Self-realization stems from the juxtaposition of simple perspectives with contradicting viewpoints. The immunity of my native to perplexing ideologies from the outside world was the confined imagination of its native, who visualize the whole world as spread around it; rather than the whole world having a negligible place segregated out to these mortals to live and if wish to progress. Thus Copernicus syndrome strained people drastically to deny and contain modern ideologies that successfully floated many inhuman and senseless customs and over-bearing traditions in a seemingly sacred and serene environment constructed through the ages by these men of the land.
It is a curse for men to be born at the transitional period of progress. Cause they belongs neither to the old nor to the new. Despite their toils they neither see the twilight nor the golden line of horizon. These victims of mesmerism just die down as if a simple time passing strategy of history. It was at this juncture that I was driven with an urge to broaden my vision and inspire a generation of people to be able to have the fruit of their labour, if not taste it. Coming from a big family of seven, where poverty was shared with happiness and concealed with pride. Where scarcity ran out in front of broad hearts and cheerful little faces. Here is a world where wishing and dreaming are just sleep inducing tactics. Choosing and knowing to choose what you want to be is often precaution against big disappointment and depression. Unconcietedly this angelic planet of ours is a thinking man's grave. Solitude resulted out of the constructed apathy of fashionable and quick living city mates, in my study place; assured me enough time to meticulously decorate that grave and authenticate it to for.
To be continued…..
It is well into when the night itself is wading into a dizzy. This breeze had been around sometime now. I think she is lost searching someone. She is yet to give me a straight look and I am sure she isn't for this crap. The Traffic lights had never been insincere and people are never stopping anywhere. I never knew, daily bread is such a big hunt for these men, when even crows are napping sound. Here is someone singing to me …’the road to hell’!
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
"It always rained here in my seas without any trees.”
It was always an exit from nowhere, abundance from darkness and an opulent display of emptiness. The classroom black board was all these for me. This ensemblage of my memory may turnout to be an occult recollection at the moment of departure. The bell rang and the captivated from the classes ran away to freedom all over the village. 
But for us, it was to be the last day some of us perhaps will hold a pen and paper ever in life. Among that moment of unriggable distinction of fortunates and unfortunates of life, a tangling vale of gloom dissented upon us. First time ever the class was brimming with characters of romantic loveliness. Each bore a hale of innocent illumination that best eluded their personal rudeness and physical crudeness. A hug to all and so heart touched, a recognition to all characters; undaunted of its intensions. An over looked conclusion of primary play of life comes as close to reality as it disappears into the haze of memory.
I was always different from others, not because I boasted so. But I was lean, dark, and had a hairstyle that best resembled a toilet brush. I was the porcupine of the class. And may be I failed miserably to be one among them and simply was distinctly different. I preferred to stay that way mentally and unwanted physically. Out side the clouds wavingly laid sheeted of rain all over the village. The storm giggled, ran around, sparkled the clouds, roared at the heights and speared the grounds; my dearer moments, when nature makes a compulsive entry into you. The gleamy faces lined up the veranda and grasped glistering drops, slipping down the sloping roofs. The aroma of nascent rain was irresistibly sweet for me. But I was on a long sight through the window, beyond the school, far over the village as far as the horizon; on an unyielding trace of my destiny.
Continuous episodes of depression and demand at home “so negligible an effort” made things, work my way and drastically changed the line of my life. I was making my way out of home to the city. Stubborn old faces lined up my way, predicted my doom in the sky and avoided looking at me. Mother was seen as a window. She has to be imagined as the window kept weeping. I walked out and looked back, the house dead as it is, lay still like a picture on the wall. It was good-bye for then. Sense prevailed and emotions submersed, I made my way to the bus stop.
A hurl of dust, a procession of smoke, and a panting roar of over hauled throat; the bus is arriving in time. This mechanical device with drowsy squint eyes, trembling limbs, chink of bolts, and a half strip of clothes; carried thirty people bedsides their, cattle, paltry, rice, coconut, fish and what not. The line of my journey cutting lawns of rice, rows of trees, garlands of rivers and passage of time was a self-experienced emotional escape from a bunch of delightful people, who always rejoice for the humbleness of their needs and the nobleness of its fulfillment. I always had my sight fixed over the vast stretch of rise farms and its communist peasants. Thus for the first time in my life, I made a compulsive entry into the new world with my skeptical father beside me and some ones basket of poultry on my laps.
to be continued.....
