tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-242375852024-03-08T00:51:10.821+05:30my journalrandom thoughts about life, livelihood and relationshipsVarshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.comBlogger89125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-71715246881347270482023-06-28T16:13:00.006+05:302023-06-28T16:13:40.431+05:30Embracing the Art of Mindful Consumption<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVHJC7GKHE4We9BfnMVIE-jMDuT9HhjlVzS1aPT_YosNT17dw-uksrB0j8YJCb7PEiJ7-OhZKEdIKTnE6xe84Al6ODTaLc4BWuz9y8b4yad4wWSK8bFptjYPyO7IgJNWPimBFYGQRaLs6kwESDfROiyfDjDalNXHVESGwsXNxwbV8h_JK0hPFz6Q/s1043/varsha-panicker-ethicus.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1043" data-original-width="617" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVHJC7GKHE4We9BfnMVIE-jMDuT9HhjlVzS1aPT_YosNT17dw-uksrB0j8YJCb7PEiJ7-OhZKEdIKTnE6xe84Al6ODTaLc4BWuz9y8b4yad4wWSK8bFptjYPyO7IgJNWPimBFYGQRaLs6kwESDfROiyfDjDalNXHVESGwsXNxwbV8h_JK0hPFz6Q/s320/varsha-panicker-ethicus.jpeg" width="189" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Embarking on a journey of conscious buying, I decided a few years
ago to forego buying clothes and embrace hand-me-downs from friends and family
instead. Many of you have asked me how I manage to resist temptations and why I
choose this path. Let me share the reasons behind my choice and the empowerment
I find in having made it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">A decade ago, my journey towards embracing handlooms and
sustainable living began, starting with my wardrobe. I made a conscious
decision to limit my collection to only ten dresses at a time, reserving them
for work or special occasions. New clothes were purchased annually to replace
worn-out or ill-fitting ones, while the rest were either donated or disposed
of. And that’s when I met Eve Ceccarily, a young French animation director with
a unique approach to fashion. She would wear discarded clothes from friends who
were moving, avoiding brands associated with sweatshops in developing
countries. She chose to wear those as the cost of ethically-made brands was
beyond her means then. Our encounters sparked a realization of the importance
of conscious fashion choices and the impact they have on our lives and the
world around us. And it dawned on me that if I were to talk about building sustainable
ecosystems and making conscious buying choices, I had to walk the talk. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">In 2017, I made a conscious decision to stop purchasing
dresses and instead turned to my sister-in-law for her unused kurtas and tops.
Fortunately, she comes from a family where sharing clothes and wearing
hand-me-downs from older siblings was a common practice, reminiscent of the 80s
and 90s. This cultural background made it easier for her to pass on her clothes
to me. However, I've observed that many of my friends and relatives feel
hesitant or embarrassed to give away their clothes, fearing it might offend the
recipients. It's a mindset that can be challenging to overcome. Although now I
have a few friends too who have generously shared whenever they upgrade their
wardrobes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">During this period, I underwent a significant shift in my
wardrobe choices, particularly towards wearing handloom sarees as my work
attire. This change coincided with my venture into the handloom saree business,
prompting me to invest in these exquisite pieces despite their higher cost
compared to machine-made alternatives. I became increasingly mindful of the
sourcing and sellers of these sarees, seeking out sustainable and ethical
options. This transition also led me to embrace the beauty of cottons and
khadi, gradually moving away from shiny silks with zari. Even my occasion wear
sarees transformed into elegant cottons and tussar silks. This evolution
necessitated a newfound prudence in my shopping habits. It also helped that I became
part of saree groups where women generously shared their sarees with one
another, which meant access to many more sarees. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">With my commitment to sustainable choices extending beyond
clothing, it became effortless to adopt a similar mindset for bags, shoes, and
accessories. I prioritize investing in ethical brands, using their products for
years without the urge to constantly switch or impress others. <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-21804366588212357542020-11-21T14:31:00.001+05:302020-11-21T14:31:42.152+05:30Laali Laaboni Sarees from Dastakar<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Our latest creation in Dastakar - Parijat on Maheshwari Silk Cotton Saree.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> </div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">please do visit https://www.dastakar.com for exclusive custom orders. <br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTJMCWvSBhjJ8oZJzzzlgVi2JgxKaHxp4IeV3PPLQHWNdHeuy2RLwKZGvFzOOy84ausbJrgswwlNOcArqwyqQ31UI-lumZz-KJeAcXW_B7Vpk52vjAEygH1fxn3jCymW_dGawx-A/s4000/IMG_20201120_191633.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTJMCWvSBhjJ8oZJzzzlgVi2JgxKaHxp4IeV3PPLQHWNdHeuy2RLwKZGvFzOOy84ausbJrgswwlNOcArqwyqQ31UI-lumZz-KJeAcXW_B7Vpk52vjAEygH1fxn3jCymW_dGawx-A/s320/IMG_20201120_191633.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHhf5Gt4FzAr72jqJh2xQN9r4-x5qz1mXbCCpkrc8QAX2QvHD7JUdVlrz-JxuJJYinEjgGS9Y7QEwwR6Gz9Ea9iQCRl1-ltnwCCUbyFP2JTWU0wZZV9SyYy2zLA6OnFhB44Za2nQ/s4000/IMG_20201120_153558%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHhf5Gt4FzAr72jqJh2xQN9r4-x5qz1mXbCCpkrc8QAX2QvHD7JUdVlrz-JxuJJYinEjgGS9Y7QEwwR6Gz9Ea9iQCRl1-ltnwCCUbyFP2JTWU0wZZV9SyYy2zLA6OnFhB44Za2nQ/s320/IMG_20201120_153558%257E2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6FUDwKtwsWjdjeXi762V3R9btmxJXNENYr4Vw-3xXUqkD6UPNtpZYj-iTUhyLrnHK3GouMPJABCLlHjmj4V3MgaREVxobekIsWyg2pr6XpESf46nGRaIYKl_mhtgkQQDBkjGN_A/s4000/IMG_20201120_191644.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6FUDwKtwsWjdjeXi762V3R9btmxJXNENYr4Vw-3xXUqkD6UPNtpZYj-iTUhyLrnHK3GouMPJABCLlHjmj4V3MgaREVxobekIsWyg2pr6XpESf46nGRaIYKl_mhtgkQQDBkjGN_A/s320/IMG_20201120_191644.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaomtzdwNkSHoIyfHBAhX9GRWnBOGCWMsnbh5KNwDg2pYdBoieapY4mEhY6xpq8NzEOMoGWARzxTqRgw567Dw74oXs1jmwLjCO49N9c0WkXhD9djlJEqc8WNAZ0_I2OP-PcN8ukw/s4000/IMG_20201120_191653.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaomtzdwNkSHoIyfHBAhX9GRWnBOGCWMsnbh5KNwDg2pYdBoieapY4mEhY6xpq8NzEOMoGWARzxTqRgw567Dw74oXs1jmwLjCO49N9c0WkXhD9djlJEqc8WNAZ0_I2OP-PcN8ukw/s320/IMG_20201120_191653.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4fUZJsPYrgyGvSLYPhGAU2wFXG4gm7n3n3C8Rf7dGsCS65iLAdYs31ewruaUysBv0UWkuorES1ZdLOACtCqdQLX5QSM2sPXf9TvTc6tl0ijl9eK-ENFl8WHbe85sZto-ubCeCWw/s3262/IMG_20201119_171808%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3262" data-original-width="2937" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4fUZJsPYrgyGvSLYPhGAU2wFXG4gm7n3n3C8Rf7dGsCS65iLAdYs31ewruaUysBv0UWkuorES1ZdLOACtCqdQLX5QSM2sPXf9TvTc6tl0ijl9eK-ENFl8WHbe85sZto-ubCeCWw/s320/IMG_20201119_171808%257E2.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSYKWyuVcBQ7H6ILWQcerr1rQZa7iLFTgxLYPOIOnrU2OEku4YJ4_mVlvKvFfZYp7gVWPy3DYRe-M-ExtV2b4wNI6aUG9zzMD9cI1SAt0avo4gFJwbQWFEymzFoCWteyL-4Ws7yw/s3000/IMG_20201119_172107%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2973" data-original-width="3000" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSYKWyuVcBQ7H6ILWQcerr1rQZa7iLFTgxLYPOIOnrU2OEku4YJ4_mVlvKvFfZYp7gVWPy3DYRe-M-ExtV2b4wNI6aUG9zzMD9cI1SAt0avo4gFJwbQWFEymzFoCWteyL-4Ws7yw/s320/IMG_20201119_172107%257E2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com0Mumbai, Maharashtra, India19.0759837 72.8776559-9.2342501361788472 37.721405899999993 47.386217536178847 108.0339059tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-30380998480528878882016-12-12T00:10:00.001+05:302016-12-12T00:10:15.897+05:30(h)airy head!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
when i created a list of my life's purpose and goals about a couple of years ago, it went on to fill a full excel sheet. and i remember a friend asking if i intended to fulfill all of those in this lifetime! he'd be surprised to know that since then, i have added a few more to that list. one of the new additions were donating organs. i have pledged all my organs with <a href="http://www.mohanfoundation.org/" target="_blank">mohan foundation</a>. while going through the organs i could donate, i found out about donating hair for cancer patients. and i did have enough hair to donate (minimum requirement being 15" length). and when i checked the ngos that accept hair donation, i came across <a href="http://www.protectyourmom.asia/" target="_blank">protect your mom</a> and their facebook page @HairForHopeIndia. decided about eight months ago that i would donate my hair. and then thought of going bald. there was this feeling that i needed to take that journey - experiencing the loss of hair. although i cannot experience the trauma and pain that one who suffers from the illness had to suffer. it was the least i could do. i have also thought of the increasing possibility that i could be afflicted with the same condition, given that my immediate family has had too many women who have suffered. and i still remember my aunt, who suffered from breast cancer initially and had to undergo a series of chemos. she had lost all her hair and used to wear a scarf. at her eldest son's wedding, a joyous occasion, she would shy away from the cameras because of her lack of hair. and i also remember another aunt who survived breast cancer, being more scared of losing her hair to chemo than of the disease itself!<br />
for the last eight months, most of my close relatives-friends have heard me talk about going bald. couldn't do it till now for all the weddings that happened in the family.<br />
<br />
this morning, finally, i kept my appointment for the head shave. and i will admit, that the few weeks i spent reaching that decision were scary. for almost as long as i can remember, i have been known for my long hair. although for two years, in my 11th and 12th class, when i fell ill and had to cut my hair short; nobody, including myself remembers it. it's always been - 'the madrasan with those two long plaits' in school, and then 'the madrasan with the long hair'. my hair became my identity. and like i said to a cousin, she was a constant companion and solace and a wall to hide behind from the world. so it was almost like letting go of that identity. in some sense it is also a metaphorical journey, of being comfortable with who i am within and not identifying myself just with the physical persona.<br />
<br />
since then there's been calls and messages pouring in. it's been overwhelming. i hadn't honestly imagined the kind of response one picture on social media by the husband has generated. while most of it has been encouraging, there have been a couple of extreme reactions too. and it goes more like - ok, we understand that you are donating. but do you have to go bald? you could have just cut it short. the irony here is that if i had said i had a votive at tirupati, there wouldn't have been another question beyond that. so essentially, it's ok to offer to god, but why give it to fellow human beings.<br />
<br />
although i have managed to maintain a polite silence, since this is my space to vent, i would also like to say - how does it matter to anyone besides me what i do with my hair? why is it that people get offended that i do not colour my hair or i have gone bald. why take it personally when it does not affect anyone else besides me? i would rather celebrate life in all it's glory, including growing old or being sick, than hide behind a little bit of dye or give in to the pain.<br />
<br />
and as i send my hair off to the ngo, i send it with the prayer that may it bring solace and strength to someone who has already got the challenge of fighting a painful illness. </div>
Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-20143201700065308512016-09-09T23:38:00.000+05:302016-09-09T23:43:09.792+05:30the business of beauty<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
it's been a long time since i have watched tv for more than an hour. at home i usually get to 'hear' it - the daily soaps that amma watches or the news and business channels that my husband prefers. last evening i got a chance to watch the tv - alone. flipping through the channels, i watched one episode of house, snippets of some american political drama, some food channels and finally ended up with the old hindi movie, caravan.<br />
<br />
throughout the three odd hours that i watched these programmes, i must have spent over an hour on watching ads. specifically ads that sold products that would apparently make one look younger, radiant, fair, beautiful. all those ads got me thinking. and i was appalled to realise that we spend so much of our time, energy, money and efforts in 'looking' and even 'smelling' beautiful! from a horde of soaps, shampoos, toothpaste, face creams, lotions, make up products to perfumes, deos, clothes, shoes, bags... the list is exhaustive.<br />
