It Snowed All Night

It has snowed all night, and it will snow all day today. This is beautiful. This is a real winter day, the real white in the winter night that everyone will remember. 

There is a foot of snow covering everything. Little flakes fall gently and softly, brushing my face as they settle on my clothes. There is a mild breeze, yet it is not biting cold as I had imagined. This is a blizzard, my beloved tells me, it is measured by how much snow falls, not by the force of the gale that brings it. Indeed, you learn something new every day. 

We pick up shovels to clear up the driveway. It looks easy, I think, but I am mistaken. Snow is fluffy and light, but try shifting a ton of it, and you realize, one must be sturdy to survive in this climate. Nature is sneaky in how she looks!

Thousands, millions of tiny little flakes, floating down gently, and then a gust of wind might push them on with more force. Hundreds of little flakes together form an ocean of snow. Everything takes on a vivid, vibrant colour against the expanse of solid white. The brick red of our neighbour's house. The dark green of the evergreen trees on the mountain. The soft orange of leaves still clinging onto branches, by a slim thread. The gold of the dry grass, cloaked by the snow. The grey of the sidewalk, peeking out through where we shoveled. The brown of the bark of trees, standing solidly against all weather. 

Everyone is at home, warm by a fire, drinking a bowl of hot nourishing soup, watching a sports event being played out in a different city in a warmer climate. My beloved is curled up under the blanket. I snuggle close to him, and savour the heat of his body. I ask him if we can play. He smiles at me, holds me close, and we drift off to sleep. 

But barely a half hour later, he wakes, and walks about to taste the blizzard for himself. He returns, and dresses me up warmly, in a cap and jacket, in boots and gloves. His fingers are firm yet gentle, careful as one might be with a child too young to be out in the world on her own. I am reminded of Bambi being taken by his mother to see the meadow for the first time. 

We drive out to our favourite place, tucked away in a unique little corner of the mountains. It was where I realized he is beloved to me. A little trail makes its quiet way through the trees and rocks, running alongside a tiny trickle of a stream, sometimes ascending and other times descending. The trees and bushes may sometimes obscure the path, and at others leave it widely visible. And today, all of it, path, bushes, trees, rocks, stream, was covered in two feet of snow. 

My beloved throws a fistful of snow at me, and I throw one right back. the snowfight escalates till we are on top of each other, rolling and tumbling over the soft powder, laughing like little children. Shhh, he says, someone might see us. 

Does it matter?

A little clearing emerges between the trees, covered in fresh untouched powder. We can hear the chirping of a few lonely birds, but even they have not set foot on the snow. I can jump and dance like a filly, watching my feet plunge easily through the soft mass, and there is nobody to stop me. Nobody to call me silly. Nobody to tell me to act my age. I can be a child again. I can be a cute tiny snowbunny. 

It is quiet. Insanely quiet, but for the occasional chirping of birds. There is no music to be heard from the houses. There is no squeaking of forest animals. No rustling of leaves, which have all fallen. No babbling of the stream, which has now frozen. Even the murmur of the wind is faint, it can barely be discerned. As I hold my beloved close, the loudest sound in my ears is his breathing and his heartbeat.

I bring you a song, and I sing as I go, for I want you to know, that I'm looking for romance. 
I bring you a song, in the hope that you'll see, when you're looking at me, that I'm looking for love.  
I'm seeking that glow, only found when you're young and it's May, only found on that wonderful day, when all longing is through. 
I'm seeking that glow, only found when a thrill is complete, only found when two hearts gently beat, to the strength of a waltz that's both tender and new. 

It seems the night will have themes from Bambi. 

This is a world of hidden treasure and secret beauty, of woodland faeries and forest spirits, of quiet music and still dance. Are we only visitors? Perhaps so, but our passport is perpetual, it will never be revoked. And as my beloved and I walk back towards civilization, we make a promise: we shall be back to witness as the snow melts and the leaves return to the trees.

Joy

Oh joy, come in the form of an Avalanche and bury me in your beauty and your grace. Once again, peace has returned to my soul, under blue sky and golden sun, green grass and grey hills. I am whole and healthy and beautiful again.

