The Land that lives... A tribute to Gabriel Garcia Marquez and his Macondo

Macondo, a land founded by the Buendias, who lived, died and died again, sometimes for a cause and sometimes for the illusion of grandeur. It was a land that once prosperous but fated to be buried under the canopy of dried mud for, the plague of incest and war was more than it could handle. Despite that, Macondo produced sons who exhibited valor and died for it; it produced men for whom the land meant everything; it made warriors out of women, without whom the strange town would have collapsed before the 100 years.

Yes it was only a town that faced and survived the plague of insomnia. It was merely a town that stood even after being ravaged by the biggest war that left nothing for its inmates except the land itself. It stood the test of time, holding on to the last threads till its creator, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, finally gave Macondo the peace it deserved.

Marquez created Macondo, which carried the echoes of the war and pain of the living-dead. He brought alive the world that was barely acknowledged yet plundered. He immortalized Macondo, a tribute to the land that gave him home and made him.

The man died but Macondo continues to live, as a memory to some and as the fallen legend to many!

Banality of everyday life

It is nice to sit in the patio and do nothing expect dream and reminisce about the past.

The rare breeze eases you from the entanglements of the present and on to the land of never return where time stands still and the clock never strikes twelve; a place where a magic never ceases. In the company of the fanciful and dreamy, you will live the life you dreamt of. Happiness and joy that elude you in reality will be a constant companion at least in those moments though ephemeral. It makes you wish if only those moments were longer, more real.

But this very banality of the real world, harsher, colder and much more complex than the dream pulls the reluctant self back into the abyss. You keep living in the chasm and never to be got out. 

Wish I could make time stand-still…

Wish I could make time stand-still, if only to revel in feeling of being able to do anything 

Wish I could make time stand-still, if only to laugh at the foolishness of adolescent years 

Wish I could make the time stand-still, if only to know that, that moment of contentment would never be yours again 

Wish I could make the time stand-still, if only to succumb in the realization of unrequited love 

Wish I could make the time stand-still, of the time where responsibility and maturity were mere words 

Wish I could make the time stand still, if only to bury myself in the happiness of the bygone days 

Wish I could make the time stand-still, if only to linger in the dusk basking in the last rays of the sun 

Wish I could make the time stand-still, if only to remember that life was meant to be lived 

Wish I could make the time stand-still, if only to live in my dreams

Wish I could make the time stand-still, so that there is no tomorrow… 

For the cliches and its its success

Those long hours in a flight beside a handsome man – every girl’s dream. But sadly it is reserved for cinemas and novels. Ajith and Anushka starring Yennai Arindhal was not any different.

Ajith as Sathyadev was handsome as ever with his salt pepper hair. Surprisingly Arun Vijaykumar was the main villain showing off his newly obtained six-pack abs every chance he got. (I’m not complaining). Trisha though comes for a very short time, looked her best and did her best in that short time. Trisha seems to me is G.V.M’s new muse.

There was nothing unusual about the story. Between good police and bad guys, love becomes a collateral damage. But what might have set the movie apart was the different faces of Ajith we got to see in the movie. As a son becomes an IPS officer so that he can avenge his father; as a police man he collars the gangsters; as a man who falls in love with a dancer and her daughter; as an unexpected father who nurtures and gives up his career for that daughter who had suddenly become his; as a friend; as a protector.

Ajith becomes every one of them without breaking a sweat.

Even with the cliched ending the movie managed bring in all the drama without being cheesy. So I guess it is a good watch. These police stories are fail-safe, not without reason. 

Until death do us apart

The ritual of doing same thing again and again till it becomes a habit. Humans never realize the bliss of that monotony until it is broken and becomes a part of life, only to be broken again. 
There are so many thoughts that floats around our brain that it sometimes mess our mind, dims our wit, blocks our vision and crumble our confidence.   

This world within our world takes a life of its own, known to our subconscious, oblivious to the self. Mere constancy of these surreal moments becomes more real than the reality we live in until we are trapped in a limbo from where there is no return – until DEATH.  

2014, A year that was

A Year that will be 

2014 was a year for discovery, for venturing into the unknown and to explore. It was also a year to leave the comfort zone behind.  

Beginning of the year marked my journey as an amateur writer for my office newsletter and running a daily mailer series for my team consisting about 50 members. I did it because it was fun and spiced up the mundane work. Enrolling into a journalism course was just a passing thought then and may be just a dream. I was drifting along. Then came March and with it the heat of summer and deadline for registration of ACJ. I registered. Then I went with my work accompanied by anxiety of possibility studying after a huge gap and being a software engineer for 4 years was drastic even for a person as impulsive as I was. I did it because I wanted a change and because may be because it was just right. I read The Hindu and Thugluk religiously. I started blogging and was surprised with the cult response to my blogs. I’m no usual rambler neither am I a philosopher but something between the two.

