failure: my four-letter word

over the last few months, i have watched someone succeed so unbelievably where i (in my opinion) had failed so miserably... i see that person doing the things i wish i had done, and being the person i wish i had been in the same circumstances... it's very easy, now, to look back and see how i could have changed my experience, but in the moment, i was weary and overwhelmed, unprepared and uncertain... all excuses, i tell myself, for this person must have felt the same as i did, but just acted differently towards their experience...

failure is just another lesson learned... a mistake made that we will hopefully not repeat... the only problem with failure is that we, ourselves, thrust the knife so deep into our heart that we open a wound big enough for us to pour salt in freely, every day of our life... and the skin becomes sensitive around that wound, so that when someone else comes too close to us, we yell and scream at them for hurting us... only because we need a break from the self-blame for a moment... and sometimes, seeing someone thrive where we failed smarts that old wound... for though the blood may be dry and the wound may have healed, the scar has not let us forget about the pain of failure...

forgiveness has been said to be divine, and it is... but forgiveness towards whom? for if we do not forgive ourselves first, who else, then, will we truly be able to forgive? we must first forgive ourselves for thrusting the knife in so deep - only then will we be able to see the truth... that mistakes were meant to be made, failures were meant to help us grow, wounds were meant to heal, and we were meant to move on, move forward... and the core of that truth is - there are no failures, just experiences...

so, for all the things i wanted to do but didn't, all the expectations i wanted to meet but couldn't, and all the experiences i wish i had created but hadn't... here is what i have learned:

I Forgive Myself.

United Divas Diva of the Month!

United Divas, a website dedicated to empowering women to be artistic leaders, professionals, innovators, and role models, has honoured me as March/April's Diva of the Month!!!

I am so excited about it - thank you so much for this wonderful opportunity, Jan and the team at United Divas! You all made my month - well, two months (March and April)!

Be sure to check me out and support their wonderful endeavours!

a smile found

It isn't every day that someone tells you that you were brought into their life by the grace of God. It isn't every day that someone says your presence made an indescribable impact on their life. No, it isn't every day that someone finds their smile, their hope, and a desire to pay it forward because of you.

It isn't every day that you can take a person's life and sprinkle magic into it just by granting their wish. And what is a wish, anyway? Winnie the Pooh said 'A wish is a dream your heart makes'. So can we make a heart's dream come true? And if we can, will we? And if we will, when? And why not now?

I don't remember why I joined the Make a Wish Foundation, but one day I decided to stop talking and just do it. I was assigned a family where the parents only spoke Hindi. Woohoo, I speak Hindi - let's go! I met our wish child and told her she could have any wish in the whole world - anything!

Her wish? To decorate her parents' room because they had no furniture so they slept on the floor. Wow... There are not many people who are selfless, and even fewer who would give up the pyramids in Egypt for their parents' comfort. But that was her wish. We pushed and convinced her to switch rooms with her parents and have her own new room decorated instead, and she finally agreed - though reluctantly. This was the kickoff to my first wish, and I already had tears in my eyes!

I won't go through the endless months of details, but in the end, we granted her wish, and so much more. More importantly, though, she gave me the best gift of all in return for ours - her smile... her laugh. I could see her road ahead, and it was recovery... it was life.

Today, her mother thanked me. It isn't every day that someone tells you that you brought something into their life that they wouldn't have been able to bring into their own. No, it isn't every day that someone looks into your eyes with newfound hope, and tells you that you are a gift from God.

No, it isn't every day. But it was today.

someone wrote it best

i came across this passage by eugene o'neill and it captured everything so well... so instead of writing my own entry that would probably be unmatchable, i'll just write his up instead... after all, why try to rewrite that which has been written so well?

Why am I afraid to dance, I who love music and rhythm and grace and song and laughter? Why am I afraid to live, I who love life and the beauty of flesh and the living colors of earth and sky and sea? Why am I afraid to love, I who love love? Why am I afraid, I who am not afraid? Why must I pretend to scorn in order to pity? Why must I hide myself in self-contempt in order to understand? Why must I be so ashamed of my strength, so proud of my weakness? Why must I live in a cage like a criminal, defying and hating, I who love peace and friendship? Why was I born without a skin? O God, that I must wear armor in order to touch or be touched.

