Thoughts and Lessons

Transmigration

2009-09-08T06:14:00.005+10:00

A year on in England, I wanted to post something I wrote after living here for only two months, while things have changed in my approach, I thought it important to capture this for what it was when and as it were happening...
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If I could take a moment to pause and linger over the complicated parts then I guess now is the time.

Life is racing at a pace I am struggling to meet.

For so long I feel like I've been running this race, forever playing catch-up with the next big thing, then the next, and the next after that. and now, I will step back, I will close my eyes and I will pause.

There are days when the sky is blue and a sea breeze lingers in the air that I close my eyes and I am back in Sydney, lying on golden sand and watching the ocean move. days when my thoughts drift asunder and return to me refreshed and renewed.

There are other days when I run miles to escape my mind. I clutter my life with appointments and activities so I don't have to think about that dark cloud hanging over my head ready to strike me dead. I hide beneath the facade of a busy life, trying not to face the fact that I have moved my body to another country, most of my mind, and yet, not entirely the whole of my heart.

Parts of remain etched in Sydney Harbour, Parramatta, the blue mountains.

Parts of me still live in villages in Rajasthan and Gujarat and Karnataka.

There are days I cannot face myself. I cannot look at myself or reconcile that I am who I am. That I have become someone so unlike who I thought I was.

Yet I hold out hope that I will know me once again, and maybe life will begin to make more sense.

Appreciation

2009-08-19T02:13:00.009+10:00

I recently attended a memorial for a very special man in our circle of friends who passed away. He had been an instrumental force in encouraging and supporting many, many people in pursuing noble pursuits and providing them with the opportunity to do so.

And though i knew him not long, nor well, he left upon me an impression that will never fade.

Having suffered through a recent phase of hopelessness, those periods when life feels devoid of meaning and purpose, it was comforting to see someone's memory live on in such a positive way. And although I'm well aware of the romanticism of retrospect, I am grateful to him for being there to teach me a lesson, even in death.

I couldn't help but feel that people live, then fade away into the ether like a cloud of smoke, never to be seen again. and all that's left behind are moments and memories. Being all too aware of the grief and pain and self torture that accompanies losing someone close to you, it was reiterated to me once again, the one thing I say over and over and over: you never know. You don't know who will go and who you will outlive and what they mean to you. You never know who you will need someday to look after you or who will need to be looked after. So while you have that mental and physical capacity to show people love, do so without reservation and hesitation.

Too often we look to the sea and the stars and at nature and God and philosophy for inspiration and overlook eachother. I am all too guilty of this.

Isn't it about time we appreciated each other for our simple, homely ways than to look for the grand and glamorous aspect in everything as a yardstick for who is deserving of our love?

After all, we have the opportunity today to love eachother as we are, who knows what will come of tomorrow?

2009-08-01T03:33:00.003+10:00

I am listless today. And keen for this month to come to an end. I have spent every day this month beyond exhausted, to a point where I've fallen ill from stress alone. We have had huge responsibilities thrust upon us unexpectedly, performed them at our best, performed them well but received very little in return. There are many days of my life where I've been blessed by things I didn't expect, praise I didn't earn and rewarded for things done half heartedly. But very few where I've worked harder than I've worked before, with the purest of intentions in heart and mind and received nothing for it. It has been a steep learning curve and a lesson or two for my ego. However, it has been a month in which I've felt more let down by humankind than usual. Very few people lent us a hand even when we asked, many more were keener to insult then give any words of sympathy and only one soul was kind enough to step in and see that it has been difficult and to offer us their solace and assistance.

I spent a lot of my youth wondering what it would be like to be a "grown up", but as I aged, I matured enough at each step not to feel any drastic surprise. And yet, this month alone has made me feel the weight of my age and the responsibilities that have come with it. I am a dreamer at the best of times, forever wistful, and I am sad to be trading in that quality for someone who needs to be alert and attentive and pensive about the future.

I have felt myself recede, to be overtaken by a Divya that I am still getting to know and understand. She is bolder and stronger but also far less the playful, mischievous character she was known for. I only hope that I can become accustomed to her.

2009-07-15T01:47:00.002+10:00

Where have my head and heart been of late? I know its been a while since I've written, but my mind didn't seem that way inclined, and suddenly, on this sunny breezy afternoon, inspiration.
I reflect, as always, and have decided am prone to doing. Some write longingly of the future, others delicately about the present and others, muse over the past. I am most definitely of the third category.

