship has now been restored and the old magic still blinds me with the same brilliance that it did more than seven years back!!
The second was by another old friend, a friend I had chosen to erase from my life, one with whom I had shared so much, one with whom I had some of the best and worst times of my life. She used to call me her mother away from home! My initial reaction was one of extreme disappointment and pain to the words I read. Jealous? She was always the more popular one among the men, she was the more attractive, better dressed, more vivacious and likeable person of the two of us. I cannot recall a single day when I envied her, not when we spent hours discussing her love life with a man who had caught my fancy too, briefly; not even when I got a job where she was my senior. Vindictive? While there had been no reason for malevolence of any sort between the two of us, I cannot remember ever gloating or worse still, plotting over the downfall or misery of my worst adversaries. In fact, if anything, she had the reason to be spiteful on some occasions, never I. And my friendship not a constructive force? What about the days and nights she spent at my house being counseled or just being silly, singing tu mera boyfriend and filing our nails, when she hit a rough patch with her then boyfriend? What about the nights I spent during my vacation, with no sleep, getting her ready for her university exams? What about the pep talks when she felt incapable or not intelligent enough? What about the fact that I rushed to be with her when her father passed away? I am not asking for recognition, because my friendship was in earnest and all my efforts were sincere, but to name those years of togetherness ‘not an altogether constructive force’ was debasing everything we had been through together. So what if those were the opinions of others. Who were they to comment in any case? But for one, we shared no common friends, so these ‘others’ never knew me.
Maybe the content was not ideal, but my chosen absence in her life had won a much coveted place in her very well written and beautifully maintained blogspot. And that eventually assuaged the bubbling rage within me. Again, the friendship has been restored, because she didn’t give up and I thank her for that. Yes, you can be godmother, if you still want to.
The third mention was flattering to say the least. I cannot imagine too many people who go on a bike ride and eat at a road side dhaba under the stars on their first date. I can count even fewer people who would think that it was an ideal date, but to find that mentioned in someone’s personal profile made me smug and had me smiling for at least an entire day. Even though the six months following that one date were the most intense, the most emotionally exhausting, the most helpless in my life, the date was still special.
So to A, S and A, a big heartfelt thank you…
But the last 6 months, since Orkut, have been wonderful for my self esteem. And before you jump to any conclusions, no it’s not the many people who wanted to ‘make friendship’ with me, nor is it several others from my past who remembered me and chose to touch base. This is in specific reference to three very important people in my life who in their own little way let me know that I mattered.
While skimming through a couple of blogs I was pleasantly surprised to find that I had merited a mention. One in an extremely obtuse manner, characteristic of the person who wrote it and the other very direct as is the author! Who would have imagined that li’l ol’ I could have any impact whatsoever in anybody’s life?
So I chose to change my last name a couple of years after I got married, mainly because I liked the sound of it, very hep, very cool… And I also chose to broadcast it through a change in my mail address and inform all my contacts. But that it would actually find a blog dedicated to its occurrence blew me away. Euphemisms galore, the piece is probably one of my favorites, discounting the fact that it is about me. A beautiful collage of images in words, embarrassing secrets slipped in innocuously, allusion to some lovely poetry…it brought back to my heart and mind exactly why the person had once occupied such a venerated position in my life. The tears that welled reflexively were those of joy and a strange melancholy that perfectly mirrored the see-saw of emotions I had once experienced in the company of the author. Thankfully, the friendship has now been restored and the old magic still blinds me with the same brilliance that it did more than seven years back!!
