A Heart-Warming Tale

Eddie the Eagle

Apparently, a tad old review. Be that as it may, I wanna write it anyways.

This one is such a heart-warming true narrative of Eddie, a kid who aspires to be at the Olympics. The movie's director manages to create the endearing feeling for the protagonist by showcasing his zeal to participate in the Olympics, despite his shortcomings. You kinda get a feeling of having won a medal for Eddie when the only thing that he achieves is the minuscule victory of having qualified for the Olympics, and that too when there were hardly any stringent minimum qualifications laid for qualifying for participating in the Olympics.

Most of us are mediocre folks, who live a life of a cigar that is either smoked or trampled, all done too quickly. So, this one eggs us to dream, and go after it. Another remarkable point is about the freedom that Eddie's parents give him, especially his mom who is super-supportive of Eddie's dreams. Consistently, the endearing mom that she is, she puts his aspirations at the top of her list and forgives and encourages that self-motivating lad. And, all of this, despite Eddie's dad who had long given up on him. Wish we could have a person like Eddie's mom in our home team!

And, not really sure why the handsome Hugh Jackman would have wanted to do the role of a prodigal ski jumper. Anyways, good to be seeing him without the metal prongs.

Mirror

Looking in the rear-view mirror of your two-wheeler after you leave the parking lot is almost like the loving ritual of dropping a peck on your loved one when you say goodbye after you reach the destination; of course, when you are in a good and chirpy mood. And yeah, at times when you both are not really doing well after a 'i-beg-to-differ' situation, you have a second or two of gaining composure and you think on how you really want to word your bye--do I scratch and scar the scab, or leave it to rest for it to heal.

Something that I now remember is a quote that establishes a relationship between a person's outlook and what they do in front of a mirror. It goes something like 'you really have a bad sense of humor if you don't smile at yourself in the mirror.' Long live such quotes, because at times, in our dreary lives, those are the only times we smile.

So, I park my vehicle and the rear-view mirror on my two-wheeler invited me as usual. I look at the speckles, on my face and on it. No... I only realize the speckles on it after peering deep into my face for a good one minute. And then, slowly I see those aberrations distracting me. Something like, you instantly are able to realize how you are doing on the outside almost instantly as you see yourself. But then, getting to notice the speckles on the mirror is like realizing how well you are doing in the inside, and it is not on a normal day that the aberrations show up. It actually interferes with what you are seeing—the physical self—your thought that you are doing just fine. However, think about it...

Blessed are those who realize this intervention and set on the act of cleaning the mirror, of getting rid of the distortions. You give the speckles a cursory wipe first; this is that acknowledgement thought on something that is bothering you. And then after the wipe, you see those stubborn speckles, the one that is much deeper that you thought; that's the root cause that you manage to point fingers at. Then you employ your nails, or apply pressure and try hard to wipe things off clean. After the job at the epicenter is done, you work on the inner edges to finish the cleaning. Ta-da! Now you are able to see things really crystal clear. There...! isn’t it obvious that after you mend the inner stuff, you look even better on the outer.

And there are times, when things are going too fast, you know there are specks but then you lose control of things, the mending act gets sidelined, and then you go down the spiraling path! Something like, you are late to a destination and just happened to wipe your mirror after you started the bike, and then realize those speckles. You cannot cleanse when your mind is in a chaos; it is impossible to mend it when you are in haste. You've got to pause, stop, mend, and surge ahead.

From introspection to mending stuff! I wish the realization and the mending act was as easy as realizing the specks on the mirror and cleaning it, partnering with time and priority!

The Growing Neem

About a year ago, at about eight in the night
when I was among the lot after a day's fight,
I saw a sapling in an almost wretched state.

Hardly did I know that I were to seal its fate.

I did see a steel strap beside the stooping sap,
And wanted did I to mend its breaking back.

I choked its neck with this rusted strap.
I was yelling at it, 
'think of yourself steady and strong!'

I fought until I stitched it back to its kin,
Even though I knew I was hurting its skin.

I left it there, hoping to have done a job so fair.

Today, it was just about the same time,
after a day's work not so fine...
I see a strange groove on a growing tree.

Hey...! He's the same dude who was so helpless 
and let to sway until he almost fell.

Now, here he is, grown twenty feet tall.
Proud was I to have seen him done so well.

But then, hold on for a second y'all...

This trough on his trunk that is running around
and about five feet from the ground?

Was I the one who left that scar?

I wonder about the neem's tale to the leaves!
Am I being damned or being thanked,
for the scarred life or for the breath of life?

