"Anticipatory"

is the word which would best describe my mood over the last couple of days. I would pine and long in restless eagerness for something until the moment arrives and departs in a jiffy, like a flash of lightning. I am sure many of you have been where I am right now. (For instance,looking forward a weekend after a hectic work week, until Friday evening arrives, only to soon find yourself going to bed on Sunday night.)Definitely there have been endless "wishes and prayers" - if only Friday evening would stand still - the weekend having started but not quite.

I am reminded of a profound poem we learnt way back at school. John Keats, one of the most revered English poets, bases this poem on the pictures on an Urn (an earthen pot) and marvels at how each moment is captured forever on the Urn.

For example, the lover, just about to passionately kiss his beloved is caught in that intimate moment on the Urn. Yes, he would now never kiss his love - but all the same, his passion would never die, his beloved would never cease to entice him, his love would never fade away.

"Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal - yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! "

The poem ends with "Satyam(truth) Shivam (auspicious existence) Sundaram (beauty)" - at least that is what I have understood

"Beauty is truth, truth beauty," - that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."

My tribute to all those poets/souls who could think such beautiful , yet profound thoughts and to the Creator from whom all what Is , arises...

Life's Like This...

It amazes me how some pestilential specimen on the earth could be such experts in bugging. A septagenerian on my most recent train journey stood testimony to this fact.

Travelling alone has never been an exciting experience in the past. So the presence of my uncle this time, evoked the undaunted chatterbox in me. We were in the middle of this really involving and amusing, light discussion about "hypocrisy in following traditions" when I heard THE VOICE. I guess God would have sounded that way when He said "Let there be Light". THE VOICE belonged to a slightly hefty, round bellied, white haired old man sitting beside me and munching chapathis. He pronounced "You are wrong" and started blabbing about how the usual symbols of an Indian girl (a bindi, bangles, MangalSutra - he did not bother to think if I was actually married or not) are missing in me and how our "culture" and "tradition" are lost in most of us and this and that and this again and that again. He volunteered to provide some "musical" entertainment by graciously blowing his own trumpet - "Oh I do Yoga, Pranayama everyday. Oh I walk for half and hour everyday even at my age. Oh I follow strict diet." - Probably that is the trade secret behind his hanging belly which seemed to walk before him wherever he went, like a bodyguard.

It was evident on his face that he disliked me - intensely in that, reasons unknown. It was also more evident that most of what he was speaking was mere lies. Irony - Our discussion on hypocrisy actually tempted our dear neighbour on the train to be unbearably and shamelessly hypocritical. Honesty, for him, seemed to be hidden at the bottom of a bottomless abyss. Age, trials, tribulations in life have apparently failed to teach him to speak atleast simple truths. I wondered how many more of us are like that. The train moved fast, he kept preaching, a few others including my uncle nodded along and asked "doubts" (Wham!), I sat silent, alone again.The journey continued...