Weird. Me.

They call me weird.

Freak.

Crazy.

They call me mad.
They call me weird because I talk
like the truth is not mine to hide.

They call me freak because I say
I value my self just as much as you

They call me crazy because I mean
what I say and do as I say.
They call me mad because I think
that I give  more than I ask.
They call me weird freak crazy mad
Because I can't use you
Because I can't lie to you
Because I can't cover your flaws
Because I can't love a pretence
Because I can't be normal stick this pin and call me weird freak crazy mad.
Because you see I just plain like it.

To think that the spectre you see is an illusion does not rob him of his terrors: it simply adds the further terror of madness itself -- and then on top of that the horrible surmise that those whom the rest call mad have, all along, been the only people who see the world as it really is -CS Lewis.

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The Miracle of Running

There is something so primordial about running. Maybe it's in our ancestral genes. I don't know. I don't know who passed it on in my family, but it is in my genes, for sure. Last year, when I was watching the insides of my left knee, which the surgeon was kindly slicing through, I had only one question. He paused in the middle to show me something that was cottony and fluffy, which definitely did not look like what a knee should like. If only perceptions were reality! I asked him the question then, during the pause. "So when I can run?" He looked startled, that razor in one hand. "Three months," he said, back to the monitor. I nodded. Content. Three months, I can take. Three months flew by. "Can I run?" I asked. "No," he said. "You have an ACL injury. Don't run at all." Apart from a rather long list of other donts. I went to another doctor. He was more sympathetic although he couldn't fathom either why I would want to risk everything to run. I am not a professional athlete. I am not a sportsperson. Why then, should I want to run?

But the second doctor told me something I never forgot. "Listen to your body. If there is pain, it's your body talking to you." And so I went back. I learned to listen to my body. I worked on improving strength and fitness. Then slowly, towards the latter half of this year I started to run. Body didn't tell me to stop. So I ran. 20 minutes 3 times a week. And then, one Thursday, I didn't stop at 20. I was angry that day. I think it was last month. So angry that I felt that I needed to get it out. Anger, if nothing, is corrosive. I finished 3.10 km in 20 minutes. And then finished 5km in 28 minutes. You know why I love to run? Because of this. When I run, I don't think. It's just me and my body. Try running when you are distracted. You find that you cannot. In that sense, running is meditative. It can block out thoughts. Completely. For those few moments, I can be at peace, not in this vortex my mind occupies all the time.

Last week was enervating physically. The cysts I have leave me with a dull ache most of the time, and then they sap me of all energy. On Saturday, I had to pause, take a break at just 10 minutes while running. I hated that. Today was no different. A migraine and nausea ate away. That dratted tiredness too lurked like a monster. I got on the treadmill with trepidation. And that's when I thought. Sometimes, I ought not to listen to the body. Because there is something way more powerful than the body. The mind. So I told my mind to do what my body didn't want to do. It was slower. More painful. But at 34 minutes, I finished my 2nd 5k run. This sounds very self-paenish. Yet, beyond the culled remains of each day, it is wonderful to know that the mind can obey you where the body cannot. And that miracle of running is what I crave. Each time.

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Docced Out

I have spent the better part of yesterday and today shuffling between doctors. I am not one to be overly concerned with the mechanics of the human body - I like to think I have a pretty high tolerance for pain. Physical pain, that is. My mental pain threshold, I think is pretty low. But then, so is my mental quotient! As I lay down in the ultrasound room, my mind could only think of the dreary walls that hospitals cloak themselves in. People are cheerless enough when they enter hospitals, why make it even more so? Why can't we have some colorful speckled wallpaper inside? Why not make it cheery? Sure, yeah, ill health is rather morose. But surely we can liven it up a little? Won't that help the cure, if any?

Well, I had a good laugh when the doctor who was doing the ultrasound couldn't find whatever he was looking for. He kept waiting, waiting, waiting, while I looked at the only picture in the ultrasound room - some fetus inside the uterus. And no, I don't have a fetus inside me, just a few cysts, which are another story. But anyway, the doctor laughed finally - "I have never had to wait this long," he said. I giggled along. "Is this a record?" I asked. Sadly, no. He chuckled, then finally caught whatever image he was looking for. And sent me home where I can look at the framed Chinese lettering on my wall, the Vietnamese scroll above my bed, another Chinese scroll to the right, this time of a young woman in traditional garb, and finally, a New Year scroll, and wow, think of the life and color this gives instead of the drab dull walls of hospitals.

