To Rob And Bella And Their Incredible Journey

Dedicated to #TeamRobAndBella.

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I have been following the journey of Rob (Facebook: Robert Kugler) and his pet Bella, here on Instagram (@robkugler) as well on his website (rklifeillustrated.com) ever since I stumbled upon a news article about a man who was taking his dying pet dog on a bucket list trip around America.

I cried learning about Bella's passing yesterday, like I did a few years ago when I learned my pet dog Max had died who I raised as a puppy. We all knew the day was inevitable and felt it nearing in the past couple of days. But still... I cannot fathom the pain of Rob. I can only pray.

Bella was diagnosed with osteosarcoma (bone cancer) around May 2015 and doctor suggested either putting her down or amputating her front left leg which would give her some time since the cancer had spread to her lungs. It was a difficult decision. She had the surgery. Doctor said this would give her 3-6 months at the most. After recuperating and showing great result, adjusting and adapting to being a #tripawed as Rob lovingly described her, it became evident to Rob that she wasn't done. Bella was still fighting and facing life head on. This was when he decided to embark on a journey from his hometown in Nebraska and discover his country, its nature and its people with his best friend.

Since then they have on an incredible journey, traversing across the country, national parks, country side, lakes and mountains...

Through the almost daily updates I not only saw the fighting and fun spirit of Bella, I also discovered the gem of a human being in Rob. His words carry such weight and shed light on life and living, love and giving and what it is to live truly, learning and coping through everyday struggles. He is also an amazing photographer and captures the essence of the moment and its beauty in all his pictures, whether of Bella or of nature and his fascination with doors.

As Rob goes through this difficult time, I offer my prayers and this dedication, to let him know what the epic journey of Rob and Bella has meant to me and to us all and to show that we will be here to support him, wherever he continues on his onward journey.

And to offer him solace that wherever Bella is, she is now free of pain, and like I shared in a message to him, she might just stumble into my mother who loved her pets and might enjoy being patted for hours by her.

©Ranjan Moirangthem

#RobAndBella #GoBellaGo #TeamBella #WahaiWakhalWahang

THERE ARE GOOD PEOPLE IN THIS WORLD. ONE OF THEM JUST HAPPENS TO BE MY SISTER!

There are good people in this world. They are not hard to find. They are simply not good at being found. They do not hog the limelight. They simply get on with their lives and carry on as they have always done. They are the least bothered about who are talking about them or not talking about them. But mind you, they are not unaware. In fact they are among the most aware of people you will ever come across in your life. Their awareness however, is not confined to the latest trends or gossips; rather they are oblivious to such ‘news’. Their awareness comes from knowing the people around them, the little things that can be done to spread a smile or ease some pain, believing that lending a helping hand is not a decision to make but an action to take, sharing lessons from their experiences to comfort and guide others is second nature to them.

Yes, there are good people in this world. One of them just happens to be my sister. She recently visited us in Delhi, to be able to celebrate her birthday and also Diwali with us. For most part she is like any other sister in the world; caring and protective, pampering and guiding and we also argue and debate, get upset and hurt. What sets her apart is the innate goodness in her, or maybe she imbibed it from mom; absorbing every little drop like the earth while we are more like rocks or sand. 

(My sister's birthday celebration: she turned... not saying! haha!)

She cares and it is not limited to her family or friends; she just simply cares. While most of us are restrictive or limiting in the way we deal with people around us, there are no borders when it comes to her caring. We have heard anecdotes of her experiences with strangers in her day-to-day life, and while we are always on guard, doubtful of people’s intentions, she somehow finds this invisible thread of humane connectivity with those she meets and it worries us (being overbearing and overprotective brothers that we are!) yet we are left wondering at her and secretly aspire to have such capabilities.

On one of her flights, she began conversing with her fellow passengers, among them a young man in particular. I had wondered about the update of her new friendship on Facebook and later realised it was the same guy. He told her about his visit and his girlfriend and how her birthday was coming up. He was at a loss and had no idea what to do or what to buy. Sister was in her element and told him to surprise her – take a day off, buy a gift and plan a surprise. He admitted to being no good at such things and I think she told him to buy flowers and chocolates if he cannot think of what she likes for a gift. He later introduced his girlfriend to her (over the phone or on FB) who thanked her for making her birthday special. Since then they have been in touch with each other. His then girlfriend has become his wife and they have recently welcomed a new member to their family.

She can talk! If you come across anyone who has met her, they can vouch for her ability to talk. It may tread on some bizarrely funny ideas, concepts or idle imaginations, or may throw down a guiding light on someone or something lost in their darkness, or may lift up spirits and cheer up sad hearts and souls, or bridge the gaps of awkward silences we have a habit of leaving in between conversations. Whatever shape or form, one thing stands out: it is never pretentious. This must be the reason why she can connect with so many different people.

During the last years of her stay in Singapore, we had gone to visit her. She was staying as a paying guest and the house owners were a family of three – husband, wife and their young daughter. It was at this time that the wife’s mother came to visit them from Chennai. Granny did not speak a single word of Hindi or English. Over the next few days, an unlikely friendship developed between her and my sister. We would often wonder and even comment on how they managed to communicate with each other. Imagine our surprise when they went out shopping. It was a sight to see them cooking a meal together in the kitchen, each speaking a different language, heavily gesticulating, smiling and laughing. A year later, she invited my sister for a family wedding in Chennai. Sister accepted as it would mean revisiting the erstwhile Madras city where she was born. She is still in touch with the family much like the way she has kept in touch with the people in her life, even her old primary school friends.

As we geared up for her arrival, on the eve of her flight landing here, brother and I were discussing about her trouble with excess baggage. It is a sight of wonder if you ever find her travelling light! Surely, the next day as my brother waited for her at the gate, he saw her barely managing to push a cart loaded with luggage. How much have you brought? My brother remarked. She said, “Arrey! This is not mine. This is uncle’s and auntie’s luggage.” It came as no surprise that she had made an uncle and an aunt of the old couple she met on her flight. They were struggling with their luggage and she helped them. They even offered her and my brother a drop back home. But my brother had already booked a cab.

Like anyone else, she has her dreams. Her dreams are never materialistic; if they are it is because someone else associates closely with those ‘materials’. Like any dream, the path to its fruition comes with its own troubles and hindrances. She has encountered several on her way. What helps her is of her own making too; her steely determination and unwavering perseverance.  It is because of this that she has achieved what she has today. Unlike her, most of us lack the sheer passion and drive, walking sluggishly towards our dreams; some of us have already given up on our long held dreams. Life and its many diversions muddle our vision and weaken our resolutions.

