Vira Komarraju

birth month and past life regression...

2008-11-16T00:13:00.002+05:30

'twas that day of the year, to toast a three cheer
my arrival onto this globe; get the spotlight, get the strobe
time to reflect since then, what have i lost, what have i gained;

delve, delve into the past, past life regression atlast
reveals the reasons i'm here; with goals i hold on to dear
reach, reach out and realize; lest life's end chastise
breach of intent from birth to last; stay on track, hold on fast.

Words are all i have.

2008-11-10T23:05:00.001+05:30

He sits by the lake-side,
And wonders at the world’s disasters…

Words, words, words and more words. When will all the action come? Where has all the intent gone?

Negativity. Nihilism. Nothingness.
Positivity. Vivacity. Bubbling with life.
Do these things matter in the long run?
Does it matter who you are? Or should one be content to be a mere drop in the ocean.
Why all this striving? This ambition. This desire to be.
To be a SOMEONE. Ultimately you have to die. All that lives on is mere memories. Just memories, which exist for only those who really remembered you; for those who really and truly have a spare moment for you. It all boils down to non-existentialism. Seems so futile and unnecessary. Life. Life is for the living. But, shouldn’t there be some driving force. Some director who goads – no, guides – you on? Furnishes you with the necessary fire of energy? Of enthusiasm. Of ambition. Of desire. To be spurred on?

I wouldn’t mind, this moment, to be on a nomadic cloud. Drifting on high. With an aimless, lazy course across the firmament. Peeking in here, joining in there. A participant yet an aloof one. Involved and yet solitary. Unscathed and untouched by the pettiness (?) around. Sure, it mayn’t be trifle for the rest of the world. But for me – true – I’m disengaged from actuality. From the so-called Reality of this life.

Well, right now, I’m feeling pure negation. And this piece of writing is witness.

Confusion. Should I be – my old happy-go-lucky gay(?) self? Or should I be(come) a changed person, wrought by and overcome by the usual rigours of a humdrum lifestyle.

I want to be FREE. From the shackles of routine and convention. From the restriction of a 9-5 job.

I want to get over the ordeal of doubt. Finish the test and get a confirmation, do the needful and rest in satisfaction – peace of mind.

Let gooooooo...

2008-11-10T22:28:00.000+05:30

Dreaming, Delving, Exploring. Into the Mind. I want freedom – Restriction from shackles. Breakfree – Let your mind go unleashed. Untampered, unembellished, naked. Like nature. What happened to me? Why am I bound. I’m Chained. Restrained. Leashed. Curbed. Checked. I am conditioned. Refrained. Held back. Cordoned off. One day I’ll let go.

I’LL BREAK THE CHAINS. DROP THEM. FLOAT in the firmament.

We should live free with no walls, doors, windows, fences, curtains, drapes to our thoughts. Let them be spontaneous. Let me be queen of all I survey. Let me be in control of my life. Let me SURFACE. Let go...

Over the Writer's Block..

2008-11-02T14:29:00.003+05:30

Nine months. Finally, I managed it. Got around to putting my stories and poems together. Humorous, tear-jerkers, sublime, social-changers.Send to publishers for evaluation. I did it. Overcame the writer's block. Indu will provide the illustrations. Expect the book out by January 2009. And meanwhile, work on my Practioner's Handbook for Technical Writers manuscript - publish this through Wiley.
Target - Jan'09 to the publishers on stands by April '09.

All the best to me!

Freedom ... at midnight!

2008-01-26T02:06:00.000+05:30

Well, I thought I would get into a good deep restful sleep by turning into bed early! oh yes, I'm turning in early morn, not late night...:)

Just couldn't resist the first entry into my journal this year - rather late, but I've begun doing what I set up to do as my New Year resolve - new things like I've not done before...

I'm all set to publish atleast TWO books this year. See more places - explore on MY OWN. Read more books. Take care to get what I like rather than like what I get - in retrospect.

Okay, I'm heading to hit the sack. More tomorrow.

G'night!

managing my manager - chin up!

2007-10-26T20:40:00.000+05:30

;-) if I don't reach out and EXPRESS, the shit will hit my face sooner than later...so in my manager's words, use him, exploit him, demand his attention and make him look good and make the team look good and i'll be doing great!

so the next time i see something that is not normal, i don't wait for the right time and/or stay quiet and expect that the situation will get resolved. i open my mouth and TALK! especially, don't give it time...time is the enemy. it makes you feel bad to worse and 'laid back' takes charge...it is necessary to be walking always with head thrust forward...

okay. got the pix truly well. so go ahead and execute and put any trace of dignity in your pocket no, in the drain and flush it out well with good judgment. because 'dignity' is the guise of a false ego.

Attitude : upset to set up!

