I don't know, i'm not sure. Since Tuesday, though, i have begun to lean towards being a believer. Here's why.
On most nights, i sleep dreamlessly. On the nights that i do dream, the visions are mostly not good. The scariest dream i have had is more than a decade ago, but i still can't seem to get over it; i have dreamed about something happening to my family's belongings, and have woken up next day to find that it has actually happened; and i've had flashes in my dream that almost seem like they are pieces of a puzzle that don't belong to the past or the near future, but sooner or later they do become reality. That's how bad and spooky my dreams can get.
A couple of months ago, though, i had a dream that i just couldn't explain away or get over. It involved my best friend. And a little boy. And a Tsunami.
I didn't wake up feeling terrified, just extremely uncomfortable. I think we managed to escape the destruction by getting to the airport of the place we were at.
Two days post the dream, i forgot about it. Life moved on.
I made travel plans with friends, went to Hyderabad, then to Hampi. Life was normal.
I made plans to go to Goa on the first weekend of March. Then my best friend called and told me that she wanted to go on a trip with me.
Now, the last time we travelled together was in college. After college, she got married, got busy with her husband, blah blah blah. So the fact that she called now and wanted to go somewhere - just her and me - was a big thing, and i didn't want to say no.
So i ditched plans to go to Goa, and started planning for other places. We considered Mangalore and then scrapped the idea because her husband wasn't comfortable with it(!) So we thought about it, and decided that the most feasible option for both was Goa. I agreed heartily - that's where i was planning to go anyway.
I started looking forward to the trip again, but that changed on Tuesday. Because the dream came back to me.
My best friend and I were going to Goa.
In my dream, that's where the Tsunami had happened.
And i've been feeling a little scared and a little uncomfortable ever since.
It may or may not come true. There is, after all, no little boy featuring in our lives. I think, in my dream, that the little boy was my best friend's baby. But she's not a mommy, and not going to be one anytime soon either.
If it has to happen, it will. I'm taking my chances and going anyway. Maybe i'm challenging fate, battling destiny. I don't know! But i'm going. And i'm going to make sure i say a proper goodbye to everybody before i do.
Bloody hell, i should've taken those swimming lessons.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
William Blake's speaking my mind...
"...And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine.
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree."
There's going to be blood on my hands this year. Or maybe a severe injury. To hope, to pride, to two-facedness, to spinelessness, to false impressions. To acting up, to pretending, to denying happiness.
I keep it all in, and it just grows and grows. Bloody hell.
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine.
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree."
There's going to be blood on my hands this year. Or maybe a severe injury. To hope, to pride, to two-facedness, to spinelessness, to false impressions. To acting up, to pretending, to denying happiness.
I keep it all in, and it just grows and grows. Bloody hell.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
This time, last weekend...
...I had cleaned my entire room. I mean, entire. I dusted and swept everything in sight (and hidden from it).
...I arranged all my books - only close to 180, i am sorry to say - neatly, along with several other little things like a Santa i got for Christmas, a Happy Meal Pinocchio, candle stands, book marks, matchboxes, a reading light, a puzzle ball, a Happy Meal guitar and a tourist pass to the Rann of Kutch.
...I cleared the top of the shoe rack to make space for a vase, a candle lamp and another vase/holdall.
...I glammed up the dressing table with fairy lights.
...And i made this for the wall space over the shoe rack out of beads, lace, wire and more beads:
So now, during the day, the shoe rack area looks like this:
And in the night, it looks like this:
I'm liking very muchly!
Friday, February 18, 2011
Rudaali?
Growing old can mean getting enemas for some people, for others it can mean indulging in a few extra marital affairs because their spouse isn't making them happy. Then there are those who quit their jobs and decide to pursue their passions, or just pack up their bags and travel. It can mean receding hairlines, growing waistlines, sagging bustlines and shrinking willie-nillies.
As i grow older, though, i notice something totally different: my tear glands are on overdrive.
Now, i'm not an emotional person. But in the recent past, my parents have found me crying through Master Chef USA (when Faruq gets in, or when Adeliz is given that second chance and makes it, or when Sheena's asked to leave), Jhalak Dikhla Ja (when that chick from that stupid serial faints after doing some pathetic Samba and Bellydancing while her new beau - also her co-star from the same serial - gets sick with worry backstage), Die Hard 4 (Bruce Willis saying "I'm coming for you baby" and more such sub-standard stuff)... the list is endless. You name it, i've cried over it. I don't know who's more embarassed about it, them or me.
And all this from a person who had to force herself to cry while watching Titanic due to peer pressure. (Hey, i was in school then!)
