A little kingdom I possess,
Where thoughts and feelings dwell;
And very hard the task I find
Of governing it well.
~ Louisa May Alcott

...that more or less describes my situation!

 
Read the Da Vinci Code recently. I quite liked the book, but more than the story, I was caught up by the ideas on religion and faith interweaved within it and would like to share some thoughts that were triggered in the process of reading it.

I have never been able to figure out why people consider the Bible (or any holy book for that matter; but here I speak only of what is personally familiar to me) as God's word. It does have events chronicled in it that refer to God, but who is to say they have been written by people keen on reporting nothing but the truth and if what has been written is the way it all really happened? This same thought was expressed in the book and I couldn't have agreed more. The author says something to the effect that, why do people think the bible dropped from the heavens? Indeed, as strange as it may sound, even though people never analyse it, the reverence with which they hold the Bible is no less than if it had actually dropped from the heavens than written by the hand of man. The author mentions a quote in this context, "What is history but a fable agreed upon?". Truly.

Another question that intrigued me was that of "faith". If such truth that had the power to shake people's Faith were found, should it be made public? The author's answer, as was made evident by the conclusion of the book, was "no". But I am not so sure. On the one hand, I do realise that for some people, it is far better to live in a world of belief in better things to come, than to know for sure that there is no such guarantee of better things. On the other hand, there are people who "cannot" just believe, without a scrap of fact to support this belief. They would rather know that rain is not a miracle of the Gods, but a complex natural process. When seen from a certain perspective, we might feel that maybe it is better that the world live happily ever after with faith. But when we look at all the events that we have been through in our entire history on this earth, is all that we are today, a product of faith/blind belief or a product of a desire for truth, a desire to find out facts as they are? Would we have been happier in worshipping the sun today or in harnessing it for energy? ...I am definitely not against the idea of God, I am also among those who silently pray to God when all my energies seem to fail me...but what I am very much against, is to hold "faith" above "truth". I feel that those with a strong faith, those who believe strongly in what they do believe in, should not be averse to testing their faith against the rigor of truth.... for if truth emerged successor, they would know that their faith was false (but why even fear this outcome?) ...and if it didn't...they would know what they have always known and now have the ultimate seal of truth on it.



posted by Sylvia D'souza at 11:18 pm 0 comments

 
Have been meaning to update my blog for quite a while now, but have just not been able to find any time to sit down and put down my thoughts. Even now am in the middle of preparing for a presentation I need to make tommorrow...shall share a really lovely poem and skip back to work :(

Tell me not, Sweet
by Richard Lovelace

Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind
For, from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast, and quiet mind,
To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith- embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this unconstancy is such
As you too shall adore;
For, I could not love thee, Dear, so much,
Loved I not honour more.



posted by Sylvia D'souza at 9:47 pm 0 comments

 
Been to Mangalore for a few days. Quiet, restful days before the hustle-bustle of life begins again in full swing. It's strange how this dearest of places affects me everytime I visit it. I still enjoy Mangalore for its beauty, but the people, the things that made it what it is for me, are missing or scattered or unrecognizably changed...

My maternal Grandmom's (or Mai's) place, my most loved house, is locked ever since my Grandmom passed away. How eager I used to be to get there once I set foot in Mangalore.

I remember, little girl though I was, I would ensconce myself in the middle of where the elders were having a conversation and be all ears. I was called "vodlimai" (Grandmother) for this naughty habit and any visitor to our house would be duly informed of my nickname.

I remember sitting by the grinding stone, watching mom or aunts rolling the stone and churning the rice or coconut mixture to a paste, and begging them to let me try my hand at it. As I grew older, I was given the opportunity, but it didn't turn out to be exactly fun after the first few minutes.

