The Essence of a Woman?

So, it turns out that most of the works of Literature I have browsed through recently have a 'thing' for women. And by the 'thing' I mean an irrevocable grudge towards the gentler sex. Or should I actually say, the problematic sex?

Here's an elaborate list (for the Reader's benefit), of a few classical and contemporary examples of a variety of difficulties, ranging from wars to murders, caused by women. And they are taken from the books that I recently read, each of which have depicted characters of women who are vastly different from one another.

1. The Iliad (and the same goes for all those War Epics)

Few people actually know that the Iliad, is not just the re-telling of the abduction of the beautiful (but unfaithful) Helen, it is also a book on war strategies and power- wielding.Why, had it not been for her escape with Paris, Prince of Troy, there would have been no bloodshed, no battle, no loss of great heroic men. While we read about the painful death of Achilles, it pinches the Reader's heart to acknowledge that this squabble over a woman could really kill off the sons of God.

2. King Arthur and The Knights of The Round Table

Guinevere, the legendary Queen of Arthur, was said to have betrayed her husband by carrying on a love-affair with Sir Lancelot, his most beloved Knight. This cascaded into the downfall of the Kingdom. Poems and adaptations have been written about these star-crossed lovers, the gorgeous Guinevere and the handsome Lancelot, but what really remains of The Round Table? Nothing but the misery and wrath of Arthur.

3. Gone With The Wind

Set in the plantations of the glorious South, during the US Civil War, Margaret Mitchell's novel brings to light what a woman's childish affection could do. While Scarlett counts three husbands in her lifetime, her relatives and friends suffer from the effect of her greed, selfishness and vanity. All for her desire to be comfortable, fueled by the 'love' she had for Ashley. In the end, she loses all of what she had accumulated by losing the man who truly loved her. And of course destroying multiple households on the way.

4. The Great Gatsby

Can it be any clearer? Fitzgerald doesn't need this gorgeous story set in the Roaring 20's to prove to us how destructive love can be. But he does, and he does it marvelously. The careless Daisy suffers from a state of confusion, thus endangering the Life of a great gentleman like Jay Gatsby. And her cowardice later kills him. You can almost feel, as Nick Carraway narrates, the bubbling hatred and resentment towards Daisy for her gutlessness. And it's aptly felt.

5. The Phantom Of The Opera 

This French classic stole hearts as a play, a musical and a film. However, when we get to the root of this we realize that had it not been for Christine's mad obsession with a fantasy, there wouldn't have been any disastrous torture on the part of the Phantom. Had it not been for her blindness and folly, there would have been no innocent lives lost. No heartbreak. In short, no chaos.

My list ends here, but not my thoughts. What actually calls for people to scream and blame women for the cause of almost all problems in history, is actually a baseless cause. Even though I have listed 5 literary works that have raised a question as to the role of women, we still cannot deny that without women there would have been a stark void in fiction. All the women in these books are related by one strong thread of feminine virtues : beauty, delicacy and grace.

 My favorite character in this period of time while I read these books, is Scarlett. She's the clear example of what a real woman is. She's ruthless, and yet charming. She's a married woman who fights a mental battle, who draws up a transparent profile of frankness. And yet she realizes her mistakes and repents for it all. While Christine's sacrifice in Phantom and Guinevere's boldness in King Arthur also sets them apart, it cannot be denied that Scarlett remains startlingly the most brilliant of them all.

I credit these authors for their portrayal of women, but I also raise a toast to the women of the world...for their kind contribution to mankind. And of course, for all those wars and murders. :)

Venetian Dreams

Endless hours of pouring rain,
The rough tarred roads which used
To throw up volumes of road-dust
Now metamorphosed into Rivers
Lanes of glittering brown rain-water.

The sky has never been duller
The mood has never been sadder.
While I peep from between these
Rippling golden window curtains
I spy a bout of dampening misery.

One step into the fresh outdoors
And a muddy fragrance is about
But knee deep in flooded water
I sigh; my crumpled patience has
Inevitably reached a dead end.

Curled up into the corner near
The rainswept French Window
I listen to the mellow tunes of
Crispy melodious Sunday Classics
As he plays on the Grand Piano.

"Restlessness isn't reasonable", he said
As fluttering notes bounced around.
"You seek solace in hard-covered
Novels; soft shimmering music
And Keats' bittersweet poetry.