It's a mystery to me. I cannot understand it. I cannot wrap my head around it. More importantly, i don't like it. Ironic, when it's real life that should prove more moving than TV. I mean, i've cried less over my last breakup than i have over the sorry dialogues and drama of My Sister's Keeper. What's the deal with that, i'd like to know.
Maybe i should just have my tear glands surgically removed or something. Then i can peacefully sit through things like the rerun of the three-fingered man being eliminated from the Master Chef kitchen...
Wait, is that a tear i can feel on my cheek? *blink blink*
Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
As i grow older, though, i notice something totally different: my tear glands are on overdrive.
Now, i'm not an emotional person. But in the recent past, my parents have found me crying through Master Chef USA (when Faruq gets in, or when Adeliz is given that second chance and makes it, or when Sheena's asked to leave), Jhalak Dikhla Ja (when that chick from that stupid serial faints after doing some pathetic Samba and Bellydancing while her new beau - also her co-star from the same serial - gets sick with worry backstage), Die Hard 4 (Bruce Willis saying "I'm coming for you baby" and more such sub-standard stuff)... the list is endless. You name it, i've cried over it. I don't know who's more embarassed about it, them or me.
And all this from a person who had to force herself to cry while watching Titanic due to peer pressure. (Hey, i was in school then!)
It's a mystery to me. I cannot understand it. I cannot wrap my head around it. More importantly, i don't like it. Ironic, when it's real life that should prove more moving than TV. I mean, i've cried less over my last breakup than i have over the sorry dialogues and drama of My Sister's Keeper. What's the deal with that, i'd like to know.
Maybe i should just have my tear glands surgically removed or something. Then i can peacefully sit through things like the rerun of the three-fingered man being eliminated from the Master Chef kitchen...
Wait, is that a tear i can feel on my cheek? *blink blink*
Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
Monday, February 14, 2011
Theories i learned from the Big Bang.
They were good people, they respected me, loved me in their own weird ways. They were wired differently and, like my soulmate keeps telling me occasionally, it was just bad timing that didn't keep us together.
So today, this post is dedicated to all the loves of my life. The times i spent with all of you were fulfilling, enriching, frustrating, bittersweet. I got out lighter because i gave a piece of my heart to each one of you, but also wiser because i took a bit of sensibility in return.
There are things i have internalised from you guys; things that will stay with me till the day i leave this world and pass on to the next. In order of oldest to freshest exes:
1. Always brush your teeth before going to sleep.
2. Love can come in any size, Zero or 16, because it's the chemistry that matters.
3. If your life together is at the expense of extensive collateral damage, consider the worth of your decision very carefully.
4. Think, "what's the worse that will happen?" and you'll be able to deal with any situation.
There you go. I'm misty-eyed, walking down the roads of Past and listening to Guzaarish songs. I feel nice in a bittersweet way, not very unlike how they all made me feel.
We were good together, guys. And now, it's all good.
So today, this post is dedicated to all the loves of my life. The times i spent with all of you were fulfilling, enriching, frustrating, bittersweet. I got out lighter because i gave a piece of my heart to each one of you, but also wiser because i took a bit of sensibility in return.
There are things i have internalised from you guys; things that will stay with me till the day i leave this world and pass on to the next. In order of oldest to freshest exes:
1. Always brush your teeth before going to sleep.
2. Love can come in any size, Zero or 16, because it's the chemistry that matters.
3. If your life together is at the expense of extensive collateral damage, consider the worth of your decision very carefully.
4. Think, "what's the worse that will happen?" and you'll be able to deal with any situation.
There you go. I'm misty-eyed, walking down the roads of Past and listening to Guzaarish songs. I feel nice in a bittersweet way, not very unlike how they all made me feel.
We were good together, guys. And now, it's all good.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
A year on many counts.
Like i haven't harped enough on it already, i'm saying it again: last year was awesome for me. And this year's been even better so far, although there are still a lot of things to fix.
My Nikon D3000 is a year old. In the photography calendar, it's roughly 6000 pictures old.
My job is a year old.
Red is almost four years old, and i have driven him for all of 360 hours. Chee thoo.
I'm really, really looking forward to the rest of the year because there are lots of good things to come. I can feel it in my bones.
My Nikon D3000 is a year old. In the photography calendar, it's roughly 6000 pictures old.
My job is a year old.
Red is almost four years old, and i have driven him for all of 360 hours. Chee thoo.
I'm really, really looking forward to the rest of the year because there are lots of good things to come. I can feel it in my bones.
Thursday, February 03, 2011
Stone.