I remember scampering around the trees and other greenery in the back of our house, pretending I was a village belle and singing Hindi songs. Come rain and I would run around for Mango treasure. Jackfruits I couldn't pluck even though they were at arm's length, but knowing my partiality for Jackfruit, no season passed when I didn’t get to sample them. Juicy, yellow Jackfruit. The seeds were boiled and eaten later or added for flavouring into some vegetable dish. Most kids were supposed to be fond of them, but not me.

I remember the cows mooing in their shed. My favourite cow, which I used to feed with all sorts of leaves and flowers I reckoned might be edible, was called Booky. Next year I asked aunt which one was Booky among the similar looking cows and she pointed one out to me. Later, I learnt that Booky had been sold and that was a new cow.

I remember the fisherwomen passing by our house, carrying fish-baskets over their head. Grandmom would holler to them across the street and they would come, place the basket on the ground, and show off their wares. Crabs, prawns, clams, mackerel, dried fish...Grandmom would select something and then the haggling began. It would sometimes get awfully heated and the fisherwoman would simply pack her basket and march off snootily. Later, Grandmom would ask aunt if they should have settled for it after all.

I remember, in the middle of the afternoon, when all would be fast asleep, I would go wrap myself in aunt's sarees and make-up and play house-house with my sister. The ice-cream man would come at around this time, blaring his horn. We would usually wake up Mom and she would either scold us for disturbing her or ask us to go get it and leave her in peace. The ice-creams were never as scrumptious as what we usually have, but there was a peculiar pleasure for us kids in having those. One of them was a "brown-candy", smelt of jaggery; my favourite.

I remember we used to have dinner by 8.30. We would all say a short prayer just before. I used to feel thankful it was short, unlike in my paternal grandparents’ place, where it could go on and on with no end in sight. The prayer would be in Konkani, and even though I understood Konkani fairly well, the prayer would sound strange to my ears. Prayers are complex, I would think. I would sing "Mogal Putra" in the end with the others, though whether it was because I loved singing or because I knew it was the end, is another matter. Then we would go to each elder member of the family and ask blessings. Grandmom first! When we were very little, they would actually pick us up and lift us into the air, blessing that we may become soooooo big.

I remember early in the morning we would all be excited about breakfast. Grandmom and aunts usually fed us with special traditional delicacies and we never could tell what they might get up to. Sometimes we would even get something from the small restaurant opposite the house. My favourite item was "biscoot ambade".I usually used to be chosen for the errand and told what I was to say "in Kannada". The restaurant owner knew me, I was Grandmom's Granddaughter; he had seen me ever since I was born.

I remember in the evenings, I used to sit on the boundary wall surrounding our house and watch big boys play football (or was it basketball?) in the small open maidan next to our house. Sometimes my sister and brother would also join me (I stuck at Grandmom's house while my sister and brother flip-flopped between houses with my parents).

I remember an "Aata” would be organised in the maidan at times and if I were lucky, it would be in the summer. An Aata was a drama in the open, as far as I could tell; it is also called Yakshagana as I find now and similar to Kathakali in Kerala. It would have people (only men) in colourful costumes, wearing paint all over their face and body, and heavy jewellery. My favourite costume character was the one I also saw on T.V...with a huge round crown-like thing over his head, face heavily painted in blue and black, and wearing something like a saree-frock. The best part about the Aata was that it started late in the evening and ended in the wee hours of morning. I could never make head nor tail of the drama, except that it must be very dramatic, with characters looking angry, dancing wildly, wailing loudly or invoking the heavens. But it was nonetheless great fun to watch.

I remember Grandmom and aunts would do what we call "eer-vodche" in the idle evenings. Piles of coconut leaves would be brought into the frontyard, everyone would sit on the cement floor and take up small sharp knives. Each leaf would be held in a certain way and the leafy sides sliced off smoothly, so that only the mid-part, the soft thin stick remained. These sticks were collected together and tied to be used as brooms. I would ask for my share of coconut leaves and a knife and sit among the ladies. This activity usually stimulated gossip among the party. Who died, who ran away with whom, who's house was broken into, what's the world coming to...never could a classroom session be so informative and interactive. I of course, wouldn't have missed the learning for all the world.

