Deathsong
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with words playing out in my head. If I don’t get them down, they disappear in around five minutes, so I’m thankful Evernote exists :) Last night, this is what I woke up with…
I thought you were a song,
And I played you
Over and over in my head,
Till the leaves turned brown and the
Ice fell upon the soft thrush of meadows.
I thought you were a whisper
And I let you fly with the winds,
Beating through my hair
And onto the shallow graves
Of summer.
I thought you were the fire,
so I let you burn,
Giving birth to the embers
Of yellowed disappointment.
Rhea C Dhanbhoora
Happy gooey chocolate filled, golden 22 on 22 :-) One celebration down, two to go. (Taken with instagram)
Time for twenty two :-) (Taken with instagram)
I had to grow all the way up to parsi 22 to get blue balloons :-P thank you @faye0808 (Taken with instagram)
The Wait
Out and about in the happily
bustling, oozing with life city this
past week and craving for an escape
to a land of beaches, waves and
calm, a lot of things have been
hitting me in the face. The most
recent being the lack of time anyone
seems to have for anything anymore.
And if you do have a lot of time on
your hands, you’re either out of a job
or labelled a useless lay-about
(which, unfortunately, with the way life is these days, you probably are). It’s difficult to do nothing. In fact, doing nothing has become a luxury none of us can really afford, even on the weekends.
Sure, we’re connected and we’re sociable and we’re networking through from one party to the next. But the ‘sitting around a table messaging each other instead of having a conversation’ deal is getting a little bit out of hand. And what’s more, the time we don’t spend on our phones, social networks, at our jobs and falling, exhausted into bed, we’re spending waiting. It is, unconsciously often enough, what we do best. We wait.
For the sunrise, for the sunset. For weekends and then for weekdays. Wait till the sky darkens and the clouds threaten to cry upon our heads and cool our hot skin. Then wait again for the sun to peep through between the foggy mountains and crisp us to a gentle golden glow. Wait for the winter chill to huddle in our blankets and peruse through books with steaming cups of coffee and hot treats.
And then wait again, for another season to turn over, another year to end and another year to begin. There’s never a dearth of times we have to sit and wait. We’re always waiting in fact, we’re never just satisfied being where we are. Living in the moment is a distant memory, Spontaneity staggering around drunk, trying to find her way back to us but caught up in a drunken stupour of monotonous routine and a steady trickle of stability that none of us want to let go off.
It’s not as though we haven’t gone over this one before. Oh, we have and how. We’ve pleaded and begged each other to slow down, we’ve tried to convince ourselves to stop and smell the roses, asked ourselves What is this life, if full of care/we have no time to stop and stare. But, that’s all been swept under a haze of dust that a million shoes running past managed to kick up a storm with.
I’d like a little leisure every once in a while, but I won’t hold my breath. We’ve all been conditioned so well that relaxing is something we have to practice doing now. Meditation and yoga and all the new-found fads that promise peace and calm. We don’t have to work at being busy, but taking a break? That’s a challenge not many can face up to.
Brainwashed into thinking busy is best, we’re waiting for the next big catch to hook onto and reel in. Everyone’s just waiting for the next train so they can hop on and zip past to their next –oh-so-important meeting, phones buzzing and thoughts racing through to the next chapter in their lives before they’ve even scanned through the one still open. Waiting for the next train before they’re off the first. Me? I’m hoping I find a way to hop off and take a little detour to that ‘break from life’ everyone keeps raving about.
Where we used to be…
There’s a part of me that can’t wait for what’s in store, for that big, bad future and all it holds. But then there’s the other part. The nostalgic twangs that will me to turn back the clock…
I spent the morning thinking about a time not so long ago when the only sound that awakened me to the world was the soft buzz of my phone under my pillow. I discovered the terrace when I was eighteen, at that precarious age when life gives you a little pause and asks you what you expect of it.
When the sunrise was not something I took for granted and the sound of birds chirping in the morning made my day complete before it had even started. Soft guitar chords would float around me as I waited patiently for nightfall, as days stretched into night and then merged into each other like rivers flowing into a big ocean of freedom.
I thought it would last forever. The freedom to lie back on a terrace with the warm rays of the sun cooling the chill that night had swept into my bones, my hair falling in a soft cascade on the dirty floor of the terrace and my eyes shielded by shadows of laughter and the smell of breakfasts being made in homes around the city wafting upwards toward the slowly lightening sky.
We used to watch the clouds part and play games with us, the sun playing peek-a-boo behind them, rising slowly to its peak and then swaying overhead. That’s when we went back to daily life. When the sun stood still and told us that it was time to stop staring up at it; that the dance of dawn was done and our day had begun.