Eugene O'Neill - (from The Great God Brown)

the beauty of india

i spent almost a year in india recently, volunteering for an ngo in bangalore... while i was there, i was asked by a friend to describe the beauty of india, and i thought everyone might enjoy hearing about it... words cannot possibly do justice to the myriad of sensations that pass through you every moment of every day, but this was my feeble attempt to provide an inkling of how i felt while i was there...

the beauty of india... the beauty of india is in the smiles of the street and slum children who excitedly and incessantly wave hi and bye to me everytime i pass by them... its in the bare feet of the mothers who walk in the dirt rock road with their pantless children on their hips... its in the tough soles of the children who happily play barefoot in the rocks and weeds that make up their home, and in the tougher souls of the mothers who raise these children with love and give them the smiles on their faces... its in the tiny outstretched hands of the children beggars who should be in school, but who instead lay their souls in the palm of their hand for a rupee... its in the glimmer of the ring that adorns each woman's nose... its in the sweet tinkle of the anklets that sing on women's feet as they walk by... its in the dirty silk or cotton or chiffon that still manages to drape elegantly over their shoulders... its in the scented jasmine flowers that are strewn through their hair... next to a fully lit, extravagant house, its in the woman squatting in the weeds and rocks in front of a fire in the night to cook dinner for her children... its in the beautiful chalk designs that are drawn anew every morning, adorning the ground in front of the doorways of each house... its in the religious fervor and the love for God engrained in every single person who lives here... its in the harmony in the air while diwali, a hindu festival, and ramzan and eid, muslim festivals, are being celebrated together in the same weekend... its in the fireworks that have been gracing our skies for the past month, out of joy for the various religious celebrations that have overtaken the country... its in the elaborate carvings on temple walls and the indescribable architecture of temples and mosques that are built in any little corner and on any little street that can fit it... its in the tender flute that wakes me up some mornings from the house next door... its in the music that resonates in the streets from shops... its in the sweet voice of the lady singing in the field for all the people working in the blazing sun, encouraging them, lifting their souls, lifting my soul... its in the joyous song of the child shepherd who is herding cows down the road next to me... its in the loud cry of the vegetable seller who sings out the products he is selling as he walks down the road... its in johnson, one of the children from the lowest class in my school, who, when asked why he loves school, told me that he loved it for the food that he gets to eat... its in the appreciation that emanated from raju, one of the children from the highest class, who, at lunchtime, told me he was too full to finish his food but kept eating because "they gave us the food to eat"... its in the little girls from the lowest class, who, when asked what they wanted to be when they grew up, answered with "dish washers" or "clothes cleaners", because their mothers (those who have mothers) held those positions, because they weren't yet aware of all the opportunities that awaited them in the world... its in the child whose birthday it is in school, who gets to dress out of uniform in her best clothes and walk around the school handing out sweets to everyone, even if her family does not have enough money to feed themselves some nights... its in the joy that emanates from all the slum children, because life is simple and they cannot fathom a reason for sadness... its in the disintegration of all complexities as you learn what real life is all about... its in the peace and appreciation you cannot ignore... its in the word akka that i hear everytime i walk into school... its in everything and everyone that makes up this country... its in every second that i get to experience here... the beauty of india is india itself, and the secret it holds in its soul... and no one could ever explain this to me, i had to come here to understand... these words cannot even remotely do justice to the beauty of india... that is the beauty of india...

technical writing

ok, so i do have a day job - i'm a technical writer...
i kind of fell into the job, not something i studied to be, but i guess i'm good at it since i haven't been fired yet... i think maybe i fell into it as a way to keep myself writing, because i had stopped for a while...
being a technical writer is boring, yes, but sometimes it brings out some quirky sides of me... here is a poem i wrote one day, bored on the job...

an ode to a paperclip

oh paperclip paperclip
sitting on the tabletop
do you wish you were holding papers
do you wish the agony would stop?

oh paperclip paperclip
a wire deformed
would you rather be a computer cord
would you rather hold forms

oh paperclip paperclip
you uniter of paper
you joiner of lost souls
you potential finger scraper

oh paperclip paperclip
how do you live
how do you fulfill your purpose
when you have nothing left to give

oh paperclip paperclip
wire of my heart
i will not mourn your parting
but i will mourn our time apart

I Create

I just learned that the word poetry comes from the ancient Greek poieo, which translates into I Create.

And since the word Rachna comes from Sanskrit (Hindi) and means Creation, I feel like somehow, writing was engrained in me.

Maybe that's why I feel I have no choice but to write, because if I don't, I'm failing all that is me and what I am made of.

Here's to creating...