The world is painted in water color. Our lives are in Oil.The sky, the blue bleeds into the light gray, the light gray coalesces into the deep. And then there is the citrine sun, which spreads itself into everything and nothing. No lines, only swathes. No colors, only hues. No finalities, only Intermediates. No satiety, only permeations. No endings, only transitions. Lives are in Oil. Births and Deaths. Friends and Enemies. Marriages and Divorces. First Dates and Last farewells. Blinding light and dark tunnels. Stark colors. Disparate ironies. Love and Hurt. Flamingo red and burnt sienna. David and Goliath. Truth and Lies. Yours and mine.
Labels: Moments and Memories
Me...
She always said, I was weak. She always said I could never take a stand. I never believed all of that. I took great decisions at work. Under pressure I solution like a man on fire. It just happened a few minutes back, we had a resource utilization issue. My manager was perplexed, lines on his forehead, he was pouring over the figures. I saw the problem, I figured the end, and I had the mean. It's normal. It's so natural. It isn't even an effort. I just "see" the solution. No lengthy deliberations, just a clear clear mind. But now, as far as life goes - I think she was right. I never did take a stand. I followed the straight and narrow. I wallowed in the perplexity. I savored irony. I celebrated inaction. Self deludingly believed the middle path to be the hgh ground.In retrospect, the work days were never twelve hours plus, the clients' demands were never that worrisome. The next role change was never that critical. I realize now, I was never a workaholic. I realize now, I was just a refugee.Labels: Free Form, Moments and Memories
Objects of Interest (?)The Gandhara Art exhibit at the Indian Museum is a favorite haunt of art college students. With satchels by their side and drawing pads on their laps they sit there sketch the Buddha for hours at a stretch.
I am not much of an artist, but I like watching the artists at work. The way they use their pencils to fix dimensions, the way their hands sweep over the paper, and how rarely they use an eraser. As they sit intently concentrating on their work, the towering Buddha looks on. My personal favorite though, has always been the Egyptology exhibit. The Mummy occupies the center of the room and is surrounded by a host of instruments. Instruments that measure moisture, relative proportions of various gases and the like. One weekend in November, we went to the Museum. I bounded up the stairway to go see the Mummy and the intriguing little instruments, with fancy dials and thick glassed meters. She didn't know what all the fuss was about. The stuffed reptiles across the floor repulsed and intrigued her at once. The dinosaur display was grand - creatures from a lost world filled up a first floor room. We weren't in a hurry, we lost each other in the bigger rooms, fought over going to see the ornaments display - I asked her to make a choice, ornaments or textiles? "Both" she said, and strode into the Ornaments section. After an inordinate time at the Ornaments Section, we walked past another room, which jar lined shelves. Brown orbs suspended in murky water. We walked in.The jars in a row, displayed the evolution of the human fetus. The first one - an elongated sphere no larger than the palm. The shape, "A Prolate Spheroid", that's what they are called. The odd shape and form, did not suggest anything mortal. The murky solution, in which it was suspended, made it look strangely morbid. The subsequent jars had more evolved fetus - the spheres flattened further turning almost cylindrical. The features began to make an appearance. I turned around to show her the appearance of tiny hands and feet - but she wasn't there. I looked around the room, and then into the verandah outside. She was standing there, with her back to the exhibit rooms, looking at the square patch of sky.I stopped. Should I say something? Should I be an extra bit chirpy? Should I say I understand?I walked up behind her, felt like holding her close. A part of me wanted to ask her "Why?" But that was another life. That was their story.
There will always be a part of her I wont know, a part of her I will never touch. Movies in which I won't star."Hey, wanna go and have a beer?""Yeah", she said.
We turned to leave.
Labels: Moments and Memories
