Friday, October 28, 2016

The Garden

Every morning, I awaken and saunter into my garden. Winter makes sure I feel his presence, and my arms go around me in response. The Harsingar tree is my favourite. All day and all night, there's a perpetual whiff of its fragrant white and orange flowers, that drop silently from the branches like snowflakes from the sky.

The garden dances each day. Seedlings making their slow progress skywards, flowers showing off their best party frocks, and trees singing in the cool breeze. And when the sun falls, they all bask - lazy and golden.

I await to see my Nasturtiums and Pansies. Their seeds were planted two weeks ago. There's a 'natural' suspense to it. The tomatoes in the back garden seem to be doing fine, while the melons have simply sprouted from the seeds in our homemade manure. This isn't even their season, yet they want to survive and shine.

I sit and watch the gossiping Babblers, hunting for tasty snacks in the grass; the occasional Hoopoe or Red-vented Bulbul; the flippity Sunbirds. They love the garden, I think even more than I do. It is their home, their feeding ground, their social hangout. A sip of water here, a peck at a wriggling worm there, and they're happy.

I watch them for myself. Because what it produces inside me is almost meditative. What a start to a day.

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

Birthday reflections

I sit where I sat last year. Perhaps wiser, more in control and happier. This year has brought immense pain and suffering, but concealed cleverly, crucial lessons of life, understanding and street smartness.

Happy birthday to me.

Monday, July 04, 2016

Musings of a Fat Dancer

Yes, I am fat. And I am a dancer. For some people, it may be an oxymoron. Quite a few presume that I take dance classes to lose weight. So when I meet aunties at dreaded social gatherings, they look me up and down and say, “Weren’t you going for those dance classes? Have you lost any weight because of them?” "Beta, why don't you join the gym?" It’s beyond my patience to make them understand that my reason to dance, to learn dance and perhaps someday to teach it, goes much deeper than that.

I dance because it is the only place where I am myself – unashamed, unapologetic, naked and pure. It is the only thing that binds me to this world and keeps me away, at the same time. It is the hinge that gives me wings, so I can swing in any direction and express feelings that words cannot. It is the only way I know to respond to music.

But I am not your usual dancer. Uh..uh. A passerby may look at me and never fathom that I could lift my leg, leave alone do a pirouette or a split. I don’t blame him because I don’t have the perfect, lean, slim form that dancers are wont to have. Dainty on their feet, not an inch of fat, structured legs and oh those perfectly framed arms. I can just imagine Natalie Portman in The Black Swan. She’s the picture of what a dancer ought to look like. Stereotypically.

With a body like mine, I struggle. Every class, every day, every rehearsal for stage. For my slim fellow students (and I love and respect them all and know that they toil too), the struggle is to get that step right, or to accomplish a certain feat that will make them stand out, or to perfect technique to be able to apply it while dancing. For me, the strain is double. I have to grapple with the weight first. And then with everything else. So the uphill climb becomes steeper for dancers like me. Not to forget the emotional and psychological beating that we give ourselves for failing. It takes a mammoth amount of motivation and self-encouragement to get started again every time we fall.

Fortunately, I’ve been wacky enough to believe that no amount of ‘fat’ can stop me from dancing or trying to be better than before. It has been a testing challenge, but my passion has consumed me, often enabling me to turn a blind eye to my less-than-perfect shape, that doesn’t represent the quintessential dancer.

It is true that sometimes my body defeats me. I work hard and in my mind I know I can do it. It’s the performance where I sometimes strike out. In my mind, I’m a super ninja who can do killer roundhouse kicks and blow the enemy away with a single iron fist punch. The truth is, I can perhaps injure the enemy far worse by sitting on him.

So while I’m on the floor, wrestling with the sweaty attempt to reach a full split or take my brush kick higher, I have two enemies to conquer – my weight and the inability to do it. Sometimes it pulls me down like rocks tied to my feet, and probably nobody can understand how it feels. There are days when I go back home from class cursing myself for not being able to do a step because my body came in the way.

But still, I dance. I may not be the best but I certainly try to be. I’ve never even won a competition but what I have is dance experience. I can tell you what you’re doing right and what you’re screwing up by watching you in class. I know what muscle will be worked out by what exercise and how to strengthen your core till it is rock solid. I know my music and can give anybody a run for their money when it comes to connecting movement to beats and pauses. And you should see me in my second split.

The star of the musical movie ‘Hairspray’ was a fat girl called Tracy who loved to dance in spite of how she looked. Yes she didn’t have the body, the perfect looks or the flawless technique, but man she could move! Some people told her that she didn’t qualify as a dancer, but she didn’t care. My first stage performance was on a song from this movie and maybe it was sign. And it’s still with me today because no matter what the odds are, or how much I weigh, “You can’t stop the beat.”  

Friday, July 01, 2016

The Auto-Pilot Mode

You know something is not right when you're constantly running in auto-pilot mode. Especially where work is concerned. Brief moments of introspection and self-questioning later, I don't feel any more enlightened than I was before. All attempts to 'figure it out' go awry somewhere.

