The magic of 'THANK YOU'.

 Thank you, yes, you.
One of the most significant yet ruthlessly taken for granted word is, 'Thank you'. I was one among those who just shooted out a Thank you most often when something was done for me, without a little bit of oblivion to what power the magical word had.

Somebody opens a door for you, out shoots the Thank you in such a tone that resembles the jet speed adver­tise­ments of mutual funds dis­claims – “MutualFundsaresub­jecttomar­ketrisk.Pleasereadtheofferdoc­u­mentcare­fullybeforeinvest­ing”.

Doesn't help much, does it? In fact, it took a while for me to figure out what the person actually said.
A Thank you shouldn't be that way. A Thank you is a sign of gratitude. People have given their precious time for you. A thank you is all it takes to bring a smile on their face.
A Thank you from the bottom of the septal wall of your heart. Spare me, this is what happens when a student of Medicine runs out of strong emphasizing words. So yes, the septal wall is the core of your heart, what I mean to say is that,  a THANK YOU from your heart. In a way that really persuades people that you are indeed thankful for their service no matter how small or big it seems to be.

But I tell you where it has come to be. I send out long text mesages, thanking the significant people in my life for all that they've done and Dad being one of them.This is what it was - Thank you for being a friend, adviser and a great dad in everything I ever chose to do. And a lot of other thankful stuff. To which I get a reply, ' Welcome. But by any chance, are you going to kill yourself?' Incredibly funny it seemed at the moment. A thank you makes people wonder what we're upto. Because, we never do it often. We never thank anybody for all the little beautiful things and what should have been considered something normal ( My sending out a long thank you message) turns out to be abnormal and fishy. And the reason? We're busy throwing the word on everybody without a small speck of gratitude. That is why. Sad, but true.

A thank you to the salesman at your department store or to the person at the billing counter or to the public transport driver or to mom for making your favorite dinner or for the sweepers who clean your roads day in and day out would mean so much to those persons. It would make their day, bring a smile on their numb, mind toiled faces. A THANK YOU for being alive. Some may say, why say a Thank you? We pay for what we buy and the employers get their salary for doing their job, why a thank you? Okay, what if they decide to stop their service? What if you had to do everything all by yourself?
A thank you doesn't hurt anyone. It is a harmless, lovely and magical word when said with the right amount of gratitude beautifies everything around.

Just go out there and thank every little thing. And yes, not the "MutualFundsaresub­jecttomar­ketrisk.Pleasereadtheofferdoc­u­mentcare­fullybeforeinvest­ing" tone 'Thank you' but a heartfelt, gratitude filled 'THANK YOU'.

THANK YOU. 

Of lost candid memory and found profile picture.

So, this is another post in which I'm going to brag about what I grew up watching and how things have changed thereafter. No, I'm not that old to speak about the Mughal Empire or how early industrialization affected the growth of lichen and apparently the survival of moths or anything that is driving you crazy. But about something that made me smile.
Remember the good old cameras? The kind of ones through which you click a photograph and get to see it only after getting it printed? When there were no DELETE, EDIT, VIEW AGAIN options? And yet, the photographs would turn out to be just fine. A point of time when photographs were captured for a precious memory or occasion and immediately followed by getting an album neatly done versus the new age digi cams where right after a photograph is clicked, gets uploaded, edited, photoshopped to an unbearable level and posted on random networking sites for the pleasure of strangers( Time for self defense- Peace out, I do upload photos on the web but make sure they are sensible & among the people I know.)

And then starts a whole new era. An era which cultivated and harvested populations of passion for photography. Owning a DSLR implied interest in photography and that meant capturing every possible matter that lies in the visible wavelength of light. Yes, the 'matter' which has mass and occupies space.
In my opinion, passion is often mistook for fancy. People alleged to be in love with photography are more often than not capturing the dress, decorations and materialistic objects than the core motive of capturing the soul, the meaning behind it and all that truly should be captured.