Dreams never cease to be born. As we grow and evolve, they take shape in the new us and new dreams are born. She is now following her new dream and like any other time, it has brought some obstacles and problems along with it. There are always moments of doubt and clarity we experience in everything we do. She has gone through some really low phase and some remarkable high points. She is continuing her journey and we are fully supporting her. She believes in hard work but she is practical too. It has worked out well all these years and it will do her good in future as well.

And as I sit alone in a crowd of my office colleagues, I realize that I have learned so much from her. If I am still carrying on with my writing, even if not as diligently as I would have liked to, it is because by just observing the way she lives I get an unknown yet familiar strength within me to keep on persisting and walking towards my dream. That is the sign of good people. They are those who inspire others around them, just by living.

Love you sis. Always be you. Always be inspiring.

MY 10 MOST FAVORITE BOOKS. (OKAY, IT'S WAY MORE THAN 10, BUT I COULDN'T HELP IT!)

Recently I was tagged on Facebook by a friend to name ten of my favorite books; the ones that I go back to and have been life-changing in some way or the other. It scared me. Some books came to mind but with each passing moment, the list was growing and I could not get myself down to write just ten. So, I procrastinated. Maybe in a day or two, I thought. Then before I could get to it, another friend tagged me to do the same. I read a few books in her list which I had missed and I wondered how anyone could keep the list to just ten. Somehow, I began my list in complete earnestness. I got to about twenty plus books. Now, I just had to rely on my editing skills to get the list done. Just then I get a notification from a third friend who had tagged me. I just laughed. On one hand I was glad that my friends know that I love to read and were interested to see my list. On the other hand I was struggling to get my list done - some books inspired the writer in me, some helped me get through life's funny phases, some deeply touched me. So, how do I choose?

Finally I decided to go about it in this way:

Here's a list of books that introduced themselves to me during my formative years, and in some way contributing to my love for reading and creating a foundation for story-telling and my aspiration to become a writer. Most of these books were part of school and college curriculum since growing up we did not have bedtime story sessions; something I would love to do with my children if I become a father someday.

• David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
• The Coral Island - R M Ballantyne
• Robinson Crusoe - Daniel Defoe
• Treasure Island - Robert Louis Stevenson
• Little Women - Louisa May Alcott
• Animal Farm - George Orwell
• The Time Machine - H G Wells
• Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
• Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
• Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte

And below is the list of books which focuses more on those works which affected me not just with its story-telling but inspires me, and can easily be called as a list of literary aspirations. 

• To Kill A Mockingbird – It seemed to take no time for me get lost in a world created by Harper Lee and be immersed in the characters. I have always said that if I do become a father one day, I would love to have a daughter and I can attribute the beautiful relationship between the father and the daughter for my aspiration. 

• One Hundred Years of Solitude – For some odd reason, it took me back to my hometown, a small village called Sugnu in Manipur. The childhood years in the village which in memory is as mystical and as mythical as the one I was reading about and coming from a joint family, with just close relatives running to near about hundred; the drama unfolding in the pages seemed so real and true to life. 

• Lust for Life – A biographical novel based on Vincent van Gogh by Irving Stone. I read this in Shillong, and it just overwhelmed me. The struggles we read or hear about was just the surface of what he faced in his life and yet he continued on – because to him if he didn’t paint, there was no other purpose in his life and an artist must fulfill his purpose regardless of the outcome of his work.  

• The White Tiger – Read this on the subway and completed it one night on my way back home. The train was almost empty. I had just finished and I was so high (not literally, but literarily). I wondered how on earth Aravind Adiga got the idea of a character like Balram, the protagonist. 

• Frankenstein – Reading this book was an eye-opener for me. The notion or the idea of Frankenstein I had, bombarded through all the different media, was laid to rest. This is a masterpiece by Mary Shelley, so misunderstood and misinterpreted. 

• Never Let Me Go – I was lucky to find a hardcover edition of this book in a sale. It was all that and more than what I had expected from Ishiguro. I had deliberately delayed watching the movie adaptation, shunning out all reviews or specials that came on TV. One of the rare cases when I loved both the film and the book.

• The Alchemist - Coelho is probably my most read author. So, it was hard to choose just one, but first love won.

• Buying a Fishing Rod for my Grandfather – The best thing about this collection is that Gao Xingjian tells his tales like an instance. He simply captures the moments – just those moments in their entirety.

• Unaccustomed Earth – The first time I read Jhumpa Lahiri and it is no wonder why she is loved. The underlying sense of losing or having lost something irreplaceable (and in one instance finding it again) is expressed in such a smooth transition between the present and the past and through one character and the other; I just marveled at the writing.

• Nocturnes – Perhaps the only other author after Coelho whose works I have been devouring like a man possessed. Ishuguro is one writer I have come to identify the most with. I read this book in a library, going almost every evening to finish the book. I had to stop after every story before I could continue to the next. One story inspired a poem I wrote in a borrowed piece of paper in the library. 

Nope. It doesn't end here. To conclude a few notable mentions:

• Norwegian Wood - Planning to read more of Murakami; already have a few of his other titles. 
• The Zahir – This one comes close second among Coelho’s work for me.
• Catch 22 – Read it when I first came to Delhi. Experienced the hot and humid summer in the city while reading this gripping novel by Joseph Heller.
• The Charioteer – Mary Renault: I found the book in a random book sale. It is a very old edition. The combination of the subject matter written by a female author caught my eye. A great war romance.

I have not read many books from the North-east or by North-eastern authors. Fortunately the two books that I've read have been remarkably good. 

• Lunatic In My Head – Anjum Hasan: It is set in the 90’s in Shillong, the time I first came to the city and learned to live and call it a home. The places and the atmosphere very aptly captured.
• Chocolate Guitar Momos – Kenny Basumatary: It must be perhaps the only novel that made me laugh a lot. It is like reading a well-made rom-com movie in words. 

There are a lot many classic and contemporary authors I have not been able to read as yet. So, need to pick up the pace and get reading a lot. Most probably start the Ayn Rand book which I bought a couple of years back and still lay untouched among several other books I cannot resist buying but get left behind unread due to my erratic reading discipline. I guess most of you bookworms can sympathize with me. 

