In a story: That breaking point, that’s what interests me. A commenter said that strong people stayed strong all the time, even pushed to the wall, they battled and found a way out. No, not always, and when people don’t act true to form, the stalwart giving in, the strong man buckling under pressure, the saint turning to crime—that last feather, that X factor--that’s captivating....

So- destiny, or none?



In the falling evening light I see a five-year old surrounded by toys in her playroom, playing with make-believe friends and believed-to-be friends, and I think of the changes a kind soul would bring to her life just by stepping into it and shaping it, the values, the backbone, the slant of her head—and think, yes.


I see this girl in her twenties returning to her home town, the brightness in her eyes dimmed, shaken and broken at the turn of events, learning anew about grief and sorrow--and a new workplace that started off as a place to go to, but changed, changed and changed again -- yes, destiny, and yes, she probably wouldn’t get that job today even if she wanted it.


I see a woman brokenhearted, cowering , picking herself up and walking away free, and I see the kindness of strangers and a reality that is unsheltered in the barrage of workshopped stories, lifestories, and the guiding hand of kind spirits never to be met—yes, destiny.

All luck by chance.

Change is the only constant. Happinessinthisworld has a great post on Change.



Yet something as simple as a supermarket closing down throws life out of sync.


Goodbye, More. You were great while you were around. Fruits were fresh, vegetables were straight from the fields, the staff was helpful and courteous. Poor kids, what happens to them now? Discount and range were decent, not earthshaking, and I reciprocated with my loyalty and solid billing.


Unlike a traditional housewife, you did not do in-season purchases, you did not tie up with the producer, and margins got hit—even my aunt stocks up on spices and grains in season, so how complicated is that?


Now I have to figure out how to deal with conniving, silver tongued sabziwallas who’ve made a religion out of short weights.


The positives? This opens up two free hours on Sunday morning.


And DD1 is showing a series based on the Upanishads.


This morning I got a rejection on a story that is almost as long as the story. And have decided to put up stuff on Tumbhi, starting with stories that are anyway online.

Kahaani. What a brilliant jolt-of-electric-adrenalin of a movie.
No spoiler alerts here-- go see it!
Fantastic storyline. So that's the first hero. Happy to see someone has as much of a bent criminal mind as I have.
And the CITY... magical, maddening, pristine, filthy, modern and dilapidated by turns, pulsating energy, but what awesome photography, almost like a painting, a living mural, it reaches out and touches you, the simple humanity of the place...
Like that fleeting time in Birla art gallery where I sat singing with complete strangers.

The more things change, the more they remain the same, and on and on and on again we use the same template, only this once it doesn’t evoke a reaction—no storm, no tears. Thoughtful passivity. If all of life is a choice, does it have to be this way? Or maybe a change from status quo, the venturing needs an extra shot of energy or special bravado… and I’m too attached to my security strings. Surely, if I keep returning time after time to the same point, perhaps I should give it some consideration. Other than sweeping it under the proverbial carpet.
Pat on back: drove to the lab and back without mishap.

What do you do when a friend gifts you the perfect, spherical eggplant?
Cook it. Poyemn it.
I’m thrilled to announce publication of a poem, Eggplant Rhapsody, on Pure Slush
http://bit.ly/xOPBcp
http://pureslush.webs.com/eggplantrhapsody.htm

So Columbus discovered America.
As the late parent would say when I learned or stated something that was obvious, even easy.
AUDACITY.
That’s the name of the software I downloaded, installed, used on Thursday even as the rough town beneath my living room exploded in color, light, sound. Disco on steroids for holi.
Feeling quite PRIM about using the software to record in the native, a translation of basics, cat mat bat, suchlike, for mylanguages.org.
And the shock at the size of audio files and etc.
Columbus khush hua.
Wah Taj, wah, collars up.

Aaj rang hai, Hey maa rang hai rey
Mere mehboob ke ghar rang hai rey

An ecstatic Nizamuddin once wrote
Drunk on the colors of life
invisible to but a chosen few
Today was Holi, the festival of colors
But my celebration has been ongoing for days
The colors dancing in the air-haze
In the delirious plurality of green
the burst of sunlight
cascading chorus of bird calls
My gulaal, my abir in the play and turn of the breeze
In the kesu and jasood brimming over
Nizamuddin may have long written his verse
there is hope
Yes, the world still celebrates