Oh joy, come into my heart, fill it up and overflow the rim, drive out guilt and fear and sadness, wipe away my sorrow and bring to me the hope and cheer that are so integral to my health.

Oh joy, the wind is chilly and makes me shiver, but inside me is a warmth that cannot die. Burn a fire bright and let me be as I was before, the one with the spark, the one who could multiply joy for all the world to share.

It is a cruel, harsh, discontent society of people with whom we live, but there are those who have experienced light, who have felt joy, who know the spirit of happiness. Let not us few be forsaken, let us be brought together again, that the world may be peaceful and beautiful again. that we may each be cheerful, reinforce cheerfulness and share with each other the gifts we have.

There are many gifts in the world, each has at least one to give. I know I have several! Let me remain whole and healthy and strong and beautiful. I have been charmed, let this charm glow forth.

(Dedicated to MWC, the one who walks in light)

Try Me One

Move slowly. Pack. Drive. Drive through the evening, through the sunset, through the night. 

Rejoice at someone else's smile. In your own dark abyss, full of secrets, is a glimmer that came from knowing that you gave someone else a light. 

Satisfy your hunger. Then drive some more. And then satisfy your hunger again, and again, and again. And then look upon the horizon and feel hungry again. 

Feel hungry. Feel thirsty. Feel lonely. Feel insecure. Feel cold. Feel sad. Feel frightened. 

Feel everything, and come so close, and yet not satisfy anything. 

Sleep. The best solace. A warm hug. The best comfort. A beautiful ocean. The best rest. The hunger ebbs away gently.

Drink your sorrow away, then sleep once more. Solace, comfort and rest all come together again.

Drive away again. Relax. Breathe. Calm down. Get excited, then calm down again. Feel restless. 

Share a joke. Share a laugh. The core of everything is cold stone, but the skin always craves warmth. 

Remember an old sequence, from twenty years ago, which looked exactly as beautiful as this. It makes you desperate. You reach out, and the wind envelopes your body, caring nothing for all the props of sophistication and civilization. 

The wind will never leave you, never betray you, and you can never betray it, as long as you breathe. For a moment, your despair dies. 

And then you come back to cold, hard reality. In the form of a highway that takes you inexorably back to the prison where you have been condemned to die. The trance breaks. 

Can you avoid punishment for running away? No. Can you break out and away from the prison, forever? Maybe. That's what this journey was all about.

California Rocks

California rocks are amazing. You live, and you feel alive, and you love what's going on in your life, and then one day you climb a bunch of rocks bordering a creek, and you feel like life has started afresh, all over again.

The journey starts when a new friend you've just met invites you out kayaking. Bang in the middle of nowhere. Kayaking? Really?? It's possible in this city??? You have got to be kidding me!!!

It's an awesome experience. It's just you, the kayak, the paddle, the lifejacket, the calm, quiet canals, the warm sun, the cool breeze, the salty water, the friendly people all around, and your own muscles, working away hard, stretching and relaxing, pulling and pushing, until you feel your biceps have doubled in size. It's exercise that requires a lot of focus, and quite a bit of energy, but you do have the option of taking a break in between, to relax, gearing up for the next bout of exercise. It's even better if you row a two-person kayak: you and your partner can row alternately, so that one person works while the other rests, or you can row and rest together (gives an opportunity for some very nice conversation).

The canals follow their own protocols as well. Canal traffic after all, is not very different from road traffic; there can be a lot of it, or there may be very little, everyone needs to use the waterways, there are big boats and there are small kayaks, and it's entirely possible to hit someone and sustain a bad amount of damage. So you need to have some rules to follow. As with road traffic, you stick to one side of the canal; if you approach a bigger vessel, you slow down; and if you cause damage, you gotta pay for it. Of course, you don't get to drive if you don't have a licence, in this case you can't enter the water unless you know how to swim.

The joy of the trip is heightened when you round it off with lunch at a Greek cafe. Not to mention an exhilarating motorbike ride at seventy miles per hour on the freeway.

