An afternoon thought

 What is on my mind? A plethora of things, truly. A platter of events presented in life with a blend of sour and sweetness. This is my first time penning thoughts and emotions after the pandemic! A trauma that has mended the world in various ways. A human mind began thinking differently after that I guess. Everyone, almost everyone I met changed, shaped in all kinds and forms. I lived in a house that was located in the upper floors of a skyscraper. Bolted and home ridden like everyone of us, lest the virus attacked me. They say, what doesn't kill you, makes you only stronger! That is true, my life always have been a learning through struggles and practices. I am not someone who absorbs theories rather learn practically. Why am I saying this, cause this phase of 2 years or close to 2 may be, was eventful filled with changing perspectives, introspection and meditation.

Afternoons are my favorite, as I just mentioned very meditating. It is the time when the sun is high above and the brightest time of the day. Soaking in the afternoon sun can accumulate melanin in tropical skin, and usually humans here tend to shy away from getting darker, but I love marinating in the afternoon sun. Located in the upper floors, I was fortunate to witness the world's hustle through a broader lens. Wait! there was no hustle at all. The world just remained silent and ghastly for so many days. Arrested inside like the animals are caged in the zoos, was a phase of cultivating perseverance. Seated in my balcony, I enjoyed and absorbed the afternoon sun, the rays would penetrate through a coconut grove nearby and would brighten the neatly mowed lawn beneath.

The faraway hills stood obediently, slowly watching the air to get cleaner and less polluted with time. The shops corresponding to my house never opened for days, a few opened though, but a low temperament through out. People fought for their lives, some fought for peace, some for food, some didn't know of the crisis at all! Minds changed to be more thankful for little things, for the very life we have and the only purpose of this life is to remain happy! What a beautiful realization, after a humongous event that affected the lives of millions. Minds began to be more humble, reach and help each other, ignoring every emotions otherwise. These only emotions existed were: thankfulness, gratitude, humbleness, helpfulness and humanity! The greatest learning of the phase was, that any happy emotion is permanent, anything negative is temporary! people fight, hate each other, envy but all for a brief period of time. They forget them eventually and the only emotion that ever exists is love, kindness and happiness. None ever hated anyone forever, people tend to forgive and forget but the game of ego exists and one chooses to not be tender towards another person.

As I observe the road that stood still dusted and silent, I delve in my thoughts of a mind and a heart that spoke so differently this time. It whispered only positive thoughts and energized me to get going everyday. I missed the hustle, the honking of cars, the carpenter's saw, the mechanics welding, people hustling in the market and much more! We do never pause and care for such hustle otherwise, but when something stops a fine day, we tend to miss that terribly!

Another emotion, a follow up emotion that we do take our lives very granted! The blessing of this Universe, the sunrays, the flakes of white clouds, the air we breathe, the pair of lungs that support you breathe seamlessly, everything! the food we eat, the help we get very easily, the money we make may be! People we love, and love that finds us home! We all took a pause, may be in an afternoon, thought through these or may be not, but we changed by bits and perhaps if not anything, we take a moment now and choose to be happy, enjoy life, take that break, prioritize humans over anything else, prioritize life over everything else! 

As the afternoon slides to the dusk, the evening  and onwards to the night, the rusted sun sets just to promise a brighter morrow, life moves on! But this time hearts filled with  lot more gratitude and tenderness and  lot more forgiving and rectifying minds in play!

Lost Essence !

Its been 2 years I tried penning down anything. Life was busy but more than that life got me distracted. This is the time of self quarantine, where everyone locked themselves at home. Everyone wanted to produce anything that is otherwise their daily schedule. Some say, they are frustrated, my tale would be different. I enjoyed being home , resting my feet always under my cozy blanket. Perhaps, that was required. Tired feet, tired eyelashes, racing against time, racing against capacity. My interest has always been cooking and savoring delicacies. So did I , took to my ladles and pans. Days would begin watching birds that chirp around my balcony. The happiness that cherubs spread, would once witnessed by the world during this extra ordinary hours .

I read about finches in my story books, never saw them in real. Once peeped out my window, only to catch few finches returned from their quarantine and humming its tales against the branch that visits my balcony. Office chores well kept everyone busy, and suddenly making tea with herbs got me interested. For a change, I wouldn't chase sunsets , rather they poked my window with its rusted hue. I couldn't keep calm but walk up to my terrace with a mug of green coffee, just to watch her saying adieu to the world. That of course left mankind with a hope, tomorrow is good and will be better.

Besides preparing all sorts of rice and prawns and chicken , my interest rested on purchasing plants. I am that woman, who wouldn't even can grow a cactus in my balcony, interestingly a disturbed tulsi plant made her place in one corner . They say holy basil is healthy and medicinal. Besides her such property, I used to smell her flowers that would gush by my living room as it breezed. Evenings became fragrant and soothing. As I slept for longer hours , I started pondering how it all began. A life, that is itself a blessing, but lost its essence in rat race.

Humans run after everything. They think they achieve millions, but choose to ignore multiple values they lose. We lose the beauty of living in our daily bustle. As I rested my feet on a cloudy afternoon, I take time to think and appreciate the lost essence. The lost many afternoons back home, where a family enjoys their meal made of fish fries and rice, the delight of watching rains dripping against the green leaves of gooseberries. The happiness around those white fragrant flowers that bloomed in the evening, and humming of the watchman who recited his daily hymns .

As the roads are blocked, humans did calm down, I take an opportunity to get nostalgic, to listen to everyone around us . We love speaking, and make us heard , what joy was this to listen to every single creature during this down time. As the incense sticks burn in my balcony, I delve into its fragrance and transport to my girlhood days . Days that never discriminated, never questioned, never hurt, never hated anyone ! If I transcend from a pole to other, let their be some space to fill in my heart with some simple joys and pleasures. Transcendence is fantastic , yet let me hold on to times that I lose everyday. The expenditure of such valuable time, let it flash my memory always and pay a visit to my lips and give me reason to smile always !

