The Backpacker

When my lips curl

And linger over a smile

When I think of you

And contendly sigh,

When I dream of a morrow

With you at my side

When I breathe your name

In the dead of the night 

It is my eyes

That suddenly decieve

They cannot hold my fears

My eyes give away the game

I try to keep them shut

So they wont proclaim

What I try to hide

I go about cheerful

But they hold me back

With a gentle nudge

My heart accedes to its wish

Because, in my eyes you live

And try as I might

To hold you back

It sometimes breaks free  

A from a small droplet it starts

To grow into a trickle

And I just let go

My eyes are afterall

The true mirrors of my love 

They reflect my passion

My love for you

They pretend not ever

They never lie

Once this is over, I know I will live in its aftermath... forever.

There is a thing in between birth and death that is called Living! And suddenly I stumbled upon the fact. Thanks to Life. Elsewhere (http://anjalysdiary.blogspot.com) I have written that to love Life, one must experience Death. I stay with what I say. Had I not seen death, perhaps, Life would have passed by without me understanding it.

And what did I discover about Life itself? Love. The Self. Giving. Sheer joy of breathing, of feeling the sun in the haiar and not wishing it to be the wind instead, hurting and yet loving, giving and never thinking of anything in return.

How did I discover this? Life manifests in different forms. I spoke to the winds, the sands, the seas, the rocks...each of them pointed at one thing only. Myself. There, all seemed to say, 'there within you is Life. The capacity to feel and smile. Be a woman."  So thats what I am. A woman. Able to love the self in order to love another. Thanks to a dream, a form, a real person, who unknown to himself showed me where to go. I am going and am glad to be finally on the move. An year spent in finding meaning, thousands of prayers offered, days spent in contemplation, in bondage of what I dont know, hours spent in hope and tears...all suddenly turn into a beautiful moment. Me.

Thanks to Life. After a near miss with Death, a possible misfired deal with Death and unspent moments with Death, am glad to be alive. Life never required me to prove my innocence. Life showed me just what was right. 

Another chapter opened and closed. But the book remains unread. My American friend Keith once said, "Anjy, if God brings you to it, he will bring you through it." That time I didnt understand what he said. Now I do.

The trick is to have Faith.

Have faith even when you have consumed a deadly combination of drinks (here cold milk and 7UP), have worn shoes of different colour and t-shirt inside out and been refused a holiday, still keep the faith. Now, drink that combines the two I mentioned is absolute no-no. So am taking this oppurtunity to tell people who come to this blog or even pass the word that while Faith is all right, drink milk and 7UP seperately.

They aint meant to be mixed. If by sheer stupidity you ever did, be prepared for the worse. The stomach revolts and keeps at it, subsequently if you do eat anything, it dosent stay in the tummy because the tummy hates your sense of food-combination, your legs refuse to support you further and give away just to remind you that you need to respect their strength and not jeopardise it and lastly the mind. It goes to sleep out of sheer exhaustion because the rest of the body system has plainly said they wouldnt cooperate.

The worst could be that life may leave you too. Yes, it can be really really bad. And how do I know this? Ouch, I mixed my drinks, you see :-) But am alive. That is Faith :-)

Thank God, all this happened after I was caught with the wrong shoes! A black shoe on the right and a grey shoe on the left, and golly, I never did feel the imbalance! It took a fair Lebanese bun-carrier in a supermarket to show me the error in the 'shoe style,' to be followed by another far more grevious error: Of wearing the t-'s inside out :-)

All this after being given a Chinese Head Massage by a lady so gentle!!

But, keep at it. Have faith in the Chinese Head Massage first thing in the morning and maybe, just maybe, you can get away without having to go through all these! Maybe, you could simply strike gold instead. Keep the Faith. (Its more like a chain reaction or you could see it in the reverse.) 

But do not drink cold milk with 7UP!

Its an old story of Dinosiyus, the tyrant and his friend Damocles, the poor man who desired to be rich...The Sword of Damocles is really used as an allusion to something that "never goes away." It could be guilt, fear, anything, but it is just that "soemthing" that prevents you from going on to enjoy what you have.

