Bothered Day

There is something that really bothers me about the culture from which I hail.  It is often near impossible to have a conversation with someone who is a generation above you and is related to you.  The thing that you hear most often is, “zaban ladata(i) hai!” which means someone is talking back.  Talking back is not allowed.  So, the older person can go on blabbering irrational nonsense, endlessly, but the younger person is not allowed a defense or a justification of their stance on any matter.  The younger person isn’t allowed to tell the older person how to do things better, how to live better, dress better, just be better.  This has always bothered me.

Earlier today I reached the end of my rope.  Pushed to the edge of my patience, I realized that a peaceable relationship with this person was no longer possible.  The relationship needed to morph into one of indifference for my own sanity.  In a nutshell, I have had it.

I remember an interview with Candice Bergen once.  I believe she was 60 at the time of this interview and she indicated that what she loved about being this age was that she didn’t need to give a damn (she used more colorful language but I am square and I don’t) any longer.  I have a long way to go before I reach that wonderful age but I am definitely at an age where this should apply.  I have always felt the weight of caring about what people will say, or how they will react to what I do or don’t do.  I want to shrug this weight off.  The movement I need is most definitely on my shoulder.  Take me as I am or go away.  I am tired of smiling at inanities or tolerating things that don’t deserve my tolerance.




Spring has sprung

This annual event makes me so happy.  In one instant I shed the winter blues as my brain becomes abuzz with plans.Spring

Restarting Blog

I need to restart this blog.  It has been awhile. I haven’t had anything to say but hoping putting one word in front of another will get me somewhere.

I spent the last couple of years being dedicated to restoring my health, dropping pounds, turning vegan, trying running, earning a Yoga teaching certificate, and trying very hard to be extremely disciplined about saving more than spending.

I think about all the things that disgust me about myself; the way I don’t see things through, the boredom that sets in, the continued lack of motivation and ambition, an inability to make close and proximal (not virtual) friends.  I have friends all around the world.  Many of them are close and very dear to me.  But no one lives in northwestern New Jersey.  I can’t call on anyone just to shoot the breeze.  No hanging out/eating out buddies.  Sob, sob, poor old me! But I only have myself to blame for this isolation.  I have never really made an effort, never been able to sustain a connection.  I am preoccupied with this thought now as the years march along.  A normal person would know what to do having realized what’s lacking in their lives.  They would take some steps.  I am clueless.  I will wake up friendless again tomorrow morning and do the same things I did today.

There is something to be said for sameness.  It doesn’t get its dues.  It gets pooh-poohed.  Imagine getting a new day and a completely different set of circumstances to sort out each day? That would be a nightmare.  Life is messy and if the universe is leaving you alone in placidity, with minimal messes to sort, perhaps you should thank your lucky stars.

Tired and bored of myself

I used to really enjoy writing. I used to be so upset when I felt the onset of writer’s block. Now I never write and never complain about any blocks. It is as though I don’t care anymore. What could I possibly say that hasn’t been said before?

There are no variations to my days. There is a farm near us. On pleasant, sunny days the cows come out to graze. They are black with a white strip running down and around the middle. Every cow is identical. No genetic variation there. My days are like these identical bovines in every way.

Get up, get out of bed, drag a comb across my head, go downstairs, drink a cup…fire up the computer. That’s it.

I am not complaining. There is a lot to be said about themes lacking variation. If one wished for variations one could get a deluge of unpleasant ones. Who needs that!

Just wish each day was just slightly different from the rest.

Nasadiya Sukta – Song of Creation – Juan Mascaro translation

The reason why I am an agnostic Hindu.
“There was not then what is nor what is not. There was no sky and no heaven beyond the sky. What power was there? Where? Who was that power? Was there an abyss of fathomless waters?

There was neither death nor immortality then. No signs were there of night or day. The ONE was breathing by its own power, in deep peace. Only the ONE was: there was nothing beyond.

Darkness was hidden in darkness. The all was fluid and formless. Therein, in the void, by the fire of fervor arose the ONE.

And in the ONE arose love. Love the first seed of soul. The truth of this the sages found in their hearts: seeking in their hearts with wisdom, the sages found that bond of union between being and non-being.

Who knows in truth? Who can tell us whence and how arose this universe? The gods are LATER than its beginning: who knows therefore whence comes this creation? Only that god who sees in highest heaven: he only knows whence comes this universe, and whether IT WAS MADE OR UNCREATED. He only knows or PERHAPS HE KNOWS NOT.”

Wow! An ancient religious text encouraging agnosticism! This really is as good as it gets.

Like Water (thoughts triggered by David Bowie tributes)

Live like water.
Flow over, across,
Around and through
Always moving, changing.

Skin and flesh and bones
Are crumbling, sagging,
Stretching, creaking

Even at an illusory best
When they feel like home,
When nothing hurts or stalls,

Find a crevice,
Seep through.
Travel through the mirage
The oasis is around the bend.


As a child I had a keen sense of melody but I always ignored time. Time was just something percussive in the background that I took for granted. When the radio played a favorite song the lyricist and the composer got credit. No one talked about the drummer. If the song was in a faster tempo the words were closer together, if not then you stretched them out. That was all I understood of music and of life itself.

There was a sense of the seasons changing. My birthday fell in the hot summer months. Mangoes were consumed by the bucket and we slept on the roof, counting stars and listening to the stories grandma told. Exams were always at a certain time of the year and how the heart felt before and after the exams was tied to a season as well. The spring months made it difficult for me to breathe and autumn brought with it a certain lightness of being. Winter clothes looked better and peanut brittle tasted divine while basking in the sun.

That was how the year was divided into stretched out segments of pain or pleasure. The allergy season went on forever, the wait for the summer months seemed endless. The groans were long and loud at train stations or movie intermissions when an adult said the wait was thirty minutes to an hour. An hour felt like an eternity. Nothing was over in a blink of an eye except play time.

I spent some time learning music at a later age. It was no longer possible to take rhythm for granted in the tutelage of enlightened musicians. Melodies were never meant to be unchained, I learnt. They had to lock step with the rhythm. There was a structure and an architecture that needed to be understood and followed. There were pillars and foundations that one had to acknowledge, these bare essentials demanded respect.

I spent some time learning about life at a later age as well. Summer vacations, pleasant winters, work deadlines, commutes, eating, sleeping, showering , paying bills and buying groceries divided up each day, each month and each year into discrete pockets of time that got consumed at the pace of junk food during a movie; equally mindlessly.

As a child I moved with time although it never made its presence felt. I breathed the air all around me without telling myself I needed to inhale or exhale. Now I stand still while time moves all around me in swirls and eddies and I consider exercises in mindfulness of each breath.

I stood right here wishing everyone a happy new year, I blinked, and I find myself wishing everyone a happy new year all over again. The past, the present and the future are all standing hand in hand chanting:

Ring Around O’ Roses…

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