Sunscreen

I first heard 'Sunscreen' on the radio many years ago. Around 3 years back an instructor at a coaching centre that I used to attend dedicated this song to the batch I belonged to. It was a thoughtful gesture from her to bid us farewell and wish us well. This was perhaps my best takeaway from that class. It does me good to go back to it every once in a while.

(Baz Luhrmann's adaptation of an article by Mary Schmich - 'Advice, like youth, probably just wasted on the young'.)

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Food for Thought

There is something wrong with every seemingly perfect picture, just as there is something remarkable about every spoiled one.
~
MS

Cold Feet

My craving for winters this year is finally being attended to, a little late but nevertheless. With the sudden fall in the mercury, a sudden realisation has also dawned upon, or bounced back should I say - my abnormal intolerance to low temperatures. Despite being clad in my warmest jacket, the cold is getting to my bones. The blanket and quilt are my best friends now. With all my joints stiff, and fingers and toes crooked besides being stone cold one morning, I try to crawl out of the bed. I really deserve an award for doing that, by the way. There is no water in the bottle on the bedside table. In fact all the 3 water bottles in my room are empty. Ergo my attempts at thawing myself, with a glass of warm water, are thwarted. The kettle does not come with its own water faucet, sadly. As I make my way to the water filter, the sudden exposure kick starts the first installment of the sneeze fest for the day. In the process, I pull a muscle in my lumbar. After that, every bout of cough that I face hurts my back first, and throat later. As I limp my way back to the room, my head begins to freeze and ear begins to hurt. Lesson learnt: a lot more insulation needed henceforth. But until then, be kind to me old age!

~

the Inamorato who was. . .

I hold it true whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
~
Alfred Lord Tennyson

Tongue Out!

"My childhood may be over, but that doesn't mean playtime is.  "

~

Ron Olson

Laugh Out Loud

As a child, I was very fond of McDonald's Happy Meal toys; more than the 'meal' itself. Even as I grew older the fascination remained and, as a matter of fact, remains till date. I'd be on the lookout for the toys every week; especially for ensemble sets. One particular time, when I was in college, the Madagascar team was up for collection. Having established the background, I go in one day to pick up the toy of the week - Alex the lion.

Guy Behind the Counter: Hi, what would you like?

Me: Hi, I'd like a Happy Meal.

GBTC: Oh sure! Veg or Non veg?

Me: Vegetarian.

GBTC (putting Marty the Zebra, a toy that I already had, into the Happy Meal bag): Give me a minute.

Me: Excuse me, could you give me Alex instead?

GBTC: I'm sorry?

Me:  I said, could you give me Alex instead?

GBTC: Is there a problem?

Me: Yes, I want Alex.

GBTC: Ma'am I'm very sorry once again.

Me (confused): What is wrong?

GBTC: Ma'am, you'll have to bear with me for the time being. Alex is not here now. He'll come over only in the night shift.

The rest is history.

~

In a Fleeting Moment

The train reached the station exactly seven minutes late. That was equivalent to a millennium when she was running late for her college - which was very often. Her college was a good ten-minute walk from the station and she had to reach class in two and a half. She could never depend on her luck to find an auto rickshaw too; especially when she was in dire need of it. But before that she needed to wiggle her way through a swarm of crazy women trying to embark the train, and then run up forty steps on the staircase simultaneously dodging the nudges and pushes from the multitude of people at the station running around in all possible directions. It was a usual Monday morning in Mumbai. 

As she counted the fortieth step, she was puffing with breathlessness while trying to protect her bag and herself from the hostile passers by on the foot over bridge. Her feet were impeccably trained and before she knew they had turned toward the exit. That is when she first saw him. They were walking in opposite directions. She was barely short of sprinting, and he too moved on at a steady pace. As they crossed, she risked walking on the bridge with her turned around to watch him until he was out of her sight. He, on the other hand, was trying to grasp the world as much as he could while trying to keep pace with his master. The master callously tugged at the chain that was tightly fastened around the monkey's neck. She watched them cross a trash pile, where the master cunningly steered the monkey closer to the heap. The primate took the cue and lunged forward. Like a pro he picked up a couple of rotting pieces of food and began to nibble at them hungrily.

It was a matter of seconds, but that monkey's plight had pierced her heart like a warm knife would through butter. Her feet kept moving, but her mind remained transfixed on what she had witnessed. The next few minutes seemed to go by in a jiffy. Mechanically, she hailed an auto rickshaw (which she found after some struggle - usual story), reached college, ran up six storeys - around 144 steps - and made it to class totally out of breath and sanity, but just in time. It is important to attend class - she was instructed all the time - come what may; the world and its problems could go take a hike. She took her seat at the end of a row, but nobody noticed that she had actually stayed behind on that foot over bridge at the station.

