And then it was all over..

I thought I had erased all your memories. But today, when I pulled the last splinter out of my heart, it hurt again. Everything came back to me - love, hatred and the pain. The latter was so intense I thought I couldn't breathe anymore.

It took me just a fraction of a second to realize that distances don't matter. No matter how much I run away, I still think of you. I've given up on the idea of us, but you still have the ability to hurt me beyond repair.

You've broken my heart yet again, I'm just hoping that this is the last time.   

The day everything changed

On my way back from work, I stopped by a park. The simple act of lying down on the tender grass and looking up at the bright, blue sky filled me up with peace. So much, that I could feel the mist in my eyes. This was going to be my life now. Bright and clear. Full of possibilities. Everything that I had ever wanted suddenly seemed within my reach. Without any worries.

Kept fighting my tears till the time I reached back. And then, I didn't fight them anymore. Dialed the phone and let them flow. Heard a voice on the other end.

I was happy.

A New Beginning

Sitting amidst a bunch of strangers, I suddenly felt alone. The same thing happened last evening, when I was sitting with a bunch of 'desi' people. I was supposed to feel at home with them. But I didn't. I felt much more comfortable in my apartment, watching the vast expanse of ocean. So calm, that it filled me up with peace. And comfort. I got the same feeling when we drove past the beach yesterday.

The city to me is very romantic - tall archaic buildings, streets dotted with museums and warm, friendly smiles. I'm telling myself that's why while walking down yesterday, I felt like I was missing something. In the evening, the fog outside my window gradually enveloped my soul, I found myself craving for some company again. Picked up the phone and dialed. A sleepy voice responded. I didn't say a word.  

Friend in a New City

I was in the window seat of the last row in the economy class. Outside, a stream of lights flickered like fireflies. I knew I was taking a leap of faith. Hopefully there would be no regrets.

She had the aisle seat and was deeply engrossed in Hemmingway. I looked at her face, trying to read her story. She shifted in her seat with great difficulty; it was quite evident she was in pain. With what, I couldn’t really figure out. I shifted restlessly during the flight too; for they make me very uncomfortable. So I followed my usual routine - just plugged in my ipod and dozed off.

I must have done that for quite some time, because I woke as the airplane touched the ground. I usually rush out as soon as the flight lands, hating to be confined to a closed space. Today I couldn’t.  So I just waited patiently, giving her the time she needed to vacate. She was hesitant and asked me if I was in a hurry to leave. I wasn't.  She wanted to wait till everyone had left; I was okay with it.

Arushi from Lucknow, she introduced herself. She had a bad case of spinal cord dislocation, which made movement painful. Strain from work, she told me. The doctor had advised her complete rest. This trip to Mumbai was to wind up work commitments.

In the ten-minute conversation that I had with her, I discovered that Arushi  and I shared quite a few things – a love for literature and the rains, a deep fascination with the ordinary, everyday things and the constant hunt for the extraordinary stories wrapped within.  Oh, she too had dreams.

We exchanged numbers over a cup of coffee, hoping to keep in touch. The long taxi ride was worth it too (my friend was generous enough to take a detour, to drop her on our way). She spoke passionately about how she was living her dreams every day and that this was but a temporary pause. Her eyes lit up as she talked and I could see my aspirations come alive in them.

As I waved her goodbye, I felt a deep sense of calm within. I had just befriended the city of dreams.

A day made!

What does it take to make someone’s day? Very little, I say!

Earlier this week, a friend bought me four tiny saplings of marigold. Needless to say, they were extremely delicate. My heart broke when one of them died. And the second one followed.  That made me extra cautious with the remaining two. I watered them every morning, made sure they got enough sunlight - even talked to them (yes, I actually did that!)

Last evening as I was about to crash onto my bed, I noticed the third one had dropped down. It was lying lifeless in the red china clay pot. My heart sank. Just kept wondering where did I go wrong! I watered it, caressed it and retired to bed, not wanting to pull it out and dump in the bin.

Guess what greeted me this morning? The tiny sapling was standing up again, ready to face it all!

That’s what made my day today. I know that the thought of my tiny sapling will make me smile throughout. And you know what, it takes very little to make someone else’s. An unexpected compliment, a fragment of thoughtfulness or even a smile – that’s all it takes. Obviously, the list is unending…

So whose day are you making today? :)

Just another incident

Have moved into completely new surroundings, living each day with the carpe-diem motto. Tried forcing myself to write quite a few times in the last three months, but didn't feel anything was interesting enough. Went back home for a couple of days, and had quite a pleasant flight (I usually get nauseated). There was something about the entire journey - that gave me reason to write.

At the airport, boarding was about to begin when I realized I needed a quick bite. The next moment I was holding a tray laden with food (I'll explain my new-found love for food in some other post) trying to balance two handbags alongside and find a place to sit, all at once. There was a four-seater occupied by a girl about my age. Realizing there wasn't an alternative, I had to ask her if I could share her table.

I ate silently, carefully avoiding her gaze lest she decided to smile and begin a conversation. I could feel her eyes looking at me, hoping I would look up. Then suddenly she broke into giggles, and couldn't help but look at her. Must be a college kid, I thought. Thanks to my crappy mood, I wasn't even smiling. Come to think of it, I think I was making her uncomfortable with my demeanor. She quickly started explaining her situation - she was an artist who had just finished a painting exhibition; an the anxiousness of it all had given way to a huge appetite. I don't know why, but suddenly it all made sense. I was suddenly at ease. She excused herself to get a change; in the washroom I bumped into her again, making small talk with the attendant.

As I left behind the fireflies tossed into the Delhi night-sky, I promised myself to write her. That reminds me it is still due. Gotta run, good night!