I have lived here a year now, in sunny England. I am a nobody to the English, at least immigration wise, I am but a dependent of my husband, if that! I am ineligible for recourse to public funds, for any professional development or access to bursaries. I am an 'Australian non-resident currently residing in Britain' which means, 'until we can prove this isnt a marriage of convenience, we arent taking you in permanently missy!' fair enough I suppose. There are enough people trying to illegally make their way back to the Empire, they don't need a university educated, professionals from other Western countries trying to do the same...!;)

I cannot speak to you enough of what it was like to see Mum and Dad after a year, there are no words, certainly none that we could use except for 'its good to see you' which is, at its best, the understatement of my life. It was fantastic to see them. It was a feeling of being whole again, of belonging and snuggly tucking onself back into the bedcovers in your room after a long holiday away in hotels! It was a lot of emotion conveyed through gestures and a lot of unspoken conversation that took place with a glance. It was a healing moment, for me at least, to be with the two people who by very definition of their existence, constitute what home means to me. Seeing my brother, the four of us together again, a rarity these days, was clearly much needed for us all.

I was back in Mumbai, certainly the city of my dreams. For a close family wedding. And you know that weddings mean reunions, and reunions mean tears of joy and sadness and hugs and kisses and gifts aplenty. You know they mean good wholesome, home cooked meals and long languid conversations laced with nostalgia. You know they mean so much more than how they actually play out. My heart sang to be with these people, and for two weeks I let it sing and dance and play, it was a love I drank up, a badly parched thirst being satiated and a feeling of gooey, honey love, that fills the emptiest parts of your soul and well-being with its goodness.

It was a beautiful wedding. Torquoise and beige in all its glory. Flowers and food, family and fighting, and lots of colour. I treasured the experience, every moment and minute.

This has been a year all about learning and experiencing, growing and progressing, serving and giving. I hope I haven't disappointed.

Conflict

2009-01-19T22:20:00.003+11:00

An engagement, a baby shower and a death, all over the past two days. At times its as though I am watching a movie where all the characters are scrambling to reach the top of a mountain, but not everyone succeeds.

I cannot begin to explain the sheer volume of conflicting feelings and emotions swelling up within me. All I know is that a part of me is overjoyed, another part, devastated. I wish I wasn't the introspective type. And that I could just accept things as they unfold. But its as though the harder I try to quash what I feel, the more these feelings brim and bubble up from within.

And yet, life rolls on, oblivious as ever to birth, death, sorrow, pain and joy. Its as though they all come in waves, one of top of the other, just as one is about to draw you in, the other pushes you further ashore.

Speaking of which, I miss the ocean. I miss watching the soft pink light of dawn with hopeful eyes, I miss running on the sand and looking back as my shoes sink Nike labels into the earth, I miss the moonlight as it wisps and dances on the horizon where the sun stood that morning, and I miss watching milky white tendrils of light turning the ocean an inky murky, mysterious shade.

However, the ocean seems inaccessible here so I find myself settling for the odd lake or river to carry my worries adrift and as far from me as possible. I'm not sure why large bodies of water provide me with such solace, they just do and I am glad for it.

Often at junctures like this, I look back on my time in India and try and accept things as people there do. In the villages, where I lived, if a mother lost a child, she would cry, they would bury him or her and then she would return to the fields that very afternoon to support her other children. I wish I were that strong.

There is a favourite saying of mine, you only lose when you lose hope. It was something I would say to myself constantly at trying times. And yet, here I am...basking in the hopelessness of my situation.

New Year Musings

2009-01-14T21:53:00.005+11:00

The dawn of another new year brings with it that typical sense of melancholy and nostalgia that is expected of me. Images run through my mind as I reflect upon an eventful year gone by...

Flashes of the wedding before my eyes, mine and others. Planes and sunny stretches of beach and sand in California and Disneyland at its mirthe and merriment best. Malta with its sweltering humidity and cool evening breezes, swinging and singing with Swamiji at the edge of the sea. I can taste the salt and smell the ocean and feel the pulse of the earth beating reverently below the chaos and noise. I see Chinmaya Kirti and all its members, the rainbow colours of Garba and Dandia at Navaratri. I see low hanging clouds and grey skies occassionally pierced by forgiving sunlight and green parks and countryside acres that stretch for miles and miles and miles. Orchards laden with pears longing to be picked at Waterperry, mulberries at Balliol and apples at Ramakrishna Mission. A year of taste testing and flavour sampling a cuisine new to my palette, then attempting to master cooking it!

A year of new languages, a new culture, new clothes and shoes, a sizeable winter wardrobe and endless scarves and shawls with their silk and chiffonery.

Love like I have never known it before. Sweet, and nectorious like honey one day, tangy and refereshing like berries the next. A new relationship with all its informalities and a homeliness I had only known...at home...

A year of meeting Saints and Sadhu's in all their shades of yellow and orange, great learnings, awakened wisdom, latent potential creeping up from beneath the surface and a sense of more arising from within.

A year of losing relations and gaining relationships. A sad farewell to a sibling and the two guardians of our flock, left to themselves in a corner of the world that seems too far away for my mind to reach.

A swift goodbye to a lifetime of friendships over dinner and hurried cups of coffee, a sense of tearing oneself away from the patchwork of life meticulously sewn through the years.