THIS far from the madding crowd:
One of my school buddy got in touch with me with this sms today. I was so happy to hear from him. The message reads,
“billboard outside a religious place: Lying in bed, naked with somebody & screaming, ‘Oh my God, Oh my God’ will not be considered as prayer!”
Now I know, he has not changed a bit, doing good and most probably doing his 'prayers' aswell.
After so many unnecessary nightouts making design proposals, I wish I could perform this to my boss when he asks (usually when I have my back to the door), “Issac, how you doing?”
Strictly if you have active mallu genes and have lighter time, watch this & this :)
If your little sister needs a little lift, probably this lady could provide a lot of it. If she actually needs more than little, it could become “velukaan thechathu paandaayy”:(
I have blasted my eardrums and danced off my blues with this after the office dramas…
PS. No one ever says, "It's life" when they get what they want out of life and no one ever says, "its only a game" when their team is winning"
Have a Nice Day!
But for us, it was to be the last day some of us perhaps will hold a pen and paper ever in life. Among that moment of unriggable distinction of fortunates and unfortunates of life, a tangling vale of gloom dissented upon us. First time ever the class was brimming with characters of romantic loveliness. Each bore a hale of innocent illumination that best eluded their personal rudeness and physical crudeness. A hug to all and so heart touched, a recognition to all characters; undaunted of its intensions. An over looked conclusion of primary play of life comes as close to reality as it disappears into the haze of memory.
I was always different from others, not because I boasted so. But I was lean, dark, and had a hairstyle that best resembled a toilet brush. I was the porcupine of the class. And may be I failed miserably to be one among them and simply was distinctly different. I preferred to stay that way mentally and unwanted physically. Out side the clouds wavingly laid sheeted of rain all over the village. The storm giggled, ran around, sparkled the clouds, roared at the heights and speared the grounds; my dearer moments, when nature makes a compulsive entry into you. The gleamy faces lined up the veranda and grasped glistering drops, slipping down the sloping roofs. The aroma of nascent rain was irresistibly sweet for me. But I was on a long sight through the window, beyond the school, far over the village as far as the horizon; on an unyielding trace of my destiny.Continuous episodes of depression and demand at home “so negligible an effort” made things, work my way and drastically changed the line of my life. I was making my way out of home to the city. Stubborn old faces lined up my way, predicted my doom in the sky and avoided looking at me. Mother was seen as a window. She has to be imagined as the window kept weeping. I walked out and looked back, the house dead as it is, lay still like a picture on the wall. It was good-bye for then. Sense prevailed and emotions submersed, I made my way to the bus stop.
A hurl of dust, a procession of smoke, and a panting roar of over hauled throat; the bus is arriving in time. This mechanical device with drowsy squint eyes, trembling limbs, chink of bolts, and a half strip of clothes; carried thirty people bedsides their, cattle, paltry, rice, coconut, fish and what not. The line of my journey cutting lawns of rice, rows of trees, garlands of rivers and passage of time was a self-experienced emotional escape from a bunch of delightful people, who always rejoice for the humbleness of their needs and the nobleness of its fulfillment. I always had my sight fixed over the vast stretch of rise farms and its communist peasants. Thus for the first time in my life, I made a compulsive entry into the new world with my skeptical father beside me and some ones basket of poultry on my laps.
to be continued.....
THIS far from the madding crowd:
One of my school buddy got in touch with me with this sms today. I was so happy to hear from him. The message reads,
“billboard outside a religious place: Lying in bed, naked with somebody & screaming, ‘Oh my God, Oh my God’ will not be considered as prayer!”
Now I know, he has not changed a bit, doing good and most probably doing his 'prayers' aswell.
After so many unnecessary nightouts making design proposals, I wish I could perform this to my boss when he asks (usually when I have my back to the door), “Issac, how you doing?”
