what is it to be different? if i am looking at something beautiful, looking at it 'differently', would give me a 'different' understanding of it. what is it to look at it differently? am i, in my attempt to understand it wholly, going beyond the obvious and looking intensely? do i notice something i had missed out before, about that 'something beautiful' or do i contribute to what i see, when i see it differently?
seeing something is still a little external. this could be a different discussion. but i want to look at this whole stress on 'doing it differently'. and look at it, like J Krishnamurty would say, just observe, look,  and you will see. honestly, i want to see.

so the idea of doing it differently. whatever the task maybe, if 5 people are asked to do it, because of the particularity of the task, there will be a similarity in what they all do. however, there is going to be a difference. (remember what we were told as kids, you are unique, 'like everyone else'!, and forget the humor, i do see a point here). and that difference is actually going to make all the difference. is that difference related to the way one perceives the task? what is the objective? what is the purpose? why am i doing it? how is it going to be different if i do it and not Aishwarya Rai?

this whole thing reminds me of how i had to write an essay about 'why i think i can be a good young ambassador of my country' before going to Texas. i wish i kept that essay. i wonder what i wrote, its been 6 years. i am still trying to understand how I can participate as myself and not as a substitue for any young girl.

it is not always about being provocative, raising issues people would feel shy to raise otherwise, about an attempt to reveal truth no matter how unreasonably offensive it could be to anyone. it is also about just really taking that road. without a prior agenda to shock people. it is about seeing at something long enough to be able to understand it wholly, and long enough would sensibly involve 'differently'.

its about really wanting to be on that journey afterall...

It's a fresh wet morning. A drenched dark night is over. The sun slowly creeps in the blue sky, softly shining. The wind is making music with the trees. I just drove down to meet my grandpa and give him his breakfast. Since grandma passed away, he is a lonely man. Mom makes him breakfast everyday. I went to drop off the tiffin and found him sitting in front of the small dev-ghar. Slowly picking a white flower from the basket and keeping it next to the idols of god. It made me feel a little weak in the heart.

I remembered how as kids, my brother and i would pick flowers from the garden and give it to grandma, it was all so colorful then. There was fresh rangoli in front of the temple, a crackling aromatic incense filled up the room, there was the sound of bell in between her prayers, the temple was clean and happy. In Diwali, during Ganapati Festival, and practically every other festive occasion, we would gather around it and sing for a short while and then eat and enjoy. I don't remember singing the prayers though. My brother and i along with the other cousins would be playing pranks on someone engrossed in the prayer, or let the dog in when nobody watched, or eat the prasad before it was allowed to do so!

We grow up, eventually. Things change. Some die, some die out. Today there was a tiny cobweb behind the temple, there were only white flowers, no rangoli, no incense and a lonely old man in the house.

Last evening, while swimming with my little cousins, i realized they've grown up as well. The breeze made pretty light ripples on the water in the pool and our laughter circled with it, making it a memory and dissolving quickly. I taught my little sister how to float in the water, we stared at the sky which reflected the blue around us and i wished that moment stayed a little longer. The both of us were some place where it was all light and beautiful.

She is going to grow up, break her heart, earn money, feel like an individual making her own decisions...

There is nothing to complain. This is life. Lonely but pleasant. And it is all going to be over someday. 

my heart is like the little pond outside 

little drops of anguish overflow it

can the little pond burst into rain?

if it doesn't,

little raindrops will silently fall

and how i will contain it all till you come,

only you'll know, oh love. 

growth is in breaking yourself again and again, and building anew. in washing yourself off with every tide, and springing afresh. convictions in the form of ego, in the annoying form of 'I' only destroy purity of being. being, is in truly 'being'. it is a process. if it stops, and if it stagnates, there is death. no creativity, no growth, no life. then it becomes difficult to see, because convictions clog off the beauty of the moment. the trick is in 'being'yourself inspite of washing yourself away every moment. i will learn that trick. i want to. 

like the puzzle nicole was trying to solve today. he kept destroying it. deconstructing it, to construct it. :) how nice that is.

this, i was thinking about, as i swam against the beautiful waves in the black sea. the sea was so clean, i could see the bottom even if couldn't touch my feet. i saw a beautiful shell too, closed, perhaps the litlle life inside was making a pearl still. i am making my pearl too, for the world, life has given me so much, so much, i want to give back to it the pearl i make. i will finish sometime, i am sure. it's only started right now...

i will make, break, make again, break again, until it is ready. will it ever be? who knows? do we need to know? happiness is the way, there is no way to it, really. 

life is beautiful.