Family

" To yield to seeming is man's essential cowardice, to resist it is his essential courage. ..one must at times pay dearly for life lived from the being, but it is never too dear." said Buber.
This does sound a bit obscure. But it means we need not dissemble.

Within our families, we dont have to be polite, we dont have to say stuff that we know will please and which sometimes we only half mean; we can be ourselves.

We can be sad or angry or bitter or loud or throw things. We can live from the core of ourselves. If we are very lucky we can be this way with an unlucky friend or two.

And maybe that is why family trips become rather disastrous sometimes. :-)
My cousin is going around the state with a friend and two relatives for a week visiting people.. And they are enjoying it.
The same thing done within the close family could be shattering.Because we forget to be polite, to seem a different person and act our nasty selves.

And the cheery thing is reading Bill Bryson on the subject as he describes long drawn, not-really-enjoyed holiday trips with his family in the car in Mid america.

" one must at times pay dearly for life lived from the being, but it is never too dear".

My garden

Garden of Delight

Pics of the garden that didnt win a prize:-(( see the link below.

Is winning really everything? In this case, strangely, it isnt. Because the pleasure of creating it and then in every flower really lasts long.

Today I met a lady who said she tore up her prize winning garden to plant trees and shrubs that birds love. And truly her garden is a haven of birds.. tens and tens of them. Chirping and squeaking and cawing and calling in the early morning. Great chorus.

And I have just dismantled my dove's nest after months. I miss the sudden thumps they made in the exhaust chute but its a relief to cook without thinking what is going to drop out next. Tho we still have some residue clinging to the chute.

Blood Diamond

A good movie, with lots of action. Probably done with a lot of planning. Those authentic looking shots with people running and bombs, killings, buildings collapsing, cars blowing up must have been done with a lot of expertise. Everything is so real. A slice of Africa. With its indifference to human life or pain or suffering, coups, rebels, dust, poverty and the whites looking immaculately dishevelled above it all.

The story is so old fashioned. Cowboy story set in Africa for a change. Mercenary bad guy looking out only for himself. The black proud stand tall good guy.The Hungry woman journalist looking for fulfilment thro stories. They each want something from the other in true human style.

Good guy is looking for his son and the journalist can help him. She wants a story and the mercenary can help her. Mercenary wants the huge diamond which the good guy has hidden. How they get together and get what they want is the story.
But strangely, it didn't touch my heart. Couldn't really connect. Too many expectations maybe.

To find something New in Oneself

Yday a casual acquaintance we met on the road pressed us to come and see a photo exhibition with her. To my suprise but not really hers , I abandoned my plans and went with her. We had a good time. Sometimes, when one can let go of one's past history and ideas and just be whatever in the moment, then life is wonderful.

Is it necessary- 4 way test ?

Actually, Im finding that not having a cellphone is a bit of a relief.

I dont have to be conscious of it all the time and I dont have to answer people's questions..where were you... the phone kept ringing? I dont have to stop in the middle of something to have long chats. Somehow there dont seem to be many calls on the landline anymore.
When Im waiting somewhere, I dont think now who shall i call? I can sit it out in peace. Nor do I fish it out on walks and slow my pace.
Most of the time we are just reaching out to somebody without a real need.

Now that some one is bringing it back, am I glad or not?

Do you hear it ring?

A tedium filled wait in a queue, a triumphant dash into the Ooty bus and a huge struggle with two fat bags thro an aisle crowded with people trying to go both ways and finally Im settled into a window seat altho right above the hump of the wheel leaving me little space for bags and legs. Still, who can complain in the height of the Season.
People can, and the gold watched man settles into a seat near me. I say with true Tamilian spirit that I would prefer a woman sitting there. In smooth-over-things biz style he says he will move when a suitable woman turns up and settles in comfortably.

A minute later, Im up and running around. My cell phone is missing. It must have fallen from the special pocket in the handbag. I struggle thro the aisle again desperately looking for it; jump off and look for it on the ground and then have to run after the bus which has started off and leap on.

The situation explained, people take the number and start calling. No results in the bus. The conductor stops the bus. About 10 men get off, we all close into the fascinated queue left standing there and everyone is ringing the number , walking up and down and waiting suspiciously for it to answer from some lout's pocket. There is no answering call and the men climb back onto the bus, sad that they could not help this damsel in distress. Never mind that just a few minutes ago, they would have climbed over my fallen body to get their seats.
They are further disappointed when they learn that its a low end phone that is missing. Not much drama in that. Still they discuss the modus operandi of the gang that now operates in bus stands and skims cellphones in the melee.
Every 5 minutes people try the number to locate it and disturb the thief. I am biting my finger nails now. How can I explain the loss of yet another phone to my husband? How do I get a job soon to earn money to make up this loss? How do I turn over a new leaf and become more careful? Do I take up meditation seriously to become more calm and organized? Or should I follow these higher souls and give up time wasters like cell phones?

I borrow one from my prosperous neighbour and call home to ask them to check whether I have left it behind. He glares at me.
At a halfway stop I rush to a payphone and call again. Have they found it? They have and it seems to be ringing every third minute. I tell them to switch it off but they have no idea how to. I ask them to ignore it and rush back to the bus. I dare not confess when people still are commiserating with me. I accept all the condolences and slink back to my seat under the unplesant eye of my neighbour.

When I get off at Ooty, the conductor calls the phone again and tells me gently, if its still ringing you must have left it in some place. Please go and check. I say yes, smile gratefully and get off thankful that such souls still exist.