Heart & Soul

What do you know of my heart,
Heart of my heart?
Do you know the unrelenting worries
that fill my mind, unseen by the world?
Do you know the assiduous doubts
that oft plague my heart?

What do you know of my heart,
dearest friend of my soul?
You see my smile and my tears,
but do you see deeper still?
You hear me dance and see me sing
but can you feel my pulse within?

Heart of my heart,
dearest friend of my soul,
Between the two of you,
there is me.
And yet, how distant you
strive to be!

Listen, Look, Feel

Listen.
Listen to the rustling leaves
as they whisper the Earth's secrets;
Look.
Look at the magical colours
of the Sun warming the illumined Sky;
Feel.
Feel the Water wash against the
Shining shore, bathing it in eternal bliss.

Little Cat's Adventure

Once upon a time there was a little cat called, Little Cat, who was often mistaken for a kitten. Little Cat was happy to be thought of (well, majority of the time) as a kitten.

This was one of those times. If people knew that he was not a kitten he was going to be in big trouble. He didn't mean to have done any damage. It just sort of happened, you know?

It all started in the wee hours of the morning. The sun was shining bright and Little Cat was having trouble sleeping, so he crept out of his tiny basket and stalked lazily to the window sill. The sun was exuberantly inviting beyond the curtains that were in Little Cat's way, blocking him from the delights of the mirthful sunshine. Little Cat crouched low on his paws and sneaked under the giant cream curtains. The sun glistened against the silver sheers and Little Cat pranced about, enjoying the play of the sun rays against his golden fur.

But, Little Cat soon tired of this game, so under the sheers he went and stood overlooking the wonderful garden outside: how delightful it all looked! Now, Little Cat simply did not understand why he should be here, inside, behind this big boring window when all the world's delightful things were on the outside.

Little Cat cried out in a kitten-like mew and turned away from the window, almost as if he was resigned to his imprisonment, when a noise from the glorious world outside caught his attention. Lo and behold, there outside was Little Cat's arch enemy - Big Cat. And, Big Cat was mewing and prancing around the garden with no care in the world.

This was the last straw! Little Cat would not tolerate this. He had to go into the sun and smell the roses too, and loiter around with his tail straight-up, he was sure he would look better than Big Cat. Little Cat made a plan. He was going to break free. He scooted back into his room, where his tiny basket was resting disapprovingly in the corner. He looked around and meowed in satisfaction as he found what he was looking for - his escape from misery, out into the garden.

Silently, Little Cat stole into the cupboard and emerged hastily pawing and moving a hard, white golf ball and a soft yarn of wool. He easily lopped onto the table and expertly looped the wool, using his paws and jaws,around the golf ball and then over and around the light bulb. Little Cat, then clamped his jaw over the other end of the yarn, where the golf ball was secured. He began to spin around in giant circles, faster and faster, till he was dizzy and clumsily scampered to a corner, as the white ball, also dizzy, hit the gap in the curtains and tore through the sheers.

"Bannnng," there was a huge clatter and Little Cat slinked out of his corner, a big grin spreading across his whiskers:a Cheshire grin, calling to mind the larger than life grin of the cat in Alice in Wonderland.

Little Proud Cat strutted towards and examined the big break in the window. It was perfect. He squeezed through and flopped straight into the muddy garden patch. He eventually crawled out of the mud and continued to strut along the stony path where Big Cat had strolled, earlier. Little Cat stopped in front of the red roses and sniffed the air and shook his head in delight.He then had a delightful time chasing a red robin from it's various perches. Mewing in delight, he walked around and about, heedless to the mud he was depositing on the white stone path.

He crept under the bushes and spotted Big Cat. Deciding that nothing would be more fun than to scare Big Cat by jumping on him, he stealthily inched his way towards his adversary. "meoooowwww!" Little Cat leapt ferociously onto Big Cat's stunned and startled back!

"MEEEEEOOOOWWW!" Big Cat, bewildered, threw off his attacker and scrambled into his kennel.

Little Cat was the happiest animal in the world! He whistled and played around in what was now his garden.

Some minutes later, Little Cat was playing catch with a butterfly, when a dark looming shadow passed over him. He wasn't scared of Big Cat, so he didn't care. He moved left to see if the sun would shine on him again, but it didn't. He moved to the right and still no sunshine fell on him.

Little Cat turned around to see why Big Cat had such a big shadow, but there was no Big Cat to be seen, and before he could turn around again, something hit him hard on his back, and then many things pelted him. Little cat mewed in terror, he had never felt such big rain drops! And how they pursued him as he scrambled onto the stone path and sprinted for his life. Knowing he couldn't enter Big Cat's kennel, he dragged himself past it and ran towards the great big window with the golf ball hole.

But Little Cat had a problem, he needed to climb a pretty white ledge to reach the window, and he was as muddy as muddy can be. Little cat was shivering now, his fur dirty and wet, as the thunder boomed, and the lightning seemed to chase his tail. Little Cat climbed and slithered, climbed and slithered, and at last he reached his window sill. The thunder boomed again and little cat scampered into his little hole; scrambled over the sheers, leaving them brown; tangled himself, panicked, into the curtains (marking them brown with his wet, soiled fur). How the rain scared him!

Disentangling himself, he ran to his basket, leaving paw marks behind, and cowered in his basket. He heard his mistresses voice call out to him, and he was relieved that she thought he was a kitten, because a cat like him would never do all the naughty things he had, and a cat like him would not be scared of the rain! He mewed piteously as she approached him.

Memories

This is no common log. I don’t care what anyone says. I don’t care that they say it is just a log. This log has soul!

Over the last twelve months, I had frequently sat on the log, or next to it; near it. My tab, a stylus, a blanket to sit on, and a dream accompanied me there, last November. I remember slipping into slumber with a smile on my face, reminiscing. The smell of the rain-soaked soil and the whiff of wild Cyprus accompanied the gentle breeze, and I lazily opened my eyes to watch my mum stroll towards me, and sit down. Snuggling my head on her lap, we shared a few laughs.

Tears flooded down my face. I vainly attempted to fight back the wrenching sobs that had begun to master me. It was futile. I was lost. I was in pain. I lay down and crouched, clutching my legs close to my heart, the thudding head ache starting to get unbearable. And there she was again; my head was resting on her lap once more, and her soothing words quietened my broken heart.

We decided to have a little picnic. There was a new patch of moss on the elephant skinned centre of the log. It was the perfect seat, soft and comfortable, as we enjoyed herb scones and tea. Mum was reading my latest blog entry, a smile playing on her pearl pink lips. How beautiful she looked in her pastel - green sari with big, red, rose prints. Her brown eyes looked at me as I watched her. Her motherly hands, slightly wrinkled now, beckoned me to her. I sat at her side as she planted a kiss on my cheek and held my hand in hers.

“It’s a fantastic piece. You should send it out to some magazines or newspapers.” I clutched those words to my heart and locked them there, securely.

It became our regular haunt. Today we were sketching and painting. Mum on a chair, with a shawl wrapped around her delicate shoulders, as she painted on her canvas, every line perfect. One would never know that the log was something dead – discarded and left alone, abandoned from its heart and life. The painting said otherwise; you could see the moss thriving on it; the birds that visited it regularly were full of life, you could almost hear their trills, their bright colours perfectly set against the dark grey tree stump. And in front of it, there was me. How beautiful she had made me look. A strand of hair fell across my face; I sat cross-legged, busy sketching in a book that lay open in front of me. That evening, we stayed out until the sun set and then slowly made our way back home, my hand safe in my mum’s.

I saw the tremor in her hand as she wrote down recipes for me, and my whole life shook. With a catch in my throat I approached her.

“Look Amma! I think we have a visitor today.”

