Unsaid

So much meaning in words left unsaid,
So much thought behind the vacant spaces.
The deep seated emotions behind the pauses,
pushed forth with meaning from a higher dimension,
Colored by the invisible hand of God.

Some Belated Birthday Wisdom (or not!)

Restraint is a very loaded term. It gives as much as it takes.

And yet so dry. clinical. detached.

Result, not knowing what could be.

The lack thereof, gives fanciful flight.

Actions before resultant reactions.

Compounded by a lethal concoction of fact vs fiction, 

after all, imagination is indulgence's chief ruse.

Many ways tip the scales before finding perfect balance.

Many ways drift our thoughts before finding their anchor.

Meandering paths lead to the most stable of rivers.

From the depths of chaos comes order & beauty.

Life isn't lived out of a rulebook.

Another year on, I experiment with my own truths.

Happy Birthday to me. 

10/2/16

Swirling Universes

Blissful and unaware, wrapping her toes in the night,
Comes vividly chasing the high tide.
The lunacy ends, a peaceful serenade,
A phase on end without need for punctuation,
swirling universes, uncertain but sure,
Where turns the day into the night?
Where goes the soul into journeys untold...

It's FREE!

Thoughts have no price tags! Use the incredible mind to travel places- inward and outward. Ride your thoughts to visit parallel universes and imagine what ifs. Dream.

//p.s. I assure you I am not smoking a peace pipe right now//

Over.Out.

Rumiesque & Kafkaesque Reflections

"The wound is the place where the Light enters you" - Rumi

Rumi speaks to my soul. More so these days than ever before.
And so until this 33rd year of my existence, I didn't know a wound. I thought I did, I pretended I did. Becoming a mother felt like a really soul altering experience, and I thought I was ready.

Well this year shook me up inside-out.

I've lived a comfortable, protected, happy life most days. I haven't really known what true struggle is (though all of us have our own daily struggles-big & small, and I give myself all due credit). I haven't had an existential crisis that wasn't self inflicted & in the mind.

People who know me, know that I'm spiritual. I have a curious 'gypsy-soul' and I pray everyday that life opens me up to new experiences on my soul-menu. I didn't know that losing my first grandparent would finally be the start of many new discoveries. Starting with pain, intense sense of loss and alienation. Like a stripping off of something so warm and comforting. I've been on a journey of multiple truths & realities since. Thoughts & beliefs manifest to become reality. From the stark loneliness (being the only family member who couldn't be there to pay my final respects) sprang the calm (he showed me how peaceful he was in that dimension). Feeling vulnerable and a small part of something big, was a start. We build facades of accomplishment around ourselves. We feel important but for all the wrong reasons. We spend our life's every ticking second trying to be so perfect when the imperfections are the true celebrations of ourselves.

Then came another jolt. I lost a friend, the first one ever. In the blink of an eye, in one fleeting second. She went away without reason or warning. Just one fine day as she went up to deliver a client presentation, she collapsed and couldn't be revived. In many ways she was just like me (& so much better). I was the first to hear this news...I remember almost collapsing in the kitchen (I had just started sipping on my post workout recovery shake). Those minutes where your rational mind pleads to make this untrue somehow.

The macabre Kafkaesque tone of this post is not meant to depress. Because after you peel off the grief and shock, these realizations have made me light, peaceful and so much more alive. I'm thankful for the experiences I have every day. The people I meet, the ideas I exchange...these are all leading me along my trajectory. I'm satisfied, confident, anchored and happy but with the awareness of how transient everything is.

If there's one word to sum up everything, this wound(s) has made me open myself up. The walls are meaningless and unnecessary. And I have a guardian angel watching over me all the time.

'Peace be upon a soul so precious;
to you may all the lights come shining'

Tere Ishq Mein

My audacious attempt at matching Rekha Bhardwaj note for note.

~current state of mind~ Sufi 

http://www.smule.com/p/160910164_530507213

Dreamcatchers

Somewhere between reason and rhyme

the dreamcatchers will find our "once upon a time"

Tip over that jar of stardust, the night will soon be gone. 

