Thursday, April 12, 2012
There must be some kinda way out of here
it cant all be desolation. it cant always be a test of my patience and of my ability to persevere. it cant always feel like my life has changed into something i dont fit into. how old is too old an age to go about finding one's own identity?
i dont know how much longer i can bide my time or let my life take its own course. the control freak in me is raging at me for letting this happen. the superstitious crazy in me is finding a sign or an omen every minute. the whimsical hippie flower child in me has nearly died.
ive also realised, as i am writing this, that i am obsessed with age. the concept of it and the appropriateness of it. the changes each passing day can bring to a person. in the past few months i think ive aged mentally a lot. i also feel like i have regressed to a time and age that i once used to protest about. it makes me uncomfortable to think that i have become the person a younger me would make fun of. but the younger me was also immature. but i loved that immaturity. i deeply regret not enjoying that immaturity when i had it. i miss the freedoms and the conflicts and the foolish struggles of a few years ago.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Sunday, March 11, 2012
When I left home and moved bases a few years ago, it was based on the assumption that I could come back whenever i wanted to. I moved to Mumbai and the city, she resisted me. Some things came easily but the important ones (a comfortable work life, friends, the absence of loneliness) came after I worked for those things. Every day spent in Mumbai in my first year there, I spent all my time convincing this new city that I loved her and that she could love me if she wanted to. That I couldn't promise her that I would stay forever but that I would try and make our time together work. I communed silently with her as I travelled in cabs on the hot, humid roads to and from glass buildings. I sat by Worli Seaface and Marine Drive and told her she was beautiful. i forgave her her temper on the days that I had to go to Andheri in the rains. Like all Mumbaikars, the city made me feel comfortable without making me feel welcome - till she felt she could trust me.
I fell in love with a boy from Calcutta and Calcutta behaved with me exactly as I expected the boy's mother to behave with me. I wanted a warm embrace and a great bonding from the first moment. Instead, Calcutta welcomed me with a smile and a cup of tea. But she told me that if I expected more love from her, I needed to prove that I wanted to be family to her and to her son. She made it clear to me that I couldn't expect to visit like a girlfriend does her boyfriend's apartment, without overstaying my welcome at some point. When I finally went as a bride to Calcutta, I felt that the familiarity I feel in my hometown. I know I can go back to Calcutta whenever I want to now. She won't mind. She'll even take me shopping and help me plan my time there.
But Bangalore. Is testing me now. I left her once before and now I am back but she's letting me know that I have to win her over this time. I can always come back home but I will need to find my place in my hometown again.
Monday, August 15, 2011
he who wanted to go far away, always farther away,
This time, when she got up after she finished her coffee, she could pay the bill and get up and walk - not towards her office or towards the station to take the 8.30 local home but away She could go home instead but immediately after she was inside her apartment she could pack her bags and leave. But once she had done that when she was a stranger in some strange village or city or town, what would she do then? would she call her mother to tell her she was safe, or would that count as still being tied down? would she be escaping or running away? was it even possible to be rebellious at 28? Did she even have to think these things, if they didnt or wouldnt or weren't supposed to matter?
or didn't want to leave or remain on the island,
the hesitant one, the hybrid, entangled in himself
The cellphone call was answered. The bill for the coffee paid and the purse was safe in her hands as she crossed the street. Her knuckles whitened for a moment as she gripped the steel handle of her office's door. She decided she would stay on till the sight of flowers made her smile. Her exit could wait till then.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
our feet are
the red of the earth
the earth and the sky
are the air we breathe
are the fingers that hold
the silk of life
a river will wind
its way across my waist
and flow through your hands
like the evening breeze
through leaves of a young tree
the present shall pass.
wrote poetry after ages. to give myself hope and actually felt better. but just before i could post it, the internet explorer gave up and the poetry was lost. i just want to cry or run away.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Friday, February 04, 2011
she did not always think of leaving a note or kissing his brow before she left. maybe a teacup in the sink and a book on the floor, beside the chair. the newspaper, read and folded back in place. stayed till to noises of vehicles on the street below his apartment broke the morning in, not long enough till he woke up.
on other mornings, she was the fingertips on his back and the mellow noise of the shower running in the background as he walked around the apartment, sipping tea. she was the gentle pressure of her feet resting near his thigh on the couch, as they watched tv. she was a wisp of lemongrass perfume. she debated and paced and laughed until the noises on the street did not matter to him anymore, because she could distract his senses into forgetting everything outside the four walls that kept them together.
he wondered if the Ganga was, after all, a confused woman who could not decide if the sheer force of youthfulness suited her or if she wanted to flow gracefully towards a destiny.