The second was by another old friend, a friend I had chosen to erase from my life, one with whom I had shared so much, one with whom I had some of the best and worst times of my life. She used to call me her mother away from home! My initial reaction was one of extreme disappointment and pain to the words I read. Jealous? She was always the more popular one among the men, she was the more attractive, better dressed, more vivacious and likeable person of the two of us. I cannot recall a single day when I envied her, not when we spent hours discussing her love life with a man who had caught my fancy too, briefly; not even when I got a job where she was my senior. Vindictive? While there had been no reason for malevolence of any sort between the two of us, I cannot remember ever gloating or worse still, plotting over the downfall or misery of my worst adversaries. In fact, if anything, she had the reason to be spiteful on some occasions, never I. And my friendship not a constructive force? What about the days and nights she spent at my house being counseled or just being silly, singing tu mera boyfriend and filing our nails, when she hit a rough patch with her then boyfriend? What about the nights I spent during my vacation, with no sleep, getting her ready for her university exams? What about the pep talks when she felt incapable or not intelligent enough? What about the fact that I rushed to be with her when her father passed away? I am not asking for recognition, because my friendship was in earnest and all my efforts were sincere, but to name those years of togetherness ‘not an altogether constructive force’ was debasing everything we had been through together. So what if those were the opinions of others. Who were they to comment in any case? But for one, we shared no common friends, so these ‘others’ never knew me.
Maybe the content was not ideal, but my chosen absence in her life had won a much coveted place in her very well written and beautifully maintained blogspot. And that eventually assuaged the bubbling rage within me. Again, the friendship has been restored, because she didn’t give up and I thank her for that. Yes, you can be godmother, if you still want to.
The third mention was flattering to say the least. I cannot imagine too many people who go on a bike ride and eat at a road side dhaba under the stars on their first date. I can count even fewer people who would think that it was an ideal date, but to find that mentioned in someone’s personal profile made me smug and had me smiling for at least an entire day. Even though the six months following that one date were the most intense, the most emotionally exhausting, the most helpless in my life, the date was still special.
So to A, S and A, a big heartfelt thank you…
All the time in the world....
My never-failing friends are they,
With whom I converse day by day.
With them I take delight in weal,
And seek relief in woe
Aniruddh and I are both reading Yuganta by Irawati Karwe. (I promise to post a review soon.) I read very fast and was taken aback when, the other day, Aniruddh claimed that I had all the time in the world to read, because I had finished a substantial bit more than him. All the time in the world…the phrase, all at the same time, filled me with anger, with shame, with regret and a sense of loss I cannot explain.
There was a time when I drove people around me crazy with my reading. My mother still recalls those days when I would return from the library (what happened to those quaint little places with dusty books on rickety shelves?), slip into the chair right next to the door, not leave till I finished the book in my hand and then, of course, complain incessantly that I was bored since I had finished reading and had to wait for the next evening for my beloved visit to the library.
During an extremely difficult year of transition- to womanhood, to a new school in a new city, to being comfortable in my skin- books were my only friends. In fact, as if it weren’t enough that I had already been ostracized for being a ‘city girl’ in a small town, I was further ridiculed for the company I kept, my wonderful bound paper mates, who gave me strength to be alone. My real friends were those from someone else’s imagination, sketched lovingly by the author’s untrammeled nib, some rounded, some flat, but faithful to me always.
My romance with the written word continued well into adulthood, when I discovered the magic of non fiction, philosophy and poetry. I chose to be educated to read better, to devour as many books as I could (and devour I did, tearing the corners of the pages to chew on, till I learnt to respect my books!!). For once nobody could rue the fact that my nose was buried deep in the pages of a book that was not ‘course work’. I never learnt to brag, quote or count. I read for my pleasure and not for competition. And it was the competition, the display, the quoting, the unnecessary and very fake internalization of philosophies that drove me away from literature as a career choice. Linguistics sent me back to the world of reading entirely for pleasure and I added a few more genres to my repertoire, including political commentary.
These days I am lucky if I manage to flip a few pages before getting into bed. My day is occupied with Manu and running a household. I consider my self pampered if I can sip a cup of tea and do the crossword, not for long, maybe just 10 minutes? But I have to finish cooking, cleaning and bathing by the time my maid leaves, so someone can watch Manu while I’m busy. And the day rushes by bathing and feeding Manu, playing with Manu, rocking Manu to sleep and then feeding him all over again. I enjoy every moment. I do get a couple of hours in the evening while Manu’s off to play with his grandparents, but that’s the time for me to check my mail, surf the internet and get dinner ready.