She turned to see what I was pointing at. He was a chubby little fellow. And scared, he was quickly retreating into the hollow of the log. But curiosity must have got the better of him. He peeked again, smudged with the mud around him. I called to him quietly, picked him up and placed him on her lap. Her laughter was as beautiful as a child’s. She almost gurgled in glee. How many little secrets we had shared here! I never knew before, how much mum loved dogs. And here he was - her very own little Alsatian pup; my little gift to her. But her gift was more precious – her life, her secrets, her laughter, and her love! How much love she showered on me!

I promised to come here to learn and grow; to watch and live. Our visits to the log were more spaced now. I remember the last time we were there together. Mum insisted we spend the whole day out. She was beautiful as always, but paler and weaker. I remember clearly the warmth in her brown eyes as she gently spoke to me as if afraid she was running out of time to say everything she wanted to. We were leaning against our log, Bruno bounding along the garden chasing away at anything and nothing, triumphantly prancing back to us at intervals, seeking our attention, and finally sitting next to mum, as she gently ran her hands over his soft fur. I inched close to her and we wrapped ourselves in a single blanket, I rested my head on her shoulders, and kissed her soft cheeks. But mostly I listened to her - straining to imprint every word in my mind; I quenched my thirsty eyes by watching her; I desperately clung on to her wizened hands; I wanted this moment to last forever; I wanted every moment with her to last forever.

And here I am now; sitting next to our log. I close my eyes and I can feel her with me. She is in the wind and in every beautiful sight that meets my eye. I see the moss that has grown graciously over the log - adding such beauty to its stark greyness. I see it like I would see it with her. I will let the log go, when it wants to. I will not leave it abandoned, again.

Questions

Am I a rain drop,
Falling delicately onto
Your heart's earth?
Or, am I the torrential
Storm that brims your
Heart with longing?

Am I a red rose
You gaze upon
In wondrous pleasure?
Or, am I a thorn
That pricks your soul
Marking you forever?

Am I the sparkle in your eye
that blooms into
a hearty smile?
Or, am I a well of sadness
hidden in your glance,
searching for liberation?

Am I the love,
sweet and steady
filling your life?
Or, am I the love,
passionate and erratic,
capturing your soul?

A different way of doing common things...

Time

​Here is my story, or a part of it - a little Time captured for you. Come if you wish and take a look. Call me what you will, Judge me as you will. I have been mortal, and felt what mortal's feel​; I have done more than most. I was time and I am time: I change and still, never change. I am here, I am there; Timeless and omniscient. I am time and without love I seize to be. Come then, take a look at a hidden part of me.

He perched himself atop the tree and looked ahead​​ into the distance. Today, he was a little tired. He slowed down. He would fly onwards soon​ - not just yet. It was the right kind of place to ​rest​: trees nestled close together and a beautiful quiet hummed in the background. ​Time wished he could enjoy the beauty of it all​. He knew he ​should not stop​; Yet, how tempting it was to halt and ​see everything when he was immobile​​ - to gaze at the golden, crimson sun rising, manifesting its majesty over the world. 

Sighing, he lifted his pearl white wings and set off again.

"Time! Time!" He heard the distinct voice from somewhere below. It was a voice that appealed. It reminded him of a river gurgling at the start of its journey from the mountain springs.

Oh, how long it had been since Time had heard such a call. 

"Time! Time!" The call was unmistakable. Time landed, lightly​,​ on the rich soil, pulled in his wings​ and halted. Before him was the yesterday he was denied. 

She w​as clothed in elven green. An inch shorter than Time, she wore her flowing dress like it was part of her figure-perfect body. The sunlight glistened in her hazel eyes and the natural, pinch-me cheek colour, just above her dimples, turned deep red in pleasure as she saw Time. Her mouth was exactly as he remembered - pink, full, soft.

"Time," she smiled as she walked towards him. "How you take my breath away, darling!" 

Time kissed her; almost like nothing had changed. "I looked for you," he breathed between kisses, "I searched and searched."

A sadness filled her eyes and Time was sorry he had said anything. "I know, my love. I've found you now." 

And Time forgot to fly on. He was here with her. He only knew her. He loved her and held her close to his heart. The sun was still and inert; the breeze stunned in mid-air; the river stood silent.

"You must leave now, Time." 

​Time looked at her. "Would you have me leave, and break our hearts?"

Her voice was heavy as she responded, "I would have you leave, so everyone can taste love. I would have you leave so we can meet again. I will have you leave so we can see the beauty of the night again. I will have you leave, my love, because you must leave, to live and let everything live." 

Time looked at her again, his heart full. He was angry and defeated. He turned around and flew far, through the day and into the night, ceaselessly, carelessly - willing his mind and heart to forget her. He flew endlessly and fast, through the rains​, past the mountains; He didn't see the lovers' sorrows as they parted in minutes, he didn't see the disappointment or excitement anyone felt. Time was broken, angered at his destiny; angry at her for letting him go. And so, he flew on and on, perpetually. His pace changed at times, but he never stopped. At times he heard her voice call out to him and he flew farther and faster. He vowed to never stop for that voice. How it pained him.

Eons passed and at last Time slowed down, and on a moonlit night he pulled in his ever bright wings. The pain had eased over the last few flights. The anger had slowly given room to understanding. He looked into the river and saw the moon light there and a reflection of himself- silver haired & ageless. Time had learnt to see, now. He saw everything - he saw the trees grow, the flowers blossom. He saw everyone and everything. He wept and laughed with people who couldn't see him. And he wept and laughed for himself and her. He knew at last what to do. 

"Time?" she sounded nervous, afraid she would be spurned again. 

He turned around. Her hazel eyes filled with the wisdom he had never understood. Her smile, as she looked at him was wholesome, as if she knew that Time now understood; She knew that at last he knew her. 

He watched her approach him, as the moonlight enveloped her in an ethereal light, cloaking her body in moonlight attire. He found his breath catch, as she sat next to him. 

"Your hair is silver." It was a simple statement but he could think of nothing else to say.

She merely nodded. "Yes, Time"

"You are love and I love you," He whispered. His hand found her waist and he held her tight against him as he kissed her lips, There was no longer a need to question. This was their destiny. The moonlight cloaked them both as if binding them forever. 

" I am love, and you are Time. I love you" 

He would fly again with love by his side. He kissed her again​. They were together now, timeless.

Bharatha Natyam: A corruption of the Art

Bharatha Natyam is a classical Indian dance form. When I say classical dance form, I mean that it adheres to certain core techniques, structures and rules. It is a disciplined art that has gained fame world-wide, so much so that Bharatha Natyam and Indian culture are near synonymous.

As a student and teacher of this beautiful art, I am often thrilled that it has gained such a centric role in society's understanding of dance and culture. But this popularity has come with a heavy price - one that makes me shudder at the core. It is my opinion that Bharatha Natyam is now the most corrupt of all Indian dance forms. 

I recently read an article that classified practitioners of this art form into four categories: Those that adhere to the traditions and only the original themes of the art, those who stay within the traditional aspects of the dance but emote newer themes and ideas, those who experiment with new ideas, but still remain within the framework of the art, and finally those that completely ruin this beautiful art form.

Over the years, there has been a change to the way in which I react to the poisoned dancing that is passed off as Bharatha Natyam - From amusement, to contemplation, to tolerance, to anger and now, succinct intolerance. I find it completely offensive that someone would say they are performing Bharatha Natyam and appear on stage, shoddily dressed, with murky make up, body posture that would make a hyena weep in shame, and run amok across the platform with no concept of Bharatha Natyam involved.

A week or so ago, I was at one of those shows that had yet another one of those performances where, as a dancer, I want to hit my head against the wall and bleed to death - an experience that is bound to be less painful than watching the dance. Better yet, I wanted to go up on stage as the dancers were performing and tell them that whilst I appreciate the supposed hard-work they have put in, they are insulting the stage, the art the audience, themselves, and most definitely Lord Nataraja (The Indian God of Dance) and they should stop with immediate effect.

Unlike informal dancing, or the non-classical dance forms, classical dances cannot be performed by all and sundry, often it is not even enjoyed by all and sundry. This is something we must accept at the very outset if we are to find a way to free Bharatha Natyam from its current poisoning. 