It was quiet on the terrace. Even in rush hour, when the rest of the city scrambled to get public transport and cars honked impatiently so as not to miss the twinkling green signals. When there was construction around (unfortunately starting at 8 am, a ridiculous time to interrupt our reverie with the sound of drills and bulldozers), it was still peaceful for us as we shut it all out with earphones and a good song.
The cool morning air would brush against my skin; my eyes would sparkle with the promise of serenity at the end of the struggle of growing up. People changed, people left, life zipped past. But the terrace stayed the same. Solid and stable, unmoving, always there to go back to; to sparkle with the stars and blink unflinchingly up at the sun, challenging its glare.
Dreams were woven in time, life a big question mark that we didn’t want to find the answers to just as yet. The naivety of youth rising and falling as we indulged in conversations beyond our years and giggled like children in quick succession.
In the afternoons the terrace was lined with crows, black dots against the rusted edges of the grills, peacefully sunning themselves while we read our books and lay back on our chairs, dozing in the summer heat and the winter warmth. The evenings gave it life all of a sudden, quick chatter replacing the cawing crows and footfalls heavy on the mosaic tiles.
It was all-knowing, the terrace. It saw more than we intended it to. It laughed with us, opening its arms to welcome us in when we needed companionship, cried with us when it saw tears glistening in our eyes. It sat in silence while we watched the sunrise and hummed our favourite tunes when we forgot the rhythm. It watched us dance, let us talk, stood patient through the screams and it didn’t miss kisses snuck in under the moonlight. It watched people fall in and out of love, all the while drawing us into its web of tranquility. It broke through the barriers anger held up between us; it became our sanctuary, our home. It understood us and what we needed.
The terrace hasn’t forgotten, but we’ve forgotten it, life snatching us up, leaving us with no time to say thank you. Newly turned eighteen-year-olds now sit where we used to, dangling their feet over parapets, unaware of what’s to come and happy in their oblivion. The conversations are the same but they’re not our voices. We visit, but we don’t linger.
We’re the other people now, running through the morning. The sunrise is forgotten on most days as we rush to meet timings and deadlines. The sun sets quickly outside while we wait for the day to end. Daylight is a dream, to be able to stand outside before the sun dips beneath the horizon and disappears.
It’s quiet in my mind when I close my eyes though. I’m on the terrace, letting the wind sweep playfully by me, spilling out dreams and stuck in purgatory, waiting for the beginning and the end, stuck in the middle without a care in the world. In my mind nothing changes. Everything stays the same. Until I open my eyes and continue to type.
Not so Rosy
The aftermath of Valentine’s Day is often akin to the aftermath of a war. Crushed roses lie open faced on the pavements, trodden upon and blackened by soles of people rushing past, unaffected by their significance. Sometimes, broken shards of glass lie scattered across certain parts of the road, where shop windows have been destroyed. The day after, you can still hear echoes of protests, screams of poor women being dragged by their hair, away from their lovers and the dull echo of thuds on the ground and against parked cars with ‘lathis.’ Yes, Valentine’s Day is a pretty big deal in the city – just, for all the wrong reasons mostly.
Apart from protests in Andhra Pradesh, Valentine’s Day this year was a somber affair, more dull and downtrodden than most and lacking the fire and wrath from political parties in the city. Which is a good thing, but it didn’t do much to get the city in the mood for love. Sure, there’s not really a good enough reason to have one special day to celebrate your love and it’s better to be loving all year round, not that we’re a city blushing with affection or anything.
Apart from the few greeting card shops and one ridiculously timed, pink themed occasion (some sort of party, you tell me what!) somewhere in Andheri (whoever you are, there were just too many pink hears floating around outside) there was not much that spelt Valentine’s Day. Sure, commercial places were bursting with specials and there was a murmur going around about it being Valentine’s Day, but mostly everyone I know was staying far away from the idea of it, forget practicing it.
There’s a lull around the place when it comes to affection or love. It’s ridiculed and trodden upon. But (and I know it’s been said time and time again) there’s never a qualm about talking about hatred and anguish, sorrow and tragedy. Those are the topics we cling to; the controversy is what we live for. Sensationalism and putting people down we can do without any help but we shy away from anything good in a fashion that’s almost scary. It’s almost like everyone’s pushing love into a corner and forgetting about it.
I’m not sure I want to see red hearts floating around the city. And I’m a fair bit uncomfortable with too much mush myself. I’m not saying Valentine’s Day is a big deal or that it should have been springing up roses this year instead of hiding under the blanket. And sure, there’s a tad of love around the city, we’re just all too scared to express it. Beating someone up, passing moral judgement? That we can do. Show love? God forbid! But we need love, we really do. And when the hate lies silent, there’s really not much going for us, is there?
This was a good Valentine’s, no gore and drama. But there’s no love in the city either, which is sad.
