Now we are old

We used to think money wasn't everything. That 300 rupees in your pocket made you a rich man.

Love made us laugh. "I'm not falling for that shit..I have places to go". The nerds, the geeks the behenjis and chappris, the cool ones and the cute ones. The loser ones and the quiet ones.

Such a world. With so much potential. Shiny new faces waiting to be told what to do. Yet they want to rebel..."What if we bunk biology..no one's going to know. Blacklists don't matter. You can do some jhol" Such energy. And as I write this post, with extreme nostalgia and sentimentalism (no such word exists), while it's raining outside; I realise that the journey from 16-26 has been so drastic. How time just ran like mad, while we dragged our feet behind.

Somewhere the shiny new faces became the new age wrinkled ones. Hair grayed due to stress. Chins doubled and stomachs got rounder. Speech became more confident, less hesitant.

It's not like I'm complaining. Everyone grows and I'm glad I was in college in the early 2000s. I'm glad I'm here now.

But, I'm just pining for the time gone by.

It's just that the rains makes me sentimental.

A time where friends were the extended family you would begin to start cherishing later on. And dreams flew quick as if on telephine lines. "I want to be a doctor, a merchant navy officer, an engineer, an IITian, a lawyer". I miss that time today, since I realize as always, that I could have done so much more, been so much more. Been cooler, better dressed (I was the proud owner of 3 tshirts in college, which I wore like uniforms throughout the week).

I would have kept in touch. Properly.

I know it's human to feel the need to improve upon your memories and wish you had done much more then,  "fuck! I could have experimented more and taken more risks". It's also human to say to yourself "yeah! But look at what all you have achieved. Look at where you are today!"

I don't know if I am making sense now. At all.

It's just that it's raining. And everything reminds me of a time way back when I feel things were simpler. The world was simpler. Dreams were in technicolor. We were young, skinny and careless.

It's raining. I love rains. But there's that tinge of sadness. For the time gone by.

But..I am not sad. Just the rains are here. And I feel old.

Hussain and me - With the mobile phone which played snakes and had that wonder of wonders - FM radio and polyphonic ringtones.

PS - I found myself writing this at 1.30 in the night after my friend sent me a picture of our college days. One of these days, I'm going to stand with a board outside a college which reads "You are not as fat as you think. Or as ugly. Or as dumb. Do what you want.Time is of essence. GO BUNK YOUR CLASSES NOW AND SIT BY THE SEA!!"

Write, right.

Again the mindless chore of letting your fingers take lead of whatever it is that your brain wants to say.

Writing as an option or as a crunch or as a healing tool. Just writing.

Every blog starts with an I. Every blog has stories of bereavement, personal hurts, experiences. Some trivialize it, some inspire, some are repetitive. But each helps the writer. The internet triumphs yet again, we are connected, we do care, even if it's only the likes we put on the pages or the comments we enter.

I started out as wanting to write this as a passionate outburst, born out of many months of laziness and not writing. Halfway through the first sentence it became a need to be funny, possibly out of the fear that many people will read this blog and judge, comment, think, rethink and eventually form opinions.

So I shall write a poem. Since that appeals to my romantic soul and feels tragic like enough. Today we are tragic and pensive and introspective.

But the trouble with writing a poem that sums up all your feelings..is the trouble. It's difficult and quite a task. Especially to non rhymers like me who love to rhyme but cannot go beyond cat, mat, rat etc.

Once I remember writing that words are like cats, they come and go as they please. Today is the truth testing time of that statement. And it rings true...they don't come as soon as they are called. They need to be cajoled, to be entreated, threatened, alternated with kind words. Words for words.

2014 shall forever be marked in my life as the Year Of Marriages. Expected ones and unexpected ones too.

2014 is increasingly turning out to be like 2012. Where things were just going round and round. Or derailing like the roller coaster at Imagica.

25 really makes you think - "What shit did you write about when you were 21? And what utmost crap was happening at 22 to make you post stuff like that?"

So now, I am all grown up. 25 and aware of situations. To say the right thing at the right time and write the right thing at the right time. Write, right, write, right.

Convoluted.

As of now, I think getting grips with the fact that I am travelling for almost 1 and half hours to reach my workplace is a task enough.

But since non rhymers like me can attempt once in a while,

To sit on mat alongside a cat, 
reading a book 
and flying away to the fairy brook.

This is what I want the most right now. Just flying.

The Golden age

Film stars.

How we make the most of them and wish we lived their lives. How the golden age of Hollywood and Bollywood was made of men and women who were infinitely sad and came from broken families...But in that black and white world, made us want their lives and their shadows, their joys and their dances,their ability to do the ballet, the backstep, the foxtrot, and to break out into any song in any place.

And now after many many years, the sheen of the gold has worn off. Only classics can be counted as gold. And the people who act now and sons and daughters of the sons and daughters of the people who made it a golden age. Who came from nowhere, built houses in parts of the city which in the years to come would be the highest rated, most sought after. Simply because they settled there. Not realising the trend their children would follow.

The blue blood they would claim from these people who came out of nowhere and lit up the screen.

Now they are relegated to vignettes on news channels during their birthdays and somewhere in small, smoky rooms, with peeling paint and lumpy cushions...old men and women watch them and celebrate their birthdays. They die and are born again every year...in these rooms, with these people who remember them from their youth.

It was indeed a golden age...they say to no one in particular.

Ramblings at 1 in the night

Armchairs are one of the most inviting things ever, like the smell of freshly baked bread or the calmness of the sea...just at 5 o clock.

Marol is the most depressing place...next in line is Trombay. The moment you get through to Marol, they should distribute free glucon D or Red Bull for energy charging. 

