Where am I my leading my India!

I.. India.

It kinda scares me to see and know the current state of affairs in my India.
Why...?
I pick the paper up first thing every mornin and I wish n hope to see somethin good about my city and the nation that I am. Instead I see bomb blasts, political agenda which by the way has gone to dogs (no offense.. oh faithful friends of the human race), murder, rape, corruption, bank scam, stock market doom and most of all self-centered attitude of almost every I that this nation is.

I am not being cynical. No. I also see, guys like V Anand, Sania(s) Chawlas, 10dulkars, dhan dhana dhan dhonis, Dr. A P J Kalam..well theres no S with this personality as theres no other like him and ads like Teach India, Lead India and the buiz greats...the CEOs of our (IT mostly..makes me wonder why not other fields as well) crown jewels, founders, the indegenous NANO.. (I am not sure if it will aid the middle class or make thier lives on the city roads hell), creative and innovative college grads comin up with planet saving ideas and those lil yet significant articles by the news agencies pointing out the "we have not done our jobs well" things and "please do" requests which sometimes if not all get things done and of course a million other small things that make our lives better and make us feel proud and good about being the I - my India.

Having said that... it scares me coz sometimes I let myself wonder...what if all these blasts and scams are planned attacks serving the selfish the so called polititians. What if this whole thing is an elaborate scheme of a group of people in the assemblies and parliaments. We have all seen the movie Sarkar Raj..right? We have seen how innocent people have been made to play thier part as victims..sometimes paying with thier lives.. to achieve power. What if these attacks that have happened on my soil were only some of the strategic moves in a sinister plot of a political power motivated game.

I know I know..the first thing that comes to our minds is that our Security agencies...the police, CBI, Research and Analysis Wing, Intelligence Bureau, Military Intelligence and what not are all not doing what they are supposed to. But I also know that sometimes its unfair as only thier failures come to light and not thier achievements. We hear of only the blasts or killings that happen and we do not hear of the numerous others that might have been prevented by our protective forces. Yet again I hear of the corrupt military official who aided in malegoan blasts and the laxity of the intelligence agency that had a hint of the orissa blasts possibility resulting in the tragedy eventually. I also hear about the minister who wont let his son who is accused of a rape surrender before the police. He would have gladly surrendered him had he not been his own son and would have made a big political scene out of it that would have worked to his advantage. Blantant bending of the rules to save kin?!!
How am I to prevent myself from thinking that all these happennings are nt a part of a bigger criminal plan?!!

Tapestry..

"a fabric consisting of a warp upon which colored threads are woven by hand to produce a design, often pictorial, used for wall hangings, furniture coverings, etc." 

Well... thats what dictionary.com has for this word. Doesn't it fill us with awe... I mean.. the language that we devised. The words we made to represent what we feel and the feelings that come back to us when we hear these words again. Wow. 

Aha... comin back to tapestry... I have heard someone say....that word in a shopping mall about a carpet I guess.. can't really say what it was but to put my mind at ease..I just assumed it to be a carpet... :-) but thats not the point. The point is tapestry. 

If we confine ourselves to the carpet.. its jus the design, made by some person.. an artist or jus some random worker in a carpet factory.. his/her granma's idea of a "tatoo on the ground infront of her house..for a day" (pardon my inability to remember the word for it but it is to bring "muggu", a telugu word, to your mind), but if look around us and at the people and events of our lives, then dawns a realization upon us that life itself is a tapesty of all sorts of things. Sometimes it turns out to be a vibrant and lively mixture of colours and sometimes its jus a dull grey winter evening picture.. but with a promise of a beautiful morning in a few hours. 

But even so.. every carpet is a masterpiece if we look closely. And we are the artists. Awesome right. Who said we were not talented!! 

A friend of mine has her blog page titled ' life is a play.. n I am the director ' ... well... this word is for her. Dedicated. 

Cheers.

21C-ricket Saturdays - TO THE MOST SPIRITED TEAM.. MY TEAM!!