To dance Bharatha Natyam one must inculcate discipline in life and within the dance itself. While experimenting within its boundaries and exploring a dancer's creativity can be magical, stepping too far out of Bharatha Natyam's borders has disastrous consequences. 

Let us take a close look at how Bollywood dancing and Bharatha Natyam are often mingled into some kind of distasteful gumbo. Bollywood movies are such fun, not only for their drama, but also because of the dance and song that is central to their structure. In the old days, dancers such as Vyjayanthimala would be seen dancing gracefully to semi-classical steps. Sometimes, you would see them render Bharatha Natyam as well - and they would dance it as it was meant to be danced. As time moved on, we had another set of dancers gracing the screens with delicate and nimble moves, but when they rendered Bharatha Natyam to Bollywood music, small changes began to appear: Suddenly, there was an introduction of exaggerated hip movements; the hands were stiff, as required in Bharatha Natyam, but the movements were not defined; The Aramandi (demi-plié) that is the core posture of Bharatha Natyam was ignored; The foot work was obscure and far too light to be called Bharatha Natyam. Audiences focused on the lilting music, the pretty faces and natural grace of the heroines, and wrote off any concerns - "It isn't really Bharatha Natyam, It is graceful; it is pretty." 

And today, horror of horrors, we see numerous dancers (sometimes and horrifyingly) the hero and heroine, in Bharatha Natyam attire, hobbling up and down, pretending to do an adavu (or step). (Thai hath thai hi and tha dhith thai ya - the two most misused steps, leave us dancers cringing in embarrassment. Any dancers who read this will relate to me). Things get even worse when Bharatha Natyam is danced to Bollywood songs, in Bollywood style (for lack of a better word). The excuses for this are many fold - people enjoy the music better, the meaning of the songs are more relate-able for dancer and connoisseur, the song is so catchy....this and that. Hear this: STOP! All of that is frankly a load of crap. Bharatha Natyam if executed well, will endear itself to any audience, who have an inkling to appreciate the art.

For the dancers out there - If you are graceful and want to dance - please go ahead, pick any music, from anywhere, and dance your heart out, but leave the Bharatha Natyam out of it, unless you treat it with the respect it deserves. (Truth be told, some dances are truly horrific when called Bharatha Natyam but fairly decent as far as informal or contemporary dance is concerned). If you are learning from a teacher - ensure that you learn the true art. If you do not know what you should be learning - gather information, from the right sources. Ignorance is no excuse. Do not lie to yourselves and say that you are dancing Bharatha Natyam; more importantly be honest with your audience. As the artiste it is your rendition that will educate an audience. For someone who has never heard of, or seen Bharatha Natyam, your performance speaks to them - in effect faking it means cheating them and corrupting their understanding.

For the educated audience - false praises serve no purpose except to further poison the dancer and the art form. If you know what Bharatha Natyam should be and you watch something that holds no validity in the field and persist in congratulating the dancer(s) on their superior and articulate performance, you have failed. Do not get me wrong, I am not advocating for everyone to be a critic - but if the dance was not what it should be, praise the dancers beauty, tell her to move into different arts, suggest that they look up references that you know of where they can learn about good, sound Bharatha Natyam. Do your part in fostering and caring for the art you love. These days there are too many artists trying too many fancy things and forgetting the original beauty of Bharatha Natyam - innovation does not mean corruption. 

For the uneducated audience - learn before you appreciate. It is not that hard to distinguish between a good dancer and a bad dancer, if you know what to look for. Yes, it is slightly harder to recognize and appreciate technique, but as an audience to a classical performance, you have to learn. For example, Bharatha Natyam is a classical dance from Southern India. It has some basic techniques that must be followed. The dancer's posture is a basic stance, where the back is straight, the feet open at 180 degrees and the knees bent in a demi-plié. The hands and elbows are lifted at shoulder level. Footwork is structured and well defined. There is a gracefulness and delicacy of movement wherein hands, eyes, feet, passion and emotion come together beautifully to create an unforgettable dance. The dancers make-up, jewellery and attire all have significance, and should be worn with care. The first indication of the authenticity of a performance is the dancers posture and mien - if these are wrong, it is very likely that the dancing is not what it claims to be.

To the parents of Bharatha Natyam students - dancing Bharatha Natyam is a commitment from everyone involved. If you do not know about the dance, watch, learn and ask. Do not accept anything less than the actual art form, from teacher or student. It is wrong for you to allow your child to go on stage and do a mere jig in the name of Bharatha Natyam - you are failing your child and yourself. And parents, whilst it must be thrilling to have your child perform, be patient. Read the paragraph above, explain to your children the importance of posture, of precision, assist them and the teacher in getting them to a level where, even when they are not performing on stage, people can tell that they are dancers - there is a natural, almost ethereal beauty that becomes an integral part of a dancer - allow them and yourselves to learn and understand the true magic of Bharatha Natyam

To the teachers out there - we understand the beauty that is Bharatha Natyam. For a lot of us, it is an integral part of our daily lives. We embrace it in our routine task and when we dance or choreograph, we aim to impart our students with the same appreciation of the art. And yet, there are some of us who will settle for less, allow ourselves to be coaxed (or coax others) to introduce blatantly non-Bharatha Natyam concepts to the dance. We have to ask ourselves, why? If it was not love for the art form that got you teaching, then perhaps it would be better to stick to contemporary dancing. To be sure, let us encourage creativity within the dance form - but let us leave Bharatha Natyam untainted and pure. 

If we all take the responsibility, at least within our own spheres of influence, to really distinguish between quality dancing and vacuous movement in the name of dancing - perhaps then, we can slowly remove the corruption that is eating at the heart of Bharatha Natyam.

Malady

I awake knowing there is another day ahead -

My body rebels against my conditioned mind.

I feel my muscles yearning to stretch,

A sigh escapes me as they crumple in surrender:

a soundless defeat.

There is a heaviness in my movement

and a slowness of thought, reminding me of Keats -

this is "a cold numbness", and yes,

my sluggish mind strains, as if

I have absorbed all the hemlock in the world.

But I crawl on, holding back the melancholy

tears that permeate my being.

"What is the matter with me?"

The face in the mirror stares back sullenly, mutely.

My lips stretch out into a plastered smile;

I plod on through the day.

I bite back the savage piques

That prey on my tongue.

They slither away from me on occasion -

Swell my fretfulness to bursting point.

My brain thinks of a million things

And forgets in moments all the important ones;

The futility of the day

Is almost tactile.

I idly seek understanding,

I leisurely pursue patience,

I despair in failing and

Hide my dreary self,

From the world outside,

From myself inside,

I only hope that as I lose myself

There are those who can find me yet

Rain

The weather is stunning this morning: it is cold, grey and raining pleasantly. I love this "gloomy" weather. It makes me think of reading a captivating novel, wrapped up in a warm blanket, sitting in bed or on the couch, and sipping on a satisfying, hot, chocolate drink.

It makes me dream - of things such as walking up a hill, barefoot, feeling the muddy glory of the earth on my feet, as it pours down on me. It awakens the romance in me; getting drunk on the smell of a sweet bunch of red roses; the taste of a long, lingering kiss, from my lover's lips, as the rain falls on us - a benediction from nature.

The rain is propitious because it speaks of freshness - a reawakening of nature and of self. It always makes me feel calmly happy when I see the grass, lush green and inviting, in the aftermath of a downpour. This is a stark and dramatic transformation especially when you are surrounded by Savannah; a thrilling transformation. Every thing looks clean and fresh, and the smell of rain-mud is tantalising. Dew drops, resting on leaves and petals alike, are not only gorgeous to look at but seem to serve as a reminder that water is life. And I, in my dreamy, rainy world, feel at one with the elements - like I am new and ready to be one with the rain.