Chin up!

cruising...

2007-10-17T22:40:00.000+05:30

cruising is an activity like doodling, on hold and yet not stationary. it's like when life happens to you even as you keep up the idling...dude, or dudette, it's like being in a coma. nor dead not alive; not behind or beyond; not still nor moving, but not dead. an illusion of motion.

alive but just. why. why do i get this strange sense of life passing by and i look in even as i am one of the players therein? looking, searching, waiting.

y is life always on two levels? active, passive. mandy and ms goody two shoes.

quit this double life. get into the fray, with your whole soul and essence.
BE SPONTANEOUS. ok, now i've hit the hot button. what's missing? the 'live-it-as-you-feel-it' element. wary, only that much there.

good night.

late night dribble...just about

2007-09-10T23:04:00.000+05:30

jab bhi jee chaahe, nayee duniya basaa letey hain log;
ek chehere pe kai chehere lagaa letey hain log.

ab bas, aur nahi. kal milenge.

without the family

2007-07-29T17:54:00.000+05:30

knowing that i must get accustomed to the absence of family is the first step. accepting that all will be asunder AND i am missing them is the next step. the third is to make an agenda for my free time and try to stick to that. look at the positives...i have a palette white and free and can paint any pix i want everyday...do all the things i kept at bay when i was nurturing my young fledglings...now they have ventured afar from the nest to find their wings! now it's time for ME to learn, be strong and fly!

2007-07-29T17:33:00.000+05:30

this poem's simply amazing....

MY WAGE

I bargained with Life for a penny,
And Life would pay no more,
However I begged at evening
When I counted my scanty store;

For Life is a just employer,
He gives you what you ask,
But once you have set the wages,
Why, you must bear the task.

I worked for a menial's hire,
Only to learn, dismayed,
That any wage I had asked of Life,
Life would have paid.

--J.B. Rittenhouse

solitude truncated...

2007-07-29T17:27:00.001+05:30

I kind of liked it and kind of didn't. stepping off the curb of routine into a social setting reminiscent of those years. the flippant, flirtatious, fruitless coquettish yesterdays of yesteryears of momentary happiness.

i liked that i was, after that immense break, an outsider in the clamour for glamour; bustling busybodies rushing around, searching outside of themselves for respite. i didnt like the dejavu and the reminder of wasted years - good though they seemed at the time. now i spy that my mind is laced with cynicism at the forced social context on my time. fun and forget? that would be great. but it is not. it is not free wheeling, frank fun. it is forced.

i enjoy my solitude after a day packed with interactions. time to myself. for myself. that's me. I’m returning to me. introspection and retrospection. reflecting to understand myself and my offering to life this time over.

:-) 2007 July 18

solitude truncated...

2007-07-29T17:27:00.000+05:30

On writing - just the tip!

2007-07-17T22:42:00.000+05:30

Set aside a few minutes each day to get into the 'mood' read 'frame of mind' to pen your thoughts. In expectation of this verbal deluge or diarrhoea, the mind focuses subliminally, all day to result in sense on paper.

Tell yourself your expection from yourself for the eod or end of the day - 10 lines of rational thought. And you'll surprise yourself.

Let the time of day you put your thoughts down be a comfortable time you can afford. Even if it were for just 10 minutes. When you tune your mind, it delivers. Even if it doesn't make sense at the point of time, get the words out. Later you can prune, trim and nurture them into comprehension.

Soon, you'll have a full page , whence once it was blanching white...and that will spur the motion of verbal onslaught. Let go. Not all spoken or written words border on the sensibilities. they need to be fractured into meaning.

So be it. Amen. You'll be looking forward to tappity tap or ink out your thoughts...that's just the beginning.

Rest assured, the starting problem will be replaced by beginner's luck, until...ever heard of writer's block? :-) beware.

Change Over

2007-07-17T22:39:00.000+05:30

Change

the face of all experience

that was,

with the present.

moment only.

that alone is the living truth

of your existence;

yesterday was,

tomorrow will be...

today is now,

this moment

why then, should all else matter?

here and now

i and thou

exist

for the present moment -

nevermore nor less.

Before or everafter.

on being regular...

2007-07-11T23:17:00.001+05:30

okay, so i lost my initial draft, never mind.

like i was saying, i'm TRYING to be regular at posting on my blog.
despite having a toast albeit alone on the eve of my/our wedding anniversay, i am in spirit with my dearest one and the dearer offsprings, three in count and all male, including the spouse!

'tis also about being judgmental i spake - that being aware that i am judgmental of situation or person/s and drilling down to the actual cause for my judgment itself helps me towards redemption.

well, i'll try to be naturally happy. and go my own path. writing everyday, whatever strikes my mind.

here i end with love tonight for all.

