Author of my life story

Looking back at a week that could have changed my life forever, I stood in a moment of reflection, quite amazed at my own definiteness which until now, I never knew I had within me. Was it my head or the heart that did the trick for me to stand firm on my ground and assure myself that minor happenings in life are not major enough to change the flow and direction of my journey.
The past, even though is pretty much, gone, seared and expired, still has so many surprises in store for the present and future. These surprises, as ill-timed as they may be, can take you by a storm when you least expect them to stand on your way. There can be things that you rejected first and later repented rejecting them. There can be things that had been so familiar to you but took alien shapes with time. There can also be things that you longed for, but given up for better alternatives. In whatever face it appears before you today, what you got to realize is that, there is a reason why it didn’t make it to your present; and there is proof that you are better off without what you missed out.
It can throw you defenceless and off-balanced. It can make the life you worked hard to build look like a structure made of domino-pieces that with a simple finger push can tail off to the ground. More often than not, something that used to hurt you in the past is very unlikely to become a source of pleasure in the present. The prelude-winds may bring in nostalgia, but the temptation is certainly not worth the lifetime of hard work you are about to sacrifice.
As for me, my universe was weather-sheild with busy schedules and a few realistic plans for future. It was well-protected with a wall of love, friendship and respect when the storm hit. So much so that, I felt it like a breeze that could only blow away a taper I was oiling for this long. I let it pass, patiently watching it entering from one window and making its exit from the next. Despite all outward pushes and thrusts, I would never try to chase it and let it stir the cauldron of my peace.
Definitely, drama is not something I long for to give my life a theatrical twist. Obviously, writing drama is one thing, but being on stage is clearly something else.

I’d rather be the author of my life story, whose characters I decide and whose lines I scribble.

Yearning to be me

Di always surprises me with her thought-provoking random questions. So, when she asked me whether I would like to swap lives with someone, she singled me out and banned to say ‘NO.’
Through out the pensive weekend, I was torturing myself to justify my hasty choice- the life of my friend Kalpa who is married to music right now but soon to be married to his long-found heartthrob. Perhaps, it was his happy-go-lucky approach towards studies or near-perfect family life that made me pick his life over anyone else’s; or perhaps it was the way he makes life look every minute worth living.
Kalpa was not that type of person who had anything and everything even before asking. There were days he had to bus it to work when he overstepped the fuel limits set by his farther. There were tedious hours he had to practice in order to make his way to the Youth Orchestra. But most of all, he knew that most of the ingredients that make life fulfilling are not buyable; they were to be won, realized and achieved.
He has an amazing memory of people who had helped him- even a passerby who gifted him with a smile or a kind word never managed to escape his memory. He keeps making friends; not only us, the Montessori crowd, but a load of Aussies and Americans. But he never fails to keep in touch. This is why I want to be Kalpa, so then I can discover his secret of sectioning life so as not to leave anyone behind.
Weird enough, I never wanted to be someone else in my life. Perhaps I didn’t know enough about anyone to feel envy or even a tiny yearning. The thought makes me shudder. I try to imagine a life without polsambol and chocolate chip mint ice cream, a writing table with out Pride and Prejudice and recycled papers, a day without my girls pecking their heads at my weekend adventures and misadventures, a victory after losing out on two tiring tournaments, and a day without Colombo dust and sizzling drizzles that touch the edge of my denim pants. I’d rather be at home and home forever if I can.

Rain, my chum!

It is amazing how I wrote my first article on rain exactly three years ago and danced with such a joy to see it coming out of print (on a rainy day). Here I am today, sitting on the same chair by the same ajar window looking perhaps at the same raindrops that fell three years ago.
Looking at the lively pearl-like raindrops that are dribbling down from the Jambu leaves, I just realized that the amount of our love or hate towards rain defines how intricate our lives have become in the process of growing up.
During those ‘uniform’ days, rain, for me, was such a treat of joy that the bitterness of ‘kottamalli’ was not strong enough to keep me indoors when it was pouring outside. I wanted to see, to touch and to explore what rain did to the giant trees in the school garden. I watched with fascination how the baby green grass in the playground danced to the tune of the divine drizzles. Taking a trek on the born-again plush carpet under the canopy of velvety rain clouds was too good to be missed at any rate.
The end result was, a trip home with smelly wet socks, sputtering muddy shoes and violent sneezing at most irregular intervals.
But, things changed when I started working. However much I loved the rain, I did not want to see it greet me before I was safely inside my office, greeted by my fellow workers. Potholes scared me, and the same wind that felt so soothing against my uniform became an evil force which tried to rob me of my umbrella. Mud, the creamy thing that happily stuck to my white shoes and socks and made Batik designs on my uniform, began to take the shape of the mood-spoiler of my clothes and sometimes me.
After the initial love-hate phase, today I greet the rain again as a long lost friend. I stand looking in awe at the way it blends with the roaring wind and make trees dance to their composition. I smile when it splashes a few rain drops on the sheet of paper I was scribbling on. And, I open my window full to welcome the rest.
After all, I didn’t ask for the intricacy that surrounds my life nor did I love to deviate myself from the cheerful forces that made me a happy person long time ago.