Now that all the dust has settled and the issue is no longer discussed, I wonder why I feel like writing about the Da Vinci debate, but the fact remains that I do. The main reason I didn’t feel like airing my views about it then was because the whole matter seemed so trivial. For me, it was never a matter of faith, but any Christian, I thought, would have felt outrage. I mean, if someone wrote a book stating that Krishna was just man and not god incarnate, a womanizer who is in the same league as the Peeping Tom, I'm sure the writer would have faced much more than mild debate and in some part, belief in what the book stated. Lynching would be my guess, or a long period of hiding with possibly a withdrawing of the book and a public apology thrown in for good measure. There would have been riots and killings, retaliation of no mean order. No matter if the author stated that the book was a work of fiction. Look at what happens when a place religious worship is destroyed or desecrated. This book desecrates the very basis on which Christianity stands. And we hear vague, non-united, isolated protests?? It made me ashamed. More so when I heard people criticize the Vatican for their condemning of the book. I mean, if they didn’t, who would?

If one wrote a sensational and scandalous story about any world leader alive today with just enough half-truths to make it believable, even if the author admits it is fiction (with, of course, the mention that all documentary sources are true!), he would not be allowed to get away with it. And here we are talking about a historical figure of the most widespread religion in the world. How dared he.

I was astonished when the book was not withdrawn. More so when the protest, not the book, was disapproved.

The last straw was being asked by a friend if I believed what the book stated and being greeted with surprised disbelief when I said no, I didn’t.

For me, it isn’t a matter of doctrine. It isn’t just being born into this religion that makes me believe in Jesus. For me, it is a matter of personal experience. If I had previously stuck my hand in fire, no matter what book tried to convince me that fire doesn’t actually burn, it would make no difference to my belief. And if it did manage to brainwash me somehow, I need only to look at the scar to remind myself of the truth. It is only those who have never touched fire or have handled it with only fireproof gloves who can be swayed. It’s the same here, but in a positive sense.

Put against the millions of miracles, healings and conversions that have taken place, the book becomes laughable. Personally, I find the Bible a much more convincing read. The fact that the Code was not written in the intention of presenting the author’s proven belief in what he writes or to destroy Christianity as a religion because he thinks its beliefs are false, but very simply as a tool to obtain fame and money makes it merely cheap.

It is merely the sensation that holds a rather mediocre piece of writing together. There is no brilliance in style, there is no class. Dan Brown will not go down in history as a writer even for the wrong reasons. The book may be a mass entertainer but literature as an art is much more finicky and ten years down the line, no one is going to remember Dan Brown.

And that says it all.

Passing thru...

Looking back, it was just a blur, a vague memory, a fleeting glimpse of a possibility. It makes me rather afraid to try and put it down, it seems like putting a butterfly in a bottle. Tomorrow, I might get tired of looking at it. Tomorrow, it may die. Maybe I should let it be an elusive, pretty thing that made me smile for a moment.
Maybe, just maybe i can keep an image of it if I am careful.
I think I will try.

While on the road, I was thinking
That very little changes.
I am travelling from one reality to another
To another
And I am still afraid
I still want to go home.
To be invisible.
To hide.
I think I am all grown up
And the frightened little girl has been
Left behind.

Has she?

The wind blows in my face and with it comes the fragrance;
In it, the memory
Of a little girl, laughing,
Waiting for her father.
She is not at home
And she is absolutely,
Transparently happy.
And I know
That the woman that I am cannot be
Without that girl who
In all her fear and confusion,
Knew Joy.

Grace.
A lilt of music circles the sweat-driven air.
An invisible note,
A silent whisper touches the ear.
I look up.
It curls around a variety of heads, oil-plastered, greasy curls,
Grimy, toiling hands, shuffling feet.
Through the dancing dust - a glimmer of Red.
Anklets.
She sways to her own tune, the beat hidden in her head.
I feel the sound. I hear the voiceless voice.
She lifts another load onto her head
And as she walks away, she leaves behind
The music she chooses her life to be.
Grace taught me that day
How to sing.

