There is a scene in The Lion King, where Mufasa and Simba are overlooking a beautiful landscape. This scene has been used and misused world over to express a variety of emotions. To me, that view and looking at it is what my heart yearns for now, and time and time again.
There is a gentle breeze and my hair finds freedom in the wind. I breathe in freshness and a sense of life. I see the savannah grasslands for miles on end, lone trees scatter the land beyond, and even further - at the end of everything - the distinct, crisp horizon.
It is a pleasant day. The African sun shines gently on my arms and then pleasantly moves behind the almost grey (is it almost white?) clouds. It is weather that appeals - not hot and stark, not cold and bereft, but just pleasant.
There is a wholesome quietness around me. It awakens my senses. I can smell the rain soaked mud from yonder. I see the golden light fall between the shadows of the blades of dancing grass. I hear the lilting melodies of birds - some that I can see, some lost in the surrounding fauna. A stark vulnerability and humility exudes from me as I stand here alone - exposing my soul to the universe.
And then I see it. At first it is just an inconsequential movement. My eyes anticipate the flicker of a dark tail, my heart beat has picked up in excitement. Possibility is turning into a silhouette and has gradually formed an existence. She is beautiful: A graceful yellow matching the play of light on the wheat-like carpet of savannah. I can see her stride confidently, queen of camouflage; queen of the savannah; queen of everywhere. She lifts her head now and looks about her. The air brings her news of my presence. She turns slowly and sits back on her haunches. Her golden eyes scanning her surroundings, stopping at me for a few minutes, capturing my soul with her gaze and then she is gone: into the grass, and far beyond my sight: from lioness to a shadow, to movement, to a flickering, to quiet, and an imprinted memory.
Around me the wind blows on, the birds sing, things I cannot see live on. The sun plays with the clouds and I feel the tears pour down my face, cleansing the anguish in my heart, purging the daily worries in my mind. The cares have vanished with my tears, and laughter gurgles out of me. I smile, content. This is my moment of peace and acceptance. It is my place of complete escape.
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Thursday, February 19, 2015
A Magical Friend
We had the strangest feeling as we looked to the North. It was as if the whole forest was moving and coming towards us. Slowly, we could make out the comical figure of a harried man, with a top hat befitting a wizard, running in front of the blackness, dashing madly as if death itself was behind him. A minute later we spied the sprightly shadow of a cat and it was soon evident that the magician was pursued not by an onerous monster, but a wee cat!
Winter Fairy and I were grappling with a fit of laughter as the man in a wizard hat dashed past us, into the comforting circle of trees that was doused in the golden light of sunset. Soon the cat, in it's black fur, and startling blue eyes was in front of us, paused as if considering something, and then stopped down.
Convinced that the cat was harmless, I approached her cautiously. She sat on her haunches, watching me with an air of confidence that belied the trembling fur on her body. She purred frightfully as I bent down and reached for her, but slowly snuggled into my arms.
For a few minutes I was paralysed and surprised that I did not throw her out of my hands in fright. This little cat had just spoken to me, as a human would. As if in a daze, I found myself listening to her tiny voice. She was not pursuing the wizard out of malice, but simply trying to explain to him that she was not some evil manifestation. She explained to us how one of the wizards experiments had given her speech. She had kept this a secret for ever so long and had finally taken a chance and spoken to the startled old man a few minutes earlier. I couldn't help smiling as she described how the wizard had burst out of his hut, running like the wind, stark fear evident in his every stride. I sobered down as I noticed the pearl sized tears filling the cats eyes.
I turned towards the trees where the wizard had taken refuge and I could see that he was listening to the cat's story. I made my way cautiously towards him, Winter fairy at my side, not wanting to frighten the quaint cat, or the fidgety wizard.
We were almost at arms length from him, when the wizard leapt out from behind his hiding place, and strode towards us mumbling and muttering, "That spell - always, always getting me into problems. Oh dear, oh dear. I shall never again alter it. But what a cat to give me a fright. A poor old wizard like me. And how they laughed. Oh, this cat." The rest of his soliloquy was obscure.
He was at our side now and he quickly took cat out of my arms and bowed down low to us. He continued walking towards the forest, holding cat gently, and muttering to her. I saw him look back once, a twinkle in his eye and a merry smile on his lips. And then he was lost in the dense greens of the forest.