~

A Great Chapter in History

Most of us left behind Genghis Khan in our schools buried in history books. However, there are places not very far from us where people hero worship him, still. Genghis Khan, born Temujin, was the founder and Emperor of the Mongol Empire; which by the end of his life occupied a substantial portion of Central Asia and China, and became the largest contiguous empire in history after his demise. Genghis Khan lived a life of adventures and accomplishments, and today nearly 800 years after his death he still continues to intrigue historians world over. It's actually his mysterious grave that does. I came across a very interesting write up on this issue. What I found most interesting in the article was this bit.

"... But while the life of the conqueror is the stuff of legend, his death is shrouded in the mist of myths. Some historians believe he died from wounds sustained in battle; others that he fell off his horse or died from illness. And his final burial place has never been found. At the time great steps were taken to hide the grave to protect it from potential grave robbers. Tomb hunters have little to go on, given the dearth of primary historical sources. Legend has it that Khan’s funeral escort killed anyone who crossed their path to conceal where the conqueror was buried. Those who constructed the funeral tomb were also killed—as were the soldiers who killed them. One historical source holds that 10,000 horsemen 'trampled the ground so as to make it even'; another that a forest was planted over the site, a river diverted."

Click to read the complete story of the hidden grave of history's greatest warrior.

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A Little Note

My life is not as big as the car I drive or the mansion I live in or the jet that I might someday travel in. It is, instead, as big as the reach of my heart, as big as the smile I leave on someone else's face. As precious as the lives I touch. As kind as I am to the person who owes me nothing in return. As noble as the deed I do to the man who will never praise me for it. As significant as the difference I make to the world. 

What have I done in life, if all I did was to fulfill a duty? If I have done something worthy it is that compassionate gesture for that soul who did not see my face, who does not know my name and never will. It is that hand which pats that mute animal who longed for a loving touch more than a piece of stale bread. It is the nurturing of that sapling which craved a drop of water to survive. It is the quiet blessing of that blind man who needed a helping hand. It is the gratitude of that widow who needed a shoulder to cry on. It is that sacrifice which will forever remain unsung. 

For it is not public eulogies that I seek; what I seek is peace of mind. A content heart that knows its worth, knows that it has helped ease the world of a little pain. For like everything else I, too, am here for a little while. Before I know I, too, will be nothing but a memory. My material possessions will not define the life that was; it is how great a memory I become, that will.

~

More Tales From Meg-O-Land

Certain things in life, inadvertently, evoke the same emotion(s) in me. No matter where or when these circumstances may surface or resurface. It's the exact set of feelings rushing back, each time. The case in question, at the moment, is examinations. I have loathed studying for exams right from the time I was a child. On professing this point of view aloud, many a time in the past, I was asked how else would one's progress be evaluated on the course being undertaken. No doubt it is a necessary evil and apparently the sole method of measuring a student's progress and all the other balderdash. I have, however, never quite made peace with the concept and the whole examination ecosystem. Studying per se does not annoy me. But something in my head just goes berserk when I have to study for a particular reason. I prefer to decide what I like to read, never be told what to. More often than not, I want to read/ study something other than what I am 'supposed' to at the given moment. 

Having spent a more than significant part of my life in the education arena - receiving it, so far - I still have the same issues with it that I had as a child in school. It was probably worse back then; but I still put up my examination schedule on a post-it strip on the wall, cross out each subject the minute I am back after the exam and feel the excitement increasing as soon as half the post-it is scratched out. Also, my day dreaming is at its peak while I try to study, the entire world's pending chores coax me to finish them right away, and I never cease to  plan what I will do the minute I finish writing the last darned exam - irrespective of the fact that I almost always never really execute those lofty plans. Surely, a part of me will never grow up.

~

The Chord of Harmony

"Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent. "
~
Victor Hugo

For the many things that I am thankful for having inherited from my parents, one is surely their taste in music - particular reference to Ghazals and Sufi music here. I was exposed to their culturally varied and rich taste in music at a very young age. My earliest memories of a typical Sunday afternoon in our household are not complete without the melodious voice of Jagjit Singh in the backdrop. Initially, I did not understand the intricacies and exact meaning of the Ghazals, but subconsciously developed a fondness for them. As I grew older, I began to fathom the meaning of the words and thus began appreciating them all the more. The only Urdu I know is thanks to the Ghazals I have given my ear to.  Eventually I developed my own sense of and taste in Ghazals and Sufi music. Two diverse genres, the former chronicling the melancholy of love and the latter praising the Lord and love with utmost gusto.

