Voice

Coming Back...

2011-02-25T01:36:00.000-08:00

I am back...after a long hiatus. Not that I had nothing to say but was clueless how to say,was not able to conjure words through which my feelings can flow lucidly, or to make it still simple, I was LAZY!

Life has moved, moved at a lightning speed. From being a simple teacher to an e-learning professional, from humble pay checks to fat pay packages, from the innocent laid back days to the days of cut-throat competition...life has undergone a complete makeover. But the question is whether I like this makeover? I'll say Yes and NO both. Both choices have their own valid reasons but I am not planning to focus on those reasons here. The point is life has changed--for good or for bad is circumstantial.

But amidst all the hype and hoopla, sometimes you feel a tug in your heart. You feel as if something is missing, something is left somewhere, a perfect balance of happiness is not working out. And then, one fine day, in a certain moment of epiphany you get the answer--simple yet forgotten in the struggle for existence. You realize, you have moved so far that you have left all the real sources of happiness behind. May be you have given up a hobby, may be you have not got in touch with your good friends for years together, may be you have been too demanding with your loved ones, reason can be anything but its realization is important; and that is a good start...

Life's tuning keeps changing but the heart does crave to listen to the same old tunes that can build an innocent world, free of useless worries, around you.

So, what are you waiting for? Go back!

We do exist...

2008-09-10T20:07:00.000-07:00

We do exist…

somewhere in the daily routine

somewhere in the busy traffic

somewhere on the crowded road

somewhere in the corner of an office

We do exist…

in the corner of a business process

in the number on a list

in the torn pages on the desk

in the documents on the computer screen

We do exist…

in the bygone days

in the lost memories

in a broken heart

in a friend’s sigh

We do exist…

and we assure this everyday

when we lie on the bed at night

we make sure that we’re still breathing

and so…We do exist!!!

Little more of 'Life'...

2008-08-28T04:13:00.000-07:00

Life is a shock absorber…it jolts for a moment and then its pulses are back to normal. With time it allows us to stop feeling for the loss and starts the process of healing. It opens in front the doors of future and lets the past, with all its memories, settle down in the depth of our fragile heart.

It’s tricky, amazing, surprising that even when the things around which are lives revolved perish, we learn to live and accept the inevitable truth. At times our lives become clueless, directionless but we still find our way and start afresh. Our sulking heart rebels and quite often stumbles in the beginning but we do make a start…we do move on with all the losses, experiences and memories.

Life like a charmer attracts us and we keep on moving ahead in the quest of getting little more of ‘Life’.

(Madhuri Shinde, Date: 28 Aug, 2008)

The Blog-bitten Stars!

2008-08-12T07:14:00.000-07:00

So, it’s time to blog…

Oops! Let me correct…to bash and smash the opponent in conveniently sophisticated and equivocal “written” tiff.

So what you guys find in the ‘Bigadda’ or in the self-obsessed Khan’s Chronicle…I, Me, Myself and everything related to Me!!! Wasn’t the attention in the glitterati and the immense coverage of paparazzi enough for our “Stars” that they diverted their precious attention to this media lying somewhere in the corner of the vast World Wide Web.

Everybody has the right to individuality…everybody has the right to live a commoner’s life…everybody has the right to free speech. The argument is fair enough; after all we belong to a Sovereign, Socialist, Secular, Democratic and Republic nation; and so we take the liberty to openly throw muck at each other for the sheer pleasure of massaging our bloated egos.

The fact that the “Stars” are resting their feet on the ground to be in tandem with their admirers is worth appreciation. All their confessions of ‘blogging for the sake of blogging’ are also well received by less mortals like us, but how are we to handle their constant refutation and defensive feedback given as a reply to their fellow colleague’s or a journalist’s comment. Isn’t the media or the innumerable gossip magazines enough to provide the ‘Masala’? May be the Superstars (let me add ‘Super’ here, to be more specific) think otherwise; or probably they believe in fighting their case personally.

All the readers of this blog entry of a less mortal like me should not consider that I am against the “literary” freedom of our glamour icons. But when readers like us visit these blogs with curiosity of exploring the other shades of the Star's personality, what we get is a replica of all the jargon covered by each and every media in the country. The only difference being it flows from the Big Man’s pen rather than the pen which writes such news in an attempt to fend the livelihood.