Strictly if you have active mallu genes and have lighter time, watch this & this :)
If your little sister needs a little lift, probably this lady could provide a lot of it. If she actually needs more than little, it could become “velukaan thechathu paandaayy”:(
I have blasted my eardrums and danced off my blues with this after the office dramas…
PS. No one ever says, "It's life" when they get what they want out of life and no one ever says, "its only a game" when their team is winning"
Have a Nice Day!
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
An Oscar enigma and my own anima
My antique aunt (above 75 years is teased affectionately across dinning table as the ‘bagpiper’ aunt reminiscent of her traditional appearance in church services) exclaimed, “What’s so much about this statue of a naked man….hmm what’s that?", Oh.. oskar, helped my mother!” Talk of Rahman has become common for once unlike his songs. Forgivable though I heard one of my favorite singer (blues) loose his sportsman spirit over it as well. I was not that happy with it for some nights and because I need to sleep, go to office and earn my daily bread…sorry rice instead, I found solace in believing that as usual he was in his good ‘spirits’ and particularly he may have been ‘on-the-rocks’! It was uncalled for..for him to call a duel between two not so similar professionals. I think little did he realize about the differences than being in the music industry until he turned up in a Punjabi, agile, Sindhi white horse for the medieval style duel and our Oscar hero appeared with Roja music on a “Nalla-superaaiyrike-Thamparam-Pothe (Buffalo). Needless to say the outcome… after the first full look at each other, it was an instant walk off. Then deserting their respective private carriers to work on individual music styles. But I suspect the Chennai lad is coming with a Gazal escorted by no tabla, harmonium, ..and what else?…I heard the whole troupe is being exempted from the album. Don’t play with us South Indians; we may not be easily detectable in darkness until we smile. ‘Mind it!'..lol.
There was a lot of noise when one day cricket became popular and great test players instantly checked word meaning of ‘job-insecurity’, ‘provident-fund’ and even ‘redundancy’ instead of ‘run-a-ball, Hook, and even ‘life-expectancy’. They immediately realized what South Africans knew and some Australians see as discrimination and apartheid. They even tried to practice it on some white folks playing one day and 20-20 cricket!
It was rightly said by Gulzar that for a Hindi lyricist to be appreciated in Oscar is an impossible fete unless it rides over some fantastic music composition. Gazals are classic, and I can not part with them on a leisurely evening till late night and even up till just before the milk man appears from the fog covered-up like someone straight from Gaza Strip. Having said that, I don’t leave it to any chance for one to think on earth that I am to hit the dance floor on a hard earned weekend with someone, demanding… “Hosh Walon Ko Khabar Kya....Dil kya Cheez hai.!!!!”.. If so it wouldn’t be long before I am alone and the pub owner checks his short sight right between my eye brows, …then our eyes collide midair and I slip into a low-tone track instead…….” Jo chaaho mere yaar karo main nashe me hu n….”
I think it would be an ISBian idea (there are lot of kids who have the first best idea just because they joined MBA and 30 minutes to go on the subject ‘entrepreneurial skills’ before they search for a rope and a ceiling fan or if they are chivalrous, lead the class and jump out of the balcony) to sit over the drain pipe instead and provide back ground music ….“Ghar tera saloni………..Badal ki colony, Dekhade thenga In sabko jo udna na jane….Masakali..masakali”. ……… to all the ontime party “Ada-se-Ud-Ud-burr-burrrr-tu-Heera-Panna’s rushing with hawks to the town’s dashing, smashing and sometimes jeans shattering remix shacks, confusingly named…anima. or .enima…misspelled intentionally with a ‘g’ before his Ma . But mind you, what ever said and done if your partner returns to you by some brain defect, even if it is after an year and she murmuring with flickering eye lashes, “I didn’t talk to you, cause you didn’t call na?…and now, mind you I will never talk to you”… If she is still there, not-talking-to-you (case-1) or (case-2) if you still can be stung by an old arrow exactly where it hit you last time and didn’t bother to avoid, I would recommend that you leave ‘masakali… matakali’ and latest ‘jai-ho’ and play some ….” Besabab baat badhane ki zarorat kya hai, …Hum khafa kab the manane ki zarorat kya hai…..”