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Somearelikethisonly

Sometime back, a person very dear to me, messaged me in anguish, saying that she felt upset in a relationship and felt used. Through the course of a long sms conversation, I understood just how much of anguish this wonderful person went through - is it wrong to expect attachment from someone when you give love and affection? she asked. I think I replied saying that it is the most natural thing in the world to expect a little back of love back  or attachment or whatever you can call it. But perhaps expectations are not too good, I preached. The person agreed, saying that expectations are never easy, placing the burden of your proof on the other person and expecting him or her to carry it. "But why profess attachment before, use you and then drop you? The used feeling can be terrible," she asked.

I don't remember what I say, perhaps because I love this person so much, I think I was more worried about her state of mind, and maybe foolishly tried to tell her not to take it so hard. Her answer? "I take people seriously and am sincere so it is hurting a lot to be discarded like an old rag." Even through the cold hard medium of a SMS, I could feel the hurt. I will never know who hurt this beautiful woman, but if I do meet that person, well, I can imagine just how much contempt can ooze out of my soul then. I must have said a few good things; maybe I said everything that happens, even the bad that people do to us is good in some way. She agreed, saying that she will take it as a positive development for her soul, and that one needs people like that for the soul's enlightenment.

Today, I looked at this SMS exchange, and I realized I can use every single message in it to reflect on my own recent life. Isn't that a bit bizarre? But there you see! To feel used? Ah, I know that one! Like it or not, we are all pawns in another's life. Bit like chess. Fit to be moved when the stage shifts. Who are you? A petty soldier? Come on, move over, make way, I got my rook and my knight coming! To be discarded like an old rag? Righto! Why profess attachment before and then drop you? Ah! The hardest to answer in a way, but the easiest to understand. Human behavior. It seeks convenience always. People are malleable, we fit them according to circumstance. And when circumstances are not favorable, it is the easiest to dump the people. Not the circumstance. And how many people really mean the things they say? It is surprising how a lot of 'care' can just disappear if that act of caring causes distress for you. And people say things. All the time. If I were to give a dollar for every word uttered that promised love, hope, affection, care, happiness or friendship I would be such a billionaire now.

I never did ask this person how the whole thing panned out - was it really a positive development for her soul? But I know that she is a tough one. Or rather as she said : I am a sentimental fool, add old as prefix. I think I am just the same. And somehow, I think that it is worth being so. Despite everything.

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Soulmates

I have tears in my eyes as I write this. It's September 16th, a date that has no significance for me whatsoever. Except that it does. For the most unaccountable reason, I suddenly missed my brother.  Perhaps it has to do with reading this fascinating book by Sue Minns called Soulmates. In that, she rips apart the cliched romantic ideal of a soulmate as your 'partner,' and shows us that soulmates are anyone with who we have an intense connection in life. And it need not even be roses. Rather these soulmates are like iron nail beds - they exist to hammer our souls into the shape it seeks.

I am a believer in the energy that people leave behind. I am in the process of clearing out no-longer-needed gifts, souvenirs etc from people who no longer are in my life, it is a symbolic process of clearing out the trash we surround ourselves with in our life. And I was thinking how I wished I have something like my brother's shirt, to breathe in his energy. I have nothing. Nothing except one small paper with his handwriting. And I thought of a time when I was less than 10  years old. I had had the entire box of coconut sweets that my Mom had made. My brother came in and asked for those very sweets, it was obviously over, and a fight ensued between him and my Mom.

My Mom, in frustration and exasperation, ended up hitting me for eating all of it. And somehow, this is so crystal clear. I remember the salty taste of tears, the strong biceps of my brother, the sting on my back from my Mom's beatings. My brother rescued me from my Mom's hands, drew me to him, and gave all the protectivness that only a brother can. I still remember trembling against his shirt, resting against the strong muscles of his chest, frightened...yet secure. Today, I wished I can do that again. Somehow, I feel he would do the same. He was after all one of my soulmates.

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Urban Myths

Living in a city, people say, is death for the soul. The urban chaos of modern living makes life so enervating and consuming. But look closer, and we find that the rural pastoral scenes we spend thousands to travel to can also be obtained here. How difficult it is though to open our eyes and see something new in the every day matter. "We are strangers unto each other," Eliot famously wrote in his play The Cocktail Party. I think we ought to treat life so - to wake up each morning, and greet the strangers we are.