Blogging takes time. Blogging takes effort. Sometimes I wonder why I blog at all. What is the point of stating my opinions to the world in general? I mean, does the world even care? Why should anyone care that I fell off my bike or that I have a problem about so and so? Why do I blog?
I don’t know.
What makes me sit and type out vague, unimportant details of my life when I have plenty of better things to do? People have plenty of better things to do than read the same nonsense too….
Why do I blog, then?
I really have no clue.
Is it cos I have nothing better to do? No. is it cos I love writing? Maybe… but not always.
Is it cos I like getting feedback n comments? I do, but that’s no reason. Is it cos I can use this page as an emotional catharsis? Sometimes. Most times I post silly writing. Why, why, why?!
Okay, blank your mind. Think. Take deep breaths. (Attempts yogic posture. Falls off chair. Picks self up and sits on chair again. Does not re-attempt yogic posture.)
I don’t know.
I write. Period.

HULLO!! ANYBODY THERE??
I meet a lot of people who go- hey, I read your blogs. They’re cool.
Thank you. How come u didn’t comment?
Well, I'm telling u now.
Yes, but why didn’t u comment on my page?
(Uncomfortably) okay, I will next time.. Maybe.
They don’t. The next time I see them - hey, I checked out your blog about the whatever. It’s really interesting and I so agree with u…..

What is it about not commenting?
You guys read pieces of me!! My life! Say something, respond. Or at least tell me u visited. You know – blahblah was here… something like that.
This is something I feel really strongly about. You visit, you comment. Hand in hand.

If you enter my world, leave footprints.
Thank you.

Comments?

Red double-deckers…
I'm fascinated by red double-deckers. They hold a much greater charm than blue double-deckers. The fact that I haven’t traveled in either is pretty sad.
What is it that attracts me to double-deckers?
Is it the concept of a ‘driverless’ area? Or is it the feeling of superiority one gets when is higher (literally or hypothetically) than the rest? Or does it come with the same mentality that makes me grab the upper berth during every train journey? Or is it finally just the attraction of something new and unexplored?
Well, the fact remains that all the time I was in Mumbai, the most predominant memory is that of bright red double-deckers careering madly on overcrowded roads. When the likes of these come into sight, lesser lights (or vehicles in this case) fade into insignificance. Especially since if you don’t give it and its path of direction your close and complete attention, you might just get up close and personal with its wheels. And since I didn’t particularly want to end up a Sheila stain on an unnamed Mumbai road, I paid very, very close attention to red double-deckers. From which habit, I imagine, the fascination grew. Mumbai bus drivers are qualified to join the F1 races and they would most probably leave a Schumi stain on the track if they ever did take part. They almost come close to Chennai tanker lorry drivers. Chennai buses, which would look more in place in Pisa, are in a different league altogether and hence no comparison may be made with the roaring red monsters of Mumbai.
For newcomers to Mumbai – do not go out onto the road if you are depressed and look it (the bus drivers use this as justification for running over you). Do not attempt crossing the road unless: 1. you have suicidal tendencies, 2. the traffic has reached standstill cos of interesting vehicle formations (also mainly caused by above-mentioned double-deckers), 3. you have an experienced Mumbai-Walla with u (these seasoned experts can dodge across six lanes of unending and terrifying traffic with the deftness of kabbadi players).
Better option: do not cross road.
Go home.
Unless you live on the other side of the road.

You might, of course, then catch a double-decker to your eternal home…

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FREE ASSOCIATION WRITING DOESN’T WORK FOR ME.

Two roads diverged in a lonely wood..

Everyone’s heard Robert frost’s famous poem.
I had to mug it at an early age and then, later, had to work on it from all angles, writing essays, analyses, appreciations, criticisms…
By the end of it all, I heartily hated the poem and once I was done with English classes, consigned it to meander into whatever God-forsaken forest Frost had chosen to write about. And to get lost there.
Little did I ever expect to feel with the dude.
Except that I seem to see dozens of these roads, a few narrower paths and some deer trails as well. Which shall I take?

The well known roads are easier on the feet and are comfortable. There will be other people on the way, footsteps for me to follow, well-worn, deep-trodden, smooth roads. The forest is cut back and divorced from this road. It is almost a highway.

The narrower paths are harder to follow. Not as smoothly laid, with bumps here and there. It is worn, but not often used. I can stop for rest, but mustn’t linger. I may meet another traveler but not often. There will be signposts, but few and far between.