Mosses on the Stone

When I wake up early morning, and stand at my balcony with a glass of apple shake, sipping in the fluid and watching the morning sky and the feeling the rise of the mighty Sun. The winds blow hard these days and the gushing wind brushes against my face. I wonder what if I didn't want be a millennial girl, who makes her won morning shake, cooks her own meals, drives to work and packs a bunch of fries while returning back home, what if i wanted to be a swan, a white large swan in the wild grass and marshlands or a country side lass who grows spinach in the winter mornings and coriander leaves and hums her favorite hymns that her grand mother taught her since her childhood.

 I wanted to be a village lass who lived by the hills and the vegetable fields. The winters be so cold and the coriander leaves spread the fragrance of the winters. The cows and the buffaloes mooed at the winter morning tunes. I would love to dip in the waterfall in the forest, and the wet cotton towel around my hair would drip the waters of the mountains. I imagine walking by the forest roads, carrying an earthen pot of cold water back home. On the way, I meet trees filled with blossom, yellow flowers that smell like heaven. I collect them and wear on my hair, they smell days and nights like the starts twinkle in the dark sky. I cook meals while feeding the herd of sheep that graze at the nearby meadows. The big banyan tree that shades my courtyard, plays hide and seek with the sun rays, and the white flakes of clouds.

I watch the sunset and the scarlet sun that slumbers in the horizon, to give way to starry nights. I light the evening lamp, and sit beside the flowing river. Hear the sounds of lapping waters and the rustling sounds of wild grass. I float the lamp to the river, wishing it would reach the heaven, for those who rest in peace there. The beauty of stars and the dark sky would steal my heart away.

As i sleep to the closure of the day, I sleep with no stress. I smell the haystack and sleep to the spirits of life and glory.

I chose not be the woman who walks collecting the yellow fragrant flowers, but the one who sips in her artificial happiness from mornings to nights and she is thus trapped in her own desires, greed and lust. How she wishes she could break away the glass of apple shake and dive into the cold waters of the waterfall inside the green forest, and smear the peal  droplets, till she quenches her thirst of attaining bliss and solitude.

Those misty nights

Taking my memories back, is always my favorite plot to write a blog. Memories heaped up during my late childhood and early teens, can accumulate a stairway to blissfulness and tales. I had an interesting growing up days, not so grown up yet a life filled with adventures and experiences to pen down. I was 14, when I performed as a dancer in local shows. I always aspired to be in show business and had been engaged in various sorts of art forms, but life had a different vision for me. That transported me to where I stand today.

It was a misty night of late November and the city is cold. I traveled for performing to a different town.Away from home for the first time. We were given a dorm where there were about 20 beds. This was my first time experience to live in nights such this. People who travel would know about Hyderabad and its gemstone attraction- "Ramoji Film City". I and my mother always had a vision of me becoming a dancer and travel the world spreading the culture and rich heritage of India. And so following the dreams I joined a troupe of dancers, and that landed me to Hyderabad.We went for a show and as a part of a huge troupe, I played a negligible role in the show. The life of a simple girl who travels to achieve her dreams. There were other girls who were hired and they stay away from their parents for years together. They wake up in the morning, and run for their shows , entertain the visitors and come back home tired at nights. I joined the show for a week's time, would have been back in seven days time but these dancers live in the days and nights of performance, lights and a agile life.

November nights are my favorite. They smell of winters and the leaves, trees, flowers all smell of cold and happiness. November 2008, i witness a different sight of struggle and survival. The lights were not so soothing around me, they gleamed of the struggle of those women who toil days and nights to serve a plateful to their parents. Life is stage and lights and audience. I couldn't survive the life, i moved on to pursue a different career later. Yet, the evenings, where those ladies wearing make up and glitters on face, to mask despair and port happiness to the world.

Tales from my Solitude -4

It was 2014 spring. Bangalore city is indeed so colorful and fragrant. I became more understanding towards this world and about myself. My mates were extremely well-to-do, where as I had to support my weekend siestas on my own . I began working post my college hours for those little joys and eat outs in the weekends. I began teaching people, who had not so fine communication skills, not children, but adults. In the process I learnt so much , myself. I had English in my bachelors degree too, so it helped me at large for this. They say, Almighty always has His plan for us, and so there it was. I taught in the evenings, did college in the mornings and nights were those peaceful time, when I watched the starry sky and the beauty of moon from the terrace and imagined how life is blessed.

I waited for a suitable job, without knowing what would it be. I had no idea what would I do, what would suit me the best, my campus placements failed at large. I didn't pass any of the tests in campus campaigning, yet I had the spirit to survive this vast city, without any keen on leaving it. I was called for an interview for the first time in my life, I was 22 , just 22. I met a member of interview panel for the first time, and was nervous. I don't know what must have I spoken in the interview , I cleared it. I was selected in a job of HR. I wrote my last exam on 5th of April 2014, and joined this small firm on 7th April 2014. I was remunerated a sum of 10,804 Rs per month. The journey of 3 long years of my studies in college was terminated  and a life  to the real world began.

This life had a blend of emotional binge, worldly desires and hardships. I woke up 8 in the morning, had breakfast made of idly and coconut chutney and walked for a straight 40 minutes to work. This saved my money for transport and also, helped me remain fit.Holding my umbrella up, i walked towards a life that had happiness and taste of hardship both. My intent was to work hard towards success. Things seemed fall in place very easy, or not so easy. I didn't have my family members in here with me, I was in a distant land, struggling with my destiny alone. Passers by in life came and left, but my own life remained intact with me. I returned home at 7:45 PM and hogged on a platter of rice, roti and pulses and green vegetable curry. Only Lord knows what was the taste of the food, cause I used to be hungry like a refugee would be at her camp, and gobbled up the meal like there is no tomorrow. And by 9 PM , I began snoring, as if any wand would have chanted some spells over me and I delved in slumber with no sense at all. My room mates told me tales of how ignorant I was about what happened otherwise. I am sure, the terrace missed me, so did the sky filled with stars and a bright moon. I lived a life of discipline and austerity. In the blink of my eyes, the spring of the year passed, so did the summer and monsoons. The umbrella that I had, witnessed all, and it was the dawn of the beautiful autumn. My favorite season arrived. Autumn and winter spell the most beautiful tale of the year and perhaps, my destiny had in store something out there.

the leaves of the cherry blossom trees in the city shed off, and a new fragrance arrived in my life. What is a life if there aint any phase and a cycle. I love my life as it took me uphill and showed me the darkness and the silence of the burrow too. The rolling stone moved on, and hence gathered no moss still.