Then after a few days of meandering with the DSLR, enlightenment strikes the minds of the supposedly-in love with-photography-photographers.
Viola! - Log in and create a page.
          -Give it  a name, 'Something something photography'.
          -Message all your contacts, 'Please like my page'.
          -Followed by 50 likes anniversary, 100 likes, 500 likes, so on and so forth.

Enough of it right? Let's get to the good part.
One fine day, far from the madding crowd, you have a huge family get together. There the treasure comes out. The photo albums. All the head banging childishness is crystal clear in front of you. That gives rise to all the memories afresh in the minds of your family members. Embarrassment, happiness and a dash of overwhelming smile that never ceases to stop. Beautiful. Any given day, my vote goes to the photo albums than to the Timeline posts, photos, tags. It's just that the former is real and satisfactory. And the latter always remains a virtual illusion that is always at a risk of a system crash/breakdown.
I have a suggestion. The next time you decide to travel, drop your cameras back home and just go for it. For a memory just between you and the journey and not between you and the web. Try it. It is magical and fulfilling. For once, replace the artificially portrayed 'Say cheese' with a heartwarming smile. LIVE the moments than killing them for a photograph.

What does it feel like to..?

What does it feel like to laugh? To laugh without trying hard, to laugh without wiping away the tears?
What does it feel like to sleep? To sleep without waking up in the middle of the night to find tears dripping down the cheek?
What does it feel like to breathe? To just BREATHE, a long, deep and suffocation-free breath?
What does it feel like to really say, 'I'm doing great'. To speak the truth without hesitating?
What does it feel like to just breakdown completely? To have a certain someone next to you who just listens, without judging?
What does it feel like to be loved? To be loved without the fear of it disappearing in a puff of thin dust?
What does it feel like to expect surprises? To expect a surprise that isn't a surprise but something you are dead-sure of?
What does it feel like to watch a movie? To walk out happily after the movie with  heart warming happiness?
What does it feel like to risk? To risk without  keeping in mind a zillion probabilities of the risk affecting others?
What does it feel like to just travel? To travel for exploring and not to get away from certain things?
What does it feel like to capture the moments? To capture the moments with a surety that this isn't the last one?
What does it feel like to talk to an old friend? To talk without the heart-wrenching fear of the old friend inquiring about something that is no more?
What does it feel like to experience happiness after a downfall? To thank whatsoever for a new ray of hope?
What does it feel like to do what you really want to do? To begin something that you know deep down can not be?
What does it feel like to not explain? To just be what you are?
What does it feel like to not keep pestering your mind with if(s) and but(s)?
What does it feel like to commit mistakes? To not worry about it and just learn?
What does it feel like to not think anything? To just stay quiet with absolutely no thoughts, just stillness and not inactivity?
What does it feel like to obtain rewards? To receive after total mind toiling work towards the same?
What does it feel like to finally obtain that you always longed for? To welcome that preciousness?
What does it feel like to find a way amongst the odds? To receive a miracle?
What does it feel like to enjoy? To be assured to throw away the worries?
What does it feel like to go completely insane? To have a good memory?
What does it feel like to live? To live and not just survive?
What does it feel like. .??

Stories of my 'hood. Part-2.

One of the cherubic advantage of having a South Indian nativity and growing up in Bangalore is that you age with a variety of people from all walks of life and are introduced to a plethora of concepts that makes you broad minded naturally. Well not all, but mostly, yes.

Growing up in an environment that included friends from around the country and the world makes things so much simpler and yet complicated.
Visiting the Church on Sundays with your neighbors or making a trip to the 'dargah' when you are terribly sick was a much coveted journey in spite of hailing from a Hindu Brahmin family.

It didn't matter who scored how much or who was earning in the 5/6/7/8 digit numbers. It JUST didn't matter. All that mattered was being good and supportive. But decadence is yet to prevail. The only times that people now talk to each other are to enlighten themselves with what the neighbor's child has scored or how much they earn (preferrably less than their own). That is the only deplorable reason to communicate. Again, not all, but mostly.