I suppose it is the power of nature that reaches out to me when it is raining. It carries my mind in any direction it chooses. Irrevocably, when it is raining, I find myself staring out the window watching the pitter-patter of rain drops against the glass; I soak in the varying moods of the rain shower as it thunderously ravages the earth, and then sanguinely slows into a soft, sensual drizzle... And my thoughts are one with the rain excited, full and robust, questioning, playful, thoughtful and then calm matching the gentle rhythm of the rain fall...

Love's comfort

Some days I am a world of unhappiness,

When loved ones and their happiness

Seem aloof; I do not belong with them - 

Lest my unhappiness blemish their sparkle

Yet, in that sadness I crave most

The wholesome sweetness of

A loved one's comfort -

That moment when they reach out

And cover my broken spirit

With a warmth of compassion

Just a thought

I thoroughly enjoyed reading Charles Bukowski's The Perks of Being a Wallflower, a few months ago. I am not sure if the story on its own would appeal to me, but the writing and flow of the book are simply stunning; many of the quotes stuck with me (If not verbatim, their meaning and sense are still very vivid in my mind)

" I think that if I ever have kids, and they are upset, I won't tell them that people are starving in China or anything like that because it wouldn't change the fact that they were upset. And even if somebody else has it much worse, that doesn't really change the fact that you have what you have. Good and bad." Charles Bukowski, The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

The gist of this quote keeps popping in and out of my brain, and has been preoccupying a lot of my thoughts over the last day or so. I love it and at this moment in time feel that it is so relevant to my life. It captures things perfectly - every one has problems and I am sure people out there are going through things that are a lot worse on the problem meter than my issues...but right now, to me, my daily stresses are significant and are no more or no less important than anyone else's. I just love the way C. Bukowski has said so much in such a simple way....

Random Ramblings

My Ernest Hemingway inspired quote for bakers - "Bake hard and often, for all things and all times." 

Hope is such an odd thing. It comes at you when you don't expect it at all, and in ways you could not imagine. It becomes a part of your very existence, and one day hope becomes a butterfly - matured and attaining fruition - It is no longer a may, but has blossomed into definite colours and patterns, spread its wings, and lifted your life to beautiful heights. 

But there is another side to hope - a dark side. It comes and when it doesn't sprout wings, it begins to feed on your dreams of tomorrow, it tortures you with memories and takes out your gut in malicious vengeance. 

How odd it is, isn't it? You cannot live, or die without hope; And if you are without hope, are you alive at all?

"Burn. Burn, witch, burn!" The crowds were around me, covered in unwashed, grimy clothes and hair, and eyes screaming for blood. 

I could make out children, adults, adolescents - each with a different leer of anticipation, anxiety and... was it hope?

I looked up one more time and met his eyes - a promise that this witch would have her vengeance. He would have nightmares till the day he died.

There was an eternity of excruciating pain, and the tears and screams flowed out of my body despite my protest. It was endless, this searing burning of my core. And then, it was over.

I opened my eyes and found myself sweating. I turned around to look for him; I heard the unmistakable sound of tens of thousands of feet coming my way, and voices chanting. Slowly, the words took shape, "The witch must die!"

Cleaning up

Every once in a while it is absolutely necessary, for my sanity, to clean-up. Whether I am cleaning up the room, closet, desk, head, or heart, doesn't matter.

My newest fad is cleaning up my writing. After completing, successfully, a proof reading and copy editing course, I am happy to be testing and improving my newly found skills. I figured that the best way to keep practising is to constantly look at all the things I have written and checking how it can be better. 

I have started my cleaning journey by reviewing all my blog posts, starting from the oldest in 2006. Boy, do I have a gargantuan task ahead. I can honestly say that my writing has shown signs of improvement. While a lot of my older posts were laden with passion and sometimes brimming with drama, I believe I didn't pay much attention to how good they were grammatically (This is annoying, but thankfully something I can fix) 

One of the tougher aspects of reviewing my own work is the temptation to change some of the content. Eight years is a long time and I find myself looking at things differently. To be fair, most of the underlying emotions are still close to my heart, so I take a deep breath and leave all the stories, prose and poems as they are and only make corrections to the grammar. 

On the other hand, as with most cleaning tasks, rediscovering some of my work (I know this sounds a bit conceited and odd - elevating my amateur writing, and calling it work!) has been rewarding and satisfying. I am thoroughly enjoying this clean-up. 

So, let me get back to it, as I hope I will keep writing and that I have more opportunities to proof read and copy edit. 

Wishing Well

Stones: Patterned and at places chipped,

Green moss sedately resting over it's entirety 

It calls to me, and promises that my dreams mean something 

I peer in. Darkness. 

Drop. I hear it echo from inside the depths of the earth 

Twinkling brown eyes, 

A bubbling laugh, 

A strong embrace 

A lifetime of love

Drop. I barely make out a ripple at the water's surface 

Generous lips, 

Whispers of love, 

A kiss, two and more 

A conversation of sweet love

Drop. This time, I see the ripples, as I hear it caress the water

A hope

A dream and most of all

A promise of love forever!

Whispers From the Soul

Come. 

Share with me.

Tell me everything - small and big.

Show me your dreams,

Allow me to suffer your nightmares.

Let me see your wounds; ripped-open and wide.

I might not remove the pain,

I might not stop the bleeding

Yet, I will seal it with a kiss of friendship 

And embrace it with love. 

Let me see your heart racing; beating and thriving.

I will take your triumph as mine, 

I will sing with your joy, 

And I will let it soar with a kiss of friendship 

And the breath of love. 

No, do not turn away love - 

If you cannot find the words

Use what words you have, 

I care not if they are clumsy or sparse -

Let them come out of you and towards me.

And if I am far, 

Tell me anyway.

Let me be a part of you -

And know all that you feel -

Here, there and everywhere.

Come then, love of my life,

If I cannot comfort you with a touch or with words - 

Let my love be the solace for your troubled heart, 

Let my soundless attention be your mind's strength 

Let our companionship heal your worries.

Come then, heart of my heart

If I cannot share your joy with an immediate hug - 

Let my love be the laughter from your singing heart, 

Let my unvoiced pleasure be your mind's content

Let our companionship seal us together.

But, darling, do not turn away,

Dearest of hearts do not hide your

Mind, body, heart or soul,

Lest a vine creeps its way between us 

Nay, let us linger together forever - 

My heart in yours and yours in mine.

Amma

Some days there is no comfort for our loss, 

No gentle words or gestures can woo us - 

Your touch and your caress are what we crave; 

Things we no longer have.

On these days, we know for a fact,

That moment when you left us -

Alone, bereft;

Life too should have stumbled and stalled.

Every day the sun rises and it sets

We learn new things,

We laugh and smile,

We try, we cry and we even sleep.

Life has become bearable:

We live and let live.

We think of you all the time – 

Sometimes aloud, sometimes deep inside our soul.

Then, there are days like this -

When tears threaten to spill - 

We dream of your warm hands, your dimpled smile

Your unmoving, unending and undying love for us

Your soft brown eyes and your beautiful heart.

Memories to get us through the day,

Memories to help us smile,

And a feeling deep within that you are in our heart, 

That you are our soul’s beauty,

Our mind’s courage.

And this is our pithy solace - 

That even though you are not here 

You are here after all.

Just a random post

I've been writing so much about football, I feel like I have nothing else to write about any more. So, I opened up this page and decided to write about feeling like I can't write about anything. Because as I read recently, "Writing is a muscle" (Colin Nissan) and it must be exercised.

That doesn't bode well for my writing, because exercising can be quite tedious. Yet, as I read through more of what Colin has to say, things begin to makes more sense (You can take a look at this brilliant link http://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/the-ultimate-guide-to-writing-better-than-you-normally-do). The more you write, the easier the words start to flow. In all honesty it doesn't matter what you are writing about. Every word you pen down (or type out) can become intriguing at some point - if not to the masses, to yourself! Sometimes, writing is like talking to yourself and exploring your world - your mind, heart and soul. And boy, does that feel great!

