Woods..

I thought of redesigning the front end of my blog when I came across this template that has all wooden boards.. My creative-aesthetic sense drew parallel with the Blog title ‘Musings of a DriftWood’ and here I am with the new background graphics.Well the ‘wood’ connection went a bit deeper and I sat recollecting all the poetic renditions which had the wood playing in its backdrop, So here came Robert Frost musing,

’The woods are lovely dark and deep

But I have promises to keep…

And miles to go before I sleep..’

I have heard these lines like innumerable times all through school-college farewells and I have them written in some school days slam-book as well. Then there are Byron’s lines,

’There is pleasure in the pathless woods,

There is a rapture on the lonely shore

There is society, where non intrudes

By the deep sea, and the music in its roar:

I love not man the less, but Nature more’

Not to be left behind, Wordsworth paid the following tribute,

One impulse from a vernal wood

May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,

Than all the sages can..

I’m sure many more minstrel tributes exist for Mr. Woods. But none so charming as the ‘Touch-Wood’ charm. My sister and I had a ritual back in schooldays. On the way to our school there was this ‘Pangar’ tree(botanical name (Aesculus indica)). It had a slight curvy trunk and you could hinge your school bag on it and rest for a while. With light shoulders I always enjoyed gazing up at its lofty branches. For no apparent reason my sister and I named it as the lucky tree and every morning we did our ritualistic ‘touch-wood’ for a lucky day. More so fervently if we had a test or exam scheduled.

I have a little wooden treasure from college-days as well. So here goes another ‘wood-story’. We had this little quadrangle beside the Dean’s office. The authorities did not think kindly of it and the tree was cut. I cannot explain my affinity for it but I picked up a little stalk of the fallen tree and pocketed it. Later I discovered another ‘tree-loving’ friend of mine carrying another little stalk. Well this ‘tree-lover’ friend of mine even had a crush pet-named ‘tree’.. we often stalked 'the tree', despite his knowledge!

At times I feel like an old lady with lots of stories and perhaps with just a wooden walking stick missing..Before i put in more ideas into your head.. its adieu now

Of Stilettos And Metaphors..

Life is but a dew drop, A Fragile Dew Drop on its Perilous way..


A ‘Fragile Dew Drop’ precariously balanced on the edge of the leaf blade glistening as the sunrays pass across its suspended weight. Why did this metaphor put a smile on my face?

Mundane tasks of life include buying groceries. And it was just another day, when I was duty bound to carry the groceries for the week. Yet standing by the side of the road I was thinking of the metaphor. I was dressed in office formals, brown trousers a pullover in a slightly rounded shade of maroon-red but what made me stand tall was a dainty pair of cream-brown stilettos. And what a day to be caught on the wrong foot with the little rain, rushing traffic and the ordeal of crossing the road to buy the groceries. I stood there on one side of the road and the store stood on the opposite. My immediate mission was to maneuver through the wild rush of traffic with the splattering rain balancing my umbrella and my heels and reach the store. Yet I stood there listening to the splattering rain and the swishing-vrooming bikes and cars smiling inwardly at my predicament. I was looking at the lights, the shadows, and the sounds all rushing past me, tearing through the rain drops. Disturbing my reverie, old Mr. Prudence queried “Why the trouble of ‘the balancing act’ in a pair of heels?” Always ready to argue his case, today he slyly tries to make his point by asking an innocent, ‘Why?’ He had a little irritated look, having borne the click-clack of my heels on the marbled floor through the day and now the near ‘sinking feeling’ as I stood on loose moist mud on the side of the road. Can I think of something intelligent in my defense? I turn my gaze to the approaching vehicles, and after doing a quick math, I stride across. Deftly I balance, I walk, I run and reach the other end. Miss vanity gives a flushed smile (intelligent defense)! I stand on the divider; I have another road to cross before I make it to the store. After another little pause I am again briskly walking tall across the road and into the store.
I always wonder standing on the billing counter why do I have to shop as if there is to be no tomorrow. And why don’t I realize the bigger the bags get, the heavier they are to carry! Late realization and here I am again running, hopping maneuvering through the traffic. I walk balancing myself on a pair of heels with an umbrella and now with two additional bags of grocery as well. The road to my home is stony and uneven, so I am again routing-rerouting, meandering, tip-toeing my way through. It’s not a cake walk I know nor is life. A metaphor again!