So when do I read? Sometimes when Manu’s on my lap, just drifting off, not yet with Mr. Sandman, but not requiring me to sing to him either, I read a few words by the light of a 10 watt night lamp. Sometimes if my chores after Manu’s off to sleep are done early enough, I read just before I doze off. Sometimes, if I reach a deadlock with the crossword or better still, finish it; I flip through some pages on the pot. Sometimes I don’t read for days on end. Sometimes I am blessed with time to finish an entire book in a day.
All in all, the state of my reading is not optimal. Neither is the quality. When one manages only a few pages at a time, it makes very little sense to pick up something serious. I like to be completely involved when I am reading works of substance. So my recent conquests are no better than all of Dan Brown’s works and some Jeffery Archer. Potboilers and sensational fiction, nothing intelligent, nothing stimulating or thought provoking!! Kiran Desai remains unopened and the desire to open several others remains unfulfilled.
But maybe I should just consider this a break from my usual reading. There is no guilt or shame associated with not reading for a bit and it’s not like I don’t try. Fortunately for me, I have never judged those who do not read harshly or rated them unworthy of my friendship and association, so I hope fervently that I am meted the same allowance by my erudite friends.
I certainly do not have all the time in the world!!
With whom I converse day by day.
With them I take delight in weal,
And seek relief in woe
Aniruddh and I are both reading Yuganta by Irawati Karwe. (I promise to post a review soon.) I read very fast and was taken aback when, the other day, Aniruddh claimed that I had all the time in the world to read, because I had finished a substantial bit more than him. All the time in the world…the phrase, all at the same time, filled me with anger, with shame, with regret and a sense of loss I cannot explain.
There was a time when I drove people around me crazy with my reading. My mother still recalls those days when I would return from the library (what happened to those quaint little places with dusty books on rickety shelves?), slip into the chair right next to the door, not leave till I finished the book in my hand and then, of course, complain incessantly that I was bored since I had finished reading and had to wait for the next evening for my beloved visit to the library.
During an extremely difficult year of transition- to womanhood, to a new school in a new city, to being comfortable in my skin- books were my only friends. In fact, as if it weren’t enough that I had already been ostracized for being a ‘city girl’ in a small town, I was further ridiculed for the company I kept, my wonderful bound paper mates, who gave me strength to be alone. My real friends were those from someone else’s imagination, sketched lovingly by the author’s untrammeled nib, some rounded, some flat, but faithful to me always.
My romance with the written word continued well into adulthood, when I discovered the magic of non fiction, philosophy and poetry. I chose to be educated to read better, to devour as many books as I could (and devour I did, tearing the corners of the pages to chew on, till I learnt to respect my books!!). For once nobody could rue the fact that my nose was buried deep in the pages of a book that was not ‘course work’. I never learnt to brag, quote or count. I read for my pleasure and not for competition. And it was the competition, the display, the quoting, the unnecessary and very fake internalization of philosophies that drove me away from literature as a career choice. Linguistics sent me back to the world of reading entirely for pleasure and I added a few more genres to my repertoire, including political commentary.
These days I am lucky if I manage to flip a few pages before getting into bed. My day is occupied with Manu and running a household. I consider my self pampered if I can sip a cup of tea and do the crossword, not for long, maybe just 10 minutes? But I have to finish cooking, cleaning and bathing by the time my maid leaves, so someone can watch Manu while I’m busy. And the day rushes by bathing and feeding Manu, playing with Manu, rocking Manu to sleep and then feeding him all over again. I enjoy every moment. I do get a couple of hours in the evening while Manu’s off to play with his grandparents, but that’s the time for me to check my mail, surf the internet and get dinner ready.
So when do I read? Sometimes when Manu’s on my lap, just drifting off, not yet with Mr. Sandman, but not requiring me to sing to him either, I read a few words by the light of a 10 watt night lamp. Sometimes if my chores after Manu’s off to sleep are done early enough, I read just before I doze off. Sometimes, if I reach a deadlock with the crossword or better still, finish it; I flip through some pages on the pot. Sometimes I don’t read for days on end. Sometimes I am blessed with time to finish an entire book in a day.
