Goodbye Tippu!

Goodbye Tippu!

Wherever you are, I want you to know that I have always been and will always be proud of you, of your love, of your affection, of your company.

I have always been very proud of the fact that you looked totally cute and handsome.

I remember when you first came to us, you were a cute little snowball, so cute and white with two small black spots for your eyes and an adorable snout with a black button for your nose. And you (ate so much) and grew up so quick and fast.


I've always wondered why you were perenially hungry; I have always wondered if your tummy was just an endless pit of hunger.


I've always been amused by the fact that you were scared and shy when it came to loud noises, lightining, strange people.

I will never forget the day when you scared off a thief by simply barking at him, even when you were shit scared yourself.

You drove me crazy and (very) angry when you did not obey me, when you licked and swallowed all the soap/shampoo while you were being bathed, when you did not let me brush your coat properly, when you stayed ugly and smelly, when you vomitted your food right after you ate it.

I've been in awe of you, when you held your bladder for hours together and not spoil the place and patiently (though not silently) waited for us to wake up (in the middle of the night) to let you loose.

I hated the fact that you ate MUD.

I hated it even more when you fought violently with Tim and ended up injuring yourself and him.

I adored it when you wildly and crazily wagged your tail when you spotted any of us. I always knew at such moments that I would never get such unadulterated, passionate, selfless love and affection from any other creature, but my dogs.

You must know that there were times when I intentionally ignored you, when I acted cruel to you, when I thought you were being plain lazy. But there have also been times when I indulged you, when I was extremely sweet to you.

No Tippu, you were not a perfect dog. And I was never a perfect human to you either.

And I am sorry you weren't my favourite one here.

But I know we loved and adored each other. And  I miss you sorely. I miss your barks. I miss being woken up at night by you. You do know that Timmy is not quite the barker, dont you? Oh, did you know that we brought you home, back in 2000, because he wouldnt bark at all? And after you came, it has been a loud household. Now it has become suddenly quieter. It was difficult the first night after your death. Now we are all getting used to it.

You must know that Timmy misses you and feels very lonely here. Chedathi misses feeding you and fretting over you. And Amma - she is the one who misses you the most. You must also know that you made her do a lot of work - cleaning up your vomit every single day and night, spending so much time feeding you the right way so that your food would go properly down. She took such good care of you. She was your real mistress, you must know - the one who did all the work without seeking anything in return. The rest of us, just gloated on her behalf. Without you, she has a lot of free time now, but still, she misses you very much. Achan misses you - though you had always been too lazy to go walking with him. Chettai misses you. I always thought you were his favourite dog. I havent asked. I dont want to ask now.

You must also know that the day you died, I didnt believe you were gone. Yes, I wanted you to die soon, I didnt want you to suffer for long. But it was beyond me when I actually saw you dead. And then suddenly I realised that, in the end, my weak hearted, scared boy, who always wanted to be in our midst and hated being left alone, died all alone, and that he died a very lonely, very painful death. When I realised that, I was overcome by grief and guilt, and I fainted right next to you. Twice.

I hope you ate the biscuit I left for you in your grave. I am sorry Dad didnt let you take your black collar with you. You looked very smart and cute, with it on your neck. He said you would love to be free, at last. He threw it over the railway track, I just didnt want to see it again.

I dont know Tippu. I love you. And I miss you. That's all I want you to know.

I dont want you to miss any of us. I want you to be happy and free and merry. And eat all that you want, as much as you want.

Life! Or something like it!

Not very often do we get the time or patience to become reflective of our lives and the beautiful people in it that make it worth living! Yup, so the point is - currently Miss Gee is in one of those weird moods where she tries to delve deeper into stuff that happened and why those happened and what she learnt from them. And, as rightly inferred, she wants to blog about some of it. 

Disclaimer: This post carries a 100% risk factor of becoming drab, dreary and dry. Please move away, at the very first getaway.

Well, the setting. The obscure little Southern capital city. The L-shaped, suffocating, hostel room. Fun loving friends. A demanding exam - so demanding that Miss Gee's life since the study began has been life-less, friend-less, fun-less and even food-less! Not that it is a pre-requisite, but Miss Gee belongs to a particularly nauseating tribe of wannabe-serious-geeks that she has tried to avoid what are "perceived distractions". Bad move Miss Gee, that one. Very bad move!

Okay so back to the setting. Miss Gee was learning - quite a lot. And boy wasn't she amused!?

For the first time ever in her life, Miss Gee was sharing space with somebody who actually knew how to well, let's just say, look good and feel good. Not that Miss Gee hung out inside trash bins with smelly street urchins; but she and her creed had never cared beyond the very necessary and minimal stuff. Not that caring more would have changed much anyway! ;)
But this episode in Miss Gee's life was, honestly speaking, a revelation. That mirrors had in them the power to literally petrify homo sapiens, and hook them onto their own reflections. Maybe it is an occupational hazard of being beautiful and wanting to maintain the beauty all day long. So what did Miss Gee learn? Well, yes, make better use of the mirror. But nah! Miss Gee should just stick on to the old policy of seasonal obsessions and seasonal outbursts of consciousness. Honestly Miss Gee, I think even that would be too much to ask of you - considering your blissful illiteracy when it comes to such matters.