And as you exercise this writing muscle, it becomes more flexible. One ordinary day, you wake up and go about your routine work, then you write. From there on, everything is extraordinary!

For the love of the game

13th July 2014. I didn't think that yesterday would find me watching the world cup final, especially without Brazil playing in it. It has been a week since the heart-breaking loss the Seleção had. And yes, they lost again at the 3rd place play-off! By then, I think there was hardly any room left to feel worse. 

I had no plans to watch the final. The funny thing is that both Argentina and Germany are teams that I like and support. In fact I even placed bets on them. In comparison with my love for Brazil and the Seleção though, the love I have for the two finalists is almost insignificant. I was also not prepared for any further football heartbreak. 

Football is football though, and I found myself slightly excited at the prospect of a final with Messi & yes, the Germans. And so I found myself watching at the edge of my seat, surrounded by other football lovers - some genuine, others just keeping up with the football mood! 

It was a good game. I definitely would have liked a South American win. Firstly, I love the flair and style of South American football, secondly, I was still sore about Germany beating my team, and lastly, a few special people I know love Argentina! A big part of me was therefore disappointed with their loss. 

But it all came down to Germany taking the opportunities they got! Argentina should have been ahead at least three times through the game. It was a pity they didn't convert some very obvious chances! The game was intense and the teams were well matched. What was disappointing was how easily Argentina lost the ball after battling for possession. But boy, did they keep their heads through most of the pressure moments! Germany was clinical and waited for that moment where they could catch Argentina unaware. Their win was professional. My critique for Germany is that while they played like well-oiled machines, they do not have enough aaaah moments! But technical precision, perhaps has a charm of its own, and Germany won fair and square. 

But yes, the referees need to go back to school!For now, I will leave the die-hard fans to enjoy their teams victory. I will empathise with the Argentinian & Brazilian fans who have had their hearts broken. I will wait for 2018, so I can go through this entire cycle again & watch Brazil lift the cup! :) 

Humbled and humble in defeat

I've been out of action with a flu this last weekend. While I watched the quarter final matches, I wasn't able to write about them.

I'm still out of action - because of a flu and a broken heart. Brazil have lost their semi final. With Neymar out, and Thiago Silva suspended, it was always going to be a tough game. But, like most of the world, I was expecting a tight match and in my case, hoping for a Brazil win. 

7 - 1 was the final score. This is probably worse than the defeat to Uruguay, at the Maracana. 

Today, I'm not capable of discussing the match: what went wrong, or right. Firstly, at 1-0 something told me it would be the end, and I stopped watching (spared myself some grief). Secondly, because I'm too sad to care. Everyone knows things went wrong. Very wrong. 

This post is for the fans, and for the Seleção themselves. Right here and now, I have to say that as sad and unhappy as I am, I still love the Brazil football team. I bet there are fans out there, right now, depressed, angry (some extremely so, and doing rash things because of it) and I empathise! I so so empathise. 

And this loss will make history. It will be one of those games that you will never hear the end of, especially since it is the worst defeat Brazil has ever had! Come 2055 (if that is even a world cup year) people will be talking about this humiliating defeat! As a fan, you have to be as prepared for that. For any current, or future Brazilian player.... ... ... God speed!

And as I write this post, trying to hold back my tears, I'm feeling sadder than ever for the Seleção. But as much as I feel battered, I am so proud of the humility of the team. I have just read some of the comments from team members and Scolari himself. The Brazil team has heart! I truly am sorry they fell apart and failed on the pitch tonight... but perhaps one has to lose painfully to win triumphantly (shrug!)

And. .. This is to console myself and anyone else who needs consolation (there must be millions out there!) 5 world cups still belong to us! And remember, it did take 34 years between 4 &5!

P.s. Some coping tips: 

Stay away from the TV, the sports section and possibly the cover page of newspapers for the next two weeks. Eventually reading about this loss will be do-able, if not less painful.

Yes, you may want to keep off twitter and fb....

For those of us who have friends who would like to rub it in, or even worse sympathise (not empathise), you have a few options: cry and don't say a word. Shrug it off and hide your pain. Refuse to get into an argument....and when their teams lose, laugh hard (just kidding. .. football is too serious to be used to bait and tease! )

With this, I bid everyone goodnight... If I have the strength and will, I may write about the rest of the games......

All set for the Quarters

We can look forward to some gritty matches as the world cup heads towards the quarter finals of Brasil 2014; The draws look sensational.

To start us of we have France - Germany. Enough said. If we make the assumption that both these teams will come to play at their best, then this should be a cracking match. A match I believe Germany will win.

Not many may agree with my choice, considering Germany found it particularly hard to find the net in their round of 16 match versus Algeria. What a game that was! Too often, especially in the first half, Germany was left floundering with fast-paced and precise movements by the Algerians. The second half of the game saw a more settled team effort by Germany and their continuous energy and perseverance in extra time won the the match for them. Algeria were inspiring, much like their game against Russia, they came out with all guns blazing and obviously made the game tantalising. Their counter attack pace surpassed runs by the Netherlands team and brought to mind the dangerous Ribery! Neuer in goal was thunderously brave, or stupendously lucky - either way his runs, time and time again, out of the goal area were stunning. Where was the German defence? It looked like a one-man army, in defence. And all credit to the Algerian goalie, as well, for the number of shots saved!

I only watched the first half of the France - Nigeria game. And while it was a high energy game, Nigeria put France in their place. The ball had the most excitement in that game, passes from both teams were wanting - each would win the ball to give it away tastelessly! But from discussions with many, I understand that the game was much better in the second half. One of the reasons I pick Germany over France is simply because I don't believe France has been tested this world cup. Their opponents so far have been average - thus their better performance. Against Nigeria, we saw them struggle. Whatever the scoreline in the first quarter final, the match is bound to be pulsating.

The next quarter final match is a thriller, Brazil - Colombia. What a world cup Colombia have had. So far, they are the team that have played flawlessly. It is no wonder that the golden boot belongs to, the now famous, James (Read Hames) Rodriguez. Colombia's round of 16 match was the most straight-forward game in the entire round. The team is playing as one unit with consistent and accurate passes. Their play is flowing and one can find very little fault with their game. 

Brazil on the other hand has had a series of tough games, the toughest being the quarter final. Apart from nerves, Brazil does have to work on closing lapses in concentration that have cost them a few goals. It will also be good to see some consistency from the players: After a brilliant first game, Oscar has been quiet, Hulk has been hulking in the corner and only came to life in the match versus Chile, when he was brilliant. The two consistent players have been Thiago Silva and Neymar. I think with a little more focus in midfield and defence, and a persistent attack, Brazil will be in the semis. 

In the other pool, we start off with lucky Netherlands taking on a tough looking Costa Rica. Netherlands did not deserve to win their quarter final. This may sound harsh, but it is a fact, Arjen Robben ought to be ashamed. I read an article that read, "Robben: we are on a mission" and the first thing that came to my mind was, yeah, you are on a mission: a falling one! I suppose this critique sounds harsh, but who cares? I hope Costa Rica pulls a shocker and tosses the Netherlands out! 

And finally, Argentina take on gritty Belgium. Whoa! Belgium? World cup quarter final? Who would've believed it? Anyone who has been watching them over the last year or so! I would like to say that Argentina will win this one easily. But I can't. Belgium have played a technically sound game this world cup. They haven't had the most dramatic, flamboyant or high energy games, but they sure have got somethings right. This should be an interesting game to watch. If Argentina score early, I believe they will secure their berth at the Brasil 2014 semi final! 

My hopes (with a little logic applied) for the semi finals: Brazil - Germany, Argentina - Netherlands. Hopefully, the two South American teams face-off at the finale. I think having Netherlands in the final would be ugly! It would also be an ugly final without Brazil!!!

I say again, go Brazzzzzzzzzziiiillllll! :)

The bird's music

A Little bird visits my window pane

and sings of love, 

and things of fun.

He draws thoughts from my heart, 

and weaves them into lyrical rhyme - 

Sings on, in his sunny voice. 

