A Million and One Memories

I realise I don't have photos to capture everything... but nevertheless... here is a feeble attempt! More to follow... As many as I can. This post will be updated soon!

To Do or Not To Do?

Hamlet once asked a similar question. And though mine is not as existential a question, I feel something akin to the emotion that Shakespeare must have had in mind when he wrote that famous line.

It is a rather small thing that is bothering me, a simple matter really. But then again it is not so simple. I feel like an infant who refuses to walk for fear of getting hurt or falling. And then there is my humungous ego. Howmuch ever I try not to, I can't help getting a little egotistic at times.

The confusion at times is grave enough to drive me to tearing my hair out or other such foolish nonsense. Then i take hold of myself firmly and set myself some highly idiotic deadlines. I admit they do work, albeit for a short while. And there are distractions - neither powerful enough nor attractive enough. But mulling over them serves a temporary purpose - it keeps my mind occupied. I count the days to 22nd June.

My Tara

In a few short months, I will no longer call that flat home. It is time to say another goodbye. My parents get ready to move out of Delhi for good. Not me yet. I cannot live without breathing that air, seeing those sights. The city is what is home to me, not just the house my parents live in. My heart is still there in more ways than one. Much still pulls me back, too many strings bind me to the only city that will ever truly be home. I find so much peace there, such belonging and a love that warms my blood. To the city that has given me happiness and memories that I will cherish forever I can only say I feel like Scarlett O'Hara and that Delhi is my Tara!

P.S: Thanks to dips for the polaroid collage idea!

A Rainy Day

The sky turned a deathly black. At 4 in the afternoon it seemed like midnight. If this were a mystery or thriller, the sky would be the perfect way to begin it. Inside the cooped up, centrally air conditioned office, there’s not much else you can experience anyway, other than marvel at the absolute blackness of the clouds. For a moment, I wanted to grab them and prick them with a pin so they would burst!

I stepped out to the terrace nearby. A crowd stood there. I wriggled my way to the front; felt the wind blow at my top and my hair, drops of rain reaching the covered alcove between the office and the terrace. The drops wanted to fall somewhere, they fell somewhere else, skidding in the wind. A pot lay on its side, its leafless stalk long dead and now battered by the rain. A coconut tree sways in the distance, defying its weight and bowing to the fearsome wind. I clutch the bottom of my top, lest it fly too high. In the midst of all this a little pink flower blossoms, delicate, innocent, beautiful.

The lights go on, throwing their warm yellow light on cream coloured walls, giving them a welcoming glow. The chill wind seems even more welcome.

The earth smells fresh, as though it is beginning anew, giving life to all that it can. The trees seem greener, the undergrowth more lush. There is music in every sound including the cab horns; the rumble of the thunder; the soft music in the distance. I want to sing. I sit in the cab, windows rolled down, humming to myself, at one with the world, a soft smile on my lips.

It is the perfect evening to sit by the window, feeling the wind and the water, a cup of hot coffee in hand, music in the room, blending with nature’s song.

PS: I wrote this yesterday. It could just as well have been today.

Love & Hate

Love. A year ago, I would have followed it up with peace, happiness, contentment, smiles and a few more adjectives of a similar kind. Now I also add to that list restlessness, a constant curiosity, insecurity, and occassional irritation.

Before I am accussed of pessimism, let me clarify. Love is never only about beaming at the ceiling. So much more accomapnies it. So much that I at least did not expect. It is a wonderful journey, it is something I would love to repeat (now that my first trip is finally over!). But it is not without its bumps and potholes.

Often, Love and Hate (oxymoronic as they sound) collide even today. I feign indifference often. I only fool the others. I can never fool myself into it. They are two sides of the same coin and the complete blank that is indifference I will never achieve (nor do I want to. I have cared too much to throw it all away.)

The journey is over and I am finally home. The memories like a photo album tucked away in a corner... a small, dark corner. Sometimes I switch on the light and I stare in hope for a richer, fuller album; something I can put in a frame on my desk. Sometimes I go so far as to fetch it out and turn the first few pages. Then I feel like the man in White Nights, living half a fantasy. So I shake my head and bring myself back to my world. Sometimes I feel like tearing it, but I cannot bring myself to do so. Someday, I might yet laugh when I see those photographs. For now, I lock the cupboard, pack my bags, and get ready for a new journey.

Note: This was written about a month ago. I chose not to put it up then. I do now, for while I am not indifferent, I am less restless and more at peace today.