Jil speaks...

Dead Poets Society

2009-08-20T22:47:00.002+05:30

I watched this movie again by chance on TV. I love this movie. I love these lines of Thoreau especially. In this week, I've been sending these lines out to a lot of my friends... So it had to come up on my blog.

Where does your trash go?

2009-04-18T00:00:00.008+05:30

My work is keeping me busy. I got no time to write about the Holy Week days. And I hate that! My work is on waste management. And I've made some friends recently who are concerned about the environment. So I thought of posting this one piece I read in a book sometime back. It's very interesting.

There is no better way to understand how deeply we are disconnected from our environment than to ask the big metaphysical question, the question that has challenged the great minds of our generation and the generations before us.

The question that if we had a clear answer for it would unlock the deepest mysteries of life on this planet : Where does our trash go?!

The truck comes to our place of residence, they dump into the back whatever we dumped into the approved container with the phone number and the name of the company on the side, and we think no more of it. Have you later in the day thought to yourself : I hope my garbage made it there safely!

Where is there? And how many there's are there? And what do they do with it when it gets there? Does every town have a there? Can the people who live next to the there smell there? Are there laws about how many there's a town can have? Is there a point at which a there is full ? How is this determined? Can the people who run the there give us a percentage of how full their there is? Do they get together and discuss these sorta things with other people who own there's?

No! We don't even think about it. We know that skilled highly trained people are on the job and so we don't spend a moment thinking about where our trash goes... until we go camping... and the sign says to take out everything we take in... and for an hour or for a day or a week... we're highly attuned to what we're doing to the environment. We pick up every wrapper. We bury everything that should be buried. We wait until every last coal is burnt out. All because.... we don't want to pay the fine.... which of course raises the question, "Is there some sort of larger fine that all of us are going to have to pay as the human race for our actions?" And if we were aware of what that fine was going to be, would we all of a sudden care very much about there?

2009-02-25T18:33:00.000+05:30

Remember if you are chasing your destiny

2009-02-14T11:16:00.000+05:30

Fear is greatest in the vicinity of our desires

Perseverance is always needed in the direction of our destiny

There is always more we must learn and become

Pearls before breakfast

2009-02-12T21:03:00.000+05:30

I stumbled upon this article. And i want to say nothing about it except : You've gotta read it!
I also want to say that there are many ways you can respond to this. Please do watch how you do!

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/04/04/AR2007040401721.html

Behind her eyes

2009-02-10T17:43:00.000+05:30

Long ago (it does seem that way!) I cycled 6 km to school everyday. It was exciting at the start. But soon, it got boring. So then I had to look to other things for pleasure.

I started overtaking old men on their TVS-50's. (The best part is when I look back at him teasingly!) I started looking at all kinds of posters on the way! I timed myself and tried to break yesterday's record. I tried riding without my hands on the handle.
But this was the thing that stuck for real long and was real fun:
I started looking into the eyes of people!

We don't do that often. Actually sometimes, it's dangerous. But then everyday, I would look deeply into everyone's eyes.
Starting with dad when he wakes me up with a smile, and then mom when she's hurrying around in the kitchen. Our hardworking milkman who always sports a smile. Perumal uncle. Duthie School Girls. The old bald uncle bathing in the channel. The Padma Stores guy. The hard-working mason smoking beedi to begin his day. My cycle shop anna. My barber. The fisherman on the M-80 hurrying to sell the day's catch. The rich dad in the driver's seat of an A/C car. An old woman hardly able to walk. The madman who sits and speaks to the sun. ... ... ... and on and on.

There is a story in every face.
Sometimes I tend to treat people like products, like machines, like animals, like angels. Like something less than human. But I need to treat every person as a human being.

For me to treat a person as a human being, is to acknowledge the profound mystery in the person. It is to not fit him/her in my boxes.
It is to know that everyone has a story, a set of circumstances that affect him. But it is also to remember that no one is really locked up in his story like in a prison. It is to remember that within a human being, is a mysterious power to somehow transcend everything!