Saturdays and Sundays meant a trip to the Ice cream parlor no matter if the weather gods were showering Bangalore with the lashing rains or it was too cold to step out or the febrile heat was making you cranky. Belonging to a City of Gardens and lakes brought in exhilaration. All the cousins and neighbors would plan and plot things and missing out on the Train ride in Cubbon Park was considered to be a huge sin.

  

 

Childhood is one phase in which everything goes systematically. As mentioned earlier, hailing from a Hindu Brahmin family was directly proportional to learning your prayers, learning music/dance and huge get together(s) during the weekends. I personally feel being a first child is always overwhelming. You experience happiness, happiness and endless happiness.

 Don't agree with me? Well, I'll tell you the reason behind the denial. It is just that, as we grow up, happiness changes in depths and heights and is given a whole new definition, an aloof and impassable definition that is left unattainable in the coming years.

This happens because as we grow up, all we do is try to impress and satisfy others, which is inevitable. Even Mother Teresa might have had people who spoke ill of her or were unhappy with her. It is stupidity to abolish your own desires for others, for the truth is that somebody will always have to disagree with you.   One of the trivial aphorisms my generation owes to Wilhelm Busch's 'Pious Helene' is the homily, "Once your reputation's done, you can live a life of fun".
 Follow what WB said. Stop surviving. Start living. 
And guess what? The monsoons are here.Monsoons imply a lot to write about. Watch out this space for more.

Stories of my 'hood. Part-1.

Being the first child has its own sweet blessings, you know? You get pampered, loved unconditionally and all your tantrums and desires are fulfilled even before you are sure of it. Well, just my luck, I am a first child too.

A pampered, spoilt (love-spoilt-sensitive-dependent), overly emotional first child.

Right from the time you ever stepped on this planet, not literally though, you have a fair share of love and care. Growing up in an atmosphere filled only with selfless love, care and the right culture & tradition, the world around seems magical. At least, I did feel so back then. A whole bunch of people to obey your stupid wishes and love you no less no matter what. An era where everything was within reach. 

Impossible, reality, situations.. all these things didn't make any sense at all. All I knew was a world full of happiness and fulfillment. 

 

When eating spinach had only one reason. 

Popoeye, The Sailor Man. 

What the mind interpreted was this- Popoeye eats spinach

and gets a bump on his hand instantly.

So should I. 

Viola! Mother is happy that no matter 

how stupid your reason was, you were eating it.

When the first day at kindergarten was no less miserable than being fried in a hot pan of boiling ferocious oil

Yes, of such great magnitude. When you are reluctantly dressed up 

in the brand new uniform with a backpack that is probably bigger

 than your very own height. And then you finally reach that dreary 

 place. Your first school. A sight of which sent a shiver down your spine. A place that took you away from your parents

You cry, you scream, you cough, you throw up and do all the things in the world that you could probably do to convince mom and dad to take you back home. Nothing happens. An unknown human comes up to you, bribes you with chocolates and toys and all sorts of attractive stuff. You stop for a moment. Fair deal it seems? No. No. No. Never. Not to risk. You go back to your agenda again. The throat goes dry and weary. Still, no improvement. You are destined to go into that hot pan of boiling ferocious oil. The unknown human takes you in. That's the end of it. A new world. A plethora of your own kind everywhere. Crying, coughing, throwing up and the unknown humans trying to persuade and console them all. The day goes by. I do not remember what happens after that. Finally, hopes have been restored. You catch a glimpse your parents. FINALLY. Ah! What a treat to the eyes. You have been spared of the hot pan of oil back to your own sweet chocolate factory filled with the best people in the world. What a relief! 

Time goes by.. 

Next is the stage wherein having a pen-pencil is a must because every other classmate has one. You need it then and there. Doesn't matter if it's 10 or 12 in the night. You need it. End of the story. Yeah, this, a peculiar characteristic of a first child. Being adamant. Because deep down, you know you're going to get it.

Next dad takes off   to fulfill your utmost desire. Sneaking in every possible lane where he could find a pen-pencil at that hour of the night. 

My daddy best-est.