Simple sources of Joy

I am travelling. Again! Yay!
(Only if I could put in an appropriate smiley for my excitement here!!)

So, I am off to Kerala. The winters in Delhi were annoying me. So I went from five degrees and freezing winds to a warm and toasty 26 degrees and beautiful sea breeze.

I am blogging from the plane. I just couldn't resist. Its the joy you see. Even though, like Sheldon Cooper I am a total train person, I have to admit, planes have their plus points.

I couldn't take my eyes off the horizon. The beautiful light scattering across the clouds. Its spellbinding. Mesmerizing. Almost criminally beautiful.
That's one reason why I love trains. The constant scenes that pass you by thrill me.

I am like a toddler with a new toy when I'm travelling. I refuse to look away from the window, lest I miss something life-altering. I almost looked away and I almost missed the beauty of witnessing lightening and thunder up close, at level with it. It was ... oh my God I don't even know what word will suffice.

I love looking down at the lights shimmering. The traffic that annoys us when we are in it is so beautiful when we are up in the air.
The streetlights are so twinkle-y! Who'd have thought!
I know it seems like its my first time in a plane, but its not.

I am just amazed at the beauty we have all around us that goes unappreciated.

Look around. Life's beautiful. The world's beautiful. And there are really tiny, simple, uncomplicated sources of joy at every turn. Look at em. Smile. Laugh. Appreciate.
Live! Love!

My everyday struggles

Every time I forget what I am, I look in the mirror. I see my face, tired and upset, looking back at me. And still I can't remember what I am. Now, don't confuse the Who and the What. WHO is the general information that can be used to fill in a death certificate. WHAT is the part that people might remember me for after the said death certificate. Now if I can't really remember what I am, Is it amnesia? Or simply a refusal to put up with personal stagnation?

There are things that remind me. That make me feel alive. 
I have a connection with the world I live in. There's something that binds me to things. 
We all have things to look forward to in life. Material and Philosophical.
Physical and the not-so-physical. 
Sometimes though, I look at myself and see nothing. No face, No identity, No existence whatsoever. Its like my mind wants me to not exist. 
Maybe my mind doesn't like what it sees and turns that image of what I am into Nothingness.

I hate being in limbo. My mind's clogged up when I'm in limbo. Words fail me, Emotions run away from me, Sleep eludes me, calm is repelled by me. I am a disgusting, snivelling, stinking creature nothing wants to come close to when I'm in limbo.

My insides scream for release from this unintentional, irrational imprisonment.
Yet, I make no effort to secure my release. 
My dark side relishes the confines I put on myself. It grins with malice upon seeing me writhe in agony, of being deaf and mute and numb.
Somedays I wonder what it'd be like, to give in to the darkness, to desert, give in.. give up?

Its an uphill battle on my best days, not giving in. Sometimes I do see the wisdom of submitting to the devil and crossing over.

Of the Loudness In the Silences: Part 1

There are so many silences: deafening ones, miserable ones, and the ones you cry in. 

Silences that make it hard for us to break them and harder for us to stay mum.
There are times when silence has the loudest voice. 
We try to drown out this very loud voice doing all sorts of things. Some of us use people as a distraction, doing all sorts of things that we usually do just to avoid the silence within our own selves.

And all of us use someone or something to fill these silences. Music does it for most of us. A silence in the car, lets blast some music. A silence at home, lets switch on the television and fill it with noise we don't really want in the first place. 
Most of us cannot bear silences. We can't be silent either. If we manage to shut up, keep our mouth closed, our mind is a constant noise-filled place. 
The constant What-ifs, Buts, Whats, Whys and Hows and our desperate attempts to find these answers (right now) never let us experience any peace. 

In fact I know so many people who seem to think that when they are feeling peaceful and still, its nothing but the silence that comes before a major storm. 

Why do we expect a storm at every turn?

Where is the faith, the belief that things will be alright; and not every silence is a warning to an oncoming storm.

My recent travel to Pondicherry opened my eyes to the silence within me. It brought into focus my desperate attempts to fill it up with unnecessary noise. 
Let me just say for the record here, this trip was particularly enlightening; personally, socially, spiritually that it will take a lot of time for me to process it all through. 