Now, I thought of this because I find myself in the same place...a sword hanging over my head by a thin thread that could fall any minute and kill me. I dont know if I would be glad if that happened, but the relief would be welcome, nevertheless. What is life is you constantly find a sword hanging on your head? Or more precisely, till I know that my most precious object is up on sale? Can I rest till it is withdrawn? Can I rest after it is sold? How can one stand to see one's love on sale? 

I imagine things, yes, am a writer, an aritst in love with my words. But even to the most common man, the picture of their soul on sale for public bidding is a nightmare. It is a nightmare, because despite being a writer, I am still an ordinary person who loved.

I cannot stand the thought that someone will come along and ask him : Name, age, income, religion, status...then look him up and down, measure him, his temperaments, his looks, dig up his past, contemplate on his future, compare him to the many others they have already seen, suggest changes...generally look him up like a prize horse. No, I cant stand to think that my love will be valued like a common commodity, one among the thousands and in the end some pompous father of a wannabe bride would come along and say, "well....maybe...he is alright, maybe...lets see."

No. Why does not the world understand that my precious love is not up there to be valued by traders?  He is his own person and why should anyone come along to pass a judgement on him? Who has the right to his past? None. No one. His future? No one. Not even I, the one who loves him beyond belief. Why does he then allow himself to be wighed by the common standards the man has set? He is not a commodity to be categorised depending on his age or caste?

Or worse, why, oh why does my very own love subject himself to these inhuman trade? Why?

Till such time I see his picture up there for the world to come along and give their verdict, the sword will hang...waiting, wondering, praying...

But if the hammer falls...I know where I cannot run. The sowrd falls quicker than my feet can carry me away...    

It is a good day today, or so it is said. Buy gold or something new or do something nice...people said. Well, I have lived thirty years, in other words lived through thirty of these auspicious days without knowing that I was to buy gold. I am thinking now had I purchased a gram of gold each year for thirty years, i should have saved a lot of gold...UAE gold prices are shooting through the roof!

A good day it is indeed. A day for love. A day to think, to live. What could be better? As far as am concerned, a day that brings into my mind hope, desire and the zeal to live is a good day. Today, like any other day, I feel. So long as I have the capacity to feel and act, I think is a day well spent.

The day I stop feeling, the day I cannot mention a name, the day I cant shed a tear over the memory will be the day I am no more.

Till such time...Live! Happy Day to all.  

"If you must leave an impression on the sand, do not wear shoes"

Someone sent me this message this morning. Today being a nice and sunny day with my mood all right, I want to actually try this out. Not with any particular intention in mind. I want to see if I can leave an impression even with my shoes on!

But seriously it is right what he says, though am sure people living through the harsh, hot summer may not completly agree to this one. For that matter, since I am living through the harsh, hot summer myself, I would like to make a deviation to the statement, you know sort of look at it in a different light.

I wouldnt mind leaving an impression on the sand by the sea at night. In fact, why just the foot prints, I could well leave the entire body-prints as a mark of my existence. You see, sand by the sea at night is cool enough to walk on. (Now, how did that particular piece of brilliance occur?) 

That aside, there is one place, I wouldnt want to leave my footprints on, not on my life. That is, on the desert sand. No way, no sir. Desert sands are the known to be friendly or accomodative either. They are hot, burn into the soles of the feet...all that. And since I am experimenting with methods of leaving behind "correct" prints, desert sands is out of the question. One cannot hope to, even if one tried, stand straight on the desert sand, not unless you are born with some kind of leather or whatever soles that prevent heat boils or blisters.

And since I am going into the desert soon, this is a horrendous thought.

Where the heck are my sneakers!  

There is a thing about life. It does not give you what you want and does not let you get over what you have lost. I speak from my own experience.

I love him. That is the only relationship I know. There is nothing beyond it or above it. But does he know? Yes. What does he do? Nothing. He turns away and goes on to invite people he has never met, to share his life. Should I call it being fair, unfair, unjust, ridiculous, indifferent, or just callous? Not him. Life. Life is never meant to be fair,never has, never will. Its people like me who have no place in this world simply beacause we dare to laugh at the face of life. We dare it, I dared it, it is a different matter that I lost. So life insists on piling on my head things such as these. Why did life not leave me before I had to witness such an incident? My love on display for anyone to come and pick? And how can I bear to see the name of someone beside his?

