Inspired by a fierce girl who sat next to me at church

Let me paint you a picture. This girl was annoying and ill-mannered. You know those kids that think they are above others, avoid eye contact and act lofty. Yeah? I am sure you guys can relate to a niece or a nephew, a friend's child or may be your own ( just saying ;)) or someone right about now.

I generally scan the room for a kid-free zone before deciding on the pew. But just like my luck of having screaming babies for co-passengers in flights, I attract pissy teens and reckless toddlers in gatherings. This girl that joined me was a handful. May God have mercy. Kicking me from time to time whilst shifting her leg. Whiny, naggy, dear God!

 After a while, she took out a case of oil pastels and a drawing notebook. She wanted to duplicate the graphic on the case which was an evening sky behind hills. Her crayons were broken, chipped and messy. Of course. She then started to forcefully drill the crayons onto the paper and in swift movements went back and forth in a curve. Using reds, violet and magenta to paint the sky, filling spaces with yellows, peach and pinks. The drawing came alive and was iridescent. Then she did this cool thing by going over all of it with a white crayon to dim the sheen. I took a gander at her drawing and the pride in her eyes and broke a smile. 

Fast forward to today, I was having a #writersblock and wanted to catch a break. I decided to draw what she drew and follow her method. I pounded  and dragged my crayons exactly like her even though a couple of them broke. I must say I felt good and giggly, strangely liberating to be honest. I actually enjoyed it. Next time I see her I will show her this picture and talk to her, may be help her in mending her attitude. She is a child and I am not; which only means I have to be an adult and reach out. Inspiration is everywhere even in seemingly dismissive stances.

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#storyteller #inspirationiseverywhere #lifelessonsfromachild #writingpractice #writingnarrations #writinginspiration #writingislife

My darling, words.

This is my textbook from when I was in school. After I completed my schooling, I cleared out my book shelf to make room for the college books. I preserved this book among few others because I felt this book needed revisitation. I recognized my interest in the English language when I was in 7th std. But I wasn't too keen up until class 9. My favorite subjects were history, geography, commerce, biology, tamil and english. In hindsight, I think my preference in subjects involved detailed writing than solving like maths, chemistry or accounts.

Anyway English II was in the lead for faves. It was a subject of stories, compositions and grammar. Nobody gave that subject any props because it was all too easy and effortless. I, on the other hand was super stoked about it. Since it was not considered a professional subject like science, maths or computers (it was not), I think I was disquieted to come out with my love affair with English because it was a secondary subject and I didn't want to be running in the sidelines. When I learned there was a subject called 'Advanced English' in the 4th group, I was torn. Sadly, I didn't know about following your heart or passion at that time, so I chose a different group.

But the heart wants what it wants, and I couldn't shake it off even when the years rolled by. I worked in corporate communication for a long time after I graduated. It was business writing, press release, blogging, media relations and social media. I was in a happy place, then somehow between jobs I derailed to marketing as corporate communication was a part of the marketing function in many organisations. Within a year in  marketing role, I knew I had to pull the reins. I wanted to retract to my first love but it was mayhem. It was a battle of staying in a job that pays the bills against doing what I was cut out for. The insurmountable dissatisfaction of not loving what I do and the inextinguishable desire to do what I love, fueled me to take the leap. 

I have started afresh and am excited for what's ahead, because my heart is in the right place and I know if I work hard, my dreams will come to fruition. There is something enchanting and seductive about literature, poetry and even simple childrens books. I don't think any other thing moves my soul like a compelling narration. Two weeks ago I visited the books marinating in the book shelves behind doors for years. When I spotted #TheCountOfMonteCristo I was thrilled and glee. I knew the time had come to pick her up after a decade. It felt like a reunion of sorts. I am concurrently listening to the audio book #TheOdyssey by #Homer and I am in literature heaven. Couldn't get any better.

#GirlLove

Ladies,

How many of us can honestly say we have been genuinely happy for the successes in the lives of the women we know. Not the ones we like of course, but our colleagues, neighbours, acquaintances, cousins, even sisters.

Many argue that another person's success or failure doesn't affect them and that their focus lies on themselves and the wellbeing of the ones they love. But it cannot be so. We either love or we don't. If there is an in-between, that has an inclination. 

Here's why. 

Humans are a race. We cannot detach ourselves completely from our species with the exception to sociopaths. We cannot isolate unassailably from other humans. If we refute, we are either lying to ourselves or too proud to accept.

Women on women hatred is a real thing and ugly at one. But it need not be. I think when a person realises their worth in their own eyes, and equips themselves to pursue their purpose, hatred loses its luster. People with  passion and purpose tend to steer clear of envy. From then on its self love, girl love and one love. We've heard that a happy women is a pretty woman, but I'd say a women happy for another woman is a powerful woman.

