when it comes to my home, its almost spooky how similar events seem to re-occur around the same dates. feb 14 was when i moved into a new house, twice, in 24 months. two years ago on march 30 i was clearing my room to accommodate a new roommate, like i’m doing today!

news is when the truth is reported as it is, and not as one would like it to be.

as i watch the iraq-war updates on tv today, i suddenly seem to recollect this first rule in the one (and only) weekend-journalism workshop i’d attended years ago.

us and uk television media want their countries to believe that the war is the only way to go — for both sides. “removing saddam will be a blessing to the iraqi people…” (blair’s address to the nation). obviously, iraqi media wants their arab population to believe saddam is in the right, and that the us and uk are their enemies, destroying their cities since three nights now.

i’ve been glued to the continuous and ‘live’ bbc and sky telecasts…the first time i’ve been following a real war in all my life.

but the reports surely make me wonder what the other side of the story could be. most of the breaking news and stories deal with the bombing in baghdad and mixed reports here and here, on how some of the iraqi troops are beginning to surrender. they also reported how us troops hoisted the american flag in umm qasr, and replaced it with the iraqi one soon after. …that saddam hussein was possibly injured or in hiding; and of course video footages of a war getting increasingly aggressive…

interestingly, the bbc yesterday also showed iraqi television-clippings of a saddam in perfect health, and a baghdad mercilessly being bombarded by the us and uk forces. another news reader on kuwait tv indicated with relief that saddam’s reign was soon coming to an end. also see “you are late. what took you so long?”

were the reports in the middle east desperate to keep up the spirits of the hiding arabs, telling them their leader was alive and well? were the reports by uk and us media desperate to tell anti-war protestors in their countries how their leaders had made the right decision… “some of the iraqis rejoiced and broke into a song and dance when the coalition reached them…,” indicating that not everyone was happy with the dictator’s rule anyway.

neither of the television media are playing up the facts, they’re all telling the truth. perhaps. but all of them certainly seem to be choosing the truths they want to be told.

somewhere in iraq a war is beginning to rage, somewhere in india, a war on the (corrupt) media has been launched…what next? i wait and watch.

praveen and i have been dabbling in the movable type content management system. umm, seems quite friendly…check out his new design and let us know what you think 🙂

it’s been ages since we crossed paths, almost…still when i listen to this song it brings the same lump to my throat. happy birthday, little one. i hope to see you, some day 😡

just heard about the mulund bomb blast. i HATE it when these things happen so close to my hometown and i’m so far away. and when the authorities say they had “expected attacks in view of the tenth anniversary….” why didn’t they do anything about it then!??? i’m afraid, very afraid for every one i know back home 🙁

yeeaaargh! i did it, myself! fooled around with my archives section in blogger and got it to work at last! mmm, let me just double-check…

i still cannot get over it. perhaps this qualifies me for a creative writing course after all?
i was chatting with my mother and she asked me to try writing a poem for her innerwheel-club event.
the subject, female foeticide…

my first reaction: “i’m not a writer amma! this is such a serious topic”
hers: “at least try na baba”.

well, with no brief or outline of what was expected in the poem, and for a creative five-minute outburst, mine slightly missed the mark. i’ve been asked to try again. but anyways, i thought there was nothing wrong in posting it on my journal. so here it is, my first attempt…

cry of the foetus

amma
i could have
made you smile
wipe the tear
of joy
running down your cheek.

i could
tug at your chain
play with your hair
hide in your bosom
a place only for me
where no one could reach
drink your milk
your strength
make you feel proud…
that you let me be.

i could crawl and play
for as long as you wanted me to
make you dream
of things for me.
i could walk
on your toes
feel your skin
warm and soft
so much better
than floating in
the water here
inside you.

i can’t wait…
to hear
you laugh
when i giggle.
…to see you
see me
hear me talk
make me make
your dreams come true
when you stopped…

amma
give me your little finger
so i can curl all of mine
around yours.
tomorrow
when you’re alone
you’ll still find me
holding your hand
by your side.

i’ll let you dress me
even leave you
to go to school
so i can wear big shoes
one day
and make you proud
that you let me be…

i could marry
the man you choose
and one day
carry
in me
another me
for you.

i could share your secrets
your laughter and your fears
i could bring you
happiness
in whatever form…

at least i could try
if only
at first,
you would
let me cry.

ps: this was intended to be a pattern poem. in my word document it is. too bad i couldn’t get the tabs and spaces in here. i guess i’ll have to wait for praveen to have a look…

pps: something’s wrong with my blogger methinks. can’t get it to update my daily ‘just like that…’ box for some reason 😐

dear mayu,
…i enjoyed writing to you. i hope we continue to keep in touch, and that too only through this old tradition of ‘writing’ a letter.
take care 🙂

there. sealed and waiting for the postman. a little over seven pages.

‘writing’ letters can be such a cathartic experience. especially if it is to someone who’s known you for almost all your growing life.

i think i’m going to *buy* an ink-pen one of these days, and save it along with my letterpads for my grandchildren.
how else will i explain to them what it feels like to collect your thoughts in a writing (-on-paper-) instrument, for a loved one miles away? i wonder if they will ever know what it is like to feel butterfly wings in their stomachs, when waiting for the postman, or experience the quiet magic… around a letter that is on its way to a dear old friend.