Why does Popeye keep his spinach until the finish?
Why do you catch the bug the night before an important presentation?
Why do you get pulled up for the one lapse?
Why don't we treat others the way we would like to be?
Why is 'life's-too-short' used as the reason to throw it away?
Why is bitterness all-consuming?
Why do we try to change others? People do not change. It has nothing to do with you.
Why do we live as if we'd never die?
Why does disease show up, after it's too late?
Why must it be so hard to avoid hurt, when you can?
Why do you continue to love the one who continues to cause you pain?
Why is it difficult to do the good you want to do?
Why is it easy to commit the mistakes you never meant to?
Why are you asked to 'follow' your heart? You should be 'leading' your heart.
Why don't we see that love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres?
Love is not self-seeking, is not easily angered, keeps no record of wrongs. Why is love the theme of all songs, yet the least understood?
Why is it that what you fear the most, happens to you?
Why do you fall the hardest when you think you're standing firm?
Why do you hit the ground running when you lose your way?
Nobody said it'd be easy. Nobody said it would be so hard.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Sunday, May 29, 2011
A year older. Two steps forward. One step behind.
Two hours too early to leave on a jetplane - out of namma Bangalore into amchi Mumbai, to 'celebrate' the birthday.
You see, it was the India-Pakistan cricketing blood-bath. Fewer people on the streets than in a graveyard on a full-moon night.
No pearls of wisdom. Some insights, distilled and now brewing over. In no particular order..
- Daily living ought to work out of a to-do list. Write it down. Check it off.
- No matter how many times you fall.. Get up. Every single time.
- Life is uncertain. That's no excuse to not have a plan.
- No matter how you feel.. Get up. Dress up. Show up.
- Hunger for growth. It's the ultimate elevator pitch.
- God is alive and kicking. Why thirst by the fountain-side..
- Make a decision. Stick to it.
- Do right. Sand castles come crashing down.
- People - They'll forget what you said. They'll forget what you did. They will never forget how you made them feel.
- Love as if you've never been hurt.
- Note to self: No chai like ghar ki chai. Dip-dip chai is simply not the same.
You see, it was the India-Pakistan cricketing blood-bath. Fewer people on the streets than in a graveyard on a full-moon night.
No pearls of wisdom. Some insights, distilled and now brewing over. In no particular order..
- Daily living ought to work out of a to-do list. Write it down. Check it off.
- No matter how many times you fall.. Get up. Every single time.
- Life is uncertain. That's no excuse to not have a plan.
- No matter how you feel.. Get up. Dress up. Show up.
- Hunger for growth. It's the ultimate elevator pitch.
- God is alive and kicking. Why thirst by the fountain-side..
- Make a decision. Stick to it.
- Do right. Sand castles come crashing down.
- People - They'll forget what you said. They'll forget what you did. They will never forget how you made them feel.
- Love as if you've never been hurt.
- Note to self: No chai like ghar ki chai. Dip-dip chai is simply not the same.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Cure for the pain
As I write this, I'm living out the rough and tumble of simple living. My grandmother's home in Kerala has the basic conveniences of modern existence, yet seems to prove the classic adage right- the more things change, the more they remain the same.
Daily living's uncluttered here. Schedules rarely heave. All 'early-to-bed, early-to-rise'rs. Chores begin at dawn, and follow each other in routine humdrum.
Women have an equal share of voice in household matters. Every home no matter how poor, believes in giving their children decent education, sincere in the conviction that a good job holds the key to upward mobility. All hard workers, they believe in earning the bread they bring home to their families. Which is also why, grinding poverty is almost non-existent.
Outwardly, not much has changed. I see the same tea shop, I'd seen as a goo goo eyed girl, with its fresh 'chaya/kaapi ' aroma wafting through the antediluvian atmosphere, mingling with the unhurried buzz of activity around.
This wasn't meant to be a character sketch of a malayalee, but the culmination of an insight gathered over the past week of rumination.
Because, beneath the deceptive calm, there's many an instance of brewing and settled storms. A private grieving behind the 94-year old collection of my grandmother's wrinkles. Unspeakable in its depth, but solid in its reality. A wrenching agony transcending the cherubic smile of a bright-eyed kid, left in the wake of it's mother's passing.
Yet, life goes on. Simply, because there are no answers. Doesn't matter how loud and how often you scream out your questions.
Life, then, is largely an unbroken stretch of sorrow, occasionally interspersed with happiness and ever so sporadically intermingled with bitter-sweet moments, where you think you've lived a lifetime.
I have no answers. My pain is also my remedy.
Daily living's uncluttered here. Schedules rarely heave. All 'early-to-bed, early-to-rise'rs. Chores begin at dawn, and follow each other in routine humdrum.
Women have an equal share of voice in household matters. Every home no matter how poor, believes in giving their children decent education, sincere in the conviction that a good job holds the key to upward mobility. All hard workers, they believe in earning the bread they bring home to their families. Which is also why, grinding poverty is almost non-existent.
Outwardly, not much has changed. I see the same tea shop, I'd seen as a goo goo eyed girl, with its fresh 'chaya/kaapi ' aroma wafting through the antediluvian atmosphere, mingling with the unhurried buzz of activity around.
This wasn't meant to be a character sketch of a malayalee, but the culmination of an insight gathered over the past week of rumination.
Because, beneath the deceptive calm, there's many an instance of brewing and settled storms. A private grieving behind the 94-year old collection of my grandmother's wrinkles. Unspeakable in its depth, but solid in its reality. A wrenching agony transcending the cherubic smile of a bright-eyed kid, left in the wake of it's mother's passing.
Yet, life goes on. Simply, because there are no answers. Doesn't matter how loud and how often you scream out your questions.
Life, then, is largely an unbroken stretch of sorrow, occasionally interspersed with happiness and ever so sporadically intermingled with bitter-sweet moments, where you think you've lived a lifetime.
I have no answers. My pain is also my remedy.
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