I will start with the most basic of all things, The people. Living in the Rape Capital all my life, the most Important lesson about self preservation I learnt very early in life was Not to trust people, especially those who smile at you and try to make random conversation for no reason. 
So, whenever someone I don't know from Adam looks at me in a normal, casual, non-leering way and smiles, I don't know how to react.
The thing with genuine smiles is,  its hard not to smile back.
And you don't get those in my city much. Most of the people don't even know what their real smiling face looks like. Everyone is so consumed by the need to be someone the world wants them to be; they don't remember what its like to just be in your own skin, your own color, your own self.
The people in Pondicherry are different. If its the effect of the Aurobindo ashram or something else, I don't know. But there's a positive vibe from people here. As a delhite, its a soul deep confession of sorts, saying I re-learnt the basics of trust and something akin to friendship but not quite. 
I had forgotten the beauty of bonding with an unknown person for that short time you are both together, and having a memory to last forever. That part of naivete got lost as childhood receded. The people in Pondicherry, Indians and tourists alike are just different. It confirms that the people in a city decide the vibe of the city, all the time, everyday. In Delhi, there's mistrust, anger, dissatisfaction, restlessness and sadness. All in all, a bucket-load of negativity. In contrast, Pondicherry is serene, spiritual, happy. Its calm and collected, secure, trusting. 

Everyday it made me more open to goodness. In people and outside them. 

Everyday the sun shining at my face through the window made me smile and not groan.

Every morning I excitedly looked forward to the day. Not just because it was a vacation. But because I really knew somewhere deep in my soul, its going to affect me in a big way.

Every evening on the beach, I sat for hours nonstop and confronted the silence. No phone to hide behind, no iPod to plug in. No book to dive in. 
Just me and the silence of the sea. 
All this talking, music, reading (things I love I might add) suddenly are clear to me for what they really are: Distractions. All these are a way to not hear that voice coming from somewhere deep inside me. Only when there's silence and a certain kind of stillness within a person, you cant and probably wont hear it. Maybe that's why we try so hard to fill up the silences. We are afraid of what we might hear. I know I was. But everyone, sooner or later has to face the music (in silence). And if you have the strength to sit through that deafening silence, The music that follows will heal your oldest wounds that have been festering for God-knows-how-long. And you will find that piece of you that you've been missing and didn't know it.

That's when I found that piece of me I have been looking for. The calm, collected, wise piece of me. The serene and silent piece of me. The spiritual piece of me. 

{To be continued....}

Awed By Architecture - The Taj Mahal

Awe. Pure and simple. 

The First view.
 Awed.

It holds me still in time. I will never forget THE moment I laid my eyes on it. Everytime I see it, It holds me captivated. Smitten(if thats possible). Wonderstruck. I think it would be right to say its Magical. 


The Taj is called the monument of love and devotion. The moment you snap eyes on it, you know, oh yeah! love/obsession, whatever Shah Jahan's reasons, he made one of the most captivationg structures in history of architecture. Frankly I don't know so much about eternal love, but I do know My love for architecture. And the moment I clapped eyes on the Taj Mahal for the first time, I knew I was in love.


Everyone seems to know the story. Shah Jahan, deliriously in love with his beautiful wife Mumtaz Mahal, decided to honor her memory and their mutual love by monumenting it. Thus was born the idea of the grandest structure dedicated to eternal love. The Taj Mahal.
I've heard people say they 'feel' that love, the whole vibe of 'forever and ever' standing there, facing the Taj. There are couples who go there for inspiration, for renewal of faith in their love, and of course, just for fun.


I feel awed by the sheer size, symmetry and the slightly mystic beauty of the structure. It touches a Long-forgotten, deep rooted chord inside me, it makes me wanna hum happy tunes. 

Reflections

I spent ages, just sitting there, looking at it, and marveling at the surreal quality this structure has. Its so hugely magnificent, every tiny engraving catches my eye. I want to touch it everywhere I can. I want to look at it forever. Just sit there and absorb it all in. Feel as perfect and as beautiful as the Taj. 


My mind wanders everywhere, to all the possible stories revolving around the Taj. I see it everywhere : In the garden, at the ticket counter, at the mosques, the magnificent entrance, and then right there, in front of the Taj itself, the banks of the Yamuna, and then across the river. There's so much to take in, feel and observe. 


I'd read about being overwhelmed. I'd seen people be overwhelmed. The first time I actually felt overwhelmed, was when I faced the Taj mahal for the first time in my life. 
Struck by speechlessness, I knew not what word would suffice. I still don't know what word will do it justice. The building just calms me, and calls out to me. 
You know, hypnosis? This thing has me hynotised. And no, I do not think because of the whole love angle to it. Its because there's magic in the air. It makes me a little less bitter, a little less aggrieved. 
It puts a silly smile on my face for a long time. And it puts a balm on my aches and bruises. 


