TO THE JACKS OF THE TRADES

Whoever came up with the absurd notion that being the jack of all trades and the master of none is necessary a bad thing was, well, wrong. It is almost like telling someone that given you enjoy milk chocolate, you should definitely stick to milk chocolate and not try that strange chilly flavoured one. Or something along those lines. I’ll have all the chilly and curry flavoured chocolate as I please, thank you very much!

Are you one of those people blessed with an angelic serenading voice that can drive Lea Michelle crazy? Are you capable of doing a full mid-air split? Or are you one of those who play professional football while they take a break from the theatre group that they rehearse with when they find time off B-Boying or skateboarding or playing the Cello in the middle of their drawing studio? If you are, and I honestly mean no offence, you are easily responsible for my latest near-quarter life crisis.

You see I am a student of architecture who can sketch just about well enough to scrape by, dance quite decently enough, write a few lines when in the right mood, sing better than Celine Dion in the shower and cook a pretty neat Omelette under the right circumstances. Can I ever aspire to produce anything remotely brilliant on canvas? Nope. Can I do a mid-air split? Nope. Can I ever dream of creating something like Harry Potter? *Laughs at self.* Nope.  Hell, I sound like a dying walrus outside the shower and, left unsupervised, I will positively set your kitchen on fire. Winning Gordon Ramsey’s heart is a pretty long shot.

But hey the thing about being exemplary at one thing? The pressure to remain so. And people talk of you using words like ‘exemplary’ and ‘fantabulous’ because ‘fantastic’ or ‘fabulous’ cannot begin to describe how GOOD you are. The perks of being ‘ok’ at a lot of things? One. Nobody really expects a lot from you and that being so, you are allowed to screw up once in a while. Two. Nobody notices if you do screw up because they are all watching that kid who is exemplary at his stuff. Three. Despite the fact that you could potentially screw up, you get to test the waters everywhere anyway because face it, you’re not that bad either and they could always use you. Which is why I have a blog that not too many people pay much attention to but my content is still out there. I am not criticised half as bad about what I write as, say, Arundhati Roy or Shobhaa De. (Not that I imply I am anywhere in the same league). Also I’m allowed to write for the college magazine. I am part of the official college dance crew, forever positioned in the right corner, second line from front. And my mom lets me cook as long as it is just an Omelette.

Point is I thought a lot about it under the covers with the lights off and everything after watching the latest SYTYCD auditions where 18 year olds do all the things I had aspired to be able to do when I was 18. I am almost 21 now and I’m not even close. But I digress. Point is, it is perfectly okay, I guess, to not be exemplary at anything. The important thing is to be able to be open enough to try everything out! And being ‘acceptable’ at a lot of thing leaves you a lot of room to take a bite of every cake with minimum possible disappointment. Plus nobody pays you a lot of attention anyway so even if you fall flat on your behind on stage you can simply dust yourself and join in again like nothing ever happened! Does not work with being in the centre of attention. And you only get to be the centre of attention if you’re truly exemplary at stuff. ‘Exemplary’. What a funny word.

I feel better already!

To Find Myself

Look at me, pray understand

Who I am and who I could be

Pray listen, each of those

Unspoken words I say.

Let me be, let me speak

Of all the things I never felt

Let me know, let me seek

The fire none could ever see.

Set me free and believe

For I can fly, these wings of mine

Let me dream and take me there

Where deep in me, I reside.

Let me leap, touch the sky

And as I glide to the ground

Pray be there and watch me shine

Watch me live, see me grow.

For I’ve seen you, I’ve understood

Seen you fly and believed,

I’ve found you and seen you shine

And now it’s time I find me.

I Have Seen You There.

This is one of those 5 minute poems. Stuff you scribble down as and when it comes to your head and you feel an almost urgent need to put it down on paper because you know you want to preserve the feeling. Here goes.

I have seen you there, from the very first moment I opened my eyes,

From the very first moment I learnt to let the light in.

I have seen you there, the first time I took a step and fell,

Saw only pride in your eyes, wondered why you didn’t care.

A thousand hands rushed to me but all you did was smile

Knowing that I would one day learn to lift myself off the ground.

I have seen you there, the first time my feet moved with the rhythm

Of the music that came from you, that late evening on the front porch

The sun was going down and even through the darkness I saw

You basking in the light that was and came from me.

I have seen you there, the first time I scribbled a meaningful verse

I ran to your writing desk, ecstatic, and so proud.

And all you did was smile, pat my head and with a slight nod of the head

Fold my piece of treasure and stow it away in yours.

So today as I look through the dusty books in your empty room

And find a crumpled up piece of paper, yellow with age,

And I see my first meaningful verse in my immature hand,

Or as I look through your old cupboard and I find, my little blue sock

Holes and all and my little black bangle I once loved with my life

I realise I was the only one who grew out of it all.

And as I remember those long evening walks, I remember the pride in your voice

As you showed little me to your friends and the way you held my hand so tight

I always wondered why but now I seem to know, you were only afraid to let go.

So today as I walk around your empty room and sit on the bed I wasn't allowed on,

I see what you have always meant to me and I see what I was to you.

Your little girl is back from the far place you asked her not to go to

All she needs is you.

And so I promise, you will see me here, the next time you open your eyes.

You will see me here, the next time you take a step and I won’t let you fall.

You will see me here the next time you make music on a late evening on our front porch

And my feet shall move to your rhythm again.

You will see me here on your next long evening walk and we will go

To all the places we have been and talk to your friends

And you will introduce me yet again and I will be proud

For my little hand will never grow out of yours.

And so, come back for your little girl for I am here

And all I need is you.