<br />
the economics of the beauty business is also just mind-boggling. i googled it a bit and research reports projects revenues at a whopping $265-300 billion in 2017. and this is just the known brands we are talking about. consider all the home remedies that mothers and grand mothers pass on. it's almost as if our entire lives are taken over by looking, feeling and smelling good.<br />
<br />
and that got me thinking - why are we so obsessed with 'looking' beautiful? why not with 'being' beautiful? if beauty is in the eyes of the beholder and in our hearts, then why this obsession with fair and lovely skin? if we spent the same amount of time and efforts to make ourselves beautiful inside, won't this world be a more beautiful place. our entire concept of beauty is so skewed towards just the external aspects that we completely forget that which actually makes a difference - kindness, gentleness, gratitude, love.<br />
<br />
all our notions of beauty also means that there's a huge population out there that doesn't fit in with the acceptable norms. and that also deals such a heavy blow on their confidence. imagine, we live in a society that shows a woman or, these days, even a man with darker skin as lacking in confidence to fulfill their dreams. it takes a tube of skin whitener and its application to give them that confidence. does that mean people who are not fair don't get to their goals? how weird is that?<br />
<br />
growing up, i remember my friends and their mothers advising on the
benefits of applying turmeric and and various other concoction for the face and hair
every day. instead why aren't we taught to practice kindness and gratitude every day?<br />
<br />
and if practice makes a person perfect, then it's time to look at practicing different set of ideas and principles of beauty. </div>
Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-9860830270301878732015-12-01T15:36:00.000+05:302015-12-01T15:36:40.278+05:30Movies that leave you hopeful and humming... 'Life, bring it on!' <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There's something infinitely fulfilling in watching a well made movie. Like a good book, it wraps you up within its story and makes you a part of the narrative. Sometimes it manages to tug at some long-forgotten memory or remind you of a part of life that otherwise might have lost its charm forever. Some other times it might lend a perspective to life that was probably beyond our immediate sight. Whatever be the case, it never fails to delight, thrill, entertain, enlighten or inspire.<br />
<br />
Just as two recently watched Malayalam movies have inspired me to write this. These are Anjali Menon's <strong>'Manjadikuru' </strong>(The lucky red seeds) released in 2012; and Alphonse Putharen's <strong>'Premam'</strong> (Love) released earlier this year.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMDbIAe2p2v6C8w7lU5ChyphenhyphengHlEYUZtLznR87YvV_WpeYQaMzhYElOUWTP4EdyeHjsiqparo3xNJqk6g2o_dmt-OlW6NAe2CuHA_8IA3q4EC1prZmIECbhkVNPAhwsfyPYJrMFLmg/s1600/manjadikuru-2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMDbIAe2p2v6C8w7lU5ChyphenhyphengHlEYUZtLznR87YvV_WpeYQaMzhYElOUWTP4EdyeHjsiqparo3xNJqk6g2o_dmt-OlW6NAe2CuHA_8IA3q4EC1prZmIECbhkVNPAhwsfyPYJrMFLmg/s200/manjadikuru-2012.jpg" width="141" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_A30PaOsoeiP_Gvr-cmt8lqhbsouy3hVf_KlhXW9r8yxBTJA6V9YQjIxozFeRpk0croJXxlrcRFPlVihn1Q3vjigZwemRgRTzl92bh69c11OckLykxJpw6Jw1kXP5YhS9egWZ0Q/s1600/Premam-Posters-Stills-Photos-Nivin-Pauly-Malayalam-Movie-2015-Onlookers-Media-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_A30PaOsoeiP_Gvr-cmt8lqhbsouy3hVf_KlhXW9r8yxBTJA6V9YQjIxozFeRpk0croJXxlrcRFPlVihn1Q3vjigZwemRgRTzl92bh69c11OckLykxJpw6Jw1kXP5YhS9egWZ0Q/s200/Premam-Posters-Stills-Photos-Nivin-Pauly-Malayalam-Movie-2015-Onlookers-Media-6.jpg" width="151" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Neither of them are a new release but both are movies, I believe, would be true to its form in any age, year or time. Both the movies have done well at the box office; 'Premam' being the biggest Malayalam grosser ever at over Rs. 63 crores. Oh and that also speaks a lot about the maturity and sensibilities of the average Malayalam cine-viewer.<br />
<br />
Both the movies are part of the new-wave cinema that's been revolutionising Malayalam cine industry. Neither of the movies have an extra-ordinary tale to tell. Yet, it's in the way the directors have sought to showcase their stories that make them such winners.<br />
<br />
<strong>'Manjadikuru'</strong> is a little over a fortnight long story of 10-year old Vicky living in Dubai, who visits his maternal home at the death of his grandfather in a remote village in Kerala. Set in the early eighties, the film is entirely told from Vicky's point of view. What is charming about the movie is the innocent portrayal of a childhood that we can all identify with. And never throughout the narrative does it lose that child's perspective of a world unfolding before its eyes, whether it is in the tragic state of the child servant 'Roja' and the endearing friendship among the kids, or in the depiction of the love-hate relationships between the adults - the four sisters and the two brothers of the family. Equally challenging for the senior actors like Rahman, Murali, Jagathi Sreekumar, Bindu, Urvashi, Praveena and the others would have been to be able to play just a character in what is essentially a story about a child's world. The movie leaves the viewer with a nostalgia for the innocence of a lost childhood and yet leaves one with a happy feeling about it - for at least having experienced it once.<br />
<br />
<strong>'Premam'</strong> is a light, bubbly, effervescent rom-com that follows George's experience with love through his life. From a pre-degree crush that goes unrequited, to a love in college that ends tragically, to finally a proposal that ends in marriage in his 30s. Like I said, nothing great about the story. But what makes this movie brilliant is the format and the little moments among George and his two best friends as well as all the other characters who grow up with George. This is Alphonse Putharen's second movie and he uses every format available to him as a story teller - the locations, characters, actors, music, and even text on the visuals. One remarkable technique he uses is to show seemingly obscure visuals with important conversations happening in the background that gives us the feeling of eavesdropping into George and his friends' plotting and planning his romantic conquests. Add to this some beautiful music that blends in and out of the dialogues and doesn't let the story stop for the 3-4 minutes that it plays, stellar performances with absolute sense of timing for every witty line and action and you have a winner in hand. In spite of each tragic end that George's romantic forays lead to, we still feel hopeful and optimistic and that is what the movie, I felt, was all about. That in the end it will all turn out well.<br />
<br />
These are movies that tell someone else's story but manages to draw us into them and makes it our story!</div>
Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-58438891413682785652015-03-26T20:52:00.000+05:302015-03-26T20:53:59.036+05:30Life beginning at forty!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
at the stroke of midnight tonight, as i step into my 40th year (damn! now i feel middle-aged and to clarify - no, i don't feel so regularly), i am making promises to myself and putting it out into the universe to equip me so that i am able to fulfill them.<br />
<br />
1. live and work towards <b>excellence </b>- i will no longer take the 'chalta hai' / 'chala lete hain' attitude. with myself or accept it from anyone else. i demand excellence or the best of what i can do from myself and expect the same from others as far as i am concerned. i deserve it.<br />
<br />
2. work hard towards realising these dreams in the next year:<br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>set up my business - dastakar.com. work on the business plan, get funds / investments, manage resources, start production and make it a profitable, viable, self-sustained venture.</li>
<li>go backbacking around europe: make it happen in 2016. ideally celebrate my 40th while on the tour. </li>
<li>a cross-country / cross continent bike ride: negotiate / beg / hitch-hike! the first two with my husband and failing that, the last option ;) </li>
</ul>
<div>
the first two are non-negotiable. the third could be arranged later or earlier, as it is not entirely in my control. after all i don't see myself learning to ride a bike this year.</div>
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3. live like it said in the book of mirdad - <span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">'So think as if your every thought were to be etched in fire upon the sky for all and everything to see. For so, in truth, it is.' </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"> </span></div>
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4. discipline in health and fitness - i will be at my healthiest / fittest ever in my life. considering that i have never been an athlete, this shouldn't be a problem if i work hard at it. don't give in to that jalebi or gulab jamun or the cheesy pizza or the extra mayonnaise burger. eat. walk. run. swim. hike. squat.</div>
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please, universe, help me make it happen.</div>
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Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-20074661329830159822014-04-17T00:11:00.000+05:302014-04-17T00:11:57.324+05:30stories from life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
if you look around and pay attention, there is always a story lurking behind every stranger we meet every day. some of these are just short stories with no clear beginning or end - just a slice of life. there may or may not be a lesson to be learnt. but some stories leave you with startlingly clear and striking life lessons.<br />
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<br /></div>
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in the past couple of weeks, i have heard three such amazing stories. told by friends and family. and these stories did not lose their impact even in the retelling. i hope to share them and the lessons i learnt from them.</div>
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---- ooo----</div>
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the first story was shared by a friend who also happens to be a life coach and facilitator. he spoke of an uncle who is a spiritual leader in his community and is someone who loves to mix nuggets of wisdom among meal-time conversations. now, my friend was at a time in his life when he was not clear of where he was headed. so one day this uncle chats him up on his career and life purpose. when my friend told him that he was not clear about what he wanted to do or that he couldn't see many exciting options, the uncle pointed at the window in the living room and asked, 'what do you see?'. my friend answered, 'i can see the tree and the flats opposite'. uncle asked him to go up to the window. he then asked, 'what do you see now?' my friend could now see the road below, the whole tree, all the flats around and some people down. uncle told him to go down the road and then asks, 'what do you see now?' the answer comes - all the flats on either side of the road, the play ground, the gate of the colony and the road beyond. he then asks my friend to go up to the gates and then to tell him what he could see. and my friend replies, 'i can see the main road, the vehicles and the town beyond.' 'and that', says the uncle, 'is what your vision is. the more you get out into the world, the more you can see, learn and expand your horizons'. </div>
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powerful, that one.</div>
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<br /></div>
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----ooo----</div>
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<br /></div>
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the second story was shared by my husband, p. recently on his way back home from a trip, he took the local train. mid-morning from dadar station, he managed to get into an empty coach. just before the train started, a man in the typical maharashtrian attire of white shirt, pajamas and topi sat down opposite him at the window. a short while into the journey, this man spits out the paan (betel leaves) he was chewing on. p acting like the good citizen tries to stop him from spitting. the man gets affronted and p says that for a moment there he had a choice - to carry on the skirmish which could blow into a full-fledged fight or to let go. he chose to let go. and to leave a disgruntled fellow passenger. about 10 minutes later, this guy starts dozing off. and in his drowsiness moves to keep his arm at the window. p shakes him up and moves him away from the window telling him sweetly, 'sir, you are wearing a white shirt. that would get stained red with the paan spit.' the emotions visible on the man's face varies from shame, gratefulness and a hint of someone caught doing something which he knew was wrong. he would never ever spit out a train window at least.</div>