Now let us skip to lesson number two. So who was the genius who believed Eve was created from Adam's rib bone? Yea, some unlettered imbecile. But it seems Miss Gee is the only one who never really took the story in. Eves are supposed to stay weak and coy. Adams are the strong, macho ones who sort of enjoy pampering Eves, and are continually amused by them. Miss Gee, may be you're another sub-species. You really don't seem impressed by their conduct, do you? Yup, that's right. There are instances where Miss Gee thought she'd throw up! Nah. I don't like the condescending, superior tone in Miss Gee's thinking. Miss Gee is being a little too snobbish here. Remember - just let them be - is Miss Gee's official anthem!

Yes lesson number three. Miss Gee got to listen to a number of very interesting stories - mainly matters of the heart. Even Miss Gee told her companion her story, but Miss Gee had already forgotten crucial links in the story, and her poor companion had to make do with a very broken hole-some story. Not that Miss Gee didnt intend to, but Miss Gee had actually lost track of many events. Yes, but she did intentionally hide the more painful parts of the story, involving the elaborate scheming that had broken her heart.
And the lesson she learnt was that, when it comes to matters of the heart, not just her, but pretty much everybody is a doofus. She found that it was so endearing to know that human emotions can actually be hilarious, esp when viewed as an independent third party. But no, Miss Gee is not judging on them. She has been there, done that. Plus Miss Gee thoroughly enjoyed the company.

All in all, Miss Gee quite enjoyed the trip and the people in it. She wouldn't trade the world for them.
:)

The Mountain and the Squirrel

THE MOUNTAIN and the squirrel
Had a quarrel;
And the former called the latter "Little Prig."
Bun replied,
"You are doubtless very big;
But all sorts of things and weather
Must be taken in together,
To make up a year
And a sphere.
And I think it no disgrace
To occupy my place.
If I'm not as large as you,
You are not so small as I,
And not half so spry.
I'll not deny you make
A very pretty squirrel track;
Talents differ; all is well and wisely put;
If I cannot carry forests on my back,
Neither can you crack a nut."

Auguries of Innocence

Auguries of Innocence

By William Blake

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.

A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.

A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.

A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight
Does the rising sun affright.

Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.

The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.

The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.

He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov'd by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by woman lov'd.

The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.

The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgement draweth nigh.

He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.

The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy's foot.

The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist's jealousy.

The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.

It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.

Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.

The babe is more than swaddling bands;

Throughout all these human lands,

Tools were made and born were hands,

Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;

This is caught by females bright,
And return'd to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.

The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.

The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.

One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.

He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mock'd in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.

He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.

The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.

The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.

When gold and gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket's cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.

The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.

If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.

The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding-sheet.

The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.

Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.

And listen to it, at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wi848QqLbdo 

Desiderata

“Some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious  ambiguity…”
– Gilda Radner

Desiderata (Latin: "desired things", perfect passive participle of desidero) is a 1927 prose poem by American writer Max Ehrmann (1872–1945). Largely unknown in the author's lifetime, the text became widely known after its use in a devotional, after subsequently being found at Adlai Stevenson's deathbed in 1965, and after spoken-word recordings in 1971 and 1972. [Wikipedia]

The full text:

Go placidly amidst the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexatious to the spirit.


If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.


Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery.

But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.


Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection.

Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.

But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.


Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labours and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.


With all its shams, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.

Now hear it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T_F3KRPM0Ls 

If You Forget Me

Looks like I'm getting hooked onto poetry these days. Today, I want you to read an intensely passionate one. By Pablo Neruda. It's titled:

IF YOU FORGET ME

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

And here's Madonna reciting the same for you, most beautifully, and with meaningful pictures in the background.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f88n8eQCGvs&feature=related 

If!

It has been a while, hasnt it? Well, it has been a hell of a year so far! Awesomeness only gets better with each passing day - 2012 I LOVE YOU! And this is despite the fact that I didnt even qualify the CS (Mains) exam. No worries, babe! I'm doing this one last time now and it had better be good *self pat* If it doesnt turn out well, then lets just bow out! :)

Okay, I'm drifting away from the topic. If I've put 'Invictus' here, then I must go ahead and do the good thing - add Rudyard Kipling's 'IF' here. It's absolutely riveting, captivating, motivating etc etc etc. A treasure, I'd say! And a real pick-me-up, when you're not doing well and is not particularly happy with life. Well, go ahead and enjoy. And yes, kudos to the British stiff-upper lip spirit! You got me hooked there! :)

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:
 
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss:
 
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
 
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

Now, also enjoy the following:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pFaENAjk54s, by spokenverse
and
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=is-JCJCUy18&feature=related, by two of my favourite heroes on earth!

Explanation:

"If all men count with you" means: if you value each and every person; "but none too much" - but you do not favour one to the disadvantage of others
 
When Kipling states, "If you can fill the unforgiving minute, with sixty seconds' worth of distance run," he is saying that with every minute that you are given, make the absolute most of it that you can. "Unforgiving minute" refers to the fact that every single minute is 60 seconds long-no more, and no less. So when that minute is up, it is gone, forever. You can't call it back to spend that time differently. A minute is not merciful; it doesn't slow itself down to give you more time, or tack on a few seconds, or take a few of here or there. It is unforgiving time; always constant, always running. So, Kipling's advice is to fill every minute "with sixty seconds' worth of distance run," or to get as much good, effort, energy and distance out of every minute that you are given.
[Source: wikianswers]