A couple of days later, you go out for lunch again. This time, the surprise sprung on you is Peruvian food. Again, it comes up out of nowhere, a snug little spot tucked away in a place you'd never have expected to find unless you specifically searched for it. This place is so good, I'm surprised it is still such a quiet place, but I guess until it is discovered, the people who know of it have the pleasure of knowing as well that they are of the lucky few to savor it.

You have to marvel at how life can give you new stuff to enjoy, and think about. I had never imagined before that I would one day taste and plough through genuine Peruvian fare (and I know it's genuine, because my friend has been to Peru and had it straight from the llama's master's table). It's delightful as a cuisine, filling yet lightweight, tasty yet nutritious. They are especially fond of seafood, and have some lovely dishes (my personal recommendation - the ceviche. Delicate parts of fish soaked raw in citrus juices, served with sides of puffed corn and edible seaweeds. Finger licking good). Equally amazing are the juices they make. I've forgotten the names, but they were prepared home style at the restaurant that we visited, and so were absolutely delectable. (When did I become such a foodie?)

The fun doesn't stop there. Next steps, you go for what seems to be an ordinary hike in a pretty little place, nestled snugly in a valley with a creek running right through the hills. It's quite ordinary; you walk along at a nice easy pace, enjoy the creek bubbling along, the birds singing, the leaves rustling. Then your friend pushes you off the beaten trail, onto a smaller one leading into the gorge cut by the creek between the rocks. Soon, there is no trail altogether, and the rocks are all you have. So what do you do? You start moving along the rocks, just above the water, using the cracks and holes in the rocks as handholds and footholds. One false step, and plosh into the cold water you go, so you had better know how to swim, and more so how to deal with cold. Or do everyone a favour, and imagine that it's a lake brimming with lava and brimstone, and just don't fall into it. (Big evil grin)

Before we started, I thought I was a goner, that I was going to plop into the water sometime soon. Amazingly (or perhaps not so), it turned out to be easy, and more importantly, fun. We jumped rocks crossing the creek quite a few times, always looking for ways to proceed further. After a point, there were no more rocks to scale, so we thought of following up the creek to the point where it joins the trail. Follow it we did, but we never found the trail, and had to turn back at sundown, crossing all the terrain we had covered, and then the rocks, in the darkness. I almost did fall into the water at one point, but was rescued by my friend. In my defence, that part was really tricky, and it was dark.

Overall, the whole sequence was something exciting, something brilliant, something new, fresh, invigorating. Somehow, it feels like it would be even more exciting in a subsequent attempt, for now we can proceed further, perhaps in a different direction.

(Dedicated to my friend, el hombre fuerte, to whom I owe the pleasure of these experiences)

Five Smells on a Train

Train journeys in India (especially those involving a ride for over five hours, standing in a crowded, dirty stinky compartment with no place to sit, grateful for a place to stand and highly obliged for having been able to climb into the coach in the first place) are an experience that should be had at least once in a lifetime.

I travel around twice a month or so, between college and home, by train, and I have a plethora of experiences to relate. The most striking one was the latest one that I had, which was in fact, yesterday. Travelling in the rainy season can be hectic, but in the monsoon season, it is madness.

The first job is getting into the train. It ain't as simple as step inside, haul luggage, move inside. It means yell, rush forward like mad, yell, push through and clamber into the coach, yell, pull luggage inside after you (sometimes along with a friend who is unfortunately stuck somewhere behind you), yell, move inside, yell, find a place to stand (which is more likely to happen than finding a place to sit) and yell again until the train starts. In this process, you are pressed against a dozen other bodies, all of you sweating and struggling to find a foothold, hitting and being hit by luggage flying all over the place, and if you're a woman, may you be blessed. That's the first smell that will strike you as a woman, if you're entering the general compartment (the general general compartment, not the ladies special coach). The overpowering smell of masculine sweat.