A dawn of new beginnings, new friendships and confidantes. Of lifting oneself up to face a new reality of being.

A new person, of new consciousness, ready to manifest in the new year ahead.

A New Future

2008-05-30T17:05:00.002+10:00

Which magician conjured you up and brought you into my life so effortlessly? so delicately? Never in a million years will I ever be more grateful than I was on that day, that glorious day in which we were sworn to eachother, with fire as the witness, to be bound eternally.

I have been on many journeys, experienced many moments, but this and you, will be the most important, the most incredible.

Thank you for choosing me to share in your joys, sorrows and adventures. There is so much that could be said, but the words stem well beyond my limited vocabulary and reverberate into lights and sounds and images of the enlightening future awaiting us both. Unsullied by speech and text and noise.

I love you.

2008-03-03T17:03:00.001+11:00

Spotlight

Moon hangs in the night,
A spotlight on the world,
Lighting the lands and moving the seas,
And tonight from where I stand on this hill,
The spotlight’s on me,
I am young…long ago…
I know not a thing.
Only that the sky is blue and sometimes grey,
Flowers grow but they need rain.
When you’re a kid you play games all day,
“Spotlight! I found you! I know where you are!”
Informative years come along,
Some take the lead and some fall behind,
Confusion untold…life can be so dramatic,
But it was real at the time.
Laughing with friends, crying alone with friends over false hearts and petty love.
Spotlight, I found you, I know where you are!
Situations still arise, where I can see the way I behave is unjustified.
There are the times that I look inside and see- I am a child after all…

Spotlight I found you,

I know who you are.

Getting Fit - Part II

2008-02-01T21:54:00.000+11:00

Today I'm proud to say I that I've officially initiated my fitness routine. I know that one day isn't by any means a basis to say that I will be consistent in the weeks to come, but I'm proud to have achieved the goals I set out. This morning, I managed to get to hit the treadmill at about 6am and really enjoyed the rush after a long time. Half hour of treadmill then about 40 minutes on the bikes had me working up a sweat and I came home tired but exhilarated.

This evening my friend/trainer called and asked if I was coming. I went realising the India/Australia 20/20 match was on. I was on the treadmill at the time watching India on strike, each wicket and each ball was such a rush that I found myself running like crazy and it was only when I was breathing really heavily did I realise how hard I was running. When two of my friends showed up we were all standing there yelling at the TV screens and I'm sure I caught a couple of people chuckling at how emotional the game was making us.

We switched to bikes and the Australian innings began, having become more riled up then just plain fed up, we engaged in our conversation, all the while I continued to ride as hard as I could. Half an hour later, realising India were going to get thrashed (although no surprises there), we headed off home.

I guess having the guys there made it really fun and encouraging. I'm starting to feel a bit more motivated and I'm praying this feeling lasts.

Step two: a change in dietary habits!

Stay tuned.

Getting Fit - Part 1

2008-01-31T15:30:00.000+11:00

One of the best things about living in India was the amount of exercise I had on a daily basis. Not voluntarily, because of my spirited nature to become the next wonder woman, no, not at all, but for no reason except that I'd have to walk 2 kilometres just to get the attention of an autorickshaw driver only to have him wave me away so he could smoke his beedi. If that didn't work, I'd try to catch a bus before it caught me, but of course that too involved a 500metre sprint alongside a million other desperate communters to scramble for the last footprint space at the doorway of the bus, anyone else after that would simply stand on you. And of course, living in villages where there was very limited transport available other than riding a bicycle or catching a bullock-cart (or camel cart, or any animal drawn mode of transport). Teaching in Rajasthan meant cycling 7-10km's a day, a routine I initially loathed but eventually grew to love. Infact, I'd become so good at cycling at super speeds that kids would stop and gawk, not because they'd never seen anyone ride a bike so fast but because they'd never seen a girl on a bike before, let alone a girl that actually knew how to ride one.

Since moving back to Australia, my fitness levels have been seriously lacking. Like most people, I sit infront of a PC for about eight hours a day or more, I take public transport to and from work and I drive everywhere on weekends. That, coupled with the tasty food options available daily at Ramkumar's Restaurant (i.e. my mum's kitchen), has led me to eat more, cook less and generally not worry about the portion sizes of what I'm fed.

The last few weeks I've noticed myself straying a little from the trim figure I was once able to maintain so effortlessly. I'm noticing I get tired more easily and have become dependent on my daily caffeine boost. Higher stress levels have meant more physical neglect as I rush around to get to places in my car, stay up late working and spend longer getting things done as a result of exhaustion.

So today I made a conscious decision to do a shantaram and break the hell out of this cycle...I've enlisted the help of one of my good friends who has put together a four week intensive training schedule...so intense I'm worried about it already...