"Man is a mystery; if you spend your entire life trying to puzzle it out, then do not say that you have wasted your time. I occupy myself with this mystery, because I want to be a man." - Fyodor Dostoevsky

Seems like when we fail to realize the human-ness of all of humanity, we lose a little of our own humanity!

“So…… dance”

2008-11-18T13:31:00.001+05:30

The sleepyhead sun, he rises slowly…
No bump. No jerk. No pestering alarm.
For a moment he remains in his dream. Another moment in some sort of a liminal haven, and then a smooth, almost stunningly sweet transition into the day. A smile on his face for everything new. He observes his image in the mirror and muses on the veiled tale.
He can’t wait to go out and announce the change.

The night is over! The day is here!
Yesterday is gone! Today has come!
Enough of the comforting dark! Let’s shine it bright!

The joy of the sun, it’s contagious, a tune like no other.
The birds wake to this music. And music always brings dance. So they danced.
They heard the music and they danced!

The butterfly. The bee.
The earthworm. The turtle.
The lizard. The snake.
They all awaken to this riveting honeyed symphony

Someone has bathed the earth-bride in dew and dressed her up with grass (so green it hurts the eye) and flowers (so graceful it fills the eye). Just for the final touchup, here comes the sun.

The dew twinkles in the sunlight – a perfect setting. The squirrels jump and play.
They can hear the music and they dance!
The trees seem to hear it too. They clap their hands and move their branches.
They can hear the music and they dance!

Paradise is not far. It understands all. Something feels like ‘the music is being played by angels – on duty for the princes on earth’.

The last to awaken is Mr. Lee B. Jones. But it’s ok. Cos’ now the stage is set. The instruments are tuned. The equipment is all ready.
All eyes, eagerly on him. Hearts beating wildly for the grand culmination. Whispers in the air.
“The lead singer will surrender his voice to this music and he’ll dance… And when he dances, we’ll all learn. And it’ll be an all time high. It will be a cosmic dance!”

Deep in his bones. A word. A posture. Just a tiny expression of disgust. But a death-knell to dreams everywhere - “Fuck!” – He said.
An unforgiving ‘full stop’ to the cosmic dance.

Who Am I ??

2008-09-05T11:20:00.001+05:30

A dark night.
A gunshot killed all the silence.
Cutting through air like diamond through glass, the bullet hit her temple, bull’s eye.

Long before the gunshot or the shooter picked the gun, was an artist. And he painted. And he dreamed. His gentle brush-strokes caressed the canvas and made art; the angels fell facedown in worship.

He dreamed and he painted.
And then dreamed and then
… He painted again.
---

Twenty-two religions. My Twenty-two brilliant ideas. Twenty-two governments.
Twenty-two bruises. Twenty-two stab-wounds.
There were twenty-two demonic attempts at ruining his masterpiece.
The genius still remains in the pieces.

A strong bearded man came along this evening and he said, “Let’s put it back.”

And so we pick up the pieces. All day and night. Those pieces which look complete, we crush. And we keep picking the pieces.

He gazed sharply at me; His countenance was like the moon-lit sky.
“Remember”, he said, “You did not make yourself.”

Love at Second sight

2008-08-29T10:20:00.000+05:30

It’s one of the many books in your mini-library.

You’ve read it once before. It was the okay kinds. (You know what I mean)

But this time –

It has just blown you away.

This girl you’ve been sharing your boring classroom with, for more than six months now. And she walks in today and your heart starts to sing!

You’re like –

How did I overlook such beauty?

Many a time this happens to us – an overwhelming feeling that this time,

It’s not like it was;

Yes, this time something’s different.

This time you’re falling in love à love at second sight!

---

Life has a very similar love ballad with me. The first time we were together… she brought a sparkle to my eye. She made me want to hang out more often. It was great.

But the reality was: We did not connect to the extent, when blood flows either way.

My purpose was mixed up. My wrong motives were now the weak foundation and the dream castles came crashing down. Everything was reduced to rubble.

I closed her eyes. They pulled over the white fabric. It was over. We all went home.

Long after the death, there came along a man who dug through the rubble. Tirelessly, patiently, he went on and on.

He called out to me and showed me pearls in there. I took my stuff and joined him there. I dug all day and all night with all my strength. Love at second sight.