I remember Grandmom waking up at exactly 3.30 in the afternoon to milk the cow. I would run behind her and watch fascinated. Much though I was tempted to, I never mustered enough courage to try my hand at it. My brother had once been kicked by a cow while attempting this feat.

I remember, as the days would go by, my heart would sink lower and lower, knowing it will soon be time to leave. Tears would well up in my eyes just thinking about it and I would go into the dark room, where Grandmom hid jaggery and goodies from my all-searching eyes, and cry away. How I would miss everything...Two more years before I would see my beloved place again (we visited Mangalore every two years). Two long years.

Soon, both my aunts got married. One year when I went there, Mai suddenly looked very old and unwell. Aunt was taking care of her, but intuitively I could see in her eyes that I would see her no more. It was inevitable. It almost felt as if all those years had been a wonderful dream and that dream was breaking before me. I cried out to God in my heart to not take away my Mai, take away me.

After a few months, we got the news that I would have given anything not to hear. But time heals all wounds.

Mai's memories have a sacred shrine in my heart, but everytime I go to Mangalore, I wish I could catch a little scent of those memories. I look for familiar faces, familiar things...biscoot ambade, eer-vodche, mango picking in the rain, gossip in the kitchen with aunts, ice-cream man, fisherwomen, Mai's voice calling "peerti"...all missing or scattered or unrecognizably changed.

The house is locked now. I stay over at my aunts', uncles', paternal grandparents'...Mangalore is as beautiful as it always was, just that it has never been the same for me...



posted by Sylvia D'souza at 7:11 pm 0 comments

 
Once again, it’s “time to move on”. Shall be quitting my current work place and joining a new organization soon. Feel sad to lose all that had become a part of me for the past one and a half year but happy, looking forward to the new. :)

Talking about something that has been on my mind lately – I seem to find it more and more difficult to enjoy non-vegetarian food. I had posted something on this topic a long time back, just when I had started the blog, but it was more about “others’ sensitivities” and not my own.

When I go out and am given a choice, I usually opt for vegetarian food. If it is a matter of balancing an equation or avoiding inconvenience in general, I opt for non-vegetarian. But I used to manage not thinking about what it was I was eating, ofcourse even then, sometimes suddenly a picture of a live hen or goat would pop into my head, and then I could eat no more.

Now, I find it very difficult not to think. At lunch, some colleagues bring meat almost on a daily basis and not wanting to offend, few days back I accepted a tiny piece of mutton kebab. I did not feel good for the rest of lunch.

I do not believe in placing self-impositions like, “I will not eat non-vegetarian anymore”, since if I cannot eat it, I will not eat it…but I do wonder if this is only about individual sensitivities, or if as “humankind” as a whole, we’re increasingly beginning to feel about these things?


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 11:54 pm 0 comments

 
When I see people blithely in love, I envy them.

To feel so much love and trust for someone, that you want to give your whole and soul to that someone, with the instinctive knowledge that life's journey will be more meaningful and beautiful with such a companion, no matter what it brings, must be a wonderful feeling.
posted by Sylvia D'souza at 10:42 am 0 comments

 
It’s started raining here and I looooove it, as I always do!! There's something about the rains that puts one in a certain mood, and something about listening to good music in this mood. :) Rim Jhim Gire Saawan has been my all time favourite; this time I have also been humming to Zara Zara from Rehna Hai Tere Dil Mein.

Sometimes, when I just sit and reflect on nothing in particular, I wonder if we do not miss the really beautiful and enjoyable moments of life in the daily routine of work. Early morning when I wake up, I just want to sit at the window sill and enjoy the cool breeze blown by the rains outside, but instead have to rush to the gym, so that I can be back in good time, and then leave for work. It is as if even though we're free, we're really not free.