It’s true that as my age has increased, so has my desire and ability to travel. More recently, I seem to have developed a veneer of (unnecessary) extreme unfriendliness and what I believe to be a cold attitude towards most people I come across in life. And this I see especially when I travel.
And this is what I feel most shitty about too, when I think of the two chutku boys in Hampi.
I was in the temple town mid-last month over a long weekend. Having visited the place five years earlier, I was shocked at how crowded it had become, and how many more foreigners were on the loose there. (Only later did I figure out that it was because of Sankranti and the Hampi Festival.) And of course, with foreigners comes more commercialisation and absolute fascination for the fair-skinned ones. So most locals assume that anybody with the colouring or an unfamiliar (read untypically Indian) nature is categorised as ‘foreigner’. So it was that the four of us who reached on Friday afternoon ended up being mistaken for foreigners. That my camera appeared to be big-ass, and I appeared to be a big-ass photographer didn’t help any.
And that’s why, when we climbed the hillock next to Virupaksha Temple, people walked up to us and asked us take pictures of them with my camera, or just stared into the picture viewer from behind me as I kept clicking. Most of them were shady, so my hackles went up immediately and my armour of prickles fell into place. I gave everybody cold looks, turned around and questioned a few Peeping-over-shoulder Toms with “Is there a problem?” or “Excuse me?” in a venom-drenched voice. In the middle of all this, two little boys, egged on by a bunch of teenage hooligans, approached me and asked me to take a picture. I made disgusted faces and followed it up with an unfriendly, I-don’t-have-time-for-this “Okay, stand.” I figured they were going to be cocky young gits.
And that’s when things changed. Because this is how those two boys stood for the picture.
After posing for the picture, they came up to see it. And they smiled big smiles that penetrated my armour, tore through my ribs and squeezed my heart to create pain-pleasure. And then they just walked away. Maybe I would have done something more than just let them go, maybe I would have smiled back at them, maybe I would’ve taken a better picture – I’ll never know. Because by then, the scoundrel teenagers who had egged them on came along for a peep at the picture over my shoulder, and my armour quickly fell back in place to defend me.
Now, every time I see this picture, I want to cry because I was so unfriendly to the two chutkus for no fault of theirs, or for that matter, for no reason. I feel like my heart’s being injected with a more-than-healthy dose of pain because I didn’t give the Maybes that ran through my mind any closure.
More than anything, every time I see this picture, I hate myself for turning into this cold person.
And this is what I feel most shitty about too, when I think of the two chutku boys in Hampi.
I was in the temple town mid-last month over a long weekend. Having visited the place five years earlier, I was shocked at how crowded it had become, and how many more foreigners were on the loose there. (Only later did I figure out that it was because of Sankranti and the Hampi Festival.) And of course, with foreigners comes more commercialisation and absolute fascination for the fair-skinned ones. So most locals assume that anybody with the colouring or an unfamiliar (read untypically Indian) nature is categorised as ‘foreigner’. So it was that the four of us who reached on Friday afternoon ended up being mistaken for foreigners. That my camera appeared to be big-ass, and I appeared to be a big-ass photographer didn’t help any.
And that’s why, when we climbed the hillock next to Virupaksha Temple, people walked up to us and asked us take pictures of them with my camera, or just stared into the picture viewer from behind me as I kept clicking. Most of them were shady, so my hackles went up immediately and my armour of prickles fell into place. I gave everybody cold looks, turned around and questioned a few Peeping-over-shoulder Toms with “Is there a problem?” or “Excuse me?” in a venom-drenched voice. In the middle of all this, two little boys, egged on by a bunch of teenage hooligans, approached me and asked me to take a picture. I made disgusted faces and followed it up with an unfriendly, I-don’t-have-time-for-this “Okay, stand.” I figured they were going to be cocky young gits.
And that’s when things changed. Because this is how those two boys stood for the picture.
After posing for the picture, they came up to see it. And they smiled big smiles that penetrated my armour, tore through my ribs and squeezed my heart to create pain-pleasure. And then they just walked away. Maybe I would have done something more than just let them go, maybe I would have smiled back at them, maybe I would’ve taken a better picture – I’ll never know. Because by then, the scoundrel teenagers who had egged them on came along for a peep at the picture over my shoulder, and my armour quickly fell back in place to defend me.
Now, every time I see this picture, I want to cry because I was so unfriendly to the two chutkus for no fault of theirs, or for that matter, for no reason. I feel like my heart’s being injected with a more-than-healthy dose of pain because I didn’t give the Maybes that ran through my mind any closure.
More than anything, every time I see this picture, I hate myself for turning into this cold person.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)