My girlhood

Summer vacation in our days back in home was from mid- May and that would last for 6-7 weeks. Calcutta is extremely hot during summers. Like children these days, I wasn't fortunate enough to holiday abroad, playing with blue waters and canoeing the island waters. I belong to a middle class Bengali family, rich in culture and heritage and arts. My mother sang, danced , my father wrote scripts, and he was good in recitation and playing tabla. My grandfather was an engineer in British army then and later Indian army.He too supported us at large to perform. Summer vacation was a lot of time, to perform a dance drama at the courtyard in our house.

The whole neighborhood rose to excitement to make this event happen successfully. Afternoons were too hot to begin with any rehearsals, hence we reserved our rehearsal for the evenings. Cool breeze accompanied us to perform "chitrangada" or "Shyama" ( Tagore dance dramas). We chose our expanded terrace, where the women assembled to sing and dance and make merry to the good times.
Men helped us narrating and providing cues. These days neighbors turned to one big family, helping each other with logistics and supplies. We ate together over lentil soup and rice with potato fries, and pointed gourds. The very Bengali lunch and dinner. During the rains, we would go to the fish market and buy the best Hilsa and ma would make the best hilsa curry with white mustard seeds and a sumptuous fish-eggs fry. Only a Bengali would relate to the taste of this dish during the rains. We gossiped about the lad and the lass hooking up over the practice and laughed our heart out to the melodramatic love story that wouldn't last long.

The final day of program, we would dress up, paint our faces with cosmetics and "alta" on our palms and feet. the hard work would be paid off with a platter of kachori and aloo curry, that tasted heaven after the performance. We didn't have social media then to upload the pictures that we clicked. The prints would have to wait for a week's time, till the camera person provide us the hard copies of the beautiful memories.

Life was ecstasy around the cultural bringing up that happened to us. I owe a lot to the family that I belonged to, especially my mother , who would take initiative at large for make such events happen.

Tales from my Solitude - 3

Days turn into nights and nights grow into bright days. Human beings have great abilities to fold and unfold the spheres of one's life and learn , unlearn in the walk. My life was so monotonous with 200 meters walk to college, attend all classes, sit in the first bench, write down hell loads of notes and come back. My evenings would involve talking to my family members, watch Tamil movies, and savor food in my hostel. The food tasted so bad always, as I was still adopting to the taste in south India. Life was dragging and snuggling until my  my hostel happened to shut down suddenly and we were noticed to move out and find a new home for ourselves.

I had a small suitcase filled with my world and had only that to move out with . My life was simple until then. It was my second year of college, and Bangalore life kind of befriended with me by then.

I found a small attic up in the 2nd floor of a house. The house already looked so haunted and I found a Bengali roommate who was an year junior to me. She introduced to the new evenings of Bangalore. The clubbing, the parties, alcohol and smokes. This era of my life told me that Im pretty and can easily attract men of all sorts. This is the time, perhaps was important in my life as it showed me the dark phase of a city. The times then was just mere few hours spent with toxicity, but now when I write this up, I understand growing up demands a human being to see the good and the bad phase of everything, of his or her world. Hence these 2 years were important.

It wasn't sad to know men who  trade emotions and happiness. It wasn't upsetting knowing women trading beauty and selling dignity in terms. The values, the limited knowledge of this world change and expand. The primitive values towards life alters to a new enlightenment. One gets to know another in person, closely. The short noticed flings, and stands got me growing in this city. The slow killing of my innocence was in process. The layered eye shades and kohl reinvent yourself in the heart of the city and an independent living of a woman.

Weekends nights flowed so fast, as fast as I forgot the love from the core has disappeared from me and a human filled with hatred and diplomacy is born, May be this is how one grows and there is nothing wrong in that. Now standing at my 26th, I believe everything happens for good and there is nothing wrong in learning anything. Hatred is born so that I didn't get betrayed again or perhaps it didn't matter again. The strong one is born and what is wrong in hiding the soft one inside and wearing a mask of a strong. Isn't that something required in present society of ours ?

Betrayal, cheating, jealousy, hatred are equal emotions that exist in us , in all of us  and one must witness all. If one hasn't seen all, how would one know which is to be accepted and which is to be rejected ? The phase of coming close to all these seemed very disgusting then and seems very valuable now. A part of growing up , a part of living and hence the just beautiful turns out to be bold and beautiful !

Tales from my solitude : 2

It was my first Sunday in Bangalore. I was a paying guest with an Andhra concern near Christ college. My roommates asked me to visit a nearby market n get supplies ! I needed a bed spread, plates, spoons, etc . This was my first ever time , when I moved out of my family, had no idea of equipments to survive alone. Boarded in a public bus, reached Commercial street , the shoppers paradise in Bangalore.

I was in awe of this place as the roads are loaded with bangles, earings, towels, bed covers, bamboo basket, fibre stuffs, dress material, tailor shops n everything a human would require to survive ! As I entered the bus station, my eyes took a glimpse of the church that stood with vain at the entrance of the market. Women selling bunch of red roses n yellow roses with intense sticks to offer to devotees. All I wanted was a plate , as a girl of 18, I was confused which one to pick ! Green, Orange, yellow, pink ... colored utensils everywhere. My budget didn't permit anything more than 30Rs, I slowly purchased the same n took a look around .

The women in burkha busy tailoring blouses, kids jumped and hopped eating candy floss. Men walked by ,some returning from daily namaz or busy hectic schedule at their shops. The danglers n the laces flung down the shop ceiling, the jewellers pinned their art onto silver n gold. I loved the aroma of biryani cooked into distant shack, and my mouth watered to taste the long sized rice grain that are steamed in ghee n butter !