Early in the morning. Fog still above the lush

green. A slow but a promising sunrise. 15

men in all white. 22 yards of perfectly

maintained pitch. Umpires checking the

intensity of the light on the field. Thousands

of spectators already seated. Waiting eagerly

of cour s e , for t he game t o s ta r t .

Commentators and the television crews. And

a huge television screen.

Well…cool huh?? Wake up..!!

Our men will be with drop dead gorgeous

ladies on an exotic island…sipping the best

martinis and life seems so perfect. Suddenly a

dreadful and voted unanimously by the team,

as the most loathed noise in the world,

shatters all that...

Good dreams and damn those phone calls

from Manideep!!!

Late but loyal to the game, the men turn up

one after the other and start playing.

Saturdays start with surplus spirit. It wouldn’t

matter if there’s no mention of the boys and

their skills.

Firstly, Mr. Bharadwaj almost always happens

to be the first pick by the toss winning captain

(usually the corrupt QL who bats twice and

always gets bowled by Vinay) and impresses

everyone with his scintillating performances

both on the field and off the field (wants to be

at the Oscars one day). Secondly, the best

left-handed batsman (the only one) in team

Bibhu, hits the ball all over the field. A

nightmare to the bowlers if he clicks. Then

comes the losing captain (never wins the

toss) Phani (AKA Salim bhai) with his rather

unique style of fielding stops everything that

looks and moves like a cricket ball . Then of

course the Freeman Hari – gives runs freely.

Raju – the Jonty Rhodes, somehow manages

to evade the ball even if it stops in front of

him with a board that reads “Please catch

me”. Naveen displays some fine strokes.

Mukul – the kind-hearted-nawab who’s very

generous with the ball. Manideep, the fastest

runner (runs at a blazing speed of 0.1 miles an

hour), but a good fielder. Sudeep, though a

recent but a valuable addition to the team.

And of course – Anil, Pritesh, Atul, Tridip,

Nikhil (the all-round-er).

These hard(ly)-working men who define

commitment (at least they show up at the

field), punctuality (ok, they tune up to the

middle-east time zone) and spirit (not what

they down on Friday nites) of the game, make

all Saturdays, the days to be cherished.….

A short story that fell short.. but then... what the hell..!

“that night has been etched in my mind for ever..coz it was the night which changed my life forever..”

that fateful night… barely…a month ago..I was lying on the stretcher…with my six year old son holdin my hand.. outside the operation theatre.. and my wife with a tensed and scared look on her face.. for me..

Two fortnights prior to that..

I was at an old age home leaving my mother there.. for it was getting very difficult at home with my wife not willing to tolerate her anymore. Irritations…unending confrontations.. unavoidable misunderstandings.. perpetual fights. There was no peace for anyone. So finally I had to give in and take the decision to leave my mother at this old age home. Chose my wife over my mom. Turned away from my responsibility and my duty.

How I could do that… only God knew.. coz my heart was being ripped apart by my own misery at having to see my mom watch me leave…with tears in her eyes that were…silent witnesses to her helplessness..
It was as if she asked me without sayin word.. that if dad was alive would she have had to be here… like an orphan..
I could nt look at her anymore.. n I left.

Days passed by… my son missed her grandma. I used to take him with me to visit her every evening. It was painful to watch her there. But I had to. It made me angry over my wife at times and at my own sorry state for not being man enough to stand up for her at home. I simply was not being son enough. And it was eating me alive.

That fateful night.. barely.. a month ago..

We were all watching this movie called “City of Angels” on the TV. My son by my side. Theres this little sick girl in that movie who is brought to the hospital by her mother in a critical condition. So the doctors take her into the emergency room with her mother watching from outside the glass room. This little girl on the bed keeps raising her head as if she was trying to look at someone. The doctors try to keep her steady while they subject her failing heart to electric shocks. Little do they know that shes trying to look at this angel who comes to take her from this world. One moment shes on the bed looking at him and the next shes standing with him looking at… her lifeless body and her weaping mother. And she leaves with this angel to another world.