The next job is finding the most comfortable position to stand in, for whatever period of time you need to stand, be it one hour or five. The best place to be is at the door of the compartment, since you can enjoy some fresh breeze, and actually sit on the footboard, if you feel like it. People often do that, sometimes for journeys as long as sixteen hours. But bless you again if you're stuck anywhere on the inside corridor between the two facing doors. Over there, the stench of the lavatory is inescapable, especially since it is overused and never flushed. The stink is often so powerful that it hits the senses almost immediately upon entering the train.

Another smell, which I have never understood, is that of fish. For some mystical reason, the general compartments always carry an overwhelming smell of fish with them. I suppose it is due to the proximity to the goods carriages, which are close by, but nevertheless, the degree of penetration of the smell is marvellous.

The fourth smell is one that is probably not noticeable to the masses of labourers and rural working force who mostly tend to use the train and it's general compartment, but if you're like me, a student who has mostly lived a smell-free life, you're likely to notice it. It's the thick and extremely heavy hair oil that is used by the rural women, for its cheapness and its ability to keep the hair straight and manageable without too much effort. It's called jameli ka tel in local dialect. There's nothing like the smell of it. All I could think of before I was able to place it was what the hell is anyone doing with rotting flowers in here. Does Rafflesia smell like this?

The fifth smell is occasional, depending on your luck. It's that of alcohol. Alcohol consumption is banned by law in this state, but in a few territories it's allowed, and of course bootlegging is one of the biggest black industries in the state. The poorer folk in particular tend to consume the locally made liquor, which is very strong, often freely adulterated with spirits that don't exclude methanol and the like, and which stinks to low hell, the odour bearing uncanny similarity with fresh puke. You need to watch out with this drink. It can work like nothing else in corroding your inner tissues, bringing on early blindness, poisoning and death. How anyone survives it is beyond me. It's called crimpy in college argot. Also called, tharra, pauaa, or just simple desi daru.

If after all this you still find any pleasure in travelling in the train, congratulations. You've just attained a higher level of tolerance for worldly evils.

How to flash through seven places in eighteen days

Somebody once travelled around the world in eighty days. I did something better. I travelled seven places in eighteen days and managed to do some sight-seeing and family-bonding as well as a great deal of joy-sharing as well in those eighteen days. How did I do it?

1. Spent the first day and most of the next morning watching the Konkan coast from the window of a train. Reading why school teachers are like sumo wrestlers, why drug dealers live in their mothers' homes, why crime rates fell in the United States in the nineties, and how exactly, with statistical proof, does parental care affect children. And listening to Incubus alongside.
   
2. Spent the afternoon of the second day lazing idly in the garden of a little house in a tiny village.
   
3. Spent the third day roaming with family on the beaches nearby. And took some beautiful pictures all the way.
   
4. Spent most of the fourth in a six hour bus journey from the village to another little town, escorted by a favourite cousin, and was met by a whole host of cousins, aunts and uncles who hadn't seen me in three years.
   
5. Spent the fifth day in a grand birthday session, the first time I celebrated my birthday with my dad's people. Starting with furious session of midnight callers, a visit to the temple in the morning after bathing (normal for some but astounding for those who know I'm a stubborn atheist. But some things have to be done to please people too, at times), a humongous lunch in which I stuffed myself so full I could have gone the entire month without eating, and a surprise birthday party, which included amongst other wild whacky unexpected things: me wearing a saree for it (again, some things have to be done to please people), a green birthday cake (incidentally, the same colour and flavour I had for my first birthday), two weeks' worth of newspapers shredded to bits as confetti, lollipops and a bright pink squeeze toy as part of the gifts package, me lighting with a cigarette lighter the same candles that I blew out on my cake, and a special photo session with my paternal relatives surrounding me on all sides. Could I have asked for anything more?
6. Spent the sixth day visiting my dad's sisters. Everywhere I go, I'm treated like a little princess.
   
7. Spent the seventh day visiting more relatives. And also found the means to see the college where my dad studied as a youngster of my age.
   