The colorful duppatas hung against the wooden poles n the breeze kissing them over n over again. They whisper of love n ecstasy, n the sky rolls in the gossip of love . The best part of the place is the evening prayer in the mosque in central Market. The evenings are bright! Brighter with neon lights all over . The boys would come after you to sell wooden carvings n the dream catchers ! The stores, the lights,the crowd,the spark n the warmth I felt,lasted a long with me .

I still love to take a stroll in commercial street,I feel nostalgic. I transport myself to my childhood, and I pick gulab jamuns, buy earings,pick street food n savor them alone . I visit here alone still n I fall in love with the whole thing every time I enter the market.

Tales From the land of Solitude - Part 1

It began 6 years back, on boarding in an Indigo flight, that carried me to this city. I don't know if all teenagers think the way, I thought back then. Raised in an environment filled with strictures, my soul needed to breathe. My nights were restless battling with the rules and regulations in a family that had no son. Daughters were to be raised composed and  sedated, hence my parents imprisoned me to a old typical Calcutta house that we lived. "Not allowed" was the term that I and my sister grew up listening and was an obvious reply to any request made. Escaping was the outlet that I had to find at my 18. had to move to a new city The reason had to add on a degree, well then , this degree was just a a cheese for the rat in my life , valued nothing more , could think nothing better .

Stepped in a new city, led to an independent living ! I was eager and waiting for this all my life. Hence, the chunks of depression, sorrow or a little heartbreak were removed from my face value and disguised under a happy smiling , jovial lady of 18. The University norms were enough to keep me occupied the entire day. The colossal campus encouraged me to delve in the beauty of the concretes. The course engaged my evenings in the library of the 9th floor building of the central block. The evening read and the view was amazing . I could see a bit of Bangalore, the busy traffic and the flyover that connects Richmond road . I loved to wade though the pages of Sociology books, loved the theories by Darwin on Social Change, the postulation of the theory of idiosyncrasy, mores, and so many stuffs. Actually came to Christ University with a passion in Psychology, but later fell for Sociology and of course my Literature classes. Not only the taste of subjects , I discovered a loads of changes in my attitude, cognition, fallacy within me and reinvented myself in a new way.

Mingling with friends was a tougher task than walking through the roads of Koramangala alone. Well yes , talking of South Bangalore. For about first 5 months , had passed my hours reading books, passing through a new block of area to the other , discovering the claustrophobic me in the public buses , got down and rather chose walking to my destination. The city was so damn expensive for a 18 year old. The pocket money disappeared in no time. The delicacy was to buy a 100 gms of Jalebis from a road side vendor at Rs 6, or devouring over a plate of egg dosa. The south Indian cuisine was still getting on my nerves, lived as a paying guest with an Assamese warden in charge. The explanation of the taste of the food is indescribable today! had to gulp in the sambhar that made no sense to a Bengali well - fed girl, and the rasam was not even something we would ask our stray dog to taste. The dinner was chappati and tomato sabji, a curry that has only tomatoes and nothing else , probably the last thing I could dream of in my little world of 18 years .Tears rolled down my cheeks, but never intended to miss home. Well, yes with freedom comes responsibilities , and sacrifices too.

My mid term paper was good and my class mates started recognizing me . Met a very chubby pink girl, sitting at the back bench of my class. She was short, round , pink on her cheeks, who smiled at me and wanted to do a project with me. Thank God , she spoke or else I would have starved myself without friends. She wore everything pink that day , a girl of my age from Kerala. I got to know about a Malayali for the first time. The tales of coconut, Mohanlal, Kuchipudi, banana chips, Vishu, Onam and of course fish fries! I tasted similarity and loved this lady's attitude towards my life. My solitude witnessed a spark of light . She is a famous lady in campus, God knows why and how everyone knows her. She was very rich and dared not speak a single word that comes to her mind .I observed her for sometime , for few days  and discovered the other half of mine in her . I was so quite, always sitting on first bench, listening to lectures, a monotonousness in me throughout, but may be I wasn't the way I led my life. may be I too wanted to speak my mind at any given place, to any given person, may be I would also want to be that jovial and cheerful always. She told me, she thought Im a nerd and didn't want to mingle initially, and I felt that I need a change in me.

Im not a nerd, don't intend to be one, I too want to open my hair against the air and smile outside the window pane of the car and close my eyes and breathe the cold winds of the cold mornings. I too want to feel the chilled air through my nostrils, my hair strands, my vain and discover myself outside the campus and the library, and the course. She asked me if I would like to travel with her and friends to Nandi hills ? My answer in no time was " Yes" ! Probably that was my first step to unfolding the strong packaging within myself , the packaging of a little world that I came from, the little knowledge that I had about the world, people and their culture, that was the beginning to break free, may be the real reason behind moving away from Calcutta and my family.

To the Sand and the Ocean!

Be it a fairy tale, or reality, we all wish to break free. Break free to the depth of waters, to the lush green forests, lumps of white clouds, grains of golden sands. The relationship between a human and nature is like ocean waves and the granules of sand. They meet and meet again, to satiate each others soul.

Arrived at the airport, the clock ticked  its 11 PM IST. Resting against the chair in waiting lounge, I wondered, how the island country could be outside, which is now shrouded black. My heavy head demanded a cup of coffee and a bun , the journey had been hectic. All day work and no sleep till I landed here. Travelers gushed in and out as the flights landed at their schedule. Rucksacks, strollers, backpacks eagerly waiting to break free into the city. Took the city bus shuttle to Colombo, vacationing in  Srilanka. The city disgusted me greatly, the scorching heat and the people. Well, could it be a sad decision to come here in summer? bargaining with a trishaw driver, arrived at the villa booked by the marine drive. The villa owner spoke  fluent English and refused us to check in as we were early of our scheduled time. the city slept like a pig and there was no option but to lie on the boulders by the Ocean. The city trains that whistled like a monstrous conch shell disturbed me at large. The train path heppens to be just by the sea and the passengers looked at me as sleeping on the boulders is a criminal offence. opened my eyes to the sunshine, tired and tanned already. Boarded on a trishaw to take a look into the city. The beautiful arcades caught my attention, well nothing else. My eyes searched for street food and street shopping, just the way anyone would want to hop in a city but sigh ! the city was too decent for me . Felt the hunger pangs in me, hogged on Srilankan plateful. Munching on the rice and dal with a chunk of fish, my eyes glittered with joy, I knew why exactly I came here . The evenings in the city are boring. The people looked at me as if they have identified a Martian. Well, the villa was cozy to rest my tired feet. The Western province had nothing much to offer.

