between Aquarians -- of the third decan

I might be guilty of exaggeration ( ps: I may not always be right, but I am never wrong ) when I say that  Aquarians are doomed or blessed to be eternal students. swimming leisurely in several subjects or a handful or even one at a time, we hide. when we come out of it do we expect the world around us unchanged?  or changed forever? or those around us to be waiting with bated breaths? maybe. and for most Aquarians, a few fans are always around -- constant admirers. the Aquarian is glad to have them around, even grateful. but how intimate do they let these become? not very, i should say. most of their time is spent on their strivings, and dreamings, and -- on a special unattainable someone/something or both. Not that they want that someone really. just that they want that someone somewhere unattainable.

 Many of us come off as arrogant, and aloof. Most of them have reason to be so too. experts in their chosen field, they have a knack of absorbing info from thin air. some climb literal mountains, some climb mountains, literally. Our curiosity lands us in varieties of trouble. That it is a  genuine curiosity is not understood by many. Sometimes a whole other world -- or a person from a totally different world arouses that curiosity. they belong together in our innocent minds, don't they? yes, we are innocent, aren't we? :))
do people think me as arrogant? maybe when I was young -- not anymore, I think. i have adapted/conformed, as women usually do. we rise to  societal expectation better, we have to, in order to survive ( here too culture plays a great part -- an Aquarian female who grew up in a modern western society will be far more Aquarian outwardly than her say, eastern counterpart). Again, the world on the whole, is more accepting of the eccentricities and self-centeredness of a man, more than a woman's. excuses, excuses, i know. Well, some may actually be put off because they think I am pretending to be humble. But then my accomplishments aren't that great so far, and I am not doing much these days that would make me proud of myself. So I am not pretending. And there is a difference in the character of followers the female gets too -- she is mostly admired in secret. they dont want anyone else to know about her, or their knowing her. (they probably think it will go to her head) :)

I am constantly amazed at the parallels between their seemingly disparate lives. for instance, when one travels far and wide and samples different cuisines, takes pics, another one sits at home and creates these foods, after knowing of them from books or shows.when one meets people of all ages and writes of them, of their smiles, of their footwear, the same is written by another in a small scale . it is uncanny because neither knew what the other was doing until after they both did it.

it is a constant striving . for knowledge, and to share that knowledge with others, to see what they would make of it, curious to know what they think, how they would process it. But the Aquarian also seem to not wanting to ever reach the goal. these people live in  a world of of their own. a dream world. oh there are intermittent awakenings and epiphanies -- they are the proverbial tubelights. that childlike wonder of seeeing the world for the first time -- that never leaves them altogether   -- it erupts every now and then. this works in their attitude to relationships too. esp to a fellow Aquarian. at one time, they are one -- pals, soulmates even. then comes the self-doubts and the doubting of the other. and the idea that one shouldn't be that close or attached. or that the other is not as attached as one is. and so the impulse to prove that one does not need the other as much as s/he thinks. the timing is almost always off. push and pull. and vice versa. so off goes the friendship. it is as if we are at once burdened by the awareness of  the futility of it all, and also the knowledge that this is what life is all about. we are too tired to seek at times, and at others, we are afraid.
until next time something reminds you of that friend. Meanwhile the true Aquarians have forgotten what the rift was about. so another attempt -- but the cycle again. This sad /boring /exciting pattern has replayed itself so many times in my life -- in my friendships with other Aquarians. And I marvel at the similarities among these highly individualistic, different-lives-leading, dramatic, crazily intelligent, stupidly stubborn, arm- chair humanitarians.

I do presume that distance plays a part in the dismantling of these friendships. In another scenario, they may at some point, either forget the other altogether, or find a way to collaborate with or encourage each other in their endeavours. Great, rebellious or simply  nonsensical rebellious works could be created out of such friendships. They will be like nothing you have ever seen or heard.

what will it take for these to work together? because once they do miracles will happen, and the world will be a better place. These people can change the world. They can influence millions. Or, once they got together, it would be total Pandemonium. They are friendly souls basically, but at some point they do not welcome friendships either. They trust people, but they do not really. Highly contradictory individuals. Just like their sign -- an air sign with a glyph that looks like it's a water sign.
Also, in this new age of interwebs, and social and democratized media, it looks like more and more people and customs seem to take on Aquarian characteristics. Could be true that we are in the Aquarian Age, at least at its beginning.