Words like motivation, inspiration, excitement, proactive, drive - resound far away in a cloud of hazy white, which is putting me to sleep. I am half asleep. ALL the time. Is this condition medical, psychological, emotional or simple laziness? Hard to say actually. Could be a bit of all.

Sadly, life isn't fun when you're half asleep. There are opportunities lost, special moments missed and a lot of time wasted.

Sometimes I wish I could just snap my fingers (which is physically cannot do, so relying on magic) and wake up from this real-dream. Jump up and smell the coffee and go about my day like an excited, happy bunny.

Auto-mode off. Bunny mode on.

Wednesday, June 08, 2016

Pine cones

Almost every Delhi child from my generation would remember those pine cones we found scattered on mountain roads and meadows. Each one was unique and intriguing in its own way, resembling a tree. It often became a game to see who picked up the best ones (undamaged and near perfect in form) and how many.

Sadly, when it was time to go back to the burning plains, we were told strictly to leave behind most of our treasure. Whatever we did manage to sneak back home, we painted with poster paints and sparkle glitter. There they sat on the table or mantelpiece constantly reminding us of the beautiful hills they belonged to, the 'needly' trees they dropped from.

It is only in Kanatal that we found purple cones. Yes, purple. From a distance, they seemed so obviously purple. Almost like large black currant ice cream cones. When I returned to the lodge from my walk, I told dad about them. He wouldn't believe me! He had to see them to be convinced that I wasn't Alice in Wonderland. Those purple cones, we never painted them. Their uniqueness was their colour.

I can close my eyes right now and smell the mountains, the cones calling out to me to come pick them up again and give them a brief moment of stardom.

Saturday, May 28, 2016

Inner Peace

Maybe I'm a dreamer or a romantic or simply an incurable optimist. After being through the din and chaos of the world, there are times when there is silence. Inside. Time stops. Emotions cease to exist. And there is this fleeting moment of being alive in being still.

Two movies come to my mind. The first is 'The Karate Kid', more specifically that scene when Jackie Chan tells Jaden Smith, "Being still and doing nothing are two very different things."

The second is Kung Fu Panda 2, where the constantly bumbling Po lands up on the tough path of finding inner peace. In his case, he probably stumbles upon it, like a sudden realisation. Perhaps, I live in the same hope that it will dawn upon me someday, when I'm probably sitting on a park bench somewhere, or playing basketball or eating a dessert hungrily.

To be still. To be purely happy. To wish good for everybody. The search for anything other than this is insignificant, unworthy of the few days on Earth called life.

Monday, April 18, 2016

The Calling

What am I meant to do?
Such a long life and the decision couldn't be tougher,
When I stand at a threshold with multiple doors.

Am I to be an artist - paint all day long and sell my work for millions?
Am I to be an illustrator - doodle cartoons that make the world laugh?
Am I to be a writer - typing hundred words a minute, to win the Pulitzer prize?
Am I to decorate store windows and captivate the fancies of the shopping throng?
Am I to be a traveller - wander and experience the universe on a shoe-string budget?
Am I to be an educator - teach, play, nurture and influence the future?
Am I to be a dancer - pirouetting my way around the world?

One life. And there's so much one can be. Is there ever a time to decide? To give up one for the other? Would it reflect a lack of focus if I were not to abandon any? Something calls out, soft and musical, from the distance. I think it's the calling. What others identify so easily.

Perhaps it will come one day as I sit staring at the sea. Drop into my lap like a drop of rain. Crystal clear and shining. The calling. My calling.

Saturday, April 02, 2016

Give bliss a miss?

When the dust and smoke settles down,
You can't help but frown,
The illusion was like sparkling wine,
Exciting, tasty, warm and fine.

But when the true eyes open and see,
You look so small before the fantasy,
Maybe you were better off without the trouble,
Now lie crushed, restless under the rubble.

Is there a way to say 'NO' to yourself?
To firmly put it away on the top shelf,
Where it can bother you no more,
So you can focus on a better door?

For true freedom means freedom from this,
Fleeting, mindless, shallow bliss,
As I slowly learn to fly with light wings,
My smile dances and my heart sings.

Thursday, January 07, 2016

Twist and shout!

Life took a twist. But then, that's what life does.
Winding and snaking through unknown paths, braving uncertainty till it relinquishes at the finishing line. We have no choice. Nope, not at all.

We're probably as vulnerable as a new born baby, at any given point in life. It's like wearing a baseball glove and not knowing where the ball's going to come spinning from. You just have to catch it. If you do and stay happy, great, if you miss it and lament, the next throws are going to get tougher.

This is training for the super league.
I guess we have no option but to keep walking , hoping that we can take on whatever comes at us, no matter how formidable. And while we're at it, we might as well dance in our walk and twist and shout to celebrate life's twistiness!