A day comes when you have
more yesterdays than tomorrows
More memories than dreams
More tales to tell than lessons to learn
More miles travelled than miles to go
More groans of pain than moans of pleasure
More limp than lilt in the gait
More pain than gain
More wakeful fog than restful sleep-MPN
It has been a while. Quite a while. Yes, yes, I was asleep on the job for WAY too long. Well, the phase of a quarter of a cent, isn’t exactly a sunny Sunday well spent. With half of my friends beginning their journeys as other peoples’ better halves and the other half of them still looking to keep their balance after draining half after half, I’m just like standing here looking at myself in a mirror, half crouching, half cringing, debating whether my size is half of that of a cow’s or half of that of a hippo’s. Sigh, life’s criminal laughs at all the halves!
Anyway, my fragmentary life aside, I wanted to restart this space with something that I read quite some time back. A poem, written by my uncle, who is a full time cardiothoracic surgeon, a part time poet, a pastime techie buff and an all time goddamn genius! Contrary to how I have described my at present half-and-half-pizza life, this poem is an absolutely stirring and emotionally deep rendition of a soul who had seen all the halves and quarters that life has had to offer, dealt with all the odds and evens, seen adding turmoil and multiplying happiness, expressed deducted feelings and divided emotions and in conclusion, departing the world without regrets and as a whole. A soul that was remembered in death, forgotten in life.
In my next life I want to live my life backwards. You start out dead and get that out of the way. Then you wake up in an old people’s home feeling better every day. You get kicked out for being too healthy, go collect your pension, and then when you start work, you get a gold watch and a party on your first day. You work for 40 years until you’re young enough to enjoy your retirement. You party, drink alcohol, and are generally promiscuous, then you are ready for high school. You then go to primary school, you become a kid, you play. You have no responsibilities, you become a baby until you are born. And then you spend your last 9 months floating in luxurious spa-like conditions with central heating and room service on tap, larger quarters every day and then Voila! You finish off as an orgasm! -Woody Allen
Imagine saving the best for the last. Imagine oblivion. Imagine bliss.
Because life is what we make of it.
A genuinely humane note about and by a person whose wings spread far beyond the realms of vastitude. Please click on the link above to read the note that I am definitive would tug at your heartstrings. Apsara Reddy, you are a whole new definition of ‘truly inspiring’.
Nut jobs for friends who make 4 am gibbering, spiffy trash talking and facebook whoring feel generously sane, family members you want to disown and run away from and kids, well, I’d be damned to think that I’m the grown up with them smart imps around. But the *face palm* incidents, when you think back and live it all, is nothing less than gut-busting. Living yesterday, once more.
After an exceptionally random discussion about cows, D and me at 2 am were arguing about the sounds of the cow, excerpts are as follows (found its way immediately into my tweets):
D: Yea, they ‘moo’ babe.
Me: It actually, technically sounds more like ‘mmmaaaaaaoooo’ (I just had to do that and wake up the poor souls sleeping in the next room peacefully counting sheep in their dreams)
D: Ok, I wana say something.
D: The cow says, ‘I like to moo it, moo it!’
Me: I some how successfully missed having a heart stroke after listening to this.
Scene: A bunch of my girls and me, chilling at the park. A girl with massive football boobs walks past us.
V: What the?!
Me: Ok, now that’s giving me a complex.
H: I wonder if she custom makes her bra with the company.
V: Yea, she probably uses Amman TRY tmt bars to make her under-wire ones.
Well, that SO did it for the day!
Rapid fire mokkai sessions with uncle after a particularly filling meal. I remember my sister rubbing my tummy and saying ‘you are not laughing, Buddha.’
Uncle: What is the ‘mint without the hole’?
Uncle: What is the fastest mail?
Uncle: What do you call a phone that does not run properly?
Me: Feigns tummy ache and dashes to the loo vowing never to step out from it…in another gazillion years.
Some time ago, a small kid, a cute kid, comes over and asks for the time,
AwwCuteKid: Akka, what’s the time?
Me: I’m not wearing a watch, sorry.
AwwCuteKid: Then it’s time for you to buy a new watch.
Me: Why, oh GOD WHY?!
Random conversation with the neighbour’s kid. These kids, ITellYou!
SmartyPantKid: You have a colour TV akka?
Me: Yes, why?
SmartyPantKid: What colour is it?
Me: And that’s how I died. Finally.
Writing this in the country that started it all is a feeling beyond verbalization. I still remember the history textbooks which taught us the incidents, catastrophes and events that eventually lead to this day, our Independence day. The Jallianwalabagh massacre, the Dandi march and the Purna Swaraj, though the dates seem a bit hazy, the story narrated through the pictures in our 7th and 8th grade SST textbooks remain vivid and distinct. A story that made independent India what it is today, a story that brings a smile so fuelled with pride and glory and a story of a time period in history that gloriously describes a nation’s unity in a time of great difficulty. A story, which is the reason why we call India our motherland. A story for time itself to take.
On August 15 1947, a new day was born for any other but a nation was reborn with a new soul in a land called Bharath. Today, it is with colossal pride and boundless joy that I, Vandhana Mothinath celebrate my country’s 64th Independence day. For all the jawans and soldiers who have laid down their lives to help us live ours, JAI HIND!
My country, my home , my heart. India, forever more.
An era. A time capsule. A generation, triggered. Oblivion is beyond the limits of possibility.
Growing up is such a bitch, true that.