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karma is indeed a bitch! and you just need to bide time.</div>
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----ooo---- </div>
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the third one was good fun to hear but it took me some time to wheedle out the lesson. this one was shared by a friend / mentor / relative / life coach / facilitator. he loves to read and buy books and must have at least 5000 books in his personal library. recently while out shopping at a mall, he dropped in at the crossword store. upon entering, he had to deposit the shopping bags he had with him. now, he is a person i have known to connect with people, irrespective of their social strata. i have learnt from him the habit of asking the courier delivery boys and the postman if they wanted a glass of cold water particularly during a hot day. and i have seen the look of surprised gratitude that offer brings about. </div>
<div>
coming back to the story, just to connect with the doorman at the book store, he offered the shopping bags in both his hands and with a deadpan face, said, 'these bags have bombs in them. please handle with care.' the doorman was a young well-built chap who took the bags with no evidence at all of having heard the dialogue, kept them in the shelf and gave the required token. for a moment there my friend wondered if this fellow was deaf or if he was just resigned to hearing such stupid jokes from visitors or just did not care. after browsing for nearly an hour, he headed to the counter with a book he had purchased. the queue at the counter was long enough for my friend to land up pretty close within the sight of the doorman. and once again he tried to catch the attention of this fellow with no luck. the guy just kept looking straight ahead of him and opening doors, collecting bags when visitors came in. after a while, he gave up trying to evoke any response or recollection from the doorman, paid for his book and came to collect his shopping bags. the doorman collected his token, retrieved the bags and returned them saying, 'these bags have bombs in them. please handle with care.' complete with the deadpan face. my stunned friend just stood there for a second and could not help himself but grab the fellow in for a hug.</div>
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assumptions and pre-conceived notions keep us from making connections.</div>
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----ooo----</div>
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Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-90962523251317293362013-03-31T03:17:00.000+05:302014-04-16T22:32:07.160+05:30the meena kumari syndrome<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
oh, blame it on the tragedy queens of bollywood! blame it on the movies of the 60s that i watched on television early on in my childhood. blame it all on them for the meena kumari syndrome that i seem to fall back on, albeit unconsciously now. (i think i borrowed that term from a movie again!).<br />
<br />
i remember, as long back as i could, that i felt being sad was romantic. and it had more to do with the images i had of a white saree clad, ever-so-sad asha parekh who was being wooed passionately by a romantic rajesh khanna. and then there was, again the white saree clad and quiet jaya bhaduri / bachchan from sholay. although i watched sholay quite late in life when i was in college but it just reinforced the idea of what is romantic in my mind. so when i was a kid i used to have this notion that being sad and quiet was 'romantic'. that was one image of 'romantic' in my mind and the other one was this image of a girl moving around the trees alone and singing. so believe it or not, i remember doing exactly that when i was in my 4th / 5th standard and we had gone to kerala. you see there were no trees in upper bazaar, ranchi where we used to live until then. but unfortunately (and fortunately now that i think of it), kerala in those days was not as densely populated. so, no hero came up which also means no one saw me skipping about the trees, holding and swaying on the coconut fronds and singing some stupid romantic song. not to mention the terrible singing that i did.<br />
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since i am now on a 'blame it on someone else' spree, i think the cultural psyche of our country is also to blame. we glorify pain and suffering and grief. we as a nation suck up to sad stories. honestly, otherwise why would there be a 'mother india' or a 'pakeezah' or 'mera naam joker' which become the classics of indian cinema? why is it that we don't seem to have too many super hit comedies, and i don't mean the mindless crap that rohit shetty or david dhawan churns out? and why isn't a movie like 'thoda sa roomani ho jaye' a mass movie? this i remember was my first stint with being-happy-is-our-natural-state concept.<br />
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so now when i get told that i tend to create the drama of being unhappy over the three things i don't have and overlook the ten things i have and be happy instead, i am blaming it all on the movies. and while i am at it, i think a broken dysfunctional family also contributes to lot of my fears that i have regarding relationships. in spite of the fact that we had a great childhood with stories and vacations that didn't mean just yearly trips to kerala my native place; in the background there still were all the long periods of silences at home when my parents were not talking to each other, when we wouldn't be talking to either one of our parents. and i mean long as in two three months at a time. so having seen all that first hand, now i tend to go the other extreme. i hold on to relationships that matter to me. even at the cost of self-respect at times. although then i do justify it by going the zen way (and here too it is selective) - who am i and what is my self-respect other than an image i have in my mind of what i think defines me and what i want the others to respect me as.<br />
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it wasn't until much later when i came to bombay that i started getting out of my meera kumari syndrome. and trust me it was difficult. it still is. and one of the ever inspiring happy person i have in my mind is a friend who taught me that being happy starts from loving oneself unconditionally. someone who is so happy being himself that he could be called a narcissist and he doesn't take offense on that. it took me some time to get used to the phenomena called pushkaraj shirke. but he has and keeps teaching me (although he doesn't know about this) to learn to love myself.<br />
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and i am working on it.</div>
Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-21493375152157964032012-12-12T01:11:00.000+05:302012-12-12T01:11:23.883+05:30'Jeerna' <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
jeerna - <strong style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: large;">[jīrṇa]</strong><br />
(sanskrit)<br />
meaning: worn out, decayed, dilapidated, corroded<br />
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the sanskrit word 'jeerna' is the most apt word to describe the decay and dilapidated state that our body falls to in old age. i haven't thought much about growing old. 'age' was a concept i always grew up associating with my grandmothers (both my grandfathers were not around when i was growing up).<br />
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although intellectually like everyone else, even i know that i will grow old sooner or later but the significance didn't strike me until recently when i visited an aunt who has been bed ridden and suffers from almost every problem that old age might bring with it. she doesn't recognise people, even close ones. her kidneys have almost stopped functioning. all her other organs are slowly giving up. her body has bloated with a distended stomach and water retention in the body. she has bed sores on her bums. she has to wear diapers and someone has to clean her up every day. her body has now started oozing pus and water from wounds where she might have unknowingly scratched and punctured the skin.<br />
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the fact that she has her daughters and really caring sons-in-law around her might make it easier for her. and yet, there is something pathetic about losing your self-dignity when one can't clean their own body. it started me thinking about 'age' and growing old. somehow it seems like a frightening prospect now - to be in such a decayed state, on the mercy of someone else. i think death would be much more welcome than this.<br />
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also, it would take a huge amount of compassion and patience on the part of those who form the support system. those who take care of the invalid. to be there day in and day out without getting frustrated and tired and angry about the whole thing. it is such a thankless job.<br />
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and what is the purpose of extending life when the body is in such a decayed condition? ok, it might teach some virtues to those taking care, but still... why not allow to just go? before you forget everything that you might treasure in the annals of your memories. and before the glowing, beautiful body you so adored starts oozing pus and blood.<br />
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but the funny thing is despite all this we human beings still are scared of death and dying.</div>
Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-24883222332591594972012-12-10T00:08:00.000+05:302012-12-10T00:08:28.516+05:30little pearls of whiz-dom!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
sometimes i get epiphanies. these are those moments of amazing clarity when 'what is' becomes crystal clear. when the situation or the realisation does not bring any emotional baggage along with it. it is just a moment of realising the facts, as is. it doesn't hurt, nor does it bring joy. it just is. a data. now the reason why such moments are worth mentioning is because it is experienced in the now. it is one of those moments when i am completely in the now.<br />
the only problem is to allow it enough time to let it seep into the consciousness and my being so that it becomes a reality for me. a constant reality instead of the consistent living in the past or in the future. with an old wound or an old joy or an imagined pain or or an imagined joy in the future.<br />
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ok, so one such epiphany came at a price. but then again it was my way of looking at it as 'paying a price'. anyways, it was a question which came to me and now i am sending out into the universe and to anyone who reads this: <br />
if it is the intent that is important, then, should hurting someone badly but unintentionally make me feel less guilty than when hurting someone less but with the intent of inflicting pain to make the other person aware of my pain make me more guilty?<br />
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the realisation or part of it was that there was a question of 'intent' at play here.<br />
the other part was that when i feel sorry for my action and i apologize for it, then i should absolve myself of the guilt and forgive myself first rather than wait and demand to be forgiven by the person i hurt. now this is something that i think lots of us do. at least i do with people close to me. unless i get the feeling that the other person has forgiven me i keep demanding to be let off the hook. whereas it is usually my own self that denies forgiveness.<br />
