the spider and the fly

Yet another relationship metaphor .... sometimes you are the spider, sometimes you are the fly. 

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"Will you walk into my parlor?" said the Spider to the Fly,

"Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy;

The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,

And I have many curious things to show you when you are there."

"Oh no, no," said the Fly, "to ask me is in vain;

For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."

"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;

Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly.

"There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin;

And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!"

"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said

They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"

Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, "Dear friend, what can I do

To prove that warm affection I've always felt for you?

I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice;

I'm sure you're very welcome - will you please take a slice?"

"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "kind sir, that cannot be,

I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!"

"Sweet creature," said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise;

How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!

I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf;

If you step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself."

"I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you're pleased to say;

And bidding good morning now, I'll call another day."

The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,

For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again;

So he wove a subtle web in a little corner sly,

And set his table ready to dine upon the Fly.

then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,

"Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing;

Your robes are green and purple, there's a crest upon your head;

Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are as dull as lead."

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,

Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;

With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew, -

Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue;

Thinking only of her crested head - poor foolish thing! At last,

Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast.

He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den

Within his little parlor - but she ne'er came out again!

And now, dear little children, who may this story read,

To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne'er heed;

Unto an evil counsellor close heart, and ear, and eye,

And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly.

-- Mary Howitt

post-breakup

written in 2003 -- found while browsing around through old papers

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staring into space,
hating, loving, wanting
wondering why, why not!
how, when
Was it me, was it you
Pointing fingers, who is to blame

Feeling inadequate
Confused
Could I have loved less, wanted more?
Wanted less, loved more?
Can I love again?

Missing the familiarity, the laughter in your smile
The effortless conversations
Feeling the emptiness inside me as I wake up each morning

And now --
futile dates.
Wasted evenings with strangers I never want to see again.
Idle chit-chat
All the while wishing it were you sitting here beside me.

The soup congeals before my eyes.
My date looks across the table - when did I stop listening to what he was saying?
He bends over to kiss me good-night and I turn my face away.

Don't want to do this anymore.
Tired, lost, angry, hurt
Still angry, still hurting

When does it end?
When is it that little things stop bringing memories flooding back?
And I cry
Because no one else makes me feel the way you did
And I try -- to find what we had
And can't!

Aow wouldn't it be loverly

Pygmalion, the mythical sculptor who falls in love with a statue he has created, has inspired many literary works, including G.B. Shaw’s play "Pygmalion" and its film adaptation, "My Fair Lady" in which Professor Higgins metamorphosizes Eliza Dolittle from flower girl to debutante.

But looking at it in its original context, I wonder if we all, like Pygmalion, at some point fall in love with creatures of our own making – the images in our heads of the person we want to eventually meet and fall in love with, and we forever chase that dream which sadly never quite really catches up with reality.

In so many ways, we are all Eliza Dolittle – simple flower girls in fancy clothes, pretending to be something we are not. Who really is the woman in the mirror?

Fall is here

The flannel pjs are back along with sweaters and boots. Yes, fall is here, the leaves are turning, and the air is crisp. I can no longer go out without the coat in tow. The days are shorter, and the evenings stretch out forever.

And I feel sad - it's an inexplicable hollowness that starts in my stomach. It's a reminder that another year is almost over. I am overcome by nostalgia, of Christmas in Bombay, choir practice and house cleaning, and sweet-making. I fear that time is flying by too quickly, and want the clock to stop ticking.

End of summer 08

Sadly, it's finally here - the last weekend of a really good summer that started with a trip to Virginia to see mom & the rest of the crew and ends with the same ... perfect.

A few ruffles in between, but so what?? I did the Avon walk in California, white water rafting, had many lazy afternoons, long naps, trips to the beach, a welcome the spring party, went to the ICA, saw Shakespeare on the Common, made new friends. Also a very introspective getting to know myself summer.

In an attempt to make the last weekend fully worthwhile, I went to Newport yesterday - yet another "convertible" moment to save for posterity. Rode with the top down, wind in my face, music blaring (have to say that the 328i is extremely quiet for a convertible) drove by the mansions, and imagined what life was like back in the early to mid 20th century. Wallowed in the sun, got a tan, even swam a little - yes me, the biggest cold water funk ventured in, and did not want to get out.

Headed off to Tanglewood today for the last summer concert. Beethoven's 9th is always brilliant.

A perfect ending.

