Where there is fear, there is courage
Where there is despair, there is hope
Where there is pain and sadness, there is gratitude and fortitude
Where there is cruelty, there is love and mercy
Where there is chaos, therein lies calm
Where there is restlessness, there is patience
Where there are survivors, there are warriors.
Penned this down a couple of years ago after watching the annivesary coverage of 26/11. Some soul-stirring and hair-rising programs on tv channels like Fox, Nat Geo et al., where survivors and families of those affected by the events were interviewed. Found this in drafts and now I find it is relevant at any phase in life.
Life is all about contradiction, in fact it seems to revel in it. Our personalities are that way too. At least speaking for myself, I've always been confounded by my own sense of extremes. With age, one learns to accept these with love rather than confusion and dilemma, and eventually embrace one's own sense of self. From pieces to peace...life's quite a ride :-)
Saturday, July 09, 2011
Wednesday, July 06, 2011
Paaoos! Pitter Patter & Peter
That pretty much sums up this glorious night. As well as being a fabulous, fresh return to writing after eeeons (Inglees is a phunny lengvage, no?).
Baarish aur mitti ki taazi khushboo. Automatically break into rashtriya bhaasha when inspired or in a good mood.
It starts pouring suddenly without warning and you feel like singing and dancing like they do in Marathi movies. Then its like the rain suddenly remembers its falling in Amma's singara land and falls intermittently, gradually petering out like it never happened.
Its been too long and too many years of watching the rain fall outside my window. And only staring into and at too many Windows.
Miss the rain gear. Loved my raincoat during school years--a bright cheery pattern on lemon yellow. Plastic sandals from Bata. Ah, those were the wonder years indeed.
Baarish aur mitti ki taazi khushboo. Automatically break into rashtriya bhaasha when inspired or in a good mood.
It starts pouring suddenly without warning and you feel like singing and dancing like they do in Marathi movies. Then its like the rain suddenly remembers its falling in Amma's singara land and falls intermittently, gradually petering out like it never happened.
Its been too long and too many years of watching the rain fall outside my window. And only staring into and at too many Windows.
Miss the rain gear. Loved my raincoat during school years--a bright cheery pattern on lemon yellow. Plastic sandals from Bata. Ah, those were the wonder years indeed.
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