I have learnt since then that the clumsy, comical wizard is more than that. He has a reputation of being one of the most powerful magicians of this land and beyond; perhaps of this time and beyond. Winter fairy narrates stories of great battles that have been won because of him. There is a desire now, deep in my heart, to meet the wizard and to be friends with him. I believe he will have the most interesting stories to tell. But more than that - I think of that twinkle in his eye and I know that we must be friends - I feel it in my bones. Winter fairy will have nothing to do with it and thinks I am unhinged. She says wizards are best left alone. I don't think so. I think the wizard and I will be the best of friends...
Today, I find myself walking into the Northern forest and approach a lopsided cottage. I am excited as I knock on the rickety door in front of me.
A familiar white hat and blue robe welcome me inside. Beyond at the tiny table laid out with scrumptious looking food is an old man.
"Welcome, child, " he lifted his goblet, "to happy times."
I walked in and gave him a hug. This was the start of a wonderful friendship"
Winter Fairy and I were grappling with a fit of laughter as the man in a wizard hat dashed past us, into the comforting circle of trees that was doused in the golden light of sunset. Soon the cat, in it's black fur, and startling blue eyes was in front of us, paused as if considering something, and then stopped down.
Convinced that the cat was harmless, I approached her cautiously. She sat on her haunches, watching me with an air of confidence that belied the trembling fur on her body. She purred frightfully as I bent down and reached for her, but slowly snuggled into my arms.
For a few minutes I was paralysed and surprised that I did not throw her out of my hands in fright. This little cat had just spoken to me, as a human would. As if in a daze, I found myself listening to her tiny voice. She was not pursuing the wizard out of malice, but simply trying to explain to him that she was not some evil manifestation. She explained to us how one of the wizards experiments had given her speech. She had kept this a secret for ever so long and had finally taken a chance and spoken to the startled old man a few minutes earlier. I couldn't help smiling as she described how the wizard had burst out of his hut, running like the wind, stark fear evident in his every stride. I sobered down as I noticed the pearl sized tears filling the cats eyes.
I turned towards the trees where the wizard had taken refuge and I could see that he was listening to the cat's story. I made my way cautiously towards him, Winter fairy at my side, not wanting to frighten the quaint cat, or the fidgety wizard.
We were almost at arms length from him, when the wizard leapt out from behind his hiding place, and strode towards us mumbling and muttering, "That spell - always, always getting me into problems. Oh dear, oh dear. I shall never again alter it. But what a cat to give me a fright. A poor old wizard like me. And how they laughed. Oh, this cat." The rest of his soliloquy was obscure.
He was at our side now and he quickly took cat out of my arms and bowed down low to us. He continued walking towards the forest, holding cat gently, and muttering to her. I saw him look back once, a twinkle in his eye and a merry smile on his lips. And then he was lost in the dense greens of the forest.
I have learnt since then that the clumsy, comical wizard is more than that. He has a reputation of being one of the most powerful magicians of this land and beyond; perhaps of this time and beyond. Winter fairy narrates stories of great battles that have been won because of him. There is a desire now, deep in my heart, to meet the wizard and to be friends with him. I believe he will have the most interesting stories to tell. But more than that - I think of that twinkle in his eye and I know that we must be friends - I feel it in my bones. Winter fairy will have nothing to do with it and thinks I am unhinged. She says wizards are best left alone. I don't think so. I think the wizard and I will be the best of friends...
Today, I find myself walking into the Northern forest and approach a lopsided cottage. I am excited as I knock on the rickety door in front of me.
A familiar white hat and blue robe welcome me inside. Beyond at the tiny table laid out with scrumptious looking food is an old man.
"Welcome, child, " he lifted his goblet, "to happy times."
I walked in and gave him a hug. This was the start of a wonderful friendship"
Your love, my life.
You teach me to love what I know:
The was, is and what will always be.
You look at the things I know,
The things I have and treasure -
Brush it gently with colour
give it taste and flavour.
You let me love all that is mine.
You teach me to look deep within
And see the things I don't often see.
You show me beauty,
Outside of what I already know.
You show me that here and there,
now and later, old and new, can all come together.
You let me love all that can be.
You are my tree trunk with it's deep roots.
You are my branches dancing in the wind.
You are my eternal shade,
You are my hope for the sky.
You are who I am and all that I can be.