"You dream a lot, but don't you see?
The woman's mind is a Symphony
An orchestra of flowing emotions
Of Transience and Continuity
Echoing a Venetian Romance."

And soon the Heart blossomed
The eyelid flickered like a candle
He paused his heavenly music
The repercussions followed me
As I stood by the glassy window.

There, reflected in murky brown
Lane flood of the sprawling suburbs
Floated the ocean-blue saltwaters
Of lovely, royal historical Venice
The sparkling heart of Lavishness.

Beneath the rickety old Rickshaw van
I saw the shadow of a Venetian ship.
Glamorously cruising through the
The radiant eateries by the river,
Alive with dripping enchantments.

And as the vivid green Autos tumbled
Like creeping spotted ladybirds under the
Strangely curved storm wrecked trees
I see the little boats of imperial Venice
Wade through under the Arch Bridge.

As the rain drizzled to a pregnant stop,
Sounds of carefree drenched laughter
Burst from children riding bicycles
Splashing and splattering floodwater
As they headed out to their school.

His fingers graced the keys again,
And as the beautiful music began
I could have sworn I finally heard
The regal romantic tunes of
Extraordinary Patrician Theaters.

Echoing with laughter, blending with
The never-ending fresh showers
Crowding the streets of my city
Rising to the thunderous clouds and
Reflecting those Venetian Dreams.

The Gift

Ten Ribbons he bought, five white and five black.

Three paperback books, both 7th editions.

One rose and six daisies, in a golden bouquet,

A greeting card with her name on it.

"Is that all?" she asked, a glint in her eye.

She glided into his vision like a nymph.

"Not quite." he smiled, and presented

to her a gift quite unlike anything else.

A wooden box, delicate leaves carved on it.

She flipped it open; her grey eyes widened

Two dolls stitched together with shiny threads

One girl in silken pink, one boy in royal blue.

"It's beautiful, " she looked up to thank him.

But the warmth had long escaped his face.

Shaking his head, he lifted up a silver knife.

Hand shaking, head bowed, he said, "Sorry."

It took one neat slicing, an acutely sharp cut.

As she cried out in dismay, eyes flashing,

The stitch that held together the hands;

Of the lifeless dolls, now cracked open.

She gazed upon this unexpected mixture,

Of unbound happiness followed by sorrow

And not understanding this hollow act,

She faced him bravely and asked, "Why?"

Stale apologies gushed from his eyes,

As he spoke, "That's the Fate which,

awaits you and me. I'm sorry I had

to do this. You ought to know.

"Ten ribbons to show you that Life

without me is a balance of light and dark.

Three books, two Bronte and one Hardy.

Seven is just an awfully lucky number.

"One Rose to symbolize bloodthirsty Passion

What you will revive once I'm gone.

Six Daisies for your life's simply glamour.

Your name to remind you of Yourself."

He gently placed, two dolls with torn lace

Right next to the presents; her face

Torn apart in shock and misery.

Greeted his floating shimmering orbs.

She watched as the horror of the night

Descended like a clammy mist

Jerking her awake from the dream

As she watched him fading away.

Sweat dribbled down her spine,

The stinging sensation of salty tears.

It was a nightmare of sorts; she consoled

Herself that everything was unchanged.

The clouds crept into the sky outside,

as she merged into nothingness, eyes

closed; her form limp and asleep again.

Two dolls peeked from under her bed.

  

The Beauty Of Stoicism

So I felt like Writing about this Intriguing Philosophy.

I've always had this fascination for Stoicism, although I could never fully understand the concept until recently. My knowledge of this 'philosophy' was sadly limited to Marcus Brutus' restraint from mourning the death of his beloved wife, Portia. But, that as we all know is never enough to describe an age-old subject such as this.

The Great Brutus?

Urban Dictionary likes to refer to a Stoic as :

Someone who does not give a shit about the stupid things in this world that most people care so much about.

Fair enough for a common man I guess. Undeniably simple.

Men and women are exposed to this never-ending wave of emotions. They come in a mixture full of virtues and vices. While I sit on the edge of this chasm of feelings, I wonder exactly why is it that we allow ourselves to suffer when we can avoid it? Maybe, I am far too young to classify what is right and what is wrong, or maybe I am just too inexperienced to comprehend the result of any emotion. But I was out looking for an answer.

And that's where this ancient philosophy strutted in.