Still we’ll bear all, as usual, and also eagerly wait for the King Khan’s blog.

Let’s see what new dimension Mr. King Khan adds to our blog world!

Dialogue

2008-06-25T08:58:00.000-07:00

The earth said to the Sun, “O, cruel one! Why do you shine so bright and scorch my body with your heat.”

The sun replied, “I don’t want to hurt you but I can’t stop shining bright because I must give life to the seed buried deep beneath your feet.”

The earth refuted with some anger in her tone, “For that listless lost seed, you are torturing me — the one who holds all that exists! What is that seed in comparison to me?”

The sun replied with a smile, “My dear friend, the poor seed may seem nothing in comparison to you but it has the power to regenerate. It holds within itself a life waiting to bud. You hold all that exists but that little seed has the capability to give birth to that which exists. Without it, will there be the grandeur that you proudly flaunt?”

Hereafter, the earth didn’t complain.

The sun kept shining and the earth cautiously covered the delicate seed; now that she knew the very purpose of her existence.

Monologue 2

2008-06-06T00:16:00.000-07:00

I am Happy!

I am feeling like shouting and dancing and telling the entire world that I am happy…just like that. I am feeling nostalgic, going back and forth in the beautiful moments of past. Definitely, I have the process driven “structured” corporate work but in between I am taking a chance to freak on the uncertain, unstructured beauty of life.

I smile by myself and keep murmuring poetic lines. Probably someone would think I have gone mad…let them think so. It’s better to be termed “mad” to remain happy rather than be “controlled” and remain unhappy.

The rain has washed away all that which was dull, sad and painful. A sudden change in climate has made me happy like never before. Sometimes, I think it’s so easy to be happy.

Simple things have such a healing power; one should just know how to cherish them.

Lost in a rainy day,
A child walked by himself
Splashing the puddles
And chasing the birds
Thinking of nothing —
Books, homework, school, and rules…

What he held was a tiny drop of rain
And memories to cherish in the innocent brain…

What he held was a beautiful ray
And lots of hope to face a gory day…

Lost in a rainy day
Without a mother, without a teacher
The child found himself
And forgot all that was gray…

June 6, 2008 (Madhuri Shinde)

Monologue 1

2008-05-31T08:46:00.000-07:00

Life is simple, really very simple. But sometimes circumstances force you to safeguard the simplicity under the cover of a complex mask...

Walking completely "bare" is not wise you see!

“Nothing in Particular”

2008-05-07T03:30:00.001-07:00

I have so many topics to write about. I can’t give you an exact count of the numerous incidents that inspired me to imagine stories. Usually, I find the prospect of a great story in every incident irrespective of its relevance or irrelevance to my personal life. I would have written a book of stories by now, had I diligently worked on my writing plans. But somehow, I feel, my pen lacks the right amount of strength, zeal and determination for the exact portrayal of my ideas on the paper. My pen fails to keep up with the speed of the flow of my ideas. Ideas come floating to my mind like a beautiful feather drifting with the wind; but not all feathers reach the desired location. Fortunately, few random thoughts get the privilege of expression when I forcefully compel the idling pen to work.

I owe my self-determination to the restlessness that demands you to do or atleast try to do something unconventional. Since the urge to express is one of the foremost urges of mankind, I decided to master the art of expression. After a short stint with lucrative and glamorous media of expression, finally, I decided to embrace the humble (this is purely my opinion) form of expression — writing. I befriended the stubborn friend of mine — the PEN.

I got a moral boosting right from the first day of my decision. No sooner had I taken the decision, I joined the league of “wannabe writers”. Wherever I went, I was tagged as a writer; and nobody will deny that there is immense pride in getting called as a ‘writer’. Whether you write or pose to write that’s a different ball game but getting referred to as a ‘writer’ is an achievement in itself. So, I think, I covered one milestone by becoming a “wannabe writer”.