2007-07-11T23:16:00.001+05:30

on being regular...

2007-07-11T23:10:00.000+05:30

okay, so i AM trying to be a regular at penning my thoughts. even if it is after a celebration toast on the eve of my wedding anniversary. albeit alone. but in spirit i'm together with my dearest one and dearer offsprings

happiness in solitude

2007-07-10T22:24:00.000+05:30

Well, there was a time when I revelled in solitude, and would be with my own thoughts which translated into print. Now that time is at hand again, when I indulge in listening to my kind of music played at my decibels (read loud) stepping to it in my own company...interspersed with reading, writing, dancercising, meditating, and well walking and just absorbing the beautiful breeze and rainwashed greenery at dawn! It's a sublime experience and inimitable. Each day. I'm beginning to love it. At peace with myself. Independent. Unfazed by the routine clamour (almost). There are are so many things to do and achieve in life. Life is not enough. :-)Good night.

Hurt proof...

2007-06-25T23:19:00.000+05:30

Often we believe we are hurt proof, untouchable by the vulnerabilties of memories and the deluge of nostalgia that can assail us. yesterday this was proved true for me again.

Rani dad's nurse visited. one thing led to another and i was eventually shedding tears, just a little shower, like it was only yesterday...that dad was here. i became aware that it was 13 months since he died. 22 may to 24 june. my sons nihal and tarun were at home too. we put dad's pic on the dining room wall, and rani, and two of us took turns with rani and dad to get pictured with him.

then we visited his pictures with us during his last days at home in this ephemeral existence. and it was really yesterday once more. he was so alive and present. it was amazing.

Story - When time stood still

2006-04-05T23:15:00.000+05:30

I was then a scrawny twelve-year-old, bespectacled, looking short sightedly at the world rushing past me. At the time, I never ceased to wonder at the events happening around me.

My sole aim in life was to scour the little world in my immediate vicinity, for excitement, juicy eaves droppings, taking full pleasure in executing forbidden tasks. Of marbles and football, of mischief, of pretentious game. At the fag end came my studious intentions. Just like all kids with a dozen years to their credit.

It was on a warm late afternoon, with the sun in my eyes that I was homeward bound. From a tiring day of boring Maths and General Science, from the teacher's tongue lashes and hard backslapping - All part of the usual routine. From the welcome tinkle of the school bell.

Now I was rushing home, pelting down the dusty road, only stopping to pick those wonderful gulmohars for my mother. I loved picking a whole golden bunch for her each day. Even though she received them with a resigned sigh and a quick hug. Complaining because she could not wear them in her hair!

I just glowed proudly each time she placed them carefully in the decorative brass vase. Now, brandishing my booty, I scampered off towards home, the excited shouts of the gardener behind me receding in the background.

As I entered the courtyard, childish intuition replaced the song in my heart with heavy foreboding. Silence and stillness pervaded the surroundings, oblivious of the faint rustling of the leaves on the trees. Suddenly nothing seemed to move.

In the verandah, a quiet crowd stood scattered around. My grandma came rushing forward and clutched me in a tight embrace, crying quietly. Ruffling my hair and squeezing me in her warm hold.

Over her arm, I was my mother's prone, still body on the front room 'takhat'. Her face as white as the sheet that lay covering her neck down.

Dead. No. I couldn't bear it. Not my mother. Not my mother. It was possible only in the movies. Not in real life. I wrenched myself from those arms around me, which suddenly felt heavy and claustrophobic.

The heavy downpour of tears blinded me, but I ran. Ran swiftly. I don't know where I was heading. Anywhere. Away from the gruesome picture that was now painted on the canvas of my life.

Stumbling along to my little hideaway where I often spun stories of a grand future as a pilot, a doctor, a hero doing my mom proud. Crunching the bronze leaves on the heap Deepak and I had so carefully made the day before. I crouched there and cried my heart out.

All I felt was hurt and loneliness; desolation and a sense of betrayal. My childish trust had led me to believe life would remain the same - forever sunny. Always close to her warm smiling face in all my waking hours.

Drained of all energy, I stared vacantly ahead. Only then did I realize that I still clutched those beautiful Flames of the Forest gathered especially for her. And the tears came afresh. And I buried my face deep in the dead leaves. Now, nothing mattered. Time didn't count.

It was a hit and run case like so many others and like some exceptions the driver had been apprehended for life sentence. But no punishment could bring her back to me.

It was a week since She had gone. Poor grandma. She had attempted to convince me that mother had simply gone on a visit to heaven to see God! Little did she realize mine was a silence of disbelief?

Suddenly, I had burst into adulthood. Severed all ties with childish innocence and fantasy. Come face to face with death and the emptiness of being alone. Overnight, I was a man. I had grown up. Dramatically, painfully. On even terms with reality.