But there are so many reasons for adopting a healthier lifestyle - the least of which - I'm scared to admit - is to look like a glowing bride at my wedding in 3.5 months. And not just because I have a decent make-up artist. I'll never have a chance to relive that day and it kills me to think that I'll look back at the photos cringing at what could have been had I taken the right steps to becoming more health conscious.

There are of course, a range of other fringe benefits - more energy, feeling better about myself, establishing and sticking to a routine and finally getting back onto that disciplined path I was once on...and maybe even regaining an ounce of much needed confidence that I've been so lacking of late.

More updates to follow.

2008-01-30T22:00:00.001+11:00

For what it's worth, I think blogging is a relatively futile exercise. To some extent it just adds to the pile of excess information whirring and swirling around our heads at every moment. Every blogger thinks they're a writer, every blogger thinks getting a book deal makes them a good writer. Every blogger thinks they have something to say, something to contribute to stimulate the intellect of the masses. But for the most part, I've noticed that bloggers tend to have interests that extend beyond their mundane routines and a connection to themselves and others. Bloggers seem in tune with themselves and seem to want to project that to the world around them. Major stereotyping I know, I don't mean to state that those that don't blog are in any way less connected to themselves or people around them, but I've noticed a pattern when I read blogs: Most blogs stem from something passionate, something deep that stirs the soul of the writer and brings their opinion to the surface to boil and bubble. Whether its parenthood, technology, fashion, make-up, books, politics, development, all things desi or just for the sake of showing off a life well lived. I am constantly and continually fascinated by the sheer number of blogs that exist on every topic known to man and some (I'm convinced) not known to man but to an alien posing as a man. What astounds me further is the consistency of good writing that's out there and the hard work that people put in to update their blogs regularly and fervently.

Every second day or so I log onto blogger and think about posting something that has captured my attention. And every day I shirk away fearing my own verbal diatribe. I've never been much of a writer or an orator...and I still struggle with self-expression. Infact, it scares me to think I've very rarely conveyed my feelings for something with a near-real accuracy that encompasses the actual moment as I experienced it (see what I mean?). But lately I've felt the urge to reawaken that fearless person within that didn't care about who was reading what and how they were construing what was written. I want that reckless rage that I once possessed back, and I want it badly. I want to write with careless abandon once again without fear of being reprimanded (by myself more than anyone else).

I want to let go and just let the words dance and add to the existing overflowing orb of information out there.

So hopefully I'll be blogging a little more consistently now. Let's see how we go.

My Madness

2007-12-04T15:11:00.000+11:00

What's it like to love someone with a tenacity you never knew you possessed? A fervour you once thoughtlessly categorised as weak willed? What's it like to be depended upon? To be responsible for? To own? To be part of? What's it like to pick up pieces from your past like a discarded jigsaw puzzle? To revisit them for good measure? What’s it like to be possessed by this madness of love?

And to realise that you have more than you could have ever imagined? More than you deserve?

Today’s unearthing of a mind much at peace, and very much in love, brings up not words, but sonnets…

In love I have weakened, and am rapidly bound,

In affairs close at hand, no longer profound:

Matters of the heart - of which I know none,

Battles I'd once victored, now aptly unwon.

Of a passion once possessed, swiftly undone.

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And yet, I remain grateful still, for this madness known as love.

2007-10-17T13:19:00.000+10:00

I wonder what you saw in me that day. I dream and dream. Of that window without shades. Of withdrawn colours and weathered wall paper. The salt that ate away at everything – your awnings, the paint, your sanity. Thrilling, you said. When I asked what it felt like to live literally at life’s edge, your lonely cottage overlooking the vast expanse of the pacific below. And every grey sky and looming storm since reminded me of you, wondering if you were okay. There was such quietude about you. A quietness spoken through your eyes and felt by every presence that came in and out of your life. I still remember that one day – tousled sheets and hair, your house a ghastly mess, the unanswered phone constantly ringing, and you, on your balcony sipping black coffee from a child’s plastic cup. Nothing else was clean, you said. The musty smell of cigarettes on your well worn furniture, that olive armchair with its attempts at remaining regal, a spring poking out there, some yellow sponge peeking from its arms. You let the ocean wind live with you, like family, you’d mutter. She made herself known, tossing your piano sheets into the most unusual places and scattering sand like snow. I loved you for your eccentricities, your carelessness. Your carefree spirit that was always content. You were for everyone and will always remain so in my memory. Bless you, again and again. Bless you.

Baring My Soul

2007-09-01T01:51:00.000+10:00

How times have changed since my last few posts. It is almost easier for me to forget I spent a year in India in order for me to move on to the next new stages of life. But I feel deeply moved by my year away and enriched in my view of India and its relationship with the world. I feel as though I have some (minute) authority to speak up if I think India is falsely perceived in whatever way by whomsoever I encounter here in London and will do so in Sydney. But of course, I realise that my perceptions are based on my experiences and no one else's and in that sense I know I will never actually hold any authority in speaking of or about India.

