Journey of the prayer

I have always been a spiritual person. Since the time I was told by mommy that "God punishes those who speak lies" to the time when daddy manifested the belief  that "Good thoughts are constructive vibrations". 

As a kid, I was pious and god-fearing (still am) and naturally appended every bad consequence to a (completely unrelated) bad deed without batting an eyelash. Such candid logic makes a lot of sense to a kid, I'll tell you.

So, I'd trot across frosty temple floors, inhaling the sublime essence of incense sticks and jasmine flowers nested amidst oil-smeared braids. I would march Thalappolis chanting "Swamiye Ayyappo!" and always envision the strong light of purpose that god was throwing upon my path. 

Listening to daddy's stories cemented my opinions to my conscience and eventually, life felt divine. 

So divine... that.. stepping on crushed lemons and chillies on the road felt like the end of the world.

Orienting my head towards the north direction while sleeping meant headaches and bad luck.

Cutting nails on a day that wasn't a Sunday or Wednesday was out of the question and skipping a bath felt like a sin. 

I never realized how superstitions and fear took over my mind and reigned over it so perceptibly. I was frustrated and habit-bound and I had no clue how to bounce back. When things went wrong, I would childishly blame them on inauspicious events. 

My life sort of altered a little after I read the book "Brida" by Paulho Coelho. ( No, I am not talking about witchcraft and voodoo if that's what you're thinking).The point is that I began believing in vibrations; the chanting of mantras, and the ambiance of holy places that gracefully held these vibrations together.

Seems like a good scientific interpretation too, doesn't it?

I remember a hilarious incident from childhood where I watched the epic horror movie Chandramukhi and threw away the frock I wore to the theatre after reaching home(in the dustbin of course) claiming that a ghost had attached itself to it. As my mom and dad rolled their eyes skeptically, I remained steadfast.

Vibrations are everywhere, I feel. They're in words, in actions and most lucidly, in thoughts. We've heard people endlessly saying that god resides in the heart. Well, I'd rather say there's a arc reactor instead, that sucks in all the shrapnel-like negativity ( Go Iron man! *fist thump*). 

And, it's nothing but good vibrations that fuel this arc reactor..  

So, go pluck that guitar string, splash some water, hear the birds chirp, listen to someone who builds your faith and stay optimistic, because it is the best form of prayer.

Superhero

I know I haven’t touched my blog for quite a while. By quite a while you could say, umm some 360 days perhaps. It’s approaching a year but not quite that yet. I don’t want anybody to pinpoint. Oh look at the heights of procrastination! Not written since a year. So here I am, breaking that twig and writing just before that 365^th day smirks at me. Voila!

SO, why haven’t I written?(You ask me?)

Because I wanted to be a superhero.

Simple.

I felt I had too many things to do. I had a career to pursue (still do), academics to excel in (still do), sing, dance, eat gum (sorry that should be chew and not eat but you get the gist), stare at walls, push myself to work harder. At the end of the day, I had to say my prayers, clutch my hair and realize that I had forgotten to bathe ( Chill, that was only once).

So, I have been busy. I have kept myself the most occupied. Looking back at those 19 years.. Well I remember only 13-14 of those well. I tried to remind myself of a telescopic time where I had been way more assiduous than this, where I have brought more groundnuts to the grindstone. The current moment. I was unable to acknowledge the retrospect, if any.

Being busy is not about the time. It is about the mind. I had written many blog posts in this round up approximate that I referred to as 360 days. They had a grouchy edge to them and were all about being busy. Oh well, yeah even this one is. Such hypocrisy, right?

But yes, they were philosophical and too abstruse. Not what anyone would want to read under any circumstance unless that circumstance involves your goldfish dying.

Ahem, so why did I decide to write now out of the blue?

Because I woke up to a dawn that shrieked, “You are not turning into a superhero!” insensitively out.

I watched as Tony Stark talked to Jarvis. I watched him partying, being eccentric and handsome and having everything he wanted. He never let go of things he loved.

Is that what made him a superhero?

Being a superhero is not about having the iron suit or being a genius or being able to fly. It is about realizing your capabilities and putting it to maximum use. You will never know what you are worth until you try it all. But uhuh. There is one glitch though. It must never culminate at a dot that makes you mouth the words  “This is it.” Let me elaborate.

I was a superhero once. My lack of speculation towards the matter never made me realize that I was one at that time. I managed my time so well that I was unaware of the fact that I was doing it very neat.  I had no time to even think about this. So I did it all. I kept myself busy, did as much as my mind and brain could grapple. I learnt art, I wrote, I sketched, I sang, I topped my classes and when I was cloaked in laud, I felt no different.

But then, you are no loner. There are people who”ll always show up with their big brown eyes and their seamless benevolence and tell you “Oh honey, you are doing more than necessary.”

Well, they are right. But. You know what?

This is one thing that superheroes do. They don’t listen to good advice.

So, jar your ears with your success song and go be a superhero.  