The deer track… why do I like the deer track the best? Narrow and treacherous, the trees creating an arch over my head, the grass grows on the path itself. Tree roots take hold of the feet, a stream suddenly cuts across the path. If I fall, there will be no one to come to my aid. I fall alone and there my journey will end. What pulls my feet to this track?I once chose the narrow path and now I face a fork. Do I take the path to the highway where I shall be safe? Or shall I let my feet take me to the deer trail? I don’t know. Do I have the courage to face the unknown? And by my example, lead others onto my track, making it another highway? Do I have the power to do that? And more importantly, is that what I want? I don’t know.

What shall my choice be? What do I want?

Someday, I shall look back. Maybe then, I shall be able to say if the choices I make now have made all the difference.

For now…

I don’t know.

It’s been ages since I've last blogged. The fact is that I just don’t have the time. There are so many things I’ve wanted to write about - like the Mylapore festival, my exhibition, my project… but then there is no time and I keep thinking later, let me do it later.. and then it never happens. And if I do finally find the time, the event or incident or whatever is no longer easy to write about. That piece of memory is left just that – a memory. So now, when overwork has finally made me fall sick and take a couple of days off, I'm going to try filling the gap.
I shall write about my Accident.
It wasn’t even a very impressive accident as far as accidents go. And the fact that my mom, my aunt and my brother managed to have one each in the same week kinda robs it of its distinctiveness as well. I mean, if I had to have an accident, why couldn’t I have one without competition in the bargain?? Well, at least I seem to have set a trend…
Anyway, as my first accident while riding a bike, it deserves mention and I shall immortalize it for posterity. Or till my page crashes anyway…
Well, a couple of my cousins had come over and being dead bored, we decided to head over to Spencers. Now even on a normal day, I dislike hanging out in Spencers which is one of the dullest places to be. As in what the hell does one do?? Other than window shop? And how long can anyone window shop anyway? Basically I dislike the atmosphere of the place and go there as rarely as possible.
Back to the story, the six of us set off on three bikes, I riding the TVS 50 which I happen to loathe. My mom and sister and brother and…ok, my family thinks I don’t like being seen on it cos it’s old and beat up. Not true. As in, it is old and beat up and has been in the family for a few centuries, but I don’t like it cos it’s so SLOW!! The pickup is miserable, the rearview mirrors are absent, as are the indicators and the horn. And one more thing, as I later found out.
Well, here we are on Kutchery Road (note, not even an important main road far from home but my local Kutchery Road!!) and I'm riding behind Sangeetha who has appropriated the Activa and is gleefully trying out different speed variants. Suddenly this guy cuts into her path, she brakes, I brake, discover that the brakes are in keeping with the style of the bike – a few centuries old, I slam into Sangu’s bike and with David executing a neat escape off the bike in ways that put in my mind rats and sinking ships, only yours truly is left sprawling in the middle of the road.
Someone lifts the bike off; I pick myself off the road. . At any other time, I would have found the scene funny. Sangeetha is screaming at the idiot who cut in her path, Francis restarts the bike for me; Amuthan asks me if I want to see the doctor. Do I? Hmmm, only the knee hurts other than the bruised dignity. I mean, at least if I had a broken leg and concussion or something to show for having had an accident, it is one thing. But one slightly aching knee? The maanam is the issue for sure.
Well, the guy has given up trying to out-yell Sangeetha, a rather pointless task as I well know and is taking off. I limp to the side of the road and try to dust myself off as best as I can. On the scene appear two cops. We beat it. Bad enough having an accident, there was no need to get caught without a license as well. By the time we reach Spencers, its time for me to head back to sing for the wedding mass…
Well, it was later in the night that the body pain started. And continued for the next couple of very painful days. So all the souvenir I had left from the accident was a body pain I remember from my first land work and gym session and an interestingly purple knee. Definitely not as spectacular or half as dramatic as falling into the Adyar river…or as unique. How many people do you know who have an intimate knowledge of the depths of the Adyar River?? Ah, that experience was worth the indignity… what audience, what applause…
(This is merely a light hearted sketch of the incident and I do not want any comments telling me severely that I should be thankful that it wasn’t more serious. I am.)