So I guess my absence warrants some form of explanation. The desire to blog hasn't been as strong as it once was. I am living a life I've desired for so long, so much so that I haven't even had much of an urge to blog about it lest I lose those precious moments of being alive and as content as I have been.

I spent so long watching the seasons change that I forgot to be a part of it all. Now I find myself appreciating life in ways I'd never imagined I would or could. I am more forgiving of others, less harsh on myself and more inclined to let things go than I ever was. In my recent interactions with friends and family I've noticed a drastic change in how those interactions take place. At certain times I am both surprised and elated at what I have become, for better or worse!

Tomorrow I will be bound to my beloved in a sacred bond that begins our countdown to married life. I am excited about taking that step closer to becoming his wife. Life is already beginning to take on shapes and forms previously unrecognised. However, it is becoming slightly easier to walk by faith after everything I have been blessed with.

At times I feel myself able to navigate through the ocean that encases my life and at times when the tide is too strong, I float and fall and let go of trying to retain control. I am slowly becoming better at accepting what comes my way and continue to pray that this transformation will lead to enhanced spiritual progress.

With Prem and Aum,

Divya

2007-08-07T05:30:00.000+10:00

I am the happiest I've ever been right now.

but if it ever came to be,

I would still give my life to save yours.

R.I.P

2007-07-02T02:33:00.000+10:00

I don't say this enough, but...

2007-07-02T00:20:00.000+10:00

Mumbai, Mumbai

2007-06-27T19:49:00.000+10:00

Recapping Mumbai

Journal Entry:
25th, June 2007

Something has captivated me about this city. I walked in a stranger and walked out bearing close emotional ties. Why? I’ve spent so much time in so many different cities in this country over the past year. Why do I feel so attached to Mumbai? And that too, after only five days? Any Mumbaikar would tell me that I haven’t seen anything yet, barely skimmed the surface. But even that was enough. This city is one big, vibrant person with many layers and of many colours. Other cities, I’ve visited and carved a home for myself out of a tough, unwelcoming exterior. But Mumbai was different. Mumbai seemed to reach for me and to envelope me in amongst its chaos. A city already bursting at the seams still seemed more than happy to welcome yet another stranger. I think I’ve figured it out. Mumbai is the all accepting, anything goes kind of place people like me dream of. Not entirely a local, not quite a tourist, this city just lets me be.

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A Few Cherished Moments…

- Carter Road Barista with Aditya. Overlooking the water and sipping on cappuccinos. A slight gust of wind takes us by surprise but we continue immersed in conversation. A second later, the vanilla sky turns an ugly shade of grey. A gust of wind begins to soar. The empty glass of iced tea belonging to the person on the table beside us smashes into smithereens near my feet. The froth from my cappuccino takes on an aerodynamic quality and an earthquake like feeling erupts as everyone’s drinks begin to fly in different directions. Then the rain begins. Heavy, torrential, mericiless in its downpour. We take cover at the front of the café and watch on as the rain demolishes the remainder of the beverages left to fend for themselves. A bunch of strangers huddled together underneath the tiny archway of that café, laughing and disbelieving of what had just taken place.

- Mount Mary’s Church – kneeling, alone amongst the rows of empty pews. Sending a quick prayer over to the residents of Dharavi and other slums in the area as the rain continued to beat down on the city. What a beautiful church.

- Dinner at Tai-Ban. Recalling our college days over tofu and green curry. Much laughter and merriment. Encouraged that in five years we’ll hopefully be able to meet somewhere else in the world to discuss tonight.

- Nariman Point – Walking the length of Nariman point with stunning views of the Queen’s Necklace with Samir. Couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen him in a year. 11 months ago I farewelled him as he was busy trading for the CBA and living at home and now he lives in Mumbai broking for a major investment bank and living the high life. Pretty impressive. Considering my earliest memory of us was in diapers, I think we’ve come a long way…! Spending quality time with him was the best part of my trip. Catching up on the present and recounting the past.

- Hilton – Coffee at the Hilton? Samir surprised me. Started walking in that direction and then insisted we go inside for a beverage. We got great seats by the window overlooking the Queens Necklace and two hours flew by very quickly as we caught eachother up on the antics of the past year. Was divine and much needed. It’s amazing what stability your family can bring to your life. Puts everything in perspective.

- Bowling@ phoenix mills: a Bowling Alley smack bang in the middle of a shopping centre? Only in India! Five locals and two NRI’s battle it out. NRI’s lost miserably. Midway through a blackforest cake emerges as a tribute to the birthday girl. We gather around the cake and start to eat it with spoons instead of cutting it into pieces like civilised folk. Was a special moment, covered in cream, laughing and joking with people I’d known for no more than a few hours, bar one. Dinner at Bombay Blues – a seedy mixture of Mexican and Italian, followed by that old Mumbai favourite – Naturals ice-cream. We got home drenched yet again but full of life(and food!).