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Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-72588565420576245572012-06-12T02:00:00.000+05:302012-06-12T02:01:13.750+05:30anonymous charity is the most selfish kind of help<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">some time back, i read an interview of one of india's first pop singers, usha uthup. one of the questions she was asked was why she brought gifts for all the participants of a reality show, that she was a judge on, every time she met them. and she replied, 'i am a very selfish person. i like the feeling i get when i see the joy and happiness on the faces of these kids when they get my gifts. it makes me feel so good.' that was a very insightful response.</span><div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">and then, a few days ago during a drive to some meeting, p and i were discussing various things when the topic of helping others came up. and p said the same thing. the reason we help others is because it makes us feel good about ourselves. and that set me thinking again about usha uthup's reply.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">and i realised this was so true! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">helping people we know, love and care about or are friends with is easy. the reasons for helping people upon their request or with their knowledge could be varied ranging from emotions like love, or care, or just a more primitive basic barter of favours. but why would anyone want to help or do charity anonymously. this i think has to be for the most selfish of reasons - the need to feel good about oneself. and that i think is the best reason. of course, in some cases such philanthropy could also be born out of guilt but there again the reason is to atone for the crime that one feels guilty of. and that too is for one's own self. not for anybody else.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">and isn't feeling good about oneself the highest purpose of our lives? all self-help books are aimed at that one goal - to love ourselves. and what i have noticed about myself as well as others is that when i feel good about myself i am more ready to accept the mistakes or shortcomings of others. i am not threatened by some one else. i feel secure about myself. when i feel good about myself, i don't see the reason to be jealous or envious of anybody. and from this space of well-being, i create more happy relationships - with myself and with others.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">so the next time you notice a stranger in trouble or want to do some good turn to a stranger and then walk away without leaving your calling card, don't worry about gratitude. you would find yourself very thankful!</span></div>
</div>Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-26801973029649865692012-04-16T01:36:00.002+05:302012-04-16T11:43:45.731+05:30yippee!! my first video on youtube<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/iyt6CFLIRps?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">here's my first video on the bike ride we took this new year... this is part 1 and would be posting part 2 and 3 pretty soon.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">the ride was one helluva experience. around 1700 odd kms from Mumbai to Hampi and back from Hampi via Hubli and Vengurla. It took us eight days and around INR 13000/- including petrol, stay and food. some great places, good people, and an awesome ride.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">and here's link to the second video</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/Dd61X-APRfI?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">thanks for watching :)</span><br />
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</div>Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-47044629085685061872012-01-27T21:00:00.000+05:302012-06-12T02:01:33.960+05:30har ek friend zaroori hota hai - part 4<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">here's the last part of the series...<br />
<br />
the four years at BHU gave me some awesome friends and also brought me in touch with people who inspired and taught me a great deal. they may not have been friends but knowing them enriched my life, so in that sense they also turned out to be friends.<br />
<br />
from prof. balbir singh katt, our dean (<a href="http://www.financialexpress.com/news/artists-will-survive-despite-all-odds/38527/0" target="_blank">he's been missing since 2001</a>), i learnt that charm and passion can very well be packaged with grit and strength. he could charm anyone except probably the then VC of the university. he once charmed me to almost contest for the students representative seat. luckily for me just days after filing my nomination, the VC dissolved the Students Union and declared sine die. prof. katt was passionate about his work and was fiercely protective about his students.<br />
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it was from dr. anjan chakraverty that my love for traditional indian weaving, embroidery and fabric and miniature painting began. he taught us art history and the way he would explain lucknowi embroidery motifs and the pahari style of painting was unsurpassed.<br />
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once college was over, just as my mother had said, life became another journey. through the course of 12 long years of advertising and designing, and through my parents' separation, and through a divorce and remarriage, and through living in three cities, life has brought me many more friends who have been invaluable.<br />
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but apart from my husband, my mentor, sekhar and close friends suresh and harish, two people who have been the best of friends and from whom i learnt the most invaluable lessons of life were my father, ravi and my mother, sathi.<br />
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like any girl, my father was my first hero and teacher. he was a story teller, an artist, a historian, a guide and a friend. he was also a revolutionary. but those were stories i had heard him tell that happened before he got married. i could ask him all sorts of questions beginning from 'who am i?' to 'what are sanitary napkins?' and he would not brush them aside. i have heard of people finding their purpose in life after conversing with him. i have heard of people changing for the better after coming in contact with him. i have heard people tell stories of how he had affected them and touched them. he taught me to respect people for what they do and for who they are as human beings. he taught me to appreciate and enjoy music - all kinds. he was not the regular person who bemoaned the quality of music not belonging to their era. i remember when my brother first brought the cassette of roja, he was thrilled listening to rehman's music. i inherited his painting skills but unfortunately not his singing or whistling skills :( i got my love for books and stories from him. and i also inherited his passion for story telling. i know this might sound like hero-worship, but i also know that people who have known him would agree with me.<br />
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although unwittingly, i learnt more about myself after he left us. i learnt that as children, i can't choose between who is 'in the right' among my parents. i learnt that i can't judge him for the choices he made. i also learnt that my parents could have their differences but they loved us unconditionally. i learnt that i can't choose between my father or my mother. and i also learnt, a little too late, that i should have told him that i loved him, the last time i met him. i hope to tell him that one day...<br />
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i started appreciating my mother only after i finished school... probably that was when i had some sense. we became friends when i left for college. until then she was our mother, that was by default, but for me, she fell way short of what my father stood for me. she was a woman who had barely finished her 8th standard. she could hardly speak proper hindi despite the fact that she had been living in ranchi since her marriage. she could not converse in english. she could not tell stories the way papa did. and to top it all, she thought i was always up in the clouds with my books. well, you get the picture...<br />
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but what i realised later was that she took pains to learn english and hindi so that she could help us do our homework. she even taught math and science to my brother till his 7th std. she was the person who made sure that despite papa's meager salary, we had everything we wanted. she made sure that i and even papa got to buy every book we wanted to read - and this included those costly hard bound artist books from renaissance to cubism to surrealism. i never remember her having more than 13 saris during the entire 23 years that we lived in ranchi. but she made sure that i had a new frock for each birthday. she saved and stuck to her strict budget to make sure that she and papa could build the house we have in kerala. she still does that - the strict budgets :) although she now has more saris than ever. i learnt facing challenges squarely from her. i learnt that when it really matters, i should just not bother about what anyone says or does but do what i wanted to do. i learnt from her that life was not fair and there was nothing 'wrong' about it. and not to sit and moan about that but to find out what i could achieve and go for it. now i can thank god that she had no academical prowess or she would not have been the open-minded and learned woman that she is. i have found her to be more 'contemporary' in thoughts and ideas than many educated women of her age or even my age. and here she also agrees that she learnt much from her husband.<br />
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i still remember the day i left for college. she told me that i had four years with me to enjoy and do whatever i wanted to. she told me to live them to the fullest so that later when i have responsibilities and the stress of life and work takes over, i could relive those memories. over the years she has become more of a friend than a mother.<br />
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coming to bombay (yeah, i like it better this way) was a big decision. but back then it didn't feel so... i just wanted to get out of kerala, career-wise as well as for personal reasons. after papa left and after the divorce i was responsible for myself and my mother. i had to think of new opportunities to explore my career. and i had to get out of the bitterness and cynicism creeping in. the universe has been benevolent. within a fortnight of landing in bombay ( i so wanted to arrive at the VT station and come out and stand there just like they show in bollywood flicks. instead i arrived at lokmanya tilak terminus, a god-forsaken place!) i found a job and met my mentor, sekhar chandrasekhar.<br />
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he solely was responsible for completely taking out all the cynicism and bitterness that had started filling in me and for filling me with the light of love and gratitude. he opened up doors to worlds that i was unaware of. i was suddenly like alice in wonderland - filled with books, knowledge, healing, self-discovery, love, friends and more people who were on similar journeys. i think i learnt so much in those four years with him that many people take a lifetime. and i actually started loving humanity and human beings. i could finally forgive many against whom i was holding grudges. i could finally begin to forgive myself for being so self critical (this is an on-going process). it was from sekhar that i learnt to accept people as they are, and that includes those parts too that i may not like about them. from him i learnt to love people. i have seen him being kind and loving towards complete strangers who would knock at the office door - from the delivery boys to the maid servant. and i have realised that they never forgot him for that. it would be simple acts that would make them remember him, like asking if they wanted water to drink on hot summer days. some of the more tired and sweating ones were even invited to sit down and drink the water while he would switch on the fan for them.<br />
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he and his family opened up their home to me. from his wife, sujata, i learnt more of cooking than i did from my own mother. i learnt how to be efficient in the kitchen and now i can also cook a complete four dish meal within an hour. from them i learnt to explore and experiment with my palette - i started trying lebanese to italian to authentic chinese. and i learnt to just roam around the city to explore and discover. i think i can safely say that i have roamed around the streets of bombay more than many of my born-in-bombay friends.<br />
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through sekhar i met some amazing people. and i also met two very dear friends - suresh and harish. and i met prasad - my friend, my love and husband :)<br />
<br />
suresh and i shared a common journey - the journey of spirituality and self realisation. he would invite me for discourses by ramesh balsekar and for sharing notes on our individual journeys. in him, i met someone who like prasad says, i could trust my life with. a simple and honest man who wouldn't speak much in public unless he is comfortable with the people around but would listen to everyone and smile. and once again he and his family opened their home to me. i remember my friends at hostel used to wonder how i got invited to so many homes for lunch on sundays. he along with harish helped me, even financially, during my wedding with prasad. from him i learnt that if i wanted to be a true friend to anyone, i should become someone they could completely depend on.<br />
<br />