MOVIE REVIEW: AFRICA UNITED (2010) - A JOURNEY OF AFRICA WITH THE RIGHT MIX OF FUN, ADVENTURE, REALITY & FOOTBALL

(www.africaunitedmovie.com)

Africa United, first feature film by Debs Gardner-Paterson is heartwarmingly hilarious, humorously thought-provoking, fantastically realistic and unassumingly hopeful. It is a story about a group of young children in Rwanda undertaking a cross-country trip to make it to the inauguration of the South Africa 2010 World Cup football.

The movie starts with Dudu who is a young football enthusiast and lives in the slum with this younger sister, Beatrice. He is friends with a young, talented and aspiring footballer Fabrice, who gets selected for the trials to be a part of the Africa United Team for the World Cup inauguration ceremony. His mother, however, is not keen on his inclinations towards football. So, without telling her, Fabrice along with Dudu and his sister head towards the venue. But they end up in a different country and miss the trial. Their only hope now is to get to South Africa for the inauguration. What follows is a long journey through different countries which reveals them to different situations, some of which get out of control. They meet George and Celeste under such circumstances during the cross-country adventure.

Dudu is confident, creative, resourceful and unflinchingly optimistic. It is he acting as Fabrice’s self-appointed manager who leads the team on their journey, sometimes with disastrous results. Fabrice is talented but lacks confidence. Beatrice is kind, generous and hopes to become a doctor someday. George is learning to cope with his traumatic past, with much help from the group. Celeste is self-assured and hopeful despite her circumstances. Together they are a formidable group, taking on a mammoth task.

The story is interspersed with a tale narrated by Dudu to the others, in the form of animation and mirrors their own story but presented as a fantastical tale, a testimony to Dudu’s fertile imagination. The young actors breathe live into their roles bringing believability and an endearing quality to their performances.

The adeptly written original screenplay by Rhidian Brook takes you through an interesting journey of Africa. From poverty to AIDS, from young war soldiers and terrorism to child bride and prostitution – serious topics are touched upon in an intelligent and entertaining manner, almost as matter-of-fact as we would in real life.

With the Brazil World Cup 2014 round the corner, if you are on a lookout for anything and everything football and are leaning towards the world of movies to add some fuel to that excitement, be sure to watch Africa United. 

Why I Cannot Imagine A World Without A Coldplay Song

(Members of Coldplay, courtesy www.coldplay.com) 

The sound of music permeates all aspects of our existence. In fact, music is a crucial part of our existence today. We wake up, we jog, we work, we travel, we eat, we sleep and we even talk with music in our ears. And it’s not just one single kind of music. There are as many types of music, if not more, as there are emotions. With new and upcoming artists experimenting with different sounds/genres, new forms of music are being created as well. Being surrounded by so many different artists, it is hard to be influenced by just a single kind of music or to be exclusive to one particular band/genre. But there will definitely be that one artist/band we identify with the most. Someone whose songs sound and speak like the way it would have had we been able to do so.

That someone for me is Coldplay and the voice of Chris Martin. The first time I heard Coldplay (and saw them, actually just Chris Martin) was when the music video of ‘Yellow’ was played on a music channel. I was surfing the channel and saw this somewhat weird looking fellow crooning away and stopped to listen and see how the video was going to end. It ended with a sunrise that gave birth to a musical association which is still going strong.

One cannot deny the effect a Coldplay song can have. Whether it is The Scientist, Trouble, Warning Sign, Yellow, Lost, Speed of Sound, Fix You, Lost, Violet Hill, Paradise or Every Teardrop… the effect is real and deep. One song or the other has resonated with us and led us through our heart breaks or rough patches in our lives. A Coldplay song no matter how it sounds, whether ecstatic, painful, hopeful or festive, never exists in vain.

I remember taking a long walk in the rain to my office, getting completely soaked while listening pensively to a Coldplay song like We Never Change, A Rush of Blood, 42 or What If. I have shed a few tears listening to some other songs like Warning Sign, Trouble, The Scientist or Fix You, contemplating about a lover or a friend or someone I lost. Then there are those which renewed the love in me like Green Eyes, Yellow, In My Place or Strawberry Swing, as if falling in love for the first time. Not being a heavy metal fan, I used to envy those who would bob their heads in tandem with the music. But then I did the same with my own Coldplay songs, banging my head to the Speed of Sound or to the tick-tock of Clocks or more recently dancing away to the drum beats of Every teardrop. Pick up a moment from my life and most definitely there will be one Coldplay song or other that will define that moment for me.

Over the years, the sound of the band has developed and evolved, especially with their most recent albums. Many hardcore fans of the original, or should I say earlier sound of the band have complained about the band changing drastically. I agree they sound a lot different from their earlier albums. But I don’t believe it is to such a great extent and so abruptly that they have completely lost their identity.

Change is something that is bound to happen. We cannot resist it. Each individual goes through changes in their lives resulting in certain changes in the way they look at things or the way they feel or act. I certainly have changed a lot since the time I first heard ‘Yellow’ and I am sure the band members and especially Chris must have gone through a few (not necessarily similar) changes  along the way as well. And it reflects in their consecutive albums. There is always a risk involved with trying out something new. But that cannot mean that one should stick to the same old stuff regardless of thinking and feeling differently. An artist who never risks, risks becoming stagnate and obsolete.

(Cover Art of Ghost Stories, courtesy www.coldplay.com)

Come May 19 and their new album Ghost Stories will be out. They have already released a few tracks (Midnight, Magic, A Sky Full of Stars) and two music videos (Midnight and Magic). As of now, Magic is turning out to be the swan song for me, especially with the beautiful music video shot in black and white with Ziyi Zhang.

After the songs were released, I read a fan saying the band is no longer the same. But for someone like me, who cannot imagine a world without a Coldplay song, I am already falling in love with the magic of their latest tracks.

...................

Coldplay official website: www.coldplay.com

Pre-order the album (out on 19th May, 2014)

- iTunes http://smarturl.it/ghoststories
- CD http://smarturl.it/ghoststoriescd
- Vinyl http://smarturl.it/ghoststoriesvinyl

Fear Of Losing You, Mom

Days go by like they always did. But with each day I fear I may be losing you. Slowly and in uncertain ways. The memories of our times together and the moments which made my day are fading away it seems. I try to recall some instances sometimes and I am unable to remember the details which were once at the back of my head. All the details are falling short and missing a piece or two. Perhaps that's also one of the reasons why I gather any photograph I find of you and keep it with me, because I fear someday I might just forget how you looked like as well. I know that would really be the end of me.