All in all, the state of my reading is not optimal. Neither is the quality. When one manages only a few pages at a time, it makes very little sense to pick up something serious. I like to be completely involved when I am reading works of substance. So my recent conquests are no better than all of Dan Brown’s works and some Jeffery Archer. Potboilers and sensational fiction, nothing intelligent, nothing stimulating or thought provoking!! Kiran Desai remains unopened and the desire to open several others remains unfulfilled.
But maybe I should just consider this a break from my usual reading. There is no guilt or shame associated with not reading for a bit and it’s not like I don’t try. Fortunately for me, I have never judged those who do not read harshly or rated them unworthy of my friendship and association, so I hope fervently that I am meted the same allowance by my erudite friends.
I certainly do not have all the time in the world!!
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Weddings...
There has been a spate of weddings in my family...Ah joy, you say! Weddings are always good fun. A time to meet people you don't see otherwise, good food, a chance to wear your best clothes and jewellery...Sure, why not??
However, I feel so strongly about weddings that I cannot help but comment on what weddings seem to mean in this present day and age.
I always believed that weddings are an occasion for your near and dear ones to celebrate your union with the person you love. The more intimate the gathering of people, the more special the celebration.
Traditionally Iyer weddings spanned 12 whole days, was a time of merriment for the family and the wedding itself was solemnised within the premises of one's home. Over time, however, the duration of the wedding has become much shorter, wish one could say that about the opulence. A recently concluded wedding in the family was rumoured to be priced at an obscenely high amount that probably only the Mittals could imagine. And the hosts are not even close to being the Mittals....
With the invasion of the media, the saas-bahu saga, Karan Johar and his lavish weddings, traditional weddings, sadly, have become a medley of mixed cultures and ceremonies. It has now become a fashion statement to organise a grand mehendi function with the sangeet, naach gaana, even the trousseau typical of weddings north of the Vindhyas. I don't see them aping any of our customs. Not that I have anything against the multiculturalism that has taken over our lives, but somewhere we have lost sight of reality.
When I chose to attend my best friend's wedding in November 2004, I was pleasantly surprised to find that Karan Johar weddings belong only on celluloid. The typical Punjabi wedding, even the most extravagant of them all, is limited to close family. But for the reception, where everyone who breathes is invited, all other preliminaries and the wedding itself, are intimate and shared with only those who truly care.
What, then, is the point of splurging such an obscene amount of money on a five star mehendi ceremony, a chariot ride and exhorbitant lehengas not native to our culture. People are fed repeatedly and given expensive gifts which invariably they complain about. Weddings have become platforms for families to showcase their wealth. In a country where millions struggle to get one meal a day, yearn to clothe themselves completely atleast sometime in the cold, where orphanages are brimming over with little ones who would appreciate that meal or the gift far more, we insist on giving only to those who don't need anything. I am waiting for the day when people choose to display their intelligence, their education and their humanity instead.
Not everybody is charitable, I agree. And one cannot express anger over the lack of compassion for the needy. But the money spent on weddings can be used constructively, I am sure. What is honestly wrong in a simple, but elegant ceremony that uses only a part of the money, while perhaps building a cache of the rest for the newly weds to start their lives together. The wedding recently concluded could have well funded a decent house for the couple. If education cannot teach us how to value the money it brings us, we are not the enlightened ones in the world and should not claim it either.
Aniruddh and I chose to get married in the presence of a couple of hundred people in a beach house that was quaint and reeked of old world charm. Being the bride's side (we fund the entire wedding), we could not deny the massive reception later for all of my father in law's acquaintances. But a part of me is happy that atleast the wedding was simple. Of course, it goes without saying that while the intelligent crowd appreciated it all, the fools still claimed it was just an attempt to cut cost as my parents could not afford more.
