Myriad Musings

New Year is a myth

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I’m all for burying the old and heralding the new.

Any reason for hope and celebration? Count me in!

Yet, as an Indian, it baffles me that we privilege the Western construct of the New Year over the different dates and traditions indicated by our cultures.

I’m also stumped by the naivete that one can truly expect Jan 1 to be different from Dec 31, the previous day. 2018 and 2019 are mere numbers unless we make it different.

What also bewilders me is that it takes a ‘construct’ to trigger man’s inner clock to pause and take a good, hard look at his own life.

I don’t look at the date and decide whether or not to evaluate where I’m at and take the necessary steps to move forward.

Here’s my year-long loop: Mark a habit, mind map a routine, evaluate, modify, try again.

I agree that we cannot be on at all times but it’s key to work towards the changes we really require a lot more frequently. I’d argue that self-reflection works miracles if it’s at least weekly, if not daily.

Becoming better is a constant; it is a state of mind and not a point in time. 

Let us determine to live consciously, with intention and awareness, and create a New year for ourselves.

Best of luck. I have faith in you. Time to make a happy 2019.

Copyright © Roshni Ramanan

 

 

 

 

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Myriad Musings

The Mystery Blogger Award

It’s rewarding to start the year off on a high note with my first Mystery blogger award, thanks to the generous author of Mes Mots, whom you can find at https://mesmotsbysazz.com/author/scorpio1987sazzy/

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Rules:

1. Put the award logo/image on your blog

2. List the rules.

3. Thank whoever nominated you and provide a link to their blog.

4. Mention the creator of the award and provide a link as well

5. Tell your readers 3 things about yourself

6. You have to nominate 10 – 20 people

7. Notify your nominees by commenting on their blog

8. Ask your nominees any 5 questions of your choice; with one weird or funny question (specify)

9. Share a link to your best post(s)

10. Answer the questions your nominator gave you.

About Mystery Blogger award:

According to the creator, Okoto, “Mystery Blogger Award” is an award for amazing
bloggers with ingenious posts. Their blog not only captivates; it inspires and motivates. They are one of the best out there, and they deserve every recognition they get. This award is also for bloggers who find fun and inspiration in blogging, and they do it with so much love and passion.

3 things about me:

I almost never eat a meal that’s not a part of Indian cuisine

I’ve always been social media free, as in, I’ve never had an account on Insta, Snapchat or FB.  I don’t count WordPress as social media per se. I’m only on Whatsapp.

I consider almost everything art. Yes, you read that right. Everything.

I’m not going to nominate people as I generally receive responses saying that they don’t do awards and I don’t want to put undue pressure on anyone. This, in no way, discounts the fact that I love the vibrant WordPress community and have discovered awe-inspiring writers in this space.

Q & A:

  • What’s your New year resolution?

I once resolved to never make resolutions again and I’ve upheld that till date. Haha.

  • Your greatest fear?

I fear that life, as a whole, might not work out

  • If you are the last person remaining, what belonging would you like to save and keep with you forever?

Food?! Not sure if that counts as a belonging.

  • What was your best and worst 2018 moment?

It’s been a year where the highs have been high and the lows have been low but I can’t put my finger on superlatives

  • BATMAN or IRONMAN?

Ironman. Confession: I have not watched any version of Batman

Link to favourite post:

I certainly have no favourites. I’ll share one of my first attempts at slam poetry:

https://roshniramanan.wordpress.com/2017/12/21/sonder/

Thank you for reading! Stay terrific 😀

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Myriad Musings

Travel

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I never understood why travel was so hep. Is it hip? Whatever the kids are calling it nowadays.

Don’t get me wrong. I relish new experiences to the core. But, I don’t need travel to feel that high.

Learning a skillset that takes five minutes, fondly gazing at the patterns the sun makes on the greenery and creating art give me that high.

Accomplishing a goal and hearing a refreshing perspective puts me on cloud nine. Maybe I’m easy to please.

Travel is associated with exoticism. Nature and culture can be found closer to home if you watch with a painter’s gaze and a poet’s soul.

The most precious thing about travel to me is uninterrupted time with your friends or family. This, I agree with, if you commit to going Wi-Fi free.

My concern is that most people I’ve spoken to, seem to equate travel with an escape. I think time, energy and money are better spent fixing your day-to-day life over planning fancy vacations.

I’d take an escape if my world would turn topsy-turvy while I’m away. But, when I return, my mess is still mine to clean up and I find that nothing has changed.

While weekends are precious, let’s create Monday mornings that make us look forward to the wonders weekdays can bring.

So, the next time you travel, ensure that you soak in that novel adventure, without worrying about being insta perfect.

The next time you long for travel, remember that there are multiple adventures hovering around you waiting to be experienced.

