Happy Monsoon!!

I am realising after long what a joy it is to work for yourself. Wind buzzing through your hair blades, silencing the noise around you to take you to your deepest thoughts. The healing touch of the green of the leaves and the black of the clouds. Your imagination gliding to hitherto unattainable places. And your mind free of all those shackles that made you look at your career as some sort of an investment on which to expect returns. Just a few days ago, I was wondering what it will take to return to the more innocent, idealistic state of mind from a few years ago. Thankfully, I didn't have to search for very long. The dagger of the raindrops pierced the heart, oozing out black muddy blood, cleansing and defogging the brain, and then followed the greens of connectedness, contentedness and creativity.

Anew

Six long years of absence from this space. I don't know what happened. It needed to stop. Nothing especially monumental. Just the usual screw-ups. And abruptness and randomness galore.

I have been thinking of blogging for some time now, but was dilly-dallying. I was done with dinner today and blogging was one of the last things on my mind. I was planning to turn in early. Had darkened my room to watch some warped stuff which would put me to sleep. Had pretty much settled into it, when as usual I hallucinated that someone was calling my name. I took off the headphones, but there was nothing, no one. To make sure I am not really wanted, I peeked through the window onlooking the main house. Peaceful. Weird, no lights. Is the power off? I plonked myself out of the bed to check what's happening, I stepped outside and took the small walkway joining the main house with the annexe. That's when it happened.

Ever tiptoed sneaking across a stranger's lawn, spick dry one moment and the sprinklers coming alive the next, soaking you? Before realising what's happening, I was drenched by the May showers. I didn't move. Once every dry stitch on the body was wet, I took shelter under the Akashneem tree. The woody, grassy heady fragrance given rise by the first rains soon wafted inside the nostrils and got sucked immediately in the empty brain space, wiping clean the ghost of any thought, and creating inside me somewhat contrasting feelings of comfortable nostalgia and a hopping maddening joyous state that only the first rains can bring. I stood and watched and felt and thought. And the first thing I thought was of starting the blog. Right then and there.

So here I am. I guess I will write often here 'coz there's a lot to share. Don't hold your breath though, if anyone is still following this hibernating beast.

Just Rambling Along

What would I like to be inscribed on my grave?

I don't know why I would think of such a question, but I did, and I had to think really hard, which made me feel good, coz as it happens, I usually come up with answers and solutions quickly, and this question needed me to think, which means it was an unchartered territory.

After some thought, I settled on this: If inscriptions are supposed to reflect what you were when living and what you wished to be, I would not want an inscription, nor a grave. A grave makes you grounded, and I have always aspired to be free. An inscription makes you confined to a few words, and I have always wished for being more than just a few words.

But I think graves and inscriptions do act as anchors for people who we leave behind. If at all, I would want the stone to say:

Free and Fearless.
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There was a song in Malayalam for kids that mom and dad translated in Hindi for us and the Baal-Bhavan kids. It's raining and a sparrow is looking for shelter. She goes to different trees and says:
चिलचिल चिलचिल हम हैं चिडीया चिलचिल चिलचिल चिल
चिलचिल चिलचिल हम हैं चिडीया चिलचिल चिलचिल चिल
सुनो रे अंबुआ प्यारे अंबुआ मैं नन्ही चिडीया
बारिश में छुपने भर की मुझको जगह दोगे क्या?

And the mango tree would scold the sparrow and ask her to scoot off.

And so the sparrow would ask for shelter to different trees...and so on it would go, replacing अंबुआ with नीम and other trees. In the end, ईमली very generously would allow the sparrow to take shelter on her branches. The evils need to be punished, right? A strong gale approaches and uproots every tree except the ईमली for her generosity, and she and the sparrow live happily ever after.
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It is probably true for some of us: 'in death we come alive'. I am not sure what these thoughts are an indication of. Self-destruction? Fatalism? I am not half ashamed to think about such things, and articulate them openly on this blog. Sometimes I confuse myself. I definitely want to live. Passion, zeal, blah, blah. Remember the last blog? But at the same time, if I think of death, I think I can embrace it. Maybe not with compassion, but definitely with calmness and composure. So yeah, I am confused by my own contradictions sometimes.
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There's a constantly pelting wind on my wall, and I had a thought: What if the wind wants a shelter? What if the rain needs a home? Now that would indeed be a classic case of schizophrenia. Unleashing something, and then wanting to safeguard yourself against it.
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Wish you all a very happy Diwali!

Of Space, Sleep and Shade

University of Paris was divided into 13 autonomous institutes in 1971, and I am currently working in one of them. We are outside the Paris city boundary (but part of Île-de-France). I recently got a chance to see one of the other 12 universities. I have been there before but haven't been there recently and my belief just got reaffirmed that it's always good to work in a place outside the city. If inside, the least they could do is to give the buildings and people some breathing space with boulevards, cycle tracks and jogging alleys and make it greener by having patches of woody areas throughout. UPMC, the university I visited today is at best a concrete jungle. It's one of the best in Europe but it sucks to look at. The only good thing about UPMC is that it is built on the banks of the beautiful Seine river (with its dirty bottle-green coloured water). Thanked my luck that I didn't decide to come to UPMC.

The common thread in all the places I lived, worked and enjoyed has been that they were cushioned in their respective bubbles.. Though I did not decide on the places based on their landscaping, I enjoyed being there because they were spacious, wide, green and full of unadulterated oxygen. The Farm, Danagram, Auroville, IISc, and now Orsay and Maison, they are all places very near to civilisation but detached and buffered. That's what is endearing.
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It's good to be in Paris and travel outside for work because there's no hustle-bustle of the city, metros are always empty coz you are travelling in the direction opposite to the swarm, and you come back in the evening to the dazzling array of activities placed before you on a platter. It's another thing that am shit tired by the time the evening arrives and don't feel like doing anything but sleep in my warm room, but I have devised an idea that works surprisingly well. I have to spend 30 minutes in the metro and sometimes more if there's snow. As soon as I embark, I find a seat and start my 30-minute long nap. It's not sound and deep but energises me nevertheless.
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Last few days have been extraordinarily sunny and it was disappointing. If I needed sun, I would be in India. Bring on the cold! My moods in the morning depend on whether I open my eyes to direct sun rays or diffracted light. It never really pours here which is good coz one can leisurely walk around even during rains. Today while commuting, I kept observing the rooftops for some reason. They reminded me of some Indian houses, like our old house in Gopuri. We had windows in the roof for the skylight to come in. Of course, in summers we have too much sun in Wardha so one needs to have an exact reverse system. We first had a simple curtains-drawn and curtains-withdrawn system, but then my techno-genius dad came up with a wooden trapdoor system which was augmented just below the roof window, and could slide up and down over a wooden plate, effectively covering or uncovering the light outside. It was obviously up in the roof, so we would use a long bamboo to slide the trapdoor. It was a daily ritual which I had forgotten about, and these french roofs brought back the memory.

On a tangent, many houses in these parts are un-plastered and look beautiful because of the exposed walls that disclose the stones they were built with in a very aesthetic way. I have been a fan of the cobblestone streets of Europe (who isn't?). A house wall thus displayed looks just like extensions of the streets, bringing to mind 3-D arenas that Cobb and Ariadne walk (climb?) on, but this is way more beautiful.

HNY

The new year has started with a bang. It's raining here. Rumbling rain clouds. Tip-tip-rip-rip-trip-rip-dripping sounds. Time to go out and get wet. But before that, wish you a great 2013 and a very happy new year!