Some nights just kill it :-)
Some nights just kill it :-)
Working The Books
If you’re working and studying or even attempting to do so, you should know it’s not going to be an easy ride, so it’s easy to want to step off it if you’re not doing so out of necessity. It’s riddled with bumps and potholes and frighteningly steep cliffs to trudge up over to the other side. But, at the end of the day if it’s what you want – you’re going to do it anyway, right?!
There’s an art to working and studying that I don’t think I’ve really mastered just as yet. And while it’s easy to think about balancing a job (a proper, full-time job) and an education – it’s a lot tougher than I’d have imagined it was going to be. People often look at the Distance ed tag as something that should make my life easier but honestly, if I was working part time and going to college, attending lectures and giving periodic exams, my life would be a lot simpler. Distance ed is hard, especially if you’re really enrolled in a college and not just doing one of those fake courses without exams that basically make you pay to get a degree. If it’s the real deal, it’s going to be a lot harder than anything you’ve ever attempted. If it’s as easy as pie – you’ve enrolled yourself in the wrong institution.
When I decided I wanted to do the English course from University of London I grappled with the idea of going there. It went back and forth in my mind and finally, Mumbai won. Not because I wouldn’t jump at the chance to pack my bags and run away to England, what with the fascination the country holds for me. But, financial considerations (not constraints, just the idea of paying so much for tuition, stay and then living expenses made me do a double flip and let out several little squeals of disbelief as the numbers kept adding up) aside, there was a lot that made it easier to stay here.
So, why not ‘normal’ college then? Well, several reasons – the most important one being the fact that none of the courses here appealed to me in the slightest. And considering the fact that education to me is more about learning, knowledge and following your passions than it is about marks, degrees and landing a job – there was no good reasons to compromise and take up just anything for the sake of getting a degree.
I spent over a year trying to decide which course I wanted to take up. And yes, I’m afraid that means for an entire year, I was not enrolled in any educational institute. It was a year off. Scandalous, isn’t it? I would never take it back though. While everyone else jumped from one college to the next, I took time out to make the most of my baking skills. And there’s nothing like baking, selling and well, eating. There are times when I miss the sugary mess of sugar craft modelling and the sight of a finished cake with a 3D figure on top. I wrote with a frenzy I never had and at the end of the year, I knew where I wanted to apply and why. There would be no regrets and I’d finally found a course tailor-made to suit my desire.
All my life I’ve wanted to study Literature and when I found the course at UOL, it was like a breath of cool, fresh air on a sultry day. I was dissuaded by almost everyone I spoke to – but while people tried to convince me not to take up a course where I wasn’t enrolled in a college (honestly, I’ve never understood the prejudice and probably never will) and opted, instead of a drink fuelled, crazy events filled college life – for a more enriching course that I knew would help me go the distance. And although people are still saying I should have the ‘experience’ – I’m not sure they’ll ever understand how much more of an experience this is for me and how much more I’ll value it all my life.
So, if a degree didn’t matter to me – how would I ever get a job? Well, hold your breath – getting a job didn’t matter that much to me either. I wanted to work of course, being a stay-at-home girl wasn’t my idea of the perfect life, but neither was running around looking for work, just for the sake of having a job. And I didn’t have to – my job came (well, almost running) to me.
There I was then – a degree I was coming to terms with being able to handle (the course is long, heavy and definitely not part-time) and a job that was suddenly thrust upon me in the most surprising manner. I thought it would be temporary, but here I am, a year and a half later, job firmly in place – still trying to smooth out the creases on the degree.
Does the job distract me? Well, yes and no. In a sense I suppose it would be easier to take everyone’s advice and just ‘concentrate on your education first.’ Jobs will be around when I’m done and all that. But I’m the sort of person who likes a bit of a head start and this keeps me busy, makes me happy and isn’t a world away from what I love to do. As long as I get to read, write and create things every day, I can’t complain. There are minor bits I’d eliminate to make it a smoother ride – but if it were too smooth a ride I’d probably be bored in a little bit, so I’m not too sure about that. Besides, I have a track record of doing the opposite of what the world recommends, suggests and thinks I should be doing. And so far, it’s worked out great.
It’s not easy getting to work on time after you’ve stayed up all night studying – even harder to find time for a social life. And no, that’s not something you can cut out completely either. So – a job, an education spanning every period in Literature and a social life - that’s hard to keep up with. And I’ve been advised to give one or the other up, over and over again. But, until I fail so badly at something that I can’t get up from it – I don’t think there’s any harm trying to be the best you can at everything that matters to you.
Life is so short (its a cliché, but its true) that there’s no time to sit around thinking you’ll do things later. And there are a lot of things I still do that for and wish I didn’t. But this is not one of them and I don’t intend to make it that way.