Maine 2008

Girl's weekend out white water rafting in class II to V rapids on the Kennebec River. After a long drive to Maine, a little picnic on the way, a cabin with a deck that literally hangs over the swiftly flowing river with gorgeous views I feel happy and refreshed.

Rafting adventure begins the next morning - they scare the living daylights out of you prior to heading out. If you do fall out, maybe you will die! If your feet get caught in a rock, or you go under the boat, the trick is to just coast. Ya right!! I bet I would just die of shock and panic.

But we all came back safe and sound. Two other people fell out of the boat - it looks exhilarating and maybe someday I'll be up for the thrill fest. Right now I am too funk to jump into the river to swim - oh, wait!! I can't swim.

Fun, fun, fun. Drive back -- another wonderful summer weekend comes to an end. Perhaps next year I will make it to the Colorado river.

letter to friends

the letter I sent for the 2008 walk for breast cancer

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For my mother … 

To all my family and friends, 

This July, I, and thousands of others will walk 40 miles to raise funds for the Avon Foundation Breast Cancer Crusade. The funds collected go toward breast cancer research, and support for families that are affected by it. 

I am writing to ask for your help in raising $1,800 (or more) for the cause. It all adds up, so please put in as much or as little as you can. It is tax deductible. 

You can visit my personal page to make a donation via credit card:

http://info.avonfoundation.org/site/TR/Walk2008/SanFrancisco?px=3898768&pg=personal&fr_id=1480&s_tafId=271864

(Let me know if you’d rather write a check, and I will send you the paperwork.)

Here is some information on how the money is spent

http://walk.avonfoundation.org/site/PageServer?pagename=walk_how_spent 

And here is the story behind why I am doing this: 

In 2005, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. In spite of surgery, it came back a year later – this time much more aggressive than the last. Always the fighter, she underwent surgery a second time, and fought the ravages of chemotherapy tooth and nail. Believe me, for someone who is 80 years old, this is almost impossibly hard. 

There were many, many times we feared she would not make it – it was heart wrenching to see her so weak. My mother, who has always been the rock for everyone around her, was completely helpless. But those of you who know her, know that mummy is a real trooper, and a year later, she is strong and healthy, and back in Mumbai.

 I owe my mom’s life to the early detection that helped save her, to the research due to which breast cancer is no longer a death sentence, and to the phenomenal support system of doctors, nurses, and of course, the endless stream of family and friends who encouraged her every step of the way, and kept up her morale. 

I am doing this walk in her honor, and in honor of every person who has been affected by this devastating disease. 

Most of you have, possibly, at some point in your lives, known someone who has been touched by cancer. So please, in memory of the ones you have loved and lost, and for the ones who have survived, make a donation towards this cause.

 Thank you,

Gaelyn. 

California 2008 - yet another travel log

Day 1 (7/9/2008)
E arrives. Much excitement follows … come back to sweltering apartment. Crank up the AC. E complains that silk sheets are too hot. Chat until 2 am about nothing at all. Love being a sister. Try and get Mos Mos to google chat and be part of the sister fun, but she’s not around.

Day 2 (7/10/2008)
Up at 5 am to catch plane to SF. Three hours of sleep, so very light headed. Much to the consternation of Steve, the accountant type chap sitting next to us, E and I giggle all the way from Boston to SF. Thank you Jet Blue for Direct TV - Paula Dean makes rubbish brunch on her cooking show – cause for giggles. John the elf-like steward breezes up and down the aisle – cause for more giggles. Anyway, finally reach SF, drive off to B’s beautiful home in Palo Alto. It’s wood and glass, and weaves through the garden, which has plum trees, lemon trees and a hammock – yes, a hammock! Into which I promptly jump and fall asleep (they don’t call me napster for nothing). This is the life.

Day 3 (7/11/2008)
Morning walk by the bay with B & E – Cousins talk, share stories. Birds chirp, morning joggers and dog walkers say hello, squirrels scamper across the path. And pelicans fish in the shallow waters. Hard to believe that civilization is only half a mile away. Eat lunch at bad Middle Eastern restaurant in down town Palo Alto. Walk past Borders book store (which brings back a flood of memories of past walks down these same roads).

Ride the Caltrain into the city – it’s the eve of the big walk. I am excited and wonder whether I’ll be able to complete the whole thing.

Day 4 (7/12/2008)
Up at 4:00 am. In line at 5:00 for the bus to Golden Gate park. There are hundreds of walkers and they all have friends. I feel alone and a little scared. E takes pictures and sends me off.