harish and i shared a love for music, specifically old hindi movie songs. that brought us together more than the fact that we shared a common friend. he is more worldly-wise and would give me some real-world advise that has helped me several times while living alone in bombay. although we don't talk as often as i do with the others, i know he is around whenever i call. he was also my partner when the four of us went for the facilitator training program.<br />
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after i got married to prasad, i have met many relatives who have become friends. one of them is binod, prasad's cousin. he helped me articulate a very important lesson of family life that i was struggling with - i don't necessarily need to interact with people just because they are relatives. i can choose to interact with relatives i connect with on a human level. he is one person who doesn't stop from asking questions. tough questions. sometimes they have been questions i have been ignoring or trying to escape. and it also helps that prasad and i share his passion for journeys and not travel - most of which are to experience people and places and not just to visit. and we also share a complete lack of want for luxury while on a journey - no phones. good! no electricity. great! sleep under the stars. awesome!!<br />
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someone else i have learnt from and have made friends with is prasad's aunt, jalaja. of all our aunts, she is one person with whom i have connected at a human level. a lady who has managed her family relationships with dexterity. and she does it with genuine care and concern. someone who held my hand through the labour pains of a termination. someone who has asked me often if i was doing well just as my mother would. <br />
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and like life, marriage teaches new lessons every day about myself and about us together. so it has been a journey with prasad. a journey we started as friends and went on to discover romance and then matrimony. here's to a lifetime of learning together...</div>Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-29273564481843174712012-01-25T19:17:00.000+05:302012-01-25T19:17:44.594+05:30har ek friend zaroori hota hai - part3<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">this has now started taking a form very similar to the 7 volume HP books. but i won't be going into 7 parts - just 4 would be enough. and this is the second last of the series. needed to acknowledge and appreciate all the friends who came into my life through college and later. these were some of the more life-changing, lasting and intense friendships.<br />
<br />
after my 12th, i spent an year at home - recuperating from my illness and spending my time preparing for bits, mesra for environmental engineering. i was also giving math and science tuition. that was when i started earning. it was a great feeling. it was around this time that we found out about the BFA course at banaras hindu university and i applied for it and got through.<br />
<br />
my initial days at the university were spent with a gang of B.Com girls, one of whom happened to be papa's ex-student. they were about 7-8 girls who were put up in the women's hostel and went for classes at the co-ed faculty rather than the all women's college. and they were a riot! it was fun staying with them and it was from them that i learnt the basics of living in hostel. from rashmi, jaya, nitu, lali, archana, anju and sudha i learnt looking out for friends in a way only living in hostels can teach you. where you are living without your parents to protect you or to look after you so your friends look out for you. and they also taught me to keep straight record of expenses, even among friends - especially among friends. this is one thing that could cause lot of unpleasantness if there is lack of clarity - who spent what and how much. a month later i got hostel allotment and shifted. i would often meet up with them and enjoyed spending time with them. and thanks to facebook have managed to get in touch with some of them.<br />
<br />
the hostel where i was allotted room was a small bungalow which was forcefully occupied by a bunch of girls a few years before we came. since then it had been regularised as a hostel for faculty girls. that year they had built the first floor and 12 girls from my faculty were put in a huge room that was more like a dorm. but at least it was spacious. and it was here that i experienced culture shock for the first time. there were girls who had come from the quintessential UP and bihar families with different social norms that i with my cosmopolitan upbringing found intriguing. very soon it became evident that it was not going to be a happy bunch of dirty dozen as i had imagined after my experience with the Bcom girls. we had all bunched together in twos and threes and made our beds close to those we could get along with. this was the first time that i experienced friendships made based on caste and region. i learnt that bhumihars were at loggerheads with rajputs although both, i felt, had the same misplaced notions of valour and pride. at least both of them unanimously disliked the OBCs or those who belonged to the SC/ST. until college i could never tell anyone's caste by their name. now i had started identifying the obvious ones thanks to my education. funnily enough, i was above such discrimination - they didn't know mallus had caste systems too. besides, i myself didn't know which caste i belonged to so that was that.<br />
<br />
within a few weeks of being in the hostel, i had made friends. manisha johri, sunita singh and aditi ray were my first friends. manisha, sunita and i had a corner of the dorm. we decorated our cupboards with all sorts of disney cartoons and joined our beds together. we started cooking - manisha did the cooking, we did the chopping and cleaning up; whenever we got tired of the mess food. from manisha i learnt doing things independently. early on she wouldn't wait upon anyone to get her things done. we all would wait until there was a group of us to go submit the fee or to go to the bank. she was not dependent on anyone. once she had proven that, she 'chose' to wait for us. she also taught me the joy of cooking. and it was thanks to her that i started eating vegetables apart from potatoes. she was driven to do anything to the best of her abilities. she even took the same care about her appearance - getting her dresses stitched or applying henna every sunday on her hair. she used to paint beautiful miniatures and birds on silk. i still have one of her birds. and she was the best example of the saying my father had - you need to be a master of drawing something in original to be able to deconstruct it. she painted detailed lotus flowers for two long years before she started painting them in the abstract.<br />
<br />
sunita singh was someone from whom i learnt a lot about human nature. her ideas still continue to influence my understanding of human beings, especially the complex relationship between man and woman. she was the first person in college with whom i discussed relationships, love and affairs. she was a girl who was not a looker but could charm any guy with her sensuality and style. and she also knew how to spin stories.. boy did she spin some really good ones! she was also someone from whom i learnt about creating your own personal style. she introduced me to brands, even before 'kuch kuch hota hai' and srk came wearing d&g. she lived life on her terms and that did not necessarily conform to moral standards of the society. i remember that the most fun times we had were with her around. once the three of us had gone off to allahabad on a weekend. we stayed at manisha's aunt's place. we had told our parents but did not bother telling our other hostel roomies. it eventually got out and was spoken about in hush tones... i now think we should have had more fun than just drinking fruit beer on that trip. it was after beginning to understand and accept her complex nature that i started understanding the lesson i had not learnt at school - that i could be friends with anyone but that does not define who i am. and whoever said that a man is known by the company he keeps evidently never had too many of them. of course this also means that you should not get affected when your name is tagged along with all sorts of people.<br />
<br />
it was in our second year that the group of 'outlaws' was formed. the group which had girls like me, sunita, manisha and aditi who were definitely not considered the epitome of woman virtuosity. and some guys who were not affected by our lack of that virtuosity. we were ready to experiment, learn and have fun. it was in the second year that i met with yugandhar dadi or D for short. he became by 'father' also because i jokingly started calling him daddy for his surname. years later, after my marriage, my husband told me that on our wedding day, D asked him to take care of me, just as a father would.<br />
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another friendship which has now grown over the years and matured with time is with chetna. i became aware of her existence only in the second year when we chose visual arts for specialization. she was a day scholar which meant she and her family had to feed us off and on :) and it was fun visiting her house. they had a bungalow about 20 minutes cycling from the university campus. her uncle, chachu, was working at the university. she and her mom lived with her chachu, chachi and their kids. chachu was also someone who was interested in the arts, philosophy and languages. from chetna i learnt to accept people as they are and for being who they are. And years later, when she was in bombay, and i was desperate to get out of kerala, she helped me with a place to stay and even financially when i was barely able to pay my hostel rent and wire money to my mother back home. and over the years she has always been there and i know i could just pick up the phone or chat with her and connect even if it was months since we spoke last.<br />
<br />
i had the best 'carefree' years of my life in college with these people and others - rajanish, devashish, manoj, sanjeev, meenakshi, probir, reena and so many others... and some juniors like sugandha, rashmi... and some seniors like prakash, avanish, rohit...<br />
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***********************************<br />
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</div>Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-50578536948764551172011-12-16T02:39:00.000+05:302011-12-16T09:10:23.910+05:30ranting at 2 am<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">ok, i'm not in the best of moods. in fact, i'm going through several bouts of depression. there are days like this. and it is one of those. when i feel the entire weight of despair and sadness that the whole of universe has upon myself. when i look around desperately in need of someone to tell me to keep off that weight from my own shoulders and i find no one around. and i have realised a few things about sadness:<br />
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1. nobody, and i mean NOBODY wants to be part of my sadness if i keep insisting on bearing it for more than a conversation long.<br />
<br />
2. i am no longer fun to be with when i am sad. which of course is a logical conclusion. but that includes even people who say they love me. including friends and family. period.<br />
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3. sadness and despair feeds on itself. there is no full stop to it. i mean i can't stop feeling sad if i can think of a happy thought. it is like an avalanche that gathers speed and weight and momentum until it has destroyed a few things on its way down.<br />
<br />
4. i can feel the collective despair and grief of the entire universe. i mean, i can feel the pain that a mentally challenged child must have felt when she drowned in a swimming pool. and i can feel the utter despair and worthlessness of the mother whose child was drowned. i have known evenings when i have cried for no reason or rhyme. just a bout of great despair that i suddenly feel overwhelmed with.<br />
<br />
5. two people i love and respect have told me on several occasions when i am in despair that i should just cry, feel it completely and then let it go. and not to repeat that grief all over again. but i have never understood how to. there seems to be something left from the last time. or it would be something totally new or even insignificant as far as anyone else may be concerned.<br />
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6. when i am going through such bouts of sadness, i should just keep it to myself. now this, i am realising is very, VERY important. being part of my pain means taking over some part of it. and that is not such a welcome thought. not with someone like me who keeps having these bouts occasionally. also, i lose all sense of perspective. which in turn may cause unpleasant conversations which may be forgotten sooner or later but does tend to leave traces in the relationship. which may not be such a great thing. for the relationship. (p.s. remember all those dohas from surdas to kabir to raheem on keeping your grief to yourself and sharing only your joy. well they had a point!)<br />