Do we all share a certain attitude to other signs, generally? say, a wariness towards Geminis and Sagittarians? a fascination with Scorpios? an attraction to Leos, our opposite signs, to be let down in some way? a fated relationship with the totally different Virgo?do we face rivalry in Capricorns? an affinity, an empathy for Pisces? an indulgent understanding for Taurus?  a leave alone respect for Cancer? and a fun but competitive, at times bickering friendship with Aries? and feel an amused lightheartedness with Librans?
Whatever our nature, whoever we are, wherever we are, the past 14 years haven't been easy -- with hazy Neptune's magic. of course it had its plus side too, but mostly it has made us forget who we really are. exiled from our own little Paradises, whatever kind they were. and our very nature, that special friendly, curious, cautiously trusting, romantic without being romantic, loyal and proud  natures have all but disappeared. But I am glad that that time is nearing an end. So I wish us all the very best!( i  know this sounds kinda crazy and new age-like, but there it is!  )

Disclaimer: this piece is not about fictitious Aquarians, but real flesh and blood ones, ( I think! as I haven't really met some of them) like myself. This is not meant to offend anyone, (in fact, just the opposite), and if anyone takes  umbrage, I shall take an umbrella. I count these Aquarians as my friends, almost like parts of each other , not indispensable, maybe, but who would be exceptional,  if together. :)

Update: This is surely a ninny piece. A load of nonsense. Stupid. I plead temporary insanity. ;)

musings for no reason (mainly for malayalis)

There are some sayings  where i come from -- for instance, "two things that cause grief - gold and woman". something like that. possibly true. especially since this profound piece comes from a place where acne on a girl's face and fungus on a man's torso are seen as signs of beauty and virility respectively. :) If you don't believe me, just listen to the songs in this post - In the first one, actress Geetha sings her heart out about the handsomeness and masculinity of the aloof warrior (who by the way, has eyes only for another) she admires. In the second one, our evergreen "around -the-tree - romance" aficionado Prem Nazir lip-synchs his way through yet another extravagantly poetic and sometimes gagworthily descriptive love song( don't mistake me, Prem Nazir is one of my favorites no matter what ).  anyway, what I think is that it is the tummy that causes grief, seems to take a life of its own. and it is an equal opportunity matter. they say that the cessation of growth is one indicator of old age. but I say that growth may stop in certain areas, but certain other areas tend to flourish, a fact that I am made increasingly aware of, painfully.  This is also the time when everyone around you seem to be way younger than you are.

The other day I was thinking about death and such, and sighed and stated that we cannot bring back the dead. Promptly my son quipped, "of course, you can! you are just too lazy!". :) When he looked at me with a sly smile after that, I had to laugh. He was just giving back my own medicine. Isn't that  the basic understanding behind our traditional Indian parenting? Nothing is impossible, it is just for want of your trying that you don't get something. But then, that "unimpossible' thing has to meet with total parental approval, of course! to be contd. -- maybe.

clogged in London

Can't believe that just two days back, I was in London! A short, sweet stay. Even though one day was spent in drenchings and splatters, and the Thames cruise became a foggy blur, I savoured it. While waiting at the airport to catch the return flight to Chicago, it felt like I had been away for a long long time. But once I landed in O'hare, the London sojourn seemed a distant, misty memory. I wondered why we even bother to make trips, if we are going to feel it never happened! But I also know that things will come back once I unwind. Jetlag had caught up, I guess.

The mind and its ways! In London, I thought I saw my dad in a restaurant! In a mirror facing me, I saw this  grey haired man sitting on a sofa, looking outside, with his head to one side. Just the way my dad used to. Even the frame of his glasses  below the high forehead, looked like my dad's. For a minute, this stupid mind of mine told me, " hey , he was here all along! what were you being sad for??" You won't believe the sudden wave of sheer joy and relief that overwhelmed me to see that he was all right! Then the moment passed, as the man stood up and walked out in front of me, and I felt duped. Not that I was completely unaware of the fact all along -- that my dad was gone forever. It was almost as if I was observing myself, my reactions. But still I can't get over the vulnerability of one's mind. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I really thought it was my dad. That all the sad things that happened were just a nightmare. How easy  it is  for the mind to believe in something that is not there!

Anyway, in case you are wondering about the title of this piece, it is all about clogs. Of the shoe variety. I like to wear them all the time, because as I tell anyone who would listen, they are comfy. You can walk in them as much as you want, and your legs don't tire or hurt. I know some swear by flats, others by sneakers. But I like a little bit of heel in the shoe. And because the front is covered, the toes don't get cold or wet. A small puddle is not a problem if you have clogs on. It is leather. But no matter how much I tout it, my sisters won't buy into it. They say clogs are okay with jeans, but not with skirts, dresses or saris. I know your legs look funny in clogs with skirts and such, but I did not care. Comfort being more important for me. And also, I have this habit of closing my eyes to things I don't want to see or just wishing things away, like if I pretend not to see it, it won't be there!