Nationalism is a matter of heart and soul. You feel as a nation so you are. I am proud of my country and I am loving this feeling.
Cheers!
There was a lot of noise when one day cricket became popular and great test players instantly checked word meaning of ‘job-insecurity’, ‘provident-fund’ and even ‘redundancy’ instead of ‘run-a-ball, Hook, and even ‘life-expectancy’. They immediately realized what South Africans knew and some Australians see as discrimination and apartheid. They even tried to practice it on some white folks playing one day and 20-20 cricket!
It was rightly said by Gulzar that for a Hindi lyricist to be appreciated in Oscar is an impossible fete unless it rides over some fantastic music composition. Gazals are classic, and I can not part with them on a leisurely evening till late night and even up till just before the milk man appears from the fog covered-up like someone straight from Gaza Strip. Having said that, I don’t leave it to any chance for one to think on earth that I am to hit the dance floor on a hard earned weekend with someone, demanding… “Hosh Walon Ko Khabar Kya....Dil kya Cheez hai.!!!!”.. If so it wouldn’t be long before I am alone and the pub owner checks his short sight right between my eye brows, …then our eyes collide midair and I slip into a low-tone track instead…….” Jo chaaho mere yaar karo main nashe me hu n….”
I think it would be an ISBian idea (there are lot of kids who have the first best idea just because they joined MBA and 30 minutes to go on the subject ‘entrepreneurial skills’ before they search for a rope and a ceiling fan or if they are chivalrous, lead the class and jump out of the balcony) to sit over the drain pipe instead and provide back ground music ….“Ghar tera saloni………..Badal ki colony, Dekhade thenga In sabko jo udna na jane….Masakali..masakali”. ……… to all the ontime party “Ada-se-Ud-Ud-burr-burrrr-tu-Heera-Panna’s rushing with hawks to the town’s dashing, smashing and sometimes jeans shattering remix shacks, confusingly named…anima. or .enima…misspelled intentionally with a ‘g’ before his Ma . But mind you, what ever said and done if your partner returns to you by some brain defect, even if it is after an year and she murmuring with flickering eye lashes, “I didn’t talk to you, cause you didn’t call na?…and now, mind you I will never talk to you”… If she is still there, not-talking-to-you (case-1) or (case-2) if you still can be stung by an old arrow exactly where it hit you last time and didn’t bother to avoid, I would recommend that you leave ‘masakali… matakali’ and latest ‘jai-ho’ and play some ….” Besabab baat badhane ki zarorat kya hai, …Hum khafa kab the manane ki zarorat kya hai…..”
Nationalism is a matter of heart and soul. You feel as a nation so you are. I am proud of my country and I am loving this feeling.
Cheers!
Monday, February 23, 2009
I remembered you tonight and then a relentless compulsion made me let you know about it. In the long traverse of this short journey of my life, there has been instances, were seemingly simple things have touched me beyond even my own reckoning. Yes, you took time to call me and heard me. You have distinguished yourself and I am so glad that you did that to me. I am not thanking you; don’t want to diminish myself beyond being small. Some things cannot be repaid and then there is a sanctified bliss in holding some debts for life. The world is a small round place and may be our paths cross again and, I get to give you too the bliss of debt some time in our life
It has been raining relentlessly here since evening. The clouds shedding one by one everything they labored to gather and carried this far. My window has endowed a swathe of seeping waters and their hurry could be heard on rooftops and on everything outside. My landlady was shouting for I kept the door open and stood where the waters touched the ground. My mother always said that I was born at the onset of monsoon, that too very early in the morning. My first screams under the vale of early morning darkness were part of the rain song; and no body heard the sound of my music. Due most to the engulfing magnanimity of nature, and more out of the silence my mother held inside…she named me her ‘Asha’ and later shortened it to ‘Ash’. Rains do pour everywhere, but when they do in my sight, they take me back long over the distances from where my journey actually began or may be they gathered all the waters!