There is a certain grandeur in ‘wanting to write’ as against ‘actual writing’. When you actually write and get published, the world has your work for analysis and that’s the only parameter for deciding your worth. ‘You’ as a person become negligible in comparison to your own work. On the contrary, if you fall in ‘wanting to write’ category, you get full moral support of friends, well-wishers and strangers. People believe that you have the spark but you don’t have enough time or adequate opportunity to kindle it. Under benefit of doubt, many a times, you are wholeheartedly accepted as a ‘writer’. Your writing exists as a ‘hypothetical identity’ or as a ‘concept in the process of actualization’, but you as a ‘writer’ exist persistently. At times, you also become the center of attraction for love, sympathy as well as hatred.

My pen, being an imperishable entity, is well aware of the limelight in remaining a “wannabe”. As a friend, it wants me to bask in the glory of a “wannabe writer” and so it’s stubborn to capture my thoughts. But I think otherwise.

I have so many topics to write about; and here, I make a start…

(Dated: 29/4/2008)

Story of 'Her'

2008-03-21T03:31:00.000-07:00

(Fiction: An excerpt from one of my short story.)

"What's her share in his success?"

She sat pondering as if trying to find the missing link in a puzzle. Life seemed to be like a mosaic — beautiful yet difficult to understand. The beautiful patterns lure the innocent eyes but only the mind knows that it’s an illusion of a shape which in reality doesn’t exist. Her life resembled the multicolored mosaic — spread out as a beautiful pattern but with no meaning at all. She had everything, except an identity of her own.

Her secondary role in the house never troubled her. She enjoyed the family life and was always happy of the fact that she doesn’t have to struggle to earn her livelihood. She cherished the quite afternoons when she lazed on the bed reading an interesting novel and loved the quite evenings when she gazed at the colourful sky fading into darkness. The life in her sweet cocoon had been bliss and she had never made an attempt to spread her wings. But, she thought, her self imposed restrictions never gave her chance to explore her own world. Ever since her marriage, she had believed that her happiness lies in the success of her husband. She was firm that his success will never demean her. But she was wrong. What she believed till now was a fallacy. She had failed to perceive the growing weakness in her. Her selfless devotion was a mirage. It was just a silent attempt for acceptance. Now when her husband flaunted the glory of his success, she felt angry and jealous of him. She wanted her share in his success but she knew it was all his; she was merely a catalyst in his upward journey.

She was nothing but her husband's devoted wife.

Love is like a crystal ball. It leaves you spellbound by casting beautiful illusions but the moment there is a crack, it fails to charm you.

Sleep

2008-01-22T01:12:00.000-08:00

Life is beautiful!

I have this feeling today after a long drab week. Nothing special or specific incident has made me feel so, but a small and simple thing has brought this change. A good, relaxing sleep has helped me shed the boredom. I am happy.

Often, we try to achieve everything at the cost of our simple needs, sleep being one of them.

It’s so essential to seek the great oblivion of sleep!

My Acquaintance with Harry

2008-01-06T23:34:00.000-08:00

Finally ‘Z’ succeeded in tucking the first book on Harry Potter in my hand and making me read it. Not that I had any aversion for the child prodigy Potter, but I was very neutral towards him. Somehow, the Potter mania didn’t touch me. So the point is, even though there was immense hype and hoopla in the market, I was not tempted to read Harry and friends’ adventure. But Z’s constant coaxing and advice to read something light, apart from the philosophical drool (that’s what Z calls few of my book collections), made me pick “Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone”. And what many would think as a fantasy book for a child, turned out to be a well written book with philosophy hidden subtly within the pages. Rather than writing pages explaining a single concept, the writer sums up a great concept or an idea in a single sentence, thus satisfying the naïve as well as the aware readers. The book, in some or the other way, caters to the needs of all types of readers.

The lucid language and the realistic description of minute details makes Harry books a gripping read, even for adults. Using an impressive narrative language, the writer successfully takes the adult readers to the bygone school days. While reading Harry’s adventures in the school, the readers can’t miss recollecting their own school and everything related to it — homework, silly squabbles, adventures, exams, dreams, fears and above all the childhood friends. The context — magic and wizardry, is different but the concept of school and childhood remains the same. The Harry Potter books may not be from a literary genius but they certainly have the power to make the readers revive their sweet memories while exploring the thrilling world of wizards.

Now, when I am curiously and diligently reading the third book in the series — Harry and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Z looks at me and grins at the thought of her triumph. But I don’t mind blowing the trumpet of her victory because she has genuinely helped me settle my agitated mind by her sweet friendly coaxing.