When I went back home the last time I stayed there for almost three months. Everything has changed. The house we lived in has been rebuilt again and a building stands in its stead. Even though I stayed in the house made on the same grounds we build our home, it felt much colder and more of a stranger's than ours. The whole family has changed. So, what did I really expect? Looking back is not a good thing. Yet it gives me respite from dealing with the present situation and the awkwardness in the name of a family that ties me to the house.

I spent days just looking through old trunks and boxes where I had stored all my stuff this time as well. I cried like a baby when I went through the old notes and diaries. Since we (brother, sister and me) were all so young then, we didn't have an inkling of what was going on in your world or the adult world. I read about all the operations you had and how and what you felt as you went through each one of them. I cried for being such a child and not knowing the difference in the way your eyes spoke to us. The days I was playing around while you were feeling sad and lonely somewhere else. I know that I was a child and I could not do anything at all. But this unreasonable guilt gets hold of me sometimes and I can't escape it.

You have been the best mother one could ever ask for. You never let us know what all you were going through while we were growing up. You let us have a happy childhood. You let us have a happy memory of our times when we were young. It's impossible sometimes to imagine a person could do so much and sacrifice so much even with everything in her life almost compelling her to let go. But then you were a mother of three young children with unknown and uncertain future ahead of them and you needed to be there for them. I wish I could be a parent like that some day. To love someone else more than anything else in my life, including myself.

And I thank you for your love and for never letting go. Even though I am still at lost about you not being there anymore, I am thankful at least I had those great years with you. You held on till we were all grown-up and able to stand on our own feet. Then you slowly let go. I saw it coming but I was always in denial. And my denial stole away the last few days I could have spent with you, lying next to you and telling you stories like you told me when I was young, till you fall asleep and enter the dream world.

Love you and miss you mom.

Housefull Memories

The way time flies. The way it seems it was just yesterday. And the way it feels how soon it has ended. Things change. Sometimes so fast we are left wondering if at all it did. Sometimes so slow we never realise it has.

I am sitting alone in a corner of the house I made a home in for over 5 years, with just a bag to carry the few things still remaining, while the empty spaces around me overpower my senses. I always thought how much sentimental can one get about a non-living thing like a house or a dark spot on a wall. Much too much. As I was talking to a friend about how perfect our memories will always be, because they remain the same, I felt the change sink in. This house is going to be a memory now. The moment I step out the chapter will be closed.

Five years is a long time. Yet it all comes down to this moment. I look at the empty walls and the empty floor. There was once a table there. I used to place my books there. I danced my 'funny dance' out there on my sister's birthday. I scolded my pet dog here for chewing the slippers. I stood outside on the balcony many a night when I was feeling low. I cried myself to sleep on the bed which used to be here, after I woke up from my sleep, terribly missing my mom. There were ribbons and paper flowers on the wall there on my surprise birthday party my sister organised where all my close friends dropped by.

How can I not get sentimental then, when there's so much to remember and cherish?

It's time now I pick up my things and head to the new place I would soon learn to call home. After all, not all change is bad, most turn out better than we hoped for. 

Thank You

(Image courtesy: good-wallpapers)

It was 'Thank You Day' on Friday last week. I didn't know it. Not even when my boss held out a bag full of Eclairs and simply said, 'Thank you' to me. I asked 'Why?' and she repeated 'Thank you' again. So, I took one Eclairs and said 'You are most welcome'. It was only when we were told to head upstairs for the celebration did I realise what day it was.

On the way back home, it made me think. Who would I be thankful to? The more I thought, the more names and faces cropped up in my mind. There's so much to thank for and so many people to be thankful to in life. Our lives can never really be our own in its entirety. We owe a lot to many people right from the moment we were conceived in our mothers' wombs till the time we breathe our last. Perhaps beyond too.

One single life is never really a journey taken alone. There are too many people who shaped our way, created milestones for us, laid down the foundation of the roads we now travel upon. There are those strangers too who stood on the sides helping us replenish our energies by handing out drinks and food, and whom we may not even remember by faces forget about by names. But they made a difference somehow in our journey.

Several names appeared in my mind. My school teacher who made me realise that I mattered, I was somebody too, and encouraged me to voice my opinions and share my thoughts. My best friend in school who always stood by me and stood for me, even when he risked making enemies with few other classmates. He showed me what it means to be a friend. I am still learning to be one. My first love who showed me what it meant to be there for your love and how I failed miserably in doing so. I have always lived up to that lesson ever since. My best friend in college who knew me all too well and told me some harsh truths about me no one else could have or cared enough to tell me.

Over the past decade or so, I have truly come to know what a remarkable person my mother was and how much of her I see in all three of us. She was a person who lived in subtleties and expressed the most in silence. When I recall some of the innumerable moments I have shared with her, I see another side of her I never saw before. Maybe I was too young to understand then. I am thankful to have had those moments and to be able to relive them again. I see so much of her in my sister too, even though they are very different persons. I have lived most of my early years with my sister so we have a different kind of bonding than the one I have with my brother. And in the recent past I have grown to admire, respect and love her so much more. I am grateful to have her in my life. Although I can be a pain sometimes like most other brothers tend to be!

My life in Delhi brought few good friends and few mentors who took me under their arms ready to guide me in my professional life. I will always be indebted to my first boss for his trust and confidence in me. It will take me a few more years and a couple of other jobs to realise just how instrumental he had been in shaping my career. One of my colleagues played a vital role in my actual media world education. I have followed few of his rules and broken quite a few more! And as I find myself in a new job, I am grateful for all the past experiences and to my past mentors. I am thankful too for the opportunity that I have received at a time when the odds were against me. I know fully well the responsibility which entails this trust and I remind myself everyday of the work ahead of me.

I have been fortunate to have a family who supports me and loves me no matter what and who makes me feel I belong. I have been fortunate to find friends who somehow understands me better than I do and are not afraid to show me the mirror when I falter. I have been fortunate to have had teachers and mentors who nurtured and moulded me to better prepare for the world ahead of me. I have been fortunate to have had the chances which came my way despite the innumerable mistakes I have made. I have been fortunate and that's why I am grateful.

Our lives are never our own for so many people have had a hand in making it what it is. No one ever really makes it on his own. And as I laid down in my bed that night I offered a silent 'Thank you' before going to sleep.

Feeling The Best Despite Not Being At Your Best

I used to think that if you are feeling low or not-too-well physically or otherwise, it was impossible to enjoy no matter how much things seemed promising. I have been proven wrong on more occasions than one; the latest just recently.