Story - A Summer Romance

2006-04-05T23:12:00.000+05:30

Molly was in love. Not the deep, undying love of a martyr. Nor even the bold, brash love of a die-hard flirt. But simple, romantic 'summer' love - 'Puppy Love' with its eternally effervescent, out-of-reach quality. Molly was in love with the Boy-Next-Door. Fair, handsome, tall and twenty-five years old. And he did not even appear to hold a hint of her teenage-state-of-the-jelly heart each time she gazed at him over the fence across their garden.

So, with a sigh, Molly turned her attention to Adventure. This summer, her diary must record 'The Experiences of Miss Adventure' if not of 'Miss Romance'. Truly, life would otherwise be a total drab, she mused, leafing through the day's newspaper.

'When your phone rings today, don't say 'Hello', say "Royal Reserve"… she read. The hair stood on the nape of her neck, the blood raced through her veins and her heart beat faster - in excitement for the promised suspense.

Scenes from 'Dial M for Murder' flashed through her mind. The threat, "I'm from the Syndicate and I'm gonna kill you" instilled its own fearful caution. 'Kaun? Kaisey?' a murder movie poster she'd seen just yesterday, and the graphics were still imprinted in her memory.

Molly started back to reality from the train of thoughts coursing through her brain. Just a simple, eye-catching advertisement in the newspaper and she was making an ado about it!

"I couldn't be blamed," she excused her wild imagination. It was time for some excitement to perk up this dull, drab city's summer. After all - it was Vacation and all you could work up for action was a fuming temper at the electricity department for its power-rationing stints, the newspapers for their perpetual announcements that Chennai had no drinking water, then Kolkatta and now Hyderabad. And of course, there was the intense, sweltering heat that threatened to melt any fat around the place - including her.

And now… there was this advertisement! A thoroughly exciting package to avidly anticipate. What was the surprise it held? What could you expect from the stately, aristocratic label "Royal Reserve"? An intoxicating gift hamper indeed! A whole big bottle of good cheer perhaps with a set of glasses for good measure? Or would it be a basket of tidbits off a 'royal' table kept in 'reserve' for foolish adventurous romantics like her waiting at the end of a line? Or was it after all an idle miscreant's practical joke for the start of summer.

O well!, she thought - caution to the winds, let's give it a try. 'Ring, Ring". Molly raced over to the telephone. "Royal Reserve", "Royal Reserve", she said boldly into the receiver.

She heard a cackle at the other end of the line. "Hi silly! It's me, Rita. Whatever's got into you?" said her friend's familiar voice. Molly flushed, but retorted, "Oh! I was just play acting for a change."

"I'll never say it again", Molly decided. Yet, one hour of bored comic flicking later, when the telephone jingled, her adventurous spirit buoyed.

"Royal Reserve!" she said carefully into the mouthpiece.

"Good morning, Madam! And congratulations from Royal Reserve. I am Ashish Nair," said a young husky male voice. You've just won yourself a fabulous surprise package from 'Royal Reserve', continued the magical tone…"Hello? Are you still there?" came a puzzled note.

"Yes, yes, Hello," Molly responded, suddenly struck off balance.

"Well then, if you'll give me your address, I'll be over with your GIFT at 5 pm sharp…"

Was it real or imagined? How she ever completed the conversation, Molly never knew. She sailed on a dream cloud all day, until the evening.

Came the bewitching hour, the door opened to the chiming clock and Molly gazed with bewilderment into the eyes of The Deliverer, Mr Ashish Nair. No more a stranger than The Boy Next Door.

"Do come in," she whispered at his brilliant smile. Now all thumbs and toes, she stumbled, her precious gifts hamper flying.

Cinderella never reached the floor, but Prince Charming's welcome arms.

At last, here was the start of a hit summer romance with a touch of (Mis) adventure!

What's all this about?

2006-03-10T02:26:00.001+05:30

Who am I?
My name is Vira Komarraju and I work in the Branding and Marketing division of a well positioned IT company. (not anymore :)

What is my weblog?
My weblog is my personal journal, my listening inner ear that speaks not nor judges, nor offers trivialized (how judgemental!!) comments and suggestions; just a quality (there goes again) listener! :-)

Why am I blogging?
My blog is my major PR and publicity buddy (oh yeah?), eliminating the need for an intermediary in the publishing process. It has dramatically reduced the cost of reaching large interested readers. And it's fun too... :-)

It is a misconception that blogging is best left to computer-experts. Everybody has something interesting to say, given the right context. Message-boards, chat-rooms and blogs are slowly replacing clubs, restaurants and other social places in much of the developed world. (some call it the INhuman interface!)

Tada.