Life, has a way to overpower your mind, your senses, your core. And beat and batter it into submission. And architecture just heals me battered soul. Sometimes I very much feel like I must have been there, right there, in the courtyard or in that garden yonder; only in a different time. Its such an ethereal connection to the world right at that moment, Like those ancient stones know my ancient soul. Like my heart's home. Oneness. With the universe. It does sound loony, But I feel it. I experience it. I revel in it.


The sun shines brightly, and the Taj reflects it back at the world. The sheer brilliance of the colors dancing to an unknown tune of people murmuring various words of wonder astounds me. Here I see it, and here I don't. There its just too bright for my eyes, and there its just right. 


There's so many people around. Everyday. Teeming to see this perfect piece of history. All I want to do, is sit there and stare at it. And cook up stories, of people who built this awesome thing : A lowly worker in love with the rich architect's daughter. Or the architect's forbidden love for the wife of one nobleman.
The Prince's love for the courtesan. The courtesan's love for the priest. The priest's love for God. God's love for Mother nature. So many stories to see, write, feel. And not enough time.


I will keep going back, again and again. And yet again. Its cathartic in a way. It soothes a strange pain from some very old wound, that I can't even recall. It makes breathing a little easier when I didn't even realize it was getting difficult. It puts life in perspective. And it reminds me what peace and calm felt like. 

Adieu for now My Beloved

I hope I'm still as awed by this architectural marvel 20 years down the line. That will be a miracle. And something that keeps me going through life. 


And Keeps me believing in wonderful things. And restores me to who I am.








PS: All the pics in this post are original. No plagiarism. :)

V e r t i g o

Something all of us experience at least Once in our lives. Shadows. Unescapable, Unbearable, Overwhelming Shadows. Cast over us, blocking the light out. 
Some of us are luckier than the others, not experiencing it as much as the rest of us.
Shadows are not just the physical dark figures that follow us around. They are dark, mysterious creatures of thought too. Ever wonder why suddenly something spectacularly amazing looks spectacularly doubtful. Or how the things that made you smile every time fail to do so on some particular days? That's because they are in shadows. Affected, and ruined. Until we brighten up the day, and look up into the sun.


I constantly battle shadows. they threaten to drown me, No matter how much I try to swim up, they drag me down and destroy me. 
And being reborn from the ashes(very phoenix-esque, I know). But I have to do it. And its as painful as dying from some degenerative disease would be. When you're dying physically, You know for sure one day the grim reaper will arrive and the suffering eventually will stop.


I die, I am reborn. Its a vicious circle I'm stuck in. I keep going round and round in circles. 
The fact that I know I will rebuild myself, does not make destruction any easier. It hurts just as much, it bleeds me dry just as much.


The darkness, is stronger than me some days, and other days I am stronger than the darkness.
It comes upon me without warning. In the middle of a bright sunny morning, when I have nothing to feel blue about. Or just when I assume today will be a good, sunny-smiling day. And sometimes, when  I'm so filled with laughter and happiness that my plate couldn't be more full. And suddenly, the plate falls, and shatters all over me, splashing me with the remains of my cherished happiness. The sun is drowned out and the shadows set in. 
Its like I live in freakin Dementorville. Only the dementors in this place affect just me.


Blue, is a constant shade. Its always in my landscape. and I cant even close my eyes to rest without seeing some shade of blue. The shades of blue make me question my state of sanity, and coherence. And suddenly I'm thrown into a storm of mixed/mashed words and jumbled thoughts, intricate feelings that make no sense whatsoever. But when I look at it all through the "blue" haze, it makes more sense to me than anything else. 


The fact is clear, I will never be rid of these 'phases'; where I go from chirpy, bubbly and contagiously happy to deliriously sad, broken and negative(in a matter of seconds) for no apparent reasons. And some days I wonder if its just my curse, or do I get empathy from someone out there.

Vertigo. Happens to the best of us.

Its a curse, to bear. Because when Milan Kundera wrote about the unbearable lightness of being, he said somewhere in the book, that lightness, is just an absence of a goal, of a purpose of life. And its unbearable because a purposeless life, is no life at all. Don't we all know it well? How frustrating it is, when we don't have anything worthwhile to pursue, or when we're handed a task that's well below our capabilities. Its annoying to be thought of so lowly and slow. Very frankly, its demeaning.