A Farewell Note

There was something about the way it was said - You'll be moving on. This chapter of your life closes here. You'll begin a new chapter; write about new experiences.

I felt offended at this. It seemed to suggest whatever I wrote was just for the sake of it. Like I did not feel attached to people. And that it'd not make a difference to me since I was the one moving on. After an initial fit of rage, I understood it was said so that I reassure them of my affection.

Just wondering, what is so difficult about moving on? That there will be people left behind, and they would not be moving on? And it'll take some effort on their part to restructure their life without you?

I am amazed at the ease with which people here had included me into their lives, and made me a part of it. I wasn't really looking at friendships, but their attitude was infectious. Within days I found myself feeling one of them. Like I had always been around. People kept confiding in me their stories of love and having lost, and I felt myself hoping that they'd overcome the loss. More so with each passing day.

I have a feeling all this happened because they knew I would leave in a short while. Maybe things would have different if I were to stay longer, without certainty. Maybe it'd be difficult for them then - to see someone every morning and be reminded that they have access to your deepest secrets.

I wonder why things become so dear to you when you know you are going to lose them. Why do we always want people to stay? If I look at it rationally, it is a futile exercise to invest so much emotion in something that you know you'll lose for sure. But that's exactly what we do. And that makes parting even more difficult. The good part is knowing that whenever I look back at it, I will only remember the smiles.

So here's to all the fun and happiness I found here - the late night walks, the morning sunshine and lots of conversations. Will miss you all!

Snigdha

It is very soothing when amidst a vast expanse of heartlessness you find someone who listens. They don't talk or give you any miracle advice, or point out your follies. All they do is listen. And understand. Make life easy. This is in the memory of such a friend.

I had first met her in college. In the dark labyrinth of the floor above the chapel, there she was. Snigdha. For all things nice and beautiful. For peace and love. And comfort. Often I felt like sleeping on the couch in her room. To me, her room held the promise of a world where all the dark fears would be banished by her radiance. 

When I talked to her, hours slipped by. She rarely interrupted, only punctuating the conversation with an occasional nod or a half-smile. Something in her eyes told me she could feel it all. Sometimes I wondered if I could see a drop glistening in her eyes. Sometimes I wondered how could she could see right through me, empathise so much.

In the final year, I was very busy. I let go of the habit of going to the chapel. Or climbing up the stairs to her room. Then one day I did. She wasn't there. Her husband had been fighting cancer, and he couldn't keep it up. She loved him too much. I knew nothing of this. At a time when I was moving on, she must've been struggling. At a time when she listened to me, she must've wanted to talk too. I called at her number after that. I don't why. The phone just kept ringing.

I wonder if she ever thought of me. If during those days she wanted to reach out to me. Or maybe I was just another needy kid. The feeling that I get when I think of her is a strange mix of peace and grief. Of knowing that she was there. And that she'll still be.

Bliss

I was recently having a conversation with a friend about alternate means of getting high (apart from booze, that is). Both of us agreed dancing was one, especially to the tune of loud music. It didn't take me long to figure out another one.

IIT campus is usually brimming with activities, my friend tells me. All you need to do is to be on the lookout. And it is totally worth it - as I discovered last Saturday. A random walk through the premises led me to a live performance by Rekha Bhardwaj. I'm a huge fan of her's, so it was nothing short of a jackpot.

'You seem speechless', my friend remarked post-event. I had just been mumbling in response to his questions. At that moment, I was too much in a state of drunkenness to be able to explain to him that what he had missed was absolute bliss. The performance had begun with invocation to allah (during which the musicians sound-checked), followed by her masterpiece 'Tere Ishq Mein'. The track itself gives me goosebumps each time I listen to it - to witness a live performance by her was altogether a different experience! I could feel the energy to run a thousand miles without pausing once to catch my breath. Or sky-dive from the tallest building. Or just jump in a pool of water (did I tell you I don't know how to swim?) I guess this qualifies for a 'high'.

It wasn't only a factor of her soothing voice or the soulful music. The team was actually enjoying the performance themselves - if you were attentive enough, you could see musicians exchanges glances that said "Isn't she totally great?". At other times you could hear the notes from the drums tease those of the piano.

I think that's where the real magic came from. It connected the audience to the performer. Even among the crowd of hundreds, I could sense a solidarity. I guess that came from the years they must've spend with each other on IIT campus, away from home. I felt special to be a part of such a closely-knit group. In fact at one point I felt I was the solitary audience to the performance. Like there was a strong bond by which I was connected to them, firmly. Right then, nothing else mattered - people laughing and sharing private jokes or those hurrying out towards the end.

Personally, I had no regrets about the missed dinner. Time had paused.

A different world

I've always fancied staying on a huge, sprawling campus. To me, it feels like a world in itself, somewhat cut-off from the rest. That part of it appeals to me for some unknown reason. Unfortunately, I never had the privilege to. Graduation college was okay, but post grad college was disappointing. Had I seen it before applying, I would've definitely reconsidered. It was beautiful, though.

Coming back to the point, this post is not to crib about what I've missed, but to appreciate what I'm experiencing right now. I'm staying on IIT campus for a project, and I'm loving it. It's been two days, and I'm looking ahead to exploring the vast expanse. I like the striking contrast of crudeness and sophistication that the campus has to offer. Buildings with modern infrastructure scattered in an area with desert-like vegetation, peacocks wandering on the roads inhabited by motor vehicles, new-design manually driven rickshaws - all this has the charm of a different world for me.

My room is no less than a heat chamber. Hats off to those who stay in those rooms for four years! Coolers are not an option, considering IIT's issues with water and electricity. But to make up for this are the late-night walks with a few friends I have made there. Even Delhi heat cannot sap the energy that I feel within me, because of the environment. To me, it means peace and solace.

Hoping that this stint energizes me creatively as well!