today is ...

different, not
like yesteryears

today is ...

the day I-
-feel like I have finally grown up
-shift focus
-stop being the most important person I know
-don't mean a lot to me
-feel I have lived enough for myself

-am 32

today is ...

the day I-
-don't really care about anymore

today is ...
the first day
of my tomorrows

fame is a mask ...

... that eats into the face

He was not just once in a century

just once ... period

Mr Eliot says...

faith and love and hope are all in the waiting

so we wait

for you to

invade

conquer

vanquish

our lives as we know it now

and imbue

new meaning

into the same old wor(l)ds

that we thought we knew

to paraphrase that great man:

in the darkness you dance

as we hold still

(our breaths

our lives

our future)

in the light

a question

hungry boys
dark skinned
weeping

weeping boys
skinned in hunger
dark

dark boys
weeping skin
hungry

the truth
(anyway I look at it)
leaves me ashamed
of my comfortable life

then why do I
cling to apathy
in the midst of my shame,
choosing mere words over
selfless acts of
kindness?

smileys for fat people

:-))
double chin

:-P))
double chin sees supersize burger

:-{}))
double chin eating supersize burger

:-)))
double chin smiles after supersize burger

:-)))))
double chin looking down at plate

:-(((
double chin sees empty plate

thoughtons (thought photons)

talking to friends
suddenly
her smile finds mine

tea dust escapes the bag
hitching a ride
on hot water

the little hourglass does

cartwheels

as my desktop meditates

red LED glow
dark screen
waits for dawn

Digital Omniscience

How does one cope with spirituality in a digital world? Religion as ever is overrated - hardly worth adhering to when madmen decide what God is telling his flock, but spirituality is a different matter altogether.

Maybe God is like the internet, we all 'know' it is out there, yet it is not tangible, but for those willing to access it, there are benefits (which may only be subjective).

If so, then one could extend the analogy further - surely it does not matter if one uses FireFox or IE, AOL or Virgin, Google or Altavista, Yahoo or Hotmail ...

... if used judiciously, it helps to tap into a higher plane of awareness.

But, just like the internet, there are dangers - not surprisingly, arising from the misdemeanors of Man than the imperfections of the Entity

And as with all things, caveat emptor when choosing between ploughshares and swords.

Chinese calender: addendum et erratum

In the Chinese calender, where each year is assigned one of twelve animals, 2008 was the year of the rat, the year of the most extravagant and well planned Olympics - staged by the collective consciousness of a great people, rightly proud of their culture and heritage.

Nevertheless, I think that the Chinese have picked the wrong animal, for ...

... it was the year when a little boy who played behind his father's grocery store in Trelawny became the first man to take a breather (and a leisurely backward glance) BEFORE reaching the finish line in the most spectacular display of athletic ability that this planet has ever witnessed.

... it was the year when a father saw his dream come to life as his son leapt nimbly onto a podium to be crowned the youngest ever Formula One World Champion.

... it was the year when life imitated Morgan Freeman as intertwining streams of humanity came together in time and space to bring 'Change to America', which would have been impossible to imagine a few decades ago, in a country with seemingly permanent fault lines along inconsequential borders of skin pigmentation.

... it was also the year when, far removed from all things glamorous and newsworthy, amongst the closed down docks of an old city of migrants, a man fought off his demons and clawed his way up to his dream of a job, to spend a lifetime seeped in the rhythms and murmurs of a few hundred grams of red meat ticking away in all of us.

Surely, 2008 was The Year of the Underdog.

dry your eyes

What is it about music that grips you by the soul, far deeper than anything else ever can?

The written word does occassionally stir you emotionally and sometimes even catch you unawares, exposing something tender and raw.

Think of the breathless beauty of the closing pages of the House of God; the helpless, yet nonchalant statement of irrevocable facts of life in English Passengers; the sadness of growing up in the final lines of The Lord of the Flies; the desperation of poverty in American Gods and the searing anger refusing to Go Gently into that Good Night.

However, nothing comes close to music, whether it is classical, traditional or mainstream, in it's ability to transport you, sometimes rudely dragging you by the arm, to a place of pain and beauty, nimbly leaping over barriers of race, language and culture.