Copyright © Roshni Ramanan

 

 

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Myriad Musings

What to blog on?

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As regular bloggers, we’ve all had moments when we’ve put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard, utterly clueless as to what to blog on.

Let me weigh my options :

Dabbling in the French Dizain or the Korean Sijo, for foreign always equals exotic, and poetry is no exception to the rule.

Delving deep into unfamiliar territory: perhaps, a horror story, with a twist. How about an innocent exposition, supernatural action and a scientific denouement?

Exploring themes that are plausible only in the canvas of imagination. Parallel worlds, reversal of history and defying the laws of nature.

Expressing a controversial opinion. A niggle that has bothered you, and only you, finally set free for strangers to peek.

Carving a genre, a pattern to serve your needs, for all that has come before us has been engineered by a mind. Why not be an architect instead of an imitator?

Testing the waters with a form your audience is unaccustomed to. Either you’re in for a surprise and your readers are thrilled or you’re thrilled to speak to a wider audience.

Finding a purpose. Write for the readers’ joy, moralise, inspire or obfuscate. Direct your nib at hearts or shoot at minds.

In all honesty, it matters not what we write on, as long as we keep the ink flowing.

Copyright © Roshni Ramanan

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Myriad Musings

Religion

You ask me to seek the Lord in a distant temple on a faraway hill, a herculean climb, convincing me that I can please God only with the pain of my labour.

You demarcate places of worship to fuel the fire of exclusion and build walls to serve casteist and anti-woman agendas.

Can’t I find him in the sanctuary of my own devout heart? Didn’t you say He was Omnipotent?

You discriminate the disabled, reassuring me that their past birth karma has earned them their troubles.

Religion is your tool to make me feel ashamed of my festive womanhood.

You assert that my flamboyant sins would weaken the Lord. Didn’t you say He was Omnipotent?

You cloak yourself in the Just World phenomenon. Tit for tat.

You refuse to believe that life isn’t always fair.

Instead, you fancy that the Omniscient above holds weighing scales and strict calculators of Virtue and Vice.

Believe what you will. Worship a stone as the mighty lord, or elevate a philosopher or a God-man to an all-powerful entity.

Let me believe what I choose to. Don’t force your rigid rules and hidden agendas on me.

If you try to contain religion in a matchbox, it’ll combust and set you aflame.

 

Author’s note:

I’m a firm theist and this is more of a critique on the deliberate misuse of institutionalized religion, especially through beliefs and practices perpetrated in the Indian context, where there is no healthy distance between the State and Religion. For me, religion is very personal and pure and it is gut-wrenching to see it contaminated by underhand schemes for epistemological, economic and political power

 

 

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Myriad Musings

How’d you like to die?

I’m sure you’ve ruminated a great deal about life: pondering, planning, plotting how to make the most of it.

Have you ever thought about how you’d like to die?

Would you fancy a soldier’s death? You’d have won many a battle but lost the last one against the usurper of breath.

Or is it a sailor’s death that you fancy? You’d kick the bucket doing what you do best, pulled into the arms of the sea mother, you spent your entire life worshipping.

Would a famous person’s slow death be up your alley? Celebrated long after your physical absence, strangers will mourn you like their own, until trenching hoes of time bury the memory of you underground.

Or is it a rebel’s death that you prefer? A death charted out with cunning by those who unfairly wield power and hang justice, the last trace of your murder will be invisible. You’ll meet the maker, hoping at least he’ll mourn you.

Me? I favour an activist’s death, basking in the rapturous knowledge that I left the world more equal than I found it.

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Myriad Musings

Colours in the mirror

In my ascent to gigantic benchmarks, I stepped on many toes.

I adorned and abandoned masks like a transformable being.

I picked values from the spinning wheel of time, my finger pointing at the moral that was made for that day.

I stifled the punching pillow that was my snuffling conscience to the point where there was no more cushion left in it to protest.

Somewhere, near the end, I woke up, wondering who the hell I was. Why not seek answers from the mirror?

I vainly strutted to the metal-glass amalgam and the looking glass gave me answers to questions I hadn’t dared ask.

A red face taunted me. A red that had once indicated passion, screamed resentment and fury.

My sadness was striped across blue sagged shoulders. That explained why I felt so blue.

I felt sick to my stomach. I gaped at the green belly, overflowing with the sins of greed and envy. What else had I digested?

My yellow hands were spotted with cowardice. No wonder people always said that I got my hands dirty.

My legs were shrouded in sad shades of grey. Sigh. I am, indeed, on my last legs.

Then, my attention was averted to another body part: my heart had begun oozing out black darts. I was both the aimer and the target in this game of mourning.

I moved my quivering lips, turned cold, cold white, to mouth a question into the mirror,
“Was it worth it in the end?”

The colourful answer stared back leaving me colourless.

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