Left in a city bus to the southern province. My disappointment cleansed with the green and blue waters of Indian Ocean. The beautiful Mirissa welcomed me with the amazing mangroves, golden sand and the vast expanded green ocean. Reminded me of the queens chest filled with emeralds. My private beach and the amazing breakfast contented me at large. The resort was embedded by a small village- Thalarambi . Initially it was a small underdeveloped village for me, with time passing by, met the amazing fishermen there. The fishing economy made them strong boatmen, scuba marshals and many more. The girls with pleats on their sides came smiling, talking of their afternoons and their nights. The hours of dusk against the corals were amazing. The dutch settlement, the fort, the culture and the beautiful fenced courtyards took my soul away . This is Lanka, land of Ravana. I wouldn't know if I wouldn't have met them , how helping, how warm they are. The roads amidst the village became so friendly and those red hibiscus that said hello every time I passed by. The corals that I collected every time I bathed told me the story of the Ocean,the whales, the dolphins who merrily sing the song of waters.

Cr-using into the ocean left me spellbound, the answer to the infinity. At nights when I turned off the lamps, listening to the roar of the waves, I could see an auditory image. The turtles underneath, the lost fish, the robust blue whale, the jovial black dolphin, the white corals, the talks of the golden sand the kiss of the sky and the ocean ... Dreams dawned down to my eyes ...

From the waves to the hills, well not really hills but Kandy is prettiness. King Asoka spread Busddhism here, hence the place has many Buddha stupas to offer to its visitor. Ups and downs and green meadows and streaming brooks, this place kisses you all over. The highest peak in Kandy shows you the entire city. The Sunday village market, the watch tower, the busy streets, and many more. Bagging the amazing spices , had to depart but the memories are etched in my heart.

The flight takes just an hour from India, but it takes so much more to understand the warmth of a person across the border. The stories of tuna, the basa, the Mirrisa corals, the lamps on the beach, the music, the buses, the trains, the trishaws, the pineapple jam in the breakfast, the pancakes in kandy resort, the green waters, the sunsets, the cook who baked vegetables, the giggle of the village girls in the evenings and so much more. Some I could carry back, most of them lied there ... in the island, looted by the monstrous ocean , and thrusting them back with so much newness.

It doesn't take anything away, it returns back ... returns with a new story to be collected ...

The second Gender

Women are considered as "the second gender", formed out of the rib of a man. She is meant to support a man, bear with the sufferings of this world with him, float with the joys and sorrows with him, sacrifice for him, reproduce for him and help his generation grow.

That sounds like an inscription from an early man's cave but what has changed now ? We go to pursue higher education, move out of the city, move out of the country, compete for the best of jobs and work as an independent contributor. No, we not only exist, to support a man, we also support our vision and fund our desires and build our own empire. The transformation from being the second gender to equality is still in process. So the history of the uncivilized hamlets still shadows us to our civilized concreted skyscrapers. We as second gender, not only support our men , also we survive as breadwinners.

This is a woman, who wakes up to the alarm snooze, prepares the tastiest breakfast, burns her forehead by her curler tongs, paints her eyes with her kohl pencil, goes to her work, submits her deadlines just like any other men colleague, delivers a presentation, calls her maid to check if her child took his medicines, does the family laundry, walks on her heels, beat the menstruation cramps, still affords to look good and with a smile survives this world like any other men or better than a man. She flies her aircraft, fights in the border, runs behind the criminals in the police force, makes decisions as bureaucrats, serves thousands of customers as chefs, runs her own business, heads government, runs NGOs and so on...

We embraced the burden of life equally, yet the gap between the two genders is broad, and we are still looked down upon by a chunk of population. We claim ourselves to be diversified at work, diversified with the privileges provided to us, yet are called feeble and fragile by men. This woman's day is not just to celebrate the womanhood or celebrate the power of a woman, but to signify the respect to be earned by us as we share the same space to that of any man, anywhere.

Women's day isn't a fancy celebration, this demands less number of cases of sexual harassment at work, equal wage payment at work, support from the society to call women at work post pregnancy and marriage, equal promotions if eligible, at work. Attaining all of these, may as well bring in a lot of integrity in women at work.

I listen ...

I see a lot of suicide awareness posts everywhere. "someone is listening...", well Im sure someone is listening and we have our people who listen to us, but this world has fastened its life such a way that people are entangled between the moss of progress and so called development, where ears - eyes- taste - touch and other senses got numbed under the heaviness of ticking clock and smoky eyes of metropolis. Someone is listening or not, but you can always listen, you have to listen and turn that deaf ear to the constant devil who provokes suicidal intent.

I guess from the phrase of "someone is listening:, it should be "I listen... ", I listen, I act upon, I know how to keep myself contented. Depression comes in everyone's life and it goes as well. There is always a hot shower bath, a cup of green tea, an amazing salmon steak or a glass of pineapple shake which can lift your mood up. Life is beautiful and that is the utmost truth. Every work that we do, is prestigious and there is no way that you can demean it. Work is life and this helps one going. Work and engage yourself in something always, that satiates your mind and soul, walk back from work. Walking helps , especially when you walk alone. Look up and see those birds that fly to their nest at the dusk hour, those beautiful neon lights that cheer up the city every evenings. Evenings are such beautiful mermaids that dress up in its own fragrance every time. That warm couch of yours, and your cosy kitchen . make yourself an amazing dinner, play those old school songs, watch regional films and burst out in lame jokes that comprise the 2 and half hours story.