8. Spent the eighth and ninth days in one of the most dynamic cities one could hope to live in. And found out that my cousin sister, who so staunchly disapproved of all notions of falling in love and things of that sort, was seeing someone. And it's a serious relationship with indications of being something really, really long term. The guy is seriously good, too. Unfortunately, he doesn't have a younger brother or cousin who I could hit on. :P
9. Spent the tenth and eleventh days in the house of a gentleman who was earlier a professor in an IIT, and now Professor Emeritus in the university where he served as Principal and Dean for so many years now. And finally understood some aspects of my stickier subjects from him. I happen to have taken the same course of study he did in his college days.
10. Spent the next six days in my grandfather's house. In a suburb in another huge city. And what days those were. Spent the first day sleeping all day and waking up to wish everyone festive greetings for the holiday season.
    
11. Spent the next day with a family of cousins, in their house that cost them ten millions to build, with a garden that gave life to every seed thrown into it, and an approach road that for five kilometers (no less) threatened to shake the traveller off his vehicle, as though traversing that road were a crime of the highest order.
    
12. Spent a lazy day playing games. Then received the terrifying news of the execution of the last step of a regular series of torturous college events. During the reception of which I received the even more horrendous news of the assassination of one of the most powerful leaders of a neighbouring country - a woman who had once been the Premier of her country, against all odds and opposed to all kinds of perverted forces. She fell to their cowardly yet ruthless attack.
    
13. Spent the fourth day roaming around one of the busiest sections of Chennai. A street so full of people it's a crime for a vehicle to be driven there. Wondered yet again, for the umpteenth time, how so many gold and jewelry shops manage to set up such huge mall-sized shopping complexes next door to one another and still maintain business that sustains them. Ditto for the silks, the vessels, the clothes and the sweets. Bought a complete set of newspapers on the way back, which contained altogether four puzzles of a particular game that I favour. And all four puzzles a very hard level! Broke my brains trying to solve them :( Finally managed one out of four.
    
14. Spent the next day with my mother's friend from her own hostel days. A bright dynamic lady who doesn't deserve all the crap that she's going through right now. The best was hearing her and my mom come alive again as though they were young twenty-somethings, yet with all their experience and maturity to back them up and protect them. A close second was hearing all the naughty things my mom did in her younger days, and which she so routinely scolds me for doing myself! And managed to get a second puzzle at night.
    
15. Spent the day packing. And still trying to solve those damned puzzles. I think I overdosed myself. And I discovered one more messaging partner.
    
16. Spent the morning in the flight back home. Solved one more damn puzzle in the morning right before the flight left. Surfed the net the rest of the day at home.
    

And all along I discovered a new joy in travelling and meeting people, especially those who love you, and how important it is to keep up those links. Everyone needs something special to keep their minds occupied, and sometimes, it's just as well that you be the source, rather than the seeker, of that something special.

Randomly On A Train Journey

I hate a dirty train. Especially when my hair is also all messed up, my forehead is grimy, I'm hungry but can't eat because of some weird inexplicable stomach cramp, I'm seeing a lady cuddle her newborn son and change its nappies while I sit wondering and confused, trying to make out if it's laughing or crying, and I'm writing all this with a pencil since my entire stock of good quality fountain pens is buried deep in my luggage between my night suit and my lingerie.

As if that wasn't enough, the only food I have right now is peanuts (literally), which I suspect are giving me cramps in the first place, and the only good I can expect on reaching my destination is roasted and buttered American corn. To top it all I just received a dinner invitation, and I can't go because I won't reach in time for it!

Wow. We just rode onto grassland. Savannah type landscape. At least that's what it looks like, seeing as there isn't a single tree for miles.

There's a pile of work waiting for me when I reach. Vacation ain't over and I'm already saddled with fresh work. To top it all I haven't even done my homework, so it's going to spell trouble for me...

Plus, I need to think up a fresh batch of excuses for not having called up so many people... though that isn't an issue, seeing as I wasn't at liberty to do as I wished to. But I'm gonna have my work cut out for me anyway, softening all those angry people. Each one will have a grievance of his own.