When's too soon?

Gone too soon. The weight of the world on her shoulder, the worry of her loved ones clouding her heart. The incessant need for perfection. A perfect mother, a class act professionally, a devoted wife, a caring daughter and sister. A friend you can reach out to anytime. The guilt. Oh the guilt. Prioritizing work over the baby. The less than perfect fancy dress costume put together in a hurry. The burn. When's it her time to relax? That spa you always wanted to but there's a party to throw. Ooh, the biryani lacked just a little bit of spice. Get it together. The waistline needs some attention. The doctors visit can wait. The ear infections and inoculations. The office politics (she's pre occupied with family). She's alpha. What a bitch. Oh no, a people pleaser. The mask. Always the mask. She's got it all. Nobody sees he hardwork. The tears. It's sticking together with glue tack. Balancing act. Work harder. Be more organized and disciplined. Wake up early that gives you more hours? The baby bubble baths and the client calls. Tick tick. Tock tock. When does it ever stop? 

Gone too soon. Rest now sweet girl. It's your time to. 

Faceless People with Brickbats

I'm pissed and angered. Social media platforms have given gutless chicken the ability to massacre with their words. Irresponsible, hurtful sentiment expressed with vile contempt. It's become so hip, so accessible to target famous people and become a 'virtual'lynch mob. Hiding behind a pool of faceless people in the safety of your home with no possible fear of accountability. Shame on you. 

Equally annoying is the many writers that social media has created. Such opinionated, mediocre writing and content being pushed to the guileless masses by equally stupid people re-sharing these pieces, making them popular and viral. Yuck! 

Most days I'm tolerant some days I'm just not!

The Amber in her Pain

The shape and color of pain is different for different people.
For me, her pain is amber with blue fringes today. She's always been my best friend's mother. Bedecked, bejeweled and beautiful. I piece together fragments of memories and imagine her to be a combination of beautiful borders on a new 'kanjivaram' or the bundle of nerves fretting over the worries of her household.

I do not remember and cannot imagine her if not in control, letting the world go on, watching from the sidelines. Too weak to have an opinion or angered in response to a wrong or just worried; should her loved ones be in need of one more prayer. A devout, God-fearing person. The pride and love of her husband. There's so much pain in just imagining it all from across the many oceans.

And even in the pain, I can see the vermilion in her parted hair and the 'shaka-pora' on her wrists smiling at me. Even within all the suffering, I see her comfort. She owns no regrets. I don't know if her pain will turn fierce red tomorrow. But I pray she stays embalmed in a soothing reverie. And finds that she is loved & has always played her part with so much fighting spirit.  May the universe send all its calming white energy her way!

Who's Choice?

Sure, let's confound the real problem with every other thing under the sun and scream from the feminist rooftops!

Men need to respect women. Men need to keep their hands off and understand that a woman is not a dessert. Men need to understand the true meaning of "consent" and men can keep their own "moral" judgements to themselves as long as they don't rape to teach a woman her moral lesson.

But this whole 'my choice, my life' is a bit duh! Of course it's your choice to pick from a zillion different options.Everyone has that choice. A cheating partner (whatever their sex; pun intended) is a cheating partner. Even though we have a so called wave of women's lib, the decent men are still stuck between the ages. They don't really have a choice between bumming around and making a successful career. Unfortunately, they are still under the agonizing pressure of "responsibility" (financial, societal, moral) of leading the family. I wish it were easier for men to take a sabbatical or look after the home. Well it's just not. Not yet atleast.

And so for the few decent men in our lives, the really good ones-your spouse, father, best friend, son...please make the choices that you can be proud of! Don't go doing something reckless just because you can. To prove a point. To who though? You know you're awesome. Atleast I do ;)

Audio notes!?!

Miffed that blogger or other blog sites don't provide for any kind of audio upload...just like a doodle, I thought it might've been fun to upload some random singing & other inconsequential banter. Actually I came online looking to upload a lullaby I sang to my baby today.

Suddenly think rustic loris have a soul and am so addicted to them!! A note on that some other time.

Well never mind.

It's a wrap.