The was, is and what will always be.
You look at the things I know,
The things I have and treasure -
Brush it gently with colour
give it taste and flavour.
You let me love all that is mine.
You teach me to look deep within
And see the things I don't often see.
You show me beauty,
Outside of what I already know.
You show me that here and there,
now and later, old and new, can all come together.
You let me love all that can be.
You are my tree trunk with it's deep roots.
You are my branches dancing in the wind.
You are my eternal shade,
You are my hope for the sky.
You are who I am and all that I can be.
Friday, February 06, 2015
Why you should...
... spell my name the correct way.
For those of you who know me, you are well aware of the fact that my pet peeve (if it can be called that) is having my name spelled incorrectly. From when I was young, I have had people kill my name by pronouncing it in ridiculous ways. Whilst this is annoying, I often find myself understanding the difficulties associated with speaking foreign words. My sympathy, however, does not extend itself from phonetics to spelling.
It seems to me that people enjoy spelling my name wrong. And I can tell you here and now that that is the pinnacle of rubbish-like things to do. Why?
Well, let me tell you something. When I read my name spelt Shruti or Sruti or any thing that is not Shruthi- you have already dropped about 50 levels down into my moron - alert box. But being the nice person I am, I communicate and let you know that my name is spelt SHRUTHI. At this point I feel that anyone with half a brain will understand that I expect to be addressed correctly. Sadly, sense is really very uncommon, and many a times, I will have people communicate back and still use the incorrect spelling of my name.
Whoa! So, now you are not only at the bottom of my moron list, you have now told me you are a brainless git. Those who write to me in the professional sphere, and continually misspell my name - you have got to be kidding me! It tells me that you are a moron, with no brains, and no interest in actually paying attention to what you are doing, and what you are telling me. If I respond to you - it is simply me being professional. Kindly note that anything I do for you hence-forth is done because it has to be, and under duress... and as you continue misspelling my name, the number of curses you are accumulating grows at an alarming rate.
Then, there are the personal messages - from friends, uncles, aunts, cousins, acquaintances etcetera etcetera. So, I get all sorts of excuses - typos, default spell checker options, memory lapse, aggravation (aggravating me on purpose, that is) and bull shit and bull shit and more bull shit. So, there you have it. That is exactly what I am thinking. My reaction to you may vary - I may laugh it off, I may get mad, I may ignore it.... but remember the moron level always keeps note!
So let's do us all a favour and spell my name correctly - SHRUTHI!
For those of you who know me, you are well aware of the fact that my pet peeve (if it can be called that) is having my name spelled incorrectly. From when I was young, I have had people kill my name by pronouncing it in ridiculous ways. Whilst this is annoying, I often find myself understanding the difficulties associated with speaking foreign words. My sympathy, however, does not extend itself from phonetics to spelling.
It seems to me that people enjoy spelling my name wrong. And I can tell you here and now that that is the pinnacle of rubbish-like things to do. Why?
Well, let me tell you something. When I read my name spelt Shruti or Sruti or any thing that is not Shruthi- you have already dropped about 50 levels down into my moron - alert box. But being the nice person I am, I communicate and let you know that my name is spelt SHRUTHI. At this point I feel that anyone with half a brain will understand that I expect to be addressed correctly. Sadly, sense is really very uncommon, and many a times, I will have people communicate back and still use the incorrect spelling of my name.
Whoa! So, now you are not only at the bottom of my moron list, you have now told me you are a brainless git. Those who write to me in the professional sphere, and continually misspell my name - you have got to be kidding me! It tells me that you are a moron, with no brains, and no interest in actually paying attention to what you are doing, and what you are telling me. If I respond to you - it is simply me being professional. Kindly note that anything I do for you hence-forth is done because it has to be, and under duress... and as you continue misspelling my name, the number of curses you are accumulating grows at an alarming rate.
Then, there are the personal messages - from friends, uncles, aunts, cousins, acquaintances etcetera etcetera. So, I get all sorts of excuses - typos, default spell checker options, memory lapse, aggravation (aggravating me on purpose, that is) and bull shit and bull shit and more bull shit. So, there you have it. That is exactly what I am thinking. My reaction to you may vary - I may laugh it off, I may get mad, I may ignore it.... but remember the moron level always keeps note!
So let's do us all a favour and spell my name correctly - SHRUTHI!
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