Shopping or window shopping helps in surviving a depression at its best. Those lovely shoes and your favorite fruits from the grocer, or a hard coffee from the favorite cafe. You don't need a coffee partner, you may sit by the road and look at those buses who gushes in and out, or the mother that buys a candy floss for her kid, or the man who is waiting for his love after his long day. Its amazing to observe people around us, who are unique in their own way. Chop those red and yellow bell pepper, and those crispy spring onions to make a lovely warm soup. wrap yourself in the warm bathing robe or buys those pink carnations and lovely dragon lilies from the florist by the road or make an amazing orange juice for yourself. Go for a relaxing pedicure or a hot oil massage, read that book which has been lying on your self for long, dusted and old. Old books have an amazing smell that reminds of your good times. Hug those cushions, water those little pots of plants, organize all your earnings and your favorites junk jewelries, Look at yourself in the mirror, gaze at yourself and appreciate the you in yourself .

Happiness is not a term that has to equate to materialistic luxury. Happiness is derived from the smallest of things and could be lost in te richest of times. Suicide is a coward's act, dont let this life say good bye in hurry, think , sit, think again. Pull up your socks, put on your shoes and survive the heinous devil that fights against the beauty of our souls. If someone lends an ear, amazing! If doesn't , come close your soul and listen to what it says ! It asks for a living , living for a long, living for yourself , living for worth a smile !

Of the roads and the hills !

Someone somewhere said "people are good everywhere, you need to know how to blend with the culture". This is correctly stated, and you unfold this well, on roads. Roads that are dusty, stony, paved, peached... roads that  teach you all the lessons unlearned inside those four walls of concrete. There is an interesting story behind travelling, you get to see sky that wants to talk to you, behind the shroud of smog, and the paleness that reminds of the weariness of the city and the people. The dusty roads and the film of smoke above blends together to bring about a cradle of hymns that remain unsung , they fade away with the hustle bustle of the metro trains that gush in and out with heavy ignorance towards life and people. The small food joint that has been standing still since 1896, talks the history that has floated by the river of yamuna or Ganges. The short bawarchi sings away to glory while preparing his pot of biryani, heavily loaded with ghee and saffron. The dingy room is filled with he haws of evening folks, that relishes over Mughal food and talks of the survival , talks of business.

Evenings turn into nights. Boarded into car, rolling across the states, wading through the harsh traffic, roads take you to meet new stories, awaiting to be weaved by a traveler in his own knitted kit.The favorite driver tells stories, the story of "pahar". The kumaon ranges that nestles his family, the apple orchard that blooms in the winters, the little girl that waits for her father to return from city after every month, the bliss around in a poor family over a cup of lamp curry  and bread.

The mosques that sing of peace and harmony from faraway town and the freezing cold waters of Ganges that cleanses dirt of people. Interestingly, the cold breeze that carries the words of Allah, do not know the difference of castes in the town, the water that is cold and swift , has no time to crib over caste ism. They purify, cleanse, teach people to live by, live for. The roads also take their turn upto hills. The hills that have given birth to coniferous trees. The tall and vigorous forest welcomes the  traveler with all their might. those pink crispy leaves and the beige colored flowers sway by the sides to spread happiness to the traveler that has come to search for peace.

The mountains that glow in the sunset hour purifies the traveler's soul. The little lantern hung by the hamlet and the thin smoke that blows up, the olive moss over the rocks, the green waters by the caves, the brooks that sprawls over, the merchant who returns from the market place, the violet wild flowers who shade their petals off, chants the hymns of peace, love, life.

The Garhewali cook comes to his duty, prepares rice and lentils and some fries. The cow boy takes his herd of mountain goats back to the shade, the temple bell rings against the winds in the mountains, the child with red ribbons on her hair rushes to her grandma's lap to listen to stories of "the princess who was sick and no doctors could cure her ...". The day closes to begin a new beginning, the traveler walks on.

The road takes him through the misty mountains, to a new destination. He collects the pebbles on the way, that know the stories of carts, the pine fruits that know of the love that has bloomed under the tree, he captures the sounds of chirping of birds that have seen the wounded deer resting under their nest... the waterfall that has been the witness of the false promises made by those two young lovers once in the hour of dawn ... traveler moves on !

One fourth of a century

How does it feel to have lived this planet for a good 25 years ? Well, a white paper and pencil would shrink that to a millionth time of how  a baby  transformed to a girl and a lady and on. This is a huge sack of experience that couldn't be described or jotted down. This is amazing how mid 20 crisis blooms in a life of a woman ( because I don't know how it would be for a man), That amalgam of sensing responsibilities and the desire of withdrawing oneself from the shack of life is interesting indeed. They say 20s is the best time to create memories, yes it is! Its the time to smell the soil when its dry and soon it gets wet by the seasonal rains. Its the time to go broke middle of a month and arrest oneself for rest 15 days. These are the days, one should abandon oneself to isolation to see what world looks like ? how the world survives in its own viscous lifestyle? How it feels to work more than 9 hours a day and walk back on tired feet home.

Living independent is a very interesting thing that I have come across. You know you can enjoy over a cup of latte or bowlful of tomato soup and enjoy a 2 am movie. Isn't it interesting to listen to the silence of the late night at city. The silent corridor with a pot filled with dry soil and a disturbed growth of a plant which smirks at my life, and those soggy odor of shoes that remind me I have grown up and life has embraced me with all its grace and it expects me to hug it back.

The nights that are so colorful when we do the town and the toxic drink that amazingly makes you forget the burden that life heaps on you every single moment. Those 3  am talks and the late night returns are the  best ways to dive  in 20s, and waking up early to work. The feeling of coming close to a man and realizing the grace in you to bring him closer , losing yourself to him and the beautiful cycle of moving away! The beauty of life unfolds in every single drop of tears and every he - haws at the roadside with fellow people. The wonderful art of trusting people, most probably the strangers in the world where we grow up.