If you have a good humoured outlook towards your setback, you can still conjure up enough confidence to have a good time. It greatly helps if you have some crazy friends around who are more than willing to hit the high notes with you.

The way I am as a person, it is never easy to come out of my shell. And ill health adds another layer to my reserved nature, rendering me unfit for society. However, this time I decided to have a blast nonetheless, laughing at my own hoarse voice induced by the flu I caught a few days back, blowing the guts out of my nose even in public whenever the warning bell rang or startling the heavens out of people with my frequent hysterical sneezes. Of course I covered my face with my handkerchief, unlike few closely related people I know!

I have realised that I have more often than not ended up having a good time when I had hesitated going out and meeting people in the first place for various reasons. Having had zero or negative expectations made the unexpected delightful experiences so much more pleasurable.

You are down in life only when you accept that you are sincerely in the 'downs', chasing away all the positivity from your life. When you change your outlook and see that a good time is independent of circumstances but entirely dependent on how you react to them, you realise you can still feel the best and have a good time even when you are not at your best.

Here's to more good tiiimmeess.. acchhhoo!! Excuse me!

NUNGSHIBI - OUR ADORABLE PUPPY

[Sharing a post from my other blog (http://todearmom.blogspot.com) about Nungshibi (meaning adorable/lovable in Manipuri), my pet dog.]



I have to tell you about Nungshibi. I completely forgot. She was a month old puppy when brother brought her in on his way back from office. She was injured, bitten by another dog and the only one among her siblings to survive. The same day sister and I had come back from Shillong and we were so surprised to see her. She was really hurting and in a really bad condition. Sister, who always wanted us to have a pet at home, was ecstatic. But brother spoiled her excitement somehow when he said he is just getting her cured and then letting her go. Weeks passed and I was taking care of her, washing her wounds and bathing her, cleaning her mess and feeding her. Sister would keep on pleading with brother and us to keep her. I didn't mind keeping her. And when I took her to the vet, suggested by Sunny, I made up my mind to keep her. What really made me sure was that the name of the clinic read Max Vets. I knew it to be a sign, considering how much I loved our Max and how he had to spent his days at home away from us in his last years. I had always felt bad about it. I still do sometimes when his thoughts come to me. The last time I saw him on my visit home, he seemed weak and wanting of love.

It hasn't been easy though, bringing up a pet in a city, especially in a neighbourhood like ours with hardly any access to a clean green park at a walking distance. Since I have been in charge of caring for her from the time she came in, potty training her to do her business was quite a task and a test of my patience. Every time I was about to lose my patience and scream or shout at her I keep reminding myself of how you took care of all the pet dogs we had, whether it was Ruby or Jumbo or even Max. You were always so calm and patient and they loved you the most. There are rare occasions when I do lose my patience. I guess some things are not easy to learn.

Once it was confirmed that she would stay, naming her was a challenging process. Sister insisted on Julie and even succeeded to some extent. I on the other searched the net for some fancy foreign language names. Came up with few even. I started to call her Juliski combination of Julie and Iliski, Turkish for relationship. When I told Sunny, he was like, "Why do people get so excited about foreign names and all? Why can't they simply use the language they speak? At least name it in your native language if you have to else choose something in Hindi or English." He was right and I promptly thought of some names. Finally I selected Nungshibi. She must have had an identity crisis during those initial stage when she would be called by so many different names. I would call her something and sister would insist on something else. Then brother would try his own versions and so would Bishnu.


She's around six to seven months old now and really strong for her age. And quite a rebellious little doggy she is. Sister keeps on complaining, so do the rest of the people who drop by at home, that she is so aggressive and over-excitable. Her colour is same like Ruby and Jumbo. We had thought of calling her Ruby but I didn't want to.

She is sleeping beside me now. It's funny the way she goes to sleep. She would walk slowly and then all of a sudden fall down on the floor and go to sleep. The first few times I thought she hurt herself or something. It's way more funnier to see the way she actually sleeps, funny little poses, lying flat on her back and her legs stretched out:


Then there's one where she tilts her head ninety degree to her body, I was worried sick she might have twisted her neck or something when I saw it the first time.

She helps me keep sane. Like Max did when I was staying alone at home while all of you were away. Some nights I would get up from bed, not being able to sleep and walk out on the verandah, sit and stare at the stars. Max would come sit next to me and I would talk to him about you and about how I felt. I do that sometimes with Nungshibi when she's sleeping because when she's awake she's hyper. There's no time to be sentimental or nostalgic. It just vanishes away. That's how much she can keep one busy.

You would have loved her a lot and she would have definitely love you the most.

Love

Train-ing Days (My College Trip)

I was reading something about trains on one of the blogs I follow and it reminded me of the few memorable train journeys I have undertaken in my life. Here's an account of the most memorable one I have had so far:

It was the year 2001. A teacher in a college in Bishnupur, Shillong was having a discussion with the BSc. IInd year students about a study tour and where they would like to go. Several names popped up; some quite far-fetched, considering the budget constraint. The students feared they would end up going to the neighbouring state like the batch before them. Most had not even ventured out of the small state so they wanted to make the most of the opportunity and travel far and wide. Few places were short-listed. Andaman was the most exciting among them. As days passed and teachers were having meetings among themselves and with the principal, the signs of a neighbouring visit seemed more and more evident. Then one day the teacher came in and announced that the principal has finally agreed. However, Andaman has been ruled out. The students were disappointed to hear this. Then she added, we are going to Chennai and Bangalore. Everyone cheered up. But there was a tiny problem - instead of the earlier amount the students would now have to dish out Rs 3500-4000 each. After talking among themselves they all agreed to it.

Soon followed a journey which is etched in my memory and which has become a milestone of my growing up years.

We went on a sleeper class reservation and it took us a little over fifty hours to reach Chennai. After spending two days in Chennai we headed for Bangalore and reached there at night. The following night we were on our way back to Guwahati. It was a study trip in principle but in actuality it was anything but that. We went on tours in both the cities, visiting all the tourist hotspots. Luckily for us some of them had affinity with our purpose of visit as well. Like the time when we went to see the zoological park (since the trip was organised by the Zoology Department) or when we visited the science museum.

