Monthly Archives: February 2011

Looking through the panes…..

While growing up, there was this shop down the lane. A small pretty shop scattered with the usual grocery items. It stood there, amidst the row of other shops. There was nothing exclusively striking about it. But come what may, every Sunday morning the owner used to wash the windows. That was when we all kids of the block used to loiter around. He was a quiet guy, never yelled and always had a ready stock of candy for us. Recently when I went back home, I heard that he was having Parkinson’s’ disease. The store had passed down the family line to Sam. Jokingly, I asked Mr. Peter if the Sunday morning ritual still stands….



Pat came the reply with twinkling eyes, ” Oh yes dear, imagine if Sam doesn’t do it anymore, who will even bother giving it a peek ?
Besides, if your own window panes are smudgy with dust and dirt, how can you look at other’s with a clear view…” Meta-philosophical reply. Ironically, what brought me to this remember this little incident is that, the amount of finger-pointing talk that I hear around. It’s so easy to point your finger and waggle your tongues, criticizing somebody but how many times do we stop to think about what we do. Looking within, I do have a lot of cobwebs and dusty corners. It’s not so easy to sort them out, but then if it all clutters up, it will affect my thinking and moods of the future, maybe not conciously but sub-consciously.

After-all, it’s easy to point a finger at someone, but what about those three fingers of yours pointing back at you ? True, Mr. Peters looking through faded window panes, alters the actual view. So it’s time for me to clean ’em before it becomes totally opaque with all the dust and the grime.


Nuances of a new “rural-settler”…

Well, one back-breaking day of unpacking, and from the looks of it; I can finally call it a day. So sitting in this mellow mood, updating myself to the fact that I am still adjusting to the life out here. As I had posted earlier, this new place is essentially a missionary-based rural hospital; the nearest town being miles away. It’s been nearly a month since I have joined work, though I am still trying to settle down.

This place or rather the life out here kind of leaves you unprepared. No matter how many tips you get, or advices you get about the local customs and rules; nothing can prepare you for the life out here. True, amenities are to the basic but small-town or rather rural life is different. It’s nice to be greeted by scores of people in the morning, to have people fuss over you and look out when you are new and shifting in. Come to think of it, even in a suburban neighborhood,  you would be welcomed with smiles and house-warming gifts but later things die down. But here, you have the occasional stop-by over by the locals when they go to town. The only clinch is that nothing is private, everything is news. Some days you are the news, other days someone else. The thing with this small town is that nothing goes by unnoticed, which may be a boon or a bane; I still have to see. But on the whole, it feels nice that your next-door farmer-neighborer had kept your paper while you were out in the town for a whole weekend.

If anyone were to ask, would I have traded this, the smell of the fields, open skies, the splashes across the lake and the vast open spaces with rich cow-studded pastures or tractors running by; for the dark, dusty days of the city. Definitely not. I needed this break and I would have made the same call, given a choice again; regardless of electricity and network coverage.


Packers & Breakers ….oops movers…

If there is one activity that I kind of find a trifle annoying is shifting homes – both the pre-  and the post- stages. Consider the facts; the change of locations, the new secluded place of work and of course the spacious new quarters. So this is why at this party hour of the night, I am sitting and grumbling at the scene –  carton boxes piled on with half the contents on the floor ( consider the option manhandling !!), stuff strewn around…whoa, even a toddler couldn’t beat me at this art.

Don’t blame me but I don’t relish the activity of moving. Pretty tedious, getting the right number of cartons, organizing the wardrobes, classification of all items as daily, once a while, once bi-annually, yearly, rarely and of course the i-think-i-may use-it otherwise what my mom would call it “junk” and the regular trash stuff. Ironically after all the pains of packing, I still mutter fervent prayers and with crossed fingers hope the movers know and recognize the word ” fragile”, which I am sure hardly ever happens.

So this year was none the different, nevertheless the outcomes have been so far bearable. Lets see, one broken china set ( but repairable, so my hair is still on my head), one torn apart carton, and one cracked painting.  The latter was supposed to be discarded but…as usual it may come in useful some time.

Considering my work schedule and the fact that all the cargo arrived a week late, I am still glaring at the mess in my quarters. Sigh, getting started is worse than it looks like. I wish there were un-packers for hire out here….alas, if horses could fly ( not the ones which are silvery with pointed horns!!!!)….


Bridges….

It’s been a long time since I could type down my thoughts. Now that at last, I have laid my fingers across the keypadFor the story behind this post, I want to take you all back to the fourteenth of December, last year.

It was the baccalaureate day, the day where the solemn acknowledge that we would soon leave the nest was taken. The day when close friends said promises and exchanged addresses and reminders to keep in touch and echoing the years of fun and craziness. That is when I ccame across these words in a bookmark, taken from an old prose. Unfortunately, can’t quote the name of the original poet.

 Life is like building bridges…

A part of the landscape…

Arches that the wind so often plays on….

Don’t go on separate ways…

 Start on each side and continue on…

This is how they were built…

Two beautiful spans that meet in middle…

2 hands in concrete greeting…

Go both ways…

Road has 2 directions…

 One day…

Look for something as simple as an open door…

A handshake…

N that is how we will know…

How we cross these bridges that we share with others…

Which then becomes twice as large…

Winter bridge by Steve-h 

These are the lines that I want to emphasize on. Around five hours post-Valentine’s day ( nothing unusual about the wrong timing, but as they say better late than never), I need to share these lines. Life is like that, I guess. Bridges built in different places, across various waters, some deep, some calm and some troubled. But at the end of the road, it connects us all. Even today, miles apart from most of my friends, it’s the memories that make each day spaciel and also, the promise that someday we’ll meet each other on the bridge.

Happy Valentine’s Day to you all out there.