You may wonder so much lexis and you gather nothing. I was vainly trying to see life through my mother’s eyes. Oh! So long and I not many times acknowledged what she did! In the cold of the rains, in the hurl of the winds and in the scare of lightning she grabbed herself to give birth to the leanest of her sons and then later called him her favorite one. Mothers are all unique and a holy lot. No matter what ever they end up doing, I think birth itself is a gift and bringing up is always a soulful prayer in itself. What ever may be the difference of opinions I learned of life and gathered the courage to propagate it as a strength of my convictions; Mother was the shrine, where the heaviness of my pride evaporated in the flickering light of her numerous deeds of care. We still hold lot in difference and defiance, but there is always the longest span, ‘the bridge to a mother’s heart’just a thought away!
I remembered you many times before too, yet kept it to myself. But since you are expecting and must be having that feeling of great acceptance of what ever be the best of God’s gifts! I deliberately made it a point to let you know that you should take care of yourself. Relax a lot and always have good thoughts in mind and good food for you.
I just wish that you keep yourself fine and you be guarded from all fear and agony. Someday we are all beginners and then, once we pass the barrier of fear and immerse ourselves in the waves on the course of our sail, we all will have fulfilled hearts. I pray that with a little help from all you love and abide by, and by the blessings of the God’s, you come out cheerful and make a wonderful mother too.
Take care,
It is me myself…..
It has been raining relentlessly here since evening. The clouds shedding one by one everything they labored to gather and carried this far. My window has endowed a swathe of seeping waters and their hurry could be heard on rooftops and on everything outside. My landlady was shouting for I kept the door open and stood where the waters touched the ground. My mother always said that I was born at the onset of monsoon, that too very early in the morning. My first screams under the vale of early morning darkness were part of the rain song; and no body heard the sound of my music. Due most to the engulfing magnanimity of nature, and more out of the silence my mother held inside…she named me her ‘Asha’ and later shortened it to ‘Ash’. Rains do pour everywhere, but when they do in my sight, they take me back long over the distances from where my journey actually began or may be they gathered all the waters!
You may wonder so much lexis and you gather nothing. I was vainly trying to see life through my mother’s eyes. Oh! So long and I not many times acknowledged what she did! In the cold of the rains, in the hurl of the winds and in the scare of lightning she grabbed herself to give birth to the leanest of her sons and then later called him her favorite one. Mothers are all unique and a holy lot. No matter what ever they end up doing, I think birth itself is a gift and bringing up is always a soulful prayer in itself. What ever may be the difference of opinions I learned of life and gathered the courage to propagate it as a strength of my convictions; Mother was the shrine, where the heaviness of my pride evaporated in the flickering light of her numerous deeds of care. We still hold lot in difference and defiance, but there is always the longest span, ‘the bridge to a mother’s heart’just a thought away!
I remembered you many times before too, yet kept it to myself. But since you are expecting and must be having that feeling of great acceptance of what ever be the best of God’s gifts! I deliberately made it a point to let you know that you should take care of yourself. Relax a lot and always have good thoughts in mind and good food for you.
I just wish that you keep yourself fine and you be guarded from all fear and agony. Someday we are all beginners and then, once we pass the barrier of fear and immerse ourselves in the waves on the course of our sail, we all will have fulfilled hearts. I pray that with a little help from all you love and abide by, and by the blessings of the God’s, you come out cheerful and make a wonderful mother too.
Take care,
It is me myself…..
Sunday, February 22, 2009
"Battles Fought and Victories Lost"
Emotions are like summer rain for me. They seldom come and when they finally come they only last an astral eclipse. My eyes follow the spears of light into the darkness, while a feeling of distance, a metaphor of inconsistency and an ecstasy of reminiscence unfold a longer distance in me. Long trail, everlasting discourses and most of all intimate faces cascade into the amazement of my gaze. If distances are mirror images they spread in two directions. Looking deep into the end of sky, they come following you to the depth of your own recollections. Like a procession they follow a sincere sequence of favor and here comes they, whom I missed for long, to raise my posture in respect.