The first thing that got us super-excited was when we, for the first time in out lives, saw a beach. One of the many reasons why we were so charged up about the trip to begin with. We visited two beached in Chennai - Golden beach, which was part of a theme park and the famous Marina beach. We ran to the shore, getting our feet soaked in the water, running after the waves, splashing water at each other. We took lots and lots of photographs. There were very few people at the Golden beach. The reason might be that entry is not free or because it was a hot afternoon when we went there or maybe both. But Marina beach was full of people, from families on an outing to couples walking together, from groups of friends chilling out to health-conscious joggers.

The tides were much higher at the Marina beach. It was intimidating. Only few people were in the water. Most were, like us, standing far behind waiting on the wave to hit the shore. There was an empty coconut shell floating on the water. It found its way to the shore and soon enough an impromptu football match began. Our teachers joined in as well. It was surprising to see ma'am M.K.K. and J.D. in such spirit. We couldn't picture them to be fun at all from what we knew of them in the classroom. It was a welcome change and we had a great time playing together.

But the most fun had to be the train journey. The train became our world for a few days and we were living it up in there - visiting each other's compartments like neighbours, striking up conversations with fellow travellers, singing and playing card games together or just looking out the window watching the world outside as we pass them by. We still talk about the time when someone found a cockroach in her egg curry and swore off the train food. Or even the time when us boys were running for cover when news about eunuchs boarding the train reached us. It wasn't new to me since I had gone on a train journey but my friend was terrified by the idea and covered himself from head to toe in a blanket on the upper berth. I was hiding on the berth opposite him. It was hilarious to see him holding on to his blanket and pulling his legs in when one of them grabbed him by the feet. Ultimately they gave up and went around for some other targets. We have a great laugh about it whenever the topic comes up.

On the last day of our trip in Bangalore while riding back to the youth hostel, we were at first laughing and singing along with the music. By the time we were just few minutes away from the hostel, there was a silence in the bus. Most of us were staring out the window, a sense of melancholy taking over us.

That night we all had our dinner together at the hostel mess. All the seats around the long rectangular table were occupied. Somebody aptly remarked that it felt like it was our own 'last supper'.

It's been years since the trip. Since then, life has led us to many different places. Most of us have lost in touch with each other, only few still remain known to me to this day. Others grew far apart in time and in distance. As I think about the trip now, recalling and reliving those moments, I can't help but wonder somebody somewhere else might just be remembering those fun times as well.

Hopeful New Year!

One more year comes to an end. Another year is dawning in just over a few hours. And there are so many things going on in my head. What do I expect from this coming new year? What do I expect from my life and from myself in the coming year? At first I had thought of making a list of my new year resolutions but I opted not to. It is pretty depressing when things don't go the way we want them to. It will be miserable when it's a list of things you had set out to do from the beginning.

More than expectations, I have hope that I will be able to become more of me and less of how I think I ought to be. More beliefs and less doubts. More conviction and less fear. That's what I hope for the most. To be able to be honest with my feelings and my thoughts and show them not just feel or think them.

It's already few minutes past midnight. My hopes are being born as the year grows by the minute. Hoping to have a Happy New Year!

Rain: Return Of An Old Friend

When it used to rain before, we would not know. We lived in a concrete building and if we were inside our rooms with the curtains pulled down on the windows we would not know when it rained. So, most of the times the clothes hung outside to dry would have to wait a long while getting soaked all over again. And we missed several opportunities of playing in the rain because we would not be able to hear it fall. The paper boats were saved from drowning in the make-believe river of the backyard drain, sailing through a heavy stormy weather. The dry and recently washed clothes we worn would take a heavy sigh of relief every time we missed the rain. Having been soaked for hours in cold/hot water then being beaten about on the cemented floor and hung out to dry, they favoured being warm in the closet and feared being worn by us. They dreaded the moment someone opened the closet, praying hard they were not picked. Some had tough luck, becoming our favourites, we would wear them umpteen times till they turned pale and their threads came loose. They had to undergo stitches several times and would always end up getting dirt-faced. They feared rain the most and so it was a matter of great relief when we missed the rain. They hated being damp and wet.

Then we moved to a tin-roofed house and even a slight drizzle would alarm us. We were out and about in an instant gauging the rain and if it wasn’t too heavy we would leave the clothes be. If it rained heavy, we would free them from the clutches of the clips and gather them all inside. In a really heavy downpour most of the clothes would end up getting wet no matter how quick we were. We would in turn get wet as well. It would not stop us from venturing out onto the verandah to feel the rain fall on our palms and if we were game enough, we would get all soaked, dancing in the rain. Sometimes in our excitement we would forget about the slices of radish or pieces of amla left to dry atop the roof and they would spitefully turn out to be not-so-good achaar once they were dried up, spiced up and bottled up.

However, for most part they were all happy, the clothes and everything else since we lived under a tin-roof. The problem was with us because we would start thinking it was raining on hearing the slightest of sounds resembling the rain.

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We did not resist the rain then. We took it as it came. No great surprise or worry succeeded it. Then the inevitable happened. We all grew up and the excitement of the rain slowly faded away with the years we added to our lives. We ran from the rain most of the times – running for a dry shelter and even if the shelter was long way away and we were bound to get wet, we'd still keep running, shielding ourselves with a notebook or a plastic bag or even a handkerchief! Oh! We really didn’t like the rain I guess. At least that was what the rain felt, who had just dropped by to give us a childhood greeting. But we were growing up or already grown up and forgot about our childhood friend.

Years later when most things had changed and I yearned for something old and something familiar, something to help me retain or regain the lost days of the yore, I found I had lost most of it to the heat of life. Pretty soon I realized I had lost so much more than a few rainy days or fun-plays in the sun. Then in the evening of a rather warm day it rained, first slow then heavily. I did not resist it. I soaked myself in it, reveling in the memories of all the days lost and gone, shedding tears for all those lost and gone and smiling in the return of a childhood friend who gave me warmth in his wet embrace. I do not resist the rain anymore.

When I Met An Old Friend

To meet an old friend is always a pleasure, especially when you have gone through a lot in life with the same person. They have seen you in your good times and your worst as well. They have been there for you and you have been there for them. So, a meeting with such a friend is always a heartening experience to say the least.

Today I met with a dear friend who has been through a lot in life much as I have been in mine and have seen each other in our worse of times. Today too is no better a time in our lives. I have my own set of problems and he has his. And we are at an age where most of our counterparts have already found their footings and are excelling at whatever they are doing. Our trials have been tough. Our success minimal. At the end too much time invested with too little outcome/success to account for while time keeps a tab of the passing years on our faces and greying hair on our scalps.