In the morning, I was woken by the screech of a myna. I walked to my sister's house to pick up my lunch. In the kennel, her German Shepherd dog gave a sleepy greeting. Outside, six cows stood, waiting for their owner, their job of milking done, and now the more difficult part of the day to come - finding food. As I took my lunch and came outside, the cows set off. Fresh dung littered the roads. Dung on wet roads is an enticing rural aroma.

Out on the roads, a tractor trudges along. Further along, six or more dogs fight with each other to get the spoils from the milk van. On the flyover, a dog is standing on the safety barricades, and peering down at the police grounds below the flyover, fascinated. Near the market, a row of kites stand patiently. They perch on that one building, waiting for their meal that comes from the fish mongers in the market. And then, a cockroach walks over the car's windshield. Rural life? We live in it every day. Strangers as we are.

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The Ant In The Car

Just the day before I killed an ant by inaction. Now, I have an ant living in my car. I saw this ant two weeks ago actually. On the dashboard. Before I could reach out and flick it away with little respect for its dignity, it had already scampered inside. Inside where? I don't know. The engine?

It appeared again on Friday. This is not a small ant. But a big red one. We have a different word for that in Kannada, but in English I think an ant is an ant, regardless of size. Once again, it disappeared before I could catch it.

Today morning, there it was again. This time taking a walk on the windscreen. I was on one of Bangalore's busiest roads, and in between trying to avoid screeching horns, scampering pedestrians, and irate motorcyclists (Why irate? Bangaloreans just like to drive in a rage, for some reason), I could see this ant walking merrily across. I had to smile. This fellow is something of a survivor. I wonder if I have a family of ants living under the car's bonnet. He hovered for a while, and then disappeared into the AC vents. I drove without company after that. But it makes me smile. To have an ant for company. Considering the quality of human beings I have met recently, I will take them any day.

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Blessed

Today, I just wanted to write just how incredibly blessed I am. In between the moanings and musings on this blog, it may not seem apparent just how thankful I am for the life I lead. But I am. I have had rough times. Tough times. I have lost more than I could hold. But I still hold more than I lost.

I am blessed in leading a healthy life. Yes, I still can't run 5km without grimacing, but I can run!

I am blessed in having parents who don't push me the way I have seen others do. Yes, I have fights with them. Each time, I understand them better when I do.

I am blessed in earning more money in a year than most of India's population do. Yes, it's not as much as others I can compare to, but it is sufficient. With this money, I have traveled. Bought books. Bought gifts. And done all the wonderful things that money indeed can buy.

I am blessed in having some wonderful relationships. People who came into my life, enriched me with their presence. Not all of them stayed, but sometimes it's not the staying that matters, but the lines they draw on our lives well afterward. I am blessed in having learned more of myself from them. And for the ones who have stayed, I can only be more thankful.

I am blessed in seeing a little bit more of the world each day. Each year. I am blessed with experiences that have nurtured my soul, watered it with the precious water of life itself.

I am blessed I can read. Write. Walk. Run. Love. Hate. Scorn. Move. Cry. Laugh. And really I can only say thank you to Life for such blessedness.

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The Ant and the Loofah

Today, I caused a death. It was a slow, painful watery death. The death of an ant. As I was showering, I took the loofah. Clinging to the loofah, I was this red ant. Without a second thought, I vigorously shook the loofah. Said ant fell down. I thought it would crawl away to safety. As I stood there watching, water was also flowing. It was one of those moments when you know you can and you must do something, but inaction and inertia force you to remain inert.

The ant tried to move away. In vain. The stream of water from my shower was a force too much for its little body to bear. Its feeble legs beat against the current. And then it was still. I stood there for a while watching the little body. Then some more water. And it was gone. Into the drain. I wondered about its life. Did it think that it had a minute to live only when it landed on my loofah? Could I have saved the ant in any way? Yes. I know I could have. Why did I then, allow it to die? What can I learn from this? That inaction is the greatest bane to life. It's nice to relax when we have too much to do, but sometimes we think that really it's just an ant. Why bother so much? Me? I care for the little things. I really do. Rest in peace my little ant. I am sorry, may we meet again sometime. In another life where waters don't rage in a small bathroom.

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