Z, this article is for you and your HARRY!

Violin

2007-11-22T04:11:00.000-08:00

Recently, I have reinvented my love for music, especially the subtle notes flowing through the violin strings…Mozart’s perky Twinkle-twinkle, Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, and Bach’s profound tunes have somehow rejuvenated me. When I sit back, pondering over the melodies, there is always an epiphany. One such thought that casually grazed my mind made me think that Life should be like the strings of violin — not too tight to break and not too loose to be useless, there has to be a balance for the music to flow.

Striking a perfect balance is difficult, though.

The Blast Day - July 11, 2006

2007-10-17T00:22:00.000-07:00

I had written this piece on the consecutive day of the ferocious bomb blasts in Mumbai on July 11, 2007. It is the description of my post blast experience. There is nothing sensational or extraordinary, just the normal struggle of a common person. The piece has three parts; I’ll be posting each part separately.

Part 1: The Struggle

I was loaded with work in the office. I hardly had any desire to work but decided to complete maximum work till the end of the day. ‘P’ was busy but occasionally cracked his usual PJs. ‘R’ complained that ‘A’ and I have terrible mood swings and are highly unpredictable. ‘A’ and I usually have a hearty laugh over R’s exaggerated reactions and unending explanations. ‘A’ denies to accept authority of any moron and she was disturbed because she had to work with a ‘juvenile’ (that’s what she calls ‘S’) project lead.

It was around half past six, I was worried for I had completed only three screens of the storyboard. I doubled my typing speed. At the very moment, I received a call from ‘B’. Before I could complete my ‘Hello’, in a trembling voice he informed me that there has been a series of bomb blasts on the western railway line. I thought he is joking, but ‘B’ never cracks such threatening jokes. Within a minute the entire office was discussing the fresh bomb blast. Few colleagues right away believed the news and others doubted its authenticity. I was unperturbed. I calmly called home and broke the news to my brother who jolted out of his overstretched afternoon nap. I went back to my seat and added one more line to the half-finished storyboard. The pounding of my heart slightly increased, may be I was worried, but my face was calm. A blast between Mira Road and Bhayander, that’s where I stay. “My family, my friends, those strangers whom I meet everyday on the railway platform, are they all safe,” my heart was questioning. May be in future I would never see few faces amidst the crowded platform. My heart ached. Suddenly I felt A’s soft hand on my shoulder, the touch of assurance – silent with thousand words hidden in it. She insisted that I should stay at her place. I was trying to gauge the situation. She was adamant and with a motherly authority decided that I am not going anywhere except her house.

I had to call my mom — a compassionate woman who gets worried about her family and her neighbours, including those who never communicate with us. The telephone services were hampered. My colleagues, just like me, were desperately trying to call their family members. The reply ‘Network busy’ added to the panic. Somebody took the initiative and switched on the television in the conference room. The entire office crowded to catch the latest news telecast. The visuals of crushed and blood stained train compartments, the rubble, crowded platforms, and the dead and injured statistics, filled the conference room with tension. The only ignorant dumb was ‘S’. She was cursing the mobile network services as she was not able to make a call. Her’s was the only voice echoing in the silent room and the only one to disturb the already tensed people. ‘S’ has a habit of making all her conversations public, so she speaks in a sound level higher than a normal human being. Few kind souls informed her that all telephonic services are disrupted and she gave a prompt, loud reply, ‘‘Telephone service bandh hai na! Mein to mobile par phone kar rahi hoon.’’ Few faces gave her angry look and others laughed at her ignorance. I was standing beside her. I glanced at her blabbering face and thought, “She may not be too dumb or may not be too smart but she is surely an unavoidable annoyance.”

