My Celebrity Look-alikes

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Read between the lines ud... =)

http://www.myheritage.com

playing the sitar...

Solfas fill the air one by one,
Brimming with perfection, flaws none.
They twist and turn in the air,
Creating an atmosphere so very rare.
Moved by this audible beauty,
My eyes scan for the source so bounty.

Several strings jump in excitement,
Encouraged by fingers trained to experiment.
I greedily take in the gleam of the wood,
And the carvings that complement this mood.
Knobs and swans are more than decorations,
I realise with a pang of admiration.

The skilled fingers move knowingly over the frets,
Each move capable of taking taking off hats.
They said he was a master,
They said he was the teacher.
Eager to feel the touch of this magic,
I approached the teacher to learn what's basic.

He brought me over mountains,
He brought me out of valleys.
What was good was always complemented,
All apologies made were always accepted.

I wish to continue this heavenly journey,
Regardless of how risky it may turn out to be.
Because i know one thing for sure,
That for me, my teacher's always here.

A marriage

Dedicated to my cousin brother...

A marriage celebrates a new beginning,
A shower of blossoms keeps the love dwelling.
The birds in the sky sing resplendently,
To the glory of the couple dressed glitteringly.
Seated on thrones that mark life and duty,
Each enters a world of heavenly beauty.
Staying together through thick and thin,
Is a sense of commitment that is foreseen.
So shall you find a greater grace within,
Congratulations, let the new life begin!

HOPE IS THE THING WITH FEATHERS

Swetha reached out her bony fingers towards the feather on the ground. She was careful not to allow the caked mud on her hands and inside her fingernails to take away the beauty of her new prize. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. An almond shaped feather with ringlets of blue, purple and green arranged in a way that gave the whole feather the image of an attentive eye.

Just holding it in her hands made her feel that she was going to accomplish something…something that she had always wanted to do. She looked down at her frayed clothes, scrawny limbs and let her weak fingers touch her disheveled hair. Her eyes stung with tears. “I’ll never be able to become a dancer,” she cried softly.

“Yes you will, my dear. The first peacock feather I found carried me very far,” said a voice behind. Startled, Swetha turned to look at the owner of the voice.

15 years later…

Swetha felt every muscle in her arm stretching and she finished the lovely movement with a graceful turn on her poised foot to end the step in perfect timing with the music. The bliss that she felt with each movement was indescribable. She was more than proud and contented to feel the stage lights piercing into her eyes, to feel more than a thousand pairs of eyes focusing only on her, and to hear a deafening applause after each complicated routine.

After a few more routines, she went down on her knees, her hands in the humble namaskar, yet proud with victory; her heart heavy with emotions yet light with happiness; her body tired from dancing, yet fresh with her passion for the art. More tears stained her cheeks as she saw the audience stirring for a standing ovation.

Her eyes moved around wildly for her teacher, her guru, whom without, she would have remained as Swetha the orphan. ‘Reynu Amma’ as she fondly called her was standing near the wing clapping with all her might. Dedication, love and patience were visible in every wrinkle on her face.

10 years later…

Swetha carefully stepped over the huge rock and tried to balance on it as her husband playfully pulled the washed clothes away from her hands. But when she turned to face him, her eyes rested instead on a scene beyond her husband’s shoulders. It was a small girl looking alternately at her reflection in the river and at something in her hand.

Swetha walked briskly to the girl and stared in amazement as she heard a very familiar phrase. “I would never be able to become like Swetha Madam.” Swetha put her hand on the girl’s tiny shoulder and turned her body towards her. She recognized the pain and determination in her eyes.

She held her tiny face in her hands and said, “The art does not choose the dancer. The dancer chooses the art. The dance doesn’t know how pretty you are, how tall you are, or how intelligent you are. Dance does not control the strength of your body. You do. It is not just skin deep, but it comes from the burning fire of passion from the very depths of your heart. If your love for dance can remain stronger than the pain you experience from surrendering your body to dance, you will shine. Because when you see a good dancer, you would know that she must have broken at least 1/20 of her bones and torn 1/15 of her muscles before.

She let out a soft giggle and looked down shyly. “What is your name?” Swetha received silence for an answer.

“I will call you Lasya.” Swetha couldn’t decide which was brighter, the sun, or Lasya’s eyes. “Come with me and I’ll decide which muscle you tear, which leg you sprain, and which direction you fall in.”