The Fishbowl Effect

An a-ha moment, no less! I finally figured out why the grass seems greener proverbially on the other side. Oh it does & here's a thought...imagine all of us in our own little fish bowls (like the ones you'd keep a goldfish in?). These fish bowls are like your own little universes-thoughts, prejudices, vices, virtues, world views, belief systems. No matter how we justify it, we know we all have them. Also imagine that these fishbowls do not appear visually to the self but others can see them. I-can't-see-mine-but-I-can-see-yours.

Now the rest of it is simply physics. Follow closely. When you look inside a fishbowl, things look miraculously grand and enlarged...you always perceive the fish inside to have made it in life. The fish inside the bowl has it all. But alas, for the fish inside (say fish 1), your fishbowl is sending her the same notions of your grandeur. This is the crux of a lot of unhappiness in the mid-life years. If only we'd see inside our own bowls or better still see ourselves through the eyes of the envious others.

Here's a simple solution...think of the glass fish bowls as soap bubbles. Here's the thing I love about bubbles- they're magical, they're full of every shade of hope, they live a finite life of promise and then they die. Pop. No more illusions. Just the nacked bare reality. 

Nobody has a formula for happiness or success or contentment. If you feel it, there's no need to have an overwhelming urge to broadcast it to the whole world.  That's the whole point, isn't it? Never underestimate the trade offs people make to become who they are. Looking at a result without these trade offs is a dangerous game. Either be the blind fish who was just so happy in her own fish bowl or be the naked fish that saw truthfully what she saw. Here's goes another thought, which would you rather be?

Guess who's ONE!

We're parents proud,

our son is ONE,

while on-our-toes we run..run..run.

The earth it's spun a 365,

from a tiny button to a confident guy.

We're amazed each day at your little stunts,

you're our dearest delight; our little one.

You mimic, you squeal, you yak-yak-yak,

you fall, you crawl, you wobble-wobble-walk.

When 'bow-wow' is what every animal does & others very few,

then in order to celebrate; a 'puppy pawty' we will do!

The Drive Back Home (to my baby)

Rolling greens through the peripheral eye,

metal minions lusting up ahead.

The fumes of indignation leveled somewhere in that zero sum game.

A mind fertile and upbeat but a body travel weary. Pulsing tingles of hope soothed by a deep caffeine balm.

Drooley dribbled love mixed with the day's end lipstain. Endless bag of busy sealed with a hand of lightheaded giggles.

Winter wonderland

The snow makes everything so peaceful. So calm, so beautiful. A clean new slate. The childlike self came alive and made little snowballs. Beautiful threadbare trees sprinkled with white love. My little bug played in the snow for the first time & everything in the world suddenly felt right. Let it snow. Let it snow. Let it snow. 

A little bit of Zen & other Stories

Quite like these merry baloons in the sky. Tranquil. Peaceful.

As the madness of Manhattan has added itself to my life, so has this little fountain of zen found me.

Still in the race. Running ahead. Subways. Brands. Lust. Materialism. Mad ideas. Crazy jets of enthusiasm. Greed. But within it all a strange bracket. Pace. Gentle. Warm. Slow.


Does it ever happen to you? When you just filter out of a conversation that's outside your frame of peace at that moment. Not being judgemental, hating, not even being absent. Its being present but zoning out of what's not on your current soul-menu. Try it. It works! & to think that it all somehow came about with a little help from Gmail in sorting out the necessary from the social overdose or them greedy advertisers grabbing at your mind & day (through your eyeballs).

More to come. I'm back here!
~S~

Much Ado about Networking

The new sales paradigm is all about 'social' selling. Sales through your influenced network. However, any basic B-School will start hamming the word 'networking' and its amazing power within minutes of enrollment.

Now, networking no doubt is a very powerful concept. I am in no way disputing that you are most likely to close a deal within that power circle you cultivated. However, context & continuity is very important. I have observed people mesh in like ants at blind networking events, carrying out really shallow conversations with a multitude of people in what appears a really rehearsed and boring (err almost mechanical) manner. I often roam like a recluse, observing. I would not be pleased at being jammed by Mr. Heavy Hitter who's on a mission to schmooze all 40,000 delegates at a conference. I'd rather invest in 10 conversations with people or situations that I genuinely find interesting (the context) and hopefully find good reason to connect with 2-3 people on a semi-regular basis (the continuity).