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so now that i have had all these gems of realisations, how do i get over it? a million-dollar question. if i knew the answer to this one, i would not be writing this post but the next best-selling self-help book on finding happiness within.<br />
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but one of the few thoughts that keep popping up, apart from the more easier ones of just running away from it all, is to be a part of someone else's pain. and here what i mean is, when i look at my life objectively, there is nothing wrong with it. i mean, i have my work, which is something i really like doing, i can indulge in hobbies like reading, painting on saris or on canvas and paper, and even the freedom to write this blog. i have an awesome guy for a friend and a husband, some great friends. well, overall nothing much to complain about. so, to be a part of someone's pain which is larger than mine. someone who has gone through a terrible loss, or is going through a terrible life. get the drift? that would make me forget my grief and give me the slightly sadistic but valid perspective that i do have a blessed life.<br />
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the other thought is to revive my spiritual practices. somehow post marriage, my practices have become erratic. something that i take refuge in when i am really down only. not something that i have used to make myself more rooted and balanced through the good and bad times. and this blog is one of those practices. my journal which i have always found a great way to find my self. the learning of anicca - nothing is permanent. not this avalanche of despair. not the turning away of people who love me but who feel frustrated with my sadnesses. not even the people in my life. not joy. not the good times. not even the bad times. nothing is permanent.<br />
<br />
anicca... anicca... anicca.<br />
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p.s: a deeper insight - i am alone and lonely in my pain. which is true even if someone can feel my pain. it's not the same when i share happiness. joy makes me feel as if the whole world is celebrating with me. but grief cuts me off from everyone.</div>Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-70047442485116496532011-11-18T01:34:00.000+05:302011-11-18T01:34:19.966+05:30taking credit where it is due. take or not to take...?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">ok, here's another BIG question - do i stand up and take credit where it is due or do i just shy away and say - no, that's ok. i don't want people to know what i did?</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">well, i just did something today which many thought was a help. i didn't think of it then as a great service or help. all i thought was about papa, and what if he was in such a situation... would there be someone to help him. and that thought made me do what i did.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">later an elderly gentleman who went on saying that i did a great service, called up at home. he wanted to tell my in-laws what i did and how he wanted to thank me and all that stuff... i just made a lame excuse that it wasn't much and besides ahcha may not even be able to hear on the phone. also that i hadn't told him and it might surprise him... so he just thanked me once again and kept the phone.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">later when i told my husband who called and why, he asked me why i didn't give the phone to achcha. and he commented that more and more he was learning that we (read myself and him) always shied away from taking credit when it is due. and that we tend to hide behind a garb of modesty whereas the world today looks up to people who take their credit.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">so that's what has brought me to this question. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">of course, i was pleased when that gentleman calls up and says that i did a great service. and i won't deny that i wouldn't be pleased if my in-laws did hear from someone what a great help i was... but would i feel comfortable in making sure that my in-laws did find out? would i feel comfortable in giving that phone to achcha especially when i have answered it and know that the caller wants to praise me?</span></div>Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-53982012028828814782011-08-22T01:26:00.000+05:302011-08-22T01:37:54.725+05:30Par har ek friend zaroori hota hai! - part 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">listening to the airtel jingle again tonight has propelled me to start writing the second part :)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">moving to kerala was the beginning of a life of living out of suitcases and constant change. and of living with people i might not connect with on a mental or emotional plain but with whom i got along pretty well. and going to school to get admission on my own was the beginning of a journey of doing things on my own. of taking charge of my own life and of making my own decisions. my parents had to go back after entrusting me to my relatives with whom i was to live for the next two years. it was here that i made my next friend - an unusual friendship with a 65 year old woman. she was my father's cousin and a retired teacher. a woman who had single-handedly brought up two sons on her own after walking out of her marriage. she was known to be strict and my parents were requested by my uncles and aunts to not leave me with her for fear that i might be ill-treated. it was with slight misgivings that i stepped into her house. but that was my first lesson in life (which of course i had to repeatedly learn) that popular belief or opinion may not always be the correct one. or at least what might be true for someone else may not necessarily be the absolute truth for me. i shared a unique bond with this woman whom i called moothamma (elder mother). from her i learnt that people are not necessarily who they show they are. she had created an image of being a strict no-nonsense woman but she was as much fun as a young 16 year old was. we would go out to exhibitions, for shopping, and even for movies. soon i was known as her little girl. and when six months later i fell ill, she looked after me with more care and affection than my own mother might have.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">that was to come later. a week after class began, one morning, i walked into kv, calicut, alone. i was there to get admissions to class XI and had no clue about the procedure. so i asked the first person i came across when i walked into the foyer and he turned out to be the vice principal. following him into the vice principal's cabin, we walked into the biology teacher, mrs. lavanya. she was also the class teacher for XI C. when she found out that i had come alone and was choosing bio-phy-chem-maths, she immediately requested for me to be put in her class. ten minutes later i was a student of kv calicut and walked into her class. i remember that i was asked to introduce myself and when i said i was from ranchi, bihar (it was not jharkhand then) a girl sitting just ahead of me commented that biharis had their heads stuffed with straw. although i was a malayali brought up in ranchi, that comment offended me and i sure am glad that i made her regret her comment :) two months later i beat her at extempore competition. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">it was here that i made my first life-long friendships. friends who i am still in touch with. we were a gang of girls who had come from across india, who spoke hindi. there was suman viswanathan, sheena shergill, aparna n and myself. we got along famously and also started going to tuitions at the same places. i also made another friend, deepa with whom i shared initials. many students asked us if we were sisters and i found that quite amusing - we couldn't have been more different in looks. i connected well with her, much to the disapproval of many others. the others warned me to stay away from her citing that the friendship would affect my reputation negatively. that was the first time i came across peer pressure on who was the 'right' or 'wrong' person to associate with. and to this day i regret having given in to that pressure. it was after another lesson in college that i learnt that i could decide who to be friends with and that my friendships had nothing to do with who i was as a person. that someone else was not the measure of my character.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">from suman, sheena and aparna i learnt commitment in friendship. when i fell ill and was out of school for a month, they each took my notes and completed them along with their own. a month later when i walked in to school, i had fully updated notes. and it was from them i learnt going out-of-the-way to help friends. it was just six months that i was with them, but we managed to keep in touch on and off through the years. aparna was always in touch with me and even with my mother when i was not around. and with facebook, i have connected again with the others. in fact, some of the friends that i have now from school were those who remembered me over the years and got in touch again after almost 14-15 years. like laxmi seshaiyar, whom i remember dancing garba with for the school annual day. i remember her as someone who always had a joke ready or a witty comment. she was in commerce and we had to go to their class for our maths lessons. a girl with two long pleats and in salwar kurta. and today, when she calls me from london, a woman with bobbed hair cut and in shirts and jeans, i find i am rediscovering her as a person. from her i am learning fortitude and the guts to say 'i dare' to the world. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">six months later i had to return to ranchi with my parents when i fell ill and it became apparent that i was to stay ill for some time to come. </span><br />
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</span></div>Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-5785679933223751702011-08-19T01:42:00.000+05:302011-08-22T01:37:54.726+05:30Par har ek friend zaroori hota hai! - part 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">ok, i've got thousand and one reasons to why i am sacrificing on my sleep these days or rather nights. but this post seemed like one of the better reasons to sacrifice my precious sleep. this is my personal tribute to all my friends from whom i have learned important lessons in my life. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">the new airtel tv campaign puts it so aptly - koi ghadi ghadi kaam aaye par kabhi kabhi call kare... aur ek kabhi kabhi kaam aaye aur ghadi ghadi call kare...par har ek friend zaroori hota hai. yes, every friend i have made in life has been important. some i am still in touch with, some i have lost touch with, some i keep in touch far too many times with and some i keep in touch far too less times with. but they have all helped me in some ways or the other to become who i am today.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">my earliest memories of a friend is a boy called amit sharma. in kindergarten at st. francis school, ranchi. he was mrs. sharma, a teacher's son. i remember playing with him. we used to sit on the same bench. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">but looking back, i realise that although i made a lot of friends, very close friendships were not too easily made. the next i remember having made friends with was in the 4th standard with navneet kaushik. he was from my colony and so we went to the same school on the same bus. he was instrumental in bringing out what little competitive spirit i have in me. i had a big ego, you see. and he was also the first person who made me realise that there is a world out there which is far wider than all the stories and the knowledge my father had. sylvester stallone in rambo and michael jackson was beyond my father's realm, although i still believe that he is a man who can talk about almost anything under the sun :) and when we reached around 7th and 8th std he was also the first boy i had a crush on because i thought he knew a bit more than my father! </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">in the 6th std, i made friends with a new girl in class - chhandoshree thakur. she fueled my passion for reading and the thirst to read as many books as i could lay my hands on. we used to share notes on how many of the pocket classics we each had read. she and her family introduced me to another lifestyle where birthday parties and picnics were a social exercise. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">it was around that time that i began to comprehend that my father's position also meant a lot to many people. until then i never thought there were social strata as i always saw my father moving in different social circles with ease. he was respected for his knowledge and for his skills as an artist as well as a teacher. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">by this time i had different kind of relationships with each of my friends. with chhandoshree it was that of an equal and also a competitor. with visalakshi, it was that of respect for her grasp on mathematics which i found difficult. with chanda and ahalya, i found myself taking on a superior role, since i could teach them what was taught at school. but at holi and diwali i was always humbled by the love and affection with which their mothers and sisters fed me with poori and sabzi and halwa.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">it was in the 11th class, that i found myself in a new world and a new place. with new people to make friends with. until 10th, i was in a school i had grown up in. with teachers who doted on me. where i gave speeches, and compered annual day programs, conducted assembly and won almost every prize. and now, here i was, in kerala, in a different environment with people who had no idea who i was nor i had an idea of who they were. that was my first lesson on change. and adapting to new situations and new places. and making new friends. something i later became adept at in life.</span></div>Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-43405752233186682442011-02-28T13:21:00.000+05:302011-08-22T01:38:13.669+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">a very close family friend of my parents, mr. samuel thomas, a devout pentecostal who later went on to quit his job and become a priest, was the first person from whom i learned what abundance means, long before i understood the meaning of the word. i remember my father telling us that he was a person who would give rs. 250 to someone in need even if he had only 200 in his pocket. the rest 50 would be borrowed from someone else! and when papa would ask him how he was going to buy the books for his kid for which the money was actually intended, he would just smile and say that the lord will provide. and amazingly, the lord would provide.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">life and the race to get ahead (of what is a question coming to mind repeatedly now) and in the struggle to buy a house, a car, a lifestyle; that lesson of abundance was somewhat forgotten. until recently, it was an emotional and mental struggle to give someone the money we had planned to pay our next month's credit card bills with. and p would say, it's just money, it will come back. but in the last 2 years, when we have been struggling to manage our own business, and with no other regular income to rely on, the lesson of abundance is becoming more clear. it sure is a simple logic - what goes around, comes around. be it love, kindness, gratitude, and even money. you may not get it from the same person you gave it to but it would find its way back to you. and the giving should be done without expecting that you will get it back one day soon. write it off and it's more pleasurable when you get something back from the universe unexpectedly. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">the only thing we have done is to work hard to earn it. we still have debts but when someone desperately in need asks for a loan, we manage to do our bit. and the lord does provide :)</span></div></div>Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-22014050514332011692011-02-10T23:36:00.000+05:302011-02-10T23:40:29.946+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">whew! life's a series of projects and all of them seem to be coming with tight deadlines.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">recently, i heard this line - 'if you want to get a job done, give it to a busy man / woman'. well, that's what i am right now - a helluva busy woman. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">being busy has it's own advantages. especially for me. it means i get to think less of things that muddle me up. of course, it also means i get to think less of some things more important too. like, where do i want to be by the end of this year or where do i want to travel next. and we also don't seem to be getting time to travel, to go trekking, or to go on the bike trip we've been considering for the last two years. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">apart from the mounting sleep backlog (if i don't get to sleep a complete 7-8 hours every night, my sleep keeps accumulating. and the interest is compounded!), working like this has been fun. exciting projects, getting to see the results of my designs on print or online, watching some very elegant women draping saris that i have painted... oh yeah, it sure is great. like a friend keeps saying - it's AWESOME!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">and in the midst of this all, we also made a trip to kerala for my cousin's wedding. that was one time we got to catch up a bit on our sleep. but then, because we had taken our work with us, the schedule was the same except on the wedding day, when after returning from the wedding and before the reception we just conked off on the bed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">but the highlight of the trip was two nights spent sleeping on the terrace under a star-lit sky. it's been years since i've slept under an open sky - a sky with numerous visible stars. here in mumbai that's an impossibility. with all the pollution and the lights, one can hardly see a star or two. but in calicut and kattampakku, we braved the dew and slept under a starry starry sky. reminded me of the summer nights spent sleeping on the terrace in ranchi, listening to papa's stories. although it's another story that we barely did more than ten minutes of star gazing - the mosquitoes and our sleep deprivation got the better of us!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">and one another fun night spent singing n eating BBQ fish. a night when after a few too many drinks i heard my husband belting out ghazals and all-time fav oldies. never before have i heard him sing melodiously :) and anyone who's heard him sing the song 'nikki bakshi sweet n sexy'would agree. a night spent with friends and relatives who love old and new melodies. and more than that, people who appreciate the lyrics of a song. which is something not many people care about today. the poetry in a song. people like old melodies for their music but there are many off-beat songs which are tough to sing and not too easy to listen to but are gems as far as lyrics are concerned. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">so, after a week of travel and nearly missing two trains, we are back to the daily routine. here's to more exciting work and late nights and sleep backlogs...</span></div>Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-45770284035764719592010-05-21T23:53:00.000+05:302010-05-22T11:07:07.537+05:30<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">years ago, when i'd read ken wilber's book, 'grace and grit', there was this chapter which talked about the 'support person' who takes care of the person who is ill. ken wilber was talking about himself as the support person who was taking care of his terminally ill wife, treya, suffering from multiple cancer. and he described the mental, emotional and physical challenges that the 'support person' has to go through while taking care of the patient. most people tend to sympathise with the patient, those who are going through the pain and suffering the disease. but almost everyone fails to recognise the role, the pain and the agony of the support person. apart from having to deal with the illness of a loved one, he/she has to also take care of numerous other aspects of day-to-day life, pay the hospital bills and other bills, and 'be there' to boost up morale all around. and that is quite a tall order!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">well, that was the role i have been playing this past few weeks. and from first-hand experience, i can say that it is quite stressful. especially if one starts getting advice from all and sundry on what are the best home remedies for the patient. it becomes the moral responsibility of the support person to ensure that the patient adheres to all the advices given. irrespective of whether the person who is sick is willing or not.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">i have also not been spared my list of advices. from relatives to neighbours, everyone has got the 'magic cure' for diabetes, kidney stone and gout - the conditions that landed my husband into hospital. and funnily enough as i am writing this i realise, that even i want him to strictly adhere to all the do's and don'ts the doctors have laid down on him. not just that, i want to be in 'control' of how he goes about it all... and well, those who know him well would also understand when i say that it has only increased my frustrations! the very day he's been out of hospital, he made it clear to me in no uncertain terms that he intends to live the way he wants to and not by giving up on the foods and way of life that he likes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">and so, here i am, sitting and wondering what am i supposed to do as a 'support person'? or do i say 'to hell with it all and to each his own'? </span>Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-26257237273425555752010-04-22T22:04:00.000+05:302010-05-22T11:07:26.014+05:30<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"></span><br />
<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">whew! i seem to be perennially tired and sleepy these days. but it's good to be busy with work. and better to be busy with work that is fun. last week completed a whole series of design job with a little illustration. which was fun though with stringent deadlines. i just hope now the moneys too come in fast, which would be the best part!</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">have finally started work on painting my kerala sari with madhubani motifs. have been wanting to do it for quite some time now. am fascinated by the motifs and colours of madhubani. they are bright, brilliant and have the raw beauty of the earth and the sky and nature and of life all around. planning to work on some silks too... see how it goes. would love to take it up commercially. let's see...</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">a few days back a friend remarked that he hadn't heard anything profound from me for some time now. couldn't help laughing - profound! what i usually share with him are thoughts, some, a germ of an idea sparked by something that happened to me or something that someone said or something that i read somewhere. but i enjoy these conversations. most of the times they are just rants of a wandering mind. just as these posts are. they are how i experience my life and see others going through theirs. funnily though, what he thinks profound are 'matter-of-fact' for me. the way life has happened to me. but then, life has been quite interesting for me. with all sorts of experiences. when i have been experiencing them, some of them have not been nice at all. but now as i am writing them, i am wondering if these very experiences haven't made me richer by that much more. anyways, that again is relative. but as i was saying, my thoughts are shaped by these experiences. </span><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">so here's another thread of thought i have been sharing with my friend. it may sound, to some, a case of 'sour grapes'. but i am just exploring and asking questions which i did not dare even a year ago. and it has to do with the all important question of motherhood - that ultimate aim of every woman. or rather any woman who wants to be perceived to be a complete woman. after two failed attempts at trying my luck at motherhood, and going through the physical as well as emotional after-pain i am beginning to ask, is it necessary? the question 'is it worth it?' is again relative. of course, all parents, irrespective of whether their children threw them out in their old age would still say, yes it was worth it. but i think if they were truly honest, many of them might have replied otherwise. but what i have realised is that admitting to that truth would be considered, blasphemy? (i wanted a strong word there!). </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">i think we are all brought up to believe that motherhood is the final goal of every woman. that that is the ultimate contribution that as human beings we can make. now, i wonder... with the population that we already have, can't we live with women who decide not to make that contribution? </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">i have always noticed that couples who are unable to have children of their own are looked upon by others with pity. why, until about a few years ago, even i would speak about them as if they were people deprived of the most precious blessing. and if it were a woman who had decided not to have children of her own, why, she was considered downright selfish and a 'lesser' woman. but nobody cares if after going through the pain of delivering a child, and bringing him/her up, the child goes wrong & makes life for the parents unbearable. there are many of that sort too.. funnily enough, even adoption is no solution. the fact that one has adopted a child is always remembered and reminded. it's an interesting bit of news for gossip. nobody bothers to pay tribute to those who have found the compassion and love to envelop someone who is not their blood into their lives. i think it takes far more courage, and everything that are considered the high virtues of humanity, to adopt and bring up a child as your own. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">there are those intentional jabs that are thrown at couples 'not blessed'. even from family, friends and relatives. with people like that all around who needs enemies. but that is besides the point.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">the point i'm making here is there is a whole life open out there for people who may not have kids or who don't want to adopt or decide to have their own children. (this post here was an eye opener and thought provoking too - </span><a href="http://waiterrant.net/?p=370" target="_blank">http://waiterrant.net/?p=370</a>)<span style="font-size: small;">. and i think it should be left to individuals to decide whether they want to have children or not. and if they are unable to, due to some biological reason then too it's OK. i mean you don't ostracize someone if they didn't own a car or a house or anything valuable. do you?</span></div>Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-78877445310911777352010-03-31T00:04:00.000+05:302010-05-22T11:07:36.696+05:30<span style="font-size: small;"></span><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">it's been hectic - last couple of weeks. well, not exactly because there was too much work. but because of erratic schedules. late nights. early mornings. and rare mid-day naps to compensate for all the sleep deprivation. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">to begin with, saw lsd - love, sex aur dhokha. made with lots of love but hardly any sex, the movie is a smasher. i think it's going to change the way movies are made and watched. and it would also open up opportunities for a whole breed of new-gen movie makers. the much discussed and publicised digital camera work, though looks amateurish must have required lot of thinking-through before execution. it's very like the camera work on the movie 'the blairwitch project'. apart from generating enough publicity, the name i felt, stood for the theme of the three stories that make up the movie. three apparently different stories which are uncomfortably close to life and events unfolding around us today. the dialogues are full of curses and expletives. i mean, if they ever showed the movie on national tv, the dialogue will be a series of beeps. the humour is dark and the movie is full of such moments. go watch it and like i read a review somewhere, you would either love it or loathe it.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">then, there has been sunday morning treks. getting up at 5 am after watching movies till 2 am is not advisable. and then to go trekking followed by swimming is sheer madness. we usually trek up the mountain on the mulund side of sanjay gandhi national park. just over a half hour trek and you reach the top from where you can see the concrete jungles on the east and the green jungles surrounding the tulsi lake on the west. we usually go all the way up to a secluded spot facing the lake. but last week we learned something new - it's not always necessary to make it all the way to the top. not always. we were actually too tired to climb up all the way. we reached a spot where there were a few rocks where we could sit. it also helped that the fog that morning hid the concrete expanse below us. so all we could view were the trees around us. </span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil7ffVt92dMJ39dTmDGbbdgFMwHm1Dp8jvbvoBAJ6Zvy2qNWP_mfJufxw-JH0Xnz8ko4bvqCrqNjya5RTdA3RbhJc7xxYcYAvvOKIThGEYSb9VKyRpZvcT2wgIOweM2OfsWfVZ6w/s1600/21032010967.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil7ffVt92dMJ39dTmDGbbdgFMwHm1Dp8jvbvoBAJ6Zvy2qNWP_mfJufxw-JH0Xnz8ko4bvqCrqNjya5RTdA3RbhJc7xxYcYAvvOKIThGEYSb9VKyRpZvcT2wgIOweM2OfsWfVZ6w/s320/21032010967.jpg" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">initially there was a sense of disappointment and failure that we had not made it to the top. until we started talking about it. and realised that it was a learning. it never was about making it to the top. it was all about enjoying the trek and the journey. which i think is true of life as well. i mean what would you call a 'successful' life? what would you call the limit of success? how far does one have to travel to say - ok, i have reached the top and there is nothing beyond for me to achieve. it is all so relative! </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">i have started preparing my bucket list. i always had a list of 'things-i-want-to-do-before-i-die', like learning to drive a car, learning to swim... but now i have started thinking of it in terms of not just individual accomplishments but the way i want to live my life. the quality of my life. i haven't figured it out entirely but it's a process that's begun in my mind.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">meanwhile, read dan brown's 'the lost symbol' last night. was up reading it till 6 this morning. an engaging book but it fizzles out completely in the end. i think i liked the 'da vinci code' better. </span></div>Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-13800082830813355732010-03-16T18:55:00.000+05:302010-05-22T11:07:53.250+05:30a whirlwind trip within and without<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">am just back from a sudden but whirlwind trip to kerala, covering cochin, kidangur, ettumanoor, and calicut all in 7 days, which includes 2 days of train travel! it's been almost three years since i've traveled by train to kerala. thanks to low-cost flights, i've been flying mostly. also, p's logic that it is worth the money if you get to spend the time taken to travel, with your relatives or to do what you've made the trip for in the first place, does make sense. anyways, this time around i was traveling alone and had the time to spend on a train journey. and incidentally less money to spend on the not-so-low-cost-anymore airfare.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">took the garib rath, which is a misnomer, coz neither the train nor the travelers are 'garib'. although they do charge 25 bucks extra for a pillow, blanket and bed sheet. it's a nice racket - as the night falls, they increase the cooling of the a/c and turn the compartments, literally into freezers, then they start going around with the blankets. although traveling in a/c meant less dirt and more comfort and also escape from the heat outside, it was also stifling and claustrophobic. and one also misses the view outside. especially because the konkan route is beautiful.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">this was the first time, after marriage, that i have traveled alone and thoroughly enjoyed myself. that does not mean that i didn't miss my husband. the change this time was that i was completely going with the flow. usually, when alone i wished i was with him, wondering what he was doing at that moment. this time around i was just being where i was, in the moment. it had also to do with a thought process that had started with 'the fountainhead'. the concepts about 'self-image' and being completely sure of oneself. and these thoughts were furthered with reading 'we the living'. although i was disappointed with the book or rather the way it turned out. but then i had what i wanted out of it. so didn't bother finishing it. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">another thing i learned about myself was that i quite enjoy living out of a suitcase. it does not hassle me that i am just drifting around (although there is a purpose to the drift but you know what i mean). i think it has to do with a lot of years spent in several places, shifting from one place to another within months. ever since my college days i have been traveling and changing places. the longest i have spent at one place has been the four years in calicut at home and the four years now, after marriage, at home. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">during this visit, i got to stay at a cousin's place - an entire hill slope of rubber plantation and pineapple farm is home. a place where the next house is still out of view and out of ear-shot. a place where at night you can see the stars clear and bright. and it reminded me of the numerous summer nights as a child, spent in ranchi. listening to my father's stories. lying on the terrace under the stars... another lifetime.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">another highlight was discovering karadi tales - the audio books, which has a story book and a cd/cassette with songs and narratives. my niece and nephew have one period of 'karadi path' at school. they were singing songs from those, and they were amazing! whenever i used to watch english movies and listen to the songs they'd sing - the songs which everybody knew and everybody could sing, i would envy them. apart from bollywood songs, we in india, have hardly such songs which everyone remembers or knows. of course, there are folk songs but they are restricted to regions or sects or languages. karadi songs, i felt was an answer to that. songs which were entertaining, educative and at the same time hummable. and they have it in regional languages as well. i wish all schools take them up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">so after a hot n humid trip, i am now back in mumbai. with a few more insights into myself and more questions...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24237585.post-45302638104007772002010-03-02T00:56:00.000+05:302010-03-02T12:35:31.485+05:30<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">rediscovered 'the fountainhead'. there surely is something in the book, all the books written by ayn rand for that matter, that has affected generations, forcing them to face questions that one would rather not dare ask oneself. agreed, that the society she talks about is utopian, that you don't get individuals like john galt or howard roark in hordes; men like that are not allowed to procreate. alas! <br />
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ok, so i am not going to write a review on ayn rand's books here. there has been enough and more written about them. besides, it would be blasphemous of me to write a 'review' on what has become a cult in the last century. this post is about a few of the lines in the book that has gotten me thinking (yeah, like p loves to comment - 'think? u?) and asking questions of myself.<br />
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it all restarted with the movie - the fountainhead. gary cooper looking handsome and a completely sure-of-himself howard roark. which then got me started on reading the book all over again. the first time i read the book was when i was in the 10th. and i don't have any recollection of it except that it had to do something about architecture. i guess most of it just went over my head. <br />
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there's a conversation between howard roark and ellseworth toohey, the guy who is bent on destroying roark. in reply to toohey's question: "why don't you tell me what you think of me?" roark answers: "but I don't think of you." and there's no sarcasm or hatred or any emotion whatsoever. and i was thinking, it would be so freeing, to not get bothered about what one thinks or says of me. i don't get bothered of what people i don't know, think of me.. well, maybe that's not entirely true... i think if i overheard someone i didn't know, saying something unflattering about me, it might bother me. but not too much i guess. not as much as people i know would. <br />
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it's like the story that s. n. goenka narrates during one of his talks at the vipassana course. he says that we all have images we have created in our minds about ourselves. and we also project those images on to the minds of others we interact with. i would like my husband, or my mother or my friend to have this image of me. and when that image takes a beating, when my husband or friend thinks something on their own about me, something that does not conform to the image i have tried to make in their minds, then it shatters me. it shatters my self-image, my self-worth. <br />
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i can understand the lightness that would come from getting out of these shackles of self-image. to be free of the burden of thinking what others think of me. to be even free of what i think of myself. it would be so refreshing to surprise myself every moment... </span>Varshapanickerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17571217902533686560noreply@blogger.com0