When you want something badly enough..

It’s the last lap. You have tided past all the initial hiccups and there you are very close to the judgment day. It is the place from where success is closest and the farthest as well. You feel weak in the knees, a slight shiver running down your spine. The hands feel cold really cold but your cheeks are flushed. You try to keep your breathing smooth but there is anticipation oozing out of every pore.

You think of all the times you were close but still not close enough to call ‘success’ your own. You missed by a hairs breadth perhaps but the ghostly shadows of the failure has grown long over the ages and it looms large.

Numerous times you sit down and try to weigh the stakes. At times you picture yourself happily beaming; at times you draw a gloomy sad figure. Still you try to give yourself heart. You know you want it, really badly. It’s just that you don’t know if you would finally make it through this time. I am scared myself, I can think of all the times I have faltered at the last step. Perhaps today I am better groomed to take that last step and perhaps may be still I’m half baked in ways. Who is to judge? Wish it were me!

Well it happens you win some you lose some. Some loses make you come back with more character for the next bout and some you quit and bow out. For the ones you come back again, your own aspirations are bigger. You want it your way this time. Well for all the lofty ideals that others may preach, there is at least some truth somewhere. The fight is always with your own self, the competition is always with you. Losing heart is never an option.

I may choose to fight this battle one last time but still I have made my choice to fight and I will put a good fight, better that what I did the previous time but still at the end its life.. it will go on.. May be I will have my way or I will still have to fight my way back again. But there will always be a battle to wage, a dear wish to be filled.

And the road diverged..

This blog entry is again a later recollection to ‘words-said/unsaid’ about the same emotion when we ignore and later confront.

And the road diverged..

With eyes closed you almost glided through the smooth road.. You trusted the road, It went straight as far as you wished to see. There were no split second decisions to be taken, no immediate choices to be made. You could just live in the moment and put all the decisions that had to be made to some later date way ahead in future. A non eventful regular life, you wake up have breakfast while browsing through the newspaper with some music to give you company and then head off to office where again you have the leisure to refresh Facebook after every 10 minutes. Take a leisurely lunch, an evening break and then the customary mails at the end of the day to call it EOB. All the while you’re head is as light as a feather. Sometimes you resent this lightness terming it as dreary and boring existence but so it goes for a while..

And then when you open your eyes, you realize you’d long exhausted the straight patch, you were vacillating at the crossroads for a while now buying time. There is no escape now..

Then there you are weighing your choices, trying to strike a balance between the expectations of others and your claim on your aspirations. All the decisions that you had been postponing to a later date, creep out from their hideous disguise. All the existential questions, where you stand, where you are heading to start making noises. You see your friends reaching the various social and personal milestones and you realize you have a lot of catching up to do. But first you think why -why everyone is in this hurry to seek change..!  There is this whole baggage of unanswered questions.

It happens once in a while with me when my head goes completely blank, I refuse to talk or discuss with people, I just pull up my blanket and lie gazing with dim lights. I fear for things that stand unresolved, I hate myself for procrastinating so long. I try to reason with myself trying to convince my other self to be gentle and not so demanding. I make up a list of things I thought to attempt and somehow quit them even before the word ‘go’ or someway midway, I reprimand myself. It’s a pitiful state, when I falter under my own scrutiny for the decisions I made or the ones that I haven’t yet.

I go through such confusing phases often, I know of my friends who go through similar phases once in a while. A call at some odd hour and a familiar voice sounding all sullen and crying out his/her woes. Perhaps its all a part of growing and living, the brief periods of dazed ignorance, the sudden awakening, the loss of faith and then somehow we manage to find some hope. We manage to choose a road, again take a leap of faith again… 

why...

100's of why....running here and there in thoughts...cant understand..cant ignore them..every why leads to another why...

Words- Said/ Unsaid

The blissful flow of life flows gently over the submerged hidden boulders of words unsaid. The words are there but they are deep-deep within, some part of us can sense it but the ruffles don’t reach the surface. At times words, thoughts, ideas just lie dormant within without altering my composition or yours. Huh what bliss!!