Your Beautiful Eyes

The steady flicker of your naive eyes
always marked by a carefree candour
that which feast on the world's wonder,
and drenching it
with an imagination so splendour

Is like

The flame of a divine lamp
that which drinks the ether around,
neither too fast nor too slow,
living its fullest life
in each moment of its lustrous glow.

Beautiful, isn't it, to see...
both dancing
to the song of a thanking ode,
for being blessed to just be?

Poison

The point is not just about 
taking the blows or your deftness.
It is about being able to realize 
that you are about to be blown.

But, it is not that easy with words.

You... your mind may be poisoned 
without you being cognizant of it.

That is the difference...

in refusing to take poison
versus realizing 
that you are being poisoned.

We ought to be agile and immune.

Coincidence

How about this for a coincidence?

Long ago, when I had overcome a bout of greediness--OK... let's be a bit positive and call it enthusiasm, or love for books, or... eagerness, for lack of any other word--in buying books that have a good rating... I must talk about my book selection routine a little later; perhaps, that's an entirely different conversation (monologue?) altogether. Too much of meandering... I know. Anyways, the book, 'All the light we cannot see' by Anthony Doerr was one among them. And then, when I start reading it, I enthusiastically pursue the habit of jotting down the stuff that really impresses me, shakes me or whatever kind of emotion it brings out of me. So, of the three pages of ravings about the book, the one praise that I bother to write down is by J. R. Moehringer, author of Sutton and the Tender Bar. 

"Doerr sees the world as a scientist, but feels as a poet. He knows about everything - radios, diamonds, molluscs, birds, flowers, locks, guns, - but he also writes a line so beautiful, creates an image or scene so haunting, it makes you think foerver differenty about the big things - love, fear, cruelty, kindness, the countless facets of the human heart ... Doerr's new novel is that novel, the one you savour, and ponder, and happily lose sleep over, then go around urging all your friends to read - now"

It is indeed an amazing take on the book; no doubt about it. That is the reason why it takes a place in my beloved notebook. Now, the date was 28 Dec 2016. I have entries, more from books that I cared to leave midway, than from those that I bothered to finish. Just a rude reminder to myself that 2017 has been the worst of all the un-self years I have had to deal with so far. Un-self? I mean, not being myself or having very less time for myself. 

The last fews book that I read (in 2016) were 'Wonder' by RJ Palacio, 'When breath becomes air', by Paul Kalanithi, 'The One and Only Ivan' by Katherine Applegate, and in 2017, just one book: 'The Gita for Children', by Roopa Pai. And for the books that I deserted too quickly are Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild, David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas, Malala's I am Malala, John Grisham's The Firm, Kiran Desai's Inheritance of Loss, Jennifer Niven's All the Bright Places, Atul Gawande's Being Mortal, Jandy Nelson's I'll Give You the Sun, Harari's Sapiens, Doerr's All the Light We Cannot See, and Thich Nhat Hanh's Old Path White clouds. I know... Whatever!

And today, in a history of firsts, I manage to finish a book, and that's 'Open' by Andre Agassi. Rarely have books been able to catch my attention early on (he starts off like a wounded soldier and yet having to face the battle with such hate for the battlefield), and have made me read it till the last word. And this is one among such; I finished reading in one week, given my hectic schedule. In the last two pages of the book... a kind of closing statement from Andre, is the 'acknowledgements' section.

It reads, 'This book would not exist without my friend J. R. Moehringer. It was J.R., before we even met, who first made me think seriously about putting my story on paper. During my final U.S. Open, in 2006, I spent all my free time reading J.R.'s staggering memoir, The Tender Bar.'

And then, it is quite obvious that I would not remember that I had written that name a long ago, that too for some other book. I just happened to notice the name when I was about to jot down the difficult words in Andre's book on my notebook, and happened to peruse through the other entries that I had made.

Coincidence, right? I picked Moehringer's name so randomly, which was part of an praise list of some other book, and it comes back after a year in some other context; he is now the pseudo-author of a book that I manage to complete.

Sun

What do you wonder at, my son?

That the fragile flower
permeates cheer

while the fearless man
wilts and withers

under the light and glow
of our beloved sun?

Who am I?