My brother is now set to tie the knot. Thankfully we have, as the groom's side, made it clear that all expenses will be shared, nobody will receive any gifts and the wedding will not have unnecessary attendance or grandeur in any form. I sincerely hope that we can stand up to our convictions and do what is sensible, not what is 'rich'. If you are close to the family or the groom and bride in anyway, expect an invitation...else, we'll inform you and you can bless the couple, if you so wish, from the comfort of your living room.
However, I feel so strongly about weddings that I cannot help but comment on what weddings seem to mean in this present day and age.
I always believed that weddings are an occasion for your near and dear ones to celebrate your union with the person you love. The more intimate the gathering of people, the more special the celebration.
Traditionally Iyer weddings spanned 12 whole days, was a time of merriment for the family and the wedding itself was solemnised within the premises of one's home. Over time, however, the duration of the wedding has become much shorter, wish one could say that about the opulence. A recently concluded wedding in the family was rumoured to be priced at an obscenely high amount that probably only the Mittals could imagine. And the hosts are not even close to being the Mittals....
With the invasion of the media, the saas-bahu saga, Karan Johar and his lavish weddings, traditional weddings, sadly, have become a medley of mixed cultures and ceremonies. It has now become a fashion statement to organise a grand mehendi function with the sangeet, naach gaana, even the trousseau typical of weddings north of the Vindhyas. I don't see them aping any of our customs. Not that I have anything against the multiculturalism that has taken over our lives, but somewhere we have lost sight of reality.
When I chose to attend my best friend's wedding in November 2004, I was pleasantly surprised to find that Karan Johar weddings belong only on celluloid. The typical Punjabi wedding, even the most extravagant of them all, is limited to close family. But for the reception, where everyone who breathes is invited, all other preliminaries and the wedding itself, are intimate and shared with only those who truly care.
What, then, is the point of splurging such an obscene amount of money on a five star mehendi ceremony, a chariot ride and exhorbitant lehengas not native to our culture. People are fed repeatedly and given expensive gifts which invariably they complain about. Weddings have become platforms for families to showcase their wealth. In a country where millions struggle to get one meal a day, yearn to clothe themselves completely atleast sometime in the cold, where orphanages are brimming over with little ones who would appreciate that meal or the gift far more, we insist on giving only to those who don't need anything. I am waiting for the day when people choose to display their intelligence, their education and their humanity instead.
Not everybody is charitable, I agree. And one cannot express anger over the lack of compassion for the needy. But the money spent on weddings can be used constructively, I am sure. What is honestly wrong in a simple, but elegant ceremony that uses only a part of the money, while perhaps building a cache of the rest for the newly weds to start their lives together. The wedding recently concluded could have well funded a decent house for the couple. If education cannot teach us how to value the money it brings us, we are not the enlightened ones in the world and should not claim it either.
Aniruddh and I chose to get married in the presence of a couple of hundred people in a beach house that was quaint and reeked of old world charm. Being the bride's side (we fund the entire wedding), we could not deny the massive reception later for all of my father in law's acquaintances. But a part of me is happy that atleast the wedding was simple. Of course, it goes without saying that while the intelligent crowd appreciated it all, the fools still claimed it was just an attempt to cut cost as my parents could not afford more.
My brother is now set to tie the knot. Thankfully we have, as the groom's side, made it clear that all expenses will be shared, nobody will receive any gifts and the wedding will not have unnecessary attendance or grandeur in any form. I sincerely hope that we can stand up to our convictions and do what is sensible, not what is 'rich'. If you are close to the family or the groom and bride in anyway, expect an invitation...else, we'll inform you and you can bless the couple, if you so wish, from the comfort of your living room.
The Eye of Horus
The Eye of Horus (originally, The Eye of Ra) is an ancient Egyptian symbol of protection and power, from the deity Horus or Ra. In the Egyptian language the word for this symbol was "wadjet" (according to M. Stokstad "Art History").
The Eye of Horus, originally the Eye of Ra, symbolized royal power. The ancients believed this symbol of indestructibility would assist in rebirth. The Eye of Horus was found under the 12th layer of bandages on Tutankhamun's mummy. Horus was an ancient Egyptian sky god; one of his eyes was the sun and the other the moon. The eye represents a peregrine falcon's eye and the markings around it, including the "teardrop" marking sometimes found below the eye.