To even think that someone 'thinks' of him is killing. Can love be like this?  

I have never learnt to live like life should be lived. I have only loved. Completely. That sense of fulfilment has a name, everything has a name, a name that means the world and everything in it and beyond it. Today, that 'name' is a public property. Will God ever come to my help?

He was old enough to be my son...almost or even my adopted son, seeing that I was considering this option really hard. In fact if, right there I could have a pick of 'sons' to adopt, then the choices were plenty. The bunch of them, all aged between six and fifteen danced around me, laughing and gesturing and showing off, as boys of that age would do. I cant say I was delighted over the prospect of a beach-full of people watching the spectacle and enjoying themselves in the process. But boys will be boys and people will be people. Any distraction from the usual 'sight' is enough to command their attention.

Now, Sawadi, a nice, quiet seaside town (in Oman) does not, I gather, attract single Asian women travelers. And I can safely say that, the said creed of travelers, do not just wander onto the beach looking for photographs of the isles. Anyway, since that was done, an ancient man, called out to me...in Arabic!

"Six rials for a ride"

I interpreted it right. I was to have a go at the many isles dotting the sea. It was a good deal, I thought and hopped on. No, before I did that, one little fellow attached himself to me...and my boat. In the distance I saw heads bobbing in and out of the water and briefly wondered what it was.

Snorkelers and divers, I found out later, found Sawadi 'right' for their activities.

The boat powered by a Yamaha OBM, started with a cough. Here is where a lesson in acrobatic helps. The boat does not plow throw the water as a boat should do. It rides the waves! I think (I am not sure) that it was flat bottomed. Here, I called upon my resources and everything I had learned about balancing and grabbed the sides, desperately while the little fellow smiled. The boatman put in some speed and we rolled faster than ever till I thought I would topple. Heck I didnt mind, not after I saw a few divers surface and thereby knew that the waters though choppy were not really very deep.

Here I must point out that taking picutres is extremely risky. You could loose both your balance and your camera, but risks have to be taken! And how was I going to get my own picture? The little fellow was not, as far as I could, tech savvy, what with being set upon wooing me! I turned to the boatman. Rabia was a better boatman than a photographer and insisted on taking his pictures first!

(Rabia getting ready)

We sped around the rocks (or isles) and got close enough to few of them. It is a pleasure to leave the shores behind and appear amongst the rocks in the middle of the sea (Gulf of Oman). Ocaasionaly the boat steadied itself by sheer act of defiance and it was then the boatman agreed to take my pics!

Rabia then allowed me get out of the boat and into the sea! Well, why not! If he was sure then there was not much to worry, right? And why not? If I were to say, go under, Rabia would rescue me anyway! So I slipped over the side.

 When I see the pictures today, I wonder what had gotten over me! The waves crashed against me quite gleefully and even though it was not very deep where I stood, I stood the risk of being whirled around with the force. Glory be, it was indeed a treat to be buffeted by the waves and the breeze and being looked upon by a loving young blighter and a camera-happy boatman in the middle of the sea! Really I think big deal is being made of the deep sea and all while the real danger is the lashing waves!

When we returned to the shore there was an eager crowd waiting and before I knew it cameras rolled and I am sure I will be found grinning in not less than a thousand pictures. What the waves did not do to me by way of sapping my energy, smiling for the cameras certainly did. I got away with barbequed fish (hammour) and chicken!

A little while later, a youngster appear. He was apparently a friend of my little blighter and aged not more than 14. He pointed at the empty passenger seat in the front of my car and made signs. Obviously he didnt speak English and I did not speak Arabic. His gesture was clear.

He was telling me he would come back with me. I smiled. He smiled. Then amidst all the commotions of smiles, gestures, Arabic, English, he held my hand and looked at my wedding finger which is naturally empty. The he grew serious and I almost blushed.

He held my hand close to his chest, kissed it and then made a sign like he was asking for my hand!

Oh son, son! Whatever will become of you!!    

