What are words worth?

We always seem to feel a license to suspend the everyday disciplines when we're on vacation. I always wonder what that context would be where I am truly myself. Would I get up and dance, or run through the streets in my pajamas or lie on the beach...or simply sleep through the day? Why is it that I contain myself inside the bottled expectations of what we call "normal life"? I often feel I need to express myself in anticipated ways, to stay "true to [a] form" drawn by others (not without my own collusion of course). I find it hard to break free of that. And no one else to blame but myself. But there are also things you encounter in yourself on a consistent basis, those things that might be the "true form". Like the fact that one of my "essences" is housekeeper. I find myself tidying surfaces, putting things away, folding clothes, making neat piles of paper...you get the picture...no matter where I am. It is so easy to be away from th...

Holidays are meant to be happy. They are times for celebration and deliberate forgetfulness--of routine, of duty, of cares. They are about getting away from the despair that stares at us everyday from the pages of a newspaper and the big problems of the world: climate change, the care of the elderly, poverty and the arms trade, among many others. Some destinations might offer a true "getaway" but many of the more interesting places in the world are fascinating places just because they do not shut the world out, they draw it in. So here I was, in Istanbul, one of the more favoured destinations for travellers and tourists alike. Its syncretic culture, the links with a past that connects to so many strands of history, and the beauty of its mosque-lined riverfront make it a continuous journey of discovery. Not to mention the great food and the beautiful people. This was my second visit to the city, made more special because I was sharing it with my daughter. But somethin...

      --> In a pivotal moment in the film Still Alice , the protagonist, a professor of linguistics (played by Julianne Moore), desperately searches through her mind for the word "lexicon", and not finding it, deftly substitutes it with "wordstock." We're all familiar with that sense of not getting the right word at the right time, and most of us don't have the vocabulary (or presence of mind) for such a quick replacement act. I had a similar "elder" moment a few weeks ago when the word "traverse" escaped me completely, and made its way back into my head almost a full week later, when I least expected it. --> In the case of Alice, losing words was a sign of early onset Alzheimer's, but in most cases it is just normal (or chronic) forgetfulness brought on by having too many things in one's head. I often complain to friends that I feel like my mind is a basket full of unnecessa...

This morning I set off on my usual morning walk, at the quiet and beautifully cloudy hour of 6 a.m. and took my usual route, along a street I have walked on many times before, at different times of the day. Listening to one of my favourite podcast series, I must have had a silly smile on my face as I walked past a tight group of three dogs sitting (in what seemed to be a peaceable manner) in just off the road in a space that would have normally counted as a sidewalk. Quite mindful of the proverbial advice to let sleeping dogs lie I made sure to give them a wide berth as I walked past, thinking to myself that the large white female in the middle looked like she was happily pregnant. All of a sudden, the female dog began barking loudly and rushed at me, and before I knew what was happening, she clamped her jaw on my shin even as one of her two companions ran ahead barking and lunging at me from the front. I managed to shake her off and walk away quickly and fortunately they hung back, c...

Letters, birthday cards, notes scrawled on torn out notebook paper, entry passes and invitations...as I sift through the pile of paper on the first shelf I have decided, in my new-found resolve, to clear out, I find a messy mass of memories. Driving in to school, communing with other harried parents A wish and a dream, still unfulfilled The beginning of something, and something ended A bouquet of affection bundled into thoughtful gifts

I woke up this morning feeling a sense that my life was overflowing....in the wrong kind of way. Yes, it is full in many ways, in all the good ways, but in addition to all that love and friendship and professional fulfillment (please note: I do not include material wealth and that house by the lake), there are reams of paper of various description, sarees requiring starching and ironing, fabric lengths waiting to be tailored, forms of legacy media to be either digitised or thrown out, broken cups and other memorabilia that have outlived the memory...you get the picture. A recent conversation with a friend brought up the idea of leaving a "light footprint". We had seen others struggle with getting rid of their parents' and grandparents' things, and were assailed by these visions of our offspring sitting in the middle of all this (what they would most certainly consider junk) and wondering which things to throw away and which to keep, any possible grief they may be f...

I hardly notice the hour long commute any more; the honking speeding drivers who whiz past me as if they are rushing to save lives, the sneaky two-wheelers that sidle by me in the narrowest of spaces  grazing my already bruised car, even the big burly RTC bus that pretends to be a slim sports car as it sweeps its way through the traffic. I owe to this to the treasure made accessible through my smart phone, those podcasts that keep my brain focused on the wealth of intelligent ideas that can still be found amidst the tedium of dealing with stupid or inconsiderate driving and the inexplicable rudeness of city life. Disclosure: I am one of those US-returnees whose nostalgia for NPR remains undiminished, and while I do enjoy the occasional show on AIR's Rainbow FM or my very own campus radio, Bol Hyderabad, I miss being able to tune in to a local public radio station and listen to smart conversation or good music or stimulating interviews done by an un-gushing radio anchor. I rememb...

March in Hyderabad Every so often I wish I were born In a simpler age (as if there ever were one) when one could lose oneself in the beauty of the purple haze offered by the lace-like blossoms smudged across the blue summer sky as I battle my way to work through the emissions of an information economy on the move. One wonders where the sentence breaks to accommodate the parenthetical pause for noticing such moments of transcendence in the midst of everything ongoing, never stopping (lest the traffic lights change on you). Big words like Climate Change Global Inequality Sustainable Development Communal Violence are allowed to fade somewhat into the background as the bright yellows and flaming oranges of the flowering trees demand that we retain despite those Everythings a capacity for happiness.

For the better part of two decades it bore fruit swung a hammock served shade in generous quantities while those mangoes, green covering rich yellow were pickled, pulped, sliced and pureed made a salad a bit saucier and a milk shake smoother. Yesterday I came home to find sun streaming into a kitchen that had known a dappled green light This year's Ugadi pacchadi won't be made with mangoes from my tree.