That scene brought back memories of my mother taking care of me when I fell sick while I was a kid. And it made me miserable for what I was doing to her now. So I grabbed my car keys and went out for a drive.

But as fate would have it… in all that grief.. I rammed into an oncoming vehicle and I was critically injured. Bystanders called an ambulance and I was taken to a hospital. They called my wife and she came rushing along with my son.

I was lying on the stretcher…with my six year old son holdin my hand.. outside the operation theatre.. and my wife with a tensed and scared look on her face.. for me..

And my son said… “Dad.. please don’t go with the angel… tell him that you need to be here to look after mom… if I ever have to send her to an old age home..”

I wished I were dead at that moment. A six year old understood what it was to be a son. Never were we so ashamed of ourselves.…

and they took me into the operation theatre.

My mom’s blessing… it must have been… I was discharged a week later.. fully healed.

I and my wife along with our son brought his grandma home.

I thank God for my mother, for my son and that fateful night.

“that night has been etched in my mind forever..coz it was the night that changed my life forever”.

Author's Say: Nice story right?? Well...What the hell... ;-) it at the least made it onto this blog..right.!

Crimson flight

Needles of the Lamp

Boats into the Bow

I...taller than myself

Lush Lands of the White Isle.

Almost Heaven..!

Sailor's dream.

Isle of Wight's White Edge.

Anjali..

One of the sweetest movies.

Every single emotion that has been evoked has been evoked to the fullest and deepest extent ever possible.

A daugther's innocent ununderstood anguish at not being able to make most of the things around her out.

Her guileless unpretentious happiness at the sight of her father.. the only image that she could perceive as a person in her little limited world.

When she comes and touches the wounds of her brother and when she sees him in pain.. the way that pure little heart cries.... if that doesnt bring a tear to break the boundaries of one's eyes.. then there's no heart or it has stopped beating.

The pain of a mother for not being able to think of a way to get close to her autistic child and everytime her daughter moves away from her reach in fear...how it squeases her heart inside and how incisive that moment is... and the assurance she seeks from her husband just to strengthen herself in not giving up on her daughter..that one day her lil daughter would accept her and come into her embrace.. and the invaluable unending peace it will bring to her...

if only... I had the power to make someone feel in exactly the same way that my heart felt..instead of having to tell..

a heart-rendering story of a little girl with a weak heart that fails her after she wins every heart she touches.

Anjali. a Manirathnam film.

A random click

The Life of Colours or Colours of The Life..?

For some one I know..!

iGNiTED

To Solvang and back

God's Canvas

What else can you ask for?!

On a May evenin... a walk in the woods.

Through the Farnborough woods by the lake.

I..!

I feel like I have understood only half of myself. I am not sure if I have even seen the other half to know and understand what it is like.

The half that I know is organized. It has a plan, its logical and its straight forward. Everything seems absolutely fine with it. Theres really nothing much interesting about it. Its the usual..normal outwardly self for the society and the people around it.

But.... the other half...the unknown one.. is lively and puzzlingly simple and uncomplicated. And yet I dont understand it...I dont understand why it is the way it is. Everything is random and its religously random at everything as if its following a pattern in being random.

But then it also makes me think if my description of it being randome is true or if I am just playing with words here.

People are strange right. I am strange too. Things that happen to me and them are also strange.
Moods. Crap... no! not that counter-productivity product. First thing that came to your mind right. Not your fault. Dont worry about it. Both my halfs thought up the same thing... one will not say it outloud and the will not stay without saying that former wont say it. Anyway thats not the point. I wanted to say about the moods and thoughts that come to me. I have just seen a movie. Its beautiful. Its got a good story to tell. The performances were realistic. Of course there were some unrealistic incidents but I have not seen much of the county side to know or believe if it was just as it happens in real life in those places. It talks about love and persistence. It attempts to let know of the value of a purpose in life..of life.