I'm definitely not saying that there shouldn't be a concept called 'work'; it is just that I wonder if we lose out on the very things that we aim to achieve by 'work', because of work (I do not include those for whom work is an end in itself).

Going a little further with the same argument, I also sometimes wonder about the emerging culture where the husband and wife both work. The couple do not see each other the entire day; possibly they get to spend some good time together only on weekends and that too would be a time when they rightfully need some rest after the exhaustion of the week. If there are children in the picture, they too are deprived of the parents' presence for most of the time.

I cannot think of a solution here, as I believe that a woman has as good reasons to follow a career path as a man does; but I do wonder if a healthy family could result from such a scenario.

Again if the two people, who work, work entirely for the satisfaction to be gained from work itself, it would be a different thing; but if they work so that they can enjoy the fruits of their labour in their personal life, do they achieve their objective by improving their material comforts, but at the same time, compromising on the emotional?

I guess not, but is there a way out of this circle...I don't know...life seems to be full of ironies...we spend our lives earning to buy a comb...and by the time we have it, we have lost our hair...


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 1:55 pm 0 comments

 
Voted for the first time this time. The funny thing is, I felt good after doing so -- felt as if I had done my little bit. I don't know what it was that made me conscious of my responsibility, but something did and am glad it did. Perhaps it is a sign of growing up.

I have never been more patriotic than most, in that, I have never considered going to the border and dying for the country. Nor have I ever had any interest in politics (or politicians and their capers).

Everytime I would hear such things as "Every country deserves the government they have" or "We cannot blame politicians for the state we're in when we don't even exercise our most basic right"; I couldn't see the truth of it. It didn't seem so simple to me nor could I imagine how anyone's voting could change the state of things (especially if one had to choose between the devil and the deep blue sea).

I don't still see it now...but is it better to leave a body to its fate and keep complaining that it doesn't get better or to atleast participate in its cure and then complain that it isn't responding? The latter makes more sense to me ...we owe it to our country...


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 6:44 pm 0 comments

 
Have just been to Goa (A friend of mine is relocating, and she wanted to have a nice good time with us before parting). This is the first time I went there, and must say it's heavenly. Am naturally fond of beaches and to live in a land of beaches for three full days was like a dream! I could have gone on and on about its beauties but am sure I wouldn't be able to do even half justice...

One of the pleasant surprises that hit me as soon as I landed there was the language. In my own native place, my native tongue Konkani is spoken only in specific communities (Kannada and Tulu being the dominant languages in the state). But in Goa, there was Konkani all around. Funny how one's own language makes one feel at home!

Talking about languages, I have always wondered why it is that we "think" in a language. It is common to hear people say that one is most comfortable with the language one thinks in. But why do we think in a language in the first place?

If we speak in a language, it is so that we can communicate with others but do we need a "language" to communicate with ourselves? Don't know...

I have wanted to catch myself thinking so that I can pin down if I was or wasn’t actually thinking in a language, but either I become very conscious of my design and cannot think naturally, or I belatedly try to remember the thinking process and can't be sure about anything.


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 10:46 pm 0 comments

 
Was travelling to office by bus the other day, and as usual, there was barely enough space to even stand. Coincidentally, was standing near those front seats that are meant for ladies and have the word "Ladies" indicated over them in English and Marathi. There is also a seat reserved for the "Handicapped"

After a few minutes, a lady standing next to me asked one of the men to vacate the seat reserved for ladies. The man not being your genteel, cultured type objected a little, but then fearing he didn't have much of a case, gave up the seat.

A gentleman next to me suggested that I too do the same and claim a seat. I politely told him that I didn't mind standing.

The whole episode amused me not a little and struck me with the irony of it. I wondered at the whole idea of having seats reserved for "Ladies", particularly taken together with the fact that there were also seats reserved for the "Handicapped". I wondered at the women who on the one side demand equality with men and on the other expect preferential treatment deserved by the "weaker".


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 12:02 am 0 comments

 
A friend was telling me that these days I seem to blog because I have to blog and not because I want to. I don't know if my posts reflect this, but I do hope not. It’s not that I have nothing to say, just that so much of effort goes into mulling over the whole thing and culling out right words, that the lazy me conquers always.

Since a very long time one topic has been on my mind, but somehow never ended up discussing it here --
Love Marriages vs. Arranged Marriages.

Its funny the way our own opinions keep changing. Being a very conventional-minded person right from my cradle, so to speak, I was always in favour of arranged marriages. Don't remember what exactly my arguments were in favour of them, but the fact that my parents' marriage was an arranged one may have everything to do with it (not because it was the happiest but something of the like-father-like-son syndrome).

Coming to the present, I would neither vote for the one or the other. I cannot even see how a 'type' of marriage itself can guarantee success or failure of it.

Sometimes people give examples of certain very successful arranged marriages to prove how infallible it is, and then some others give examples of certain love relationships turned into matrimony to prove their cause. There are examples to the opposite effect too in both cases, but these they would tout as exceptions, depending on which side of the fence they are favouring.

I myself have come to the belief that be it a love marriage or an arranged one, as long as certain ingredients are present, both hold equal chances.

If two people were to simply see each other and confess themselves in love with each other, I would have to wonder why there should be any reason why a marriage between these two persons should be successful unless it were pure luck. They might continue to be in love with each other for some time but don't they say, "Love is blind". In this blind state the couple would carry on magnifying each other’s perfections and ignoring like so many spots on the moon, the not-so-desirable traits and one day reality, or rather, marriage, sets in.

The perfections appear in their normal hues and the spots do not become smaller because there is no moon. They wonder what they ever saw in each other in the first place but no answers come, other than the obvious.

On the arranged marriage front, two people meet each other, are more or less satisfied with each other’s personal attributes, speak a few words (not having been in like position yet, can't tell what!) and confess themselves not displeased. The parents arrange for everything, and the D-day is done with.

The couple slowly get to realize in their day-to-day lives that there is not a thing in common between them. No ground at all where they can meet. No wonder they never meet.

I myself feel that whether it is 'love' or whether 'arranged', as long as there is mutual understanding and trust, a practical assessment of each other’s compatibilities and a consciousness that no matter how hard, the relationship is worth all the effort to make it work...not for now but for ever...there is every chance that it will succeed.

I believe in emotions tested by time…not like the intense but momentary flame that starts up, burns bright and flickers away...but calm, constant and ever-present like the sun…


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 8:59 pm 0 comments

 
If you ask me about my most horrible nightmare till date, it would be the one where I dreamt that my front teeth were falling off. Loosening bit by bit, then falling apart, and off.

I was so deeply involved in the dream at the time that I remember being close to tears, and then suddenly, as it usually happens, I realise its only a dream and am as happy as I would have been if someone had sewn the teeth back in their place and set them straight!

Maybe you're wondering why all this talk about "teeth" or for that matter, "nightmares"...well! I had another one yesterday and this time it was for real. :(

I walk into my office oblivious of this dental check-up that was arranged at our place. It seemed like a funny coincidence since I had been feeling a slight tingling sensation in my teeth for a few days now, but as ready to be patient in this particular matter as anybody else, I had been telling myself, "It will go away if you let it be."

I nervously go into the check-up room; the lady asks me to open my mouth now, now to close it, now prods my teeth, now glares in with something like a torch, now marks something in her sheet.

Her face grows graver and graver and mine correspondingly turns paler and paler (What do you expect?)

I pray for the best but then God has these ways of frustrating your prayers sometimes (Mine, most times). I know it will be the worst.

The lady calmly tells me I need to get my wisdom teeth removed or I might have to get more of them removed later. It wasn't exactly a choice, when you think of it. "Do you want to jump into a well now or would you rather be washed away by the sea later?