Having said that, Swetha guided Lasya back to her husband. As Sanjay carried Lasya into his arms, he whispered softly into Swetha’s ear, “Even Reynu Amma wouldn’t be able to recognize that speech.”

Smiling, Swetha reached for Lasya’s hand that she had been hiding behind her all this while. “Ah, I see you have very colorful hope in your hand. Hope is a thing with feathers. I will help you to blow it further.”

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“Hope is the thing with feathers” happens to be a line in a poem written by Emily Dickinson. Indeed, it flies from individual to individual and lights up the darkest lives. Never lose hope; never keep it all to yourself. Share it with those who need it, become the person who gives hope. Let others feel that life is worth living. You can make a difference.

Stars are many, Sky is one

STARS ARE MANY, SKY IS ONE

I carefully placed the washed dishes on the rack as I contemplated on what the speaker had said yesterday. “We have to learn how to visualize unity in diversity. There is only one religion, the religion of love. God is one, therefore, we should not separate people through religion.”

I found it difficult to accept such views. The talk I heard yesterday was running in my mind over and over again. I still was not used to the belief in interfaith. I gave a quick glance at the clock and realized that it was time to wake my son up. As I made my way up the staircase, I could hear a faint hissing sound coming from the bedroom.

The mother in me immediately started making wild conclusions as I rushed to the bedroom. There was my three year old son on the bed struggling for breath. I hurriedly scooped him into my arms and got into the car. Upon reaching the hospital, the nurses rushed my son into the ICU.

Worried and anxious, I sat in the waiting room outside the ward. This was his third asthma attack and probably the worst one. As I was fretting, a Malay man in his sixties, dressed in a short sleeved t-shirt and sarong came and stood in front of me. His beard and moustache reminded me of those religious teachers in my primary school. I never felt comfortable near them. I looked up at him half questioningly and half annoyed that he should disturb me at a time like this.

“What is your name, my child?” he asked in a soft and gentle voice.

“Your child? Oh, whatever!” I thought miserably. I reluctantly mumbled my name and turned away. He sat down beside me and looked at me. “What is wrong with your son?”

As briefly as possible, I explained to him about my son’s asthma attack. “Don’t worry,” he said. “He will be fine. A bright child he is. I have children too. They are all over the world. If they knew I was here, they will all come rushing here to see me and I’m afraid the hospital is not big enough to hold all of them,” he said with a chuckle.

The man was not making any sense but I managed to give him a faint smile. “Don’t you want to ask me anything?” he asked when I didn’t say anything.

“What do you work as?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“I own many companies all over the world. And my children are willing to do my work for me voluntarily anywhere and everywhere.”

I tried my best to look impressed at what he had just said. “What does your son like to play with?” he asked me.

For the sake of getting rid of this stranger, I said, “He likes toy cars.”

Within minutes, the old man returned with a white car and a white teddy bear. “Give this car to your son and you keep the teddy bear for yourself. I will be in room 103 if you want to see me.” With that, he went away.

I looked at the toy car and smiled. I looked at the teddy bear and burst out laughing despite the situation I was in. “Funny old man, but he seemed to be so concerned over both of us’” I thought to myself. A few minutes later, the doctor came out of the ward to say that Arun was perfectly alright. I rushed in and fussed over him for a short while.

When Arun saw the toy car and the teddy bear, he asked, “Mummy, is that what the old uncle gave you?”

Quite shocked, I asked him, “How did you know?”

“Because he told he will take care of me and that he had bought me a present.”

Not wanting to discuss this issue any further, I promised my son that we’ll visit the old uncle later that evening. As we stood in front of room 103, I was still pondering about how the old man had communicated with my son. I pushed open the door and saw a nurse cleaning the room. I asked her, “Was an elderly man admitted here before this?”

“No ma’am.”

My son and I exchanged puzzled looks. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to face a kind faced, middle aged woman in a sari. “I think you’re looking for this, dear,” she said as she thrust something into my hand. Before I could say anything, she went around the corner and out of sight.

The picture I was looking at was none other than the divine and caring figure I worshipped so faithfully everyday. There was something written underneath the picture. “I come in different forms. I have many children who love to serve me. –Baba”

Tears rolled down at my cheek as I looked at the toys in my son’s hands and recalled how the old Malay man had talked to me. If only I had paid more attention. It was a miracle. After all this, I was not insane to continue separating people by religion.