The art of learning to cook because you are  hungry and that moment when it tastes good! Every single hour of discovering yourself makes it all! These memories that are created on those stony pathways, bars, on sunny days, cold nights, amidst fragrance of dragon lilies and the back coffee dates, make you learn life is  amazing and its just 25th year of survival! There is a fear attached as the change in phase could be difficult but there is excitement as that would be a change in routine life that we deal.

Growing up and surviving 25 years is like a basket of small and big talks that could weave a fabric of memories , which just aint meant to be cherished but looked upon to move ahead to our 30s. Amidst all those bunch of lilies, bars of chocolates, boxes of doughnuts, mugs of beer, tiff with the boss, getting late at work, earning every penny, being a spendthrift, fighting with parents, being cheated, acting selfish, trying to be pretty, travelling to see hills, tanning at beaches, late night movies, long drives, doing the pubs, doing the laundry, booking a flight to home.... we have grown up and we have survived one fourth of a century. 

I wish to parent a daughter !

As we grow old, we change our bucket list with age, with time and life experiences. I stand to become a mother of a daughter someday. I am no feminist, neither I support women empowerment in every aspect of life. I want to raise a girl child, because I want to see how it feels to parent another woman. I have seen my mother raising me in a surrounding of a mid occur mentality. Where an Indian girl has to abide by several regulations.

 She has to learn and have a good command of English language, she has to secure the top in education, yet she needs to grow her hair long. She needs to maintain her glowing skin and care of her complexion and fight every day to lighten it. She cannot meet any person who belongs to male gender and even if she did, she cannot fall in love. Love is a crime, and only those who has shattered future falls in love. If her friend who happens to be from male species , texts or calls her, she is asked a plethora of questions, just to understand the fact if she is in a relationship with that person. Yes,  relationship takes a subjective viewpoint. What is actually a relationship? Well it means she has not only attached herself with the person emotionally but physically too. And if her hormone was not in control in her puberty, then she might be thrown away of the society that strictly forbids conjugal relationship before a ritual celebration called - marriage. She has to marry a person that belongs to her caste, yet financially strong enough to support her needs. If she has loved a man, she needs to get married to that person irrespective of what he turns out to be in future, If she gets pregnant before marriage, then she is no less than a sex worker in the society and that she can burn her face or drown herself but not live in the society that is so pure !She needs to fear rape, death, man, and the patriarchy. She cannot step out without covering herself to safeguard her body from being exploited !

I want to give birth to baby girl someday and raise her as a human and not a woman. I want to push her out of my house right from her young age, to understand what it means to be in the world and not just family. I would expect her to make friends with all communities and caste and make her understand that this is a hierarchy that we have designed and can destroy as well. That if her friend's father earns his living by selling groceries, he deserves the similar respect from us. She needs to swim, run, hop, walk and drench in rain, get tanned in sun and go through a painful path of life that 70% of Indians do everyday. I would want my daughter to have bad relationships. So that she breaks her heart , cries, understand what it means to be with a person that cannot support the meaning of love. She would grow again like a phoenix and would go out there and make better choices. I would want her to take bad decisions in life, so that she understands what it means to spoil time and lose value. I would want her to study the subjects she wants to and not force her to take up something that the world puts a value of ! She needs to travel, travel alone  so that she knows what it means to be diversified. She needs to know how to protect herself and not just cover her breasts from the eyes of a man. I would encourage her to stay up till night and still go to work next morning to live in the reality. She should go out and booze and let know what it means to take a toll on her health !I would not want her to get embarrassed about the fact that she menstruates and hides sanitary napkins inside her pocket. She needs to earn hard for survival yet let her know she is pampered by her parents:that she can fall back to her parents in the hour of need. She needs to know what it means to fight a life, the world full of struggle. And most importantly she needs not to put up a banner and screech for women's rights, she needs to follow her mind and not the one that framed by her society.

I want to parent a girl child, so that she understands the real meaning of living a life of a human and not a woman or a man. I want to tell her, she is a woman and she needs to do things that a man cannot do and not what man can do. 

My old Summer

Summer has always been my love. Summer comes with colors and beauty. There is a beauty in dried brown leaves and greenish pond that sits still by a scorching summer afternoon. Summer in the town glistened on the asbestos of the grocer's house.The pumpkin creeper lied on the bamboo fence, tired and disturbed by the heat. I looked at the courtyard, to the flapping wings of those lazy pigeons. They splashed within the bowl of earthen pot. I envied their peaceful life and couldn't accept the fact that they do not get homework to complete. Grandpa played cards with his mates, his wrinkles relaxed once he won a match.

The lane that passed by our old house, left isolated. It awaited for a man to pass by, a woman to escort her child back home, but alas! summer has censored the clamor of the busy lane to seclusion.The wheels of the rickshaw stopped by a huge mansion, the puller took a quick nap under the shade of a banyan tree. Children ran towards the sugarcane cart, to sip over a glass of cane juice. The juice tasted  yummy with a tinge of lemon and ginger. 

Men talked about their hardships through out the day over a puff of cigar, while women took bath before evening comes down. We would spend the afternoon at our attic, and watch the birds return to their nests at the day close. My sister would play with crayons while I would do pot painting.The sky would turn rusted as the sun would sleep by, the cooler evenings would invoke laughter and giggles. Evenings would lit the town up to good spirits.Girls would pleat up their hair and wait by the window to take a glimpse of her love pass by, women would light oven to prepare supper. My mother would call us to help her with chopping onions and ridge gourd. Girls engaged themselves to help their mothers, and whispered to each other about their crush who lives next door. We sat on the floor to have supper and laughed our hearts out as we spoke about the maid who fought with her ferocious lady and denied service for her, or we would speak about the man who bargained his wallet out for a half kg brinjal in the market.