The sense of responsibility never leaves our minds. And this is one reason why there has not been much of a risk taken by him on his part. He had trodden carefully and calculatingly. Somehow in his own words, the ‘bad luck’ phase of his life still seems to be continuing. For most part, things look promising and all efforts are in place from his side but some other things which are completely out of his control puts an end to his dreams.

Even though I too feel the sense of responsibility I have taken decisions more freely and taken a lot of risks being the ‘child’ in the family. A doting elder brother and an always supportive elder sister eased my risky ways. The problem now is the fact that I have not been able to turn the career risks I have taken into anything worthwhile. I am still in this phase but what gives, even if a little solace is that I have been doing some of the things I greatly enjoyed doing. The thing is I could have done them without playing the ‘Brave-heart’ ( or fool-heart??!).

There are thoughts and ideas running in both our heads. We can talk about how to do those things. We can talk about how it can be executed and what all formalities or procedure we need to follow. The problem, however is if at all it will work out and will we be able to take any more chances now? I can see him achieving what he dreams of. He has always been a hard-working guy with his head placed firmly on his shoulders. He just needs the right time and there will be no stopping him. I am, like always, doubtful of myself and my big ideas. Let’s see how things go for both of us.

Fighting The Cold And Dampened Spirit

Everything seems cold and damp here. Most things are cold and damp here. The walls are damp and cold, the splash of rain it faces all day long. The clothes hanging on the hangers and those inside bags and in the closets are cold to touch and feel wet no matter how dry they are. The books, the papers and the notepads are not crisp to touch anymore. Even the slightest of touch leave a deep impression. How sensitive they have become! The chill in the air can be felt at any time of the day. The nights are much colder if spent without the shield of the blankets. The mornings are an exercise in tolerance. The ‘freezing’ water test the endurance of the warm-blooded human being. The afternoons are sunless and gloomy for most part with dark clouds hovering in the sky threatening to come falling down at the slightest agitation. The evenings are clear and breezy. But the cold wind leave so less to be enjoyed of the fine evening walks. In such a cold and damp weather, the spirits are bound to be dampened as well. But if you have a fighting spirit nothing can really dampen it at all. I guess I am carrying a little sunshine from a hot and humid land afar.

Today I saw ‘Marley and Me’ again. It made me cry all over again.

The first time I saw the movie was at one of my closest friends’ place. I would more often than not stay over at his place and we would watch a movie or two till the wee hours of the mornings. On this particular night, he slept early and I, having difficulty sleeping even after talking till late hours, decided to watch some movies on his computer. I remembered he had told me few days earlier that he had downloaded the movie. I had planned to watch it when it came to the theaters but missed it. So, it was ‘Marley and Me’ that night.

I love pets; especially dogs and cats. For the past few years I had been staying away from my pet Max, whom I literally raised from a tiny puppy. He wasn’t as naughty as Marley but he did give me quite a few headaches while growing up! I missed him dearly that night. Almost everyone in the family fond of pets had moved out and I knew that Max would be missing us a lot.

I loved the movie, not just because it was a simple and heartwarming tale but for the fact that it treated Marley as a being, a member of the family, rather than just another animal. The conversations were real and the interactions between the characters and Marley were real. Watching the movie, I went back to the times when I was alone at home with Max. I would sit with him on the courtyard at night when we could not sleep. I would stare at the stars shining above us in the clear sky, putting my arms around Max. I would talk to him and share my doubts and my fears and tell him how much I loved him. Those were difficult times for me. Mother wasn’t keeping well for few years, especially during those months when she had to be taken to a bigger city for her diagnosis. Dad and sis had accompanied her. Brother was already living in the city for few years at that time.

Today when I watched the movie again, I missed Max much more. During my last visit home I learned to my surprise (rather shock) that he had passed away. We weren’t informed. I was the first to know. I had not cried then. Not for a day or two. But late one night unable to sleep, when I started thinking about him, tears just rolled down my cheeks. I cried for a long time. I cried myself to sleep.

I had missed Max, felt his absence when I first saw ‘Marley and Me’. This time it was the realization of the fact that the absence was incurable and I would not be able to see him, touch him or pat him again. When I look at his pictures, I see so much of love and so much of pain in those big eyes. I wish I was there for him during his last few days. I don’t know if I could have been of any help at all, but I would have certainly wanted to be there. But now he must be getting all the love he missed from mom. She had a special bond with all the pets we had, whether it was Ruby or Jumbo. But now, she would be well guarded and taken care of by them and they in turn would be unconditionally loved by her.

‘A dog has no use for fancy cars, big homes, or designer clothes. A water-logged stick will do just fine. A dog doesn't care if you’re rich or poor, clever or dull, smart or dumb. Give him your heart and he'll give you his. How many people can you say that about? How many people can make you feel rare and pure and special? How many people can make you feel extraordinary?’

- quoted from ‘Marley and Me’

Max really did make me feel extraordinary. He made me feel alive and breathing. He made me feel truly loved. And he taught me a lot more than I could ever do with all the tricks I tried so hard for him to learn!! He was special and he made me feel special. I love you, Max.

Lessons From My Sister's Flower Garden

I am sharing a post from my new blog about learning lessons from my sister's simple wish from me that I paint her a flower garden. This simple complicated task taught me few things I should have ideally remembered all along. The blog is written like a conversation with my mother, so 'you' in the post is referred to her.

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I re-discovered the essence of always trying and not giving up no matter how impossible or how unbearable or how different things turn out in the process. I figured that if you still have even a small fraction of your vision with which you set out to do what you are in the process of doing, it will turn out just like you thought and sometimes even better once you keep moving ahead with it. Perhaps I had to learn this in the simplest of tasks I did recently.

Remember mom when I told you about the painting that sister wanted me to draw for her - a garden full of flowers. Well, I attempted it, formed the base, painted some flowery shapes. It looked very promising in the beginning and I was already happy with myself for at least setting out to do it rather than giving up before even trying, which I had been doing for some days already. Once I began to put in the details of the garden, I found myself hating the very sight of it. It did not look real or even close to a fake garden! I detested the very sight of it. I did not wish to go on. But I did. I don't know why but I kept on adding and trying out things. I did take few moments to just look at it and wish I had not done some things, not added certain colour or tried certain shapes. Yet I continued, experimenting and trying out things to make the shapes look like flowers. Once the flowers seemed real enough, the base started looking unrealistic. The flowers seemed to be plainly pasted. Still I continued; added some colours and tried different brush strokes.

