Liberate Liberation :)

Of course. Gay marriage was declared illegal in India.
But there was something else that annoyed me (and entertained me as well!) as I sat miles away and read the barrage of status updates and comments on social networking sites and the way they were expressed.

Most read like this :
' Gay sex illegal'
'homo'sexuality'  is banned
blah blah blah
Why is there this misconception that the 'homosexuals' are just possessed of animal instincts devoid of any emotional quotient or intelligence? What about the character or personality of that human ? why cant it be just plain 'love' or 'marriage' or whatever, without the tags of 'straight' or 'gay' or blah blah? cant we get rid of all these labels and definitions completely? Doesn't the segregation and exclusion start with naming/labeling something and deeming it different ?

Second. Many enthusiastic declarations read like this :
I am NOT gay, but...'
'Well I am NOT like you, but...'
Note the emphatic emphasis on proving oneself NOT gay. If they were, or even mistaken to be so, would it be such a cause for guilt or shame ?
It is considered ok to make fun and create 'cliched' gay characters on tv/film/media to make us laugh, but if you have genuine feelings for someone and care about them, then oh Lord save you, my child!

Third. This sounds too far fetched even as I write it down; but I do not understand the whole point of 'protesting' or 'fighting' for freedom or rights, be it women' rights or racial/cultural rights or gay rights or whatever. Doesn't it kind of imply that we have in whatever way agreed to have our freedom snatched, have ourselves shackled up, realized its not a good place to be in, and are now fighting for it?
But of course, we live in a world where we have political systems that makes rules/regulations/prohibitions and so we have no choice but to fight away what stands against us.

Why fight?
Why justify?
Why be ashamed?

Maybe its not just the law that has to change.....

Everyone I become, yet no one I am...

Something that started off as a bemused reaction to chatty auto drivers in Bangalore who curiously wanted to know my family history, has now become an amusing past time of sorts. Living in a city where no one knows me, I have the liberty of giving myself different names, creating different pasts, and weaving stories around myself.
I strike up unexpected exchanges on the tube, while in a park, or while on a night walk to soak up the fog.
Usually begun with a smile that says nothing except a curved line of the lips, at times it goes to a nod and a 'Are you ok?' (That's how they say 'how are you' here). Then possibly we exchange details of where we are headed, what we are doing, how it is in India right now (most constant topics are the population and bollywood), and so on. And i strangely relish the joy of  creating an illusion me.
Sometimes I am Catherine.
Sometimes Margaret, born and brought up in lush kerala
Sometimes I am Amritha.
Sometimes a Kamala that loves going out for a dinner with granny.
Sometimes I am Radhika.
Sometimes I am just no one who blots away from memory within 5 seconds.

Staring into windows at many different lives

Generally speaking, there are two ways to get through life - to be in the stream of life, swimming; or to be on the banks, observing. Maybe everyone does a bit of both; but artists are people who are trying to do both in an intense way, they have one feet on either side.They let themselves feel life, drench themselves; and also sit on the banks, to question, create, criticize, wonder, ponder, philosophize, and leave artistic marks in whatever way they choose.
And as I look at the windows lighting up one by one in the stretched horizon from my apartment window, I feel curious about the kind of thoughts and the kind of lives that breathe within the curtains. So many paths, so many relations, so many hopes and loves and losses and tragedies and miracles - all hidden to the naked eye.
How far deep have the people who stood next to me on the train swam? What kind of amazing ideas are crumbling within the walls of the seemingly nonchalant faces? What mysterious circumstances and life's ironies are hidden behind someone's sudden sigh?What kind of smiles and tears are huddled up in the incessant array of aeroplanes flying high up in the sky, hidden from my perception?
            For the first time since I had arrived here in London, the sun was shining generously a few days back. I sat in the park, looking at people, observing expressions, conjuring stories. I was really not sure if I had ever swam in life's lake or if I just kept making a fool of myself screaming from the banks saying how deep it is.
My!
Every person I saw, every voice I heard, made me wish I was a different me. Still me, just a bit different. Maybe a bit like the girl with the dimples. Maybe a bit like the saucy sports-person who seemed to own space with absolutely unabashed leaps and jumps. Maybe a bit like the friendly cyclist who was the easiest to speak to. Perhaps some answers would have spoken to me then.
Neither am I ungrateful and nor do I hate myself, but if I had a little more courage ( I have some, its just not enough), and a little more compatibility to love ( so that I wouldn't have to keep consoling my soul), I wouldn't have to seek salvation in a jargon of words all the time. A little more people-appeal. A little more edge to me so that I wouldn't keep shrinking away from people's minds.
But, if given a different chance, would I be able to do justice to it?
Could I handle a different body, a different mind, a different plethora of thoughts that hopefully dint seem so monotonous?
If given a choice, Could I change?
Should I?
Would I ?

.....

We live. We die.
We think we live. We die.
We want to live. We die.
We plan to live. We die.
We struggle to live. We die.
We try to live. We die.
We hope to live. We die.
We yearn to live. We die.
We strive to live. We die.
We are sorry to live. We die.
We are glad to live. We die anyway.
We convince ourselves to live. We die.
We assume we live. We die.
We promise to live. We die.
We smile to live. We die.
We cry to live. We die.
We dream of life. We end up with death.
We live ? when ?

Too Many Goodbyes Too Soon.....