College reopens tomorrow. Hmmm.. It’s a day three. That means I have three hours of MO – advanced design. And I haven’t done the mood boards. Well, you deserve it; you put it off till the last minute. What about the scribbles for the silk screed motif? Not even started? Very good! What do you plan on doing now, Ms. Smarty? You are royally screwed, you know that? Oh my God, what about the project? No research at all done! AM Davierwalla? Don’t even know who the guy is, how the hell do I do a seminar on him?? And there’s nothing on google search too! What’ll I do? What’ll I DO?? Mylapore festival? Nothing done. Folk art? Uh huh. Aiyo… I'm so screwed! What did you waste time for?? I didn’t, amma needed help for Christmas, Shilpa came over… I needed a break, dammit! Yeah, right. Final year, babe, make the sacrifices! Come on, you could have made the time! No, I couldn’t! Fine! Do what you want now. Catholic doctrine assignment! Procedure of marriage followed by the Catholic Church. Why the hell do I have to work on something like that now?? Procedure for marriage, it seems. Chee! Aiyo, mobilization for the Diocesan retreat! Have to talk to Sr. Colleen, have to prepare announcements.. Hmmm, must speak to jenny tomorrow.. Friday prayer meeting!! Don’t panic. DON’T PANIC!! Deep breath, Sheila! Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe.. KOLAMS!! Oh s*** forgot completely about that stupid Divercity workshop! Good, continue forgetting about it, it’s too late to do anything now, so leave it. Now concentrate on tomorrow. Finish the mood boards and the scribbles. But the folk art and the.. No, leave it. Be practical, think, Sheila! You can handle this. You’ll survive, you always do. Deep breath. Now say a short prayer. Good, now go and start.

Stress gone. Thank you, blog page.

ON LOOKING BACK…
Year 2005.
Each year has its own set of memories, some pleasant, some depressing, some painful, some exhilarating. All unforgettable. Well, 2005has been no different in that regard, I guess. A very unforgettable year, if not anything else.
Memories, memories.
In a lot of ways, it has been a brilliant year. Academically, for instance. Hmm, so what new have I done? I've made a lot of new friends, met a lot of different people, started singing after a really long gap, spoken in front of groups for the first time, got involved in a lot more extra-curricular activities than ever before, had my first exhibition, attended my first ever western classical concert, went to the Divine Retreat Centre for the first (and only!) time, broke my personal record writing mails(!), learned to ride a Yamaha (kinda!), took on tons of responsibility and found I could actually deal with it, started blogging!, faced my fear of water and forced myself to swim in the deep end of the pool, had my first serious job, made stupid decisions, some good ones, broken my heart, put it back together, learnt to deal with depression, torn myself down, rebuilt myself, and I am all the stronger for this year. I have learnt to love and to hate. I have learnt it is ok to make mistakes and I have learnt to forgive myself for not being perfect. It has been on of the most packed years in my life and I don’t think I have ever worked harder. And for all its pain and depression, it has been worth it. I have survived. And not just survived, I have a lot to show for it.
There are a lot of things I need to set right, a lot of unfinished goals, a lot of dreams, plenty of uncertainties, fears and worries. But I also have a lot of supportive people around me, people who build me up and help me grow. And best of all, I have my God. Do I need anyone else?
Looking back after some time is, I don’t know, much more important than looking forward. Time blunts the sharpness of pain or disappointment and highlights the good times and interesting memories. There is a feeling of mellowness, I can understand things, look at them much more objectively after a while, after all the passion and emotion has drained away. There are so many things to be learnt from past experiences. Life is not always fair, in fact, it is most often not, but the key lies in learning to deal with it. Life teaches me so many little things. Looking back, although painful at times has made sure I watch my step in the second round.
This is a brand new year. I don’t know what it holds in store for me but I do know it will be eventful and memorable, perhaps more memorable than this one that is just passed. I don’t know. But I do know that I won’t be alone. I do know that I’ll have people who love me and will be there for me. And I do know that I cannot let myself break for any reason cos that is not what I am meant to do. And hopefully, I will learn to be a much better human being.
I welcomed 2006 with a prayer in my heart; a prayer that much more than I expect, I must learn to give, to love and to serve. And when I find my heart at peace, I will know that I have drawn one step nearer my goal, this goal that can never be achieved completely.
Yo, 2006!