Archive | March, 2011

The Sum of All Things. (yes, you are a marvel)

29 Mar
“Each second we live is a new and unique moment of the universe, a moment that will never be again. And what do we teach our children? We teach them that two and two make four, and that Paris is the capital of France. When will we also teach them what they are? We should say to each of them: Do you know what you are? You are a marvel. You are unique. In all the years that have passed, there has never been another child like you. Your legs, your arms, your clever fingers, the way you move. You may become a Shakespeare, a Michelangelo, a Beethoven. You have the capacity for anything. Yes, you are a marvel. And when you grow up, can you then harm another who is, like you, a marvel? You must work, we must all work, to make the world worthy of its children.”     
Pablo Picasso

you’ll put on your carpet slippers and stride out.

29 Mar

Instead of Terrific Music Tuesday, I wanted to post a poem by Anne Sexton, an amazing poet that I discovered (by way of an awesome poetry professor) in college. Couldn’t get enough of her.  She popped into my mind the other day and I’ve re-discovered her work all over again. This particular piece by her is nothing short of inspiring, especially in light of some significant steps that I’m thinking about taking in my life (and there are much deeper themes at work here, especially the transformative powers of pain, despair, and sorrow):

It is in the small things we see it.
The child’s first step,
as awesome as an earthquake.
The first time you rode a bike,
wallowing up the sidewalk.
The first spanking when your heart
went on a journey all alone.
When they called you crybaby
or poor or fatty or crazy
and made you into an alien,
you drank their acid
and concealed it.

if you faced the death of bombs and bullets
you did not do it with a banner,
you did it with only a hat to
cover your heart.
You did not fondle the weakness inside you
though it was there.
Your courage was a small coal
that you kept swallowing.
If your buddy saved you
and died himself in so doing,
then his courage was not courage,
it was love; love as simple as shaving soap.

if you have endured a great despair,
then you did it alone,
getting a transfusion from the fire,
picking the scabs off your heart,
then wringing it out like a sock.
Next, my kinsman, you powdered your sorrow,
you gave it a back rub
and then you covered it with a blanket
and after it had slept a while
it woke to the wings of the roses
and was transformed.

when you face old age and its natural conclusion
your courage will still be shown in the little ways,
each spring will be a sword you’ll sharpen,
those you love will live in a fever of love,
and you’ll bargain with the calendar
and at the last moment
when death opens the back door
you’ll put on your carpet slippers
and stride out.

dare you not to be moved.

25 Mar

Anyone who ever loved, could look at me
And know that I love you
Anyone who ever dreamed, could look at me
And know I dream of you
Knowing I love you, so…

Anyone who had a heart
Would take me in his arms and love me too
You couldn’t really have a heart and hurt me
Like you hurt me and be so untrue
What am I to do?

Everytime you go away, I always say
This time it’s goodbye, dear
Loving you the way I do
I take you back
Without you I’d die, dear
Knowing I love you, so…

Anyone who had a heart
Would take me in his arms and love me too
You couldn’t really have a heart and hurt me
Like you hurt me and be so untrue
What am I to do?

Knowing I love you, so…

Anyone who had a heart
Would take me in his arms and love me too
You couldn’t really have a heart and hurt me
Like you hurt me and be so untrue

Anyone who had a heart would love me too
Anyone who had a heart would truly take me
In his arms and always love me
Why won’t you?

Anyone who had a heart would love me too
Anyone who had a heart would truly take me
In his arms and always love me
Why won’t you?

Truly take me in his arms and always love me
Why won’t you?

to be real.

24 Mar

This day is already starting out bad.

I woke up late and exhausted (no one’s fault but my own; there’s no reason why I need to watch The Nanny at the wee hours of the morning, although the show is utterly hilarious); a cold rain is currently pounding the atmosphere (and I forgot my gloves, so, naturally, my hands instantly turned into icicles); certain ones I share the office with are extremely moody (no explanation needed); I have absolutely no motivation to do anything right now. And I’m cranky.

I hate days like this.

What Can You Say About a Legend?

23 Mar

One legend tributes another. Beautiful.

Dame Elizabeth Rosemond Taylor (February 27, 1932 – March 23, 2011).

23 Mar

Marvelous. Magnificent. Maggie the Cat. Missed.

Haiku? Thank you. #2

23 Mar


an interesting hope

that dashed quickly to the ground.

time to leave it be


i do this always,

these delusions of grandeur.

come back to earth, me.


return to the start.

alone again, naturally,

the solo shadow.


remember dashed hopes?

please don’t reach out to me, man–

can’t have it both ways.