Knowing a few people who have had such atrocities done to their teeth, I wondered if it might help talking to them a little. Maybe I'd feel a little better when they told me there wasn't much to it.

I go to friend X and she says, "You don't even feel a thing when they pluck your teeth out. It doesn't hurt at all". You would have thought there was a gentler word for "pluck" in the dictionary.

I go to friend Y and she says, "They inject you with an anesthetic on your jaws first and then your whole mouth goes numb. You don't feel a thing really". That was supposed to comfort me??

Well...maybe it won't be so bad after all... :(

Forgetting that, want to wish everyone a very happy Valentine's Day and in tune with the occasion, a lovely poem...

"Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a heaven in hell's despair."

So sung a little clod of clay,
Trodden with the cattle's feet;
But a pebble of the brook
Warbled out these meters meet:

"Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another's loss of ease,
And builds a hell in heaven's despite."

-- William Blake


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 4:10 pm 0 comments

 
Read "The Catcher in the Rye" sometime back. A great book; though very different from the books I am used to reading, especially in terms of flow and language.

Holden Caulfield, a 17-year old, recovering from a nervous breakdown, speaks to us of his adventures and thoughts just before he suffered from the collapse and as his narrative progresses it is difficult to decide if it is Holden who is going insane, or is it the society that has lost its mind. I would go with the latter!

Following is an extract from the book; put here out-of-context, but will surely give a taste of what the book is about.


"Even though it was so late, old Ernie's was jampacked. Mostly with prep school jerks and college jerks. Almost every damn school in the world gets out earlier for Christmas vacation than the schools I go to. You could hardly check your coat, it was so crowded. It was pretty quiet, though, because Ernie was playing the piano. It was supposed to be something holy, for God's sake, when he sat down at the piano. Nobody's that good. About three couples, besides me, were waiting for tables, and they were all shoving and standing on tiptoes to get a look at old Ernie while he played. He had a big damn mirror in front of the piano, with this big spotlight on him, so that everybody could watch his face while he played. You couldn't see his fingers while he played--just his big old face. Big deal. I'm not too sure what the name of the song was that he was playing when I came in, but whatever it was, he was really stinking it up. He was putting all these dumb, show-offy ripples in the high notes, and a lot of other very tricky stuff that gives me a pain in the ass. You should've heard the crowd, though, when he was finished. You would've puked. They went mad. They were exactly the same morons that laugh like hyenas in the movies at stuff that isn't funny. I swear to God, if I were a piano player or an actor or something and all those dopes thought I was terrific, I'd hate it. I wouldn't even want them to clap for me. People always clap for the wrong things. If I were a piano player, I'd play it in the goddam closet. Anyway, when he was finished, and everybody was clapping their heads off, old Ernie turned around on his stool and gave this very phony, humble bow. Like as if he was a helluva humble guy, besides being a terrific piano player. It was very phony--I mean him being such a big snob and all. In a funny way, though, I felt sort of sorry for him when he was finished. I don't even think he knows any more when he's playing right or not. It isn't all his fault. I partly blame all those dopes that clap their heads off--they'd foul up any-body, if you gave them a chance. ..."


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 4:42 pm 0 comments

 
Another year on planet earth I complete today. There's not much of thoughts to share, just that having written some little thing for these past two years on this very date...didn't want to break the record!

There is a sense of serenity in me which had been missing before; I do not know if it has to do with age or experience or a fuller confidence in myself or insight into others or a calm acceptance that no matter what comes, it was meant to be and maybe for the best.

This day has been full of many happinesses but the best of them from an unexpected quarter. I got this nice little camera as a gift from my family. It is not the gift itself but the whole lot of things that this camera signifies to me that makes it such a happy surprise. I had been meaning to have one ever since I can remember, and never could get around to it, for one thing or another. I might have bought a better one given time, but now this one has become too too precious for me. It is a token of a wealth of thought and feelings...don't know if I shall ever be able to return even a small part of how much this gesture means to me...


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 7:13 pm 0 comments