Then there are times when there is a slight disturbance. Let’s say the flapping of a butterfly’s wings but the wise ones like you and me concede that it is sufficient to cause a tornado at some far-off remote corner of the world-Butterfly effect. I may not have witnessed the afore- said effect visually but philosophically and intellectually it makes sense.. just to simplify one might just put it across as small things trickle into big changes.

Well for some reason, it just happens that some random conversation meanders to the deadly territory of words, thoughts that we had consciously concealed. You still fight from the last bastion of self restraint only to give in to the floodgate of fears, anxieties, blames. Every memory of failed promises rises to the mind.. every unfulfilled expectation has its own woeful story to tell. Sometimes the one to face the blame is another poor soul on earth or at times it is just you facing the volleys again coming from you…

Sometimes one is surprised by the form the words take when they are actually uttered. May be the ears weren't wont to hearing them aloud but still I choose to believe that the words change form. At times they convey meanings that we ourselves are unsure of.. Its a largely uncontrolled state..or perhaps some rare moments of truth with oneself and others..

Sleepless night..

It wasn’t a dream but it wasn’t close to any reality. Some very strange feeling was there. And as usual she was unable to define it. She tried to write it down but her hands were trembling, she tried to speak out but her voice was shivering.
She knows this feeling will go away when she wakes up in the morning the next day, but to get up she will have to sleep first.
She thought of pinging someone in her chat list, but it was full of unwanted people.
She was desperately waiting for that night to pass away. Coz another big day was waiting for her with open arms.
What choice she had, but to still seek for that elusive sleep.

Strange Mornings..

You wake up midway, rubbing your eyes. Still lingering in a half baked dream, You still carry with you a trace of that taste, but strangely can't decide if you actually like it or despise it, you still have an appetite for it but the feast is not to be served any more...

The facade was imposing, very strong as a fortress with thick stony walls. It didn't stand tall, it was stout and strong and stony. Very hard, very ornamental. There were numerous gates, She wondered which one would open if She went ahead and knocked. She entered through a door not spreading out open and inviting but just letting Her in scornfully. The air inside was so condescending, so stifling as if its freshness was all trapped in the complex ornate maze.

It made Her so uncomfortable and yet ironically in Her dreams everything She saw was His dream of life. The structure was His, each brick, each stone He had laid by Himself. It all transpired from Him and She was left all trapped, looking for that door which would let Her out.

Did she make it to the door...?

A lame weird feeling.. that's all I recall...

....and a fistful of it.....

Creating Magic…

Paint the fiery crimson red against the Prussian blue..,

Sing in voices that ring out loud and clear..,

Dance through sunshine and rain..,

Write words that echo in hearts..,

Travel to far off lands..,

Act out life.., 

Speak your heart.., let all creative juices flow freely. I find it an exhilarating experience when I discover ‘The Beauty’ but it’s equally amazing when I see it though someone else’s interpretation.

To sense and then to express it is by far the most enriching experience. It is an entire churning process when one banks on his ‘inward eye’ to replay the short brief one witnessed and then relish and re-create his own interpretation. My creation makes the transient moment immortal. I become a creator, the canvass, the colours are all waiting for me to make that one stroke that define, express and give shape to that little restless feeling inside. Ah! That restlessness that will not let me eat, drink, sleep or ignore it easily.

I create and then I share.  I am not afraid of judgments and comparisons though I secretly wish for all the praises and kudos but I still want to share. I want it to identify me. I have internalized it giving it a part of me. I contribute to the coffers of expression my creation; perhaps some discerning eye can see ‘me’ behind it.

 There are also times when I vicariously live through the whole experience of climbing the Everest, diving the deepest oceans, giving an opera performance, winning a tough game and sometimes losing a bitter fight. It’s a magic someone else creates that makes me transcend the pettiness of my living and dream big and wild!

Let  each one discover his magic, then deftly craft his magic carpet and then swoop over valleys and rivers and ensnare people and make them swoon!!!

This post resulted from some random browsing through the following pages.

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=133134536705872

Just sifting through the FIFA posters designed by people-whom i obviously don't know. I was intrigued by the thought, the creativity and the expression-the design. Just one theme and so many ideas!!! It was magical..

Driftwood recollects.

And
I hear the sea
Yet once again..
As I close my eyes
And watch spellbound
As fiesty waves lap up at the shores of my moist eyes..