On making wishes

Once upon a time, I was told that if you're passing under a bridge while a train is going over it, you could make a wish and it would come true. So on my way to college, when I would pass through Chanakyapuri and go through this underpass that occasionally had trains going over it, I would make a wish.

A decade later, I can't remember if any of those wishes actually ever came true. But what is there in trying?

I now live and work near an airport. And sometimes, I pass through the airport on my evening commutes (well, the service road of the airport - I'm too stingy to pay $2 every time I want to take a faster route). When you take this route, it also means you're driving under the runways of the airport, and every so often, driving under them while a Boeing 737 is taxiing on the runway.

So when I'm not wondering what would happen if the runway just collapsed with me under it and the airplane over it, I make a quick wish. Because why should planes not be given the same wish-granting opportunities as trains?

Quick, make a wish!

What all do you make wishes on? I wish when an eyelash falls, or when I get the wishbone while eating chicken. Or if I'm passing under a bridge at the same time a train's going over it.

I don't wash my hair on Tuesdays or Thursdays lest something happens to the brother.

I don't call anyone back as they're leaving home; if I do, I give them a glass of water before they leave again - comes from the mother's experience as a teenager.

I don't cut my nails after the sun sets.

I'm vegetarian on Tuesdays, and I don't eat beef - for no religious reasons, but because the parents don't, and therefore I don't.

I email the brother to find out if he's okay if a glass breaks at home.

The parents have always believed that having pigeons in your house means it's a happy house. We've never had a home without the presence of pigeons. On the other hand, I once read a book which said pigeons in the house are an omen of death.

I was six years old, when a vulture came and sat in our front lawn. My Thamma saw it, took a stick and chased it away, because it's an omen of death. Two days later, my Dadu, who was hospital in the last stages of leukemia, passed away.

Different places, different people, different beliefs.

What do you believe?

UPDATE (06 March 2011): Just saw this, and think it makes a lot of sense. I'm going to wish for the same thing next time.

Dire straits

About a year ago, during a rather innocuous conversation, a friend of mine happened to mention ot me that according to Vaastu Shastra or Feng Shui or one of those things, how organized your home is supposedly signifies how clear you are in your thoughts. That day, on returning home, I went to my room and took a good look around. Sure enough, a horrible mess met my eyes.

Now, I might not believe in any of those schools of thought, but this particular line of thought made sense to me. My thoughts have been in a complete clutter for the past two years or so now, and my room, well, when has that not been a mess?!? That, my dear and not-so-dear readers, is why the train of thought in most of my entries rarely seems to follow any logical path.

The bottomline is, while my room occasionally does undergo a thorough spring-cleaning session, the clutter my thoughts have been in for the last two years has reached a point where I don't seem to be able to sort them out even if I tried. Moreover, this feeling has intensified in the recent past. I feel pulled in different directions all the time in pretty much every aspect of my life these days. There are innumerable options, demands, suggestions, commands, and roads that seem to magically appear before me without me evincing the slightest bit of desire for any of it. I sometimes feel like a captured octopus who has eight different idiots pulling at each of its legs - not a very pleasnt image to bring to mind, I agree. The desparation for answers seems to be just increasing at times.

I think I would be in a better state - at least mentally, if nothing else - if I had some degree of faith in yoga, or art of living, or reiki, or something. Unfortunately, I don't. And that means that I am quite likely to finally give in to my long-cherished desire of throwing a crystal vase at the wall and smashing it to smithereens very soon.