It was a terrible choice to make...and fast.

1. Ignore the traffic signal

2. Ignore Geroge Michael and his Careless Whispers 

3. Ignore the very appealing bloke in a 4WD on my left. 

The traffic signal turned green, the horns continued to blare...so you know what choice I finally made.

Now why did I do that? Oh, handsome fellows in 4WD always have that extra-appeal, especially when there is a dimple at the corner of their bow-like lips

(Here I will beg you not to take me seriously. For as far as I am concerned, there is only one man in a 4WD that can actually make my heart skip several beats and he aint got a dimple)

I lowered my windows, turned off the music and smiled. The bloke smiled. He had the look of someone very nearly lost and had no time to correct that mistake. Remember, we were at the signal near the Dry Docks (coming from Al Diyafah Road) and turning into Jumeirah.

Where is the Al Wasl Road, he boomed.

He had a disticnt foreign accent. No, not Arabic, not Asian, not even French.  

Oh, said I, suddenly horror struck. He had missed the Al Wasl Road. There was no way he could backtrack, owing to the traffic and there was hardly any time to explain how he could get there through Jumeirah.  And there was no way I could go away leaving him sititng at the signal either.

At the signal, there was no U-turn to boot. Then I was struck buy another, more devilish thought.

"Oh, quitely slip into that road which does not allow the U-turn and double back a short distance past the gas station and take the first right."

He waved a cheery thumbs up. partners in crime! Behind me, quite a number of cars piled up, horns blaring, the light had already turned green. But withlittle care I held my ground and grinned.

It was great fun to break rules at times. But to have someone involved in doing the same was even better. The dimpled, lost, driver od the 4WD zoomed into the no-entry road, with little care or fear about breaking rules, and I on my part was excited over the prospect of having abetted a traffic violation.

But heck, it was so evil and exciting!!  

"No," I said firmly and brought my fist down hard on the table to assert the fact. But as 'assertations' go, he was not to be easily had. In fact he did not, whether one was being assertive or not, he did not react.

I have never found out what stream of thought he followed, but whatever it was, there was no reason in it. He just grabbed the first thought that came into mind and spun his own conclusions. Heck, he was the type of guy with who you could be speaking of the colour of the moon and suddenly he would be hit the thought of a burned curry and go after it, till you were forced to give up and take notice. I cant say he did that on purpose, but whatever it was he did it for, it got my goat up...till I decided never to have a conversation with him anymore, and if I were forced into a conversation, then I resolved to take the easiest course available to me. Nod my head, agree and let my thoughts wander.

I was sure he wouldnt notice anyway.

No, I said again. Heck, I was getting better with each 'no', more assertive, determined and ready to well, say NO!

"Yes," he said. I wasnt a bit surpirsed. For every No, he always had a 'yes'. That in the strictest sense was not because of his very positive approach to life, but because he had to say 'yes' when someone said 'no.' It was more of a habbit than the actual refusal to acknowledge what the other was saying.

Here we were, quite unfortunately, debating over the colour of the sky. And skies defy defnition, taking on any colour they pleased. So one couldnt hold it against him if he did not agree that sky was blue. Well, it was a bright and clear day and the skies were blue so it stood to reason that it was blue. But he, call him S, refused to acknowledge.

What colour is it then? asked X. "Purple perhaps?"

Sarcasm is lost on S. For right at that moment he was struck with another, more purposeful thought. "...because I left it for too long on the fire...aha," he cried snapping his fingers at this late discovery, "all because of that blasted telephone call."

We were completely taken aback. I mean, here were five of us, so-called 'experts' in our fields and he, Mr X, was fast climbing the ladder in his respective company, but we were at total loss as to what he was saying. How could anyone in the 'normal' sense of the word, behave so irrationally? Or was it due to a total disregard to the others? The group of us rolled our eyes, hemmed and hawed, threw meaningful glances at S but to no avail. he was completely on another track already. For the next sentence shook us deeply.

"That is why, my dear friends, I say...never never say the sky is blue."

Now what could that mean? When we left him, he was heard to be murmuring about a needle he found stuck to a tree that had a brown trunk...