‘A’ waited till I finished my work. I managed to talk with my mom. Even she advised me to stay at A‘s place. So it was decided that I will spend the terror struck, monsoon night at A’s place.
I hurriedly packed my bag and we both rushed out of the office before it was too late. It was drizzling outside. ‘A’ was not carrying her wind-cheater so she cursed the rain for being non-cooperative. But she suddenly realized that in critical situations auto-rikshaws are not easily available; she rushed outside the building premise. There was an auto-rickshaw just outside the office gate. ‘A’ courteously asked him to take us to Powai and he refused to budge from that place. A’s face clearly revealed her irritation over the second case of non-cooperation. Her face had a tensed expression mingled with fear and anger. Another rikshaw stopped with a jerk in front of us. The driver popped out his head and asked in the rough Mumbai tone, “Kidar jaana hai Madaam?” I loudly replied, “Powai.” He made a face, as if I had uttered a name of some filthy slum, and refused to go. He went ahead, with an empty vehicle, in the direction we wanted to go. I kept gazing at the moving rikshaw furiously. Till then ‘A’ had made two more attempts to get a rikshaw. ‘A’ was losing her patience and I didn’t know what to do. Our already tired limbs and wet clothes were getting splashed by the muddy water on the road. An overcrowded bus stopped with a loud screech at the nearby bus-stop. I tried to read the bus number and route, thinking, that bus can be our last resort.

‘A’ said, “Madi, we’ll have to ask for a ride.” I showed my hesitation but she paid no attention. She thinks, I think too much about too many useless things. She took the initiative and asked few chauffer driven and self-driven cars but failed to succeed. Most of the cars didn’t stop and those which stopped, by virtue of a traffic jam, paid no attention to our request. Finally, we both started walking towards Sakinaka. Hoping over the mud puddles and skipping the dirt loitered on the road; we covered a distance of half a kilometer. We stood for a while — tired and vexed. A car appeared from the nearby turn, ‘A’ waved her hand and the car stopped in front of us. I quickly scanned the passengers — a couple with a child and a driver. The couple agreed to help us. We made ourselves comfortable in the back seat, beside the wife. The husband and the driver occupied the front seat. We got a ride till Sakinaka.

We left the vehicle and resumed our hunt for an auto-rikshaw for the further journey. Again the same story, no one was ready to come to Powai. It was already 9:00 PM and to add to our trouble, the rain was constantly pouring. As we stood helpless, I spotted an empty rikshaw standing at some distance. Without a seconds delay, I rushed towards it splashing the muddy water in the puddles all over my pyjama. For a moment, A couldn’t figure out why I ran like a mad girl. By the time I reached near, two men had already hired the rikshaw for Mulund. I requested them to share the vehicle as it would pass through Powai. They not only agreed but also sat on each other’s lap so that ‘A’ and I could sit comfortably. Throughout the journey they took care that we don’t feel uncomfortable. I thought, goodness still exists in the heart of the self-centered and busy city.

Finally, our rikshaw — honking and cursing — made its way through the busy traffic, and brought us at the entrance of Hiranandani complex. ‘A’ and I decided to walk down to her apartment. We got down from the rickshaw, paid the half fare to our co-passengers and made our way through the silent road. On the way, ‘A’ gave directions to the lost group of women, who like me had decided to spend the night at a friend’s place. The silence, away from the crowded roads and fear struck faces, was soothing. I felt relaxed inspite of the chaos in the city and my mind. We stuffed ourselves with sandwiches before reaching A’s apartment.

to be continued...

Anais Nin

2007-09-25T23:41:00.000-07:00

I discovered ‘Anais Nin’ accidentally. I was unaware of any writer by such name till I laid my hands upon the book ‘Henry and June’. When I had been to a friend’s place, I saw the book written by some ‘Anais Nin’. I found the name strange – very fictional. I picked the book for the weird name and not for ‘Henry and June’. I read the first page, then the second, third, fourth and went on and on till my friend called me for a cup of tea. The back cover said the book has sensual descriptions, it does indeed, but what caught my attention was the simplicity and the truthfulness with which Anais unveiled the story of her quest for freedom, pleasure and love. The straight forward description of her queer desires and imaginations is the beauty of her book. As far as possible, she has faithfully revealed all that is worth knowing. Her transition from an ordinary, but creative woman, to a liberated woman can be felt as you move through the pages. But one can spot the serenity and clarity in her persona right from the first page. Since this is an autobiographical creation, it also aids to understand Anais Nin – the writer – as a person. Her ability to point out the extraordinary things in the day to day life is noteworthy. Also, one cannot escape her out-of-the-box views about concepts like faith and love. She doesn’t fall in the league of the ‘Great Writers’ but she surely is a writer who can hardly go unnoticed.