This is the kind of music I find solace in. It's the perfect remedy to soothe an agitated mind.  Most conducive for day dreaming and thus suits me fine! The more you dwell in it, the more it grows on you. In no time you will find it reverberating through your soul, leaving behind a strange lingering serenity. All said and done, this feeling is always better understood by a personal experience. So I will sign off with a list of my favourites in both genres. It may not be the finest pick - my father will be the best person to draw out a classier selection in Ghazals, and mother for the Sufi songs - but works for me, nevertheles. You will find ghazals, qawwalis and other sufi songs in multiple renditions.  Every artist moulds the words in his or her own distinct way; that is why I have mentioned the singers' names too, clearly to indicate the rendition I like. 

Ghazals

1. Sarakti jaye rukh se by Jagjit Singh
2. Humko dushman ki nigahon se by Chitra Singh
3. Kaise sukoon paaun by Talat Aziz
4. Kal chaudvin ki raat thi by Jagjit Singh
5. Ranjish hi sahi by Mehndi Hasan
6. Wo kagaz ki kashti by Jagjit Singh
7. Hazaron khwahishein by Jagjit SIngh
8. Jeevan kya hai  by Jagjit Singh
9. Desh mein nikla hoga chaand by Chitra & Jagjit Singh
10. Hoshwalon ko khabar kya by Jagjit Singh
11. Hothon se choo lo tum by Jagjit Singh
12. Badi nazuk hai ye manzil by Jagjit Singh
13. Tumko dekha to ye khayal aaya by Jagjit Singh
14. Chupke Chupke Raat Din by Ghulam Ali
15. Tum itna jo muskura rahe ho by Jagjit Singh

Sufi

1. Mast Qalandar by Runa Laila & Abida Parveen (separate tracks)
2. Ali More Angana by Shubha Mudgal
3. Chaap Tilak sab cheeni Sabri brothers and Abida Parveen (separate tracks)
4. Aaj rang hai by Abida Parveen & Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan
5. Tere Ishq Nachaya by Abida Parveen
6. Tere bin by Rabbi Shergill
7. Bulla ki jaana by Rabbi Shergill
8. Chaandan mein by Kailash Kher
9. Afreen Afreen by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan
10. Khwaja mere khwaja by A R Rehman

Happy listening (if at all) !!

~

सवाल - ए - वस्ल पर उनको उदू का खौफ़ है इतना ,

दबे होंठों से देते हैं जवाब, आहिस्ता आहिस्ता ...

~

अमीर (आमिर मिनाई )

A humble homage to the women of Afghanistan.

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"All things truly wicked start from innocence."

~ 

Ernest Hemingway

Not my words, not my picture. The interpretation, solely mine.
~
MS

Wedding Bells

A rather uncanny phenomenon has emerged in the past few months. Initially it just got me thinking but now I may be on the verge of losing my mind. Everywhere I look, I only see people getting married, or planning to get married. My juniors from school, batch mates from my graduation college, seniors and batch mates at my post graduation institute, people who stay in my colony back in Bombay, or people whose colony I once stayed in at some point in time in life! If I were to toss a pebble blindly, it would surely hit somebody who was so busy planning their wedding that they did not see the pebble coming towards them. What is noteworthy here - and the only reason I am flummoxed - is that all these to-be-weds are more or less my own age. Some are even younger, and not strangely most of them are girls. Coming to why exactly am I bewildered; when I try to put myself in the place of the prospective brides I can't help but cringe. I was of the opinion that times are changing, and so are people's priorities. Early marriages seemed to be a thing of the past. Besides, did we really grow up so soon? Turns out I am the only one present in my party. Nothing against the newly weds and the prospective brides and grooms, seriously. Hope they have a great married life. The trouble (or perhaps good thing) is, thanks to this overdose, I am developing gamophobia.

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I'll Have a Sunday

Monday blues hit me very hard. But working on Sundays - in my case, attending classes on Sundays - almost kills me! Sunday is one day which I consider as solely my own. I usually have a list of pending chores, leisure activities and a lot of sleep to catch up on by the end of the week. Ideally for me, the weekend should begin on Friday evening so that I have enough time to unwind, relax and then get about with all the pending work and recreation so that the next week begins on a fresh note. However, with the kind of life I lead currently and the external factors that get to decide the flow of my daily routine, a humble Sunday is all I ask for. That Sunday which evades me like forbidden fruit.

Continuous classes through the day, back to back assignments, presentations, sleepless nights - well, I am pretty much used to all these. But that does not mean that I have agreed to give up my right to a day of solace in the week. A working weekend has a very disturbing effect on the mind. It increases your fatigue manifold as you keep thinking about how long you have been working without a break.  It is not so much the physical rejuvenation that one seeks, as much as the mental restoration.

Taking a break during the week is not a good option either, because the mind plays strange games. It gives no value to an off day if it is not on a weekend. It keeps pricking you all through the next week, making you all the more frustrated. It was not a good way to end the previous week. It is a terrible way to begin the next.

~