I guess I'm just weary of the number of mixers and "networking" events that have become oh-so-popular. Genuinely nice people seem coerced to behave like complete jackasses because they're on this ginormous mission to connect with the whole world in one go. Breathe. Remember the quality over quantity debate? Also, add to that preparedness and research. Have something intelligent to convey to the people you choose to 'network' with. Sports and political affiliations will only get you that far in a conversation.

You will attract great people and conversations. It just takes a lot of restraint and a trickle of patience.
Go Fish! Go network...

Who's Third World Now?

I've been meaning to write about how strongly I feel about the 'health & wellness' divide between third world countries and the developed nations. Agreed third world nations have:

• more occurance of fatal diseases
• severe health & sanitation issues
• limited access to and availability of medical aid & advanced cures

However, for the relatively well-to-do, an apples-to-apples comparison will find they were better off in the developing country they came from. There is a new wave called the diseases of the rich & affluent and your guess is as good as mine, they come from the advanced "developed nations".

I was a healthy adult. Never visited the doctor more than twice a year (the regular flu and one other open ticket which ranged from a severe sinus attack to stomach cramps). A year and some into my NY stint and I have developed vitamin deficiencies (not enough sunlight apparently), lactose intolerance to regular milk etc.

I was spooked because every winter morning I'd wake up with a dull ache in my knucles. I thought it was perhaps arthritis until I heard every third person was complaining of it. See, turns out that not enough sun equals not enough Vitamin D and D drops are needed to help absorb calcium. So its a little cycle.

What ticked me off though is the state of callousness subjecting people to synthetic chemicals, hormones etc. I'm a milk lover. I have a big hearty mug of milk every morning. Suddenly, I felt bloated and uncomfortable after my morning milk ritual. And turns out that only 'organic' non hormone injected milk (which costs 3x) suits me. What hurts is not the money but the fact that you're basically screwed till you read the fine print! (Oh but that's after you at least know what to comb the fine print for)...

Another candidate was 'high fructose corn syrup' which the U.S. uses in everything ranging from bread to baby products and everything in between.

I could go on...but I'm not starting an anti-nation campaign. Just needed to vent my disappointment with a nation that thinks of the rest of the world needs to learn from it! 

A Very Short Story #1: Starting from 'scratch'

Saadiya, the kind with long skinny legs and a face that didn't quite make it to pretty.
Saadiya with her brow raised furiously drawing the beauty out of her, filling it in the pit of her stomach in a tight knot. Yellow sunshine spaghetti, short denim shorts.

Today the din around her seems to submerge the screams inside. Its the madness of being at Juhu beach in the multitude of holidayers. The whole mass swells as one single body. In Sweat. In dreams. In missing pieces.

She might've been called nice if she wasn't so unfulfilled. She couldn't complain of lack of attention from men. In times when other girls were taught to be modest, she was a rebel. She had done it all, all that she knew there was not to do. She flaunted her shame. There were definitely two of her inside. And in those nasty fights and fits, I always thought there was something sacred. Something timid, screaming to be held.

Saadiya moved effortlessly from man to man to man.Yet, wanting a man she could not get. She had searching eyes. A bit of an outcast in the midst of her core group of friends. A curiosity-in-psychology-raiser she angled on, dangerously.

Until, little Saadiya (called Seya) bumbled about wearing a yellow spaghetti and short denim shorts.
Raised out of her reverie, Saadiya. Who took to the skies, made her friends proud. Saadiya, who sobered up, took to her home. Saadiya a doting mother, a fulfilled wife, a dutiful daughter.

So much you can't tell about where we've been by looking at where we are.
Seya doesn't see an angry, nervous person with a raised brow. She sees a jet fighting ass kicking maverick and a saree clad obsessive mother. A hug, an embrace and Saadiya fights back tears. She is home.