Somethings happen just like that. At the right time and the right moment to some people. Happened to me too many times. When it happened they seemed quite timely and important. When I look back those moments dont seem significant enough.

Am I thinking right?

She said I misunderstood her..probably she meant I didnt understand her. Didnt I?
Thoughts are too fast. When I am trying to write down...I feel like I am losing time. I feel I like I want to stop writing.

I have my issues to resolve.

How cruel is the reality with people, relationships, emotions. How real are damages that these take.

Later!

Viva Las Vegas

By daylight..!

Viva Las Vegas

The strip at night.

Vinnu gadu, Rayudu, Venki and Pappu gadu ;-)

Kathi pic kada..

sleepy heineken hollow }-)

Caught up

Woodland Hills

Taken by a fellow Hyderabadi.

Pondicherry.. if I gathered accurately.

..flirt!

By the Windermere paths

Butterfly effect..

Hyderabad's Sidhardha

TankBund

A pledge for anyone who wants to start and tell.

We start… a thing that ll do good and is good.

We hope… to find help and support.

We rejoice… at the inconsequential enthusiasm.

We remind… those who we hoped would walk along, of the cause.

We reason… with them to step up n not back down.

We break… seeing the possibility of achieving some good being destroyed not by the inability within but by the indifference inside.

We do everythin but inspire. And all we have to do is jus that.

Inspire..!!

We have to enter our own minds before we try to get into theirs. What do we do when someone asks us to give something away? What goes on in our minds..? How do we think? What comes out of us even before we begin to think?

Well… it’s a “NO”.

Then starts the thinking… are we doing the right thing… are we going to lose anything? Will it help… will I get credit… will others see it as a good thing? Will it impress people? And a few million questions like these.

But when we come back to the cause… why don’t we think about the apprehensions that people may have or will have?
Religious..personal..parental… concerns or apprehensions… surely they will have. You have to tell them and let them know that its voluntary and serenely satisfying and graciously great.

People are not going to call you at midnight to find out if you are dead if you pledge your eyes… they are not going to remind you that your eyes belong to them… every year. They wont wish you on your birthday with a reminder of your pledge… and certainly they wont be happy that you are nearing your end. They wont even bother. Even if you are no more they wont know until and unless someone of yours tells them that you are no more… and that you are ready to see the world again through your eyes as someone else.

Ask them to close their eyes for five minutes… and do things that they have been doing all their lives taking the single most valuable gift that has been given to them for granted – Vision.

Ask them to close their eyes and forget what they have ever seen and to try to shape… imagine.. and create things in their minds.. say.. thier hands… a loved one’s face.. a color.. a misty morning… an evening… a lake.. a mirror… a reflection… Can they? Isnt it tough? Isnt it scary…? Aren’t we glad we can see? Now try doin that for an hour…a day.. a week .. a month.. a year. Ask them how a life time would feel like that?

We sleep and we wont worry about waking up to a beautiful morning. We will still be able to see the morning light. We dream and we dismiss it as a trivial thing.

Dream….huh…. I guess it means a whole different thing to a person whos not as gifted with the eyes as we are. How do they dream? Are their dreams look the same as ours? We dream what we see right?

But for those who cant see, a night is as good as a day… a dream is as good as the dreadful reality. So whats wrong in giving them a dream… handing them a life full of colors?

At least they wont sigh thinking about wakin up to another dark day… before sleepin every night.

Pledge.


Ask them. Make them understand.

We might not wake up tomorrow… but at least our eyes can wake up to a beautiful sunrise.

I don’t know how to express the meaning the below line holds…

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder”

Coz there are no words for vision. But then they say a picture speaks a thousand words.

Let us teach the blind to speak… let us help them see.

Backyard Beauty

Grand Mornin in the Canyon

When it breathed

Art

StreamCloud

Calm

Purple Hay

Off DurdleCoast

Thats the ocean behind the flowers and its 200 feet below.

Scottsgreen

Farnborough Gate

Evening Hues