Stoicism, I have learnt, is a Hellenistic tool to fight with the uprising of  'destructive' emotions. Emotions that can destroy the structure of human mindset. Those that can create a havoc. One can respond by shouting out loud, crying and making a royal fuss out of things, mocking and chastising. But to be indifferent, that's where lies true self-control and grit. The famous 'stoic calm' and all?


The world can embrace you or throw arrows at you. Give you pleasure or pain. But that's what a Stoic does, he accepts it. He accepts everything on this planet just like you accept the breakfast your mom offers you early in the morning. Basically, he focuses on the big ideas and not the petty insignificant nothings. And most importantly, he lets Fate do her job.

I had this interesting notion of happiness and sorrow. It continues to delude my subconscious till date. Joy is like this treasure, something that we are always relentlessly pursuing. It's a state of equilibrium that can always be attained by your own choice. Sorrow however, is pretty dimensional. Like a black hole. When you're sad, you're just nearing the event horizon. Once you slip, you cascade into a monstrous depression.

A stoic takes none of this nonsense. He's decided. He knows how to react. If he has to react at all that is. He's the kind that quietly says:
Let's be reasonable guys. 
Let's go on. 
Let's not be irrationally passionate. Let's be composed. 

I believe one must experience, if not believe in all kinds of philosophy. It would be a shame to die without tasting a bit of everything that those Great Minds had in store for us. I've spent the last few weeks re-reading mythology, and it doesn't surprise me...exactly why the Greeks and Romans propelled Stoicism. For that matter, even Hinduism parallels Stoic thought.

I'm surprised at myself because following Stoicism goes quite against my nature. Yet, I've believe that certain natural tendencies to resort to Stoicism are inherent in humans and cannot be questioned. It is unbecoming of a bubbling, sentimental and dramatic person, yet it soothes the minds of many who search for a meditative calm.

In short, Stoics are cool. Let's just leave it there. 

Sweet Intoxication

Rediscovering Childhood Dreams on Bookshelves

It's strange how one day in vacation equals an eternity in the life of someone who plainly has not much to do. However, by the end of this summer, I will still be surprised at how time flew by so fast.

It's an unusual concept, this 'time', isn't it?

Well, life away from my extended family (note : my wonderfully ridiculous friends) is harder than I thought. No maniacal laughing at random jokes, no innovative catchphrases, no collective fangirl-ing and basically NO FUN.

SO what I thought I would do, to 'kill' this disturbingly slow movement of time, was rummage through the bookshelf. I've been so thankful to my parents for never saying 'No' when I asked for a book. In fact I would like to thank all the Gods in the Universe (Note: Indian, Greek, Roman, Celtic, Norse, Egyptian etc etc) for giving me the most fantastic set of parents a dedicated bookworm could ask for.

By the time I was 13, my Dad had created a reasonably large library in the house. However, while my parents devoured all those non-fiction bestsellers, I took refuge in Fantasy.


I was nine when I started my journey with Harry; I daresay I should have been eleven. And it took enormous self-effort on my part (not to melt into dramatic sobs) when I did not receive my Hogwarts letter two years later. Well, I guess the Owl must have lost its way. It lost it's way for most of us actually.

I was always fascinated by the beautiful friendship portrayed by Rowling, the relationship between Harry and Sirius, and most of all the unexplained and complex character of Snape. I guess the reason why I dragged my parents to the bookshop/theater every time a new book/movie released was because I could not wait to escape the dreary reality to find solace within that world. That world where friendship was pure and untainted, courage a necessary virtue and love, undeniably the strongest emotion on the planet.


By the time I was fifteen, I had finished reading almost all of Tolkien's works because there could be no fantasy trilogy more riveting than the Lord of The Rings, nor stories more enthralling than the ones located on Middle-Earth.

What managed to captivate me the most was Tolkien's amazing ability to create Lands out of thin air. The ability to create Languages. I was lost in the beautiful magnificence of Rivendell, Lothlorien and Gondor. I drew images of what those places would look like before I saw the movies. I wrote about my own interpretations of his lyrical poems that filled the books. This phase was extraordinary; I was most productive as a writer than I had ever been in my entire Life. And I don't quite think I ever managed to forgive Peter Jackson for cutting out Tom Bombadil from the movies...I was looking forward to that!

Lothlorien, is by far my favourite.