The Daily Tussle

2007-08-20T01:46:00.000-07:00

Honking, the train reached the station as if announcing its arrival to the impatient crowd. It screeched for the last time before the halt and the crowd jostled their way in through its narrow doors. Within two minutes the entire ocean on the platform was gulped by the monster; and when it had its fill, it crawled out of the station like an overfed python. This is a routine scene at any railway station in Mumbai, especially during the wee hours and the evening hours or as they say ‘the rush hours’ of the day.

Government and media proudly and glamorously call this routine struggle of an average Mumbaikar as ‘Spirit of Resilience’. Occasionally, paparazzi take pride in displaying the city’s distorted image. But those who face this seamy side of life, are least bothered about all the tags that are bestowed upon them, what they are concerned about is their survival in the cosmopolitan city. The daily tussle has become an integral part of the people in Mumbai and they face it with endurance. But sometimes it’s amazing to see how these people derive pleasure even from small things associated with this routine struggle. May it be the shopping spree in the crowded train or a game of cards or a short tiff or a brawl, the local train travellers involve dedicatedly in all the activities. Even in their busy life, they take out time to enjoy every brief moment of happiness.

(Dated: 6/4/2007)

Forever Together

2007-03-28T12:26:00.000-07:00

In literary term, marriage can be defined as legalized companionship. But prior to legalization, it’s utmost essential for a couple to realize that they can grow with each other. When couples have the tendency to explore life together, they seldom separate. Couples with similar perspective towards life, easily become partners in the ‘adventure’ called life; but more than anything else, each of the companions should have the propensity towards each others’ interest. Men and women get attracted to each other; they make an attempt to know each other and when they believe that they can walk together on the path of life, they get married. Marriage, thereafter, can be a happy story till there are no certain and uncertain changes or diversions.

There is no particular formula for the success of marriage or any relationship. But yet, there are reasons – visible and also not so visible, for its failure. Marriage can fall apart anytime, but if reasons are defined then it’s easy to gather the shattered pieces. The concern is when reasons are not logically defined and are difficult to comprehend. One such reason can be lack of adaptability to each other’s changed perspective. Even though, initially, couple shared the zest for life, there is a possibility that over the years their object of interest may differ due to different influences and priorities. Another reason, though unreasonable as per social and legal norm, can be a change in the pace of growth. One of the companion moves too fast and the other fails to cope up with the speed. But the consequence of both the cases is the death of the tendency to explore life together. Relationships, even after years and years of togetherness, can fail when couples cease to enjoy the process of exploring and growing together.

In the modern era, where too many options are available, drifting is very likely.

(Dated: 24/3/2007)

The Worth of Being Good

2006-10-09T12:22:00.000-07:00

Few years back, my sister once said “Didi it’s very expensive to be good in this world” and looking straight into my eyes, she further added “One of my boss, a very intelligent person, told me this truth…the act of being good to everybody is affordable only if you have money and a comfortable life.” My sister, a girl too matured for her age, believed those words but I couldn’t believe it completely. I pondered over that statement and tried to evaluate it with my logical thinking but remained unsure about its validity. At that time, the simple person in me believed in the kind act of goodness and couldn’t accept the practicality involved in the practice. I was a simple lecturer in a college majorly dominated by middle class students and teachers who believed in leading a simple life on a straight road. Their life moved in a circle with only few identified points: education, job, marriage, family and finally death. Many of them took pride in being a part of the repetitive cycle. I could never identify myself with that crowd but I managed to be good to them. The reason could be, I was happy, enthusiastic and had fairly comfortable life. It was easy for me to be good since I hardly faced any professional as well as personal challenge. My sister worked in a leading BPO and she faced the challenge of the corporate world. So for me it was slight difficult to agree with her.

There are many reasons why today I remember the conversation with my sister. But I would conclude by accepting, that as I face the challenges in the professional and personal life, I completely agree with my sister and her unknown boss. I have money but not adequate to buy a comfortable life; so the act of being good to everybody is on hold for now. As I ramble, few people are bound to get hurt and I can't console them because my own mind is craving for simplicity and comfort. For the time being, goodness is an unaffordable commodity for me.

(Dated: 7/10/2006)

Welcome

2006-09-16T11:16:00.000-07:00

Voice aims at sharing my views on diverse topics.

Welcome to my blog.