But the problem with goals, and targets and expectations is, once you start meeting them head on, they keep getting higher and higher. We keep struggling to reach out to them and meet them, because we are so used to winning this war with expectations, This meeting of the titans. So, what happens when the height is too much for us. Because eventually, it will be. Anyone whose goal is 'something higher' must expect someday to suffer vertigo. What is vertigo? Fear of falling? No, Vertigo is something other than fear of falling. It is the voice of the emptiness below us which tempts and lures us, it is the desire to fall, against which, terrified, we defend ourselves.(quoting Milan Kundera verbatim)


I never see anyone take a break from this never ending fiasco of rising expectations. People prefer to break their very selves rather than this absurd game of shadows with their own twisted expectations.


I let the shadows overpower me, because from the ashes, I am sometimes reborn anew and sometimes reduced to dust. But I never fear that vertigo. And that's my burden. Its unbearable and heavy. 
I'd take the heaviness of being over the unbearable lightness, any day. 

D i r e c t i o n l e s s

Like the moon on a starless night,
Endless sky for company,
Without a companion for a very long journey in sight,
Slight breeze creating a melancholic symphony.
Like that cloud that burst over me,
drenching me without a thought.
And I dont know if its rain or tears, 

I stand in the middle of nowhere;
Thinking of you.

I stand alone 
looking at the sleeping world,
The moon shining bright,
The clouds floating by
The breeze soft on my skin,
The night offers to be my refuge; 
And I think of you,
In this moment of peace,
I see your face when I close my eyes,
I breathe you in when the wind flows by, And;
I miss you again.

I write a song for you,
the world watches on,
I feel, I imagine how it would be like,
to feel you near me,
In this moment precisely, right now
When I am at peace; 
With myself and the world.

When it doesn't seem like a mean place
When it don't seem to be murderous
When it doesn't push me to do(what I don't want to.)

The night is cool and the moon is bright.
The night is lonely and still.
The night is beautiful and full of meaning,
and there's an undercurrent of thoughts.

Thoughts, as directionless as me.

Art of losing

It strikes me sometimes, on days I'm melancholic. or when the godforsaken PMS strikes. Spare time to myself isn't a good thing. I just sit there spaced out, letting the coffee getting cold with thoughts that turn me into waterworks.

I think the most about what I've lost. Ever since the idea of 'losing' meant anything more concrete that games and play, I have made a subconscious list of things I've lost. A beloved basketball. My first Fountain pen. My favorite shoes that I grew out of. My favorite Tee mum threw away because it had too many holes to make darning look possible. My first walk man. My favorite cassette tapes. Every time I lost something I valued too much, I cried. Threw a tantrum. Sulked. Because life would just not be the same without it. It would be un-livable. It would be agonizing. 

Its cathartic, this sense of loss. It purges you of attachments that were growing too deep. It helps you mend holes in your soul, the ones you weren't aware of. The holes develop all the time. The gravity with which they pull you down into an abyss of despair is another thing entirely.

Of all the things I've lost, I miss my innocence/naivete the most. The popular thing to say is mind, yeah. But i still have a lot of it. I can't really own up to losing it. In 50 years or so, but not yet. Innocence is irretrievable. the sense of wonder at everything the world threw at me, the joy of new information, the unfeigned surprise of childhood dreams coming true. That's what I miss. I wish I could look at something, and be wonderfully surprised by its enigmatic charm, however mundane the thing maybe. Its not that I'm un-surprisable now. Its just that I'm worldlier. I don't dare to show my wonderment, for the ever growing fear of ridicule and pointed glances that make people wonder if I'm hysterical. I cover my surprise, my wonder with a worldly air of well effected disdain. A So-what-its-not-such-a-big-deal reaction.

Thats a hindrance of adulthood. That's a hindrance of worldliness. When I see children, My heart cries out to them, don't grow up so  fast. Enjoy this time when a thing as simple as a higher push on the swing can make you shriek with delight. I miss that unfettered delight. I regret growing up. I regret being an adult. But only on days I'm melancholic.


Because when I was doing all the growing up, I learnt a lesson. We have to lose things in order to gain others. See, its like we have one, just one notebook. A very thin one at that. For stationary we have pencils, erasers and pens. Its up-to me what I write in my notebook, and its my choice to write with a pen or pencil it in. When I look back, I see a haphazard pattern, pencil n pen, different colors for different matters. But all there, in my thin little notebook. I let go of some, in order fit some in. So, really, its an art. How to lose something. Or how to turn what you lost into something you gained. Depends what you're writing with.