The park is alive and buzzing with thousands of walkers. We set off at 7:00. Our escorts, the San Jose police, have very sweetly dyed their shirts (and socks) pink in support. Teams of cheerers cheer as we walk through the city. Through Presidio and over the bridge - I’ve never walked the bridge before, and am amazed at the wonder that is the suspension bridge. The official color of the bridge, I am told, is international orange – another little piece of trivia to tuck away into the crevices of my brain. I stare down at the freezing waters of the Pacific and over at Alcatraz. A cargo ship floats by below while in contrast, tiny sail boats dot the crisp blue water.

Over to the other side and into Sausalito. I can see how Otis Redding was inspired to write “dock on the bay … wasting time”. I can so picture myself watching the tide roll in. It is a picturesque little town. On the other side, San Francisco gleams white in the morning sun.

I walk past a store selling antique books – no, excuse me, not just any old antique books, but “fine” antique books. I hadn’t realized that there were other “unfine” kinds. There’s a cobbler and a home made ice cream parlor. The locals stand out on their balconies and cheer us along.

So far so good – still enjoyable, still walking jauntily with a spring in my step. Teams have creative names like “Dudes for boobs”, “Save second base”, “Walkers for knockers”, etc. You get the drift. Some women wear fake boobs outside their clothes – superman style – just for our entertainment … hmmm …

Out of Sausalito – ten miles down, 16 to go.

Lunch time calls for lots of stretching and foot pressing, which gives me a burst of energy and I continue on with renewed gusto. Walk over to Mill Valley, where interestingly, a Boston expatriate has strawberries out for us. One of my fellow walkers spat hers out when she noticed the Red Sox banner over the garage. Ingrate!!

Mile 18 – Trudging along, but starting to wear out, so I make conversation with random people to keep me going.

Mile 23 - OK, who picked the 220 foot climb up to the bridge for this stage of the walk?

Onward we go – I see the camp on the other side of the bridge, blue tents beckoning on the shore. Bedraggled and tired, I walk past hundreds of perky tourists and want some of their cheery energy. One foot in front of the other.

Mile 25: So close and yet so far. Feet really, really hurt.

Mile 26: Finally – back at camp. People along the wayside cheer. I smile wearily, as I lumber in. Stretch out, ice feet, take hot shower (thank you Avon for providing hot showers), eat enough for three people. Set up tent with my tent mate Debra, who is a survivor.

8:15 pm – Fast asleep.

Day 5 (7/13/2008)
Up at 6:00. Pack up tent and other stuff. 7:30 am – three thousand women walk again. This time it is through the city. Some people can only go the first couple of miles and then have to be taken back. I hope I can go the distance.

We walk through Marina with its picture windows looking out at the ocean. And the hills – well, the interesting thing is that I start looking forward to the hills only because my calves and hamstrings are so tired from walking that working the quads as I climb the hills is a welcome relief. Even at mile 34, the Portero hills are beautiful with their views of the city skyline.

Mile 36 – In auto pilot mode now. I start singing to myself for inspiration. Like Dory in Finding Nemo – just keep walking, just keep walking

Mile 38 – E, Buddu and Aditya are here to welcome me in. Gosh!! Am I happy to see them. They walk the last mile in with me.

Finally, it’s the closing ceremony. 300 survivors walked with us that day, and I realize that although I started out walking for my mother, we were all walking for each other.

Tears stream down my face as people share their stories and checks are handed out to the various beneficiaries.
3500 women, 40 miles, and two days of porta potties raised 7.2 million dollars.

Back to Palo Alto and sleep.

Day 6 (7/14/2008)
E and I rent a convertible to drive out to Sonoma. OK California, here come the Almeida sisters! In Sonoma, and driving with the top down. I’ve never seen myself as a convertible kind of girl – I suppose I learn new things about myself every day. The Renaissance Lodge is sweet and luxurious.

Click for convertible photo :)

We go to a mini tasting hosted by some of the smaller vineyards. The owner of Richardson wineries says “this young lady knows her wines”. It was a fine compliment coming from him. But yes!! – I pretend well, I suppose – both at being a young lady, and at knowing about wine. Note to traveler: if you see a wine you like, check if it is sold retail, because you may not be able to buy it back home. Or if it is, you may sometimes get it at a cheaper price. I like the Chandelle’s Estraie Sauvignon Blanc, and regret that I did not buy a bottle. Also like the Muscat Cannelli – again,

We drive out to Gloria Ferrer, sit out on the porch, atop a hillock with a panoramic view of Sonoma, sipping sparkling wine and enjoying the good life. I get a brut, E gets a rose. This is the life! Back to hotel, enjoy steamy hot tub followed by fabulous dinner at Carneros.