Everyday the song is different,

Everyday the aria, excellent,

Everyday I hear in harmony, "I love you so."

I look out from my window pane:

Near my singing bird, is another one.

Whistling a syllable, humming in unison - 

A different tone, lilting the same ode

A blithe trill from one to the other,

A serenade of love together.

A week of interesting play

As a world cup fan, I think it is important to do the following:

Support one team with your head: This team is the dependable one. They play well, have decent odds at winning and offer you, the fan, a great deal of excitement with their wins and a relatively low level of trauma if they loose, or fail at any stage

Support one team that is an underdog: This team truly adds colour to your world cup experience. Regardless of wins or losses, just supporting a team that has about a 1 in 32 chance of winning a game is exciting. Again, a win for this team is rewarding, and a loss is nothing out of the ordinary. 

Support one team with your heart and soul: This team is your football nectar. Watching this team play has your football passion at a crescendo. A win for them is a win for you. You will listen to critique about this team and still stick to your supporting ways. Their losses will hold you emotionally hostage and in many cases ruin your world cup. Their wins at any point will make you feel like the world is just darn beautiful. And, if they take the cup, you are set for life - every consecutive cup will have you recalling this win. This team is your football heart break and your football salvation. 

I feel that the above is an essential survival combination for non neutral game watchers!

But moving on from the fan side of things, the last week has produced some very exciting games. The Iran - Nigeria game was one that stood out, for the wrong reasons. It was incredibly boring. So boring, the first 15 minutes of the second half felt like two hours. A complete contrast to the Iran - Argentina game's second half. In the latter, I think the 4 4 2 strategy did wonders for Iran, and if I didn't like Argentina, I'd have been quite disappointed with the end result, in spite of another Messi inspired magic moment. I'm sure that the Nigeria - Bosnia game would have been boring. Regardless of Nigeria's win, I've no regrets over not watching that game.

Group D has been tantalising. After a pretty magnificent start in the Italy - England game, both teams were rather disappointing in their second games. Italy were only a reflection of their first game. Pirlo was as close to insignificant, versus Costa Rica, as is possible. The passes from midfield to the forwards were amateur, loose and ill timed. On the other side Costa Rica were refreshing. Their consistency from the previous game was a delight and I think the scoreline was an accurate representation of the game. In the other draw we had England take on Uruguay. It should have been a do or die game for both teams, and Luis Suarez's re-entry for team Uruguay sealed England's fate. For most of the game, things were even - pressure from both sides and a fair number of chances. And then, Suarez happened. If statistics are considered, the world should have been prepared for England's loss (they have never won a world cup finals game after conceding a goal, first). However Rooney finally had his world cup maiden goal. After some bad luck hitting the goal post with a pretty flavoursome header, Rooney eventually found the corner of the net, with a rather brilliant pass from the right. But sloppy defence, a dull Sterling ( who really should have been playing centre forward) and another Luis Suarez goal (where it looked like Gerrard forgot he is playing for England and not Liverpool), sealed England's fate. This does mean that Italy - Uruguay is going to be a stunning game - or so we hope.

I've got to talk about the Brazil - Mexico draw. This has got to be the most stunning 0 - 0 game in the world cup. Full of chances for Brazil, Ochoa was the man of the day saving goals left, right and centre. Again (and sadly for me), this leaves Group A quite open. I do think that Brazil game was improved and Thiago Silva had moments of brilliance, in defense, emulating Cafu. There was some Oscar brilliance missing and Jo's misses up front were nightmarish. Overall though, I still think Brazil has what it takes, and hopefully they come into full flow versus Cameron - again a do or die game.

Lastly, there was the game with the big dilemma: Germany - Ghana. I have been a bit peeved off with Ghana for letting the US beat them (completely unnecessary). I also love the German team. The draw was perfect for me. It meant Germany is still very much in position to qualify. It also means that if Portugal beat USA (how I wish) some sort of order can be established in the group of death. That aside, the game was very exciting, both teams playing for the win and never settling for the draw. Ghana dominated much of the game but the introduction of Klose and Schwinesteiger, for me was ruddy brilliant! 

The next week of football promises to be even more exciting and decisive. I can't wait to see who will meet in the first games of the knock out stages. Viva football!

Italy - England : My non-professional take :)

The weekend was made extra "busy" because of the games that had to be watched. None was more important this last weekend, then England - Italy.

Both are football power-houses. Both teams have had the worst luck at world cups. Both teams can be extremely lethargic at the biggest stage for football, and both can be surprisingly slow.

Like most people, I expected a draw and thought we were all justified when the scoreline was at 1-1. But we were wrong. Final score 2-1, Italy. This makes Group D even more interesting, especially after Costa Rica's win over a rather dull Uruguay.

Unlike other encounters between Italy & England, the game we had over the weekend was exciting. For the larger part of it, England dominated play, were unlike their usual sloppy selves (at the world cup stage) and it was quite surprising that they lost. It was exciting to see the younger, energetic team, make use of the experience of players like Gerrard and Lampard. Some of Gerrard's long passes from left back, to the right front were not only precise but prompted the best chances to score. Sterling was inspiring: I think he gave the team the inspiration and precision that has been lacking over the past years. Rooney didn't disappoint, and was as disappointing in the world cup as he has been over the last few years, playing for England. That might sound critical, but Rooney magic for this team needs to happen more often and more consistently. Is he a great player? Sure, but he just doesn't make it happen at these games. It is nice to see this team in action, and if they maintain their zing, it will be nice to watch their next few games.

Italy was the less impressive team, apart from some extraordinary play that came in intervals. While they certainly maintained the high energy of the game and had a slight edge over England with possession (So the statistics said, even though in the second half it was harder to actually see), I feel they could have been better. At 35, Pirlo was still the most exciting player to watch. His pass, that led to Italy's first goal was breath- taking, and had the magic taste of football that was played by the legends. (Honestly, it was like wow!!!) And, his free kick deserved to be a goal (damn the goal post!). Balotelli playing as the lone striker did what he had to in the second half, and delivered a great goal. For the rest of the game (before and after) he was blah! Chiellini & Di Rossi were, as always, solid and dependable for Italy. Antonio Candreva, in his no. 6 jersey was really a pleasure to watch in the game. Together with Pirlo, they have the power to give Italy a formidable midfield. One will hope that the team gets better with each game they play. If they do, they will be a force to reckon with.

So, there we have it, the game of the weekend.... and now, I can't wait for Germany - Portugal!

Go team Germany!

Knock-out!

I wish someone would knock-out my heart from its current residence, keep it there till the end of Brazil's game and return it to its home after they win. That I believe is the state of many Selacao fans (not the average fan;The REAL one's) The nerves are here to stay. As much as it is absolutely exciting, today's game is going to be a tough one for Brazil, and even tougher for fans. Sigh! For now thinking about how far this football show has progressed is more pressing...and relaxing!

48 matches and 136 goals scored; two weeks of play, and only one round done! That's an average of 2.83 goals (if we are to be mathematically correct), or 3 goals a game. Suffice to say, "What a world cup!" In fact it is a record breaking world cup, in terms of number of goals scored in the preliminary round. 

The goals have definitely lead to the surging excitement of the football fiesta, and the week that has passed has had a number of fascinating twists & turns; good and bad. 

I'd like to start with the Italy - Uruguay game. I personally feel that it was a football tragedy. Not only because of some dull Italian football, but predominantly because of bad referee calls and one, Luis Suarez. The jokes on the internet have provided fantastic entertainment, but at the back drop of a sad event in football - That a player can blatantly attack and bite another on the pitch and still finish the match is disappointing. For all his talent, Suarez's biting problem really ruined the game, and the magic of football. He not only let himself down, he let his team and country down! Regardless, Italy failed and are headed back home accompanied by an unaccomplished English team. 