- Tea at the Taj and the Gateway: The sky didn’t look all that blue when we emerged from Basilico’s after an amazing meal. But we decided that the short walk to the gateway of India would be worthwhile regardless. As we walked the downpour began. Particularly as we reached the bay. I hadn’t seen rain this heavy since being caught up in a tropical storm in Queensland two years ago. Beginning as an innocent summer shower, it soon had us running and ducking for cover at the Taj. What a magnificent hotel. We walked through regal archways and admired the artwork whilst looking like a pair of morning joggers who’d become sidetracked. We were soaked to the skin. Nevertheless an hour or so at the Taj watching the rain fall unrelentingly upon this forgiving city made it all worthwhile.

- Powai – listening to the chants of spiritual aspirants, seeing an old friend and making many new friends. Guruji’s blessings at a time when we needed them most. A chance to kneel in front of Gurudev again. A walk amongst one of the greenest, cleanest places in Mumbai. White, yellow and saffron robes reminding me of a life beyond the material, the ethereal. A chance to revisit a neglected but substantial part of my soul.

Aside from the above, watching DVD’s at home when the rain made it impossible for us to head out, shopping for western clothing (something much overdue for me!) and lounging about as we discussed what to do next. What an amazing trip. Someone take me back to Mumbai!

Gateway before the storm

Sammy and I

Cheeni Kum - A Review

2007-06-08T14:14:00.000+10:00

I recently saw the much acclaimed Amitabh-Tabu film Cheeni Kum here in Bangalore. I’m really not an Amitabh Bachchan fan, and as hard as I’ve tried to in the past, I’ve just found his roles as almost an excuse to draw a crowd without worrying about the quality of the film. Having said that however, I loved his performance in Black as well as Cheeni Kum and I know that deep down amongst the crores of money and fame there is a brilliant actor there somewhere ;). I’ve been waiting to watch Cheeni Kum for a while now as I was intrigued by the on- screen chemistry between Tabu and Bachchan from the outset. And unlike, Nishabd, which I had no interest in seeing, Cheeni Kum appeared to be a much more mature film that targeted the intricacies of an unusual love with a unique social context.

However, bollywood is bollywood and no matter how outwardly a film can seek to uproot itself from its bollywoodesque traditions, there is still a sweetness about it. This isn’t quite the sugarfree film it claims to be, but it certainly shows promise.

The story is set in London and centres around Amitabh Bachchan’s character, 64 year old Buddhadev Gupta, famous chef and owner of London’s most popular Indian restaurant, Spice6. Tabu’s character, Neena Verma is a Software Engineer from Delhi on holidays in London when the chance encounter with Bachchan occurs. What begins as an interesting friendship of sorts quickly develops into more and the couple soon find themselves in a unique position to explain their feelings to Tabu’s father, Paresh Rawal before gaining his permission to marry.

Central Themes

Age/value of Time: Amitabh being significantly older than Tabu is offset by the quality of life they seek in the time they have together. This is all the more highlighted by Swini Khara’s character Sexy (?!???!!!), a wise- beyond- her- years eight year old who offers Amitabh timely advice based on her powerful realisations as a child with a terminal illness.

The Migrant Experience: I was personally fascinated with the kinship of the chefs and restaurant staff in the movie from the English waiter who couldn’t pronounce the names of the dishes to save his life to the rapport between the chefs ‘imported’ straight from India leaving family and friends behind. Reminded me mildly of the experiences outlined in Kiran Desai’s ‘The Inheritance of Loss’ minus the amazing prose of course. However the on-screen interactions between the staff of London’s finest Indian restaurant soon leaves you feeling like you’ve known them all your whole life.

Love: well, duh. It wouldn’t be bollywood without a little Cheeni would it? No matter how hard they claim the movie to be a sugarfree romance. Bollywood is forever trying to prove that love outweighs all other circumstances and commitments (i.e. its okay that you’re married to someone yet have an affair with someone else because you love them – Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna, its okay that the girl is poor and the guy uses a helicopter to fly to work everyday because they love eachother – Kabhi Khushie Kabhi Gham). Love is beyond everything and anything practical or realistic! (helicopters as regular modes of transport and all). In that sense, what truly impressed me about Cheeni Kum was the flawlessly natural on-screen chemistry between Tabu and Amitabh. There were moments when I found myself forgetting that this was Amitabh Bachchan, India’s film industry cult figure acting opposite the ever graceful Tabu. The acting was truly amazing and really captures the central theme of love transcending hurdles of age and compatibility.

Other aspects of the movie that appealed to me was the soundtrack that I soon discovered was all of Illayarajah’s songs from Tamil and Kannada remade into Hindi. Still, the music aptly stuck with the theme of the film and at times, even managed to highlight the onscreen emotions of the actors (for example, during Paresh Rawal’s Satyagraha).