E and I have a little spat – I guess some things never change.

Back to hotel – E is thrilled to just have ownership of the remote and able to watch TV uninterrupted by the word “mom”

Day 7 (7/15/2008)
Drive aimlessly around Sonoma – convertible top down – yippee dee. Stop at Chateau St. Jean and Ledson. Would have loved to also visit some of the more obscure wineries that are not on the map – next time, perhaps. Picked up delicious strawberries from small farm on the wayside. Time to head back to the city and reality.

Stop at Muir woods on the way back - Redwoods soar above us and sunlight sneaks in between the towering branches, casting patterns of light and shadow on the ground.

Back to SF – stuck in two hours of traffic on the 101 – yes, a jarring jolt back to real life.

Red eye back to Boston – end of another fabulous trip.

rational v/s logical

Yesterday, while out at Crane beach with a bunch of friends and friends of friends, I was randomly asked the question - "you seem like someone who would know the answer to this: what is the difference between rational and logical".

I'm not sure what caused me greater pause for thought - why someone I just met had already pegged me as a person who could answer that question, or the question itself. And yes, why bring this up at the beach, where I would rather be sleeping in the sun or reading vapid chick-lit.

Well, rational as opposed to irrational is the first thing that came to mind. I thought of rational v/s irrational numbers - one is tangible and the other is not. Or are those real v/s unreal numbers - I forget.

I looked up Oxford for the definitions of both:

rational:
1) based on or in accordance with reason or logic
2) having the capacity to reason.
3) able to think sensibly or logically.

logical:
1) of or according to the rules of logic.
2) capable of or showing rational thought.
3) expected or reasonable under the circumstances.

So if there's logic in rationalism, and rationalism in logic, what indeed is the difference?

Possibly the difference between the ability to see reason, and the ability to reason things out?
Logical is generally based on a sequence of thoughts or events.

What other words exist where the difference in the definitions are so subtle, and yet the meanings themseleves are quite different?

More on SATC

While we're on the subject of Sex and the City, here's an interesting finding. I just read in last week's issue of New York magazine that men on average have about 35 sexual partners in their lifetime. It says that women, on the other hand, have only six.

That seemed a little absurd to my curious mind. So I, the quintessential girl-geek, did the math:

Assume we have 100 men, and x is the total number of sexual encounters:

In that case, x/100 = 35

Therefore, x = 3500

For Women:
3500/y = 6

Therefore, y = 583

So my conclusions are one of the following

1) The ratio of men to women in New York is 1:5.8, which I don't think is true

Therefore,
a) Some of the men polled are sleeping with other men
b) Some of the men polled are sleeping with women outside of NY
c) The men polled are not sleeping with the women polled

Thoughts anyone??

As Mark Twain quoted: There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies and statistics.

On SATC

I just saw the movie, and could not but help have something to say about it. Well, not so much about the movie itself, which I really enjoyed. For all of us fans who miss the girls, and the show that was impossible not to enjoy, it was a nice reunion.

My biggest let down is that Mr. Big's real name is John. Yes, seriously! Oh come on writers, get creative! The jilted boyfriend was Aiden, but her true love is just another John .

Oh yes - regarding the huge amounts of product placement, will the movie do for Vitamin Water what the show did for Manolo?

But I do wonder about the drama of it all. The Cinderella story - poor Cindy weeps at her loss as the prince frantically chases her down all over the countryside, while other women try desperately hard to make the shoe fit. Same story, different period, different place, different people.

Does television melodrama make us want to replicate it in our own lives? Do TV and movies foster behavioral patterns, or is it the other way about. Do they reflect society as it stands, or do the two feed on each other until both grow out of control?

As I watched Mr. Big lobby back and forth between wanting to be with Carrie and then not, and then the whole thing ending happily ten years later, I wondered whether women are secretly encouraged by the romantic notion of being reunited with lost love - if it could happen to her, it might happen to me. Someday I will be together again with the love of my life. Nothing is sweeter than unrequited love. And so we continue to hold on to memories instead of moving on.

And does it make men think, "yes, no matter how much I bounce around, she will still be waiting for me when I figure it all out".

Oh well, there's more, but it's late, and it's been a long day, so perhaps I'll have more to say later.

yoga in the Bahamas

click picture to see photographs

Two weeks off between jobs, and I plan to use the time to detox my body and my brain. It's been a strangely tumultous month.