Certain things do get sidelined and I often become someone resembling a mad scientist – forgetting to wash my dinner plate or leaving my things scattered around the house, not having the time to paint my nails, getting ready for work in ten minutes and picking out clothes quicker than any girl should. Sometimes I forget to eat lunch and often I have to remind myself to get up and walk around or drink water. But most days, I’m a normal, slightly irresponsible 21-year-old who just happens to go home from her job to her books every night. Just like all those other working/studying people out there – and oh, there are several. I get by with the help of half a dozen lists, sticky notes, post its and Google Tasks, although sometimes keeping track of those is hard too.
So, sorry – but I’m not going to give up on either one. And no, I don’t wish I’d chosen another course. Yes, I may be a little off my rocker but its working for me. And finally, I’m happy – so who cares what you think? Besides, they say the world’s ending this year and all that. We should be trying our hardest to cram up our schedules with everything we’ve always wanted to do – shouldn’t we? ;)
So it’s no secret that I hate goodbyes. They’re like those awful moments where you realise you’re going to miss someone you didn’t think you would. Unless you really dislike them, seeing anyone leave is always a bit of a buzzkill, especially if you’ve spent over a year seeing their faces everyday. Sometimes when people leave you’re drawn to tears and can.t bear the thought of not being in touch, and that happened to me last year. It’s still to early to tell whether the losing touch bit is going to happen, but being terrifyingly upset about it fades in a few weeks. And then sometimes you don’t want to shed any tears and you’re not even sure you’ll be in touch, but that’s not what matters. Everyone makes a little impact on your life and missing that little bit that was a part of your day… Its pretty natural. There’s fond memories but not much personal history, not too much to cry over saying your going to miss. And still, there’s nothing that’s going to stop you from being just a little bit sad that’s coming to a close. G’byes are always such a pain :-\
Source: signalreceived
Another New Year
I’m more than just a little ashamed that I don’t have a new post for the New Year, so here it is. From a year filled with ups and downs, a Christmas that almost didn’t happen and then did, a New Year celebration that followed the same path and a sudden fall into this year that I hardly even noticed through all the work – it’s almost the second week of Jan – or midway through the first at least.
There was the red Christmas, complete with a delicious suckling pig, cranberry meatball and strawberry soufflé filled dinner. Jackets, jewellery and diaries rounded off the best presents list for me this year with everything I raked in – not to mention a spa coupon I can’t wait to use.
And then there was New Year, that started out with hiccups, delayed plans, no-shows and was devoid of the new dress I usually have. But old dresses and new experiences go well with each other it seems, because the sunrise on the first – covered with mist and causing us to huddle in our jackets – was enough to make me feel slightly more hopeful of the year to come.
I may have promised myself more blog posts, more lists (although how many more I can make is debatable) and a lot more ‘me’ time – but the first week’s been more or less the same as the last, so I won’t hold my breath for all those resolutions to stick. I’m also going to try and delete the expectations, because, at the end of it all – something good does come out of every year after all.
So, until a more meaty post shows up and I start sticking to my plans –
Happy New Year!
Loving Vines
Dear engaging vines
Of love,
How softly you’ve drawn
Me in.
Your tangled web of spaces,
The only silence
Amongst the chaotic sounds.
Dear engaging vines
Of love,
How sweetly you have me
Entrapped-
Lost beneath the feel of
Your breath against
The still of dawn.
Lost among the thoughtless,
Bringing me back to
Spaces in between,
beneath the whispers
Of forever,
Foregoing the sadness of
Reality for your warmth.
Dear engaging vines
Of hope and of joy
And of love,
Quietly I whisper-a
Sounding knell beckons-
Running for cover as I
fall-
Dear engaging vines
Of love,
Lost amongst the trees,
Of hate,
Wind yourself once more
Around my heart,
Refuse to fade-
Conflicting modification on December 16, 2011:
Dear engaging vines
Of love,
How softly you’ve drawn
Me in.
Your tangled web of spaces,
The only silence
Amongst the chaotic sounds.
Dear engaging vines
Of love,
How sweetly you have me
Entrapped-
Lost beneath the feel of
Your breath against
The still of dawn.
Lost among the thoughtless,
Bringing me back to
Spaces in between,
beneath the whispers
Of forever,
Foregoing the sadness of
Reality for your warmth.
Dear engaging vines
Of hope and of joy
And if love,
Quietly I whisper-a
Sounding knell beckons-
Running for cover as I
fall-
Dear engaging vines
Of love,
Lost amongst the trees,
Of hate,
Wind yourself once more
Around my heart,
Refuse to fade-
Next on the list of what #amcooking this weekend http://t.co/CWKp4E2A - maybe. Unless I procrastinate. Which I probably will. Sigh.
I am....