Nights would not call slumber. The dampened humidity would keep us awake, when we would sit on the terrace to gossip about life. Father would discuss about what happened in the world where as mother would talk about her world that she weaves day n night. The express train would pass by whistling away, and we would suggest an idea of vacation. Mom would water her plants and get excited about a trip, which probably never happened. Giggles and laughter would embrace the terrace till we fell asleep. The jasmine grove would smell like seventh heaven and the breeze would call us to bed. Our beds were just beside where the jasmine creeper grew and the master window whispered the stories of red and blue fairies to our ears, and dreams ? dreams would just fall in place !!

The Lost Night

It drizzled over the hills, the stones were bathed over. The wind whistled through the hedges, through the wild yellow flowers. The sky was dark, the pine trees were drenched in rain. The expanded green meadow lied under the shroud of darkness. The hills kissed the clouds with its vigor, and the brooks sang through the creeks,  like a beautiful white maiden. The town whispered the tale of love, which embraced the winter night, which washed its sorrow in cold droplets of rain, which hugged the chilled breeze of temptation. 

She was awake all these hours, waiting for the return of her love, the trickling wooden roof waited with her. The fire place warmed her, as she grew impatient for the insane love to arrive soon. The hay stake lay silent, so did the spider cob around the corner. The beans stew on the oven got dried, with the growing anxiety of her. She dreamed of a garden, and some violets around, the honey bees and the flocking birds, the return of her luck, the return of her life, the return of her world, where she grew the samplings of affection and desires ----- desire to be loved, to be hugged, to be delved into the milk of ecstasy. For every winter night promised her to bring the warmth of sunshine back. Her torn red fabric of her dress couldn't rest itself to slumber. The promise to be returned, the hidden tears to be wiped off, the heavy heart to be lightened... she waited... with heaps of eagerness!

The tea estate stood still, as it waited for the maiden to sing, the teak wood stood patient for the maiden to come running through the aisle. they waited to listen to her giggle, to listen to her little heart bloom with joy, to see her hop on the dew drops, to feel her love. they waited for the return of her own self. Her dreams remained old and they scared her of the loss of love. she weaved her dreams under the walnut trees, she believed that her love would return, it unwind the smile that her heart is waiting for. she wanted to capture the cold night to her thin blanket forever, she feared of sunlight, as it would erase her dreams off. the cold night beside the flames of fire, weaves her dreams to return of her love, her paradise of the self she longs for.

The blanket murmured the song of return, the return of the depth where she would like to dive, the depth of paramour, the kisses of promises , the promises of life, the life of peace, the peace of making love, the love of souls, the souls of innocence, the innocence of night - the lost night.

The road less traveled ...

For the mornings were so amazing over a mug of Darjeeling tea and the tale of Goddess winning over evil power. The craziness to wake up early morning and listen to this broadcast was an achieving activity. The old balcony rises to life to the tune of the old man reciting the amazing poem of the women power coming to rescue the mankind. The dewdrops over grasslands reminded the tale of autumn would start soon. There was an excitement, whose reasons are unknown. These five days bring handsome memories to bongs, Calcutta- the city of joy, weary and tired of her days rise to life, the stony paths and the pulling rickshaws and those gigantic mansions that silently witness life's hustle, dress up to a new attire. The dhol men arrive at the city, the lotuses begin blooming, the honey bees begin fly to its glory, and the courtyard anxiously awaits for the Goddess to arrive. The new clothes neatly folded in the wardrobe, smell ecstatic.

The color red steals the beauty away, the precious vermilion teamed with blue sky and the white flakes of clouds blow the music of love, affection, intimacy, remembrances, The amazing smell of ghee and milk that turn into sweets, the drops of Rasgollas, the baked Saandesh call for the joy and frolic of true Bong madness. The evenings search for that soulmate, who is long awaited for. His kurta looks so good among the crowd and her hair do steals the show away. These five days celebrate the closeness of love, invokes the beauty of paramour, embraces the joy of knowing the unknown.

Those blue bells smile to the relationships that do not last long, but drives two souls insane for a moment. The food gets a different image on these days. Those delicious rice and cereals, fried vegetables, and the fight for fish recipes bring the message that the tale of autumn has begun.

That little balloon, the sound of laughter, the platter of biryani, that red bindi, the conch shells,and the lights coalesce to frame a story of the city of madness. The incense sticks burn to spread the news of love, to create a pamphlet of ecstasy, to make believe the essence of joy that rises and gets buried like the waves of earthen tremor.

Time moves away, so do the emotions, and tomorrow these little fragments of memories become an ingredient to laugh at and cherish. Life moves on !!

#Exodus

The citylights

The city bathes in rain her neatly dressed semi formals too. The traffic had been always hectic when it rains, people get stuck for hours together. The sky growls and pours to its glory. She had a minor migraine problem,but she just cannot head back to her lonely cozy apartment. She read in her history chapters, men are the bread winners, but she has never witnessed that. She saw her mother going to work, and her sister cooked ridge gourd soup, while she prepared for her exams. She always saw her step father being arrested at home, imprisoned himself behind tobacco, nicotine and alcohol. Gone are those days when she dreamed of her wedding and a man in her life. Slowly she consumed the bad breathe of the reality. She believed riches can make one happy, she never looked down, as all she would see is darkness, neither did she look up, as the dark sky shrouds her face. She lived a life to make others smile, a life to deliver happiness to others. Her soared feet whispered to the cracked ankles,.. whispered the tales of the long untrimmed hair that cries for a touch of caress. They mock on her eyes, whose brown dazzle looks for liberty, looks for pleasure, looks for an end. Home had been a dungeon of dirty hopes, dusky shrieks of men who cried for love, women who cried for love , cried for a life! Her bed chokes her to the destiny of youthfulness, and the agony of living everyday.

She wakes up to a smoky morrow, who promises to her that the day would be hers, the saffron orchids hung from the lamp-posts would be hers, and the silk scarf that tries to unwind, would be hers. The little hopes, the little desires, the littleness of her vast life that would never leave her away. The raindrops would still bathe the city, while the public buses would still rush towards the terminus, and her unfolded crate of pain, would be hers, forever... She needs to live, she needs to walk, walk and survive the journey of life .

#Exodus.