Of course the movie wasn’t all brilliant. At times verbose where silence would have been a better option, some of the ‘fill-in’ lyrics were just plain boring and bore no weighting whatsoever to the film itself. It was almost as if the director had decided to shoot Tabu and Amitabh chatting as they had a coffee break between shots on the set! Swini Khara’s character whilst adorable and witty, did go overboard at times with her ‘Sexy’ references (occassionally bordering on disturbing). The wardrobe/costume crew certainly has a lot of explaining to do, at times I felt as though a strange rock revival was taking place twenty years too late! Also can’t state that I was overly fond of Paresh Rawal’s moral diatribe but did find him to be an accurate representation of many Gandhians I’ve met here in India.

Overall, I give the film 3 stars out of 5. Definitely worth a watch if you're over the Yash Chopra cheesy formulas, but don't go in there expecting no Bollywood at all. Afterall, where would Bollywood be without a little Cheeni?

2007-06-07T03:39:00.000+10:00

I can never forget you hanif basha.

Trembling with the remnants of a disease that tore at your skin leaving it hanging loosely around your skeletal waist like an unwanted belt. Your eyes unblinking, locked into mine, pupils quivering with a desperation I’ve never seen since. You wouldn’t have even been able to hold a coin, had I given it to you. I could see it in your eyes that you weren’t after the money anyway, no. It was fear that drove u to it. Fear, abandonment, loneliness, careless abandon by friends and family that left you without security. I was mesmerized by those eyes, hanif basha. I’d never seen such purity, such longing, such pain. My life is now worthwhile, my sight now worthy of its existence, and I know deep within myself that I was born with two eyes so that I could one day drown within yours for a fleeting moment. A moment in which my very soul uprooted itself from the core of my being and dashed into that helpless body of yours, for a moment, to feel, a hunger that hurt with a pinch, legs that gave way to gravity continually and arms that could be raised no higher than your shoulders. I carried your dead skin, like my shadow dragging behind me. I watched it turn pink from the disease, then black, then peel away in bloody sores that stung from pus and pain. Never in my short existence did I feel as alive as I did then, hanif basha, the pain of being alive that is. Never had I drowned at such a depth, floundering and gasping for air. But now I see only resignation. A refusal to fight those sources of suffocation, a surrendering and submission to life and god and mankind. And what god could cause this? I wondered. It is easy to believe when your belly is full and your needs are met, when your feet are without blisters and your body without ailment. But you still believed. Flecks of joy and surprise lit up in your eyes when I asked casually what your name was, where you were from. You feigned a smile for me, hanif, you entertainer. Don’t think that I didn’t see the sorrow in those oceanic eyes. Who was I to ask your life story? When all you needed was food? When you were gasping for breath and I asked you a question so pointless, so meaningless in your desperate existence. I wouldn’t have borne it if I were you. But your patience I could never comprehend, never emulate. I see this vision still, most nights before I sleep, a breeze blew gently that day, carrying the scent of jasmines all through that crowded street and sent what little was left of your hair sailing into your eyes and around your head like a halo. I watched you push a lock away from your face with the back of your wrist, painfully; bending low so those arms wouldn’t suffer as much as they did at that height. And what was the sound of a thousand passers-by became mum. And the world stopped, and not a thing breathed or existed but you. The breeze found your voice rasping, gasping as you whispered your name and threw me a surprised glance as tears rolled down my face without my knowledge or control. I don’t know what was in my hands and it didn’t matter. I gave it to you hurriedly and you took it with humility. I don’t know your story, and I’m not certain that I deserve to hear it. But wherever you are, know that my thoughts often desire to become one with that breeze that hung behind you regally as a halo, as a garland. And although lonely nights may find you shivering still under a cruel, distant sky, know that in your life, however large or small it may seem to you, you have brought a girl to her knees with a humility she never knew she possessed. You inspire her to listen to everyone’s stories without harsh judgement; you inspire her to never look away from the eyes of a dying or diseased child without wondering whether mercurochrome or alcohol was involved. You were the source, the force that awoke her from a slumber she could never have shaken on and of her own accord. If she now leads a more complete life, it is due to you, and you alone.

Thank you, hanifbhai. Wherever you are.

An Urgent Plea

2007-06-01T16:36:00.000+10:00

I’m going to use this precious time to make a request of anyone who reads this blog. It’s going to be personal and it’s not all that pleasant so to those of you who are sensitive to issues of illness don’t have to read on.

That’s my disclaimer over and done with.

In January 2000 my best friend, (and by best friend I don’t mean someone you see every now and then and go shopping with), I mean best friend not as in similar to a brother, but a brother in every sense of the term, was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia. He was seventeen, just about to enter twelfth grade, went to a school that only accepted the brightest and best children from across the state and was kicking butt at that too. He was the national race-walking champion (under 15s) and captain of the hockey team. Led a very active life, was very outgoing and yet had a depth to him and sensitivity to others feelings and emotions that I’ve never ever seen or known in anyone else and doubt I ever will.