These books were a sweet intoxication. As much as I tried to reduce the time I spent thinking about them, it never really worked. However, after Harry had defeated Voldemort and Frodo had safely reached the Grey Havens, I realized there was something starkly missing in my life.

It pained me to notice the obvious weaknesses in myself and in everyone around me. Nobody and nothing was perfect. I was never brave enough to fight for or protect what I wanted. I didn't have that one friend who would stand by me through thick and thin. I didn't have that companion whom I could trust with all my life and rely on for everything. Basically, there was no Harry, Ron or Hermione in my Life and I was definitely not happy about it. There was no noble Gandalf to whisk me away for an adventure and there was no loyal Samwise. Worst of all, there was no one I could complain to about these significant deficiencies because well, everyone would think I had lost it.

Now, I'm almost 20, and I get this feeling that I never really grew out of my childhood. And this feeling (trust me) is wonderful and sad at the same time.


So the first thing I did when I reached home is this. I tried to squeeze myself through all kinds of suitcases (with books inside), to reach one of the bookshelves where Middle-Earth and Hogwarts stood side by side. And I surrounded myself with volumes of both these magnificent lands, hoping I would never have to move from MY SPOT (oh what a Sheldon) until the world ends.

But this time as I read, I realized that the friendship, the chivalry and the love was differently placed in my life. I could see it in my family, and in my friends. I could trace the events in the books to the moments I spent with them, engrossed in blissful conversation. One year in college showed me that (even if you fail your modules) there is one thing that you absolutely cannot fail in. Your cultivation of happy relationships. To fight against all kinds of odds, to preserve what you love the most. To be a family that no Voldemort or Sauron could penetrate through. It was like Enlightenment, knowing that these virtues and vices the authors talked about were not meant to personified. They were meant to be experienced.

I came to realize how perfectly wonderful my life is.
That everything was present all along.
That I was simply too young to figure it all out back then.
That the World of Hogwarts has a place in the Heart.
That War and Peace in Middle-Earth is just a state of mind.

Hi There Old Town :)

Kolkata, Summer 2013:

Stepping into your country always brings about a flood of unexplained emotions. I'd like to think of a song to describe it all but at the moment I really can't find any, so let me just go with the flow.

I actually expected to be greeted by the hot scorching rays of the sun, but I had a pleasant surprise in store for me. While the other parts of the country melted under the heat, my little suburban home dissolved in the waters of cool summer rain. And it's amazing how the smell of softened mud seeping into the air makes you feel at home in this land which always welcomes Monsoons with heartwarming gratitude.

As I sit near the window of my old country house, I can actually smell the tranquil river breeze. It drifts in from the Ganges, that twirls along gracefully not very far away from my home. The sky is blue yet smudged with patches of dull grey which make it seem all the more natural for an Indian sky. The pigeons line up on the crisscrossing telephone wires. Somewhere down the road behind my house, I hear the sound of the train as it speeds past the little suburbs and the river and heads for the country.

Evenings here are always beautiful. Whether you sit on the terrace walls watching the mellow sunset or catch a ride to the "Ghat", a term coined for the steps leading into the river. I have been down there many times and when I was young I used to wonder where the launches disappeared to after they left the river bank. As the sun dips below the horizon, the boats turn into twinkling stars on the dark waters that rush to the south with unimaginably strong current. If you look properly, you can notice the dusky outlines of buildings and temples that comprise the opposite bank, and sometimes (if you're lucky) they are lit up magnificently.

Soon enough, all those silent bungalows down the lane fill up with limitless glow and the cheerful chatter of reunited families reaches your ear. Life here is very similar to Austen's novels. So accomplished are the women in music that it unnerves the occasional traveler to hear the fleeting notes from the keyboard or the shimmering tunes of the sitar floating out from the windows. There's always a general excitement with the arrival of guests from the city and girls flock to the balconies to watch them alight. If only they were to come on horse carriages and not fancy cars!

If Austen described the gentry who lived in the country with so much elegance, she had a good reason to do so.

So do I, as I watch the women who exit their affluent homes and proceed to the glittering bazaars. They are often dressed in bright colors, something I never really get to see in Singapore. There's a chorus of laughter in the air and you could be sure that they were heading down to watch one of Tagore's many plays that was being staged in the community hall. Bengalis definitely love their art and literature.  

Summer time, though a horrid mess of humidity and heatwaves, is much peaceful for the suburbs. I could spend the next 100 days of my life reading, or painting or doing just about anything I ever wanted to.
There's a slight problem though.