Looking back at life after years of study bounded by classroom walls, I gratefully would like to remember all those mortals who successfully or unsuccessfully strived to imbibe in me a good character than just maths and physics. Right from those primary school nuns to those ferocious masters in high school, not to forget those aristocratic lecturers in college, who through their scaring, scolding and cruelty, mixed with some heart touching consolations and care, labored to make me what I am. The sparkle of a teardrop, just glitter across my eyes; when I remember those faces with reverence and gratitude. One of the rare moments of innocence when your heart breaks down before ever you can deny it to. The fellow beings in a supposed to be heavenly life, the classmates, no matter of all that they have done. Today seems to be sweet hearted and are unbearably missed each day. The abode of those consoling words, the care of those touching hands and the presence of those charismatic eyes are all like a paradise lost long before you realize it. I still remember the face of my favorite teacher who at the end of the last class spoke with tears in her eyes to a silent still class. Her voice trembled several times while she was blessing, advising and inspiring all that she could do to some ones children; she thought her own for years. The vision of the class blurred with tear-socked eyelashes but her image with all its clarity was being unscathly inscribed in each one of our inner walls. When asked of what she remembers most of the years she taught us, she replied in a blink that she never saw me smile in class. Those were the days of struggle and suffering when I studied the basics of coming up in life. The teacher, who was never indifferent to any, did distinguish me with her humble comment. But it was later realised to be only an appreciation of those well done school days. The frivolous ornamentation still hanging from each one of our eyes was an inexplicable decoration for the moment our teacher bid good bye and we friends saw each other clad in uniforms and sitting next to each other for the last time in our life. Those were the days of innocence and free guidance and I always wonder why God put the best part of life right at the beginning.
No matter how ambitious or optimistic one is. Life is like a big stream down the years and you always end up where the waters of living will ultimately take you splashing. Studying architecture for me was of fateful chance rather than choice. From a schoolboy who wanted to be a sportsman to the teenager who wanted to be a mechanic and motor rallyist, the waters of living splashed me in to the realm of architecture. But contrary to convention I never regretted anything that ever happened to me, the least for the choice of my profession. After all you realize that how much ever you screen, dream, or long for God has his own ways of doing things. Here as a comrade I shall acknowledge the disagreeable wrench suffered by tens and thousands of young men including many of my close friends, who at the period of their greatest intellectual receptiveness were obliged to forego their favorite studies.
The moments of achievements are always proceeded by thanks giving. When you compare yourself with those unprivileged street kids, who share their equality in silence with those four legged street mates, I stand myself as the most privileged beggar among a bunch of mistaken identities, who boast themselves as self made achievers in the presence of the lord. In the unbalanced and unsymmetrical composition of life some are fortunate while others are less fortunate. But with a stroke of dull and bright colours to the astonishment of those haves and have-not’s, God always end up making a beautiful composition out of each one of our precious lives. What I have done to achieve so much of blessings is still a mystery to me. I thank God for all His blessings that He always have poured on me; despite my inability time and again to fare well in front of Him. This does not deprive me of any disappointments in life. I shall abstain from the mention of my disappointments cause I believe they are all my personal possessions and I shall enjoy it all by myself.
Dedication I think is a lifetime commitment. If I frankly think of a person to whom I could dedicate something of myself for the unlimited source of love and care poured on me who else can stand at the place of my mother who despite day and night have always done whatever little she could do to see that her lean and dark son stands second to none. She embodied my belief that no matter how hard these women aspire for no one can ever achieve a position greater than that of a good mother.
After all these words and phrases it may seem too much of myself. But when I make an informal conclusion to my best of days, I can't help holding the cradle of my wholehearted recollections. We all live with a hope that tomorrow is always bright and future always lies greener. But when life is only a transit of eternal souls that migrate from body to body from generation to generation, buildings and professional excellence are all secondary. Life is more than bricks and mortars. It is about human lives that are sustained by an intrinsic web of precious relationships. Life's battles are always omnipresent. But like many paradoxes it takes time and injuries before you realize what actually you won and what you really lost. If my battles are justifiable my victories seem disowning. It all seems like some ones battles and my victories and I shall thank all my teachers for that. .
A reverence, which I submissively bestow upon each one of them.