Corners of the bedspread

Minds flash and the mind flashes
 A phrase that I recently made up.. I lie in my bed, curled up in blankets.. Trying to combat the obnoxious jittery sensations running through my "aura", in response to the disarrayed pitter patter outside.. I wanted to tune my ears out.. *Ladidadidadada*, along with shutting my ears.. never works. Like NEVER.. It inturn tricks me into paying more attention to the raindrops, making it a substance of  scrutiny.. I shuddered at the thought.. So here I am distracting myself by reading " eat pray love".. It is nothing like I had anticipated. It isn't the story of a woman who unleashed the demons within her who wanted to party across the world. It is the story of a woman brooding over her miseries. And I love it.

Which drags me back to my phrase.

Minds flash and the mind flashes.
   

Is it perfectly normal to think of creepy phrases which I myself am unable to understand? Which make no sense at all.. The point I am trying to make is.. I am ignorant.. How?(you ask me?)
     

    I am avoiding this phrase. Denying to decipher it. Like I refuse waking up in the middle of a dream..  Like I cringe away from the pitter patter most people look forward to.. Like I would sleep on the floor rather than tucking in the corners of a bedspread over a mattress..
Yes.. My denial reflected that fervor..
A SIMPLE NO
So yeah.
My reflexes were afflicted by this aversion towards stuff.. This denial. "I- so- dont - want- to - do- what- needs- to - be - done"
 

The brain doesn't have ears. You can never shut the voices in your mind.
So, it goes on an on, until you feel as tiny as an unsalted peanut no one wants to eat.
"Completing the most monotonous and repulsive tasks is one of the biggest challenges in life", daddy said, tucking in the corner of the bedspread over the mattress.

" So true!", I agreed, starting to tuck in one section of the bedspread, peeking out of a corner.
I probably will try to figure out what my phrase means.

Shoveling thoughts

The best way to avoid procrastination as a writer is to keep writing, I’ve read somewhere; to anchor and passionately pen down the cogitations rambling in the mind. “Maybe you could write a blog post about it!”, said T, gulping down a big delicious panipuri, with a sparkle in his eyes. ‘You’ll dig out some deep shit from that too and I”ll be all “I don’t know , I was just eating panipuri”’

I just chuckled for the moment and left it. The thought did wade across my mind though, so here I am trying to contrive ‘deep shit’ philosophies on eating panipuri. Is that what I am doing?

In order to compose such philosophies, one must come up with metaphors. To be honest, my head is brimming with metaphors all the time. They squeal and bounce and go gaga. Yes, I am the ’Mother of Metaphors’ (wuddup GOT reference!). But no, right then, there was this big glob of panipuri dancing in my head.

“No, I am not going to write deep shit philosophies on panipuri. I have a life”, I said to myself.

You ask me to write about panipuri. I can write an essay describing the tantalizing flavors, the watery crunch, the appetizing potato smash at the base.. and make people go.. ohh panipuri! But deep shit philosphies?

For jaljeera may drip or jaljeera may hold, but the temptation clings on forever..

* Tennyson frowns from heaven*

Scaling the zeroes and infinites..

That second seemed to land at the apt fixture. A fixture, that was slyly pre-mapped, and shoved into my life. BULL’s EYE! The second landed… And I open my eyes... There were butterflies everywhere. And there was this alpha mind of mine, gazing at them nonchalantly, like the whole world comprised of nothing but them. Everything that had felt preposterous just microseconds before the second burst in, achieved clarity.

How can anyone open their eyes to a dream? I did.

Every mirror I looked at, screamed the word “impeccable” out aloud. It wasn't the mirror. I am no Snow White. It was my alpha mind bellowing precariously in my head. YES, flattery is purportless always. But, add a “self” to anything; it gives out red warning signals, marking the onset of devastating failures. The feather headed goddess residing within me, better known as  “Unsatisfaction”.. She just laughed ruthlessly at my random thoughts, tearing down every piece of confidence I carried within myself. Can’t say whether confidence is the right word. It was something different. Audacity of a certain kind, I should say; which made me shut down the outlets I used to turn to, for comfort. How reckless it made me. After being the rebellious queen of detachment, I chose to turn into a mere fool. I cradled a monster. End of story. That one thought swept the others away.

It was time to wake up. I closed my eyes, and woke up. Light came gliding in through the tidbits of the stains in the glass window of the confinement I had chosen to thrive in; ‘room’, the others call it. The butterflies still fluttered at the back of my head. I wiped off the tiny beads of perspiration, loftily perched at my forehead. Chennai felt like Egypt at that moment. It was excessively hot and bright, for a Sunday morning. Mind flashes. Cleopatra, her pomegranate juice lipstick, my hair gracefully cascading down my shoulders, the placid rustle of leaves.. the winds seemed guilty of waking me up. I liked that. 

As soon as I was fully conscious, the butterflies vanished. They had stayed longer in my dream. I was just cooing my little monster in the dream. In reality, I let it breastfeed, suck at my happiness with entire consent. That’s when I realized. Dreams are longer and realities are shorter. Dreams are beautiful and realities, they are harsh. They are as far away from one another as all the zeroes and infinities that ever existed. Yet, it’s the realities that are expected to be substantially impactful, not the dreams.

At that moment, I stopped scrutinizing. I pulled the blankets over myself and woke up to another dream.