ChirpyQuill

There is value in challenging some basic precepts handed out to us in the name of common knowledge. There are innumerable examples of those with questionable credentials. The reason they survive is likely lazy thinking on our part. Often we make no effort of opening the nice-sounding package of words we have received, examining its contents, poking, prodding, and testing the substance of it. We hand them to the next person in the same pristine shape we received, and so the myths continue.    Granted that, at first blush, many of them seem to be accurate, just as much as the Earth is flat looks true. Only when one checks their veracity do cracks emerge and, in many cases, just with some simple hammer taps of sound logic, the precepts break down. "Women are more complicated than men" falls in the same category, in my opinion.  Now, if you have already revolted at the notion of me challenging this obvious truth or perhaps have even bolted by now, we don't have much to say to

Yesterday, I was a on a long drive and as always, it was Warris Shah's "Heer" keeping me company. And like always, listening to it, mind drifted to my birthplace; Punjab! A land that has been the forefront of the modern wars, ancient invasions, witnessed one of the worst massacres in its history and one of the largest exodus.So much blood spilled and yet, the most passionate of the love stories born in its soil. Heer-Ranjah, Shiri-Farhad, Sassi-Punnu , Mirza-Sahiba and Sohni-Mahiwal to name a few. The sufi renditions of these stories by sufi poets like Warris Shah, Bulle Shah, Farid take them to a plane which transcends from the romance in the heart to the love for the divine.  My mind, flooded with the memories of my growing up years and some scenes came alive vividly. A milkman taking big cauldrons of milk on a cycle on a cold winter morning and finally disappearing in the fog. You only hear his fading voice chanting Gurbani and ting-ting of the cycle bell. Winter eveni

                                                             “Nayana, I see an airplane flying really low, it is coming close to the towers, where are you? This doesn’t look normal!” My husband, screaming in utter disbelief, was on the phone with me from across the river in Jersey City; I had just stepped off the train at the World Trade Center. Two years before that terrible day, I had flown into New York City from Mumbai, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, a blushing new bride. The first thing I saw as our airplane gradually descended to what was to be my new home were those gleaming towers. I remember staring at them in wide-eyed wonder, at their sheer size, at the vertical space they occupied as they rose majestically into the New York skyline on a beautiful, brilliant blue August afternoon! As luck would have it, my first job in my adoptive country was a few blocks from the Twin Towers. I was twenty-five years old, living my best life in New York. The best part of each day was when the tr

We experience the world through our five senses and the sensations within us. A mish-mash of “all that jazz” and accompanying feelings is what we call experience.  My experience of Chatora started several weeks before I ever got there, when I decided to visit London to celebrate my niece’s graduation. While there, I figured I will visit my classmate from school, at his Michelin Star rated restaurant called Chatora. Aside from being aware of the awards and accolades his restaurant had earned, I had seen the pictures of some of the sumptuous dishes he had shared with us in the past. They had always left me mesmerized at the quality of the presentation and attention to detail. It was a double edged sword though since it set my expectations really high.  The one hour ride from from central London to the restaurant, increased the anticipation of enjoying the delicacies as well as meeting my friend and team-mate from my school basketball team after close to 35 years. So we snaked our way thr

 Sometimes, It's hard to render emotions in any form. One is lost in translation between the emotional and rationale side of brain when one feels the throes of these emotions. The paroxysm of it all.. Oh it shakes the very foundation of you. It's so heavy and yet you feel so hollow. Then, you look at the person in the mirror; you  hear a sonorous voice inside you, not so loud yet but a faint whisper which says that you haven't come this far to come only this far. That's when you pull yourself back from the edge and you rise. That's when I put on my running shoes and run against the tides in mind. 

  A friend and I were discussing the reason certain societies get left behind, while others succeed. East and West Germany, South and North Korea, India and Pakistan; being some examples, where the same people bring forth vastly different outcomes over a period of fifty to seventy five years which is basically 2-3 generations, when left to marinate in the systems that they chose or were forced upon them.  The cases of Germany and Korea are rather straightforward. Democracies versus authoritarian regimes in the guise of communism in both cases. Also market driven economies versus top down planned economies. The case of India and Pakistan is a bit unique and more interesting. Both have by and large market driven economies. Pakistan has pretended to be a democracy multiple times with the army holding the reins of the “democratically” elected leaders. The “establishment” essentially a polite way to mention the one who shall not be named (The Army) primarily decided the fortunes of the coun

 एक बूँद में डूब जाऊँगा यूँ तो आँखें इंतज़ार में रहती हैं तेरा चेहरा देखने के लिए,  पर समझ नहीं आता के तुझे अलविदा कैसे कह पाऊंगा,  यूँ तो तेरे साथ चला एक कदम भी मंज़िल लगता है,  पर तेरी उम्मीद के सहारे यह सफर अकेले नहीं कर पाऊंगा,  यूँ तो तेरे पास होने से रूह ज़िंदा महसूस करती है,  पर तेरे पास न होने का एहसास इस दिल को कैसे समझाऊंगा,  यूँ तो एक समंदर लिए बैठा हूँ अपने दिल में, पर कभी लगता है की बस एक बूँद में डूब जाऊँगा,  यूँ तो मंज़िल नहीं इन राहों की जिस पे वक़्त ले आया है,  पर नहीं पता के इन राहों से क़दमों को कैसे मोड़ पाऊँगा 

  That feeling…. That feeling that had notes of our hearts met, What a melody it would’ve been, That feeling that had we’ve been on this path together, What a journey it would’ve been, That feeling that had our emptiness found each other, What a completeness it would’ve been , A glasshouse exists in a corner of my heart, There lives an eternal love and we never grow apart, In the glasshouse, we dance forever free from fate’s clutches , In the glasshouse, the soft edges of soul come alive with our gentle touches, In the glasshouse , wrapped in the wings of love , our hearts find a home, On the lighted pathways of magic gardens, we freely roam, That feeling that had the walls of this glasshouses been shattered, What a reality it would’ve been           That feeling....  

An Ironman, by any other name… would screw your happiness just as much!  Especially on Race Day.  Which normal human being chooses to wake up 3 am, drink a protein shake that he made ready last night, use bathroom, get dressed, put a timing chip on, make another beetroot shake, use bathroom again and head out by 4 am to secure his place in the closest parking lot by a cold and vast lake, where he plans to jump in, and swim non-stop for 2.4 miles shortly thereafter. Hahn?  If this is not madness, try jumping on the bike as soon you come out of the water, wet and all, and keep biking away for 112 miles straight and over 5000 ft of elevation gain, from nowhere to nowhere in a hurry, eating and drinking on the bike itself, so as not to lose time in the rush to reach exactly where you started from.  If that was the end of the story, a confinement to save others from you would make sense. But the reason I recommend a padded cell is that as soon as you got off the bike belching and nauseated

Much is made about friendships. That they are important, that they are so fun, that they matter and outlast every other bond one might have such as marriage or even with siblings and cousins. We make movies about friendships, have songs dedicated to them. We even have a day dedicated to friends called “Friendship Day”, I understand. I wasn’t aware of it, until today, when I got some social media messages to the same effect.  “Happy Friendship Day” it said.  While many of us are clearly blessed in this arena, and I count my blessings for the same, what about those that don’t have friends. It is such a stark statement that my hand even paused a bit before punching in the letters. No friends? How is it possible? What’s wrong with you that you have no friends is an instinctive response. Yet, it is true. A large swath of people young and old live with absolutely limited    or no friends. It may be their age and age related confinement, it may be some unique circumstances like moving a lot w