Netherlands had a tough game against Chile, which does come to show that while they are playing some good football, they can be stopped! Spain apparently redeemed themselves with a win over a rather rough Australia (a return to their game of yore?) Colombia thrashed their Japanese counter parts and I believe they are a team to watch - for me they are more thrilling than the Chile squad. There is something very new and daring about the Colombian side (Hopefully we see more of this in their next game) 

The Greece - Ivory Coast game fluctuated constantly between being boring and exciting. At the end of it, Ivory Coast were a disappointing team that evening and Greece exploited that. Ghana and their off the pitch domestic drama were tossed out of the world cup (Disappointing that the African teams are always surrounded by such issues!) As a saving grace for Africa, Nigeria & Algeria are through to the knock-out stages! And what final games they both had! Nigeria held their own versus a star studded Argentina team - kudos! The Algeria - Russia game was fast paced, had movement across both sides of the pitch and was fun to watch! In contrast the other game in group H was truly boring. A 1 -0 win for Belgium was the only good thing about it. Otherwise, it was dull enough to have me switch over to the Algeria game. 

The US - Germany game was special. Mostly because the Germans won it with another moment of accurate and precise Muller action! What a goal that was! To be fair, the US team played a good game and you can see that Klinsmann has had a very positive influence on the team. Beasley has the ability to feed Dempsey with stunning passes and it must be said that Dempsey is still one of the most dangerous forwards, to date. He still maintains his uncanny way of running through the opposition's defence line leaving supporters screaming their lungs out, and non-supporters holding their breath. Germany played a reasonably good game but there were many worrying moments at midfield where they lost the ball carelessly. Something that they definitely cannot afford to do in their next games.

The stage is set now for the round of 16! Who will make it through? How many fans will be celebrating, and how many will be braving the world after heart wrenching disappointment? How many goals will we see? What magic moments will Brasil 2014 offer this week?

Brazil's First game

I couldn't resist writing about this. I am sure there is bias towards Brazil in this write-up, but the point is not to be unbiased, but to bring in a different perspective!

My prediction for the Brazil - Croatia game was a tough win for Brazil and a score line of 2-1. I did not expect the Croatian goal to come from a Brazilian touch!

I did expect that the Croatian midfield would put up a battle, and that there would be times when the Brazil defence line would be exposed. There were no surprises there.

There was also no surprise that everyone, everywhere (or most everyone, everywhere) has a lot of complaints and "critique" about the game, and more so about how Brazil played. I have constantly heard that the game was messy, Brazil played poorly, the referee made bad decisions, Croatia was great and so on. This obviously from "neutral" observers.

First of all, when Brazil play, there are a very few people who are neutral. Second, because expectations are so high with Brazil, the criticism is worse. Fair enough.

But here is what I saw as well. As much as Croatia did put up a great show, and did have many opportunities (yes and verily, exposed the Brazil defence (ermm why people were surprised or complaining about this, I don't know!) They did not score that first goal! Yes, they scored a second disallowed goal...and the referee has definitely been punched about this; C'est La Vie. It does happen in football. To be fair, while the foul was not intentional, the player did practically fall on the goalie! Remember the disallowed goal for England, that was a goal? That was probably worth more debate and drama than this incident.

Moving on, I also saw that Brazil had more shots on goal, more interesting play up front, some of the footwork and passes were tantalizing! Case in point, the entire play that prompted Neymar's goal! That was phenomenal. So was the last goal of the game - Oscar was fantastic! The set piece that led to the penalty was also well done. How about the time Neymar played in the ball from the line adjacent to the goal, back into play? Trust me, if this was another team - big or small - everyone would have been going gaga over these moves. Well, I am going gaga over it now.

Sure, Brazil need to get better over the course of the tournament. But kudos for battling out a tough match, and showing grit after a mess-up! Facing the crazy pressure from the world, and coming out tops! It is one match won, and one important job done. Come win or loss, this was the start that was needed. It's exciting to see Oscar do what he did and here is wishing him luck for the rest of the tournament! And Neymar - go for it!!!

So, bring on more games! bring on the samba beats, come rain or shine!

And it is here!

A few months ago, I wrote about the growing excitement of the world cup! (Football Fever)

That excitement has reached its climax and we are at the brink of another round of the greatest sporting event on planet earth.

And the excitement has hit home. General conversations around me have gradually, but persistently, changed from everything to simply Brazil 2014. Who will win? Who won't? Who do you support? When is the first game?

Even if the conversation is between people you do not know, there is an unyielding curiosity to find out who else is supporting your team, who isn’t, who can be incredible enough to not care…why, where, how?

One way or the other, world cup excitement gets under your skin. I always tell myself that the next world cup, I will remain calm and watch with a neutral mind set – may the best man (or men) win. Every four years, I realise how futile that is. 

Futile because I love the thrill, the anxiety, the endless rush of excitement when the lucky referee blows that unchangeable first whistle. This is it! How humdrum and dull if I couldn’t pick a side, and run with them, cry out in joyous passion when they score a goal, or weep in misery if they lose! Dreary!(but probably much better for my health!)

I am sure being a fan of any powerhouse team is daunting – there will be catcalls, doubting friends, teasing maniacs, bets lost, drinking sprees ending in tears or jeers! It is a tough call for fans. Being a Brazil fan is even more daunting. As five time champions the pressure on the team and fans alike is sizzling! But a Brazil fan I am! And looking forward to another round of our football passion!!!!

So, let's all try and keep calm and watch the world cup 2014! And go Brazzzzzziiiilllllllll!!!!!!

Beginnings

In the beginning, there was me – and there was her. In the beginning, we were two.

Then, in the new beginning, there was me. Life was simple then. I didn't need to worry about where I would sleep, or what I would eat. A few days without meals, was something I was used to. Cold floors, and nursing wounds were the routine. There were no beds where I stayed.

That was then. Now, there was her. There was him as well. He was unimportant. He was the problem. I looked up and saw him slouch - his slothful belly and mournful mouth sinking incessantly into the mouldy, stained couch. He was sipping on a dark bottle of dark beer – something cheap no doubt, and was gazing spellbound at the TV

“What you looking at?” You would think that he came straight out of the States if you heard him speak with his nasal accent.

I reverted my gaze hastily. This was not the time to test the waters. I had to think about her. I had to sit this out for another hour. One hour and he would be snoring and nothing would wake him up.

It never failed to impress me. How I would blare music, silently sneak out of the door for a breath of fresh air and escape. And there he would be grinning, as he looked out the window, daring me to leave.

I did,once. Leave. A few days back, and now there was me. She had gone, but there was another. There was me – and there was her. Only.

I wish I hadn't picked up the phone that day. But they called to say there had been an accident. I was almost delirious with joy. I couldn't believe my luck.

“Is he dead?” My voice was barely a whisper as I tried to repress the quivering happiness that was gripping me.

Two hours later, there was a rotund, over-bribed, rough-tongued policeman walking me to see her lifeless, bony, beaten up body.

“The baby is fine.” I stared at the lady who was attempting to be nice to me.

“Is he dead too?”

“She must be in shock”, “poor thing”,

“ Is he dead too?” I knew I shouldn't have shouted. Everyone was ogling at me. And then, there was the pat on my shoulder. I was forced to turn. I endured the hug.

“I'm sorry baby!”

I knew better than to respond.

“She was drinking again, and I couldn't stop her from taking the car!”

He had killed her. I knew it. I could smell it on him.

I see it in his eyes, even now. This creature that I had to get away from. There was a cry from the room above. I ran up and put my hand over her mouth, forcefully. She quietened at once. She didn't cry often. She already knew that noise was bad. She looked at me now, and I laughed with her, quietly.

Before, there was only me. Now we are two.

I waited for the comforting sound of that first snore. I picked her up and walked down to the empty kitchen. There was no food. There wouldn't be. I didn't care. I wanted water. I drank and I drank. I gave her some too. She needed milk. I gave her water.

I walked back up. I decided to let the light in and opened all the curtains. The sunshine was glaring. 