Well, walking around in London was no different. I wore my trusted pair of chunky clogs all over, with everything. When someone asked me if I was from Paris, I was pleased as punch. Like the clogs, I have a preference in jackets too. I have a favorite leather jacket for not so warm days, and a quilted down one for a little cold days. I wear those with everything no matter what. I walked for hours looking at flowers and gardens at the Chelsea flower show. I had teas and pasties and pub food. My clogs and my quilted jacket made them all even more enjoyable. I was glad I had them, as each gust of cold wind blew around me. I was even gladder for the garment, when I saw a few around me shivering in their trendy, light jackets. :D I could empathize with them poor souls, especially since I had been in their shoes a few times before.

I got back home. Then the photos. And I squirmed painfully in shame as I looked at them. :)I looked like an old bag lady! Especially from the front, the clogs looked ugly with my rather nice dress. And what with the bulky jacket and idiotic scarf, I was a sight! My  young sisters asked me who it was that asked me if I was from Paris! They wondered aloud if he was really in his right senses, if he was a drunkard doing savaasana.  I told them, it looked bad because I was posing for the photos. I should 've been photographed while moving. Then they asked if I meant as if by paparazzi? I said, of course! And I tried to make them laugh saying that the way I was packing for the trip was as if I expected the paparazzi to be clicking away left and right, in a frenzy, the moment I stepped into the airport. haha. But no quips or self-deprecating jokes could alter the fact that I looked style-challenged/positively dowdy, and that it was against their  knowledgeable counsel, over the years. "The dress is good, but the shoes are wrong", I have heard that from them a hundred times. The penalty for sacrificing style for comfort!

At last I conceded that clogs do look bad with certain items of clothing, from certain angles.
But that doesn't mean I will follow their advice! That will be sacrilege, for an Aquarian. :) I cannot dismiss the fact that I am getting older, as well. So clogs aren't remiss, totally. While waiting in line at Manchester airport, we encounter confessors at various points, more than any airports here. I really felt like I was doing confession as I answered the set of questions asked by persons of venerable age. It was the regular "did you pack your bags by yourself" questions. But I couldn't hear a single thing. I did not want to ask them to repeat either. Also my mind kept wandering. So I fired away "yes", "no". "no", "yes", with no rhyme or reason. At the first check point, I did fine. At the second point, the respectable gentleman stopped and looked at me and repeated the question. Then I knew I had said the wrong thing. And corrected myself. No, I don't think my ears were clogged. Of course, air travel wreaks havoc in my ears. But this time it was just because I couldn't hear. I remembered my dad who used to do this, towards the later years of his life -- random yes and no to questions or statements. :)) And I used to get mad, and used to ask him, why can't you listen, dad? Why can't you ask them to repeat?! Now I am in the same state, or country (of old folks).

Clogs and I belong together! :D

of quite "unpromising" matters, and of Thor, and gods in general

"What(ever) happened to your promise?" the singer belts out intensely in the song. As I trundle along, listening to it, like I have a thousand times before, it strikes me all on a sudden. That's it! No one has promised me anything! Ever! Then why would I expect anything from anyone? Well, another light bulb moment for this tubelight. I have heard someone tell me this, of course. But back then I disregarded it. If no one promised me anything ever, how can I blame anyone for not keeping promises? I cannot blame even death. But that is a whole different enchilada. (Not that I would believe it if anyone made any promises to me. oh well! )

Related to this could be the reason I prefer knocking on the wrong door. Any sensible person knows such an activity is inadvisable. For one, there may a ferocious bulldog behind that door! Then why do I do it? You may think it is that quality of persistence in me. Or that I am one of those "fatal attraction" fans. Or it could have been the foggy Neptunian influence on me -- that's astrology. Or, it could be that Aquarian urge to bring about change, without being changed themselves, to teach, to impart/share knowledge/info to/with all, whether they would listen or not. But I do it, if I do,  maybe, because I know that there is no one behind that door. That is, no one who has promised me to open the door for me. Now isn't that safe, and pragmatic? You have something to do, or you feel like you have something to do or wait for, and all that. And I get to not change at all! Much like life, I think.-- imagine the picture! everyone in the world knocking away on the wrong doors, or the right ones, for that matter, doesn't make much difference, right? And much like writing, say, this blog.  No one reads it, but I write anyway. And like the concept of "God". ref: in the absurdist tradition, waiting for godot, here, knocking on "godoor" ;)