We are all children of God. Hence, we are nothing but brothers and sisters to each other. It’s not about calling everybody ‘brother’ or ‘sister’ but it’s about believing in it and practicing it with a whole and sincere heart. We have to develop a habit of visualizing unity in diversity. - Shalini

Have Faith, There is a Reason for Everything

Have Faith, there is a Reason for Everything
He was like his name, Doren, a Gift…
(If A exerts a force on B, then B exerts an equal opposite force on A - Newton's Law.)

I sat crouched in a corner,
Tormented by shame, worry and fear.
Amidst my rough sea of emotions,
I felt a gentle hand awakening my senses
I looked up to see your figure,
And felt magic in the atmosphere.
That moment still so vivid in my mind,
Never lets me forget you who came at the right time…

A simple teen at the age of 15, I always strived to be the cream of the crop. I dared myself to do everything there was to as I told myself, “You live life only once. Make the most of it.” To me, success was my duty, my responsibility. But at one point, I failed. Nobody expected it and neither did I. Being the best I was, failure was something I just couldn’t accept.

Then came this man whom I fondly called ‘Uncle Doren’. I had met him a few times but never once did I expect him to mean so much to me and take me out of the box which even my parents couldn’t pull me out from. He helped me to understand that failure was part of life. It was difficult for a strong headed person like me to accept such advices. Nevertheless he never gave up. He once told me, “Failure is like a road hump. It only slows you down. Don’t stay on the humps for too long. Get moving.”

My reasons seemed so meaningless for you to cradle,
Your advices were too meaningful for me to handle…

I had become a very sensitive and weak person. I could no longer laugh and joke with friends with the same joy and confidence. Anything and everything hurt me. For this he would say, “Happiness is your choice. Don’t let others mess with it. I feel great because I choose to feel great and you should too.” He patiently helped to build my strength even though I would purposely be stubborn at times.

In the beginning, I took advice from him as any youth would from an adult. But as time went on, I realized that Uncle Doren was more than that.

You cared for me like a father,
I wonder if you ever thought me as daughter.
My happiness gave you bliss,
By crying I was taking a risk.
Each time you gave me a praise,
My heart soared up as though given a raise.
Each time you pointed out my mistake,
Resolutions were made to change for your sake.

No words could describe the amount of love and awe I had for him. He was the only other soul apart from my parents to whom I told everything.

Then one day, as quick as he came, he appeared to have left my life.

I was left in shock and disappointment. My parents knew that I was deeply hurt but each time they brought up the issue, I would put up a brave front and lie, “God sent him to help me become a stronger person. He did his duty, he left. He didn’t mean much to me anyway.” But I would ask God “Why did this happen?”

He was not just my uncle; he was my mentor, my inspiration, my guide.

I still can’t decide which was worse, failing an exam or losing Uncle Doren whom I loved with all my heart. I talk to him once in a while but the bond that existed between us is no longer there. No…I cannot describe a bond as something physical, it is from heart to heart, soul to soul. God has never spoken to me but I still have faith in Him..

Before I knew it you were gone,
I wish to say no more as you have left me forlorn.
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I’m sure most of us would have experienced pain and pleasure in our lives. Anything and everything comes in pairs. Positive and negative, black and white, real and fake, big and small. It’s just how we look at it. Between two pleasures there is a pain. Don’t look at it as between two pains there is a pleasure. Everything happens for a reason. Only God knows why and when it must happen to whom. Have full faith in Him and surrender everything at His feet.

A Dedication to a Chemistry Teacher

We look at things around us,
As tables, chairs and stationeries,
While yuo look at them.
As atoms, molecules and electrons.
Sometimes I wonder,
A question lurks somewhere,
In an organ I call the 'heart',
Do you look at us,
As a concoction of chemicals,
Or a bundle of mischief and nuisance?
When we feel like running away
From someone who nags,
We somehow tend to listen to you when you nag.
Is it our love for chemistry?
Or your motherly love for us?
That's for us to know,
For you to find out...

At this height of my emotions,
I just want you to know,
How much I appreciate you,
I would like to tell you,
That you have been the most remarkable teacher
That i've known,
Thank you so much...
For all you have done.