The Eye of Horus represents the right eye of the Egyptian Falcon God Horus. As the udjat (or utchat), it also represented the sun, and was associated with the Sun God Ra (Re). The mirror image, or left eye, represented the moon and the God Tehuti (Thoth).
In the Ancient Egyptian measurement system, the Eye Of Horus defined an Old Kingdom rounded off notation that continued in use in the Middle Kingdom, with each part of the eye representing a different fraction. The definition of one(1) was 1/2 + 1/4 + 1/8 + 1/16 + 1/32 + 1/64 , written as a 6-term rounded off number. It dropped the remainder 1/64. The metaphorical side of this information linked all six fractions, 1/2, 1/4, 1/8, 1/16, 1/32, and 1/64 to separate parts of the eye, as noted by:
1/2 was represented by smell, symbolized by the right side of the eye in a form of the nose. The pyramid text says: "Behold [the fire] rises in Abydos and it comes; I cause it to come, the Eye of Horus. It is set in order upon thy brow, O Osiris Khenti-Amenti; it is set in the shrine and rises on thy brow."
1/4 was represented by sight or the sensation of light, symbolized by the pupil. The pyramid text says: "Perfect is the Eye of Horus. I have delivered the Eye of Horus, the shining one, the ornament of the Eye of Ra, the Father of the Gods."
1/8 was represented by thought, symbolized by the eyebrow. The pyramid text says: "...the Eye of Horus hath made me holy...I will hide myself among you, O ye stars which are imperishable. My brow is the brow of Ra."
1/16 was represented by hearing, symbolized by the left side of the eye in the form of an arrow pointing towards the ear. The pyramid text says: "That which has been shut fast/dead hath been opened by the command of the Eye of Horus, which hath delivered me. Established are the beauties on the forehead of Ra."
1/32 was represented by taste, by the sprouting of wheat or grain from the planted stalk, symbolized by a curved tail. The pyramid text says: "Come, the Eye of Horus hath delivered for me my soul, my ornaments are established on the brow of Ra. Light is on the faces of those who are in the members of Osiris."
1/64 was represented by touch, symbolized by a leg touching the ground, or what can also be thought of as a strong plant growing into the surface of the earth. The pyramid text says: "I shall see the Gods and the Eye of Horus burning with fire before my eyes!"
The 'Eye of Horus' fractions were further discussed in the Egyptian Mathematical Leather Roll following elementary definitions that built the Egyptian fraction system. Weights and measure subunits of a hekat were also connected to Eye of Horus numbers in the quotient, and as an exact remainder, the remainder including an Egyptian fraction and a ro unit, correcting the Eye of Horus 1/64 round off error. The ro unit, 1/320 of a hekat, was cited in the Rhind Mathematical Papyrus and as applied in the medical texts, like the Ebers Papyrus. A precise mathematical derivation of ro is found in the Akhmim Wooden Tablet.
-source WIKIPEDIA
The Eye of Horus, originally the Eye of Ra, symbolized royal power. The ancients believed this symbol of indestructibility would assist in rebirth. The Eye of Horus was found under the 12th layer of bandages on Tutankhamun's mummy. Horus was an ancient Egyptian sky god; one of his eyes was the sun and the other the moon. The eye represents a peregrine falcon's eye and the markings around it, including the "teardrop" marking sometimes found below the eye.
The Eye of Horus represents the right eye of the Egyptian Falcon God Horus. As the udjat (or utchat), it also represented the sun, and was associated with the Sun God Ra (Re). The mirror image, or left eye, represented the moon and the God Tehuti (Thoth).