Reiterating My Love…

23 Mar

…for Boyce Avenue and the following song. The lyrics to this song just about kill me softly. I heart it so.

Dhobi Ghat (Mumbai Diaries).

21 Mar

So, a few marvelous ladies and I attended a screening of Dhobi Ghat (Mumbai Diaries), an Indian film that was being shown at the Kennedy Center as part of their monthlong “Maximum India” festival. First off, the following equation (shocker: I’m using Math, of all things, to communicate!): Indian culture + the Kennedy Center + an awesome, intelligent company of women = yummy goodness. I had a wonderful time.

So, wow, wow, wow. Wow. Dhobi Ghat was a powerful, moving film, about four intersecting lives and the different turns each life takes amidst the backdrop of the city of Mumbai. It certainly struck me, for a number of reasons. A few:

Not Your Usual Bollywood. Being a major fan of Bollywood films, this movie was a significant departure from the burst of color and music that comes with that particular genre. In fact, I was struck by the absence of color in the film. Even the costumes of the main characters were muted, gray, dark. Quite honestly, it was reality rendered on screen. And it was refreshing. Interestingly enough, for me, I’ve always been a proponent of film escapism—it’s rare that I enjoy a movie that presents life in its depressing, dreary moments (why seek it out in entertainment when we have those moments in real life? is an argument I’ve used before)—but in this instance, the absence of the music video touch to Mumbai and its people was a welcomed change.

Yasmin Noor. Out of the four main characters in the film, I was, by far, moved by the character of Yasmin Noor. We meet Yasmin through a series of videotaped letters that she makes for her younger brother following her marriage to a man who, during the two times we actually see him, doesn’t utter more than two words to his new wife. From then on, as the film goes on and the character of Arun (who moved into Yasmin’s former apartment and found the tapes) watches these video diaries, we see Yasmin quietly falling apart as a result of her loneliness, acutely missing her family back home, and the sad unraveling of her marriage. It was such an understated and amazing performance by Kriti Malhotra, the actress who plays Yasmin Noor. (At the Q&A after the film, we learned that Malhotra isn’t even an actress by trade and that she had prirmarily worked in the costume department. A natural talent, by all means.) She communicated her emotions so subtly—through a smile here, an expression of longing there, the sad timbre of her voice. So incredibly moving.

Let’s Talk about It. Any film that inspires questions and dialogue—among friends, in our case, or with the number of people that posed questions at the Q&A—is one worthy of consideration. The movie was not without its flaws and imperfections, but it got us talking, and I’m all for that.

compliment, threat, same thing…?

17 Mar


This morning, as I made my way toward the metro escalators, I noticed a woman adjacent to me, also heading for the escalators. Even more notable was the fact that she was looking directly at me, a sort of knowing smile/smirk on her face. At first, I wondered if we knew each other. We didn’t. Nonetheless, as we arrived at the top of the escalators around the same time, she said, “you look pretty today.” I smiled, thanked her, and continued to descend down the stairs.

I was completely rattled.

The following thoughts took over:

  • who was that woman?
  • do i know her? have we had a conversation before on the train?
  • she wants to harvest my kidneys.
  • i’m wearing a huge coat, a scarf, sneakers. i look pretty?
  • i look pretty TODAY? as opposed to the other days when she had seen me?
  • what was with that weird smile?
  • please, please don’t sit next to me on the train.
  • where did she go? she was right behind me and now she’s gone!
  • did I imagine that whole exchange?
  • maybe she thought she knew me…
  • who WAS that woman?

The end. (I refuse to psychoanalyze myself in this instance. I’m accepting my reaction. The woman freaked me out.) 


Eternally Paranoid Girley



Sincerely, Taj

Dear World, I have stuff to say, so get cozy. Here, I've got cupcakes.

Fully Awake and Alive

A collection of poetry and essays on politics, social justice and the condition of humanity

Kristen Hope Mazzola

Everyone has a story; this is mine


When all fails, write a poem. You might succeed in that, so what's there to lose?

Dear Husband|Dear Wife|Dear Baby

Little somethings to one another

Traipsing After Jane

The Writing Life of Pamela Aidan

Welcome to My Empty Nest

Musings from Mama Bird


Conquering the döner kebab at a time


Have you finished that book yet?

The Victoria/Italia Project

Finding My Way Back


Learning the importance of self-worth

Bucket List Publications

Indulge- Travel, Adventure, & New Experiences

The Daily Post

The Art and Craft of Blogging

%d bloggers like this: