Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Sell your ideas—they’re totally acceptable

That’s what the fortune in my Orkut home page said today. Now that’s a brilliant idea for sure. Cos who would not want their ideas and opinions to be heard or read or seen at least… Sell my ideas—brilliant. But how in the world do I let them or the world know that I’m more than willing to sell my ideas? World, I hope you get in touch with me regarding this. Soon…

Saturday, July 7, 2007

Five minutes of non-stop rain

Everybody’s writing about the rains these days—the romance, the nostalgia, the slush, the slime and the devastation. When it started raining, at around 11 this morning, I rushed to the door—more for the chance to get wet in the shower than to salvage the laundry—only to be shooed back inside just as quickly. (Being seven months pregnant also means getting used to being denied quite a few of the good stuff in life.)

So my mother ran like mad, plucking near-dry clothes off the clothesline and rushed back into the house. She paused long enough to catch her breath, then turned and bolted the door only to realize that the rain had come down to a trickle and in another couple of minutes it stopped.

Bursting into a laugh Amma exclaimed: “Chey… ithenthoru mazhaya. Manushyane kaliyaakkunno?” (What a rain!!! It’s making a fool of us.)

Flit, flutter, fly, butterfly

It was true what my brother said. It had been ages since we saw a butterfly. This one was of the typical kind of the species—fairly big, with blue designs adorning its dainty black wings. It was a pleasure to watch its fairy-like movements as it flitted from flower to flower savoring the different kinds of nectar at hand. Then the rain played spoilsport, shooing us all away—us inside the house and to the wafting smell of hot coffee and the butterfly, hopefully, to a safe spot.

Then today, as I sat on the veranda enjoying the cold moist early morning breeze, there came another of those fairy creatures. Flitting in and out of flowers and leaves it finally settled down to suckle contentedly from a big yellow flower that showed all the promise of gently rocking the butterfly to sleep as it nestled within its satiny petals.


All this while, I was yearning to write. Thoughts and ideas—some definitely profound, some frivolous—were flooding my mind, urging to be let loose. But now, just as suddenly as this blog was created, I have nothing to write about. I am drained. In a sense, words fail me… And that too is life.