In the Ancient Egyptian measurement system, the Eye Of Horus defined an Old Kingdom rounded off notation that continued in use in the Middle Kingdom, with each part of the eye representing a different fraction. The definition of one(1) was 1/2 + 1/4 + 1/8 + 1/16 + 1/32 + 1/64 , written as a 6-term rounded off number. It dropped the remainder 1/64. The metaphorical side of this information linked all six fractions, 1/2, 1/4, 1/8, 1/16, 1/32, and 1/64 to separate parts of the eye, as noted by:
1/2 was represented by smell, symbolized by the right side of the eye in a form of the nose. The pyramid text says: "Behold [the fire] rises in Abydos and it comes; I cause it to come, the Eye of Horus. It is set in order upon thy brow, O Osiris Khenti-Amenti; it is set in the shrine and rises on thy brow."
1/4 was represented by sight or the sensation of light, symbolized by the pupil. The pyramid text says: "Perfect is the Eye of Horus. I have delivered the Eye of Horus, the shining one, the ornament of the Eye of Ra, the Father of the Gods."
1/8 was represented by thought, symbolized by the eyebrow. The pyramid text says: "...the Eye of Horus hath made me holy...I will hide myself among you, O ye stars which are imperishable. My brow is the brow of Ra."
1/16 was represented by hearing, symbolized by the left side of the eye in the form of an arrow pointing towards the ear. The pyramid text says: "That which has been shut fast/dead hath been opened by the command of the Eye of Horus, which hath delivered me. Established are the beauties on the forehead of Ra."
1/32 was represented by taste, by the sprouting of wheat or grain from the planted stalk, symbolized by a curved tail. The pyramid text says: "Come, the Eye of Horus hath delivered for me my soul, my ornaments are established on the brow of Ra. Light is on the faces of those who are in the members of Osiris."
1/64 was represented by touch, symbolized by a leg touching the ground, or what can also be thought of as a strong plant growing into the surface of the earth. The pyramid text says: "I shall see the Gods and the Eye of Horus burning with fire before my eyes!"
The 'Eye of Horus' fractions were further discussed in the Egyptian Mathematical Leather Roll following elementary definitions that built the Egyptian fraction system. Weights and measure subunits of a hekat were also connected to Eye of Horus numbers in the quotient, and as an exact remainder, the remainder including an Egyptian fraction and a ro unit, correcting the Eye of Horus 1/64 round off error. The ro unit, 1/320 of a hekat, was cited in the Rhind Mathematical Papyrus and as applied in the medical texts, like the Ebers Papyrus. A precise mathematical derivation of ro is found in the Akhmim Wooden Tablet.
-source WIKIPEDIA
Finally....
Ani asked me to start blogging about a couple of years back when nothing special seemed to be happening in my life. A naturally gregarious person, I had somehow, since being married, shut myself away from the rest of the world, refusing to meet new people, seemingly satisfied with the friends I already had in my life. To be honest, I was actually very happy with the occasional biannual trips to Delhi and in the meanwhile, managing home and enjoying my solitude. After years of a nomadic existence, the stability that marriage brought along was refreshing even if it meant that I was, for all practical purposes, alone.
My argument against blogging was always the same. What could I possibly have to share with the world? My peers were all working, had hectic social lives, while I was happy in my little nest. To the others, my life could not be more boring!!
Then why now, you ask. Because I finally realised that I need a space to express myself. Just for me. And irrespective of whether what I have to say is worthy, at the end of the day, atleast I am not waiting for that weekend dinner to talk to someone.
So, if not anything else, this is just to chronicle some of my feelings, a whole lot of my opinions (and I can be very opiniated) and All my judgements!!! And hell, I used to write well, so at best, I will rediscover an old passion that I somehow managed to neglect, during those years of cooking, cleaning and washing....
My argument against blogging was always the same. What could I possibly have to share with the world? My peers were all working, had hectic social lives, while I was happy in my little nest. To the others, my life could not be more boring!!
Then why now, you ask. Because I finally realised that I need a space to express myself. Just for me. And irrespective of whether what I have to say is worthy, at the end of the day, atleast I am not waiting for that weekend dinner to talk to someone.
So, if not anything else, this is just to chronicle some of my feelings, a whole lot of my opinions (and I can be very opiniated) and All my judgements!!! And hell, I used to write well, so at best, I will rediscover an old passion that I somehow managed to neglect, during those years of cooking, cleaning and washing....
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