What with turning 35, changing jobs, issues with my startup, and other unsettling events in my otherwise quiet life, I need to slow down for a bit. The equilibrium has been disturbed, my thought process is cluttered and running amuck. I sometimes define myself by Descartes' "Cogito, ergo sum", but now I feel I need to stop the thinking. My mind is in overdrive, and I am going nuts.

I head off to Michigan to catch up with Sonali, Manoj, and the kids. Haven't played with children in a long time, and apparently, I am not "smarter than a 5th grader". Spend a lovely two days with them, and miss them all so much when I leave.

Back in Boston, and I need to get away again.

I head off to meditate in the Bahamas, trying to find nirvana, which interestingly enough, is the mind being in a state of perfect lucidity due to the absence of desires ... hmmmm ..

I arrive in Nassau, where the temperature is in the low seventies, and am welcomed by the sound of the swishing palm trees. I ask for a cab, and am given a town car. I like this place already.

It's a cold day here, the cab driver informs me. Having just left the low thirties of Boston, seventy is just fine and dandy to me, thank you very much. Like all Bahamians, the cab driver is chatty. Everyone here is "darling" - quite a contrast with the cold Bostonians. It must be the weather that makes the people in Boston crabby. And there's the ocean - oh my gosh - words cannot describe the color. It's blue, no it's green, maybe blue-green, perhaps cerulean, hmmmm turquoise ... It's the color of the rainbow when blue meets green, and I want to just jump right in.

A tiny boat takes me to Paradise Island and the ashram, which is like a little tropical haven. It is austere, pristine and quite out of place amidst all the ghastly luxury resorts with their multitudinous tourists and their umberella drinks. I am glad to not be part of the hoi polloi.

I love it instantly. My room is about 7' x 8' with two tiny little beds (more like skinny mattresses on wooden platforms). I lie down and fall into a peaceful sleep. I guess one doesn't really need the "heavenly bed and multiple shower jets" at the W or the Westin after all. There's no alcohol, only vegetarian food, and I have to wake up at 5:30 for morning meditation.

Four o' clock in the evening, and I go to my first two hour session of meditation and yoga. I am on a platform looking out at the ocean. Absolute serenity. I am doing pretty well, until the teacher says "OK, now we do a head stand". Who, me?? - I can barely stand on my two legs given the broken knee cap and everything else. Whooop, the man next to me is up on his head in a flash. He must be about seventy years old, and not only is he up on his head, but also appears to be doing some sort of upside down bicyle motion while his legs are up in the air, as I watch on, mouth agape. I do however, do well on the shoulder stands, and other bendy things. I am quite bendy.

I spend my time doing four hours of yoga & meditation a day, and lounge away the lazy afternoons on the beach. I haven't swum in the ocean in years (what can I say? I'm from Mumbai, and the waters of New England are just too cold in comparison). The waves feel great even though I am terrified of them. The sun feels even better. I frolick and jump around in the water like a child. I am happy and destressed (the Thai massage certainly helps). I make all kinds of friends - Anders from Sweden, Patricia from Montreal, Richard and his wife from New Hampshire.

Oh yes, I meet an astrologer (how can one not??), who tells me that I am about to embark on something new, at which I will have great success. I guess that's the new job. Apparently now until August is an auspicious time in my life, so if I want to marry or buy a home, this is when I should do it. So I have three months to find the love of my life --- funny, funny, funny!! Easier to just buy another house.

This is a quiet place for quiet thoughts, and I feel amazing. I leave Boston behind, but find that I cannot meditate - my mind wanders.

But one day, just for a fraction of a second, lying on the yoga deck facing the ocean, I am completely still. For one fleeting moment, my mind is calm and clear of all thought. I try to get back into that state of stillness, but cannot. Apparently it takes time, so someday I'll be able to stop thought again and see my soul.

And in my quiet moments, I have several private introspections - I tune in to the forgotten person inside me. I think about the person I want to be, about the people I love, about the person I want to spend my life with, etc. However, it does not take long for the city to wipe these thoughts away, so I have to often stop and breathe and remind myself of them.

I come away, stronger both inside and outside (four hours of yoga a day makes me discover muscles I did not even know I had). I'm not quite a new person or anything like that. (Not that I want to be a new person since I'm pretty fond of the old one).

No nirvana yet :) - still have desire(s) but will try to not let them consume me. Defintely going back in January.