My paint palette in white

Sitting across me on the window sill, she looked away with indifference.
I continued my stare suggesting a point of view while she copped a dismal.
I took notice of her seven orbs. Each of it once held a prism of colours keenly concocted.
They looked tainted, worn and unwashed perhaps.
How then is she piled in pride despite the tarnish, those unmasked blemishes?

I continued in wonderment and arrived at a halt.
She knew her value, she knew her power, perhaps.
She knew she was helping create masterpieces, doesn't that make her one?

When you are used, you will fray, tarnish and reduce. 
My smirking gaze transformed to admiration;
and she looked nothing short of spectacular.
Those spots weren't ugly anymore.
Baring those scars attributed to her majesty

Song of the fighter woman

She swayed in the current 
Whilst thinking she had a plan
She was moving but not forward
Continuously inspired but insipid to act

Oh she talked of many possibilities
So much so, that her own words wearied her

She knew what uniqueness she was made of
Yet doubted her underlying greatness

She waited for life to take its course
And boy, did it not; There were many

seasons and she embraced them all

She pocketed them and harmonious

Her presence in the present seemed non-existent
Yet wise to not let mediocre prevail

She knew comfort meant trouble lurking
She had to had to take a stand

Life comes with only a finite number of  cards,

And here she was, already over drawing
She knew time has been racing her all along

Poor time couldn't see the competitor in her

Her hopes pinned on her steadfast heart

Her dreams now worked out as anchored plans 

She uncoiled, brought her feet to the ground

Leapt to take off and set sail

What remained now was for the world to see
See her fly in the vast compass of  the sky

Against the current, along the mighty eagles

Soaring high while conquering the storm 

Midnight awakenings.

The blood to her heart pumped in an uninterrupted motion. The day's chores were done, vessels were washed, curtains were drawn, night lamps glinted dimly and it was time to retire to bed. Her eyes refused to close, thanks to her unwarranted evening nap. Her faithful phone lay next to her nudging her with flickering notification lights, eventually seducing her despaired mind. She picked it up in one mindless scoop.

She surfed from pages to sites, profiles to channels, opened Apps after Apps; her burgeoning mind didn't seem to catch a break. At one particular point she became mindful when a video of two friends conversing alerted her. It was a Q&A on fashion blogging. Her forehead narrowed with interest, and her hearing grew powerful as the video played along. The jist of the conversation was this: One friend asked the other how she managed to make her blog popular. Her friend answered that she would stay up till 3:00 am to edit the pictures from the photo shoot and would learn other skills needed to run a blog. She said she does not like to be dependent on anybody for her work and prefers to do everything by herself. Since she was passionate she could stay motivated and push harder everyday.

<Grammar screw up alert: No more third person. That She is I. Moving along in first person>

I abruptly stopped the video. I felt inspired. It was not news which I didn't know. If anything, I knew working hard has its rewards. But working and working with passion are two different things. Passion is the payoff ingredient and that really struck a chord with me. I could feel my heart beginning to pump a gallon of blood. I could feel my heart soar at that moment. The time was 2:15 am. It reminded me of my plan and the aspirations of my heart. The things I ever so excitedly talk about it, but words mean nothing when there is no passionate work? 

I straightened myself and grabbed my notebook. I looked for my favorite pen in a frenzy. I was heavily inspired to document the revelation of the last couple of moments. I couldn't find the pen. I frantically looked for it and was getting increasingly peeved. And suddenly it dawned on me; my moment of clarity. I could see the mess in the maze of my plan. I could see how I get put off and discouraged for the smallest things. I do have a vision but I operate like a robot. I am not open or flexible, though I claim that I am. I guess I am lying to myself. I need perseverance. I need to be willing to take new directions even if it is ambiguous. Above all I need to work my tail off.

One of my fears had been that I am not ready to make it in the big world. I need to be at a certain level to become successful. This has been the torturous voice in my head for as long as I can remember. But today I knocked down that mirage that had me trapped all these years. I don't have to be ready, I just have to be unapologetically me!. Borrowing the words of Elizabeth Gilbert to summarize, "An imperfect plan executed now is better than a meticulous plan executed never." Our time is now. Believe and act away!

I live and die for days like this.

17:08 pm, 11 August 2017

She sensed there were only few seconds before a downpour. Her heart beamed with ecstacy as steady bursts of chilly winds rummaged her hair making her face itchy.

It appeared to her that her entire being declared to her with one sound voice, 'this is the life. This is the life you wanted. This is the life that serves you well.' She could feel her writing speed up as she heard voices and footsteps in the background running for shelter. She reckoned the first drops had landed somewhere.

She looked back at the blackening skies for one more time, her lips curved in a frigid smile. Her heart leaped in a jolly. Her weariness melted away. She found hope. She felt joyful again.

It was tea time.

The end.

17:11 pm, 11 August 2017

#ChennaiMonsoons