When she died, I was almost happy. For her. I think of her now. She must have felt the same way I did. At the beginning there was only her – and then there was me. That's why she left me something.

The snoring had stopped. I walked down again, with her. He lay there, still sleeping. No more noise escaped him. The cheap bottle was replete on his breathless paunch.

I smiled.

In the beginning, there was only the two of us.

The problem I have with fairy tales is...

Nothing. I have no problem with fairy tales. I love fairy tales. I do have a problem with a bunch of people talking about the problem with fairy tales:

"Fairy tales tell our daughters to believe that a man will rescue them. Fairy tales create a baseline for determining beauty. Fairy tales this and fairy tales that."

I'll tell you what, fairy tales are simple and lovely stories that interpreted the right way can show people that there is a wonderful world out there, if we can just reach out for it.

Now, many would argue that the big-eyed, blonde hair princess stereotype the concept of beauty. I beg to differ. The princess characters are beautiful more because of their personalities. So why not focus on that. Let's see, strength of character, sense of loyalty, a will to persevere, the ability to learn from mistakes, humility, grace and selflessness. Aren't these what we should be focusing on?

Oh, all these tales, or most of them have heroes. And yes, they often seem to rescue maidens caught up in a whirlwind of events. But stop a minute. Are not the tales more about finding love and friendship, true love and true friendship? Is it not more about reaching out to the people closest to your heart? Is it not the culmination of the characters true strength that results in them finding love? Yes, perhaps the answer is that simple. Sure, fairy tales are about love and pretty things. They are also about characters with strong foundations, choices and life in general.

It is not for us to judge these stories or write them off as a bad influence, it is for us to interpret them and engage the people we influence to see the beauty that is fairy tales. 

I am no psychologist. I am not even a parent creating reading hazards for my children. But I grew up loving (and still do) fairy tales. From sweet Cinderella, vibrant Belle, loyal Rapunzel, the extremely brave Ariel, to the patient Aurora (just to mention a few!), are heroines and their stories (and hundreds more)who have shown me the joys of different worlds, the depth and quality of character and beauty beyond materialism! I do not think that a man will rescue me from my problems. I am independent and have a will to succeed. I like to do creative things - Belle made me want to read, Cinderella made me want to make pretty things, Rapunzel made me less vain about my hair, Ariel - Ariel taught me about the ups and downs of life and Aurora taught me to be patient!(Again this is to mention a few!) I do not make friends based on looks, or judge based on skin colour or hair length!So forgive me, but I will stick to reading fairy tales, enjoying them and sharing their splendour!

Words

The word, word is defined as, "a single distinct meaningful element of speech or writing, used with others (or sometimes alone) to form a sentence and typically shown with a space on either side when written or printed."

I think that neatly sums it up, even if it is a pithy and almost unimaginative definition. I have spent many an hour pondering on the famous or infamous saying "actions speak louder than words." Those hours never end with a stolid conclusion on the viability of this statement. I do believe though, that actions and words compliment each other, and one without the other is like bread without butter - insipid.

Words equate power. Words express our souls. Words can leave a global footprint. Words can be life changing. Words are profound.

My life, and I am sure most peoples lives' have been affected by words. These words can be from anywhere - books, movies, speeches, conversations, and in any form - written works, and/or audio and visual material.

For me, books have been an integral part of life. I cannot imagine my life without a good book to read. Imagine a life without the shared drama of Shakespeare's plays, or missing out on the mystery and grandeur created by Tolkien! A world without the description of Georgina from the Famous 5! (Wait, I mean George!) My childhood was made so much richer because of words that I read! Days spent reading and days spent playing games full of adventures and characters we had read about!

Then, there was more Enid Blyton - school stories that slowly moved onto other books, other word-treats! "The delights of anticipation" as Anne would put it were incessant. Book by book, word by word, life transformed from school to high school to university, from only prose to prose, poetry and plays! Words changed from words that were merely read to words that were spoken, written and shared!

Words not only impact, but impress upon one's mind. The numerous times someone has said something complimentary or otherwise to you that have left a mark on your life forever. Sometimes it is just one word like hello, or good-bye, that can change the course of your entire life - A feather touch, light on your skin but strong enough to make sure you can feel it forever!

Words are magical - good or evil magic is relative. Like a witch or wizard in front of their brewing pot - just the right quantity of syllables, the perfect touch of flavour as you drop in the annotations and other styles . A perfect mix of words and your brew is ready! Ah and what we can do with this powerful magical potion! Change the course of the world, add some zing to a special someone's day, stop that person in their tracks as you throw out word after word! Stop the world, move the world, love the world! Sigh! Words! Words! Words!

Life without words (imagine trying to describe silence and not having the words to be able to?) would be a life I don't want!

Dancing: Not for the faint hearted

"Mum, can I please cut my hair? Can I get fringes?"

"Of course not! How will you dance?"

"Aunty, can I please cut my hair? Can I get fringes?"

"Sure darling, but please stop coming to dance class."

"Hey, are you coming for the party at ...., this Saturday? Everyone is going to be there and it's going to be the party of the year."

"Hey...well, I'd like to but it's in the afternoon and I have class..."

"Oh...well can't you skip?"

"I have a show in two months..I can't...I can't believe I will miss it! Uggghh"

Those are just a few conversations that are likely to happen between you and mum, teacher and friends, if you learn dance, or it should be.

I've been learning dance, almost since I was born. I have been teaching dance for the past 16 years. And whilst I will say that dancing for pleasure, leisure or fun is for everyone, professional dancing is not. I am sure most dance teachers, students and connoisseurs will agree after they read this.

Dancing is about passion. More importantly, dancing is about commitment and hard work. Dancing is about sacrifice and love.

When it comes to Bharata Natyam, there is a strict adherence to a dancer's lifestyle. A Bharatha Natyam dancer will pay keen attention to body posture; straight back even when exahsuted; grace that is endearing and sometimes belies actual physical and mental state. A Bharatha Natyam dancer will maintain an old fashioned hair do to keep it healthy (and easier to work with when styling it for stage) even though she often ponders styling it in the latest fashion. This dancer will time and time again, forsake to-do's and events because she has practice - it is 100% commitment! And boy, does it lead to satisfaction. That moment when you are dancing almost leisurely, your legs in a perfect plie, Your footwork in perfect rhythm to the complex steps of music that you have grown to love. Your hands moving with precision that seems effortless, and the story you are imparting moving you and all around you to feeling the breath of the story!

A lot has changed. These days, dancing is often about achievements, and then passion. It is about doing everything else, and then dance. It is about fun (which is good) but with less of the hard work. So, what has gone wrong? Why is it that parents will approach you and say," I want our daughter to do her Arangetram," (loosely translates to dance graduation) and then proceed to tell you she has exams, but the last 3 months she is in the country, she is all yours and will only dance! Sounds perfect - 3 months of only dance and then taking on the stage and having a brilliant performance! And believe me it is possible. But the underlying philosophy of it is wrong. Getting to the point of Arangetram is not the work of a strenuous 3 months - it is the beginning, of the final product of months, if not years of consistent work and improvement. It is the culmination of the love you have for an art into something you will treasure all your life. It is not a school exam that you study for, pass and move forward, or fail and retake. It is the blossoming of an artist!

The big dilemma for dancers still in school, or those that work is, priorities. It is not wrong to take a few days off from dance class to study for your exams, or to attend a work meeting. But ask yourselves this, would you use that break you take between physics and maths to try a dance step you have been struggling with? Would you say no to that after work drink with colleagues because you needed to rehearse? The key is balance!

I believe the fundamentals need to stay intact - Dancing is not for the faint hearted. It involves pain, fatigue, sacrifice! It involves a love for the art, a drive to never give it up and the will to let it become an intimate part of your every day life. When you have cried because your feet are hurting, but still continue dancing; when you are at the brink of throwing in the towel and find yourself trying, one more time, to perfect that dance sequence that has been bothering you for months; and when you willingly let go of other things in order to dance - Then, you are a dancer!