tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-94453812011-12-14T18:42:10.454-08:00thoughts that came to me in my moments of introspectionsandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01018134744180986013noreply@blogger.comBlogger201100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9445381.post-39987341943362259322007-02-20T13:19:00.000-08:002007-02-20T14:49:40.021-08:00

sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01018134744180986013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9445381.post-1144181827994515502006-04-04T13:15:00.000-07:002006-07-20T06:03:27.683-07:00

Standing 1300 meters above the valley, I throw a pebble down the face of the cliff.It silently plummets. Slowly, almost playfully it twists in that stillness. I watch the pebble. I feel like I am witnessing an eternal drama.Some ordinary moments can have such extraordinary vastness.

sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01018134744180986013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9445381.post-1134155796630850212005-11-29T19:56:00.000-08:002005-12-09T11:27:33.413-08:00

I cleaned my room so well yesterday that one could eat off the floor. Which is a good thing too since I somehow managed to misplace the plates.

sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01018134744180986013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9445381.post-1134156254437237972005-11-25T14:00:00.000-08:002005-12-09T11:24:14.436-08:00

Marriage. Its something so intimate, so personal. How can anyone make a show out of it? How can something so personal be done in a public forum with so many prodding eyes? The public declaration of eternal love and faithfulness. How can these words be pronounced in anything but a personal sphere between the two. Isn’t it embarrassing? The show. The watchful eyes.

sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01018134744180986013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9445381.post-1131089827308701912005-11-03T12:26:00.000-08:002006-03-02T08:07:43.886-08:00

Death. Dying. Ugly words. Conjures up visions of darkness, space, emptiness, nothingness. An inescapable, grasping, greedy void. I like reading about death and dying though. Reading about the last few days of terminally ill patients. Reading about the horror that unfolds in front of them, second by inevitable second. It’s like standing at the edge of a cliff and looking down. Or watching a

sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01018134744180986013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9445381.post-1134155900213986032005-10-29T10:10:00.000-07:002005-12-11T03:12:30.886-08:00

Mom called like 5 times. I was 'busy' so I didn’t want to take her call. Now couple of hours later I call her and she isn’t picking up the phone. What if something happened to her? What if she had used her last breath to call me? Now that is exactly the kind of paranoid thinking that she does and I hate.

sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01018134744180986013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9445381.post-1127124399567203462005-09-17T10:36:00.000-07:002006-07-19T13:16:06.890-07:00

I used to know someone who was intelligent, honest and passionate. There was magic in her words. She smiled often and I wanted to hug her every time she did. She had this swirling flocks of untamable sprightly things for hair. She was charming. She was girlish. And she was a person I used to know well.When I talked to her it was like talking to the person I hoped to be someday. I felt relieved to

sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01018134744180986013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9445381.post-1123930981181784862005-08-10T10:50:00.000-07:002005-08-13T04:22:13.176-07:00

Raja termed it ‘dyerisms’. Some jokes I came up with on Wayne Dyer (author of Your Erroneous Zones). See if you find this funny:What do you call a guy who’s very conscious of his appearance and dyes clothes for a living?A Vain DyerWhat’s Wayne’s favorite game?Truth or DyerWhat did Wayne do to the horny dog?Cut off his erroneous boneWhat’s Wayne’s favorite Jackie Chan movie?En-dyer the DragonKnock

sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01018134744180986013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9445381.post-1115120525793361822005-04-28T10:54:00.001-07:002005-05-05T05:07:32.616-07:00

Went to one of my regular restaurants yesterday. Noticed this boy there. He’s a helper. He cleans the tables, serves water, takes away the dirty dishes. Mostly doing series of thankless tasks. Always walking from table to table till midnight. And yesterday I glanced at his face. In that honest unexpected moment, for the first time I saw his expression. It’s tiered and angry. He serves water at my

sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01018134744180986013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9445381.post-1112942943981849072005-03-26T06:47:00.000-08:002005-04-08T11:44:09.056-07:00

What’s with these lazy perpetually tiered days. These passionless days. These protracted days that lumber on without any hope. And whatever happened to those days of fire, days when 24 hours just didn’t seem enough. Now 24 hours seems like such a drag. I am afraid I’ve lost all interest in life, in living. My self-talks, the pep talks, are getting less effective. I can see the lies that I feed

sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01018134744180986013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9445381.post-1108560195704440562005-02-16T05:16:00.000-08:002005-02-16T05:39:50.736-08:00

