Saturday, July 23, 2016
Tuesday, June 7, 2016
Sunday, July 5, 2015
Fourth of July musings
Warning: If you plan to read God in Ruins by Kate Atkinson, you should give this post a miss.
Yesterday was Independence day here in America. Not being American, I associate this day with eating at my in- law's place with family and friends followed by their tradition of going to a municipal orchestra concert with fireworks at its conclusion. It also involves me wearing red, white and blue ( I like being festive) and turning out to be the only person doing so - easy way to spot the non- american in the family. I was particularly looking forward to seeing my niece and nephew(a four and a one year old) who live abroad and whom we get to see only through skype on special occasions.
When we got to my in-law's place, we were informed that the kids were sick with the hand, foot and mouth disease and it would do us good to keep some distance. My first thought was "isn't that a cow's disease, but a quick google search clarified it was indeed a real disease that affected children. This meant our bouts of eating were interspersed with lots of crying, general crabbiness and worst of all - projectile vomiting. So it wasn't surprising that my appetite was rather wilted ( I mean, I didn't have seconds- can you believe that?!) So when we finally packed ourselves in to cars to go the open air concert, I heaved a sigh of relief that this independence day way finally coming to an end.
My in-laws like to sit in the second row from the stage in the open air theatre- as close as possible to the orchestra. . It is their tradition. I have sat at the same seat, every year and listened to the same songs every year. An elderly gentleman sat right ahead of me. He looked rather frail from the little profile I could see of him. And then I noticed his baseball cap. It had the words " World War II" embroidered on it. Having just finished God in Ruins, by the wonderful Kate Atkinson, my mind wandered to Teddy's world. I wondered if this gentleman had been in the air force, if he had faced active combat, if he was there on d-day, if he had married his wife ( who was there with him- equally old and shriveled) before the war or after. He was surrounded by his children, his grandchildren and his great-grandchildren. Maybe this was the life that Kenny would have had, or Keith or all those men that never came back from the war. As the music kept growing in intensity, a lump inside my throat grew. This man probably saw things that I had only read in text books. I was seated behind a witness to a historic war. I was seated behind history itself.
And then they played a song, in memory of all the fallen soldiers. A hush fell upon the audience. I felt the energy of the song in my bones, the deep sorrow of it rushed through my veins. The elderly soldier began to weep, his fragile shoulders trembling with every sob. His family tried to comfort him with their touch, but I knew it was futile. Tears were streaming down my face. I thought of Teddy and all the other real soldiers who never came back from war. The soldiers who never got to see their families, have concerts in the park, have their little ones throw up all over their clothes. They died fighting for a war they believed would save the world. The gave their lives up for a better tomorrow. In that moment, we were all united - the living, the dead, the brave, the scared- all strung through the thread of music.
The music ended. I hastily wiped my tears away before anyone could notice. The fireworks began and the spell was broken. We were all back to our regular worlds. The mosquitoes were annoying and the fireworks were too loud. We made our way out of the theatre to our respective cars and headed home. Yet, a feeling remained with me. A feeling that I needed to more grateful for the life I have- the ability to experience every breath, to not waste it on things I couldn't change and to focus in on those I could. Because I have the gift of life, of time, of peace. And most of all, the gift of love and family. I may not be an American, but yesterday it didn't matter.
Yesterday was Independence day here in America. Not being American, I associate this day with eating at my in- law's place with family and friends followed by their tradition of going to a municipal orchestra concert with fireworks at its conclusion. It also involves me wearing red, white and blue ( I like being festive) and turning out to be the only person doing so - easy way to spot the non- american in the family. I was particularly looking forward to seeing my niece and nephew(a four and a one year old) who live abroad and whom we get to see only through skype on special occasions.
When we got to my in-law's place, we were informed that the kids were sick with the hand, foot and mouth disease and it would do us good to keep some distance. My first thought was "isn't that a cow's disease, but a quick google search clarified it was indeed a real disease that affected children. This meant our bouts of eating were interspersed with lots of crying, general crabbiness and worst of all - projectile vomiting. So it wasn't surprising that my appetite was rather wilted ( I mean, I didn't have seconds- can you believe that?!) So when we finally packed ourselves in to cars to go the open air concert, I heaved a sigh of relief that this independence day way finally coming to an end.