Talking of gods, saw Thor. Enjoyed it hugely.  Now that is a lover/God worth waiting for! Another wrong door to knock! (I remember the songs that the nuns sing back home, at Mass - "My soul thirsts for you" and things like that) A golden god. Not a silent suffering one. But one who can easily wreak havoc.  Someone who does not pretend to be all-loving and forgiving, and still make us humans suffer anyway, and then wash his or her hands off calling it free will! No false show of humility, and then expect  to be revered/glorified, and kneeled down to, or beware! No, I think that any god who is worth his salt should be this Thor! God! Larger than life.Greater than human.Someone who looks like he can make things happen for you in this world! and not sell you or promise to sell you timeshares in heaven, if you please everyone else but yourself in this life.

Each time you whirled that mjolnir of yours, Thor, my heart, not unlike many other womens' and mens' too, I am sure, went hurtling along. The sheer power! that tremendous, immense, victorious, proud display of physical strength -- brought tears to my weakling eyes. As for Kenneth Branagh, I admired him as Wallander, and now, this, as master sculptor/craftsman of Thor! Thorough, large scale, rollicking, heart-pounding fun!

On "Murder at the Gallop" (1963)

Margaret Rutherford

Joan Hickson

David Suchet

All those involved in the making of this movie have to be congratulated -- they did a fine job of murdering Miss Marple, Agatha Christie, and Poirot, all at once! Done them all in properly! Not at all satisfied with changing a Poirot story into a Marple one, the makers had to make a mockery of Marple. I had to watch a Joan Hickson - Marple  movie to get  rid of the frustratingly disgusted, disappointed feelings that this farcical circus of a movie left in my mind. The character of Miss Marple has been completely turned upside down and trampled on by the character that the venerable Rutherford plays. Marple was not a strutting, bragging, condescending female Sherlock (though I like the eccentric  Holmes). She was a dignified spinster who kept a low profile while calmly and surely solving cases through shrewd observation and knowledge of human nature. She never bragged or climbed over stuff to peep in through windows. They could have made a mystery with Rutherford, or say, Ustinov -- it would not make a difference for those who never read an Agatha Christie mystery. But please do not call them Marple or Poirot. Hickson and Suchet are the only actors who knew the soul and the spirit of those characters. But then, it is sad to note that  in the recent Poirot movies, Poirot has suddenly become fanatically Catholic! Unforgiving and railing against immorality! The humaneness of Christie's Poirot is one of his admirable and endearing qualities! Just as calmness and dignity are some of the qualities of Miss Marple.  A dear sweet old lady who appears quite laid back and almost apologetic for intruding. Modest, utterly feminine, and not hurtfully judgemental. Not at all loud or manly or acrobatic!!! Or sexily clad in strappy dresses and doing the twist!! Notthat there is anything wrong with all that. But that it just isn't Marple.

on death

Thursday, August 2, 2007


One of those days, weeks . . .

So it is going to be one of those days when old age and death make themselves pronounce certain inevitabilities. Today they call me, shake me by my shoulders and say, "hey, wake up! that's enough sleep. Blissfully ignorant sleep! we are waiting here for you. Can't you see? We are right here and we always win."

My first pair of reading glasses had almost done me in. Till then, my eyes had given me no trouble at all. But when they started to deceive me, and when I got this equipment to help me, I panicked. Parts of the machine that is my body, are wearing out. Repairs can help, only temporarily. Soon other aches and pains will enter. Weakness will set in. Diseases of the body, of the mind. No matter what I do, what they do, Time will run forward relentlessly. I will run with it, but ironically, I am being left behind. Lagging. Slowing down. Falling down. Dying.

The glasses were forgotten in a month, as I could read even without it. And the fear of the end was forgotten along with it. New friends, old ones, new smiles, new hellos. Life seemed to be alive once more. But again, along comes the next medical checkup. Sleepless nights -- nights filled with fear. Of pain, of death. Filled with regrets. For things left half done, never done, for dreams that will never be true ever again. For things that will never be the same again. Time. Something that I seem to have a lot of, but in fact, I have so little of.

Who do I say goodbye to? Should I say it? Why? Wish I could say goodbye to time. Meet death half way? Would that defeat Time? Is there someone around to remind me how great life is? Well, if life has been a long slumber, then death ought to be a dream too.