Sometime back I read this book called Rich Dad Poor Dad. After that I felt passionate about investing. No matter what happened I would get my daily doze of CNBC. I would wake up real early in the morning and find myself glued to CNBC. I would take down the share prices of important stocks. Next to it I would note my own predictions of where the prices were headed. I would scrutinize the business

sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01018134744180986013noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9445381.post-1107953231724299932005-02-09T04:45:00.000-08:002005-02-15T04:26:25.166-08:00

When I detach myself from this world, I become an observer and cease to be a participant. My environment no longer defines me. The circumstances I find myself in loose their menacing build and take on more manageable forms. My mind becomes silent. Everything around me acquires an inexplicable magical tinge. I don’t label anything. I don’t judge anyone. I feel happy. Feel light.I can put my heart

sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01018134744180986013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9445381.post-1104679954035052852005-01-02T07:24:00.000-08:002005-09-15T01:24:38.633-07:00

Something about the air in Mumbai. Made me want to tonsure. While I was admiring my new look and contemplating on the meaning of life, a mosquito came and bit me, on my head! On my head! And while I was fulminating over it, another mosquito came and bit me right next to where the first one had. I ran out of the barbershop like a madman, waving my arms all over my head.Went and complained to my

sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01018134744180986013noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9445381.post-1104215973696888712004-12-27T22:38:00.000-08:002005-02-25T04:34:40.090-08:00

I have spent many years being ‘sure’ of what I want.A blind cowboy riding his horse. Throwing the lasso around with all sound and fury.Once in a while he would snare something and get dragged along.

sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01018134744180986013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9445381.post-1103191850532127002004-12-16T02:10:00.000-08:002004-12-16T02:10:50.533-08:00

This whole ‘lost in the wilderness of Mumbai’ thing. I see no joy in this. I feel frustrated. I feel like I am some china doll kept on a window display. Every idiot who walks by can stare at me. I don’t understand why did I pick Mumbai? Why not Musorrie, or Mohanagar or Mangalapuram? Why am I torturing myself in this crowded city? Why am I living in this 10’ x 8’ room with nine other people? Why

sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01018134744180986013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9445381.post-1102089629117759352004-12-03T07:37:00.000-08:002005-09-15T01:20:54.946-07:00

I had a completely spontaneous day today.I slept on a lakeside bench by a fort in Udaipur. I woke up to the sounds of someone calling out to his God through a minaret. The voice reverberated through the fort. I could feel his devotion. I could also feel his pain. Through his voice, his life sort of unfolded in front of me. He was calling out to his God, to come save him.I got up from there and

sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01018134744180986013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9445381.post-1102086272537262772004-12-02T06:46:00.000-08:002005-08-13T04:27:41.786-07:00

Sometimes I feel that somewhere in my past life I must have been an adventurer, an explorer, scaling mountains, trekking, walking miles on, alone, at peace with myself and yet always restless.Sometimes I can see myself as a professor, a history professor to be more specific. I wear specks and a bad suit. Lead a quiet passive life. A life relegated to books and learning. A peaceful life that moves

sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01018134744180986013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9445381.post-1102087243904628482004-11-30T17:15:00.000-08:002005-02-25T06:14:22.610-08:00

I am on a road trip. This is the first time I am traveling alone so far and for so many days. The first two days were a pain. I reached unknown cities and searched for a place to stay in. On both days I had to travel around 25kms within the city and check out 10 hotel before I found anything that fit my budget. This caused a lot of stress.I had a dream yesterday. In this dream I saw myself in a

sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01018134744180986013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9445381.post-1102084892381849152004-11-11T05:41:00.000-08:002005-02-16T05:46:34.760-08:00

The dancing elephant in the circus that charms the crowd. The cheers die down and the gay crowd leaves. Instead of sleep, there comes an uncomfortable awareness. This is not the life I am destined to live. I am more than this.That’s how I feel at times. Like I am just another dancing elephant.I tell myself that I won’t care for public recognition. I tell myself that I will be my own man. And yet

sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01018134744180986013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9445381.post-1102086423837457182004-10-27T07:04:00.000-07:002005-02-16T05:48:13.536-08:00

I use these two tests to see if something that I have told myself I love is really worth doing.Would I do if it was socially unacceptable?Would I do it if there was no money in it?

sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01018134744180986013noreply@blogger.com0