Men are men, some argue, some force fit, some play along but they don't like being told directly. That counts as rude. Very few have the guts to take things bluntly and work upon them and look beyond the words and into the meaning. Such men should be your friends.

Sometimes words just rush past you, like endless sleet just flowing away. And sometimes they are like drizzles, not sure of what should happen next..but content to drench you...drop by drop, word by word..Go figure

New friends provide new distractions. Old friends provide convictions. And arguments

Shoulders are the best place for storing tension. You'll have no clue how stiff they are till the pain hits like a thousand needles

When one laptop dies, God provides another one

Healing

Healing,a process often involving a lot of introspection, sucking up the pain and numbing yourself. More like an insulating yourself against the shocks, withdrawal symptoms and the days that follow.

This process is usually done with two people...one the healer and the other is the recipient. But when self healing has to take place, it's usually the hardest. Hurting oneself to deliberately draw out the pain and leave a thtrobbing mass behind. Now that takes courage.

Sometimes things happen where we are so deeply caught up that takes a couple of days, even months before the momentum wears off. And you realise that the thing has come to pass. And it's over, no more. And gradually you heal, start filling up the cracks.

And then one fine day, one chance remark, one random thought worms it way and it all comes back. But the insulation is so strong this time, that it feels like it happened a long long time ago. To someone you knew, but don't really remember. It doesn't feel like it happened to you. Certainly not to you. And you realise that it's gone, flushed so many times out of your system that it's no longer registered. And you feel...Nothing.

We change, everyday with every moment. I find it hard to believe that I am no longer the person that I was last year,or the year before that. Now I need assurances and convictions, assumptions and excuses to be told that I exist.

The facade of an ego, put forth to save the deeper you. The one who feels too much, can be tiring. Day after day after day, to pretend to keep up the same charade....same mannerisms, same attitude. Breathe, breathe, breathe - And one day the fissures burst. And then the shit hits the fan. Truly.

Today has been an emotionally heavy day. Recalling painful memories, re-inviting the same callousness, rethinking the same issues. Everyone's day to tell what they want, since tommorow we may forget, or grow up or just be too scared.

Nora Roberts wrote - "I wonder how humans can survive with the weight of so many emotions pressing in on them, constantly". But we do, sometimes we buckle, sometimes we give in and sometimes we fight..But there's always a spare emotion or two to go around.

They say....

They say that the human mind and body loves sadness, thrives on drama
They say we came in a boat, from a land far across the sea
We learnt the art of fire, the joy of tools and the ways of speech

They say we reinvent every seven years, washing away the past
They say we thrive, even in times of despair and darkness
We walk, talk, laugh and drink, with all our pain inside

They say we gave words to our sorrow, voices to our torment
They say that the words brought a madness, an awakening
We gave the bards music, beads to string upon and words to sing

They say we didn't know beyond the hunt, beyond primal urges
They say we moved, like nomads...restless of heart and weary of soul
We planted trees and moved rock, made our riverbanks and shelter

They say the great wind moves, changing the tides of man
They say it whispers gently, of the changes to come, the times of change
We hear it when we can, if we can and we make our choices

They say, they say , they say....They say a hundred things
They say it from beneath the ocean, in the song of the forest
We catch it at the edge, faint but incessant, if we hear close enough

If we want to

P.S - At times you feel like writing fanciful. The rains inspire me to write as such. This post means nothing in particular. I've been reading a lot on history, ancient cultures and strange lights in the north pole. This is probably a reaction to that.

Falling down

The idea of a blog is to write, unload your thoughts...unburden yourself..de clutter the mind...yada yada yada yada...If yes, then it goes without saying that since the last 5 months my mind has been insanely cluttered, hopelessly burdened and irritatingly chaotic. It's true. I have finally got my hands on a keyboard and the mind space to type...let my brains take over and just type.

Patterns that keep recurring. That's my major dilemma. And it was just yesterday that I realised that all of it, somewhere down the line starts from choices. The choices we make, the paths which ultimately emerge from those choices, the emotions and drama (or lack of it) associated with those choices...all lead us to where we are now. And if we are smart enough to see the pattern, we try and break free. Not before committing certain grave mistakes...Possibly a catalyst to break free. And once we break free, we see the pattern we have fallen into, yet again. 

Friends are those precious few, who along with your family will always support you. And inspire you, constantly. The ones who will say, "it's ok, you know you were an ass, but at least you won't do it the next time". I have such friends, who will listen and judge me by no harsher measure than love. Who will snap at my silliness, but give me reasons and excuses which soothe my bruised soul. Which if I repeat to myself once more, sound true. Most of the time they are. Because we are so deeply engrossed in ourselves, that we forget to see how we are...actually. The patterns we follow, which only friends can preempt and warn us. 

I have lived for 4 months in a hotel, out of a suitcase, stayed in an ashram, slept in a studio, slept on a chair with speakers next to me, slept in cabs and in people's houses. There have been times when I have pushed myself so bad that I don't know what zone I went into...everything seemed to be floating. Like sparkly stars.

Neediness - This seems to be the problem of the day. Here I will speak for me...since it's an affliction I defend myself against. Unsuccessfully. I always try to be independent, self sufficient, self reliant. And one fine day, it all unravels. All the meticulous hard work and building...Snap, flashes of time ...and one hasty word leads to some more..till all the pent up angst spills out. And then it's too late. Snap snap, more flashes of time and I see myself losing out. All because I become needy and dependent. Because I don't know where to stop. 

Fucking up is relative, a little less harshness on you and a little more love. 

This is my first attempt after a long and insane time, to write. Coherently. Decisively. Nicely. It's rusty, like a cycle I knew how to ride long ago, but I have forgotten and so has the cycle. And we both have to take a couple of turns around the park, fall off, get hurt...Before I can ride like the wind. 

Here's to falling down.