I always have the tendency to sit and plan out every move in life. However, I'm going to walk through this summer vacation with absolute ease. No plans, no expectations and most of all, no commitments. It takes a certain amount of resolve to accept whatever Life gives without complaining, and that includes the fair share of excitement and fun which comes along with summer.

Here's to a wonderful summer full of unexpected joys and thrilling adventures!

A Semester's Worth Of Magic

Here's to SIX lessons I learnt this Semester, coupled with all those magical moments with my amazing friends and I put in a few Pinterest Photos because, well I like them.

I'll start with an insignificant personal lesson.

1. TIME = $$$$$$ 

I have PATHETIC Time Management skills. And when I say it, I mean it. 2 projects, 1 Term Paper and a few annoyingly dramatic presentations. Reaching the lab/meeting room as early as 9 am, spending the entire day slogging and heading back 'home' at 10 pm. It could have been worse. Except that one night when I returned at 11 pm, took one look at my room that resembled a dustbin and fell asleep on the floor.


Note to self: Next semester, PLAN your time properly. And please. Please throw that clock on your shelf which stopped working a decade ago and get a new one. That would help. 

Ok maybe this wasn't that insignificant after all.

2. BE HAPPY, BE REALLY REALLY HAPPY. 

Happiness is such a great choice. I could spend all the time submerging myself in an ocean of guilt and sorrow. But seriously, if an Architect friend of mine could be that chill about studies, I can too. God knows what this college wants to do with Engineers and Architects. But in the end, what really matters is enjoying what you're doing, finding joy in those little moments of pain. Life is short. Make mistakes, fall in trouble, get drunk ;) but in the end dissolve everything and simply be happy.

It's all about creating castles of bittersweet bliss in the sky and watching them fade away as new memories are made.






3. TRUE FRIENDSHIP IS IRREPLACEABLE.

I'm so thankful to all the Gods (with/without debatable existence) for showering me with the most fantastic set of friends in the Universe. Whether it is sitting in the front row of a ridiculously popular movie sequel with our feet in the air, or driving down town to that exotic enthralling night life in Clarke Quay. Whether it is mugging into the late nights inside the freezing reading rooms, or chit-chatting in someone's cluster kitchen after midnight. Whether it's playing countless rounds of Pictionary or bellowing the lyrics of old Hindi songs from the back seat of a cab.

Those priceless moments of sublime happiness are what kept me going. They will forever and always.
                                                                                           

4. LIFE IS A MIXTURE BLENDER.

So you have a friend who is always lost in a dreamworld. Or a friend who is brutally straightforward about everything. Or someone who is sweet enough to be akin to angels. Or just maybe, someone who is as hopeless a romantic as you are.
And soon enough, someday you will become a complex and beautiful mixture of everyone you spend time with. You'll hear yourself speak in a manner you would have never adopted had it been for someone else ("Controlll", "That's it!", "Verrrry Good!").



You'll watch yourself change from being the same old boring YOU to someone a great deal more colorful, and guess what, a great deal more FUN!






5. FORGIVE, AND HELL YEAH, FORGET. 

The world can be really nasty. People will back stab you, bully you and throw you over. They'll make up vicious lies about you and spread them around for the world to behold. But a good friend once said, "When an elephant walks by, dogs will bark. But this magnanimous beast walks straight through without bothering." So if you really want to make it BIG, be like that calm and gentle elephant.

Thanks buddy, this piece of advice will take all of us a long way.






6. IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE, GUYS.

It is. There's so much to do, so much to learn. It's an amazing time for all of us to come together and discuss books, movies, music and most of all, intelligent ideas and innovations. I'm so grateful that within this span of three months, I watched a few awesome films, read some heart-rending classics and met some lovely people. I went to some different places and absorbed the ambience of various unforgettable locations.

It changes how I think about the world and somewhere down there, it's a building block on my tower of experience.

If you haven't watched this movie you don't deserve to
live. Nah, kidding. 

Last but not least, I decided to engage my passion for the first time in two years. Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to create a Blog! I enjoy every minute painting these little literary creations. There has been a gradual evolution of interests, from spending pointless hours of the day staring blankly into oblivion to actually sitting down and pouring my heart out into words.





Life seems to make so much more sense now. After all, our mind is a canvas of emotions and no matter how we hold the brush, there will always be a splash of glittering hues for us to look back on.