The Rebelle blog

आज मी बऱ्याच दिवसांनी ट्रेनचा प्रवास केला. तसा नेहमीच करते, पण आज पुस्तक वाचता- वाचता गर्दी कमी असल्याकारणाने बाहेर खिडकीतून बघायला मिळालं. काही विचार डोक्यात आले. जिथे उतरले तिथून ज्या रस्त्यावर पायपीट करायला सुरुवात केली तिथे ताम्रशिंबी अर्थात कॉपर पॉड ची ओळीने लावलेली असंख्य झाडं रस्ताभर मला साथ करत होती. पिवळ्या रंगाची अशी उधळून पाहून मन प्रसन्न झालं. मला उगाच त्या रस्त्यावरून परत येता जाता फिरायला आवडेल असं वाटून गेलं. मी मुंबईतल्या फोर्ट भागातल्या छोट्या रस्त्यांवर अशीच फिरते. एकटीने चालायला मला फार आवडतं. डोक्यात असंख्य विषय असतात, त्यांच्याशी एक द्वंद सतत चालू असतं. चेहरा निर्विकार ठेवून फिरणं आता मला जमतं. पूर्वी मी करत असलेल्या विचारांनी फार गुंगून गेल्यामुळे माझ्या चेहऱ्यावर त्रासिक भाव फार पटकन उमटायचे. आता थोडं शहाणपण आलंय. आज रस्त्याने चालताना, ऐन उन्हात त्या पिवळ्या फुलांनी बहरलेल्या झाडांनी फार आत्मिक समाधान आणि शांतता दिली माझ्या विचलित चित्ताला. गेल्या कित्येक दिवसांपासून सारखं माझी फार घालमेल होतेय, सतत अजून न घडणाऱ्या गोष्टींनी मला फार चिंतातूर केलंय. कोणाशी ब...

Suddenly after a regular, mundane week of carrying the same activities comes a day like today. I am super happy. I revived my National Geographic account on the internet and posted a few entries. They received such a tremendous response that this encouragement has made me look at everything in a new light. Suddenly, everything seems full of life and lively vigour and my spirits have undergone a positive change. I feel that the spark I felt was missing is here for me to reclaim and embrace again. I wish to share a photograph here that is very dear to me. I clicked this last year during a Christmas vacation on a hill- station with my family. All of us went for an evening walk to see the sunset and hill tops tend to surprise walkers. We were transfixed by the changing soft glow of sun and the incessant chirping of birds that seemed to magnify its sound over the quiet walkways. Somewhere between walking through the uphill roads, my father stopped and took out his cell phone to see th...

As I reread excerpts from Rilke's Letters to a young poet while also rummaging through my memory for old images from a time long ago, it amuses me how much life is entwined within poetry and fiction. The late Swedish poet, Tomas Transtromer wrote in The Blue House about the open terrain which was once a garden and now wilderness, the house resembling a child's drawing. I am intrigued by that drawing. I wonder if it will have a small red roofed house with a chimney and flower garden, with blue skies and the sun shining bright over a small pathway lined with shrubs. This is my drawing. It has fascinated me all these years, refusing to fade from my memory. Many other things have been forgotten but this house with its red roof stands fresh and surprisingly in 2D. Transtromer writes about an amateur painting hung over the bed representing a ship with seventeen sails, rough sea and a wind which the gilded frame cannot subdue, The wind blows in my hair and sends a chill down my ...

एक सपने सा लगता है वो दिन। पहाड़ों में घूमने का मेरा हमेशा से ही अरमान रहा था। वो ऊँचे देवदार के वृक्ष, पाईन के कोनो को ज़मींन पर पाना और सफ़ेद रंग का हर तरफ दिखना। ऐसे दृश्य देखकर मुझे अक्सर हिंदी फिल्मों के गाने याद आते है। इतना फिल्मों से लगाव नहीं है जितना गानों से है, खासकर वो गानें जो मूलतः कविता के रूप में लिखी गई थी और उसे संगीत का साज चढ़ाकर फिल्मों में पेश किया गया। मेरे पिताजी ने उनके शिमला के वास्तव दौरान की कई सारी Black & White तस्वीरें  आज तक सहेज कर रखी है। जब कभी मेरा मन होता है, मैं उन्हें देख लेती हूँ। रंगीन तस्वीरों की भी अलग ही बात होती है। रंग जैसे आज का दौर दिखलाती है, वहीं B&W रंगीन शीशों को पार कर गुजरे जमाने में ले जाती है। मानो हम इतिहास में यात्रा कर रहे हों। मसुरी, देहरादून, अल्मोड़ा - ये सारी जगहें बचपन में किसी जादुई नगरी सी लगती थी। आज भी लगती है, किंतु बचपन में हमारी कल्पनाशक्ति जैसे होती है, जिस निरागस भाव से बच्चें दुनिया निहारते है, वो नज़रिया बड़े होकर लुप्त हो जाता हैं। अपनी मासूमियत को जीवित रखने का हम सब प्रयास तो कर ही सकते है।  ...

My friend, Deepa teaches at an Architecture College and we always discuss academics and students. Thus, one fine Tuesday March morning, I landed up in her college to be a Guest Lecturer for her third year Humanities class. I had never addressed a class formally before and was quite anxious about the response of the students. Like some calm reverie, I set foot in the class, was introduced and began my talk. It was a wonderful 2 hour session with a 15 minute break. The students were attentive and quite responsive. Once I felt comfortable talking to them, we had a great discussion on cities and city dwellers. While I was lecturing them on Urban Planning and Mumbai Metropolitan Region, they seemed very eager to visit the heritage villages pocketed in Girgaon, Bandra and Mazgaon. Dee took this idea forward and now after a month, we have a group of students from the same class who will attend a heritage walk with Dee and  me. It feels great to have culminated an idea into such an e...

The railroad track is miles away,        And the day is loud with voices speaking, Yet there isn’t a train goes by all day        But I hear its whistle shrieking. All night there isn’t a train goes by,        Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming, But I see its cinders red on the sky,        And hear its engine steaming. My heart is warm with friends I make,        And better friends I'll not be knowing; Yet there isn’t a train I wouldn’t take,        No matter where it’s going. (Source: poem-a-day- Academy of American Poets) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Edna St Vincent Millay was born in 1892 and she died in 1950. Quite Young. I am fascinated by her poems and Edna herself. She's so mysterious. So far, I haven't been able to procure any of her written works yet. This poem appea...