I once read somewhere that one in three people in Australia know someone affected by cancer. I read this well before he was diagnosed. Well before he was lost. I read this and clearly remember thinking I didn’t know anyone. God must have been laughing. I know I’ve blogged about this issue previously, vented over it and cried about it and yelled and screamed…I’ve written about him here, here and here. And probably three journals full too. When I went to visit his family in December this year (extended family), his cousin handed me a letter that he had written, the ‘last’ letter. This was before the last chemotherapy session had taken place. I quote this word for word:

‘I need you and _____ to do me a favour. I need you to tell everyone that asks about me that I’m fine, I’m feeling fine and that there is no pain. I also want you to tell them that the doctors are saying I will be okay. I need you to tell this to your mother in particular who seems especially worried about me’

It was like going back in time. I could see him writing this, the pen he used, the colours the shades the shapes that danced around his room, the stamp. It was an out of body feeling I'd never experienced and I nearly threw up from the pain. I know we’ve all lost loved ones, I know we’ve all mourned someone in our lives and I know that I am not alone in my grief. I am perhaps more public about it than others because I can’t keep all this locked up inside of me. I can’t let it fester within me and taint all my actions and words. So forgive me, particularly those of you who’ve said this blog is always so sentimental and emotional, but this is my only platform to be this way. The only rational way for me to share my grief and to let it go. I cannot speak about this to close family and friends all the time because they suffer when they see me suffer.

But I’m writing to you today because I came across something that gave me another one of those out of body jolts. Guys, meet Vinay and Rashmi. Vinay is a 28 year old doctor who married the love of his life, a physician named Rashmi in 2005. In November 2006, Vinay was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukaemia. He recently lost sight in both eyes and only regained sight in one eye a day or two ago. Chemotherapy has failed to curb the disease and Vinay now has six weeks to find a donor for a Bone Marrow Transplant. On average, the ratio for a Caucasian with cancer in terms of donors is usually 1:15. For every Indian the ratio is either 1:1 or none. Vinay’s chances of finding the right match are increased if there are more Indian donors. My dad donated bone marrow a few years ago and a year later received a letter from Germany saying he’d saved a girls life.

Imagine.

We go to extraordinary lengths to make ourselves appear unique. To make a difference. We work for NGO’s, we study development and have intellectual debates on what the world needs. We fight, fidget and argue about what we feel is right and what we want the world to be like. We give up time to go to developing countries, we set up NGO’s, we sponsor children, we eat and live organically, we push for free trade, we fight for basic dignities and rights for the poor….and yet.

What does it take to save a life?

A cheek swab.

Please, please, I urge you, the handful of you that may stumble upon this. Take it from me, take it from the remnants of my broken heart, this should not happen to anyone else. Ever. Please register to be a donor. Please give the time to this worthy, noble, powerful, ESSENTIAL cause. Don’t leave it too late or move on or forget.

This is an emotional plea from me, from my family, from people the world over who’ve lost someone to cancer and in the process have lost themselves. Who’ve been broken irreparably. To all those cancer patients who deserve to lead a full and happy life. To Vinay and Rashmi, a young couple not too dissimilar to my partner and I.

Please do something. Please spread the awareness, take the time to register, become actively involved in raising consciousness amongst south Asians about this issue. Please do not let this become your brother, sister, mother, father, friend, husband, wife…or child.

http://www.helpvinay.org/dp/

2007-05-22T15:40:00.000+10:00

A big shout-out and lots of hugs to Flygirl on her special day!!

Happy Birthday Ups! Have a good one!

Cartwright Triumphs Again!

2007-05-22T00:39:00.000+10:00

It's the strangest feeling in the world when you log on to read the newspaper electronically one morning and spot one of your best mates on the front page!

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Dear Brett,

YOU KICK BUTT! Congratulations on winning the Sydney Half Marathon for the THIRD time! A record that now equals Commonwealth gold medallist Steve Moneghetti!

Much Love and Congratulations also to your wonderful wife and my dear, dear friend Stefani who is often seen on the sidelines chewing her nails in anticipation and helping you walk back to your car when your legs struggle to function after a tough race...

Can't believe its already been a year since your incredible wedding !

Love Always,

Divya

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Brett's wonderful victory detailed here

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2007-05-21T23:37:00.000+10:00

Ferret,

Happy Birthday. I still miss you more than I can comprehend. Who do you think you are huh? Bypassing your mid twenties and leaving me here to age without you? :)

Godbless you, wherever you are.

Love Always,

Dorothy the Dinosaur

2007-05-17T06:26:00.001+10:00

Life’s blossoms,
Flower and fall like the day.
Precarious are her steps,
Tender with uncertainty

Fear never retreats.
And joy is always at bay.
Make the decision, she tells herself.
Fight your demons.

Finish the game.