Looking back at life after years of study bounded by classroom walls, I gratefully would like to remember all those mortals who successfully or unsuccessfully strived to imbibe in me a good character than just maths and physics. Right from those primary school nuns to those ferocious masters in high school, not to forget those aristocratic lecturers in college, who through their scaring, scolding and cruelty, mixed with some heart touching consolations and care, labored to make me what I am. The sparkle of a teardrop, just glitter across my eyes; when I remember those faces with reverence and gratitude. One of the rare moments of innocence when your heart breaks down before ever you can deny it to. The fellow beings in a supposed to be heavenly life, the classmates, no matter of all that they have done. Today seems to be sweet hearted and are unbearably missed each day. The abode of those consoling words, the care of those touching hands and the presence of those charismatic eyes are all like a paradise lost long before you realize it. I still remember the face of my favorite teacher who at the end of the last class spoke with tears in her eyes to a silent still class. Her voice trembled several times while she was blessing, advising and inspiring all that she could do to some ones children; she thought her own for years. The vision of the class blurred with tear-socked eyelashes but her image with all its clarity was being unscathly inscribed in each one of our inner walls. When asked of what she remembers most of the years she taught us, she replied in a blink that she never saw me smile in class. Those were the days of struggle and suffering when I studied the basics of coming up in life. The teacher, who was never indifferent to any, did distinguish me with her humble comment. But it was later realised to be only an appreciation of those well done school days. The frivolous ornamentation still hanging from each one of our eyes was an inexplicable decoration for the moment our teacher bid good bye and we friends saw each other clad in uniforms and sitting next to each other for the last time in our life. Those were the days of innocence and free guidance and I always wonder why God put the best part of life right at the beginning.
No matter how ambitious or optimistic one is. Life is like a big stream down the years and you always end up where the waters of living will ultimately take you splashing. Studying architecture for me was of fateful chance rather than choice. From a schoolboy who wanted to be a sportsman to the teenager who wanted to be a mechanic and motor rallyist, the waters of living splashed me in to the realm of architecture. But contrary to convention I never regretted anything that ever happened to me, the least for the choice of my profession. After all you realize that how much ever you screen, dream, or long for God has his own ways of doing things. Here as a comrade I shall acknowledge the disagreeable wrench suffered by tens and thousands of young men including many of my close friends, who at the period of their greatest intellectual receptiveness were obliged to forego their favorite studies.
The moments of achievements are always proceeded by thanks giving. When you compare yourself with those unprivileged street kids, who share their equality in silence with those four legged street mates, I stand myself as the most privileged beggar among a bunch of mistaken identities, who boast themselves as self made achievers in the presence of the lord. In the unbalanced and unsymmetrical composition of life some are fortunate while others are less fortunate. But with a stroke of dull and bright colours to the astonishment of those haves and have-not’s, God always end up making a beautiful composition out of each one of our precious lives. What I have done to achieve so much of blessings is still a mystery to me. I thank God for all His blessings that He always have poured on me; despite my inability time and again to fare well in front of Him. This does not deprive me of any disappointments in life. I shall abstain from the mention of my disappointments cause I believe they are all my personal possessions and I shall enjoy it all by myself.
Dedication I think is a lifetime commitment. If I frankly think of a person to whom I could dedicate something of myself for the unlimited source of love and care poured on me who else can stand at the place of my mother who despite day and night have always done whatever little she could do to see that her lean and dark son stands second to none. She embodied my belief that no matter how hard these women aspire for no one can ever achieve a position greater than that of a good mother.
After all these words and phrases it may seem too much of myself. But when I make an informal conclusion to my best of days, I can't help holding the cradle of my wholehearted recollections. We all live with a hope that tomorrow is always bright and future always lies greener. But when life is only a transit of eternal souls that migrate from body to body from generation to generation, buildings and professional excellence are all secondary. Life is more than bricks and mortars. It is about human lives that are sustained by an intrinsic web of precious relationships. Life's battles are always omnipresent. But like many paradoxes it takes time and injuries before you realize what actually you won and what you really lost. If my battles are justifiable my victories seem disowning. It all seems like some ones battles and my victories and I shall thank all my teachers for that. .
A reverence, which I submissively bestow upon each one of them.
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