As I was beginning to see the end of how it would finally look, I was as happy as I could be. I saw that my vision was coming true. And in fact no flowers looked as good as these in a garden that once was my hateful obsession. It was then that I realised, that when we set out to achieve our dreams we are very hopeful in the beginning but with time we begin to see no point in it and start detesting our own dreams when we look at the unfinished picture. We have dreams but we fail to see that our dreams from the time they are born undergo a metamorphosis going through stages of development which may not appeal to us, even frighten us at some point in time. It should not stop us from continuing on our walk towards achieving them. The believe in our vision should always be there. And we must keep on going. Only then are we able to see the butterfly of our dreams coming to life and taking flight.

I love you mom for showing me this through sister's what seemed like a childish and an improbable wish for a flower garden!

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The following is a link to the post in original in the aforesaid blog:
SISTER'S FLOWER GARDEN

American Idol Season 9

Let's talk about the American Idol. I have been watching the show since it started airing in the country for the past few years now. I wasn't so much into it the last few years but this year has been different. I have followed the journey of each of the contestants since the audition round and so I feel in a way connected to them. I instantly liked Lee DeWyze a lot since the time he first auditioned and when I heard Crystal Bowersox sing I knew the judges had no choice but to select her. And the two of them made it to the finale. I had a feeling it would turn out this way, but was in a little bit of doubt till the time Big Mike was around. Once he was voted out, I knew it would be a battle between these two.

I am thrilled to bits to know that Lee won. I still have to see the episode since it will be telecast tonight on this part of the globe. But I can't wait to see how it all turned out and how the show unfolded. I loved the fact that the two finalists were also two of the most genuine and good person we had this season. I have to admit I was inclined towards Lee as he kind of reminded me of myself (strictly in a non-musical sense since my musical skills go way beyond minus!) because of his shy and reserved personality. Crystal on the other hand is a fighter, humble and strong.

However, if there's one thing I have learned about American Idol is the fact that winning and losing truly doesn't matter, especially for those who made it to the Top 10 or Top 5. History is testimony to the fact that even the contestants who failed to win have also made it pretty big in the music industry. At times even turned out to be much more successful than their winning counterparts. E.g. Clay Aiken, Jennifer Hudson, Chris Daughtry, Adam Lambert. So, if you ask me about Crystal or other contestants like Big Mike or Casey or Siobhan I know they will make something of themselves in this field.

So, in the end, I just want to say that they each have their own story to tell and whether as the winner or the runners up, they are gonna tell it. And we will all listen.

Addicted To The Idiot Box

Image courtesy: cartoonstock

It's easy to get hooked on to daily soaps and serials or let's say the idiot box. It's easier too to get rid of the habit. I have had almost an addiction for my favourite series while growing up, to the extend that I would keep a tab of when and at what time they were repeated so that I don't end up missing any single episode. For the past few years, the addiction had subsided completely what with the erratic work timings. Now that I find myself with some free time, I am getting caught up with the idiot box again. The initial flirtations has now become a serious habit and there's a clear sign of addiction which I realised sometime before I started typing this post. I am now finding myself remembering all the repeat timings of the shows I have to, HAVE TO watch. The fact that some of my favourite series are back with a brand new season only aided my attachment to the little squarish box, I don't tire of looking at these days.

So, which are the series I am getting addicted to? Well, first let me tell you about my all time favourites starting from the ones I saw since I was a teenager. I never missed 'Wonder Years' or 'Doogie Howser', then there were 'Ally McBeal', 'ER', 'Roswell', and still running 'Brothers and Sisters', 'Lost', 'Heroes'... and of course never get bored of 'Friends'. Also 'Small Wonder', 'Blossom', 'Who's the boss?', 'Different Strokes' and then 'Numbers', 'Now and Then' (never got to see how it ended, AXN has not shown another season of the series). were religiously watched Various entertaining programs including reality shows like 'Amazing Race' (I am waiting for the latest Amazing Race Asia season), 'Survivors', 'Fear Factor', 'Top Chef' and many others I am failing to recollect at this moment including several docu programs on Natgeo ('Chasing Che', 'Lonely Planet' etc...).

I had and I guess still do have a fascination for Medical dramas, (can't say exactly why, it's what I figured after I started naming the series I liked) whether it's 'ER', 'Grey's Anatomy' 'Chicago Hope', '3 Lbs' and very recently 'All Saints' on Australia TV.

Among the Hindi series, I loved 'Dhund' based on Wuthering Heights starring Pooja Bhatt and directed by Vikram Bhatt. My family found it to be too slow but I would still see it no matter what. And others I watched since everyone in the family did and I too ended up getting hooked on to them, such as 'Kora Kagaz' 'Kshitij Yeh Nahin', 'Hum Log', 'Circus', 'Reporter', 'Byoomkesh Bakshi' (one of the most intelligent Hindi crime thriller which would put CID to shame!!), 'Tehkiqaat', 'Shayad', 'Star Bestseller' and even other entertaining programs like 'Surabhi', 'Superhit Muqabla', 'Boogie Woogie.'

Now, back to my present addiction. "Grey's Anatomy" is back and I am hooked on to it. I have missed several episodes of the previous season but have been watching all of the new episodes. You know what I missed one yesterday and had just begun watching the repeat today when the lights went out! I was so mad but now I am okay. I have one last shot at it during the weekends when two episodes would be shown back to back. I am just hoping I don't miss it. Another medical drama I don't miss is 'All Saints' on Australian TV. 'Scrubs' is back as well. The only light-hearted medical drama among the ones I love and its hilarious!

I never saw 'Monk' before but started watching its latest season and I am finding it quite interesting. Also new on my list are '90210', (I have seen few episodes of the older version 'Beverly Hills, 90210' which is currently being shown on Zee Cafe) the crime thriller 'Castle', witty and humorous 'Three and a half men' and the hilariously geeky 'Big bang theory'.

Even 'Lost' is back with its final season but having missed a lot of it, I am trying not to watch it since I would prefer watching the ones I have missed before I see how it ends. So, maybe I will have to wait a while before I get to see it. Then again, I might just be too tempted to watch it.

As I enjoy my latest addictions, I am waiting for the next installments of my other ecstasies, 'Brothers and sisters', 'Heroes' etc. to come by. Why such addictions? I guess we all need some 'feel good' factor in our lives. Even if it may seem really 'idiotic' inside the 'box', living out of it can be too taxing sometimes.

Calvin and Hobbes, May 5, 1992, by Bill Watterson