When life decides to throw surprises your way, it can get quite enthusiastic sometimes. Having barely had the time to sort out illusions and disillusionment over the past year, what thrust itself on my fragile sense of existence now was bland reality. Suddenly and annoyingly.
'We do not belong anywhere'. My head hummed. Though this suggested a sense of freedom, it was only a fleeting one. Being in glorious solitude knowing that you can step out anytime you want to familiar faces is one thing, but waking up to unfamiliarity everyday is quiet a frightful proposition.

                                             

The house that holds 11 years of my life - will no longer be mine. Ours. It was decided in a jiffy and it will be sold in a jiffy. There is no illusion here. And I don't know if I have enough time to say goodbye the way I want. I remember how just a few weeks ago, I had screamed at the walls of my room saying it wasn't letting me go, that its walls had held me in its dream-like state all this while and had let me be continually slapped for my insanity. And now, it is defending itself, shooing me away, and I have no choice but to move on. The terrace that inspires so many ideas, the floors that feel the brunt of my dancing feet, the walls that patiently hold my canvases - will hold some other strangers' pictures and feet and minds that stare at the sky. It is as if I am being shoved out, like I am being given unbridled freedom with which I don't know what to do, at least for now. It already feels like I dont belong here. The search for a new house has started fervently and it is just few more weeks in counting that we will shift.
But the scariest part is that before these few weeks end, I will not be waking up to neighboring skies or streets or even faces - but on the cradle of another continent. I wouldn't even get to feel the imprints of our new house before I leave.
It is a dream come true - being selected for MA at Chelsea college in London. One of my favorite cities, one of my dream colleges. But not a single familiar soul, not a known voice. For a year I will have to learn to not take others' company for granted and put my solitude aside and build a life. A new identity, perhaps. Away from every person I know and love, every person who has made life 'life' for me. And even after I return to my country from the 1 or possibly 1.5 years of another habitat that I would have adjusted to, I would fall headlong into a new habitat again. New neighborhood. New people too, because I don't know how much I would relate to everyone after so long at a different culture and lifestyle. Or who knows, maybe my studies or career would take me further on to further unknown shores, and I wonder how many 'lives' I would have to keep building.
This is the life I had always imagined and wanted - to just keep travelling and dancing and painting and laughing. There is nothing to complain. But when the string is cut off abruptly, the tiny kite does quiver in the mighty unpredictable wind. Cords are cut here in the familiar world, and I am washed too far on the other side of the unfamiliar shores. Maybe holding on is not meant for me. Maybe I am not charming enough for one place to keep me tight in its embrace forever. Or, maybe, it is time to start living life a little above the tangible physical sense. Maybe there is no such thing as illusion or disillusion or even reality - just different levels of existence, different planes of perception.
I should learn to shift my planes a little more quickly.
To gather the strength to say all the goodbyes - I don't think I can muster. Love and gratitude and memories fill me to the brim. My heart cries with a strange mix of joy and pain and helplessness - a wordless emotion. I want to surrender to life's wind and I am halfway through, but the mind has its own patterns and I try to fit in the pieces as I throw my oars into the ocean.
'Goodbyes' are just words, and I know there are things and relations that will stand above such mundane formalities. And yet I feel like a little orphan left on the street, with no hands to hold. Am I crying ? A bit. Am I happy? I don't know, for I am still figuring out hoto define what 'happy' is. All I can do is take a deep breath and let life lead the way for me. For now.
Embrace me, life, because I am really eager to embrace you tighter!!!
(Just put up a little with my impulsive outbursts once in a while ;) )

Some Art for 'Enywhere' ( nopes not a typo; trying to be art wordly ;) )

Hey everyone,

This is a post for my paintings... If you are looking to do something about the thirsty walls of your home or office, do have a look at my works and drop an email at radhikaprbh@gmail.com if you find something for you.

http://artbyradhika.wordpress.com/


:) :) :)

( This is random; but do feed my five fishes in the rectangular aquarium on the right; u just have to click on it. They love any extra morsel they can get). 

Being Human - The other Side

There is something repugnant about trying to be selfless. I mean, all of us are selfish at our core, but somewhere along the line of life we get tangled and caught up on invisible wires of morality and values and everything that has come down from generations as stale gifts and which are sometimes better left unopened. We go through the path, saving ourselves from imaginary thorns and waging an endless battle between God knows how many and whose voices within our head. I can't help feeling selfish. I can't help feeling nonsensically jealous and petty and everything wee once in a while. I live among a web of circumstances, and  I can't help reacting to them. And I certainly can't stand the thought of posing as a martyr of sacrifice when it doesn't feel right and when it doesn't agree with my soul. All these come with the package of being me, of being human. The more I try and deny their existence, the more they bang on my closed doors waiting to be acknowledged. It would perhaps be better to just let them in, hear their wails and cries, and then let them grow on to maturity. It doesn't mean you will see me running down the streets and snatching ice creams from every little kid, or sweeping up all the pencil jeans at a sale for myself. Oh, and nor will I shut away 'sacrifice', because there have been circumstances where I have gladly done it, no matter how little or big. It only means I will not deny myself anything that happens to peep into my life. I will not close away ( or at least try not to) and hide behind the  non-existent door of 'reality'. This word just seems to be blurring away like an inconsequential blot.
I am inconsequential too, an invisible dot in this vast universe. And so are my armful of everything I have. Maybe I could rather gather my hay while the sun shines, instead of seeking the shade of seeds chewed by many.