new day

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It is a misty morning. I woke up earlier than usual and am out in my balcony. It’s drizzling softly through the mist.. and at a far distance I can see skyscrapers looking like little blocks with which children play. And behind them stand the hills, wrapped in white clouds. The trees are swaying, with little birds in them. Perhaps they all got drunk in the rain all night. And I am sitting here on a white plastic chair in my polka-dot pajamas. Looking up at the sky, looking as far as my eyes would take me. I’m looking forward to another day.

Sent from Samsung Mobile

unnamed

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We don’t know each other. We have never met and yet, there is so much we have shared. You have hated me for reasons more than one, and even as you did, you never had the peace of knowing that I knew of your hatred. Even if I had known, I would never have understood it. For how could one hate someone one doesn’t know? But you can and I am glad you can. I’m glad it is easy for you to hate as easy it is for you to love. You are truly free in that. But to me hate and love both seem impossible. My mind won’t let me love, my heart won’t let me hate.
Sometimes I steal into your photographs and try to read what’s there behind those eyes. Is there another one like me, as afraid of life to come and as remorseful? I guess I shall never get the answers. We don’t know each other, but in the family of life, where times make relatives out of strangers, you and I have lived the same life, met the same end. In that we are siblings.
I do not cannot hate you. Because for that also I need to know you. And to really know you I have to love a bit of you. What you and I have is beyond such notions of love, hate and knowing – complex notions these (but at least they are named). I wish you weren’t at this place, not because it would have altered my fate, but because I wouldn’t have spent night after night thinking of ways to become forgetful.

foot and doors

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Just now I read the name Foot in the Door, not as a bridge between two possibilities, as intended, but a foot that’s caught between two doors and man, it hurts. Long time I wrote. Was busy mending a broken heart, trying to revive my health and my mood. I have been writing but to myself again. Writing of things fleeting by, writing of mundane and the ordinary, writing of what happened on my visit home and then tossing it all into the dustbin. 

I promised in the last post that I will, and so here I come. Tad too late perhaps, but you would understand. I had been reading some blogs today, by guys a few years elder to me. I noticed how they write, the gaiety, the chirpy laughter, the many comments, the whole hearty experience of it. And I then looked at my blog – I noticed how dark it had become, as if a winter had come never to leave. Not that I do not enjoy it, a certain gravity has always attracted me. But the blog had become so grim and rusty at places that fungi might have started growing by the sides before long. So I changed the template today, and even though I do not like it at ALL and in all probability will be changing it again, the fresh look is a breather.

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I wish I had it in me the passion and the belief to sit cross-legged as I am, and cry out loud to the skies, the winds and the lands. And with such fervor proclaim the ownership of my self! Once again.

home and the world

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These past few days had me take an urgent short trip to Delhi. It left me not wanting to return. The last couple of days I was holed up in my plush new apartment in Thane. Without a book, a working television or my laptop. I suffered as I ached to write. The writing had to happen on the screen, surprisingly, as I see it now, it never even occurred to me that I could write with a pen on a piece of paper. Simplicity again dodged me. So I stood in the balcony with stray drops of rain making me shiver now and then and as I often do, I wrote in my mind.
I ached for you, blog where for once I can close the doors to the world and let my self be. And even as I write this I know my writing has lost a certain essence. A part of me hungers for it, the rest is scared, lest it should be back.
I am at a precarious junction. The reality back home is exactingly different from my world around here. I feel the homesickness of the homeless. But where is my home to be found?
I do not wish to trouble others, but I think I end up doing that. I know I will spring back again in some days/months – as is the human wont. Till then I seek solace in you my pages. And this time I wouldn’t wait to write on a screen. I would write. Just write.

the rules

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Yeah, there and back again. I am. The past few days were challenging. The city of Mumbai ruthless, its people rude. But then I don’t think they have an easy life for themselves anyway. Travelling in local trains as a newbie here is daunting. They actually consider it a ‘mistake’ if you happen not to know that you are to be at the door (at the edge of it) WAY before your train arrives at your destined station, that you are to ask most women ahead of you where they will get down, because most of them like to stand on the doorway even when there is space elsewhere, or if you happen to be like me – someone who can’t, for the life of her, get off or get on a moving train – you have sinned to the fullest – you should be getting off and on in the end (which I am forced to do otherwise also). And yeah, do not trust girls with your East and West exits. More often than not they lead you in the wrong, of course they are themselves mistaken. And if you happen to be the poor one who is sitting as the fourth person sitting on a bench that ideally seats three – God forbid. Do not move an inch. They will gnaw at you with their words if you do. No kidding. And these are working women – office goers. I also realize part of why I have a problem is my natural resistance to getting knocked about. I am getting used to it. I am also learning to dress more suitably here. Covering my head and face and neck with a long scarf to save me from the sun and pollution on roads and in rickshaw. Most often it is just my eyes that show. But better be covered than be roasted.
All in all to make life a bit easier. I have started to come home late. Takes longer reaching home but I reach alright.

a ray

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After days of darkness I see a bit of sunshine today. Like a solitary ray of light streaming in after an age of darkness in my dungeon. Little particles of dust shimmer, ridiculing Newton’s gravity, dancing a mad dance.
I had forgotten myself so fiercely that I failed to recognize who I am. So busy was I berating myself for not being like any other person that I was preparing to die. Hopeless, guilt-ridden and hopeless again. Guilty, as if it were my middle name and no matter what I could not rub it off my chest.