My in-laws like to sit in the second row from the stage in the open air theatre- as close as possible to the orchestra. . It is their tradition. I have sat at the same seat, every year and listened to the same songs every year. An elderly gentleman sat right ahead of me. He looked rather frail from the little profile I could see of him. And then I noticed his baseball cap. It had the words " World War II" embroidered on it. Having just finished God in Ruins, by the wonderful Kate Atkinson, my mind wandered to Teddy's world. I wondered if this gentleman had been in the air force, if he had faced active combat, if he was there on d-day, if he had married his wife ( who was there with him- equally old and shriveled) before the war or after. He was surrounded by his children, his grandchildren and his great-grandchildren. Maybe this was the life that Kenny would have had, or Keith or all those men that never came back from the war. As the music kept growing in intensity, a lump inside my throat grew. This man probably saw things that I had only read in text books. I was seated behind a witness to a historic war. I was seated behind history itself.
And then they played a song, in memory of all the fallen soldiers. A hush fell upon the audience. I felt the energy of the song in my bones, the deep sorrow of it rushed through my veins. The elderly soldier began to weep, his fragile shoulders trembling with every sob. His family tried to comfort him with their touch, but I knew it was futile. Tears were streaming down my face. I thought of Teddy and all the other real soldiers who never came back from war. The soldiers who never got to see their families, have concerts in the park, have their little ones throw up all over their clothes. They died fighting for a war they believed would save the world. The gave their lives up for a better tomorrow. In that moment, we were all united - the living, the dead, the brave, the scared- all strung through the thread of music.
The music ended. I hastily wiped my tears away before anyone could notice. The fireworks began and the spell was broken. We were all back to our regular worlds. The mosquitoes were annoying and the fireworks were too loud. We made our way out of the theatre to our respective cars and headed home. Yet, a feeling remained with me. A feeling that I needed to more grateful for the life I have- the ability to experience every breath, to not waste it on things I couldn't change and to focus in on those I could. Because I have the gift of life, of time, of peace. And most of all, the gift of love and family. I may not be an American, but yesterday it didn't matter.
Sunday, June 7, 2015
Welcome to my Pensieve!
Hello World! I am Sush... very pleased to meet you. So you're wondering what is this purple pensieve!? If you haven't read the Harry Potter series, let me introduce you to the Pensieve.
"I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one's mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one's leisure. It becomes easier to spot patterns and links, you understand, when they are in this form."
Dumbledore had his nice stone basin and I wanted a similar pensieve - a place to examine my thoughts, feelings and such things about my world, my life, my experiences so that some day at leisure, I can spot the patterns and links (so very useful!) So what better a pensieve than a blog! I could pour out all my thoughts through words in to the infinite basin of the internet. And thats when I wondered what my thoughts would look like. Dumbledore's thoughts were nice and silvery, which rather suited him. And if you knew me( you will if you continue to visit my pensieve), you'd know that it would have to be purple. And thus, the Purple Pensieve was born!
Now what I am going to write in this blog? Everything under the sun. My experiences, my thoughts on current events, book reviews (I love books!), maybe about my favourite T.V shows and maybe even some of my own writing- everything that you'd expect to find if you happened to stumble in to a pensieve. As I write this, the clouds rumble and my dark room is filled with the brilliance of lightning flashes and I know this magical adventure of writing has begun. So happy stumbling!
"I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one's mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one's leisure. It becomes easier to spot patterns and links, you understand, when they are in this form."
Dumbledore had his nice stone basin and I wanted a similar pensieve - a place to examine my thoughts, feelings and such things about my world, my life, my experiences so that some day at leisure, I can spot the patterns and links (so very useful!) So what better a pensieve than a blog! I could pour out all my thoughts through words in to the infinite basin of the internet. And thats when I wondered what my thoughts would look like. Dumbledore's thoughts were nice and silvery, which rather suited him. And if you knew me( you will if you continue to visit my pensieve), you'd know that it would have to be purple. And thus, the Purple Pensieve was born!
Now what I am going to write in this blog? Everything under the sun. My experiences, my thoughts on current events, book reviews (I love books!), maybe about my favourite T.V shows and maybe even some of my own writing- everything that you'd expect to find if you happened to stumble in to a pensieve. As I write this, the clouds rumble and my dark room is filled with the brilliance of lightning flashes and I know this magical adventure of writing has begun. So happy stumbling!
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