I like Sudoku. It's only recently become some sort of fad, some sort of phenomenon, which is really amusing. The game in question has been in existence for years and ages now, but it's only in the alst two years that 'western civilization' has noticed it. And that's where all the sudden hype is coming from!

And while it's nice timepass, it's really quite a mind numbingly simple game. More complex than Sudoku is Kakuro. Sudoku is simply a play on number patterns. Kakuro involves addition as well, and hence requires more brainwork. More brainwork means more effort and more patience but people don't really care about those nowadays, do they?

Meanwhile, it's back to the 'nuts' for me, and I'm slowly becoming a nut myself...

I still hate dirty trains.

God bless Bugs Bunny.

Carrots wait for no one,
So I'll pick them now.
Before they are eaten
By some snobby cow...!

Birds of One Feather

Picture postcard railway station. And a train two hours late. Not much scope for amusement. It's in places like that that you get to see the weirdest things.

I saw a crow. I couldn't figure out how old or young it was. It would have been completely unremarkable at first sight had it not been for the fact that its neck appeared to have been cut away, leaving only a stub of sinew still keeping its head on its body. After being arrested by such a sight at the first glance, all of us on the station paid a little more attention to it. Apart from such a disastrous neck, its wings seemed to have been ripped badly to pieces, looking on the whole as though it had escaped from the butcher while being chopped up alive or something. Such a feeling of pity came into my heart as I had never felt for years.

It wasn't alone. It couldn't fly so it kept hopping all over the ground, squawking all the while. Overhead on the beams of the roof on the platform were two fully grown healthy crows, also squawking and following its movements. My first thought was that they were looking out for a opportunity to get hold of it and eat it (crows are omnivorous, or at least are thought to be). Later, we all realized that they were actually watching over it and protecting it, from the two stray canines that were roaming around the creature, probably looking for an opportunity to grab an easy meal. They did not attack it though, as if aware of the nasty repercussions that could follow from the sharp beaks of its protectors.

The scene almost made me cry, when I realized what was happening. That the healthy birds were trying to protect their mate, ready to attack if needed. That they were ready to use their muscle, and the dogs on the ground were withholding due to their fear of being attacked by the birds. Quite a different scenario from the usual one of the more ferocious creature playing predator and the weaker one being the prey.

The truth to realize is that what is perceived as weaker is not always so. People can never be underestimated, coz you never know when the sleeping tiger would awake and gobble you up.

Rediscovery Of Reading

I am a student, and I must be as any student is, eager to learn, to reflect upon learning, to derive an opinion of those reflections, and to express that opinion. A beautiful thought always comes unbidden, and it is a crying shame indeed not to be able to record and preserve it somehow.

I am travelling home at the moment, and I have been granted a seat by the window, which is well; since it offer me a chance to observe that which I always miss when I travel this route, since I have alwyas so far passed though at night, when there is too little of illumination to enjoy what the eye may perceive. It just occurs to me that this is a beautiful time at which to be traversing this route.

I am alternately reading and writing, and the tome which submits to my perusal at the moment is a classic, a masterpiece of English literature. I certainly approve the content, the plot of the story, but earlier it was just a story to me, set in very refined language; this time, after a space of four years as I read the lines, I am delighted to rediscover my love and appreciation for good literature and expressive language. A mark of a good book would be that every perusal of the book leaves you with something new to think about; something to set you little grey cells buzzing, a process which certainly leads to intellectual excercise, and more importantly, the blowing away of cobwebs that set in and build up due to an overdose if entertainments that do not essentially require an alert and active mind.

In this reading of my book, I have singled out a battery of words and expressions that I should like to inculcate in my daily vocabulary; I have rediscovered a style of speaking, writing and thinking that has to my mind, expressiveness without sacrificing brevity and clarity; and in examining the characters of the main players in the story, I have been reminded forcefully yet subtly, of those noble qualities and refinements, that I wish to have imbued in my own character.

I am grateful that Providence guided my hand to this book, when I raised my arm to choose. For it is just one more incident leading me to rebirth and rediscovery.