May dawned. I gave my entrance exam on May 11 and my ego took a severe blow for the question paper was difficult and felt I was out of my depth. I must have written well or may I just was better than the worst in the lot, I was selected for the interview process. The interview was scheduled for June 4. I hardly thought about anything else in the time in-between. There was nothing I could read which I had not read before nothing I could do which I had never done before. I decided to go with the flow instead of preparing. That was for the best. The minute I came out of the interview hall I knew I aced it. I felt I had given my best shot.

Never had five days seemed so long. I did all the usual work – going to office, cooking, reading and blogging – but I just couldn’t ease the anxiety. Though futile I kept checking the college website everyday hoping they would publish the results sooner than the said date, June 7. And they did. Sunday the June 6 the results were published and I got through. I knew then that I wanted to be accepted more than I let myself believe. That was a defining moment, may be a little stupid as some would call it later, because I was leaving the well paying job when I was in line for promotion and may be onsite to become a journalist. I was giving up the sophistication of AC room to run around the city sweating like a dog. I somehow quite liked the sound of it.

So I became a journalism student sniffing for news and poring over the papers looking for errors.

It’s December. I love this month of any year. It is cold, lazy and beautiful. For me every day that ends is a step towards that fresh beginning that is always around the corner. The future seems so bright and full. There is lesser room for doubts or uncertainties because that is always saved for the present. Endless possibilities and chances loom in front of us. Therein lays the magic of December.

It fills with you with hope, chance and miracle of a new beginning until next year!

Happy New Year!

My haven

I remember evenings the most. Receding sunlight breaks through the branches of a neem tree, birds returning to their nests after the day’s hunt, a group of five or six children including me playing hide and seek and catcher on a huge expanse of land that housed a Vinayakar temple under a Pippal tree and a Shiva temple at the center.

Once in a while there would be fine sand piled up on the ground for construction or renovation of houses. You would find small mud houses on them if it was there for more than a day. I learnt cycling there. The terrain with its coarse sand and rough stones was a home to millions of earthworms. It was a support to two neem trees, which was a sanctuary for crows, pigeons, owls and sometimes parrots.The place has seen people grow up from the time they were toddlers to the time they die. It absorbed sweat and blood, offered solace just by being there carrying the burden for decades or may be centuries.

Years went by, people came and left. Some looked and few talked but never really saw and spoke to the land that was their den during their childhood.

 Familiar rough sand and crude stones were replaced by strange fine cement. Majestic brown of indigenous land is now a road of sober grey. There is a huge water tank between the neem trees. There is too much unregulated vehicular movement that it is not safe for children to play. There are hardly any kids who come out anyway since most of them are glued to their smartphones and tablets.  Gone were those days when the only sound was squeals and laughter of children, chattering of residents and regular ‘ding dong’ of temple bells. Gone were the recklessness of that time is gone and with it its innocence.  

Dancing to the tunes of zephyr

Music glided through a chalet on a calm cloudy autumn afternoon. Music was a familiar classic. If someone who was playing, that someone must be quite an accomplished violinist.

The breeze was soothing and carried enough moisture. It would start raining anytime.

The branches of magnolia tree waltzed to the tunes of zephyr welcoming the rain goddess. Leaves giggled even as tiny droplets kissed them. Magnolia buds blushed at every brush with the drop. Soon, drizzling became a downpour.

There was no one except her on the battered boulevard. The lone chalet with its stone roof and no windows seemed as warm as a winter cold. Her flowing waterfall of black hair was wet. It was hard to tell the colour of her eyes in the slashing rain. She was laughing mirthlessly.

The music had stopped.  “Magnolia,” a voice called.

Then, there was nothing but the sound of rain. 

Can Temple run and life be any more similar

I was killing boredom with a game of temple run 2 at the dawn of another boring day. 

I ran. I ran further. I kept on running. 

I crossed the rivers and hopped over the obstacles. Rewards were aplenty and dangers bountiful. There were narrow lanes and fire coughing mountains, giggling rivers and dangling emeralds with a troll on the trail. Beefed up my sack with whatever I could for the end that would never come. I slipped and fell sometimes saved by a whisker and other times not so lucky.  

With the laden sack and fluid limps as I surrendered to the banality of journey, I realized it wasn't about winning or losing at all but about perseverance and chances – a chance to go on or die. It was a run in search a destiny that never exists but hoping it does. 

May be life isn't any different. 

All good days come to an end

Fluttering heart and incoherent speech is the expression of excitement in the anticipation of the weekend that promised sleepless nights and sour throats; hearty lunch and sleepy afternoons; late supper and lot of laughs.

The noisy platforms and milling crowd, anxious smile and the waited bait always spell home to the wandering soul.

Hugs and kisses followed by questions and more questions, a wave and a hoot, a chuckle and muffled laugh over the familiar scuffle between familiar neighbors. All good things rolled into one that never discriminates night and day until now. The day where the dream ends and reality kicks in.

Good bye never said without tears, hugs always with a longing. Train and people will not hold the same charm because they always seem say all good days come to an end.