So I thought I will compile a tiny list of music to hear at least once before you die:

1. Barber's Adagio for strings - which adds leadweights to your soul in unrelenting increments, making you sink ever lower into beauty till it envelopes you completely and amniotically.
2. Tracy Chapman singing Fast car - the sheer hope of unfulfilled destiny rising from the dying embers of desperate nonexistence.
3. Don Henley coming of age in End of Innocence.
4. Third Eye Blind's definitive song for dying relationships, Motorcycle driveby.
5. Pinneyum, honed to lyrical perfection by Girish Puthenchery.
6. A R Rahman's Jage Hain in full orchestral glory.
7. Fall of a leaf gently traced on a willing cello by Imogen Holst.
8. Piano man, Billy Joel's enduring tribute to shattered dreams.
9. And today, after I dried my eyes, I added one more to my list - the blind native Australian singer Geoffrey Gurrumul Yunupingu singing 'Bapa', mourning the loss of his father. I cannot understand a word he says, except for 'Bapa' which is surprisingly similar to the colloquial Malayalam word for father (proving that plate tectonics really happened, I guess).

Here is the youtube link for interested souls:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LvJPXAV0eB4

he taught me:

to have faith in the goodness of man even when let down by others
to not define people (including myself) by colour, race or religion
to always keep my eye on the ball and swing away with all my heart
to clear a path through the forest of injustice rather than -
- fight the monster of prejudice
to learn to squeeze past the narrow minds of others
to try harder each time I fall
to accept the disappointments as I would do the successes
to not let bitterness cloud my judgement
to not lose humility in the presence of achievement
to never let others down at work
to have true passion for what I do
to not judge people on their imperfections
to be at peace with the decisions I make
to never look back in anger

and most importantly,
to have the confidence to sing very badly
and to pretend to know how to use the kitchen

she taught me:

to touch the bottle mouth to the glass and save the last drop from rolling down the side
to use the back end of a teaspoon to scoop out congealed ketchup
to snip off just the right length of Sellotape when wrapping presents
to not let the last few drops fall on the floor when I use the boys' room
to write 'O's anticlockwise
to repair torn trouser seats and dangly buttons on my own
to swallow pills of all shapes and sizes with impunity (I was a very sickly child)
to pay attention to detail whether I am dusting furniture or suturing wounds
to admit defeat with grace and not be a sore loser
to not be happy with mediocrity
to never look at the person behind me in skills or achievements
to distinguish intellectual stagnation from personal satisfaction
to do the best with what I have
to always find ways of improving what I do
to aim for the stars without fear
to put family before all else

all I can add to her list is:
to be as good a son as I can ever hope to be

that good night

Quarter past six - still at work seeing the last of the ward referrals.

Old man with falls, the form says - cardiology opinion to see if a pacemaker would help.

I don't feel so well, I think I am coming down with a flu (again). 'Let's make this quick' - I say to myself. She has already texted me twice about picking me up from work and I just want to go home and curl up in front of the TV, ignoring my MD thesis yet again.

I get to the ward and leaf through the notes.

Familiar story - frail and old, fell down, wife could not get him back on his feet, brought to hospital, now bed bound. His heartbeat was slow (but not too slow) and maybe a pacemaker would help.

Hmmm..., I am not convinced. So after a quick glance at the drug chart to confirm that we are not feeding him anything to weigh his old heart down, I walk (swagger) upto the patient.

He looks tiny in the big white bed. He seems forgettable in the ubiqitous hospital greens (Why can't people have their own clothes in hospital? They would certainly look healthier without those sickly greens).

He looks up from his shapeless, nameless hospital meal and I see the tell tale glint of lens replacement in his eyes. 'Hello', I say, as I give this man (who is at least three times my age) a paternistic (patronising) pat on his knee, 'I am one of the heart doctors and I am here to see what I can do to help you'.

He throws an angry glance in my direction. 'Well you can start by coming back after I finish my meal. And I don't like to be rushed either. I hate it when people just start talking AT a blind man without warning'

I look down at the form - yes it is there in print - 'registered blind'. Two months into my specialty training, am I already turning into an 'organ doctor' without concern for the rest of the patient?

'I am sorry to startle you, Sir. I'll come back when you're done' I say and withdraw from the bay.

I give her a call in the stairwell (mobile safe area) to say that it may take a bit longer than I thought. Then I go to the next ward to check on another patient (but end up checking my emails instead).

I am back in about 15 minutes. I sneak a guilty look into his bay to see if he has finished his meal - and I am only slightly ashamed of the relief I feel when I realise that he is not aware of my presence.

I go up to him to find out what's wrong:

- He is registered blind

- He looks after his wife - who is older than him (and he is 91!)

- He fought for his country at the age of 21 (he didn't think he would make it out of France alive)

- He is fiercely independent

- He does not suffer fools

- He does not like to be patronised

- He expects decency but does not demand it

- He is an extraordinary man in ordinary skin

'Now I may not be an educated man, but surely 91 years of life must count for something' he says.

I do what I can for him - which is not much at all.

As I walk up to the car (she is tapping the steering wheel - not a good sign), wondering about my own old age (how old? will she be there? please God let her be there), Dylan Thomas whispers to me in a blind man's voice:

'Do not go gently into that good night'