I have seen your anger

I have seen you being rash

I have seen you being irrational

I have seen you lash

I have seen you as an arrant rogue
I have seen you being loved
I have seen you being used
I have seen your devotion

I have seen your fondness

I have seen you happy

I have seen you helpless

I have seen you punish 'em

and when you've let 'em flourish

I have seen you threaten

I have seen you tremble

I have seen you being blamed

I have seen you being wanted

I have seen you change, 

forms and shapes, and,

I have seen your resolve

I have seen you repent

I have seen you cleanse

I have seen you calm

and I have seen you cry

I have seen you being bullied

I have seen you betray

I have seen you in pain

and when you loved in vain

However...

You are unlike the humans around,

You never fake.

In all, I have seen all of you.

Who am I to you, dear rain?

Wrinkles

I read my writings of a decade ago.
Vernal, vivacious, pithy and sharp.
Liberal, focused, aplenty and nimble.

And then, I immediately,
scrutinize my face in the mirror.
Wrinkled and dull.

I wonder...

If my mind became as vulnerable
as my skin had become--owing to its love,

Time.

Introduction to Violence

Wouldn't exposing kids to the act of buying meat from a butcher (and thereby to the cleaning process) be considered as an act of violence?

~ Running Thoughts, June 04

Hyperbole

Seeing a speck on one's own nose.

Of Death and Sufferance

Does death kill ego, hatred, and any other forms of misgivings? For a moment, I thought it did. No... Not really. Between two beings in a tensed relationship, it proves who won and who had the last laugh. Under the pretext of homage, the ego-clad victor stands tall towering over the dead, registering the fact that he has won the race of time. Of course, it is only a temporary relief. But then, we are all ingrained in accumulating brownie points through temporary aspects, be it measures, relief, or victories; such a temporal object the human is. We go behind all things ephemeral: beauty, fame, money, power and whatever falls in the line of that trajectory. Well, what else can we expect? There is but one thing that we do which is indeed anti-temporal. And that is dying.

If one believes in after birth, then even that is temporal. What does this one important act of mankind signify? Because I do not believe in after-birth, I assume that it hardly signifies anything to the dead. For those who are left to survive the death, it is loss, both monetary and non-monetary. But then, death also bestows the survivor with wealth, power, and the usual accompanying suspects. Death brings out what was never said before—of the dead and the things surrounding them. With matters concerning benefits, at times, it brings more estrangements and more misgivings.

Of course, when the death has nothing to do with power, money, and fame, it is pain. It pains from deep inside to come to terms with the vacuum and the desolation created by the dead’s absence. Our heart cringes even with the very thought about the loss of someone who filled your time and senses with joy… like the loss of your very own progeny. 

All said, even these after effects are ephemeral. Time stands a victor, gobbling up even the sorrow that death creates. Don't you forget the fallible human memory that plays the partner in crime with time.

And of sufferance, does death act as a means to reconciliation? In most cases, it does. It makes the intolerant to reconsider and let what was then a major rift to macerate into a passable event. 

Leave alone a situation of death... Even if there is a near-death situation, and if an opportunity for reconciliation presents itself, would we not think about disengaging our ego and come forth to express our forgiveness and be uber-human about it? If that can be done, can we not imagine such a hypothetical situation, be large-hearted, shed our hatred, and look to work in harmony with folks whom we cannot even stand the sight of? That one act of kindness would open up so much more possibilities for collaborative living. If not anything, it would, at the least, let us be at peace with ourselves. 

And certainly, next to work, sufferance is the deliverance of mankind.

Air

You sucked in so much of me,

only to blow out the light of my soul?

Hurt

Do I tell her: Don't ever hurt me again.
or
do I tell myself: Don't ever get hurt again.

<...writing... as I listen to the rain's chatter.>


Dated: Sep 15, 2016

Afar and Aimless

Seconds after you left me,
the void space around me
threw me afar and aimless;

like

the unknotted full-blown balloon
that is sucked and squeezed,
and pulled to nowhere.

Hopefulness

Sometimes...

words, of hope and positivity,
come rushing towards me

and jolts me
like a blow of vengeance.

Redemption

I am searching your eyes
For all the love that we lost
Over our anger, actions, and words,
For so long...

Will you redeem it for me,
My love?

Seconds

Anger... mine and yours.
You ask, "what about it?"

In a few seconds,
all was done.

Like that untethered
full-blown balloon,
devoid of its noose.

In one word: haywire.

Dust

Be wary and cognizant
of what you do with the dust:

Defense
Offense
Delayed defense
Delayed offense



...Aug 21, running thoughts...

P.S.: To be read in correlation with 'Dust and Truck'. 

Companions

What better companions than

The walls that back your spine,

The books that hold your heart,

The music that fills your senses,

And

The thoughts that create your mind!

...Aug 06, running thoughts...